I’m floating, completely weightless as I hover just above the ground. I look to the sky as it calls my name. “Erin,” the voice whispers, “come explore.” As soon as the thought enters my mind, I’m off. Flying among the clouds, rising and falling as if controlled by the tides. 

I’m floating, completely weightless as I hover just about the ground. I look to the sky as it calls my name. “Erin,” the voice whispers, “come explore.” As soon as the thought enters my mind, I’m off. Flying among the clouds, rising and falling as if controlled by the tides. 

I always imagined the clouds as fluffy white marshmallows. Instead, they dissipate as soon as I reach for them–dewy mist rolling over my hand and through my long brown hair as it flutters on the wind. They disappear to reveal the landscape below. My little town of Mason in all it’s humble glory. How long have I yearned to leave this place, to find freedom outside the confines of this one-light town? 

“Faster,” the voice calls out again. 

I push myself, higher, farther, faster. In an instant, my hometown is gone, only a blur of green and blue lie below me now. I breathe, really breathe for what feels like the first time in ages. I have no idea how fast I’m going until the green disappears, leaving only a blurry ocean of blue. The ocean! How have I gotten all the way to the coast? I loop back around to view the coastline, over 400 miles away from home. 

A shadowy figure appears before me. I skid to a stop. Can you skid in the sky? He floats as dark smoke encircles him. I can’t make out his face. Does he even have a face? The air cools, the sky darkens around us. Something is wrong. The figure extends a dark wisp towards me. Suddenly, I feel the relentless pull of gravity tug at my legs. 

I’m falling. I reach out to the figure, begging for help, then turn to see the ocean getting closer and closer. I squeeze my eyes tight, I can’t watch. 

My alarm goes off as I feel myself crash, not into the ocean, but into my own bed. I turn over and smack the alarm off, content to continue lying here reliving my dream. If I focus, I can almost taste the clean, crisp air of the sky. I live in a world where heroes are more than just imagined stories. People can harness the powers of ice and fire, move mountains with a single push, or float on the clouds. Or at least they could. The last Super disappeared over a century ago. No one left but us norms, relegated to the world of the mundane. And none more so than my small corner of the world, the little speck on the map that is mundane Mason. 

“Mom! Erin is still asleep!” My annoying little brother Ethan is standing at my door wearing his typical superhero mask and cape. At only eight, a full decade younger than me, I firmly believe his sole purpose in life is to annoy me. 

“Shut up, Ethan,” I say as I throw my pillow at him. He runs and hides, as he always does.

“Erin,” my mother yells from the kitchen. Somehow she manages to still make us breakfast every morning despite working double shifts at the hospital as much as possible. She insists it’s her motherly duty, but we know it’s the only time she has with all three of us–me and the twins, Ethan and Katie. My Dad died three years ago, and now with my going off to college at the end of summer, I think she’s trying extra hard to hold onto any sort of tradition she has. “Get up!” 

“I am up!” I call down to my mother. The feeling of the sky lingers on my skin. It may be just a dream, but it’s the same one I always have. Every time it leaves me feeling emptier and even more trapped than before. 

Two more months, I tell myself. It’s cliché, I know, the small-town girl wanting to get out and go make something of herself in the big city. It’s not that I dislike Mason, it’s a great town to grow up in. Everyone knows everyone else. Knows their problems too, their past. I can’t walk down a street in this town and not be assaulted with the lingering looks of pity from people who knew my Dad. 

It doesn’t help that it seems like every corner holds a memory of him either—the ice cream shop where he took us to celebrate after my first softball game. We lost, miserably, but you’d never know it based on the amount of ice cream he bought. The light post I nicked when he let me sit on his lap and drive the car when I was only 12. The tree outside my window that holds an unfinished treehouse he was building for Ethan. Down the street, the cemetery that holds his gravestone. 

“Ethan, tell your sister breakfast is ready.” I can hear my mom perfectly fine, but for some reason, she loves to give Ethan jobs. Maybe it keeps him busy, but all I know is how he executes those jobs typically leaves me annoyed. 

I hear him bounding up the steps making his flying noises for the Superman toy that never leaves his side. “Mom said–” he screams at the top of his lungs from my doorway. 

“I heard! I’m coming, Ethan. Thank you,” I add—two more months. 

Finally having made my way downstairs, I grab the TV remote and flick it on; I can’t stand silence in this house anymore. “Breaking news this morning, an explosion has rocked the city of Mason overnight,” says anchorman Rob Tobin. He has one of those faces that was just made for local news: square jaw, bright blue eyes, artificially white teeth, and very-apparently-artificially-tanned skin. 

“No TV at breakfast,” demands my mother. 

“Since when?” I say. 

“Since now. I only have two more months with you, and I’m not going to spend it with Rob Tobin yammering in the background. Now turn it off, please.” The dark circles under her eyes are even more apparent today. She didn’t sleep at all. Again. I know she tries to hide it for our sake, but I can tell, even the nights she doesn’t work a double, sleep evades her. At first, she turned to the bottle, but after she missed picking up Katie and Ethan once at school, she quit cold turkey. 

I turn off the TV and take a seat at the bar, a plate of bacon and eggs waiting for me. “Mom, it’s not like you’re never going to see me again. I’m only going three hours away, it’s UNC.” Not NYU, the school I wished I was going to. I got accepted, but even with financial aid, we could never afford the tuition, room, and board. And I think deep down, my mom needed me closer to help out with the twins. So I accepted the full ride to UNC instead. “And you know you don’t have to get up and make a full breakfast every morning.” 

“I know, but I love you kids, and that’s what mothers do. They put their kids first.” She smiles as she rubs the top of Ethan’s head, despite the exhaustion evident on her face. “And on that note, I need you to help me out today. Can you pick up Katie today?” 

Katie, the other half of the dynamic duo determined to overrule any plans I had of a typical day. If Ethan was the loud and obnoxious yin, Katie was the sweet and silent yang. But with that innocence came my desire to do anything and everything she needed. We all did. There was just something about her that made people love her. Last night was the first time she’d spent the night at her best friend’s house in three years. 

“Yea, I’ll get her. Any particular time?” I ask. 

“I haven’t heard from Mrs. Keller yet, but I imagine it’ll be sooner rather than later so just be–” 

A monstrous boom echoes outside, and our entire house shakes. 

“What the hell?” I say.

“Language,” my mother claps back. 

“Mom, really?” Another boom shakes the house. I run outside to see what’s happening. 

“Erin, be careful!” My mother screams as she holds Ethan back from following me. 

I can’t believe it. There’s a massive plume of smoke just down the street, people all running away from it. Another boom sounds behind me, but this time I see the source. A transformer blows on the other side of our house. Sirens erupt from every direction. 

I run back inside and flip on the news. Rob Tobin is still there, but smoke fills the studio. His tie is loosened, and he’s standing to leave. “I repeat, attacks are occurring across the city. Reports of explosions, fires, and,” he pauses, “ice storms? Are they back?” He questions an off-screen entity. With no answers forthcoming, he turns back to the camera, “The authorities urge everyone to get somewhere safe and stay there. God help us all.” 

