Adrenaline; a hormone secreted by the adrenal glands, especially in conditions of stress, increasing rates of blood circulation, breathing, and carbohydrate metabolism and preparing muscles for exertion. Typically it causes you to sweat, your heart races, your eyesight improves. All accompanied by nausea and jitters.
Harry's fingers ache from white-knuckling the slim handle attached above the window just beside his head, his sight glued to the multicolored unrecognizable city just beyond the frigid, rain-spattered pane of glass. He can't remember the last time he's been in a passenger car aside from the stray taxi cab here and there when he can afford one. He isn't sure how he arrived here or who's car it is, but the interior is tidy and smelling of new leather, the gray mat below his sneakers uncluttered and a contrary to the clusters of buildings zipping by at rapid speed just outside of the fast-moving vessel.
He tears his gaze away from the window to glance at the driver who has just addressed him, their language muffled and incomprehensible but their expression is jovial so he assumes they're feeling positive about whatever destination is approaching. He licks his lips and nods in agreement, not bothering to ask them to repeat themselves because he's too nervous to concentrate. The rain is creating a barrier below the grip of the car's tires and every few feet he can feel the vehicle hydroplane and swerve, forcing Harry to tighten his hold on the handle above his head for a sense of safety.
He wonders if the driver has been drinking alcohol or what is causing them to drive so recklessly, but then he is overcome with a sinking feeling that he is forgetting something and the anxiety in his gut is weighted down heavily with another emotion that he can't place. It could possibly be fear, but he's too confused to allow himself to be afraid.
Harry twists around to check the backseat, finding two more passengers that he does not recognize. Both of them on their devices and unaware of their whereabouts, unbothered by the fact that the driver is carelessly driving at least twenty miles over the limit and in the rain no less. He squeezes his eyes shut and readjusts to face the windshield, his eyelids peeling open to stare at his hand grasping the handle yet again but his mind draws a complete blank when he sees his bare skin adorned with the simple band of metal around his middle finger. He's looking for something; he absolutely despises the feeling of misplacement but no matter how fiercely he digs, he can't remember what he's looking for.
The wheels hop over a threshold to signify a change in the path, Harry's attention drawn away from his hand to look out the window and upwards towards the sky. Tall, thin beams of metal cascade all around him like a spiderweb and it clicks all at once that the increasing speed of the vehicle has brought him and all of the other passengers onto a bridge. He presses his nose and mouth against the glass for a comprehensive view of what lies beneath, his chest tightening in panic when he realizes that he's completely surrounded by tumultuous water on every side. He opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out, he grapples with whether or not he should tighten his seatbelt or remove it completely, he releases the handlebar above his head and stares at his palms again only to be met with spotless skin.
He curls his hands into fists against his thighs and catches the sight of the driver's foot depressing the gas pedal even further, the sickening speed of the car sucking his thoughts and his voice bone dry. He tries to recall anything, absolutely anything, but it's as if his mind has been replaced by a sponge and the only thing he is capable of is absorbing the atmosphere of this vehicle as his brain grows heavy and soggy.
The car lurches violently and Harry's body is thrown against the passenger door, his head knocking the glass as he squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his palm against his scalp. That should have hurt, but it didn't. He's incapacitated for a moment before he opens his eyelids again and checks his hand for blood, his eyes burning holes into the three naturally curving lines etched into his palms. Those have always been there and that's not what he's looking for. What is he looking for?
As soon as his scrutiny is lifted away from his skin again, he looks out of the window with just enough time to notice the approaching railing. He sucks in a gasp and sputters as he tries to sort out a succinct and critical warning, his hands reaching for control of the steering wheel as his throat cracks and his mouth forms the first two frantic words he can manage, "look out!"
The driver swerves with intention towards the deck of the bridge, Harry's hands darting up to slap across his eyes as the hood of the car scrapes and crashes against the metal barrier of the bridge and goes careening off of the side, his stomach erupting in wicked butterflies to accompany to dangerous feeling of weightlessness.
