Part of a Short Story

When he found her, she was metal pounded out of fire: steely grey, welded bones, unpolished eyes. When he found her, the sky was bruised and chilly. When he found her, the flickering streetlight flung her shadow against the brick. When he found her, it was too late.

“Lizzie?”

Her shape snagged his eyes. Collar bone and head protruded from behind a dumpster, caught in a jag of light. She was still; he moved mechanically toward her.

“Lizzie?”

She appeared: shoulders, chest, hips. Darkness clotted over her skin. His knees cracked on concrete as he fell beside her.

“Lizzie?”

His hand slid to her neck; the metal was already cold. The chill spread to his veins, 911 shaking in his fingers as he pulled out his phone. He traced down to the spills over her shirt to the smooth slices where the fabric was stuck, wet to the skin. His fingertips were slick; he could almost taste the iron and salt. Reaching for her, he brushed his thumb over her cheek, smudging the line between light and dark.

“Lizzie, it’s me.”

He searched for a spark in her eyes until the sirens screamed. Her gaze was empty.

…

He was cold. It was the kind of cold that sunk through the skin and between the joints until the skeleton was disconnected, each bone separated like a museum display behind a glass case. He was certainly in a glass case, though they tried to avert their eyes or at least wait till he couldn’t see them. She, however, couldn’t keep her eyes away.

“What?” he growled, lifting his eyes from the computer screen to look at her.

She flinched, leaning back slightly and tucking her hands under the desk. “Nothing,” she murmured, hazel eyes still locked on his.

“You are staring. Why?” His eyes stung as morning slid through the windows, pale and polluted grey.

“I think you know why,” she whispered.

He looked back down and crossed his arms tighter over his chest. It felt like he was holding his chest together, as though letting go would allow his ribs to disengage, fall out of place, and he would spill apart. Through the cold, his eyes were burning, and he dropped his chin to his chest in an attempt to shade them.

She stood, coming to his side and sitting on desk. She leaned down to whisper, “you should go home.”

He said nothing.

“Nate, you’re a detective. You know they won’t tell you anything, and refusing to leave the station isn’t going to change that. You need to sleep. Go home.”

He said nothing.

She waited, her dark brunette bangs brushing against his temple. He heard the desk creak a little when she gave and sat back down. Her gaze was soft like a streetlamp as she watched the hours wane on his face. He barely moved. The cold was deep in his marrow, and he could only feel himself crystallizing, concentrate on inflating lungs and closing throat.

The world moved on around him. Detectives buzzed about, flitted in and out, eyes trained on him as they walked. Look at the frozen man, look who caught frostbite. He waited for one of them to wake him, pull him back into living, but no one did. The cold grew around him like a front. He became a sundial, light slipping past him without leaving a touch.  They knew time by his topography of shadows.

She stayed across from him, watching him, waiting for the cracks to show. She was quiet as a ghost, soft and chilly at his side, almost insubstantial in her silence (but not quite). The day passed on a tide of whispers. At the end, whispers dissipated, stillness settled, and lights began going out.

The captain approached their desk. He looked at Nate whose eyes were dark and fixed and turned to her instead. “Station’s closing. Get him home, Dalmer.”

She looked up. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Find a way, Elyona. We can’t just leave him here.” The captain left, the door swinging behind him.

Elyona sighed. She stood slowly, a small ache in her joints, and walked around to him. She put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to go home, Nate. You can’t get any answers until morning.”

“Because they left.” He looked up at her, shadows under his eyes. “She’s dead, and they left.”

She could see him splintering, the lines deepening.

“There’s nothing you can do.” She was barely audible. “Let’s go.”

She took his hand and pulled him to his feet. She started walking away, still holding his hand, but he pulled away. She turned around.

“It’s okay, Ely.”

Her eyes flickered over him. “Alright.”

They walked slowly out to the car. Nate took out his keys.

“No, no.” Ely closed her hands around his, wrapping her fingers around his keys. “You are not driving. I’ll take you home.”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me.” His tone was icy.

“You need someone to watch you.” She hooked her arm through his and began moving him towards her car.

“Everyone’s watching me.”

She sighed and tilted her head up to him. “You need someone to watch you and not try to pretend they’re looking somewhere else.”

Their breath froze in the air, floating like silvery ash. The dark came more quickly than he remembered, rising over them like the tide; he thought he might choke on it. He didn’t protest when she pulled him to the passenger side of her car, opening the door for him. The ride was silent; though she kept throwing furtive glances at him, he focused on the lights skating over the windshield. She saw the reflections on the surface of his eyes, but they didn’t fall deeper.

She parked under a street lamp. He stared at it for a moment before looking down. When she opened the door, he wouldn’t look at her because the street lamp was behind her. He stepped out. The bruises had bloomed into an ache under his skin, and he walked slowly so numbing night could creep in, but it made the ache worse. She stayed beside him.

Slipping her hand into his, she gave a gentle tug to pull him out of the dark towards the door. Her hand was warm against his; he held on tightly. Once inside, they stepped lightly and quietly, and he did not let go of her hand till they reached his apartment.

Leaning against the door, Ely watched him wander the room like a stranger, his eyes vacant.

“Nate?”

His eyes snapped to her. “She said she needed to pick up something before dinner yesterday. I shouldn’t have let her go. All I had to do was ask her to stay, and she’d still be here.”

“It wasn’t anything you could prevent,” Ely whispered.

“I lost her by a few minutes. If I had stalled her for a while, she’d still be here. If I had gone looking for her earlier, she’d still be here.”

“Nate.” Ely walked over, put her hands on his shoulders. “You couldn’t have kept her here.  There was nothing to be done.”

“Yes there was.”

“But it didn’t happen, did it?”

His gaze became glassy, and she searched for a window.

“This was out of our hands.” She waited for him to reply, but he had faded. She headed for the door, murmuring “I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

Her fingers were on the knob. She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly.

He was behind her, fingers brushing her arm. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

She turned around. “Okay.”

He walked to the sofa, and she followed him. Sitting next to each other, they stared out at the night, the dim stars peeking through the cracks in the skyline and the smog, the frost crawling over the windowpanes. He looked at her hand, craving the warmth, but his knuckles were disconnected and he couldn’t reach out.

Sometime between the hours he fell asleep, his head tipping to the side. Ely carefully laid him down, rummaged for a blanket to throw over him. She stared at him for a moment, waiting for the street lights to call him back to waking, but he didn’t stir. Leaning over, she gingerly kissed him on the temple and whispered good night. Then she turned off the lights and slipped out the door.

…

He awoke in the dark. Morning was tapping at his windows, but he closed his eyes against it and waited for Elyona to come.