The screen cuts to the rainbow emergency signal. I look to my mother. 

“I have to get to the hospital,” she says. The implications of the report are starting to set in as her eyes dart back’ n’ forth. She grabs her go-bag that she keeps in case of an emergency. Being an ER nurse means you may be called into work and not be able to leave for a few days. “I need you to get Katie, bring her home, and watch the twins. Can you handle that?” 

My mind is swimming with questions about the news report, explosions, fires, and ice storms? Could Supers really be back? How? Who are they, and where have they been? A familiar voice echoes in the back of my mind, clawing at it, itching to be set free. 

“Erin,” my mom pulls my focus. She’s grabbing my face, “can you handle this?” 

“Yea, of course,” I say. The voice disappears. “Go, I’ve got the kids.” 

“Okay,” she turns to my brother, “Ethan, I’ve got to go, okay, sweetie? But listen to Erin. Do everything she tells you to, okay? I need you to be strong for mommy, okay?” He is crying, clutching his Superman toy with both hands in front of him. 

“Yes, mommy,” he manages to get out between sobs.

“I love you both, be careful,” she says to me before turning to leave. I can’t help but feel a finality to her words like we will never be the same again after today.

“Okay, you two,” I say to Ethan and his Superman as I squat down to Ethan’s level, “this is our mission. We’re going to get ready and then go get Katie. Do you accept?” 

“I accept,” Ethan whimpers. He’s trying to breathe through the tears, I know he wants to be brave, and he will be. 

“Okay. Race you back here?” 

His eyes light up, he can never turn down a race. “It’s on!” He runs off towards his room. I swear he’s getting faster every day. I quickly throw on a shirt and sneakers and get to packing my own bag. If things get terrible, I know we can head to my grandfather’s house. We may live in a pitifully populated town, but he lives in the middle of nowhere. The only living things within miles of his place are either furry, have six legs, or are covered in leaves. 

Within minutes we’re in my car and headed to the Keller’s just a few blocks away to get Katie. The scene is something out of a movie—houses on fire, garage doors just opening and closing at random, sprinkler systems gushing out of the ground like Old Faithful. But no people to be seen. The usual hustle and bustle of the neighborhood are stalled. 

Something slams on my car window. Ethan screams. I turn to see a man, or what’s left of him. His entire face is burned, his clothes still on fire. I quickly try and cover Ethan’s face with his hood as I pull away. From my rearview mirror, another man is standing over the burnt one, with what looks like a fireball in his hand. Is he laughing? Fire shoots up into the sky as I turn the corner. 

“What’s going on!” Screams Ethan. He’s trying to get out from under my hand, holding his hoodie down. “Why was that man all red?” 

“It’s okay, just hold onto Superman for me. Keep your head down, okay? We’re going to have to make this a stealth mission.” 

“Like when Superman had to sneak into LexCorp to save Lois after she was kidnapped?” 

“Exactly,” I try to smile. The world is falling apart, I can’t fall apart with it if I’m supposed to be staying strong for the twins. Of all the nights for a sleepover! 

“Okay, you won’t even know I’m here, then.” Ethan scoots down into his seat, pulling his hoodie tight over his face. I can’t tell if he knows what is happening and ignores it or if he’s still in a state of blissful ignorance. I’m hoping for the latter and hoping it stays that way. 

The next street seems relatively unharmed. For the most part, the houses are still intact, but quiet, no one is around. My thoughts drift back to the laughing man standing over the burnt body. Did he have a fireball in his hand? What is going on in our town? I try to call my mom to make sure she got to the hospital, okay, but my phone won’t connect. It won’t even go to voicemail, it just says, “Call Failed.” 

Breathe, Erin, just get Katie and get somewhere safe. Grandpa’s place is looking better and better with every passing minute. Only two more blocks. 

“Tree!” A voice screams. My voice. I slam on the brakes as a tree slams onto the pavement in front of us. One branch catches the corner of the car–spinning us 90 degrees. I’m met with the face of a young woman. Brianna Cartwright, we had 3rd-period science together last year. She’s leaning on her knees, panting. She stands up and proceeds to what I can only describe as conjure fire in her fist as she hurls herself forward, flinging the burning ball of flame in our direction. I reach for Ethan, to cover him, to hold him, to do something as I close my eyes and wait for the heat to explode in front of us. 

It never comes. 

It flies over our car and explodes behind me. I turn to see another man, Logan Rios–Brianna’s ex-boyfriend, jump out of the way just before it hits him. In return, he picks up the truck he’s standing next to. Literally, picks it up, then throws it back at Brianna. 

She slides towards us, avoiding the airborne truck. Before I can even contemplate what is happening, she’s opening my door and pulling me out. 

“Get out of here, Erin, now. I’ll deal with Logan.” 

“Wait, what is going on?” I stammer. The questions fly from my mouth faster than I can even process them. “How is he lifting a truck, how are you flinging fire? What the hell is happening?” 

“Short answer, I have no idea. I woke up, and my hands were on fire. Then Logan comes shouting outside my house. Then he proceeds to throw a mailbox through my bedroom window. I put my hands out instantly to cover my face, but instead, fire shot out and destroyed the mailbox before it could even reach me. But you need to get out of here, Erin, take your brother and go. I don’t know what’s gotten into Logan, but he won’t talk to me, he won’t calm down.” 

“He’s a Hulk…” whispers Ethan from the passenger seat. I’d almost forgotten he was even there. The small caped crusader stands on his knees, looking out the back of the car to Logan, attempting to pull another tree from the ground. 

He finally pulls it free when Brianna yells at me. “Go!” She runs away from the car, drawing Logan’s attention away from Ethan and me. 

I slam on the gas, but we don’t move. The tires are just squealing, the smell of burnt rubber fills the air. I look out my window, and the tree that had caught the car earlier is now stuck underneath us. The tires can’t find any sort of purchase on the pavement. 

Ethan screams. I look up to see Brianna pinned underneath a light post. Logan lumbering towards her. He stops when Ethan screams, his attention now squarely on us. I unbuckle my seatbelt and fight to free Ethan. I can hear a roar erupt behind me, Logan is running towards us. I’ve never heard such a guttural sound from a human being before. Ethan’s buckle is stuck.

“Dammit! Come on, you stupid piece of–” It finally unlatches. I grab Ethan and make a beeline for the small yard between two houses. Ethan screams. I can feel the ground shuddering beneath me with every fall of Logan’s feet. 

“Faster…” the voice from my dream echoes again in the back of my mind. “I’m trying,” I scream. My foot catches a hose. I fall, cradling Ethan in my arms as I do. 

Logan lets out a loud roar. I open my eyes expecting him to be right on top of us. Instead, I see him on the ground 10 yards away, his shirt on fire. He rips it off and begins to run back towards Brianna, swatting away balls of fire as he does. She’s still pinned, but she’s firing back at him with everything she can. “Go!” She screams over the sound of her own fire. 

I pick up Ethan, and I run. I keep running. Running from Logan, from the burn victim, from the laughing pyromaniac. From the final thud that shakes the ground and the sound of fire falls to silence. 