The vehicle is airborne for an agonizing number of seconds as it fills with blood-curdling screams from each of its passengers and then Harry goes completely deaf.
His ears ring and his heart pounds in his chest, every surrounding sound in the car is muffled by the breath filtering in and out of his skull, his eyes squeezing shut as he braces himself and there's a cluster of silent seconds before the car hits the water and bobs back and forth before the screams regain volume and pierce his eardrums.
Water begins to flood his feet and he unclips his seatbelt to fumble with the handle, but the door won't open due to the outside pressure of the water. His shoes and socks fill and saturate, a strangled cry working it's way past his lips as he tries to mentally refine the havoc unfolding in the cramped space. He keeps getting a nagging feeling to look at his palm but every time he does it appears normal and he's confused by the instinct until he finally remembers what he's looking for.
The stars are gone, he must have forgotten to draw them or perhaps they've been washed away and suddenly he's remembering his job and that he finished his shift and he's on his way to see you, his real-life supernova. Reality is crushing him harder than the inside of this deadly tin can when he screams and slaps his palm against the glass, "wake up! Wake the fuck up. God please. Please, please, please. Wake up." The water has risen to his knees now, the frigid liquid seeping into the seat of his pants as he tries to roll down the window and slam his shoulder against the door at the same time, "Nova!" I will overcome my nightmares. I will overcome my nightmares. I will overcome my nightmares.
A black-and-white memory flutters past, his hands tangling with yours as he blows a hot puff of air against the train window and lifts your fingers to draw a set of four stars into the pane. He inhales the longest breath that he's capable of holding in his lungs, remembering what you told him about dreams and how they only ever last a few minutes. The invasive surge of water rises to his belly button and the chaos of everyone around him makes it impossible for him to concentrate, he's terrified of his nightmare and it's outcome but he's even more afraid of the circumstances of its onset. The same black-and-white memory of being with you on the train encloses him like an avalanche and then suddenly he's remembering everything that had been nagging him like a subliminal soundtrack to this demented dream.
He's looking for stars drawn on his palm. There are none because they've been washed off in bleach water. He hasn't redrawn them because he didn't expect to sleep until he was safe in your bed. But he's not safe in your bed yet, he's on the train. Alone. Dreaming.
Everything around him is sucked away in an instant; the passengers, the water, the car, the bridge up above and the sky dumping buckets of rain onto the hood in an attempt to drown him further. He gasps and springs his eyes open, his heart galloping madly behind his ribcage and his entire body layered in a film of sweat that sucks his clothing uncomfortably to his skin.
Harry slowly scans the packed train car around him as he looks from one horrified, confused expression to the next. Every single traveler is staring daggers into his skin with their mouths hung open in shock, their devices clutched loosely in their palms and silence overtaking each one of their energies as they all comprehend what has just happened before their eyes. Harry stays frozen as his eyes bounce around the car rabidly until his gaze finally lands on his coworker, a sinister grin curling the edges of her mouth. He keeps his stare glued to her face as he ticks his head left then right in a final appeal of mercy, her body rising as she slowly draws to her feet and extends her arm in his direction with her index finger pointing laser beams directly between his eyes when she happily shouts, "Dodger!"
Before the word can leave her mouth in one solid piece, Harry is peeling himself from his seat and bolting down the aisle towards the nearest exit. His elbow prods into the button on the wall marked 'emergency stop', his fingertips prying the doors open that connect him to the next car so that he can keep running until the train has come to a complete halt. He can hear footsteps behind him and varying degrees of shouting; those who are scared to be the presence of an Adroit, those who are begging someone to stop him and those who are willing to attempt to capture him with their own self-proclaimed vigilante hands.
