Death of a Nightingale

CHAPTER 10: WHEN DEATH CALLS I ANSWER

Sure enough. I wake up with my socks still on. Sexy.

Nodding at myself in approval, I slowly rise. It's late afternoon and the light outside is already dimming. Really there was not much light to begin with. I can hear the rain pummeling the window with unrelenting fervor. Like a constant knock.

My shirt is sweat through. Drenched. The dream was so vivid that I still feel the slight rush of adrenaline making my cheeks blush and the blood rise to the apex of my thighs. I shake off the thought. Those eyes.

I twist my hair into my go-to style. I call it the "lazy birds nest" and throw on some jeans and a sweater. I know I'll have to hop back into the rain jacket, so what's the point in being fashionable? I work at night, mostly alone.

Downstairs is empty. Mom is probably working at the hospital. She works a ton. I visited her once with my entire class for "bring your children to work day". They all wanted to see what a doctor does. It was fun at first. Seeing all the instruments and technical equipment.

Then my mother wanted to give us an advanced version of a non-smoking lesson and took us to see a real lung in formaldehyde. I've never seen so many children puke at the same time. Me included. Although I just puked because I can't stand the smell when others do it. It was not a good day. And the other kid's parents weren't amused either. I wasn't invited to any birthday parties for a good while. But on the bright side, I don't think many of my classmates ever touched a cigarette.

The kitchen feels cozy, even without my mom in it. I grab the lunch I prepped a few days ago and stuff it into my backpack. Out the door I go.

The grey hits me. The softness engulfs me in a shrouded hug. Claiming. My rain jacket doesn't feel so bright anymore. Faded. Like the daylight. Just disappearing behind the houses across.

The thought of those eyes hits me again and I squint through the heavy rain. Something seems to be moving in the alley. As I doubt my own sanity once again, I carry the bike down the steps and mount it. Even though the asphalt is slippery, I love riding in the rain. The sound the rubber makes through the water. That silvery rattle. Tiny, little splashes. I love the blurry lights that reflect everywhere too. And the lack of people who dare to come out and play. It takes a special kind of person to love this weather.

After my usual transit including subway stops, greeting Pinky and Brain, and avoiding an especially obnoxious driver, texting behind the wheel, I see our office building. It's pretty central. My guess is that the city thought our cause is important enough to place us smack dab in the middle. Not that our location really matters- we don't do house calls. But I'm not complaining. I love driving by the Fox Theatre and its shiny lights. The restaurants around here are always filled with beautiful, trendy people, who care a lot more about their outfits than I do. As I roll through Peachtree Street, I see the dinner crowd. Diminished by the weather, but a few brave souls nonetheless.

In my favorite bar, the Edison, a very steampunk-inspired place with obvious lightbulb designs, there's a kissing couple in the window. He gently strokes her hair behind her ear and nuzzles the tip of her button nose. She smiles and leans into him. Cute. I shamelessly watch them as she opens her eyes and even from here they appear bright, ice blue.

Like a bolt of lightning, the image surges through me and I swerve. Eyes back on the road. My heart skips a beat.

I hop off my bike and push the last few minutes. As I glance back, looking at the couple again I see her clearly. Her eyes are brown. Like my own. Whatever is going on with my head, it doesn't seem very safe.

I close the door behind me and peel the hood back from the jacket. I'm very likely losing my mind.

I struggle to hang the bike on the rack with my name tag. For some reason, it's one row up, which I've never quite understood since I'm one of two people biking here and the other person only works day shifts. But I have a weird affinity for following proper rules. It would feel like a bit of a rebellion to hang the bike wrong. Like I'm stealing someone else's spot.

The office is almost empty. Matt and the new kid are just putting on their jackets. Matt is the one who started it all. An age ago he went to school for political science and after graduating decided that this was the best way to actually make a difference. He told me in my hiring interview and I remember being both impressed and scared at what that meant.

"You cool if we leave five minutes early today? I gotta take Thomas to the station."

Thomas looks at me, feeling the need for further justification. I must look particularly scary today.

"It's raining pretty hard. I have a weak immune system."

...I'm sure he does.

"Yeah, no worries." I tell them both, feeling proud of my own power as I struggle with the zipper of my rain jacket. The damn thing is stuck and doesn't want to allow me even a tiny moment of gloating. I bike through any weather- Gloating should be an added benefit.

I just move on to the kitchen. Tea, my favorite thing after gloating. "Just give me one minute" I shout and push the button on the water kettle.

I select my favorite, a peach-mint mixture. Lovely for this weather and smells just heavenly. The phone RINGS.

"Matt, can you start this? I'll be right there."

I hang my jacket and prep my cup. Another RING and I hear the door fall into place downstairs. Damn it. RING. I take the kettle to pour the water but the cable sparks and give me a little shock. What is happening today? I unplug the likely murderous machine and rush to the other room. RING.

"Suicide prevention hotline, Hello?"

A breath of surprise is on the other line.

"I didn't think anyone was gonna pick up."

Stupid tea addiction. Feels so silly. I sit down. My own poster of rules and guidelines stares back at me.

"Answer within the first two rings." I avert my eyes. My gaze goes to the roof across. Through the small waves of rain on the glass, I can spot a figure. I think. Maybe it's just a very strange chimney?

"It's what we're here for. Before we start, can I ask you whether you're currently in a safe place?"

That chimney just moved. It's definitely a person. If I close my eyes, will those beautiful, haunting blue eyes appear in my mind?