Chapter Three: Three months ago
868 Words
Ava remembered the night in pieces the way glass shatters and leaves only sharp edges.
She had been walking home from the late shift at The Rusty Anchor, a grimy bar where the jukebox played the same three songs and the tips were folded into her apron like secrets. The alley was her shortcut narrow, reeking of spilled beer and wet cardboard, lit by a single bulb that buzzed like a dying insect.
She was bone-tired, counting the bills in her pocket to make sure they’d cover next week’s meds.
Then three men stepped out of the shadows.
Their faces were blurs in the dark, but their voices were sharpslurred with liquor, thick with hunger.
“Hey, little thing,” one said. “Lost?”
Ava didn’t answer. She shifted her stance, knees soft, the way Sensei had taught her. Breathe. Look for exits. Strike first.
The first one grabbed her arm.
Something inside her chest ignited.
Not fear. Not anger. Something brighter, hotter wrong. It poured through her like liquid starlight, white and blinding. The man screamed as his sleeve caught fire, fabric curling black and smoking. She shoved him, he flew backward, hit the brick wall with a sound like meat hitting concrete.
The second lunged. She swung without thinking. The air snapped a sound like bone breaking. He slammed into the dumpster and didn’t move.
The third ran.
Ava stood panting, hands glowing faintly silver, then gold, then nothing. The alley smelled of burnt cloth and ozone. Her heart hammered, not with its usual flutter, but with a rhythm too vast, too ancient for her fragile body.
She ran.
She didn’t remember how far. Only the sound of her heartbeat chasing her through the rain.
***
The duplex was dark when she slipped through the side gate. Anderson’s snores rumbled from the living room like a broken engine. She was halfway up the stairs when Nora’s voice cut through the quiet.
“Where the hell have you been?”
Nora stood in the hallway, arms crossed, eyes red-rimmed and furious. She smelled of gin and cigarette smoke.
“Work,” Ava said. “Late shift..."
“Don’t lie.”
Nora stepped closer, sniffing the air. “You reek of smoke. And blood.”
Ava looked down. Her knuckles were raw, still warm. She hadn’t even noticed the blood.
“There was trouble. In the alley. I handled it.”
Nora laughed, an ugly, hollow sound.
“Handled it. Right. Like you handle everything by being a walking disaster.”
She grabbed Ava’s wrist, twisting hard enough to bruise.
“You’re a curse. Pack your crap. You’re out.”
“It’s two in the morning...”
“I don’t care. Go.”
Ten minutes. That’s all she had. Nora watched as Ava stuffed clothes into a duffel; three shirts, two jeans, the karate gi she’d patched herself. An old piece of jewelry she’d always had with her. The pill bottle, half-empty.
Nora followed her down the stairs, still talking.
“Should’ve left you in the system. Should’ve let you rot...”
The door slammed.
Rain soaked her in seconds. She stood on the curb, duffel over her shoulder, and didn’t cry. She’d promised herself at ten never again would she cry over these unloving duo.
But her chest ached. Not from the hole, not from the defect. From something hollow where home should’ve been.
She walked until her legs gave out in front of The Eden Brew. The café was dark, its Closed sign swaying in the wind. Maeve’s truck sat out front. She dragged her tired body up the side stairs to the apartment owned by Maeve above the café.
Ava knocked. A second or maybe more passed.
Maeve opened the door in a robe, hair in silk bonnet, eyes sharp despite the hour. She took one look, Ava soaked, shaking, knuckles bruised and pulled her inside.
“Jesus, kid.” Maeve pressed a mug of tea into her hands. “Sit. Drink.”
Ava’s voice cracked.
“I didn’t mean to...”
“Shh.” Maeve’s hand was warm on her shoulder. “You’re safe. Whatever happened, we’ll sort it tomorrow.”
Ava looked up, brown eyes wide and luminous in the dim light.
“What if I’m… broken?”
Maeve smiled, tired but kind.
“Broken things can still hold water, Ava. You’re here now. That’s enough.”
She gave Ava the room next to hers which she never used, small, cluttered with coffee filters and holiday mugs, but hers. A real bed. A window that opened. A lock.
Ava fell asleep clutching the mug.
She dreamed of the alley again.
The light didn’t come from her hands this time.
It came from inside her.
And in the dream, the men didn’t run.
They burned.
***
Sometimes, in the quiet before dawn, she’d wake to whispers, wind through leaves, wings against glass. The mirror would fog without steam. Her reflection would blink a half-second late, violet eyes flashing with an inner luminescence, like amethyst held to candlelight.
She told herself it was the meds. Exhaustion. The hole in her heart.
But the light remembered.
And in the space between her heartbeats.
it watched.
- Writer
