Kathryn Reid, Junior, Political Science & English, Keller, Texas
I liked sitting by the window because I could see above everything else. I was as high as the clouds, watching the city like an urban angel. I watched as taxis sped down 9th Avenue and past West Street, ignoring red lights and swerving buses as they drove. The streets leading past the Lincoln Tunnel bustled with activity; hordes of people rushed along sidewalks and in between car lanes, and some even jumped on top of the cars, waving their arms to others I couldn’t see.
I pursed my lips. It wasn’t strange for the city to be so lively at this time of the evening, but it reminded me intensely of the stillness in the restaurant and made me regret how I had rushed to get to the restaurant on time. My Pilates class had finished later than usual, which made me late to pick up the kids, as well. When I finally got home and set the kids with the sitter, I hurried myself through a shower, the fixing of my hair and makeup, and even deigned to drive myself downtown instead of taking the subway and walking the rest of the way; because of it, Will and I would have to drive separately after dinner later.
William was my husband, and he was meant to meet me for dinner tonight. We had made plans to celebrate his new promotion at the law firm; he had finally made partner, and I wanted to parade him around the city like I had just won Wimbledon. We were supposed to meet at the restaurant at six, though. It was thirty minutes past. He hadn’t answered any of my texts or calls, and I couldn’t tell if he had even seen or heard them.
So, I sat in the restaurant, alone at a table for two and nursing a glass of wine, waiting for my husband to arrive.
I glanced around the place lazily. The restaurant, which sat on top of a towering building in Greenwich Village, was supposedly highly rated. At least, according to William it was. I thought I could agree. It was nice, not in a gaudy way like some five-star restaurants, but in a classy, understated way, showing off its best features in cleverer ways than just extravagance. It was dimly lit by candles on each table (I don’t know why, but not being able to see the food in front of me in restaurants like this one has always screamed ‘refined dining’ to me) and windows covered the outer walls completely, so everyone had a view of the sunset. Other customers sat at various tables throughout the area, barely raising their voices to chuckle at something their companions said.
There was also an older gentleman playing songs by Harry Connick Jr. and composers of the like on the piano by the bar. The music was soft in the background, barely more than white noise. Listening closely, I soon recognized the light, smooth melody of Don’t Get Around Much Anymore by Duke Ellington.
Awfully different without you, the lyrics played in my mind, reminding me of that empty, white chair across the table. Don’t get around much anymore… I closed my eyes and sighed.
“Would you like some more wine, ma’am?” a voice said from my other side.
My eyes flew open. It was the waiter. A scrawny young man in his mid-twenties, he stood beside the white-clothed table, his shoulders stiff within his white button-up and black vest and his eyebrows raised, expectant.
I glanced down at my glass and swirled around the remaining drops of Chardonnay. “I may have had too much already, I think,” I said sadly. It was only my second glass, but I could get tipsy fairly quickly. It would be wise to stop until
further notice.
“Are you ready to order, then?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m still waiting on my husband.”
The waiter pursed his lips as if holding himself back from speaking. Hesitation passed over his pale face before he simply nodded and walked away from the table. My eyes followed him as he went, not stopping until he had retreated back into the kitchen.
I nodded slightly to myself, satisfied. It was his job to remain attentive to the customers dining in his section, I knew that, but there was something in that waiter’s voice that I just didn’t like. Every time since I had arrived that he had come to check on me, his manners had become increasingly testy, as if he were bothered that I was still there, like he didn’t believe me when I said my husband was still coming. I crossed my arms and tried to ignore it. He would see the truth once William arrived, after all.
But where was Will? I fished my phone out of my purse and went directly to my text messages. My eyes scanned the screen, skipping over old messages from friends and nagging texts from my mother until I saw my conversation with Will on the list. I clicked it. There was still no new message from him, no sign that he had even read them.
An uneasy feeling rose in my stomach. Will had been punctual ever since our first date. The few times he had canceled or been late, he had always called beforehand. I checked the watch on my wrist, the silver watch William had given me for our anniversary three years ago. Normally, it laid delicately against my skin, a pleasant and gentle reminder of my husband’s affection for me. Despite that, it now felt heavy with time and dread, as if it would slide off my hand at any moment and drop to the floor with a loud thud.
