Petra

  It was the sound of birds chirping outside her window that woke Petra from her slumber, ocean-blue eyes sliding open to regard the world through a blurry haze. A thin stream of light penetrated through the blinds at her side, illuminating her room just enough to be annoying to someone who was trying to sleep. As usual, the temperature beyond the comfort of her duvet was colder than she would have liked it. As usual, she was alone.

  Letting out a forlorn sigh, she abandoned the thought of further shut-eye, and turned to stare at the analog watch she kept on the bedside table. A distinct urge to scream welled up in her chest as she read out the position of the two hands.

  She had only managed a measly four hours of sleep.

  This would be a shitty day.

  Dragging her aching body up into a sitting position, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the opposite side of the room. Chestnut-colored hair ran in messy curls about her slender frame, bedecked by drowsy eyes ready to close on a moment’s notice. Chapped lips and a thousand-yard stare belied any notion of well-being, no matter the flimsy justifications she gave to the people in her life.

  She tore her eyes from the mirror’s surface, and down towards the ground, where a heap of clothes lay spread out in a state of disarray… though, at this point, anything else would be unusual. Her bedroom was always messy – it was a simple fact of life, as commonplace as the need to breathe. Maxwell had teased her for it on numerous occasions, but it had always been in the spirit of friendly banter, and never enough to properly offend. In fact, this one time, he had even-

  She forced her mind away from the memory just in time to avoid having another breakdown.

  Shit… she thought to herself once the initial bout of shivers had passed. That was close.

  Picking out a dark-blue shorts and a crinkled white top from the chaos, she promptly rose from the bed, got dressed, and left the room without so much as a single look back. Making the bed was not a practice she had ever bothered with, and she was certainly not about to start now.

  The hallway beyond her room was empty, though she could hear her parents milling about downstairs in the kitchen. The refreshing scent of coffee came wafting up from the open stairway to her right, permeating the air with its rich and alluring aroma. Tired as she was, the siren’s call of caffeine became too much to bear as she dragged her feet through the hallway, past her parents’ room and down the wooden steps.

  “Morning, sweetie,” her mother called as Petra came trudging in to the kitchen, rubbing at her tired eyes with a balled-up fist. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Not really,” Petra replied, eyeing the half-drained pot of coffee on the table with obvious yearning. “Too cold.”

  “You could always close the window,” her father offered from behind his newspaper featuring a front-page article about some far-off military conflict. “Though I know you’re not going to do that.”

  “It wasn’t too cold before,” she said, feeling petty just from uttering the words. “I didn’t have to close the window then.”

  Her father offered a pointed silence in response, making the pettiness seem all the more distinct and unwarranted. He was right, of course. Closing the window would solve her problem. But the temperature of her room was not the real issue at play here, and they all knew it.

  “Well, at least you’re up now,” her mother continued, breaking the tension with practiced finesse. “There is coffee in the pot, and sandwiches in the fridge. Your father and I have already eaten. We’ve got to be at the bakery in less than thirty minutes, so you’ll have to make do on your own.”

  “Can I come too?” Petra asked, catching them both by surprise. Her father lowered his newspaper to look at her, his brown hair and chocolate eyes peeking out over the top.

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” her mother grimaced, wrinkles creasing her forehead. “Are you sure you’re feeling up for it?”

  “I’m sure,” Petra shrugged, opting for the “nonchalant-and-indifferent” angle, even though she was anything but. “It beats sitting around here, at least.”

  “Weren’t you supposed to meet up with Bianca and Jason today?” her father asked. “To go to that… thing, whatever it was?”

  “The opening of the new youth center,” Petra sighed. “And you remembered that, huh? Was kinda hoping you wouldn’t, to be honest.”

  “Sweetie, you know you can’t keep ignoring them forever,” her mother said. “They’re your friends. They just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Petra said. “It’s just… well… seeing them reminds me so much of-”

  “We know,” her father interjected. “You don’t have to say it.”

  She bit down on her lower lip and nodded, thankful for the intervention. They had spoken little of Maxwell since the funeral. His name had become something of a loaded gun to them, a subject to be treated with extreme care and caution.

  “Either way, I think you should go,” her mother continued. “It’ll be good for you. And besides, you were the one making a point of being ready to work at the bakery today.”