The Kellers’ house is just around the corner. When my breath is long past gone, I slow and put Ethan down. “Are you okay?” 

He nods his little head, fighting back the tears as he does. He doesn’t need to say anything. I know he’s not okay, I’m not okay. The world has turned into a different place overnight, and I don’t even know which way is up anymore. 

“Are you hurt?” I ask as I squat down to his eye level. 

“No…,” he shakes his head. “I lost Superman.” I look back in the direction of the car. I didn’t grab it when I grabbed Ethan. Or maybe he dropped him somewhere along the way? I don’t know, but what I do know is I am not going back to find him. I’m getting Katie and getting out of this town. 

“I’m so sorry, Ethan. We’re going to find you another Superman, okay?” I tried to pull him into a hug, but he resists. 

“I don’t want another one! Dad bought me that one; that’s my Superman!” He screams as he begins to beat me with his tiny hands–tears streaming down his face, “We have to go back for him!” 

“Stop it, Ethan, stop!” I demand. “I’m sorry, but we have to get Katie first, okay? Don’t you want to go get Katie? Remember the mission.” He grabs my neck and pulls himself close. I feel the softness of his hair as he nuzzles his head against my face. I remember when Dad bought him that Superman, it was only a month before… before the accident. Don’t think about that now, Erin. I inhale, trying to force the tears back where they belong. Now is not the time. 

“Are you ready?” I ask Ethan as he slowly releases his grip on me. 

He responds with the most pitiful nod, “let’s get Katie.” 

“Let’s get Katie,” I echo. I look down the Keller’s street, they’re only a few houses down, and everything seems quiet. No hurdling balls of fire, no airborne trees, just silence. 

As we get closer, the air begins to cool. North Carolina in June has never been, nor will ever be, cold. But the chill is unmistakable. And it’s growing. As we approach the Keller’s home, I feel an ice-cold drop on my arm. Then another. And another. I look up to see the sky filled with snowflakes gently wafting down around their house, just their house. 

I leave Ethan on the front lawn as I step toward the front door. I knock, but the door slowly drifts open. I can hear the sound of cracking ice as it does. 

“Katie?” I call out, “Mrs. Keller?” I can see my breath. The entirety of the house is covered in ice, tiny snowflakes flitter across the room as if riding the air conditioning current. My hands begin to hurt, burning against the icy air. As I turn the corner into the kitchen, I see her. Katie. She’s sitting in the middle of the kitchen, the snow almost frozen still around her. She’s petting the dog sleeping on the floor. 

“Katie!” I yell as I run toward her, I almost slip three times on the slick floor. I finally slide in next to her and grab hold of her. My hands are now completely numb, my teeth chatter as I try to talk. “Katie, are you – are you okay?” I manage to get out at last. 

She sits in silence, still petting the dog. The dog that now upon further examination is rock hard. It’s not sleeping, it’s not moving a muscle, it’s not breathing. The poor thing is frozen solid. I look to Katie, she doesn’t even seem bothered by the cold. “Katie, sweetheart, we need to get you out of here, okay?” 

I struggle to my feet, the icy floor combined with my now frozen toes makes for an incredibly difficult time. My feet finally find purchase, and I carefully lift Katie up, she’s still not said a word, but she lets me pick her up. As I pass the living room again, I notice something I didn’t the first time. Amber Keller, Katie’s best friend, asleep on the couch. No, not asleep. She’s not moving either. Everyone in this house is frozen solid, everyone except Katie. 

“Katie!” Ethan screams as we walk outside. I can feel the warmth of the sun begin to thaw my hands, and I put Katie down.  

“Ethan!” She yells as she runs toward her twin brother, the pair lock each other in a solid embrace. “You came and got me.”

“Of course we did,” Ethan says with a beaming smile, “we’re a team, and no one gets left behind on a mission.”  

Katie giggles in return, then the pair look up at me. As if wordlessly asking ‘where to next?’ Where do we go next? I think. My phone still isn’t working, the car is unusable, but I’m sure we could… The Kellers. I turn back to their icy abode and the vehicle in the driveway as a grim thought crosses my mind. They won’t be needing their car…. 

“Alright, you two stay here. I’ll be right back.” 

“No, don’t go!” Screams Katie. “Please, it’s… It’s too cold in there.” Her head drops as if she knows what happened to the Kellers. She knows who’s responsible. 

“It’s okay, Katie,” Ethan says. “Erin likes the cold, right, Erin?” The little kid winks at me, actually winks at me. These two are smarter than I give them credit for. 

“That’s right,” I say, “I’ll be fine. And I’ll be right back. I just need to borrow Mrs. Keller’s car because we’re going to go see Grandpa.” The idea elicits a smile from both of the twins. Visiting Grandpa always involves cozy bedtime stories, plenty of games, and lots and lots of hot cocoa. Even in the dead of summer, those two would drink their weight in hot cocoa, and Grandpa knew that better than anyone. “Alright, you two lookout for each other, okay? If you see anyone, anyone at all you hide and wait for me to get back. Okay?” 

“Okay,” they echo in unison. 

I cross the creaking doorway into the Keller’s home for a second time, though thankful to find a hoodie conveniently draped on a coat rack next to the door. I try to avoid looking at young Amber on the couch, but I can’t. She almost seems peaceful. Frozen in an eternal dream. 

Thankfully the Keller’s are–were–the epitome of organization and I find their car keys dangling on the hook next to their refrigerator. A photo catches my eye. It’s the Kellers–Amber, her parents, her older brother, and their dog–all smiling at some picnic. Despite the cold, I feel that familiar heat forming behind my eyes. They were always there for us after the accident, bringing meals and toys for the twins. Her brother Tony was one of the few that didn’t look at me like I was only there to be pitied. Now they were gone too. Casualties of… I don’t even know what. What is going on? How did Katie not… Did she…? The answer was too painful to consider. I quickly grab the keys and head back for the door. 

I hear a scream. Katie. 

I run for the door to find Katie hiding behind Ethan. He’s staring defiantly down the street. I follow his gaze to see… No! Logan must have followed us. He’s barreling down the road directly towards Ethan and Katie. 

“No!” I scream. I run for them, desperate to push them out of the way of the juggernaut charging full force towards them. Time slows to a halt. Everything is still. I can see Logan down the street. I can see Ethan standing before him, his cape frozen mid-flap, Katie cowering behind him, her eyes closed so tight. They look so little, so helpless.

“Faster…” the same familiar voice echoes in my mind. It’s soft, barely a whisper. But this time, I let it grow. 

“Faster,” now the voice finds purchase in my soul. Time begins to move. With every step, the voice gets louder and louder.

“Faster!” it demands.

Logan is still bearing down on them, now only a few feet away. 

“Faster!” Now the voice is my own, screaming out for strength. I reach out to them. I push off into one final leap to protect them. To protect the last little bit of my father that exists in this world. I grab hold of them and brace for impact. 

Instead, a comforting sense of weightlessness comes over me. If there is pain, it’s not registering. I only feel like the soft embrace of air surrounding me. The warmth of the twins fills me. The only sound I hear is the tiny heartbeats drumming in their chests. I could fall asleep to the steady beating knowing that in this moment, this one moment, we’re together and we’re okay. 

