Cold

Author’s Note: this story is a sequel to another short story I published a little while back. You don’t need to read the first to understand this story, but I am leaving the link here for those who wish to do so.

I haven’t been to the top of the Willis Tower since I was a kid. Of course, I was on the inside last time. 

It’s so clear tonight. The wind is blowing, like always, but I’m not cold. I scan the city, and it’s brighter than before. I swear I can see the other side of the lake, but that’s gotta be my imagination. There’s no way I can see that far. Right?

I breathe in the air, but it doesn’t feel cold. It tastes the same… smells? Do you taste air? Not important. I can’t feel the cold anymore.

I pull my knees up to my chest and scoot closer to the edge. I can see the nighttime traffic, and the few people walking around at this hour. One of the first snows of the year is falling, but it’s not enough to see white on the ground from up here. I lean over further. I’m not scared of the drop. When I was a kid I wouldn’t get close to the windows cause they made me dizzy. Now I’m sitting all the way up here and I’m doing okay.

“I’m sure they saw you on the way up.” Maggie’s here. Followed and climbed after me without making a sound. I tried to lose her, just to see if I could, but she’s good at this. Way better than me, at least. Oh well, she’s good company if nothing else.

“We’re leaving tomorrow anyway, aren’t we?” I say. I know she’s lived this long by being careful, but who really cares if someone sees us? Not much they could do about it, anyway. 

“Yes, but I would like to be able to return to this city.” 

Right, she has a house nearby. Maggie said she moved cities every month or two. She has places to stay all over the country. Probably more that she hasn’t told me about, too. “Uh-huh. I promise to be more secretive. Now please tell me where we’re going.”

Maggie steps up next to me and looks out over the lake. She’s so confident. I’ll lean over the edge, but only in the fetal position. She’s practically dangling her toes over the side. Her darker skin is flawless, like a twenty-year-old’s, and her curly black hair flutters in the breeze. She’s ancient. She’s powerful. She’s almost invincible, and she knows it.
I totally want to be her.

“Toronto,” she says. 

“Toronto? Why there?” 

“It’s not far.”

“Not far? What, are we driving?”

“Walking.”

I feel my jaw drop. “We’re just going to walk to another country? You have any idea how long that’ll take?”

Maggie shrugs. “A couple weeks. It goes faster when you go through the lake.”

Oh. Through the lake. We can do that now.

I turn back to the city and let it sit. The sounds of the night are far away. It’s peaceful up here. It’s weird. 

“Well either way, let’s go. I’m about done up here.”

Maggie doesn’t react. She does that, just stares off into the distance. I know after just a week with her that her mind doesn’t work like a normal personl. I don’t even want to know what’s going on in there when she’s thinking this long. 

“Yes, let’s go.” Maggie doesn’t wait for me before she jumps off.

My stomach drops and I scramble to the edge. Only Maggie’s fingertips are visible for a second before she drops from the ledge and continues down. She’s quieter than me and better at not being seen. I’ll be fine though. I think.

I inch much more slowly to the side. I know the drop doesn’t mean much to me. Maggie says if I fall I’ll be okay in a week or so. She said not to fall because she doesn’t want me noticed more than because it was dangerous. It’s still hard to care if they notice me. 

I turn around and drop, catching myself on the ledge just like she did. I came up here to prove that I could, and to get used to danger. I look down. I’m not used to the danger. 

I breathe real deep and let go. My hair flies up around me. It’s terrifying, but kind of a rush. Do I still have adrenaline?

I catch myself on a windowsill, and I’m greeted by a black web as my hair settles itself right on my eyes. Ponytail when I’m doing this, got it. 

I let go again. And again. Somehow I’m strong enough to catch myself by my fingertips on a windowsill. I don’t look down again. Maggie told me heights would get easier if I practiced. I’m starting to think Maggie is a fucking liar. 

Finally my feet hit the ground and I roll away from the wall. There’s no one with me on the lower balcony this late. The streets aren’t as busy as usual either. Maggie is below on the street, hugging herself and pretending to be cold. She’ll want me to go home and hide, so we can just leave tomorrow.

Well, she can wait. I’ve got one last thing to do here.

I turn around and hop off the other side. One person turns to stare, but I just keep walking. They’ll forget they saw me soon, or they’ll just think I’m tweaking. 

I don’t come to this side of town too often, but I know where I’m going. I know better than I thought I would, honestly. Did the change make me smarter? Huh.

Most of the people I pass by ignore me, which is how it should be. I get catcalled once. One guy tries to sell me something. I think he actually is tweaking. 

Three more turns, a mile down the street. I stop in front of an apartment complex. I can smell the mildew from the stoop. Has this place gone to the dumps? No, I’m just a bloodhound now.

You’re supposed to have to buzz in for the front door to open, but the gate lock has been janky for years. I jiggle it, lift, twist a little bit… and I’m in. Up the stairs, third floor, hallway to the left. I haven’t been here in over a year, but I know the way.

I stop in front of the door, and years of memories flood back. Things I’d tried to forget. All the shit I put in myself to forget. Everything I went through because of him. I feel the cold again. 

I knock. I wait a minute with no answer and knock again. I hear shuffling behind the door. I know he’s up this late. Footsteps getting closer, then a pause when he looks through the peephole. He curses and the lock turns. The door swings open. 

He hasn’t changed much in the past year. He has the same straight dark hair I do, but he got Mom’s face instead. I’m apparently stuck with my skinny arms for eternity now, but his are thick, not entirely with muscle. He’s dressed in an old baggy t-shirt that I recognize and sweatpants. I can smell him, a mix of pizza, beer, and unwashed clothes. 

“Emma? The hell’re you doing here?”

“I wanna talk, James.”

“At three in the morning?”

“Trust me, it’s important.”

James blinks at me. He’s not used to me being this serious, or this assertive. “What is it?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute.” An unfamiliar feeling wells up. It starts in the pit of my stomach and works its way down to my feet, then up to my throat. My eyesight sharpens. I’m lighter on my feet. I’m not the scared girl I used to be, and it’s intoxicating.

The rush takes me over and I smile, accidentally baring my elongated teeth. “Let me in, James.”