  “… Okay, fine,” Petra said. “I’ll go. Now can someone please pass me that pot of coffee? My body wants caffeine, and it wants it now.”

  /-0-\

  A collection of modern houses separated by hedges and driveways stretched out in front of her as she stepped out into the misty gray of a cloudy morning. At a glance, the neighborhood seemed the poster-child for the idyllic suburban fantasy of middleaged individuals tired of small apartments in the big city. And though it was not a gated residential, it still retained some of the exclusivity offered by controlled entrances and hidden backyards.

  A cold gust of wind elicited shivers from the chestnut-haired girl as she began walking down the largely vacant streets, meandering about with the sluggish movements of a person trying their hardest to avoid making progress towards their destination. It was painfully obvious to her that she was not yet ready to face her friends, but alas… their reunion could be delayed no further. She was the one who had agreed to the damn thing in the first place, after all.

  The overcast weather did little to help with her already sour mood. The featureless gray that permeated the skies above cast the world in a drab light that seemed to sap the energy from any and all who dared venture forth from the comfort of their abodes. Not that it mattered much. Every day since the funeral had been drab and colorless to her. It could have been nothing but blue skies and sunshine out, and she still would have felt it to be barren and desolate. An empty world taking another meaningless breath for the sole purpose of existing, without much rhyme or reason.

  The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and dew-laden grass. As Petra strolled down the quiet street, the suburban landscape slowly opened up into wider fields and wooded areas. The distance between houses grew bigger and bigger, until at last there was nothing but open road and concrete pavement in front of her, stretching off into the distance.

  It was not a particularly long walk to the new youth center, but at that moment, she felt more alone than she had in years. The monotonous click of her sneakers against the pavement created a rhythmic melody that seemed to harmonize with the stillness of the morning. A constant reminder of her loneliness, wrought in the sound of shoes on concrete.

  A memory of the distant past resurfaced from the depths of her mind. An image of her and Maxwell walking hand-in-hand down this exact road, some two years ago. She recalled the smile on his lips as he had told her an anecdote from the week prior, when he had gone fishing with Jason for the first time. They were both wholly inexperienced with the sport, which had resulted in some amusing disasters and a very disappointing haul by the end of the trip. She had laughed more times than she could remember during his retelling of it. It had been a good day. A happy memory.

  Now, it hurt more than she had ever thought possible.

  It was ironic, in a morbid sort of way. She had been the one to initiate the break-up, in order to put some distance between them, so she could get her thoughts in order. To make some space for herself, outside of their relationship. Now, she would have given anything to have him back.

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  The appearance of another tore her from her musings, as black hair and dark eyes manifested in front of her. It was Jason. She had seen him coming on his bike, but had failed to truly register his approach before he was standing right in front of her. He wore an anxious expression as he looked her up and down, his mouth twisted into an awkward smile.

  “Hey there,” he said, somewhat sheepishly.

  “Hey,” she said, her voice a dull monotone.

  There was a moment of silence.

  “It’s good to see you again,” he tried.

  “Likewise,” she said.

  Another silence.

  “You doing okay?” he asked, though she could tell he was starting to struggle now. It was the way his eyes moved, bouncing from one place to another, never resting, never settling. She could not blame him for it. They had barely spoken to each other in two months.

  “I’m… doing,” she said with a slight frown. It felt accurate to her. She was not doing okay. She was simply… doing.

  “Figures,” he sighed. “It’s been… hard, for us too. These last two months. We miss him a lot.”

  “Yeah, well…” she said, letting the rest of the sentence die on her lips. She did not want to lash out at him when he was only trying to help. It would not be fair, and it would not make her feel any better.

  “We also want to apologize for, you know… calling you so much,” he grimaced, running a nervous hand through his hair. “I know we should have just left you alone after the funeral, like you told us to, but… well, we were just so worried about you, and-"

  “It’s okay,” she said, cutting him off. “I appreciate you guys looking out for me. It’s just… I needed a little time, that’s all.”

  “Hey, I totally get that,” he said, throwing up his hands. “I mean, you and Max were… were…”

  “Close,” she finished, trying her utmost to ignore the sudden pain in her chest. “We were close.”

  “Yeah…”

  He gave her a long look then, without flinching this time. At once, she felt herself begin to unravel. Her flimsy composure would not hold up under scrutiny. As soon as he started to dig a little deeper, she would break, and it would not be pretty. In fact, she could already feel the tears starting to build up in the corners of her eyes now, as her throat constricted and her chest tightened and…

  “Come here,” he said, opening his arms to her with a sigh. “Something tells me we could both use a hug right about now.”