“Erin!” yells out Ethan. I open my eyes to see Logan getting smaller and smaller. Ethan’s eyes are darting from me to Katie to the ground. The ground! It’s ten yards below us. We’re hovering just above the house. Logan never caught us, he never had the chance. I squeezed the twins tighter to me, afraid they would fall. 

“Higher,” whispers the voice in my head. I look skyward, the whole of the world opening itself to me. I pull the twins in closer and took off toward the sun. The sounds of girlish squeals and childish roars fill the air as we soar this way and that. From the clouds, we can see all of Mason below us. The twins call out each landmark as I fly through the sky. Flying, am I really doing this? I expect fear, concern, trepidation at being so high, but I feel none of it. It’s as if I was born for this, to walk amongst the clouds, to breathe real freedom. 

“Grandpa’s house!” calls out Ethan. We made it. I can’t believe how fast we made it here, but we did. I swoop in low, careful to land gingerly and set the twins down without alarm. We knock on the door and wait for what feels like an eternity for him to answer. I can only imagine what we look like based on his face when he finally does come to the door. Windswept is probably an understatement. The twins, especially Ethan, begins his regalement of the day. From the booms that shook the house to the fire lady, then the ice house, and finally to his big sister that can fly. My grandfather looks at me, not with fear or apprehension, with something else. Understanding? 

“Come in,” he says. “Your Mom called, I had a feeling you’d show up here.” 

Before I walk in, I turn back toward town. Only one thought pervades my mind, things will never be the same. 

So this one started small and I think it’s got more story in it than I originally thought. It’s about a 17-year-old boy living in the slums of London just outside of Saint Katherine’s docks in 1838. He does his best to make his way, but when a shiny bit o’ coin distracts him, his day devolves into more than he bargained for. This Part One, look out for Part Two next week

A salty breeze swirled up and around Henry Scott as he sat along the bridge near Saint Katherine’s docks, blowing his wavy brown hair this way and that while filling his head with all the possibilities held across the sea. This was his favorite spot in London. Yes, the smell was something wretched in the docks, but here, just outside along the Thames, the salt air purified his blighted existence if even just for a moment. He envisioned himself on one of those boats. One day, he’d tell himself. Until then he’d dream of adventures in far off lands.

Deckhands trying to navigate the narrow river shouted at each other as seagulls cawed overhead, begging for any scrap of food that might be available. They were only the noisiest beggars in a city filled with a starving, homeless population thanks to the newly finished docks. “Progress,” they said, “is what is needed to move into a new era of revolution!” What they really meant was, “We must purge the slums to make room for more wealth to enter the city.” All the while, the Tower of London presided over the disparity from its lofty throne next door. What did 11,300 poor people mean to a growing empire? Henry thought to himself. One more reason to get out of this hellhole.

Henry Scott, at only 17 years of age, found himself among the privileged few whose house wasn’t demolished in the name of progress, instead, he and his older sister Evie lived just north of the docks in the newly overrun slums. Tuberculosis and malnutrition were part of daily life and the rumors of cholera breeding in the docks didn’t bode well for any of them. They did their best though, Evie took jobs where she could find them, although Henry never asked where, and he himself worked at the docks whenever they’d have him.

The call-on bell rang in the distance, the sign that it was time to line up and hope he could find the promise of a day’s pay. He ran through the crowds of dockworkers and merchants already setting up their stalls along the quay. Splashes of red and green caught his attention and caused him to slow his pace. Apples. Henry’s favorite. It’d been years since he’d seen such fresh delicious fruit. He casually walked over to the merchant, inspecting the goods.

“Good morning, young sir,” said the merchant, “can I tempt you with some delicious fruit for breakfast. I’ll give you a first sale of the day price, only one sovereign for five of your choice.” The merchant cocked his head and raised his eyebrow as if to tell Henry that this was the best deal he was going to get. Henry wasn’t buying. Not only did he not have twelve pence to his name, let alone a pound, but he knew that a single sovereign would buy a whole bushel of apples anywhere else.

“Oh, sir, I would love to, but, ya see, me poor sister is sick and I have to send all me monies to pay for her doctor bills.” His sister was in fact not sick, but Henry was always one to con a con. He turned to leave, but his foot caught the leg of the display, sending apples rolling off and down the dock.

“Oh, sir! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” He meant too.

“That’s alright, son, no harm, no foul,” replied the merchant as the pair of them picked up the few apples that had rolled away. All except the one Henry pocketed in the ruckus.

“Best of luck to ya, sir!”

Henry waited until he was out of sight before indulging in the stolen sphere of sweetness. The snap of the skin, the burst of juices, the flavor of good memories flooded Henry’s senses. That last time he’d had an apple was his 14th birthday, his Mum had saved up to make an apple pie. Evie knitted him a new scarf and even his father had carved two wooden practice swords from driftwood so they could practice together. It was one of the last times his family had all been together.

Henry felt that familiar tightness forming in his throat. Not here. He shook away the thought of his family. He had somewhere to be, the worker line was already growing. A shout curtailed his attention from the line for a second time.

“Hey! Give that back!”

A group of older boys was hassling someone about something, again. It was the same group every day. Henry had known them back in school. That is until his Dad was laid off, when Henry had to quit school to start helping out the family. He never much cared for the lot of them though, ‘ruffians and thugs’ as Evie called them. Now, who are they picking on today, wondered Henry.

The crowds cleared enough to reveal a runt of a lad, five stone if he was one, and at thirteen could hardly reach the top of a horse if his life depended on it. But somehow the young Barnaby had wiggled his way into a soft spot in Henry’s heart and lodged himself there for good.

Henry took one last look at the call-on line, hoping he had time to fix the Barnaby situation and get in line while there was still work to be had.

He raced across the docks, jumping from one post to another, just in time to watch as one of the older boys slammed Barnaby down on the wet concrete.

“Right, well that doesn’t seem like a very fair fight, lads,” called out Henry as he landed at the entrance of the alleyway. “Why not pick on someone a little closer to your own size?”

“If it isn’t the mother robin, himself?” said the leader of the pack. He wasn’t a particularly bright boy, Stephen, but what he lacked in intelligence he made up for in sheer size and strength. He looked as if his father had been part horse, his face didn’t hurt the resemblance either. “Here to protect your little baby robin, are you, Henry?”

Stephen, flanked by his two cohorts, set his eyes squarely on Henry. He’d have to make a good show of force before things escalated too quickly. Henry laughed in the jolliest way he could muster.

“Robin? That’s a good one, Stephen. Could make a stuffed bird laugh, ya could.”

“Huh?” Stephen questioned. “What are you on about then?” Stephen stepped forward as if to attack, but Henry popped him square in the jaw sending the boy flailing backward. His foot tried to find purchase but instead found a freshly dropped dung, further adding insult to injury. Stephen reached for his now bloody nose.

“You’re going to regret this, orphan,” he said running away. “You can count on that!” His two cowardly cohorts quickly followed his lead and scampered off after their not-so-fearless leader.

