Paragon ✓

IX. Home

A late lark twitters from the quiet skies:

And from the west,

Where the sun, his day's work ended,

Lingers as in content,

There falls on the old, gray city

An influence luminous and serene,

A shining peace.

Margaritae Sorori- William Ernest Henley

James pulled his hood over his head as he made his way down the street. It was raining sideways. Katia would have loved this weather. In his mind's eye, she was running through the forest, like a lost wood-elf returning home; water streaming down her face like joyful tears, strands of golden sunshine floating up around her head, shedding their illusion of hair as she made her way further into the depths. His unexpected confidante, his accidental friend: she was running away from him. She was moving with ethereal grace, soaring soundlessly over the twigs that normally snapped and creaked underfoot, just as she had that rainy day she'd stumbled upon James and Peter.

He hadn't known who had been more embarrassed: her, or himself. Actually, it had been Peter.

James frowned and kicked at a stray pebble on the sidewalk. She'd been gone for weeks, and nothing was being done. There was no police report filed on her disappearance, no missing person photographs posted on telephone lines or websites. She'd just walked into the night... and disappeared. Nothing.

He went into the Heron, and spotted Ethan sitting in the same booth. This wasn't the first worried call that James had received from Joe, who was at his wits' end with Ethan coming home drunk every night. Joe had every right to feel anxious about Ethan. James did too, but Ethan had been steadfastly ignoring James since Katia disappeared. With a frustrated sigh, James went over to sit by his friend.

His gin-glazed eyes were fast on the empty glass, as if the answers he was searching for were frozen inside the stained ice cubes.

"It won't do any good, reliving that night," James said. "Nobody blames you."

Ethan said nothing, waiting for the cages to melt away, releasing their secrets.

James moved the glass away. "And you won't find any clues at the bottom of a bottle."

Ethan's eye twitched, but he stood up wordlessly and threw down a ten-dollar bill. James coughed and put down ten more before following him out the door, in time to see Ethan stumble down the steps leading off the restaurant's porch. He rolled his eyes and went to help him up.

"Leave me the fuck alone, Mailloux!" Ethan yelled at him, tearing himself away from James' helping hand, only to stumble again.

"What's wrong with you?" James yelled back once Ethan had regained his balance. "Do you think she'd want to see you like this, too fucked up to walk at four o'clock in the afternoon?"

Ethan answered with a heavy blow, a harder hit than James could have expected in his state. The force of his fist against James' cheek knocked him flat on his back, and when he regained his vision, there were dark patches in the grey sky that hadn't been there before. He got to his feet shakily, and Ethan was staring at him, still furious.

"Fuck you," Ethan swore at his friend. "Fuck you for thinking you have any right to tell me what she would want. And fuck you for messing around with her, and not having the decency to tell me."

James did a double take, his eyes widening in surprise.

"You're not even going to deny it?" Ethan yelled. He shoved James again, who accepted the violence like a rag doll. "You bastard. You were sneaking around with her all last year, having your private conversations, and you think I didn't notice? And now you're doing nothing to try to find her, just like everyone else. She didn't run away. Katia wouldn't have done that." Ethan sagged, his voice breaking. "Not to me."