He looks no one in the eye as he runs from car to car a few paces ahead of those in pursuit of him, his hands and back drenched in sweat from his premonition and utter fear for his life, his heart palpitating so fast it's as if it's not moving in single beats but rather one cohesive and painful oscillation. He's more awake and alert than he's felt in years upon years, his breathing heavy and his mind as sharp as a tack as his body enters survival mode. He has been preparing for this moment for his entire life and even more intensely since the Tocsin machine was triggered over ten years ago. He doesn't know exactly where he is in the city or what he will find when the train doors open, but he knows that he has to run and he has to hide. Fast.
The crowd behind him grows more ominous and rowdy as more and more passengers start to catch on to the situation. He has traveled through six or seven cars by the time the train comes to a full stop and each and every door opens to allow travelers the chance to de-board as well as for ventilation, Harry's body squeaking through the crack in the closest aperture before his feet hit the pavement and he takes off in the most accelerated sprint that he is capable of. He can hear the heavy slap of feet chasing after him but he's much too quick as he weaves and bobs through the crowded sidewalks, never once looking over his shoulder to award his stalkers a comprehensive view of his face.
Harry takes a moment to situate his location before slipping into a narrow alleyway between two tall buildings, a handful of rats scattering as he searches the ground and the walls for a place to take cover. The slow, menacing crawl of a Tocsin machine gradually fills the air until it's bellowing in a fury, the echoing howl effectively drowning out the sound of Harry kicking the lock on a storm cellar until it splits open and grants him access to an underground hiding spot. He lifts the rickety door and lowers himself into the ground, the latch clicking shut behind him just seconds before his search party runs past in a quest for blood.
Exiting a premonition only to enter another vivid nightmare is quite possibly the most disturbing thing he's ever felt. His reality has turned on him; it stared at him on a packed commuter train, it pointed fingers at him and blamed him for being born a certain way. He curses himself for being so tired and excited to see you that he'd forgotten to re-draw the safety stars on his palm. It did cross his mind before he left Lily but he had chosen to ignore it instead. He never would have guessed that his guard would be lowered enough to allow him to sleep in public.
It makes him frustrated to think that for all of the ounces of courage you've given him, you've also softened his edges and made him more vulnerable with the newfound surge of fortitude and feelings of worth. He remembers what he was thinking just before his mind turned on him; he'd been daydreaming about making love to you the instant he walks through your door, images of Maupiti swirling in his mind, kissing you under the water and laying out in the sun on a surfboard in the ocean, the rays warming his face and the waves gently rocking his body and lulling his mind to a place of wretched sleep. The very thing that was meant to save his pathetic existence has ruined every last shred of it.
Harry comprehends his phone is buzzing in his back pocket and that it has been ringing every twenty seconds or so but he's too terrified to look at it or even have the ability to discern words on a screen. He knows it's you, he knows that he needs to contact you and talk to you but he doesn't know what he could possibly say and he's too terrified to even move a single digit right now. The Tocsin has been carrying on for several minutes, ten or possibly fifteen and his neck tickles from the tears rolling off of his chin and carving a path to his collarbone.
He has no idea what to expect if he were to open the doors to the storm cellar, so he decides to stay put for as long as he can possibly stand. His mouth shapes silent words that are a jumble of affirmation and prayer, mixed with a heavy circulation of your name and a plea to the heavens that he can see you one last time before his life is torn away from him.
The streetlight from outside of the storm cellar casts a streak of illumination over his skin as he stands on his toes to peek through the crack in the doors for some insight as to what is going on around him. His breathing is so loud that it's drowning out almost every noise aside from the harsh cry of the Tocsin machine, but as the alarm slowly begins to wane, he swallows harshly in an attempt to manage the resonance whirring through his chest and flared nostrils.
Harry digs his trembling hands into his sweatshirt and rips it from his torso, stuffing it into his bag and removing his beanie to place on his head and tuck all of his hair inside. He pulls his sleeves down over his arms to hide his tattoos and once he's as certain as he'll ever be that the chaos has settled, he creaks the doors open and climbs out. He stays frozen and surveys the ground, the lights, the buildings and the sidewalks, his tongue pressing against the roof of his mouth as he swallows a dry lump and re-emerges into the flow of sidewalk traffic with his eyes focused on the ground, his pace quick as he shuffles the last handful of blocks to your apartment.
