Every Bright and Broken Thing

Chapter Twenty-Four - Ezra

I brace myself for the impact, searching the alley for a stick or a bar or anything hard to help me fight this guy off. Out of the corner of my eye, I see two more strangers step from the light of the street and into the shadows of the alley. I realize the other guy's howling must have been someone sort of call for help.

I swallow.

The first guy – the thief – rams into me and I'm able to get a few punches in before he slams me to the ground. But then the other two guys are on me and this fight is no longer evenly matched.

I curl up in the ice and hold my arms in front of my face as the three strangers rail against me. I feel my skin breaking, bleeding, bruising. My ears ring, louder than the grunts and growls of my attackers. My vision starts to go black and faintly I hear myself let out a cry.

And then it stops.

I stay like this for a long while, curled up on the icy ground, trembling.

Breaking, bleeding, bruising.

When I finally work up the courage to open my eyes, I see that I'm alone and let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. Wincing as I stand, I can feel every place where my skin and bones have cracked. With a deep breath, I stagger out of the alley and onto the sidewalk.

The way back to my car is long and painful and when I finally get there, my heart – or what's left of it – plummets to the bottom of my stomach.

I didn't lock my car when I went chasing after the thief.

All of the windows are broken now. And my belongings – or what's left of them – are strewn out onto the sidewalk and road.

Panicked, I limp as fast I can toward my car and collapse to the ground when I get there.

My eyes swim with tears – the angry kind.

Almost everything I owned is gone except for some clothes, my half-finished painting and...

My guitar.

There, at the back of my car, hanging over the curb is my guitar broken in two. I let out a pained cry and limp over to it, pulling it to me. I remember all the hours spent teaching Liam how to play. All the songs we wrote together. All the history written on these strings.

And now it's all gone. All of it.

Like teeth, the cold of night bites into every wound on my body and I force myself to gather what's left of my belongings and throw them in the back seat of my car. Then I realize that I can't sleep here – not without windows to keep me warm. So I climb into the driver's seat and turn the key. The little car roars to life and I press the gas pedal and steer into the streets, making my way to the only place that I have left.

The Sanctuary.

Halfway there, I start to wonder if it'll even be open or if anyone will even be there. But I have to try. There's nowhere else for me to go.

When I get there, I'm relieved to see a faint light glowing from the front window. I gather the last of my belongings into my arm and, with the broken neck of my guitar dragging sadly on the ground behind me, limp my way to the front door.

At the door, I press my forehead against it and knock as hard as I can.

No answer.

I try again.

A shuffle on the other side of the door. I stand back and wait. The door swings open and the light under the stoop shines down on Elaine's face, lighting her up like the angel she is.