The following morning, he didn’t make it to work.
At first, Ashley assumed that he was just tired. He wasn’t as used to these late-night adventures as she was, and he probably needed a rest. Perhaps he was stressed, after all that action, and needed some time away. It made a lot of sense, and could quite possibly be true.
Ashley didn’t believe it for a second. Naïveté was not a trait which thrived at the Gutter, and so while her subconscious kept trying to placate her, bombarding her with plausible explanations, she saw right through them. Her cynicism ran much deeper than her hope, and it undermined it at every turn.
Harvey was never late. Come hell or high traffic, he always made it in on time.
He wasn’t just resting, or taking a break. Something much more significant had happened, and that wasn’t a truth she could hide from. Though false optimism saturated her mind, this sense of dread ran much deeper. It filled her very bones.
It wasn’t a gut feeling, as such. This was nurture, not nature. This sense of apathy, pessimism, knowing when the worst had happened: she hadn’t been born with it. Ashley had developed it over years at the bottom of the food chain, where the worst often did happen. It wasn’t a gut feeling, it was a Gutter feeling. Ashley was familiar with the worst. She knew what it looked like, and she could spot its ripples from a mile away.
She felt it now, and it was tearing her apart. The anxiety, worry, the fear. Normally, she would talk to Harvey about these things. Ashley realised that the worst part of being alone was not just the pain, but having nobody to talk to about it. Her comforter was gone, and that’s why she needed him. His jokes, his laid back attitude to life; they had always reassured her. She had always needed him.
Ashley sat with Droopy in the canteen. It wasn’t the same, and it did nothing to fill the gaping hole in her very being. But it was better than nothing.
They didn’t talk much, however. Ashley couldn’t find the strength to open her mouth. Droopy could, but she wished that he wouldn’t. They’d always had the exact same attitude, Gutter workers. The exact same sense of humour. Before, they had all reminded her of herself, and she had felt like one of them. Now, they all reminded her of Harvey. Everything Droopy said, everything that he did, was painful to her. Eventually, he got the message.
Droopy had taken Harvey’s seat in the canteen, but not his place in Ashley’s life. The clown was only trying to make her smile, but when he said the things that Harvey would have said, did the things that Harvey would have done, he only hurt her. Harvey had only been missing for a few hours, but it felt like he had gone forever. Ashley would do anything to protect his memory.
The newspaper had been the worst part. That had been Ashley and Harvey’s little ritual, mocking the poorly-written articles and dreadful puns. When Droopy tried it, completely innocent, she felt like he was dancing on Harvey’s grave.
He didn’t have a grave, of course. She didn’t even know that he was dead: just that he was missing, and she was missing him. Nevertheless, swamped with these feelings of terror and dread, Ashley had consigned herself to the worst. Harvey was gone, and he was long buried in her heart. In the absence of a tombstone, she had built one out of memories. Droopy was appropriating those, and it was desecration. Ashley withdrew into herself, huddled protectively around her memories, until Droopy read her face and backed away. Even his understanding, his telepathy, was just like Harvey.
Once Droopy had left, Ashley bowed her head, and stared down at the paper. It was damp. She realised she’d been crying.
Her tears had fallen on the headline.
YOU ARE READING
Masks
Mystery / ThrillerAshley Cox, failed magician, has never been the least bit magical. However, when she becomes involved in a sinister plot centred around her workplace, she needs a miracle to escape. She must succeed where she has always failed, and become completely...
