paper rings (l.h.)

54

Luke's POV, half an hour before the storm hit. Somewhere in Mississippi.

Luke was exhausted.

Before he left, he promised he'd repay Calum in promises of any favor he wished, Calum waving it off with a simple shrug. Calum had promised not to tell the band of the lie he had spun if Luke promised to be back in a week. To which, Luke simply nodded - understanding that he had to make the week count.

Calum went home in the quiet fog that had covered the streets before Luke had asked Tanner for a ride, Calum quiet as usual and didn't bother to say anything but give a faint smile when he left. Luke had always seen through his casualness, he knew that just beyond the surface Calum was the closest thing to a saint to walk the Earth. He was a better man than Luke was, and Calum helping him scrub his apartment clean despite how tired he was solidified it — as if he needed any type of proof.

He was going to do something for Calum when he got back, maybe Mary could help him figure whatever that meant.

So Luke hopped the first flight he could find, the airline deciding to make a detour at the Memphis airport instead of Baton Rouge like it was supposed to because of the incoming tropical storm. Luke grabbed the first rental car he could find once he landed and booked it to his hometown, watching the clouds grow dark, more threatening the faster he drove. He didn't give a shit about the storm, or the fact that he was the only car headed south, when everyone else was headed north. He knew he had more than enough cash on hand to buy that car straight from the rental agency and half the lot if it were to be swept away. When Mary and her grandmother were tied up South, suddenly the past memories of Katrina didn't seem scary enough to head back.

He waited until he saw the Welcome to Mississippi sign until he pulled his phone up to text her. Luke felt the gentle tug of the wind against his car, which made his heart race a thousand times harder than it did before. And the fact that he was surrounded by nothing more than fields and trees and an endless highway explained why Mary didn't answer on the forth, fifth ring. The sky was split in half, and the pitch black, fluffy clouds continued to engulf the sky when the distance between him and her shrunk. He wasn't sure if it was the upcoming storm or Mary that caused the air in the open windows to feel heavy and thick and electric.

But he knew it wouldn't be hard to track her down. She'd be tucked in like the rest of the town, probably finishing her newest series or writing her own. The restaurant had to have sent her home, the weatherman on the radio recommended it, at least. No manager would be cruel enough to force her to work in a storm like this. People last time were trapped in their businesses, in their homes in the flash floods. Hopefully she made it out before it flooded. He pressed the phone to his ear again: no signal.

The sun was still fighting the clouds that would soon shove themselves in front of her. The photo of her on his phone disappeared as he tried four, five times to reach her. Three beeps, no answer. He takes a deep breath, throwing his phone on the passenger seat as he rolled past the old courthouse.

He drove those back roads like he had a million times before, but faster. The wind began to pick up, and the rain started tapping, then pouring, his windshield and forced his windows up. He grabbed his phone, pressing it to his ear as he tried once again to call Mary. Three beeps, no response. He's always had service here, at least he thought he did. He gripped the wheel tight as the wind tried to yank the control away from him, his knuckles white as he focused.

The air was thick, the temperature must have dropped ten degrees since he first started his journey in Memphis. He licked his lips slowly as he focused on the road ahead.

He arrived in twenty minutes less than he anticipated, probably thanks to the ungodly speed he was traveling at and the fact that the cops didn't think twice about his speeding in the midst of a tropical storm. The house looked the same as it always did, chickens put away in their pens and filling their shelter with their nervous cries. Grabbing nothing but his phone and his keys, he parked the car away from any trees as the wind nearly prevented him from opening his car door. It didn't take very long for his clothing and hair to become soaked. The sun was gone now, the day turned to night in a little under five minutes.

He would have ran straight to the front porch had he not heard a woman's groaning, grunting, and the sound of something heavy against the gravel surrounding the house.

Soaked, panting, leaning against the brick house Mrs. Marjorie pulled the bag of sand up the back kitchen door. Her eyes met his, widening, as she realized that Luke had snuck in underneath the sound of the wind in the trees, and rain on the roof. "Mrs. Marjorie," he grabbed the heavy bag - much too heavy for her. "I can do this. Let's get you out of this rain-"

Mary should have done this an hour ago, when the weathermen Luke tried to pay attention to on the radio station warned people to seek shelter, sand bag their houses just in case. Mary she would never have allowed her Grandmother to move such heavy sandbags in the pouring rain. She wasn't here, she couldn't have been. Luke goes to reach out to her, to lead (or carry - whichever came first) inside, but she swiftly dodged his embrace as he reached for her arms. "I'm fine, boy. Mary's not home."

"She's not?" His heart leaps in his chest.

"She left two hours ago," her Grandmother scoffed, "someone asked her to cover a shift. But at that time, the storm was only supposed to last three hours. But they dropped the ball, and now I'm so worried - I told her to go. That I would be fine."

He could have sworn the world had somehow gone silent, as if someone had grabbed his stomach and squeezed it. He remembered Katrina well enough, remembered the way his friends grieved their lost family and pets in the water. He had been at the hospital with his Father that day, sleeping with the rest of his family - his mom, and his two brothers, in the room turned safe haven for families. Luke watched as his Father, his eyes still alert and as blue as ever - watched in horror as the hallways were full of running doctors, nurses with beds, and a thousand cries.

He had tried to forget, tried not to think about the way his Father rocked him to sleep that night. He wished he was too young to remember their sobs, or the way his Father's racing heartbeat sounded in his ear. That he had a heartbeat at one time.

He led her inside, sitting her down in the couch in front of the front window. She was too tired, too cold to act proud now. Luke covered her shoulders with the first towel he found, and grabbed his keys from where he threw them on the table.

"Wait," Ms. Marjorie called to him as he began out the front screen door. His curls, stuck to his forehead as he tries to ignore the spots of red he's seen ever since finding out that Mary was not home and safe, drop thick rain onto his shirt, his temples. He catches her wide-eyes once again as she points towards the back of the house. "My husband's shed is a few yards back. There should be a boat and a hitch in there."

Luke gulped. He hadn't driven a boat in years, not since his older brothers took it upon themselves to take Luke out to the lake, back when his Dad was in particularly bad shape. It wasn't a good trip, they all ended up hating each other by the time they reached land. But Luke had been taught by them, knew enough to figure it out on his own.

So he nodded once, not wasting words before he glanced out towards the way he came in, at the dirt road that had been engulfed in the water that rose from the creek beneath it. Luke wasn't scared, not when Mary was on the other side of that road.