“Wow, thanks, Henry. You saved me from a right batty-fang, ya did,” Barnaby said as Henry lifted up from the same position he’d been laying in during the whole exchange. “How’d you always manage to be where’s I need you when I needs you?”

“Damfino, ‘Nab. How come you always manage to need me bein’ places, huh? Can’t a man catch a break every once in a while?” Henry patted Barnaby’s hat back on, rustling his ruddy hair in the process. “You good though? I gotta get back in line.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Oy! Can I come?”

“‘Nab, you can barely lif’ yourself, how you gonna lif’ sacks onto a boat?” Henry asked breaking into a run back towards the line, leaving young Barnaby on his own once again.

• • •

“Sorry, lads, that’s it for the day,” called out the harbormaster. Henry had missed another day’s work. That was the third payday he’d missed in a week, he dreaded to picture the look of reprehension Evie would have waiting for him if he came home empty-handed again.

“Damned this wretched city!” cursed a rather portly man from Henry’s left. “How many days must we delay before departing, Etto? I’m due back in Philadelphia by the first of September. What do they expect me to do, flap my arms like one of these God-forsaken pigeons all the way back to America?”

America? That word piqued Henry’s interest. He’d dreamed of being able to visit the newly formed United States of America, but he’d never actually met an American yet. And yet in front of him stood two. The first man, the portly one, looked completely out of place in Saint Katherine’s docks. He had one of the finest coats Henry had ever seen outside the Tower. He had a dark wool tailcoat, almost white trousers without a stain on them, and a bright purple vest that looked like it was straight out of the Queen’s cabinet. Then he even managed to wear the biggest necktie seen this side of the pond, clearly, this man was not at all accustomed to the stifling heat of London in July. His face was so red that it looked to be scaring off his hair as it was silently running away from his face leaving the front of his forehead completely bare.

The other man though, he was a sight. Almost two meters high, easily 15 stone and skin as dark as night. He looked like something right out of a pirate story, a dark leather waistcoat with the sleeves cut clean off. His belt was just a bit of fabric tied thrice over but he carried himself with a dignity and dexterity that proved he probably knew how to handle to two short swords at his belt with ease should the need arise.

“Paperwork always seems to be the folly of punctuality, Mr. Rush, but don’t worry. I think we’ll be well underway before the week is up.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure you’re right, Etto. You normally are, my friend, with these sorts of things. I’ll just be happy to be back home. Something about being in London makes me weary that the British won’t just let us leave so easily anymore. Maybe this new Queen will be better.” The man, Mr. Rush as he was called, regarded two small gold coins in his hand. “What say you we go spend a little of this gold on some breakfast?”

“I would normally love to join you, sir, but I have some other matters I need to attend to before we ship out. I shall meet you back at the hotel this evening.”

“Ah, fair enough. And here,” he said tossing one of the coins at him, “at least make sure you eat something today. Can’t have my bodyguard wasting away.”

“Will do, sir.” The man, Etto, placed the coin into a small pocket underneath his cloth belt. That little coin of gold was enough to feed Henry and his sister for at least a week. Henry wanted that coin.

Etto helped his friend into a nearby Hansom cab and then made his way towards the center of town. Henry navigated the small, bustling streets of London, keeping a close eye on the man Etto. He fancied himself a decent enough pickpocket but preferred to wait for the perfect opportunity to present itself.

And present it did.

In one particularly busy intersection, the crowd erupted in screams as an out of control horse and carriage threatened to take out anyone too foolish to move. A woman and her young child stood frozen in the fray. Move, damn you, thought Henry as he watched the scene unfold, bloody move! Henry’s muscles tensed as he prepared to leap into action, but someone beat him to it. Etto was already there and pulling the pair out of the way just seconds before the horse reared its head. The horse slammed its hooves into the exact spot the mother and child had been standing before his master reigned it in.

“Are you okay?” the man questioned. His thick accent coming through with every word, but still, Henry couldn’t quite place it. Is that what Americans sound like now? Henry shook his head in an attempt to bring him back to the present. This was his opportunity.

“I saw the whole thing!” Henry gawked as he ran up to the group, placing his hand ever so subtly on Etto’s shoulder. “You was so fast, sir! Mad as hops it was. Are you’s alright?”

“We’re okay,” responded the mother shakily. “Thanks to this gentlemen.”

“Right hero, he is,” Henry cooed as patted the man on his back, simultaneously grabbing the small coin from the man’s pocket. “I’ll go fetch a doctor, just in case he’s needed.”

Henry slowed to a stroll once he rounded the nearest corner, flipping the coin, lavishing in his success. Henry couldn’t help but imagine all the possibilities that this coin would allow. It wouldn’t get them out of the slum, but they’d have food in their bellies for the week.

“Oy, watch it! Damn dogs,” Henry cursed while nearly tripping over a scurrying pair of mutts.

Henry turned back around and walked straight into the chest of Billy Scamps – the self-proclaimed lord of the slums. At over 16 stone and just shy of two meters, he didn’t have much competition for the title. His loyal following of goons flanked him on either side. Henry was outnumbered five to one. Billy snatched the gold coin midair.

“Well, what ‘ave we here, boys?” He twirled the coin over and around his fingers. “Little Henry’s got a new bit o’ shine.”

“Oy, that’s mine. Give it here, Billy.” Henry tried to jump and grab it before a fist found his gut causing him to double over in pain.

“That’s Mister Scamps to you,” said the owner of the fist – one of Billy’s attack dogs named Joe.

“Whoa, Joe, easy there. Henry’s a friend, ain’t ya, Henry? And friends like to share, don’t they, chaps? Now, where’d ya get this, boy?” Billy bent over to meet Henry’s pain-stricken face.

Henry tried to stand against the pain in his abdomen. He felt like every ounce of air had been ripped from his body and every inhale stopped short from pain.

“I just found it,” he managed to squeak out between raspy breaths.

“You found it? Don’t sell me a dog, boy!” Billy picked Henry up by the collar one-handed, lifting him off the ground. “Who’d you knick this off of? Where there’s one coin to be had, there’s probably more.”

Henry may have been a pickpocket, but he wasn’t about to let these thugs go after what seemed like a decent enough fellow. “I swears it, I just found it.”

“Joe.” Billy released his grasp and let Henry tumble to the ground. His body hit the slick stone street – hard. He felt a searing pain in his gut as a boot gained purchase in the same spot as had the fist. Joe continued his assault on Henry as he writhed in pain, the taste of metal filling his mouth, his vision getting fuzzy.

“Stop!” a voice bellowed out of the darkness that was attempting to swallow Henry whole. The next few moments were a blur. Shouts, grunts, and slams were all Henry could hear until there was nothing but quick footsteps. He opened his eyes to see the group of five men, including Billy, scamper off down the alley. A pair of feet stood in front of Henry’s face as he was lifted back to his feet.

“Are you okay, boy?” The thick accent was unmistakable. It had to be Etto. Henry regained his footing and regarded the man who’d just saved him. No wonder he made short work of them, Henry thought to himself. He’s huge.

