[ threw away my chance to make atonement, traded for a lie— a life of freedom on a line ]
***
'Promise me that we'll be friends forever?'
…Those were her last words. How long as it been since she'd passed now? If I've been counting correctly, today would've marked the eighth year. Not that I doubted my ability to keep track— not with how often I've been kept up at night by the incessant night terrors. Sometimes it's almost like I can feel her watching me from afar. Whether it's to watch over me, or to silently curse me for not doing anything to save her, I wouldn't know.
But either way, who would've thought that I'd ever come back to this place? Despite it being my "home", it sure as hell never felt that way to me. The moment I had a door opened to let me out, I'd taken it and never turned back.
The train rumbled over the subway tracks. Wind rushing against the window, gravel grinding outside— none of it could stop my mind from wandering. There was no reason for me to be coming back here. There wasn't supposed to be any reason. This was supposed to be a piece of the past that I could safely lock away and forget about until I finally bit the dust. But, of course, life has a way of toying with you.
My hands fished a crumpled paper out of my pocket. Unfurling it revealed a string of words that I never would've expected to see.
'I know who killed her. Meet me at the diner where everything started.'
A sense of unease washed over me. Realistically, most people would've brushed it off as some cryptic prank. Maybe a scam? Maybe a few people would've gone over and reported it to the station, or something. But if there were even a small chance that this mystery person knew the truth about how she died, then I needed to go. I don't care if it's a stupid decision or if I'm being hasty. I've spent years— YEARS being forced to accept some half-baked truth. Some decision made by people who never really cared about her to contain a situation they didn't want to deal with.
My fingers twitched towards the pistol tucked in my waistband. I may have been hasty, but I wasn't completely stupid.
"Now arriving at Datura Station. I repeat, we are now arriving at Datura Station."
"…Well, I'll take it as it goes," I stood up, stretching my arms over my head. I yawned, looking outside. Dark out. The train came to a stop, before the doors opened before me with a sharp hiss. The moment I stepped out, I was hit with the familiar stench of trash and thick, murky air that came with the pollution of every corner you turned.
I scoffed, brushing it off as I walked past the collection of filthy, torn garbage bags stacked up on the wall. This place was every bit awful as I'd remembered. My pace quickened as I made my way out of the subway station. At the very least, the air outside the station was crisp and cool. The fact that my nose wasn't being viscously assaulted by the scent of rotten fish and stale milk was enough to pull a deep sigh from my body.
Walking down the empty streets, I made my way to the diner without hesitation. If I could help it, I didn't want to spend another second in this dump. Passing by a few passed-out people still stuck with needles, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pity. My mind wandered to a few old friends. I wondered if they ever made it out like we'd always dreamed of.
The neon lights came into view after a long walk. Big letters above the building spelling "DINER", except each one was scrapped from another store that went bankrupt, making it look like a ransom note in store sign form. My hand hovered over the door for a moment before I pursed my lips and took a deep breath, forcing myself inside. As I entered, I felt a sense of nostalgia that came from the days where I'd practically hunker down here as a kid whenever I wanted to run away. If anything, I guess this would be the one place in this town I don't completely hate.
"…Michael?" a familiar voice called out. I turned my head to see the old lady manning the counter.
For a long moment, I felt the words get stuck in my throat. A lump of cluttered syllables died on my tongue before I could spew them out. I closed my eyes and took a second to breathe.
"Hey, Gloria."
"I didn't think… you'd actually come back," her lips formed a thin line. "Well, I mean, he did say you would, but—"
My eyes narrowed. "Who?"
Her eyes turned to the side of the diner. I hadn't noticed since it was out of view, but stepping beyond the wall to my side, I was a man sitting down in the corner of the diner. Real original, huh? Suspicious figure, cryptic mail, and mysterious men sitting in the corner of a diner. The absurdity of it all made me want to walk out, yet another part of me couldn't help but be intrigued.
I walked up to Gloria, sliding down a 5$ bill. "A strawberry milkshake, please."
