The Awkward Love Song of Abigail Archer

Chapter Twelve

Morning fog hazed the orange glow of the streetlights. The quiet was disturbed only by the unbroken rhythm of Marcus and Abigail's footsteps on the pavement. It had been a long night. Not vexing or trying in any manner, no, simply long. Marcus burrowed his aching hands deeper into his pockets and slid his gaze toward the barely visible map of stars in the sky that faded under the hues of the coming sun. He smirked as if sharing a secret with the distant companions. But it was no secret. Morning approached, and with it, a promise, Abigail.

The red traffic light turned green, ordering their steps to a welcomed stop. In a manner that had become a secret custom under the cover of night, along with the stolen glances and shared, surreptitious desires, Abigail turned to Marcus. She curled into his chest, watching cars splash gasoline-tainted puddles into the air. With a long sigh, she closed her eyes and folded into him as if the damp breeze feathering past threatened to whisk away what little they'd built during the course of the night.

Inhaling her scent of rain and night, Marcus planted a light kiss at her temple. "Tired?" he whispered into her ear, burying his nose in her hair. She'd mounted it on top of her head in a ridiculous knot-like form that he found quite bizarre, but he wanted it no other way. Her veil now lifted, he could finally see her face and nothing else mattered.

She nodded against his chest. "This is the last one, right?"

Her sleepy voice infused Marcus's bones with unparalleled warmth. It held the promise of rest, of waking beside her, of all the things he thought he'd never have. He nodded.

"Are they close?" she asked.

Marcus closed his eyes and focused hard on his fiery star. It was indeed near. Not only near, but moving closer by the second, coming toward him. Marcus's eyes snapped open. He looked frantically at the anticipated trajectory. Nothing but the steady flow of traffic framed the avenue.

Abigail lifted her head warily, having noted how tense he grew by the minute. "Is something wrong?"

Marcus met her stare, but couldn't talk. The words were trapped in his throat. He shook his head as if trying to rid himself of the unexplainable anomaly.

"The next soul is heading in this direction, but it's moving so fast," he said, and closed his eyes once more. He fixated on the star that was much closer than before. It gained steadily with no signs of slowing, as if it meant to pass him by. But how was that possible? He never had to chase after a soul.

The charged star grew wilder, a hypnotic beauty of crimson hues that lit the black of Marcus's closed eyes the closer it drew. He fisted his hands that felt ready to ignite, sensing the approaching life.

But from where? Marcus thought desperately. He opened his eyes, and the world dissolved into particles of suspended rain around him. The wisps of smoke from Abigail's breath whirled to a deathly slow pace. All noise faded to black, distorted echoes when he finally saw from whence his star came.

The street light turned yellow. A symphony of whining brakes marked a line of cars that rolled to a slow stop-except for one. Still a distance away, a red Honda tore down a stretch of avenue, its speed gaining.

Turning away from the approaching missile, Marcus looked at the intersection where the light had now turned red, and pedestrians trudged across the street, wearied by the late night. They were all oblivious, unaware of the car that gained ground by the second.

The Honda flew past at a sloth's speed to Marcus's eyes, enough time for him to glance inside. The negligent woman in the driver's seat looked at the passenger, a girl much younger than her. Black tears ran down the brunette girl's heavily painted face, a face contorted in anger. In the midst of their war, neither of them saw the stream of cars and pedestrians in front of them.