Every footstep seems like a mile, time ticks by at a glacial pace and every so often he pinches his eyes shut when he hallucinates a paranoid shout of the word 'dodger' from any number of the pedestrians surrounding him. He spots the familiar gates of your complex and buzzes your apartment relentlessly for access, sighing in relief when the door clicks open as he enters and takes the steps two at a time to your floor.
He feels the heated stare of vengeful eyes at his back as he half-walks and half-runs to your door, his palm slapping against the wood for access before he allows himself one suspicious glance over his shoulder. He presses his lips to the wood and crunches his face up in terror and panic, his throat tight when he mutters your name into the barrier as he hears your footsteps charging towards him. The lock flicks and the door swings open; you're revealed to him within seconds, your face wet with hot saline and your hair mussed as if your hands have spent the past hour mercilessly running through it.
Your voice is rushed and hectic, a sense of destruction and bewilderment that he's not accustomed to hearing from your typically controlled demeanor, "come here, come on," you grab his wrist and pull him inside, "Harry, what's happening? What's-"
He unglues his sight from your face to the device in your quivering palm, the screen illuminated with a ubiquitous government-issued alert that reads, "Emergency Alert. WANTED: 24-year-old male. See media for pic. Activate Tocsin immediately if seen." Attached to the alert is a photograph from a security camera of Harry leaving the express train, a clear side-profile view of his face, hair and outfit that leaves no room for error.
The sickening whine of another Tocsin machine revs up outside and penetrates the foundation, walls, windows, paint and every object of your apartment. Harry has the urge to scream and cry, to stomp his foot and to beg someone, anyone, for one more chance but he knows it's useless. He drops his bag, rips his hat from his head and kicks the door shut behind him, his eyes intent on yours as he audibly hears his life drain away with every undulating peak of the wretched alarm.
He curls his fingers into your hair and presses his forehead to yours, his eyelids crushing closed to display his outward pain as he grips your cheeks and sponges several kisses to your mouth as he backs you up into your bedroom. "I love you," he murmurs against your lips in between each caress of your mouths and tongues, "I love you. God, fuck- I love you so much. You are everything to me, fearless Nova. You made my life worth living. You saved me a thousand times." His words sound like a defeated goodbye and you hear the click of the lock to the sliding glass door that leads to your balcony behind you, "you're gonna be okay. You'll be okay. Everything is gonna be alright," and once you understand what is happening, your chest and guts tighten into an imploding ball.
"No-" Harry slides the door open and pushes you out onto the balcony with the wind whipping your hair in your face, your curtains swaying in the breeze, "no! No!" Your voice is unrecognizably shrill and originating from the very nucleus of your cracked sternum and broken heart as it battles the scream of the Tocsin, "Harry! No! No, no-" You aren't capable of phrasing any of the wild sentiments swirling through your mind but your face says it all - tear-stained and red, agonizing and desperate, "don't, don't, don't! Don't leave me! We can hide you- please- Harry!" You grab his shirt and twist the fabric between your fingers as you attempt to physically grasp at any possible shred of redemption but he clutches onto your palms and tears them away, the two of you struggling and fighting against one another until he succumbs to brute strength to gather your wrists and hold you back.
You try to push against him but he's too powerful, one hand prying away from you to slide the glass door in between your bodies, "you'll be okay. Just run, don't tell them anything. Pretend you know nothing. You'll get through this. You'll have a long, fulfilling life and you'll make lots of people very, very happy as you did for me. I've never loved anyone as much as I love you. You are perfect, my Nova. Perfect." He memorizes your face and glances down at your body clad in your usual skintight jeans. He commits your entire aura to heart, his head nodding in strength and resilience for your sake as his hand squeezes yours tightly one last time before he slips it away and slams the door shut and locks it. He loves you for your determination, but he knows that he will have to physically restrain it in order to keep you safe.
