The Mechanic

-Chapter Twenty-Nine-

Location: Central

My mind is full of dust and shadows.

Lost people and wandering souls.

My own soul and all of its daily variations.

And somewhere deep inside, the variation that shared its heart with a gray girl. The variation that was a part of the redhead.

And Femi... I think I must have her somewhere in my muddled brain, too. Tucked away, safe, and not at all gone.

But perhaps that's my insane variation talking.

I rub my eyes, wincing at how twisted my mind is, cramped.

There is something wrong with how my head is right now. Today. The recent past.

Night is upon me.

Without much effort, I fall asleep.

Light pours over my eyelids.

I blink it away, rolling over. It's too soon to be awake. I don't care what time it is. But at least the morning lends me some clarity. Night stole it away, but morning brings it back until I can almost believe that I'm sane again.

Something cracks in the other room.

I lift my head, listening. Nothing. Silence.

I lower my head back onto the arm of the couch, sighing softly, and then breathing the air back in. It smells like plaster in here. And gasoline.

It always does, but at the moment, it has a fresher mark on my mind. Almost new. Almost fascinating.

I hear another noise and sit up, frowning.

It repeats itself. Noise. Unexplained noise.

I stand, stretching my legs carefully, and make my way over to the doorway, running a hand over the back of my neck.

At first, the shop looks normal. Piano standing alone in the center of the room. Tools and toolboxes piles around the edges and the corners. Just my shop. But upon closer inspection, I notice that one box is pushed further from the wall that usual, and a pile of things beside it have toppled, like it got forcefully pushed that way.

I wander toward the box, peering around it.

My eyes... lie.

Red hair.

They must be lying.

Pale, freckled skin.

Maybe I'm dead.

Curled in on herself, asleep.

I check my own pulse, only to find it forceful and fast against my fingers.

Alive.

I can't force my lungs to push any air onto my vocal chords. Actually, my lungs aren't working at all. I can't breathe.

She moves, just barely. Her finger twitches.

"Femi." But it's more of a breath than a word.

Her long, red-brown eyelashes flutter, and she opens her eyes slightly, glancing up.

My heart panics.

She sits up, looks at me. Like nothing happened... like nothing has happened.

Like she didn't die.