She was the first to cross. I once thought that we’d be together forever. All twenty-four of us. But the path split in two, and they carried on without us. We carried on without them. It’s a strange thing, when I was taken from the orphanage, I couldn’t see what I was leaving behind, only where I was headed. That morning, there were but twenty-three. I wasn’t hopeful of the places she would get to see. I just wondered if she’d miss her time here.

Among the children in the Program, we had a term we’d used amongst ourselves. ‘Graduation.’ That girl was the first.

We didn’t use the word for much, really only for one occasion: if we woke up one morning looking for someone, and they were nowhere to be found; ask someone where they were, and they’d respond, “Graduated.” Just the one word.

I was supposed to be the last, but I wouldn’t be joining them. I wonder if they’re all together now.

She’s crosses ahead of me. The currents flow beneath the stone upon which we stand. Claire and I walk amidst a sparse crowd, but I begin to lag behind. The umbrella over my head is replaced by the dying rain. She and I are facing the same direction, but we’re headed down two different paths.

“I think we should split up.”

She turns, pointing her umbrella to the ground, unsure of what I meant.

“We can cover more ground that way.”

People pass by on my right. They pay no attention to us, nor the rushing waters on their other side. They hurry along the grand arc over what splits the city in two. But I’m not the same.

“Meet me back here in three hours.” Claire says.

----------------------------------

Ciel stumbles ahead, awkwardly. Snow tracks off his boots with each step. Knees bent and the head of our tree in his arm, his neck swings from looking over his shoulder and watching his footing.

I follow his lead, carrying the back end.

There’s an abrupt stop as we reach our rooms door. Ciel balances the tree on his knee, using his freed hand to open the doorway.

“Careful here, we don’t want to scratch the walls.”

I move to line up with the opening, as Ciel finishes his thought.

“Teri won’t let us hear the end of it.”

The door pushes aside behind Ciel's back.

“You’re afraid of Teri getting mad?” I ask, as we inch forward.

Ciel replies, but without breaking his concentration.

“Everyone’s afraid of something.”

I'm through the doorway before I say other word, or even think another thought.

“What’s Teri afraid of?” I ask, meaninglessly.

We hold the tree over the large sheet of paper spread out over the carpet, and slowly lower it down. Our grips free and Ciel takes off his gloves to wipe his forehead.

“Bridges.” He says, out of the blue.

“What?”

“The answer to your question. Teri is afraid of bridges.”

I give him a look.

“She’s afraid of heights, or bridges?”

His response is swift.

“Bridges.”

My stare intensifies.

“You mean the things that go over other things?”

He nods.

“You think I'm kidding, but I'm not.”

I slip my mitts off my hands. They’re sticky from all the sap.

“I believe you, but how do you know that?”

He stretches his arms wide and high, letting out a relaxed wheeze.

“I'll let her tell you that someday.” He says.

----------------------------------

I knock on the glass door. The sound is muffled by the papers plastered up against it on the inside. It’s a small office building, a distance away from the busy city center. Six rooms along the bottom floor, and I’m at the one at the very end.

There’s a name on the door. World Press, written in same fine text as the paper Charles gave me.

The doorknob rattles and I take a step back. A young man stands holding the door open. He looks at me, then at his watch.

“Hello there, you must be the new guy.”

He waits for a reply, but I don’t know what to say. He looks behind me to either side.

“It’s just you huh? To be completely honest, we weren’t expecting you so early, so the place isn’t in the best condition.”

I look over his shoulder. It’s a waiting room, with two small round tables. And on top of each are stacks and stacks of loose papers. The counter behind loaded as well. From the room to the side, a loud pound rings out from the open doorway, followed quickly by the rustle of papers falling to the ground, one over the next. Then there’s the most depressing whimper I’ve ever heard.

My recipient leans his head back inside and yells.

“Just leave it on the floor, Janice. New guy’s here already.”

He turns back to me.

“This probably wasn’t what you were expecting, huh? Actually, when I started working here, the others said they’d sort the place out and be more organized, but I guess that didn’t last long.”

He scratches the back of his neck. There’s one thing he was right about; this isn’t what I expected, only in a different way. I still don’t know what I should say, but I know I have to say something.

“I’m not the new guy.”

His docile smile turns into a dumbstruck one.

“I just dropped by to ask a few questions.”

There’s a wave down the man’s body as he relaxes from his guilty relief. He yells to his colleagues once again.

“False alarm guys, false alarm.”

The paused ruckus picks up again immediately. Footsteps scurry and papers fly. The man looks slightly less embarrassed now. He exhales deeply and obviously. Like he’s doing it just for me to see.

“So, what can I help you with?”

My hand hovers over the item in my pocket.

