The Blind Witness

3: Number 32

The baseball stadium is a roar of noise, bursting with life. Nathaniel walks beside me, hands shoved in his pockets. He's calm, unfazed by the buzzing city around us, like always. He turns to me, eyes bright, and asks if I want anything from the snack stand. I shake my head, offering a small smile.

The game hasn't even started yet, but the stands are groaning with all the busybodies swarming in. I'm trying to focus, trying to let the excitement around me drown out the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's been a week since I saw him at the bus stop, or at least I thought I did. The memory hasn't left me alone. His hollow eyes, the way the red umbrella bled into the night. It's all I've been able to think about. And then there's the dream, the key.

I don't know what it means, but I know it means something. It has to. Right?

Nathaniel returns with a drink in his hand, offering it to me without saying a word. His quiet thoughtfulness is something I've always admired. I take a sip, the cold soda cutting through the heat of the day, and we find our seats. It's a good view, close enough to the field that we can see the players warming up, but far enough that we're not caught in the crush of the crowd.

The commentator's voice booms through the speakers, announcing the lineup for the Red Sox.

"And tonight, the legendary Ziggy Bruin, first baseman, will be wearing number 32! That's not his normal number is it Mike?"

"I think not, might be a special game for Bruin." the other commentator notes

My eyes snap to the field, scanning the players until I spot him, Ziggy Bruin, standing near first base, casually tossing the ball back and forth with the pitcher. Number 32. That number. The same number I've seen before, on the street signs near my house. Bruin Street. A funny coincidence, Bruin's not a common name. I shake it off, but I can't help but feel like the universe is drawing lines between things that shouldn't be connected.

"You okay?" Nat questions. I nod quickly, forcing a smile, but it doesn't reach my eyes. He doesn't press, just nudges me lightly with his shoulder, and I appreciate that more than I can say. The game starts, and for a while, I manage to lose myself in the rhythm of it. The crack of the bat, the cheers from the crowd, the way Nathaniel glances at me from time to time with quiet concern.

Ziggy Bruin steps up to the plate, the crowd's energy shifting as they watch him. The pitcher winds up, and throws the ball. Ziggy swings, there's a loud crack as his bat connects. The ball soars into the air, higher and higher until it disappears into the thick, low-hanging clouds.

The crowd watches, waiting for the ball to fall back down. But it doesn't.

Seconds tick by, and nothing happens. No ball. No outfielder scrambling to catch it. Just the sky, heavy and still, like it's holding its breath.

Then the hail starts.

First, it's just a few scattered pieces, tiny, almost harmless. But then it grows. Golf ball-sized chunks of ice raining down on the field. People start shouting, covering their heads, scrambling for shelter. The players rush off the field, and I watch as the Red Sox ball kid sprints out of the dugout, holding out umbrellas for the team. The sight of them, umbrellas which sport red and black, sends a chill through me, and for a moment I think it's him running onto the field. His umbrella. His death.

The storm rages, the air full of icy white. Nathaniel grabs me, pulling me closer to the concrete wall of the stadium, shielding me with his arm as people around us hurry toward the exits. But I can't move. I'm frozen, staring at the field, at the umbrellas. Everything around me fades into a blur, and all I can hear is the pounding of my heart, loud and erratic, like it's trying to drown out the storm.

"Nathaniel," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the chaos. He looks at me, concern etched across his face.

"Hey, What's wrong?"

"I need to go." I say, not even sure where the words are coming from. I just know that I have to leave. Now.

"Are you okay? Is it the hail?"

"I- I just need some air. Come on, Nat!" I screech as the mass pushes in.

We make our way through the crowd. His presence is steady, grounding, even as my mind spirals. I'm grateful for his confidence. The storm follows me home. Not the hail, but the heaviness. The sense that something is closing in on me. The house is dark when we get back, the windows casting long shadows across the floor.

"Are you sure you don't need anything, no food, no TV recommendations?"

"No, I learnt my lesson last time," I sulk "How can you not like Legally Blonde! It's iconic."

"Not my fault Yoda's Lightsaber is cooler." Nat states

After making sure I'm okay, Nathaniel leaves, though I can tell he's reluctant. I tell him I just need some sleep, but as soon as the door clicks shut, the silence presses in.

I curl up on my bed, pulling the blanket tight around my shoulders, but the cold seeps in anyway. My mind spins, and exhaustion pulls me under before I even realize I'm falling asleep.

asleep

The dream is different this time. I'm not in an alley. I'm somewhere else, his apartment. It's small, cramped, the smell of cigarette smoke and stale coffee hanging in the air. He's sitting at the kitchen table, his back to me, hunched over something I can't see. The room feels wrong, like it's warped somehow, the edges blurring, shadows creeping in from the corners.

I step closer, my footsteps soft on the creaky floorboards. He doesn't turn around, but I know he knows I'm there.

"Jaxon?" I whisper, my voice shaking. He doesn't respond.

I take another step, and that's when I see it, what he's holding. A key. The same one from my dream. He turns it over in his hands, his fingers tracing the worn metal.

"I didn't mean for it to happen," he says, his voice low, broken. "I didn't know."

My heart races, and I reach out, my hand trembling. "What happened? What didn't you know?

But before he can answer, the floor opens up, swallowing me as I fall. A scream, but it's like the sound is pulled from my throat, lost in the dark. And then everything goes black.

awake

I wake up with a start, my heart pounding, my room still cloaked in darkness. The shadows feel heavier than before, creeping along the walls, shifting and twisting like they're alive. The air is thick, stifling, for a moment, I feel like I'm still dreaming.

But then I remember the key. The way he had held it, the look on his face. Whatever it is, it's important. It's a clue.

I sit up, my breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. I need to find that key.

Because I'm starting to think that whatever happened to Jaxon, it's not over yet.