Stained Glass Souls (Wattys 2014, Collector's Dream Award Winner)

Price: Falling Behind

(Price)

She wasn’t coming home.

Price felt the beginning of panic, gripping his chest like a vise. His hatred was strong, but his pain was stronger. Earlier that morning he had single-handedly shattered the lone person who still held to the promise of his father’s love as tightly as he did.

Her face had been haunting him the whole day – the look of fear growing in her eyes as she realized who he was. Monster. He had been sitting on the curb of her street for the past two hours, gripping his hands together tightly. The sun had already dipped down in the sky to accommodate the moon, light giving itself up to be engulfed by darkness. Stars shimmered overhead, tiny chips scattering shadows over the world. Inanimate objects became people, moving and bumping and rustling.

The window to Charliegh’s room – first on the right, second floor – was closed tight. The window next to hers, however, was cracked wide open. Giggling drifted out into the wind. It definitely wasn’t Charliegh. This voice was high-pitched, squeaking. Low, sordid laughter echoed after it. A man’s voice. Price dug his fingers into his palms in annoyance. Was this what Charliegh lived with? It had been going on from the moment he arrived, the upstairs occupants flaunting themselves to passerby.

“Asher.” This was the high voice, breathless and aroused. Price could Asher, whoever he was, thumping around in that room, footsteps heavy. He clenched his teeth. Waiting to apologize was agonizing enough, without this commotion.

The night air grew colder. He could see his breath, spinning into a thick white cloud above his mouth. The stars sank back in the sky, brightness dimming as the hours slid slowly by. Gradually, the noise above stopped. He was a few steps down the sidewalk, head tucked against the wind as he left when he saw the car. It was a truck, headlights flooding the sleeping street with white life. He stared into the windows as it rolled slowly past. Moonlight glinted upon green hair. He could make out the curvature of a cheek, nose and eyes cloaked with shadow. Light bounced off a glittering decal on her shirt.

Charliegh.

He turned as the church bell started chiming. Twelve hollow peals, the bark of a dog, and then all fell to silence again. From his position, slanted down the sidewalk, he could make out a tall figure climbing out of the truck. The figure went around to the passenger side, opened the door, and lifted someone into their arms. The truck was still humming, headlights glaringly bright, and the pair were illuminated as they passed into the light. The sleeping form was Charliegh, face flushed. He could see a bruise, ringing one closed eye. The figure was a boy he didn’t know – skinny, dressed in a saggy sweater. His head was shaved, stubble growing upon his chin and cheeks.

The apology died in the back of his mouth. This was who she went to, when she was injured? A strange boy, who looked more fit to wander deserts than the streets of Redemption? He watched the boy shift Charliegh’s weight more to one arm, producing a key from his pockets. He unlocked the door and stepped inside the house.

Price spun on his heel. Anger surged through him. Why was he apologizing? It had been a mistake, the wounds he inflicted upon her, and now she had snagged herself a guardian. He heard the front door creak open, shut, behind him, and the truck sputter as the engine coughed to life. Light swept over him and continued on, Charliegh’s guardian disappearing over a bend in the road.

Monster. He deserved this. He needed this – the link to Charliegh being broken. Now, he could truthfully say that he was the lone survivor of hardship. He was, completely and utterly, alone.

He clenched his jaw. This was childish – waiting to apologize, obsessing over this unusual turn of events. He found his car, parked further down the street, and slid inside, heartbeat drumming in his temples. For a split second, he felt his resolve crumbling. He slumped forward, knuckles white upon the steering wheel. His forehead rested on the smooth leather.