She was still for a second before nodding and walking into the back. I sat down. The man seemed to be in his mid-40s, if I were to estimate. He had a salt-and-pepper stubble, weathered skin, and a scar that ran down the base of his right ear to his clavicle. Contrary to his appearance, his outfit consisted of khakis, crew socks, and a half-closed Hawaiian button-up. Give this man a trench coat and a hat, and he could probably look like a stereotypical noir protagonist… but as it stands, he just looks like a gruffier Adam Sandler with an obsession toward the gym.
"Do you analyze everyone you meet?" he broke the silence with a raised eyebrow and a question that felt like a threat in disguise.
I lean back into my seat, raising my hands. "You're the one who called me out here in that cryptic letter. Can you blame me for being a bit suspicious?"
He laughed, "Ha! I guess you're right."
There was a long silence that seemed to stretch from one end of the diner to the other. This wasn't going anywhere.
"How do you—"
"—Cyria, right?" he cut me off. I fought off a sneer from forming on my face.
"…Yeah," I responded slowly. "Nobody thinks that she—"
"—Was murdered, right?"
My eye twitched.
"So—" I started, before being interrupted for the third time.
"—Wanna know something—"
I slammed the table, "Are you gonna keep interrupting me, or are you gonna let me talk?!"
"Haha, I'm just yanking your chain! Calm down, kid!"
This guy's seriously pissing me off. For a long, long moment, I considered walking out. But almost as if to keep me, Gloria walked out with the milkshake, looking me in the eyes long enough to make me look away. I clicked my tongue, sitting down and drinking the milkshake. It was good, at least.
"Just get to the point," I groaned, not bothering to meet his eyes.
"I suppose that's fair," he chuckled. Just out of my gaze, I could see him turn to face the outside. It was empty in the streets. Trash on the ground, wind blowing used pieces of tissue around. Not much to look at.
"The world isn't what it seems, you know?"
"Tell me about it," I sighed.
"Not what I meant. I mean there's more to reality than you'd know."
I raised an eyebrow before letting out a sarcastic chuckle. "What, like shadow governments?"
"That, yeah. Something similar to magic's real, too, y'know?" he snickered.
"…You're a nutjob," I placed my drink down. His voice said that he was joking, but the way he looked into my eyes made it seem like he was actually serious.
"Was this really what you came here to tell me? What was all that bullshit about knowing who killed Cyria?"
"Now, now. All things in due time, Michael."
"How do you—?!"
"C'mon. Would I be able to send you a letter if I didn't know at least that much?"
A moment. "…I guess that's true."
I already signed up for a certain degree of oddities and strangeness the moment I booked that train here and stepped into this diner expecting something. But magic? What kinda crazy crap is that?
"I also overheard it when the kind lady over there saw you walk in."
"…I suppose that's also true," I grumbled. The idea of a lead on Cyria was throwing me off my mental. Simple things didn't feel as simple as they should've been.
"Tell me, Michael. If you knew who killed Cyria, what would you do?"
I paused. I'd mulled this idea over for years, about how I'd exact justice on this person I didn't even know the name of. But now? Thinking about it?
"Probably beat the hell out of them? Knowing the law system, I probably wouldn't be able to incarcerate them. Especially with such a huge lack of evidence, accompanied by the fact that it's an eight-year case that was ruled as a suicide."
"Seems pretty hopeless, doesn't it?" he said, before pausing for a moment. "...it always does at first."
"No shit, jackass," I scoffed. "You trying to be a dick about it? Or are you gonna give me the info?"
"What if I said she wasn't dead?" he said without hesitation. The words cut through the atmosphere like a hot knife through butter, right into my chest. My eye twitched as I crossed my legs and crossed my arms.
His words left a weird feeling in my ears. For a while, I was silent. Taken aback by such an absurd statement that just couldn't be anything more than a shitty joke. Honestly, it felt disrespectful. Distasteful, at the very minimum. I didn't blink. I didn't breathe. For that moment, his words hung themselves in the air like a smoke that found itself wrapping around my lungs. After finally processing his words, I gripped my sleeve.