You scream and pound on the glass as he whips the curtain shut one second before he dissolves into defeated, helpless, achingly frustrated tears. He can hear you shouting and begging him to stay with you but he knows that it's his time, he knows there is no use running anymore, he knows that if he is dying tonight that he will do everything in his power to keep you alive and safe. To carry on the honor of your love and the story of his pathetic life, to keep you on this earth to continue making the world a better place with your brilliant light.
The battering on your apartment door is loud enough to suffocate all of the thoughts swimming in his brain, the sounds slowly dissipating until all he can hear is the whirr of his breath and the dull ring of horror in his ears.
Harry slowly backs up into your kitchen, steadying the rise and fall of his chest and drowning his emotions just as he'd become accustomed to before you had come into his life and stirred everything up like a beautifully wild, torrential hurricane. The door swings open at the same moment that he swipes a marble cutting board from your counter, a pair of heavily guarded, ebony-cloaked Emissary officers filing into the suddenly crowded space with tasers and nightsticks held at attention.
He decides in that moment to make a single, last-ditch effort to escape for you - he would never forgive himself if he didn't try just one more time.
Harry swings and knocks one of them out of his way before tossing the heavy object directly at his head, the officer stumbling backwards before catching himself against the wall. He dodges the reach of the second cop, diverting the sting of the taser by striking his arm in a hefty and unexpected uppercut before he lowers his head and charges forward to slink past them and take off running towards the stairwell at the end of the hall. He can hear them calling for backup on their headsets, their threatening and bulky footsteps chasing after him as he jumps down several steps at a time and bursts through the front door and out onto the sidewalk.
Harry skids to a stop when he sees two, three, then four Emissary vehicles pulling up to form a semi-circle, the other group of officers hot on his heels as they exit the building and effectively block his path in every direction. He glances all around him for a possible escape route but they're all closing in on him with their weapons drawn, a crowd of onlookers watching from behind the makeshift barricades the law enforcement have quickly assembled to blockade the area.
An ominous voice booms over the crackle of a loudspeaker, "you're surrounded. I repeat: you're surrounded. Turn yourself in and no one else will get hurt."
Harry's eyes fall shut to block out the influx of stimuli around him; the flashing lights, the endless sea of black uniforms, the barrels of guns and the zaps of tasers, his mum's screams and your screams mixing together in a calamitous frenzy, the rotting of his broken, lifeless heart.
His hands lift into the air before his palms rest on the back of his head, his weight falling to his knees as a blinding supernova explodes behind his eyelids in slow motion.
Once it's clear that Harry is willfully turning himself in, two officers approach to grab his arms and drag him to his feet. His head whips to the side when he hears his name shouted in anguish, your figure pushing several spectators out of the way as you slip below the barricade and take off in a bolt towards him and his captors. You have no plan as to what would you would do if you happened to get close enough, but you will not stand idly by and allow him to be taken away and dragged to an unknown fate right in front of your eyes. It doesn't matter what happens to you really, at this point you're willing to decease with him.
Before you can get too close, a neighbor darts out from several paces away and grabs ahold of your wrist. It stings and burns in pain as you attempt to tear from his hold, but he somehow manages to wrangle your other limb and hold them behind your back. You kick and scream, trying everything in your power to do anything to save Harry but your body is rendered useless by the upstaging strength of your neighbor, "where are you taking him! Don't hurt him! Don't-"
Harry goes against his better judgement and shouts at you to stay back, a gentle lie falling from his lips as he struggles against the Emissary's hold, "I'm sorry I never told you, Nova. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." You know the apology is more than a faux attempt at guardianship. You know that his guilt is swallowing him whole, that he's taking full ownership of every ounce of pain you're feeling. He's saying those words on purpose to keep the Emissary from convicting you of harboring - even in his last moments he's doing everything in his power to protect you.
