It was a terrible scream that woke him up, echoing incessantly in his mind. She always woke up earlier and stared at him, thinking. He could feel the unsettling weight of being watched, just on the edge of waking. What was she thinking? He’d liked to know.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

The roof was leaking in a slow, monotonous rhythm. 

His room was painted in shades of dark grey; the shadows twisted and turned into each other like living things. Since the power went out, the old house seemed less appalling to him. His mind was hazy—momentary embers of understanding glowed in the mist but whenever he stretched out his hands to seize them, the wind would toss them away toward the shadowy clouds.

Something was missing. He had lost something, but couldn't remember what.

The gun.

He got up, scanning the melded hues of darkness. The old repeater rested against the wall where he had left it. A faint glint of light flickered across its surface. He had been fascinated with it ever since he found it in the basement. It was an object of absolute intrigue—an instrument of life and death. Anything can take a life, but none as efficiently as a bullet. But where were the bullets? He couldn’t remember. Perhaps that was what he lost.

He carefully walked downstairs, the wood creaking beneath him. The windows framed a grey sky, in that eerie moment just before day succumbed to night. There was no wind, no rustling leaves—only silence. Everything stood motionless as if holding its breath or not breathing at all. The tyrannous house stood indifferent; it had fortified its walls and frames against time, while he withered. The years had been kinder to it than to him, and that made him hate it even more. He was young yet old; Too old. He could always feel his body decaying, abandoning him. As if reminding him he had lost time.

His baggage from the city sat by the door. The sight of it sent a jolt through him, thoughts rushing back—his family, his friends, things he had left behind. He felt weak. He realized he hadn't thought of them in the past few days. With her, he had felt invincible. Liberated. He wasn’t being evaluated and marketed. He was already hers. Yet the omnipresent fear clung to him like his shadow. With her, he wasn’t afraid. He was terrified.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

The sound was getting louder, like a tedious argument, building toward a daunting question.

What did he miss? What was lost?

He was getting frustrated—no, angry. There were so many things to be angry about. She had caught a cold. Why was she never careful? He thought to himself as she rested her head on his shoulder, sitting beside him on the ferry. But he couldn’t stay angry at her. That was impossible. She always got her way. And he was her way, she had assured him.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Each sound sent a spike of pain through his skull as if they pulsed in perfect unison.

He lit a candle and looked around. The shadows recoiled and made a restless circle around him. The light kept them at bay, but with each flicker of the flame, they rushed back to reclaim their territory. There was nothing there. Had it always been this empty? He was sure there had been piles of things he meant to examine before; He wasn't sure how long ago. he had lost track of time, and that made him anxious. He couldn’t afford to lose time.

There was something he had to do. Something important.

He had promised he wouldn’t fail. But what was it?

He had been so busy before. And now, finally free, he could do it. If only he could remember what. He went to search the basement and slowly descended the stairs; it was dark, in the room they rented. He could barely see her, a silhouette on the bed. Next to her, he felt at peace, complete equilibrium. He held her in his arms. Her skin—unlike anything he had ever touched. Yet his fingers felt numb. His senses muted as if he wasn’t truly there. As though he was a ghost in someone else's body.

He could see, as if from an invisible window, his real self standing in that dark basement.

The man in the basement met his gaze. And didn’t recognize him.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

The sound had become maddening, thunderous. He stumbled back upstairs.

The wind was howling. Or was it a faint scream? A cacophony of whimpering animals and screeching voices. He couldn't tell if it came from outside or from within. But In his heart, he knew that it was about him; he had the uneasy sense that something had slipped through his grasp. The inescapable thought that there had been a moment—maybe many—when he could've changed everything.

He moved hesitantly toward the sound. 

The puddle was next to the gun.

Black—no, red.

A steady trickle of glittering drops fell from the ceiling.

Terror gripped him. The air thickened, each second stretching and twisting. Whose blood is this?

He reached for the repeater. The metal was ice cold and slick, soaked in red stains. A violent shudder ripped through him. The candle slipped from his grasp and struck the ground. The dry wood instantly caught fire and illuminated the room. From the point of impact, color-giving branches grew like vines in every direction, curled and curved as in an impressionist painting.

And then—

He saw himself.

The mirror caught his reflection.

His skin was grey, pulled tight over his skull like rotten parchment. Eyes—bulging, bloodshot—seemed too large for their sockets, as if they had been forced open for far too long. His neck—drenched in scarlet red. There it was again, the deafening scream. She was standing in front of him, looking into his eyes. Her eyes were luminous in tears. She abruptly kissed him and whispered, “I love you.” He froze. How hadn’t he said it until now? How could he forget?

Her voice trembled, but his did not. “I love you too.”

The platform speaker announced: “Last call.” The train was about to depart. She stood on the other side of the window, watching him.

One moment.

One blink.

She was gone.

And there he was again, his old, familiar self. Struck quite senseless, he was as fixed from motion as one who saw the triple necks of the hellhound. The weight of it all crashed into him. No longer dulled. No longer muted. He felt it all. He felt the blood running down his neck. The underground train screamed terribly against the tracks.

Louder. And louder.