  She just about managed to keep herself together as she walked into his embrace, and felt his arms wrap themselves around her. It felt good. Better than good, even. The only thing she had been hugging lately was her pillow, and the pillow could not hug her back. This, however… this was the real thing, the kind of hug that left you feeling all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

  “I’m sorry, Petra,” he whispered in her ear as he held her close, finding the words at last. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “I know,” she breathed, her voice aquiver. “I’m sorry too.”

  And then… she cried. Not the wailing, snivelling sort of crying, the kind that tore you in half and left you hollow afterwards. Just a quiet sob, a strained whimper choked out past closed lips. Jason kept her in his arms the entire time, his chin resting on the top of her head as she shook. And for the first time in months, Petra felt safe, and protected, and free to let her emotions take over, if only for a moment.

  It did not last long, of course. She had cried so many times since the funeral by now that she was surprised she even had tears left to spill. There was only so much weeping a person could do before they started to feel like they had nothing left to give. But no matter how many times she broke down, the underlying sadness never went away. The pain itself never faded. It was always there, right beneath the surface, just waiting for the next moment of weakness to rear its ugly head.

  Maybe that was just a normal part of grieving. Petra would not know. She had never lost someone before. It was all… so very new to her.

  “There we go,” Jason said with his chin still on her head. “You feeling better now?”

  “A little bit,” Petra sniffled, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you,” Jason breathed. “You’re an excellent hugger.”

  “Bianca catches you saying that and you’re done for,” she smiled.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “I think she’ll be willing to make an exception… for a friend.”

  She tilted her head back to look at him, her eyes puffy and damp with tears.

  “I’m sorry I avoided you guys,” she said.

  “And we’re sorry we didn’t give you the space you needed,” he said, before bringing her back in for another hug. This time, she did not cry.

  She just smiled.

  /-0-\

  “How are you guys doing, by the way?” Petra asked as they were walking down the road together some time later, Jason pushing his bike next to him. The sun had started to peek through the clouds by now, casting slim rays of light down upon the duo and their surroundings. It seemed a touch melodramatic to Petra that the sun should choose this moment to reveal itself, now that she had made up with Jason and they had shared a sensitive moment, but she supposed the universe had its own sense of humor sometimes that fell well outside the bounds of her control.

  “Well, it’s been… difficult, for both of us,” Jason said, taking a moment to consider her question before answering. “Max was such an integral part of our group, and it’s just… going to school without him, sitting in class without him, eating lunch without him… It all feels so strange, even now.”

  “I know what you mean,” Petra sighed. “Just yesterday, I came across this funny video online, and I immediately thought to myself: ‘oh, I should send this to Maxwell, he’ll love it’, just to remember that… that…"

  “He’s not there anymore,” Jason finished.

  She nodded, swallowing hard in an attempt to get rid of the lump that had formed in her throat.

  “It’s like that for me too,” he continued, his voice laden with some unknown emotion. “I keep finding these things everywhere that just… remind me of him. Like that one wizard mug he got me for Christmas in the third grade, or the stupid list we made of the girls in our year.”

  “The list?” Petra asked, cocking an eyebrow. “What kind of list?”

  “Oh, it was nothing special,” he shrugged. “Just a list of all the girls we would be willing to date, if we had the chance.”

  “Oh yeah?” she smiled, dipping her head ever so slightly to the right. “And was I on that list?”

  “Yes, you were,” he grinned. “Together with all the rest of the girls in our year.”

  “Yeah, that sounds about right for you two,” she giggled.

  “Hey, what can I say?” he smirked. “We believe in true equality. That all women should have equal opportunity to date us.”

  “Sure, honey,” Petra laughed. “Whatever gets you through the night.”

  The two continued their walk in comfortable silence, until at last, the road merged with a larger network of streets and buildings, bringing them in to the city proper. It seemed a busy day for Westbrook, as people were milling to and fro in great throngs, eager to make the best of a gray morning. Petra took comfort in the ebb and flow of hurried footsteps and the distant hum of traffic. It was like a gentle reminder that the world kept spinning, even with everything that had happened. Even without him.