“Oh, I’m Nel by the way.”

“Nel.” I whisper to myself.

“I’m Chris. I’m here visiting from the countryside, and I saw something rather concerning in the newspaper.”

I pull the article out of my pocket and place it in his view. He looks right at it, but there’s no withdrawal. Instead he shoots a quick look over his shoulder.

“The countryside, huh.” He folds my hands shut, the paper along with it. “Tell me, how much do you already know?”

His voice is quiet.

“Just what’s on this.” I reply.

The young man, Nel, sighs in deliberation.

“Anything you could tell me would be helpful. I’ve got a friend in Secester that I haven’t heard from in a while. I’m a little bit worried.”

The innocent lies roll cleanly off my tongue. Takes me back.

“If you ask me, your friend is most likely just fine. His goal isn’t to harm anybody.”

I bring the paper closer to myself, looking at the picture. The flames bursting out the windows, pitch black smoke bellowing. His goal isn’t to harm anybody – I’d like to think he’s right. But why would he say that? I’ll take a gamble.

“Actually, I was afraid my friend is, how do I say it, involved with them. Not, the other way.”

Nel seems rather calm through my statement. Almost with an itching excitement beneath.

“Is that so?” He says. “Say, Chris, if you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

I respond immediately. He ponders it for a moment.

“By any chance, you wouldn’t happen to be going to go see that friend of yours. Coming from so far and all.”

“No, I was just…”

I let the unconfident words linger, trying not to make eye contact. Nel looks me up and down with an accusing glare, before he finally gives in.

“Tell you what.” He says. “Let me give you some things.

A flick of his head motions me to follow. He takes me by the stacks of papers and into the back room. There are two open office rooms on the side, but we walk right by them. Four desks stand in the opening at the end of the hall, each of them swamped with years worth of files. There’re two other people rushing about the room. Janice, and another lady. They see me following their colleague but neither pays me much attention.

Nel stops at one of the desks and sits on the rim of his chair, in front of the stack of papers on it. Starting from the top of his desk, he quickly rifles through the stacks, keeping only a select few in a separate pile. Moving along the drawers running down the side of the desk, they swing open, carrying only a loose sheet or two each.

There’s a lock on the bottom shelf, but it’s already turned open. He opens the drawer, but there’s nothing there. His back shoots back up, looking to each of the two ladies in the room..

Nel stands anxiously. His eyes dart across the room.

“Janice, did you do anything with the box I had in here?”

Janice replies with her arms and face full of paper.

“That? I put that in the trash. What were those anyways?”

“Just my snack.” He says, as he frantically rushes out of the room. Janice chimes in but he’s already out of sight.

“You’re not planning to eat those still, are you?”

She places her papers on a desk, dusts off her hands, and gives a big sigh.

“That Nelson. Why don’t you go check on him for me? Make sure he’s not fishing food out of the trash.”

I make my way out of the room. After peaking through the few doors, I find my way into the warehouse. The ceiling is high with metal beams and rows of shelves beneath. There’s minimal light, but under one of them is Nel, ripping open a garbage bag, with several more around him. He notices my presence, but continues swimming through it all.

Then he finds it.

A cookie box.

----------------------------------

A soft wind dampens the sounds of the city night, as the lights drown out the stars. From up above, the few people still walking about look like lost ants, scurrying in and out of the streetlights.

My arms hang over the railing. I don’t flinch at the wide view of the ground; it’s the breeze that scares me. Plucking the sheets of treasured paper from my grasp, carrying them into the darkness, but that should be the least of what’s on my mind.

A box lies by my feet.

‘I'm going to die soon.’

Nel's cryptic parting plays itself on repeat. He spoke it in a whisper, mumbling to himself. A justification.

I flip through the pages once again, the words illuminated by the dim balcony lamp. My eyes scan each word, but without much purpose. The sentences are constructed in my memory. Everything that I might have missed I've already caught.

I close the pages along the crease, then join the rustic paper box on the frozen concrete.

‘What is this?’

‘Just what it looks like.’

I take a matchbox from one of my pockets. A hand covers the other, the sudden anxiety dispersing when I feel the flat surface of old letters.

‘Is there something important inside?’

‘…listen very carefully to what I'm about to tell you alright?’

I strike a flame, and lay it in the box. It burns out quickly, failing to light the stiff cardboard.

‘We’re not supposed to publish anything that he’s said, but I couldn’t help but find myself somewhat interested in his speeches.’

A spark rises on the fifth matchstick. I draw a ring of flame around the edges.

‘I wrote down every word I've ever heard him speak.’

‘But it’s just cookies in here.’

‘There’s a fake bottom.’