One officer holds Harry's arms back, another one circles the two of them and Harry is clearly overpowered and tired from lack of sleep, stress, running and fighting. The latter Emissary officer spins on the ball of his foot to look directly in your eyes before pulling his nightstick from his belt loop, snapping his head towards Harry then whacking him across the knees with the harsh weapon. You can hear a crack and then Harry cries out before his body goes limp and attempts to sink to the ground but the other officer forces him to remain standing. You scream and tug on your constrained arms, your tears burning hot and blurring your vision as they pour down your cheeks, "stop! You're hurting him! Harry! Please stop, someone stop them!"
The neighbor keeping your arms hostage finally speaks up in an effort to keep you under control, "stop, please stop! He's an Adroit - he's dangerous! He's been deceiving you this whole time. They're helping you, they're saving you. Let them do their job-"
You despise every last brainwashed citizen on this earth, how easily they've closed their eyes to humanity and the world around them. You shriek in frustration and try to pry your arms loose, but your neighbor keeps explaining because he thinks it will help, "I saw him enter the building and recognized him from a federal alert on my phone so I tapped the Tocsin. You need to listen to us before you get hurt!"
You turn and slap him across the face, "he's a person! And I'm in love with him!" You finally wiggle out of his hold and take off running towards Harry and the two officers harassing him, but your plan is halted short after just a few steps when your elbow burns with capture and your knees smack the pavement below. You're dragged to the ground by a different civilian who thinks they are keeping you out of harm's way and it is becoming crystal clear that you have no dog in this fight and that the whole entire world is going to do everything in its power to keep you two apart.
Harry is forced to the ground a mere six feet from where you're locked in captivity, a malicious streak of blood pouring from his nose and an open wound on his eyebrow, his glistening eyes burning into yours as he swallows back tears. His life is over, his commiserable life as he knows it is ending before his eyes and he doesn't know whether to scream or cry at the injustice of the short, twisted time he's had on this earth and even shorter bout that he blissfully carried out with you or start to fear exactly how it'll conclude.
The entire sequel you'd written for him has vanished in a cloud of smoke; a tsunami burying the island upon which you prepared to live, an earthquake destroying the current ground you walk on, a volcanic eruption scorching your skin with hot lava before burying you in choking ash.
You twist and flail in your captor's arms before finally getting one hard shove in, every single frustration you've felt from the government forcing its way from your palms into his shoulders. Your person, your most sacred person who quickly filled every shattered crack in your life is burning off like a dehydrated rainbow, "you're ruining both of our lives!" Your voice is harsh and fragmented with a thousand pieces of broken glass, tears siphoning their way from the very center of your abdomen and arresting your serrated speech. It's not only him who has ruined your lives, it was the work of a billion hands and voices, their heavily misguided beliefs weighing the both of you down into poisonous quicksand; Harry struggling to keep his head above the surface as he gasped for breath and his fingertips just barely slipping through yours as you scrambled but failed to keep him afloat.
The officer's boot meets the tender spot between Harry's shoulder blades to kick him forward onto his stomach, his knee pinning his lower back to the ground as he gathers his hands behind his back and zip ties them closed. The rocky pavement digs into Harry's soggy cheek as he watches you from his vertical position on the ground, his heart completely void and scooped clean from his chest as he counts each tear rolling from your chin, his mouth forming the three words that both shatter and mend you, "I love you," and then everything snaps to black when he's struck a final time in the back of the head with the officer's expandable baton.
Your scream echoes off of all of the neighboring buildings, cars and witnesses skulls as you watch his body go lax against the pavement, someone's hand clapping across your eyes before turning your head to avert your gaze from the havoc just a handful of steps from where you helplessly rest.
There is nothing you can do now to save him. You've tried for years to fight for Adroits and for months to emancipate the one that you'd fallen in love with - and you were so, so close - but all of your efforts have crumbled to the ground and lay in rocky mayhem at your feet beside the incomparable cosmic paramour of your life.
You were both accidents waiting to happen.