Episode four
1217 Words
Episode Four: The Past Doesn’t Knock
Arielle didn’t sleep.
The clock on her wall glowed 3:06 a.m., then 3:19, then 3:42, each minute louder than the last. Malik’s absence filled her apartment heavier than his presence ever had. The mug he’d used still sat on the table, tea untouched, steam long gone. She hadn’t moved it. Some part of her wanted proof he’d been there at all.
She replayed the moment over and over his voice tightening, the way his body had gone rigid, like an animal sensing danger before it appeared. Malik wasn’t dramatic. He wasn’t impulsive. Whatever he’d seen outside her window had shaken something deep.
And he hadn’t explained.
That bothered her more than if he had lied.
By morning, the city softened under sunlight, pretending it hadn’t watched everything the night before. Arielle stepped onto her fire escape, camera in hand, and aimed it at the street below. The broken light was still there. The spot where Malik had stood by the window empty now.
She took the picture anyway.
Malik drove until his hands stopped shaking.
He didn’t remember crossing the bridge or turning down familiar streets he swore he avoided. All he knew was that the face he’d seen Marcus Reed belonged to a chapter he’d tried to seal shut years ago.
Marcus wasn’t supposed to be in this part of the city.
Marcus wasn’t supposed to be looking for him.
Malik parked beneath an overpass, engine off, letting the dark swallow the car. His phone buzzed once.
Unknown number.
He didn’t answer.
Another buzz. Then another.
Finally, a text appeared.
You really thought you could disappear?
Malik stared at the screen until the words blurred.
He typed back slowly.
You got the wrong person.
The reply came instantly.
Nah. I know you anywhere, Cole. We need to talk.
Malik dropped the phone onto the passenger seat like it burned.
He’d built his life on distance new name, new habits, nights that blurred into each other. But Marcus was a reminder that time didn’t erase debts. It just let them grow interest.
And Arielle
Arielle was now standing too close to the blast radius.
She didn’t hear from him the next night.
Or the one after that.
Arielle pretended she wasn’t counting. Pretended she wasn’t checking the app out of habit when she walked late, half-expecting his car to slide up beside her. She filled her time with work, losing herself in editing photos and long walks through neighborhoods she hadn’t photographed before.
But Malik’s absence followed her like a shadow.
On the third night, she found herself at the basketball court again, the one with the broken light. She lifted her camera and froze.
Someone stood near the fence.
Not Malik.
The man turned as she raised the lens. His eyes locked on hers sharp, assessing, familiar in a way that made her stomach drop.
He smiled.
“You Arielle?”
Her pulse spiked. “Do I know you?”
He stepped closer into the light. “Name’s Marcus. I’m a friend of Malik’s.”
The word friend sounded wrong in his mouth.
“I don’t know where Malik is,” she said quickly.
Marcus laughed. “Didn’t say you did.”
Her grip tightened on the camera. “Then why are you talking to me?”
“Because you talk to him.”
Arielle took a step back. “You should leave.”
Marcus raised his hands. “Relax. I’m not here to scare you.”
“You already are.”
He tilted his head, studying her. “You got good instincts. That camera always watching. You ever catch something you weren’t supposed to?”
Her heart pounded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do.” He smiled again, thinner this time. “Tell Malik I said hi. And tell him time’s up.”
He walked past her, footsteps echoing against concrete, and disappeared into the night.
Arielle stood frozen long after he was gone.
She didn’t take a picture.
Malik found Arielle’s missed calls hours later.
Three of them.
He stared at his phone, chest tight. He knew before listening that something had happened. He called back immediately.
She answered on the first ring. “Where have you been?”
Her voice cracked just enough to break him.
“I ” He stopped himself. “Are you okay?”
“No,” she said. “And you don’t get to dodge that question.”
He closed his eyes. “I didn’t mean to pull you into anything.”
“That man,” she continued, voice shaking now. “He knew my name.”
Malik felt something cold settle in his gut.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“That’s not an answer.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I need you to listen to me.”
“I’ve been listening,” she snapped. “You’re the one who keeps disappearing.”
He swallowed. “Marcus isn’t my friend. He’s… unfinished business.”
“What kind of business?”
“The kind you don’t photograph.”
Silence crackled over the line.
“Are you in danger?” she asked finally.
“Yes.”
“Am I?”
He hesitated.
That was enough.
“You should’ve told me,” she said. “I don’t scare easy, Malik. I scare liars.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“By making choices for me?”
He had no answer.
“Come over,” she said suddenly.
“No.”
“Malik ”
“No,” he repeated, firmer. “Not tonight. Not like this.”
“You don’t get to decide when I’m allowed the truth.”
“I get to decide who gets hurt.”
She laughed, bitter. “Too late.”
The line went dead.
Malik leaned back against the wall of the cheap motel room he’d rented under a fake name. He stared at the ceiling, listening to pipes rattle and sirens scream somewhere far away.
Borrowed time was running out.
Arielle didn’t cry.
She packed her camera bag instead, moving with purpose. Fear sharpened her focus, turned her thoughts precise. She wasn’t reckless but she wasn’t passive either.
If Malik wouldn’t talk, the city would.
She retraced her steps from the night Marcus approached her, photographing corners, shadows, faces half-hidden by hoodies and light. She talked to people who knew the streets baristas, security guards, vendors who stayed open past midnight.
By dawn, she had a name scribbled in her notebook:
Marcus Reed.
And beneath it:
Connected to Eastside warehouse incident (5 yrs ago).
Her hands shook slightly as she closed the book.
Malik hadn’t just been running from memories.
He’d been running from consequences.
That night, Malik sat in his car across the street from Arielle’s building, engine off, watching her window glow. He’d told himself he wouldn’t come. That distance was safer.
But distance was a lie too.
His phone buzzed.
We should meet. Marcus
Malik typed back.
Stay away from her.
A pause. Then:
Then stop hiding. Old place. Midnight.
Malik looked up at Arielle’s window one last time.
He knew what this was.
The past didn’t knock.
It dragged you outside and made you face it.
And Malik was done running.
- Writer