"…You're crossing the fucking line, buddy."
I stood up, "Look. I might be an idiot who believes something everyone claimed as wrong. I might be an idiot who listens to strangers sending cryptic letters telling me to meet them. But I'm not stupid enough to actually believe some shit like that."
"Just listen. There's a rumor from where I'm from. They say that when the full moon shines overhead, there's a chance that the dead come to life."
"What the hell are you—"
"If you can find her, you could ask her some questions," he pointed at the full moon outside.
My face twisted as I listened to his words, "Are you fucking kidding me? You called me all the way out to this shithole just to spew some nonsense about ghosts and rumors?"
"I'm not messing around," his smile dropped.
"Shut the hell up," I laughed at his face, stepping out from the table. "I should've known better."
Gloria moved, almost as if she was trying to reach out, before she froze and retreated back behind the counter. I turned my gaze back forward, swinging the door open and storming out. As I walked outside, I continued walking. Not knowing where, not knowing why— just knowing that I needed to clear my head. Footsteps and gravel crunching below me. Nothing registered.
I ended up following a trail I made all those years ago. Right by the corner store, straight past the laundromat, then head left again near the graveyard. My feet carried themselves, marching past memories and familiar scenes I would rather not remember. I took in a shuddering breath as I pushed forward.
And then they stopped. My head turned to the graveyard. They buried her here. I was there. No matter how much I'd try to forget it, I just wouldn't be able to. Guess it makes sense that this is where I'd falter out of all places.
It would be better off forgotten. Realistically, I can walk away here and leave it all behind. I mean, better to leave water under the bridge there instead of fishing it back up, right? I was a healed adult. I did four years of therapy. Leaving here would be the smartest thing to do.
…Healed people don't go back to their hometown chasing a lead on their best friend who died eight years ago by suicide trying to convince themselves it was a murder.
I grit my teeth, before turning toward the graveyard.
"Fuck," I flicked my head to the side, before moving. "It's the least I could do after everything."
I sighed.
"Let's say goodbye one last time."
The air was thick with something I couldn't name. A chill traced up my spine as the cold wind blew against my face. A scent lingered in the air. Roses and jasmine. Bouquets of flowers were laid by my feet as I walked up the hill and came across a gravestone I knew all too well. My eyes widened at the sight of fresh flowers sat beside it. Didn't expect anyone to still be consistently visiting her. Must've been one of our old friends.
I took a seat, lying against the gravestone. I pursed my lips, sighing as I looked up at the sky. The full moon was sat perfectly above me, almost tauntingly. My head dropped toward the ground and I laughed, partly at the insanity of the rumor, and partly at myself for somehow hoping for it to be true. My hands found the box of cigarettes in my pocket, pulling one out and sticking the filter in my mouth. I struck a match, lighting up the cigarette, before sticking the match into the ground. As if something that convenient actually existed.
"…I didn't know you started smoking. Well, it's more surprising that you didn't start earlier, honestly."
My heart sank into my stomach. For a moment— no, for an instant, I was frozen. That chuckle. That voice. The same voice that replayed in my head every night, repeating that same promise. That same broken promise. My mind searched for every kind of justification, one to explain what I just heard. One that gave me a reason to stay staring at the ground, rather than turning up to face it.
"Are you ignoring me, or is the ground just that interesting?"
My eyes widened at that playful tone. Gulping, I spun around. When I first saw her, I thought to myself that I was dreaming. That I was just being delusional, and maybe I finally crossed the line and dove into hallucination territory. But a second passed, and then another, and then another. Despite looking like she'd aged, I couldn't forget those eyes. Emerald on one, amber on the other. A braided lock of brown draping over her ear as she leaned on the gravestone.
The cigarette fell from my mouth, hitting the ground with a sizzle. She smiled softly, standing up from the gravestone, her sundress swaying slowly with the wind.
"It's been a while, huh? It feels like it hasn't been, though... you know?"
This should've been impossible. Resurrection is a myth. Death is inevitable— by every natural principle, this should've been impossible.
But… as it so happens, life has a way of toying with you.