Writing on the Walls

Chapter One: Don't Go This Way

Peter ran through the station, pushing past people waiting for their train as politely as he could manage in his haste. No one questioned or gave him anything more than an annoyed look. He was only late, and everyone else seemed too engrossed in their own lives and schedules to mind Peter, as it always was. It wasn't unusual for one to be pushed around at this time of day when waiting for a train.

Peter was just thinking that maybe he could come up with some excuse to get out of this lunch date. He was allowing himself to imagine what excuse he might make when his inattention led him into a person.

"Watch it," the boy said, freezing for a second before he pushed Peter off. Peter took that second to look at him. The stranger was eye-catching. He had warm brown eyes, a contrast to his outfit, and some of the other parts of his appearance. Peter, being the kind to notice unimportant things, also noted the scarce few dark freckles over his pale cheeks and jaw. He had brown hair, too long for the haircut he had, swept to the side, a few strands falling over one eye, and he had a tall, lanky, somewhat awkward, figure.

"Sorry, sorry," Peter said, "I'm just—my bad." Peter stumbled over the apology. He felt as if his mind was all over the place today.

The boy gave a rather obvious eye-roll before walking off.

Peter was mildly disappointed when he received an eye roll. He'd apologized, hadn't he? He didn't have time to think on it for long though, as he was going to face the passive-aggressive wrath of a high-class middle-aged woman if he didn't show up on time.

Peter looked around and back at his phone. He didn't know where he was supposed to be going. He was meant to meet the very punctual and mannered mother of his fiancée for lunch and he was already running a little late. He was scattered and a little exhausted, as he looked helplessly at the graffiti-covered map of the station and tracks. He was suddenly very annoyed at vandalism. He bit his lip, straining his ears for the white noise, trying to block out the loud sounds of the underground and calm his building frustration.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the glass, frowning. He was a mess. His dyed-black hair—a remnant from his early teenage days—was tousled, his blue eyes had bags beneath them, his skin was pale, and his dress shirt was only half tucked in. He tore his gaze away before he could take in his messiness further.

He helplessly wandered the twists, escalators, and staircases of the underground BART system, trying to sort out a way to get where he needed to be as he'd missed the correct train. He ran his hands through his hair, looking around again and his eyes caught on something. Behind a cement pillar, Peter noticed the boy he'd just run into disappearing into a particularly beat up stairwell. The wall was covered in messy graffiti, the most notable of it reading a warning of 'dead end,' despite the staircase leading down. The stairway was easy to miss, behind a map and what looked like a lot of old worn-out caution tape.

Peter looked around for anyone who might be watching at him before looking back toward the stairway, raising an eyebrow in interest. He stared for a moment as the boy climbed through a gap in the caution tape and into the darkness behind the caution tape and beneath the graffiti. Peter walked over toward the stairway in a manner that was meant to be inconspicuous but probably accomplished the opposite.

Peter peered down the dark stairwell, not actually planning to walk past the old caution tape, just curious enough to look. Then, Peter noticed something—someone—move. It wasn't the boy who had just clambered down the stairway, but instead a young girl with stringy red-dyed hair and wide eyes. She couldn't have been older than sixteen. She looked up at Peter and her eyes widened even more so.