.:The Illumination of Sorrow:.

THE MOMENT

Bean wakes up with a cough and a sneeze, momentarily disoriented.

His wily imagination conjured a reality where he was a family man, happily married to Flossy, working at a premier firm in a distant country. He didn't shake or need an inhaler. He participated in normal, successful adult activities like golf with the buddies, labor day barbeques, and prostate exams.

Bean stretches, thin muscles popping into action, and pads to the next room over, ready to share his latest wild dream with Olive, only to find a vacant desk with her Huzuni resting on top of it.

The boy stares at grip, contemplating.

Olive often took night strolls when her insomnia was especially violent, so Bean knew she would return within the hour. She always checked in, making it a point to tell him when she would be out late, usually on extended hits lasting until early the next morning.

Even so, he couldn't help but worry.

Olive in her right mind would never venture out without her Huzuni, no matter how much she hated carrying the pistol.

A vision of Olive, unarmed and alone, being harassed by a maniac and whisked away into oblivion springs to Bean's mind. Or worse, Quad's hitman found her and he's committing unspeakable acts on his sister while he dawdles. She could be suffering all because he screwed up a simple task. Every blow Olive received would be his fault and only his. Because he couldn't stop shaking long enough to kill the right guy.

His lungs clench, but he doesn't reach for his inhaler.

Instead, he tucks the Huzuni into his waistband, gulping as the metal bites into his side. The last time he handled a gun he killed an innocent-

But it doesn't matter now, because Olive may be in trouble. She may need his help.

The time to act is now.

He fumbles out of the window, feet unsteady, and saddles his backpack higher up on his shoulders before rucking the path back to the city, the only place Olive would feel remotely comfortable on her walk.

He navigates on instinct, using the street posts and electric lines as landmarks, and bends over his knees, winded, when the strain becomes too much.

Panic whitewashes common sense. He has to make sure she's alright. And if, when, he finds her they can laugh about his silliness and she'll hug him like she always does because as terrifying as it may be, he knows Olive needs him just as much as he needs her.

The nightcrawlers stare at him in blank recognition, not bothering to ask where he's running to or running from at this time of night. A pale figure manifests on the bridge and Bean almost ignores him, knowing Olive never cared much for the bridge anyways, but decides to take his chances.

He almost cries in relief when he realizes who it is. The guy from the club! He might've seen her. Maybe he'll tell Bean she's fine and headed back for the suburbs right this instant. Or maybe he'll tell him he saw her being lead away by a dark apparition, a terror hidden behind her tired eyes.

Lucky for both of them, Bean finds Elmo tottering on the cliff of indecision just before the slightest breeze can send him tumbling either way.

"Please, please, you gotta help me. My sister's been taken." The assumption takes a hold of Bean and won't let go.

Elmo blinks. "Who?"

"Olive! The black girl with no hair you were chatting up at the Sweet Spot?"