“I’m good. Thanks for that,” Henry responded as he flinched and grabbed for the wall to catch himself.

“Where do you live? We need to get you home so you can rest.”

“I can get there on my own, thanks.” Henry’s knee gave out again almost sending him toppling as Etto reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Just point, son, we’ll get you there.” Etto looked deep into Henry’s eyes as if trying to determine his home by sheer intuition.

“Fine. It’s not far, right up this way.” At least Billy had taken Etto’s coin that Henry knicked, that would’ve been a hard explanation and the walk home even more awkward.

• • •

The pair of men walked up the stairs to Henry’s small hovel of a home. Each step creaked something awful under the combined weight. Shouts filled the hallway – the Smiths were at it again, they fought on the daily and the whole building knew why thanks to the paper-thin walls. The Fitzgerald baby cried from the second floor, it hadn’t stopped for the last few days which was never a good sign, even Henry knew that much. They opened the door to Henry’s apartment.

“Henry, is that you?” shouted Evie from the back room. Henry’s overprotective big sister. Of course, she’d be home now, Henry thought to himself.

“Yea, it’s me, sis,” he called back. “And a friend, so be decent!”

“A friend, what do you mean–” Evie stopped dead in her tracks in the hallway as soon as she laid eyes on the pair. “Henry! What did you get yourself into now?”

“Oh it’s fine, Evie, just a bit o’ cops is all.”

“Henry James Scott. What did I tell you about that accent? You’re not a street thug, don’t talk like one.” Evie was adamant that no matter what station in life they fell to, she wouldn’t let the education her parents had worked so hard for fall to nothing.

“Evie, I told you. If I talk prim and proper on the street I’ll get taken for all we’re worth.”

“And what do you call getting thrashed in the street? What would Mum and Dad say?”

“Well they ain’t here, are they?” He regretted them the moment the words left his mouth. Evie stood taken aback, Henry knew he’d gone too far.

“No. They aren’t. But what they taught us is, and it’s all we have left so don’t throw it away so casually.”

“I’m sorry, Evie,” Henry said sullenly, feeling suddenly too small for his own clothes.

“Now, who’s your friend?” she questioned, turning her attention to Etto who’d up to this point had remained silent through the sibling exchange. She reached her hand out in greeting, “I’m Evelyn Scott.”

“Etto, ma’am,” he said shaking her hand.

“Well thank you, Mister Etto, for bringing my wooden spoon of a brother back to me.” She turned to Henry, “and I imagine I have him to thank for saving you from getting two black eyes this time?”

“Yes,” Henry responded pathetically. “I could’ve taken ‘em though,” he continued knowing full well that he would’ve been a goner if it weren’t for the man who’s coin he’d appropriated for himself. The same coin that had gotten him into the scuffle in the first place.

“I’m sure you would’ve, son.” Etto turned to Evie, “you’ve got quite the bricky brother, ma’am.”

“That he is,” Evie responded.

“I’ll be on my way then,” Etto said, turning to leave.

“No, please, stay for lunch,” Evie pleaded as she reached out and grabbed his arm. “Feeding you is the least I can do to thank you for saving Henry.”

Henry hoped he’d decline. He wanted this man out of his house, the longer he stayed the more likely it was that the coin would come up in the conversation. Etto looked down at Evie’s hand on his arm, then to Henry before finally meeting Evie’s gaze.

“That would very nice, Miss Scott, thank you.”

Damn, Henry thought.

“Oh, please, call me Evie. Everyone else does. Right, I’ll get to lunch then. Henry, try not to get into any more scuffles while I’m not looking.”

“Thanks, Evie, I’ll try.”

Henry found a comfortable spot on the single bed that made up ‘his room’ in the small space. He left the wooden chair for Etto. He tried to recline and close his eyes to detract from any conversation that Etto may want to start.

“So about my coin.”

Damn it all, Henry thought.

“Right, you knew about that then?”

“You’re not that good, son. Why do you think I was there in that alley? Felt you knick it, but needed to get that mother and child situated first before following you. I would like it back now.” 

“Yea, well I don’t have it anymore. Got this nice shiner instead,” Henry responded pointing to his swollen eye. He hoped that would elicit some sort of sympathy for his case.

“Ah. Then how do you intend to pay me back?”

“Pay you back?” Henry exclaimed before immediately switching to hushed tones. “With what? I have nothing, as you can see.” He showcased the derelict apartment filled with rags for blankets and pillowcases filled with straw. The few trinkets they did have held only sentimental value. Even most of the wooden furniture had been sacrificed to the stove for warmth last winter.

“I have some business I need to attend to this evening. I could use an extra set of eyes and since you don’t seem to have a problem with the gray areas of morality, you could work your debt off and we’ll call it even.”

Henry considered the proposition. What could he say to it, he did owe the man, twice over if you count the alley rescue. And having already proved himself a thief, couldn’t balk at a little gray area business. But there was a difference between a little pickpocketing and true crime.

“I don’t want any trouble, sir. I’m just trying to get through life here.”

“No trouble to be had. I just have some things that I need to bring back to America and there may be some people that aim to prevent that.” Etto leaned forward on his knees, staring down Henry. “I don’t want to cause you or your sister any trouble, but I do need help and if you find yourself in a position to do so, I’d be appreciative. Meet me at the Prospect of Whitby tonight at dusk.”

“I–”

“Lunch is ready, gents.” Evie walked into the room carrying three plates of sandwiches, interrupting the conversation. Her timing was impeccable as always.

The trio enjoyed a quick lunch, Evie and Etto exchanging stories the whole time. Henry could barely get a word in edgewise, not that he wanted to. His mind raced with ideas of what this man could possibly need Henry’s help in. He seemed like a decent enough fellow, saving that mother and child and all. And he did say that Henry would only be an extra set of eyes. How much trouble could you get into for just being a lookout, Henry questioned to himself.

“Thank you so much, Evie. Lunch was a delicious break from the day, but alas I should get back to my business,” Etto said as he made his way to the door.

“The pleasure was all ours, Etto. And thank you again for helping my brother. It means a lot, to both of us,” Evie replied while shoving Henry in the arm.

“Ow. I mean, yes, thank you, Mister Etto.” Henry didn’t particularly care for the way Evie was looking at the man. Her eyes traced his frame like she was looking at a fresh apple pie.

“You’ve a lovely home, Evie. And maybe we’ll see each other around, Mister Henry,” he grasped Henry’s hand and pulled it ever so slightly towards him. Henry could feel the strength of the man as he squeezed just a bit too hard. Henry got the message. He’d be there tonight, fear be damned.

Gerald & The Voice

Gerald Hirst sat on the northwest corner of the Washington Square Dog Park. Though a small, unimposing man, he was impeccably kept. Not a hair out of place. Not a wrinkle creased his white crisp shirt. Not a speck of dirt defiled his nails. This made being at the dirty, unkempt, disorderly dog park a point of perpetual provocation. But it was all for Roger. 

