Adam Peaks and the Living City

Chapter One: The Vanishing Man

It is an uncomfortable and universal truth that life never turns out the way you expect it to.

Plans are made, broken, repaired, made again, and then torn up into little fragments that become little more than a jumble of lost memories and half-baked dreams. Even the simplest of plans can come crashing down on your head, sending you off your chosen path and back onto the road that life wants you to be travelling. Plans as simple as going to a concert on a sunny day in the middle of July, for instance, can go so completely awry that they change the course of one's entire destiny.

"Oh, turn it up, I love this song."

Michael glanced over at Adam before reaching for the dial on their car's radio. He took his eyes off of the road for a moment and grinned. Music streamed through the speakers loud and clear, filling their ears. He flexed his long fingers and nodded at his brother. He adjusted his blonde hair in the side mirror and frowned at traffic, his bright, blue eyes piercing the veil of smog and tinted glass. He tapped his hands against the steering wheel in time with the music and blinked as he and his brother came to a stop at a red light.

"Music loud enough for you?" Michael asked.

"Yup," Adam sighed, "man, I'm looking forward to this concert. Thanks for driving us."

"Hey, we both love this band," Michael laughed, "and remember that you're paying for my gas."

"Yeah," Adam glanced at his watch and gasped, "oh, it's almost seven-thirty! How much longer until we get there?"

"Thirty minutes," the light ahead turned yellow and Michael sped up to catch it, "Doors open at eight, so as long as we keep making good time, we'll get there with time to spa-"

The truck smashed into their passenger door with astounding force. Adam felt the impact before it even happened, like the heavy stillness before an impending storm. Time slowed to a crawl. The door bent inwards into his back, and he could hear Michael yelling out in shock. The glass of his window flew across the car, slashing viciously at his right arm and leg. He felt himself crumple under the force of the crash like paper. The car was sent careening into the middle of the intersection, where another vehicle was waiting. He braced for the secondary impact and felt the world explode around him, his vision going black.

"Son of a bitch!" Adam woke in darkness, drenched in sweat.

His heart was pounding as if trying to escape his chest. He glanced over at his alarm clock and groaned; he had woken up long before it was set to go off. Grumbling ,he slid out of bed, checking his left wrist instinctively for the watch wrapped around it. He fumbled around in the dark and patted his bedside table for his phone. His fingers brushed against its smooth surface and he pulled it into the palm of his hand. He stumbled across his bedroom to the light-switch that would save him from the gloom of early morning. Adam yawned and ran his left hand absentmindedly across the scars coating his right arm. He made his way into the tiny washroom attached to his bedroom and tugged on a hanging cord that brought light into the world. He blinked at the face staring back at him, his dull, brown eyes staring back at him, bloodshot from another nightmare-infused sleep. His pale skin was still dotted here and there with the faint scars of adolescence. He scratched his head of short, brown hair, and then turned on the shower. He waited until the water was warm and stepped in, yelping as a toilet flush from downstairs heralded the arrival of scalding hot water that smacked him out of his morning trance like a train crashing headlong into a wall. He showered quickly, pulled on a pair of jeans and a red sweater, marched over to a calendar hanging on his wall, and crossed off another day.

"Last one," he whispered to himself, "then I'm free. Thank God." He thundered down the winding stairs of his townhouse and strolled into the kitchen where his mother was busying herself with preparing breakfast.