From the fire, a black mist rises into the night. It flickers solemnly, amidst a sleeping city. I take Nel's papers, reading them over a final time, before lowering them into the blaze.

‘You're giving this to me?’

‘What does it look like I'm doing?’

‘Thanks, it'll be a big help.’

“Before you get too ahead of yourself, let me remind you that that isn’t something either of us should have.”

A black spot grows from the edges, as the papers shrink in the heat. Along the edges, the dust begins to drift among the sparks.

‘Why, are you helping me, so much?’

‘What's that?’

‘Never mind, it’s nothing important.’

‘If you say so.’

The crackling of the flames is serene. As I listen through the disorderly sparks, a melody plays in my memory. A tune for the fire.

‘You know, you remind me of someone I just met.’

‘Really? That’s a first for me.’

‘Quite a fellow he was.’

‘I'd imagine so.’

‘Anyhow, what are you still doing here? Go find that friend of yours.’

‘Of course.’

I watch as the flames consume the rest of the pages. The fire burns brighter, then weakens. When the papers are no more, it continues burning along the box. It flies high once more, as a fresh breeze passes by. And only shortly after, it’s gone. The scorched chars remain a lifeless face.

“I'm going to die soon.”

I whisper to myself.

----------------------------------

There’s a loud thump, as the air parts way for the stack of books releasing from my sore arms. I look around, expecting many judging eyes, but there’s no one else at the table. Except for one.

I pull out the chair beside her and sit in front of my pile of books.

“That’s quite the stack you’ve got yourself there.”

Claire has a large reference book open.

“Don't worry, I'm a fast reader.”

She reaches over without much of a warning, taking the first book on my pile. The way she holds it in front of her face makes it seem like a rabid animal.

“What is this? A picture guide to the cities of the world, this is a children’s book, did you want me to read this to you?”

I snatch the book out of her hands.

“I can read that just fine by myself, and just so you know, I’ve got some big kid books in here too.”

She brushes me off and returns to her book. I flip open my first page. My stack is between the window's light and the words. But the clouds of yesterday still linger, so there is no shadow.

Claire scans through few more lines, then shuts the cover without a sound.

“Hey, I've got a quick question for you.”

I push my book a bit to the side.

“Alright.”

“If you didn’t know me, and saw me for the first time, how old would you say I am?”

I take a good look at Claire’s face, then sit back in my chair and ponder it for a moment.

“You know, I don’t think you’ve ever actually told me your age.”

“All the better then.” She says, patiently.

I take another second to think.

“Fourteen.”

Claire looks out at the gray skies, seemingly unsurprised.

“That’s close enough, I guess.” She says.

The silent building fills the pause in our whispers. I wait for an explanation, but she keeps staring out the window, so I return to my book. I can’t read for long though.

“Okay, I have to ask.” I begin. “Why’d you want to know something like that.”

She blinks twice before looking to me.

“Well, since you asked,” she says, “I’m not completely sure yet, but I think I figured out why people keep giving us strange looks.”

She sits up straight, leaning into the backrest of her chair.

“When I was asking around yesterday, a lot of people told me that they left home when they were twelve. So, I mean, I’m sure you don’t need me to explain it.”

My hands stop, one still stuck in my pocket. Only now do I notice the slight tremor that has left my bones.

“You didn’t know that?” I ask.

She looks over, moving just her eyes.

“Didn’t know what?”

There’s nothing hidden behind her expression. My fingers run along the concealed envelope. I'm reminded of the words written inside.

“The thing you just said, people leaving home. Around twelve.”

My question strikes an interest with Claire, even if only a little. She shifts around in her seat, listening more intently.

“You mean you already knew?” She asks in return.

“Well not always, but somewhat recently at least.”

Her posture is still forward in her book, but her mind is in our quiet conversation.

“You know, I used to think I’d spend my entire life back home. But…”

Claire pauses to collect her thoughts.

“The outside world is a such a nice place, don’t you think? Makes me want to stay, for a while.”

I slip my hand down by my side, finding those two letters. Lingering over them, my fingers are still. I notice my breath, heavier than normal. Just a little longer, it tells me.

“Why do you call it the outside world? Don’t you think that’s a bit, I don’t know, far away?”

“Maybe, but that’s what I've always thought of it as.”

I try to look her in the eye, but it takes her a while to before she finally senses my gaze. Startled by my stare, she jumps back in her seat.

“Why are you looking at me like that you frightened me.” She exclaims.

I quickly look away.

“Sorry about that, I was just surprised.”

Through all the roughness of the fields, perhaps what I should really be surprised at is that this girl can still be so delicate, scared a mere stare.

A sentence from last night pops into my thought.

‘Even the strongest of us crumble under what we fear.’