Roger was Gerald’s nine-year-old German Shepherd. If one were to ask Roger’s associates if he would ever own a dog, their immediate answer would be, “physically impossible.” Dogs are by instinct an unbridled force of fur with a mind for mayhem, two things that Gerald himself would admit have no place in his life. But Roger changed all of that nine years ago.  

One mundane Thursday night nine years ago, Gerald was walking his normal route home from work. He left the office at precisely 5:00pm, hopped on the 5:05pm bus to 5th Avenue, exited at Euclid Ave at 5:37pm and proceeded to turn onto his street of 2nd Avenue (the street he picked because it was not only even-numbered but perfectly placed between the bus stop for work and the local grocer). Two blocks into his four-block march home, he heard rustling from the alley. 

Normally Gerald would immediately quicken his pace to avoid any potential brush with a rodent. Rodents, in Gerald’s opinion, were the definition of filth. But this night was different. Maybe it was the prospect of a long weekend that added a spring in his step, maybe it was one of the rare crystal clear night skies, or maybe he just felt a twinge of curiosity that gave Gerald pause and the desire to suss out the source of the sound. One of the trash cans crashed over and out rolled a small, dirt-covered tuft of fur with big brown eyes that burrowed into Gerald’s very soul. Gerald froze as the thing waddled closer to him, sniffing and searching for any scrap of sustenance. In that moment, Gerald knew with certainty every feeling this precious little pup was feeling. He took off his sweater, wrapped the little dog, careful to avoid any skin-to-dirt contact, and took his new friend home. 

And that was the beginning of Roger. The precocious pup had been good for Gerald over the past nine years. There were days that he would drive Gerald to the point of madness, but then those big brown eyes would look up at Gerald and all was forgiven.

As Gerald sat on the bench, he inspected the other patrons participating in the same dog-centric activities. Throwing frisbees, playing catch, picking up droppings. But there was a difference between Gerald and the other pet owners. They were all having conversations with their pets. Not the normal, “good boy, get the ball,” type responses one would expect, but full-on conversations between man and beast. 

The technology that allowed pet-owners to hear their dog’s thoughts had been out for a few years, but involved an outpatient procedure that essentially put a small microchip directly behind the patient’s ear. It was completely inconspicuous to any onlooker, but Gerald had never paid it any mind. He couldn’t imagine having something inside of him, at least not only on one side of him. It would throw off the perceived perfect balance of his life. Instead, he told himself he was content with the nonverbal cues given by his best friend, Roger. 

Today, however, was challenging that contentment. Roger was not his typical teasing self this day. While normally Roger would be off running with the other dogs the moment his paw hit the playground, this day Roger stayed next to Gerald on his bench and reclined reticently on the cool patch of grass. 

“What’s wrong, Roger?” Gerald questioned. Roger didn’t even lift his head in response. “Want to play?” 

Gerald had gone through many trial and error toys in an effort to find the perfect piece for the pair to play together without Gerald’s fear of having to touch slobber or dirt becoming an issue. He’d found the ball shooter online that lets the user load and shoot a tennis ball up to 20 yards away without ever having to touch the ball. It was a perfect way for Gerald to play with Roger when the dog park was bereft of other dogs. 

But again, today was different. There were dogs in the park, but Roger wouldn’t run. Gerald shot the tennis ball, but Roger stayed put. After almost an hour of trying, Gerald accepted that his friend was not feeling himself and headed for home. 

The next week was more of the same. More play pals, more tennis balls, but still no sense of joy from the beleaguered Roger. Gerald had finally decided to take his friend to the veterinarian to see if there was a medical issue causing the disruption to their routine.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hirst,” said the doctor, sorrowfully, “I’m afraid Roger has a rather large tumor growing near his heart. Unfortunately at his age, there’s very little we can do for him. I would suggest making him as comfortable as you can.”

Gerald blinked in disbelief, as if he could stop this if he just closed his eyes. That this was a terrible nightmare he couldn’t wake himself from. Once he left the office, Gerald felt his world crumbling. For nine years, Roger had been his best friend, his confidant, his sole source of consistent happiness. Now, the doctor had told him that it wouldn’t last much longer. That his friend was dying. In a few short months, his friend would be gone forever.

In that moment, Gerald decided he would undergo the procedure that would allow him to truly hear the ‘voice’ of his friend. Even if it would cause him discomfort, he would make the next few months the best of Roger’s life. 

•••

The procedure went well enough, at least according to the doctors. According to Gerald, he could feel the piece in his head. The doctors assured him this was not possible, but advised him to go home, get some rest, and wait 24-48 hours to finally hear his dear Roger. After that, he wouldn’t give the device a second thought. 

As Roger laid in his bed that night, he swore he could hear the ticking of electrical firings sound inside his skull. Again, this was something that the doctor had again assured him was not possible. 

Fitfully, he tossed and turned until around 2:00am, when scratching in the wall behind his bed stole his attention. Something was in his walls. Gerald envisions a rash of rodents laying waste to the structural beams.  The thought terrified him more than the idea of a small piece of machinery in his head. 

After finally succumbing to sleep sometime later, Gerald awoke at 8:00am to find Roger awake and awaiting his morning constitutional. 

“Good morning, Roger. Sleep well?” 

Silence. 

“Nothing to say today, then?”

Roger looked up at Gerald, nudging the leash he held in his jaw closer to his master. The doctor had said it could be a day or two before it worked, though Gerald felt a developing sense of disappointment in the back of his mind. 

“Okay then. Let’s go for a walk.” Gerald got up, tapped his alarm clock twice, brushed his teeth twice, and was about to leave the room when a small voice from behind him called out. 

“Hungry.” 

Gerald looked down at Roger in disbelief. Had it actually worked? he thought to himself. 

“Are you hungry, Roger?” 

“You know it.”

“It worked! That’s so great, buddy, let’s get you some food.” Gerald was overjoyed at the prospect. Yes, the voice was different than Gerald had always expected Roger’s voice to be. Though the thought of that immediately sounded ridiculous in Gerald’s head. After all, how could one be expected to predict the sound of their pet’s mental musings? Gerald continued to laugh at his own absurd assessment as he fixed Roger’s breakfast – two scoops of dry food, two scoops of wet food in separate areas of the bowl, none of the small piles touching each other. 

He placed the bowl in its normal position, awaiting Roger’s excited response to having finally asked and received exactly what he wanted. But Roger wasn’t there. He was standing by the door, still clutching the leash in his mouth, wanting to be let out. 

Gerald gave in, albeit rather mystified at the interaction, and took Roger out for his morning walk. He continued to attempt speaking to the dog, asking him everything from the mundane, “what a nice day, eh Roger?” to more philosophical queries, such as, “would squirrels continue running up trees if there were no dogs to chase them up there?” Nothing Gerald asked elicited any sort of response from Roger. The dog continued along his normal routine of smelling scents and looking longingly at the food stalls peddling pastries. 

Gerald’s heart began to sink. Did the operation actually work? Did he just imagine hearing a voice say “hungry” this morning? Was Roger just as silent a companion as Gerald often found himself? Maybe they were more kindred spirits than he had previously thought.

