Touch of Darkness: An Urban Fantasy Short-Story (Scythe of Darkness, Prequel)

2 Weeks Before

"Where are we headed this time, Red?" I asked Molly as we exit the spinning hospital doors. The sun lingered midway through the sky, and I slipped on my sunglasses.

"Anywhere but here. Just need some air."

I could tell something was on her mind. I didn't need to know her well to know that.

"Where's the gown?" I asked.

"Don't need it anymore. Except for one more check-up—and a celebratory party that Mom insists on having—I'm done with this place. No more chemo, no more nothing."

"And your parents? Won't they stop you from leaving?" I glanced over my shoulder, expecting somebody to run after Molly. They normally watched her every move as if she was ten.

"Not here today. Their helicoptering is needed elsewhere for my older brother who's in loads of trouble."

"And where is home? Where are you from?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, Blondie?"

I reached for my keys.

"Not today. I just want to walk," she said, crossing her arms.

Not saying a word, we passed Tony's Di Napoli on the corner of 3rd Avenue.

I didn't know what was bothering her, but tension floated from her every move. She crossed her arms, uncrossed them, and then rolled her neck. Molly was being unnaturally quiet.

Finally, she asked, "Are you afraid of anything?"

An alley off 63rd was filled with dozens of tents and homeless. We moved past, heading toward the busier street.

Molly's pace slowed, and I took smaller steps to stay alongside her. Car horns punctuated my concentration, not helping me think.

"Maybe," I finally replied.

"That's not an answer." She crossed her arms again, and scratched her shoulder.

"What do you want me to say?" I felt like she was seeking a specific response, one that I didn't know.

"What scares you?" she asked again.

One thing scared me the most, but I didn't wish to share. I could lie. I was good at that. I had to be good at it. Death followed wherever my family went. They killed people. And I hated how I got sucked into the business one messed up way after another. I felt like a prisoner in my own family, escaping only three times before. But this time was different. I'd been gone for more than six weeks without my father finding me, dragging me back.

"What scares me is going home," she muttered.

That makes two of us, I thought. We were a lot alike on some levels, and on other levels very very different. "Molly, the girl who doesn't fear anything, is anxious about home?"

She nodded, looking straight ahead as we rounded the corner, heading back toward Memorial Sloan.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because after all of this"—she motioned with her hands at the general space around us—"I'm still alive. I was supposed to die. I sort of even wanted to die." She turned to face me. "It was easier when it was out of my control. But now I'm supposed to go back to my same old life, where all my friends will expect me to be the same. I don't want to go."

She faced away, pushing through two guys having a heated conversation.

The weather felt warm, but not uncomfortable. Beside me, Molly closed her eyes, not watching where she placed her next steps.

"What if I walk into the street right now?" She turned slowly at the sound of honking vehicles, eyes closed, arms spread out. "Nobody would pay any attention to two random strangers in a city of chaos. No one would care."

My throat constricted as soon as her foot rose from the curb, hovering in the air between her and the busy street.

Her body teetered, threatening to lean forward.

Would she really do it?

Four heartbeats later, I guess she changed her mind because she lowered her foot.

Opening her eyes, she took a deep breath. Relief sank into my lungs.

"Take a picture with me," she said.

I shook my head. "I don't do pictures."

"Humor me, Kent."

"No." This was a strict rule. Online pictures could trace back to my location. I wasn't about to break my number one rule.

She placed three fingers in the air. "Promise not to post it anywhere. Cross my heart, hope to die."

I squinted. "I just don't like my picture taken."

"Righttt." Her word was drawn out, as if questioning my response.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Thanatos, I know you're hiding from something. I just don't know what it is. Eventually, we all have to face our fears."

That's exactly what I'm afraid of.

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