I remember the breeze of midnight around me when I first read it. And the fires have in which it all burned.

Teri was the strongest of us. Under what she feared would be water, flowing water. A city by the river.

“Could it, really be you?”

I feel Claire’s head turning to look at me.

“What was that?” She asks, earnestly.

“What was what?”

“You just whispered something, didn’t you?”

“I guess I spoke out loud again, huh.”

“Was it anything important?” Claire asks.

My head rises to the gray skyline.

“Not really. Just thinking of an old friend.”

----------------------------------

The balcony door shuts behind me, and I pull closed the curtains. I place my hand over the empty tabletop, in the slit of morning sunlight, escaping the curtain's shadow. Next to the room’s exit, our two bags lie waiting. The zippers on either of them are opened, with the last few days clothing jammed back atop the neat piles below.

Claire is curled up on the floor between the beds, not yet halfway awake. But as my wary step brushes my shadow across her face, she wakes frantically, looking around dazzled before catching my eye.

“Didn’t get much sleep?” I ask.

She leans into her knees, putting a hand to her face.

“No.” She says.

I wait for another word, but Claire only stares into the floor.

“You should give the bed a try, it’s not as bad as it seems.”

The light returns to her eyes. She stands and places her pillow back on the still neatly made sheets.

“I tried it once before and it wasn’t really my thing.”

I walk back to where I came, pretending there was something that I was doing. The curtains which I only just closed open once again. A group of thin clouds drift among a blueing sky.

“When was that?” I ask.

“A long time ago.”

“Well, then maybe things have changed since then.”

Claire’s light footsteps pace over the carpet, but head nowhere.

“I highly doubt it.” She says.

I stretch my arm high above my head. Down my back I feel the mattress I awoke from swallowing me whole. It reminds me of how it used to be - whether I want to remember or not, before I'd become familiar with the stiff cots of the countryside.

“Hold on,” I spout out, as a realization hits me. “does that mean you’ve left home sometime before now?”

Claire replies with a just slightly insulted tone.

“I mean, yeah, what would make you think I haven’t?”

I turn to face her, putting on my best apologetic expression, but she’s facing the other way, not seeming to care or even notice. She stares in the direction of the front door, entirely motionless. She’s been doing that a lot, these past few days.

“So, what do you say. Is it time to leave?”

Claire's turns an ear just an inch.

“You’re sure?” She asks.

I nod, but I cannot tell if she’s looking at me. There’s an eerie pause. The clouds pass over the light through the glass door behind me.

“I’ve got an idea where we can head next.”

Claire responds as though she wasn’t even listening to me.

“You don’t think, we might have missed something, do you?”

As the morning’s shine returns, a fleeting hope grows from a forgotten slumber.

“I don’t think he’s here. And if we linger here any longer, it might end up becoming too hard to leave.”

Claire arches back, rising to height.

“No, you’re right.”

Stepping over to bag, shoving in the outlaying clothes before zipping it shut. She throws it over her back and puts a hand on the doorknob.

“Let’s go.” She says, decisively.

My finger flickers, reaching out towards her, but my hand doesn’t follow. I find it instead covering my pocket.

“Hold on,”

Claire turns.

“I haven’t even told you we’d be going yet.”

She opens the door, and stands in the doorway.

“Tell me at the station, before I change my mind.”

“That’s not quite what I meant.”

There’s a moment as Claire decides whether she should close the door or not. As I hear the knob click shut, I continue my warning.

“I think I should go alone.”

There’s an expression of abandonment on her face. She replies quickly and messily.

“Why not, where is it?”

Her response to my neglect breaks my brittle resolve.

“You ever hear of the city by the river?” I ask. As expected, she shakes her head no.

“It’s called that because there’s a river that runs through the city. But I think it’s strange because this city also has a river running through it, and it’s much larger.”

Claire doesn’t seem too interested in my geography lesson. She’s just waiting for the catch. But perhaps I can hold off on that for a while.

“It’s on the island, so we’d have to take a ferry.”

Her silence is only broken when she realizes I’m done talking.

“Is that it?” She asks.

“Yeah.”

“So, then, why would you have to go by yourself?”

I reply with an improvised answer.

“I thought there might be another storm.”

The look I’m given is one that can’t choose between being relieved, or dumfounded.

“You worry too much.” Claire says. “They’ll cancel the boats if there’s a storm coming. And you could have just asked me about it earlier instead of waiting all the way until now.”

“Sorry about that, I’ll be sure to next time.”

She seems satisfied with that, but I can see the doubt within her beginning to bloom.

“Why do you want to go there anyways?” She asks.

My reply is a wary one.

“Just a hunch.” I tell her.