The day continued much the way Saturdays normally did as of late, Gerald spent the day cleaning, then re-cleaning the same areas as Roger’s fur necessitated. He settled into his favorite green arm chair that was placed at an exact 45-degree angle so at to catch the sunrise and sunset with a perfect amount of light to read by. Roger, instead of taking his normal position to the right of Gerald, had already retired to his dog bed in the bedroom. Against his normal routine, Gerald acquiesced and joined Roger in the room, reading in bed instead of his chair. 

“What is that?” 

The small voice had returned, startling Gerald again. 

“What is what?” he cautiously responded, looking at Roger for some sort of confirmation that he was the source. Roger raised his head, looking at Gerald. 

“That. What are you doing with that thing in your hand?” 

Gerald was overjoyed. Finally, he could have a real conversation with his best friend. 

“This? This is a book. It tells me a story. And this one in particular is Moby Dick.” 

Roger cocked his head. 

“What’s it about?” 

“Oh, it’s a classic. It’s about a man obsessed with hunting a white whale. He is willing to sacrifice anything and any one, to achieve his goal.” 

“That just sounds like normal life,” the voice responded. 

“In a way it is. It’s a warning to watch how much we’re willing to give up in pursuit of something. Because sometimes we do so much that by the time we achieve that goal, we’re hardly the same person that started down that path. We risk losing ourselves.” 

“Oh. That makes sense actually.” 

Gerald couldn’t believe it. Not only was he talking to his dog, but they were actually having an intelligent conversation. The pair stayed up all night talking books, stories, philosophies, and everything in between. Roger may not have been the most talkative dog during the day, but at night he came alive. Gerald was so invested in the conversation; he barely heard the rustling coming from the wall behind his bed. He could now consciously tune it out, so to speak, to focus on the voice of an excellent conversationalist. 

Gerald and Roger spent the next three weeks in a new routine, every night they’d stay up talking. Gerald finally felt like for the first time in forever, he found someone that really connected with. He felt a kinship with Roger that he had never experienced before. He’d always loved him, of course, and they’d always had their nonverbal communication that was a constant comfort to Gerald. But this, this was beyond belief. 

•••

It happened on a Friday night. Gerald knew from the moment he woke up that day that something was wrong. Roger wasn’t waiting for him when he awoke. He couldn’t get him to move all day. Having called out of work, he spent the day giving Roger everything he could until finally he took him to the vet and heard the words he still wasn’t prepared for. 

It was peaceful. The nurses at the veterinarian’s office tried their hardest to make Roger’s transition a tranquil one. But now Gerald sat in his favorite green arm chair in the living room, alone. Roger’s dog bed sat empty, his food and water bowls remained untouched, his leash hung slack in Gerald’s hand. He was alone again. The nine years that Roger graced Gerald’s life were nine of the happiest he’d ever known. But now he was gone and Gerald returned to his life of solitude sans solace. 

The scratching in the walls called Gerald out of his sorrow. The anguish quickly turned to anger and Gerald took it out on that wall. He grabbed a hammer and struck with reckless abandon. Every ounce of pain and passion channeled to pure rage against that wall, that sound, that rodent that dares interfere with his grief. As the wall shredded apart, tears and snot tore across Gerald’s face and around the room. He didn’t care. 

He finally collapsed from exhausted in a heap of drywall and dust. For the first time since his childhood, Gerald held his head in his hands and cried. Cried for his best friend, his only friend. 

“So no story tonight…” the voice called out. 

Gerald looked around the room aghast and anxious. 

“Who’s there?” he exclaimed. 

“It’s me. Are you okay?”

Gerald jumped up and grabbed the hammer again. He shook his head, rubbed his ears, blinked his eyes, anything he could think to confirm that he was in fact hearing a voice and not going subtly senseless. 

“Who are you?” 

“I’m me. Where’s Roger?” 

Gerald was utterly perplexed. The voice was the same that he’d been talking to for the last three weeks – it was Roger’s voice. Wasn’t it? But now the voice was asking after Roger. And Roger was gone. Who have I been talking to, Gerald questioned himself and his sanity.  

“Roger is gone…” 

“Oh… I’m sorry. He was a good dog. Never gave me any trouble like a lot of other dogs.”

“Where are you…” Gerald asked cautiously, afraid to hear the answer. He turned around the room, looking for any sign of another living creature in his apartment, still clutching his hammer. 

“I’m right here.” 

Finally, Gerald turned to the point to see a small house mouse sitting on one of the broken pieces of drywall. 

“Nice to finally meet you face to face, Gerald. I’m Rupert.” 

Gerald screamed. 

Rupert screamed. 

Gerald dropped that hammer and ran out to the kitchen, pounding the spot on his head where the device had been implanted. 

“No, no, no, no. I have to be asleep. Or maybe it’s a psychotic break. Yea, it’s probably that. Overwhelmed by the grief, my mind has officially checked out. There’s no way I’ve spent the last three weeks talking to a rat!” 

“I’m a mouse actually.” Rupert followed Gerald out to the kitchen and climbed up on the counter.

“What?” Gerald shouted. 

“I’m a mouse. You called me a rat. There’s a difference. We have bigger ears and I think better tails.”

“Sorry,” Gerald responded cautiously, still unsure of how to react to the rodent revelation. “So a mouse, it’s you I’ve been talking to for weeks. Not Roger.” 

“Nope, sorry for the confusion. I thought you knew. Especially since he was asleep most of the time.” 

“I did not know that,” Gerald tried with all his might to maintain some level of calm. “And you are?” 

“Rupert.”

“Right. Rupert the rat – I mean mouse, sorry.” 

“Pleased to meet you.” 

“And you’ve been the one in my wall, I’m guessing.” 

“Yes. And I’m disappointed to say, but you rather destroyed the nest I’ve been working on.”

“Nest?” Gerald looked back at the destruction he had caused in his bedroom. “Sorry… I think. How long have you been…” 

“Living here? Only a few weeks. I have to say, it’s been really nice having a friend to talk to about stories and such. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed learning about books.”

“Friend?” 

“Yes, sorry if that was too forward. But I just thought we’d talked so much, well I consider you a friend, Gerald. And it really is wonderful having a human friend. Honestly, I thought you were all just angry creatures that knew nothing except self-centered hatred of anything you deemed ‘lesser’.” 

“Like mice?”

“Exactly. See you get it.” 

Gerald realized he hadn’t moved a muscle other than his mouth for the entirety of the conversation. He slowly started moving again and allowed himself to sink into his green armchair, pushing it ever so slightly out of his perfect position and angle. Rupert climbed up and sat himself on one of the armrests. Gerald looked at Rupert’s big ears as they twitched and turned this way and that. He recalled the nights spent talking with whom he thought was Roger. It wasn’t Roger though. It was Rupert. Rupert was the one that shared his love of literature, his penchant for philosophy, and ultimately his craving for companionship. As he stared down into Rupert’s dark black eyes, he couldn’t help but see a shimmer of the same look he’d seen in Roger’s eyes all those years ago. A small, dirt-covered tuft of fur needing a home. 

“Well, Rupert. It’s nice to officially meet you then. Why don’t we see about getting you settled in.” 

“I would like that very much.”