  Jason pointed to something in the distance, presumably the new youth center that had been the talk of the town for the past couple of weeks. It had taken years, but at last, the renovations were complete, and the grand opening a mere handful of minutes away. A large crowd had gathered outside the main entrance, consisting predominantly of teenagers and young people she recognized from their school.

  Petra was just about to comment on it when she felt… something… poking at the edges of her consciousness. A tiny pinprick of emotion, deep within her mind, calling out in a muted whisper. A touch of the unknowable, grazing her senses.

  She turned her eyes to the side, for some reason she could not specify. And there, on the opposite side of the road, she noticed a strange man, looking in her direction.

  He appeared to be in his late fifties, with tufts of gray hair poking out from underneath a black top-hat. A pair of round glasses sat atop a pointed, wrinkled nose, the irises of his eyes a striking white that seemed to pierce through the exterior of any man or woman in his path, to behold the naked truth within. The rest of his attire struck a reminiscent tune to that of the stereotypical gentleman from ye olden days, complete with a white shirt and bowtie underneath a black vest and coat. A wooden cane was clutched in his right hand, its surface carved with ornate symbols she did not recognize.

  He looked entirely out-of-place amidst the sea of people walking around him, his silhouette an anomaly against the backdrop of the mundane. They parted for him like a wave breaking upon a boulder, yet did not seem to register his existence in the slightest. The sight frightened Petra to no end.

  … Who is that?

  As she watched, the man opened his mouth to speak. Slowly, slowly, she saw it move, uttering words she could not hear. And then…

  The entire world froze.

  All sound disappeared in the blink of an eye. The ambient noises of the world rendered mute, as if at the press of a button. Not even the wind could be heard, its ubiquitous presence now entirely missing.

  The people around them were like statues captured in motion, limbs outstretched but performing no movement. Next to her, Jason’s mouth hung open, his tongue curled up in pronunciation of a word not yet spoken; his eyes locked in place, staring at nothing.

  “W-What… What is happening?!” Petra gasped, her features cast in shades of terror. “Who are you?!”

  “You needn’t worry,” the unknown man said, his voice a lilting melody, like honey and sweet nectar. She could hear him clearly, despite the fact that they were standing on opposite sides of the road. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  “What is going on?” she pressed, her breathing coming in shallow bursts. “Why is everything frozen?!”

  “A mere curtesy, my dear, extended so that we may speak freely, without interruptions,” he continued, pushing the bridge of his glasses further up his nose with a gloved finger. “Again, there is no cause for alarm. I am not your enemy.”

  “You’re not answering my questions!” Petra screamed, feeling her mind begin to unravel. “Who are you?! Why are you here?! What’s happening to me?!”

  “Oy vey,” the man sighed, tapping his cane against the concrete. “You are being unnecessarily loud.”

  Petra tried screaming again, but this time, no sound escaped her lips.

  “There we go. Much better,” he nodded. “Now we may talk. Or, rather, I may talk, and you may listen.”

  Petra looked at him with fear in her eyes and ice in her veins. Nothing about this made sense to her. Not the slightest bit of it.

  “In the interest of being open and honest, I feel the need to inform you that proper protocol dictates I avoid speaking with you like this, no matter the circumstances,” the man continued, his white eyes shining with an otherworldly glow. “However, I have considered the circumstances, and deemed them egregious enough to warrant the use of drastic measures. And so, there is little point in entertaining the notion that I am bound by some unknown code or ruleset, for I assure you, I am not.”

  Petra did not know what to think, or even feel. Her thoughts were like a raging tempest, straining against the boundaries of her mind. Having your perception of reality smashed to a thousand pieces right before your very eyes tended to have that effect on a person.

  “I can see that you are confused,” the man said. “And that is an understandable reaction to have, given the situation. What you have to understand though, is that… you were never supposed to exist. Or, wait… Maxwell was never supposed to exist. I think.”

  The man scratched at his non-existent beard.

  “These things always get so messy,” he grimaced. “And my memory is not what it used to be. I must apologize.”

  Petra had never felt more lost in her entire life.

  “Either way, the important part is this...” he said, locking eyes with her once more. “You need to come with me right this very second. In fact, it is imperative that you do.”

  … What? Petra blinked. The man sighed.

  “Maxwell isn’t dead,” he said, with a note of exasperation. “And he needs you. Now.”

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