My heart quickened its beating within my chest. I couldn’t stay in the restaurant any longer. My husband wasn’t there, and I had no idea when he would come. It was useless to stay. I stood up from my chair and raised my arm to flag the waiter down for my check.
I barely had time to register the giant mass of black smoke outside before everything exploded before my eyes. It destroyed the wall of windows beside me, and the shattered glass flew in every direction. Shards of glass sliced through the air, several cutting the sides of my arm, which I lifted to protect my face from the blast. The only sound I could hear was the ringing in my own ears from the blast.
I didn’t see how anyone else reacted to it. I didn’t see anything else, really. I fell swiftly to my knees, slumped to the checkerboard tile, and closed my eyes, entering an unwelcome state of unconsciousness.
***
While I lay helpless on the floor, I dreamt of the past.
It was the day I met Will. I was crossing the street at UPenn, our alma mater, after leaving class. Late afternoon sunlight broke through trees’ green leaves, and shadows littered the concrete sidewalks. The air was still cool even in late spring in Pennsylvania.
I had just tripped in the middle of the street. My books and papers flew in the air and to the ground in a scattered heap, and I frantically grabbed at them as the red light threatened to turn green with every passing second. Before I could be run over by some impatient drivers, though, Will picked up my things, put his hand on my shoulder, and guided me to the sidewalk. Once stopped, he held the papers out to me.
“Here,” he said. “Did you get everything?”
I blinked up at him, confused. Not at his question, but at him. UPenn wasn’t a small school by any means, but I had never seen him before. If I had, I would’ve definitely remembered him. He was tall, had cropped blonde hair, and his eyes were nothing like I had ever seen in a person before; they were green and utterly genuine. His eyes were honest.
I took my things from his hands and nodded. “I think so.”
“Great,” he said. “Later.” He began to walk away.
“Wait,” I said.
He turned, an expectant look plain on his face.
“I—” I stammered. “I didn’t get to tell you thanks.”
A hint of a smile grew on his lips. He took a few steps closer to me, almost too close for a stranger. He took a pen out of his pocket and gestured to the papers in my hands. “May I?”
“Oh. Yeah, sure.”
He leaned down and scribbled something in a blank space on the paper at the top of my messy pile. He finished and looked back up at me, a humorous yet sincere gleam in his eye. “If you still want to thank me, you can text me later.”
Then, he strolled away, leaving me speechless on the sidewalk.
***
I woke up with a jolt. My arms stung from the cuts from earlier, and my head ached. I touched the side of it tenderly—I must have hit it on something on my way down.
I glanced around the restaurant and gasped. Everything had been ruined, from the scratched walls and cracked porcelain plates on the ground, to the turned-over chairs and ripped tablecloths. I stood up and walked around the area, gingerly stepping over scattered debris and cursing myself for wearing heels. There was an eerie silence in the air, too, one that sent a shiver up my spine.
I had made it as far as the bar when I heard it: a groan, a soft one hidden beneath some rubble. I scanned the floors, the walls, every inch of the restaurant until I spotted the source of the sound. A few feet away from me, a man was struggling underneath a wooden table broken in half on top of his body. One of his legs bent in an unnatural direction, and I realized it was broken.
I reached to grab the table on top of him, drawing strength from my core and my legs as I lifted it off his torso and threw it haphazardly away. He made a sound of relief.
“Thank you,” he whispered. His voice was raw and scratchy.
I just nodded. “How long have you been like this?”
“An hour or two, or four. I have no clue. I woke up a while ago, but everyone else was gone.” He eyed me warily. “Except for you, of course.”
Everyone left? “Why did they leave us?”
He moved his shoulders awkwardly and briefly, likely his attempt at a shrug. “They were afraid, probably.” He gave a sardonic chuckle. “Hell, I would have left if I hadn’t been stuck under there.”
His words shocked me, but the edge in his tone reminded me of someone. I leaned forward, scrutinizing his face. Beneath the dried blood on his face and behind the mask of a freshly broken nose, I recognized the man as my waiter from earlier. I reeled back a bit in surprise. To my relief, he didn’t seem to notice.
I cleared my throat. “We need to get out of here. My family is probably worried about me. Yours too.”
“Good luck with that,” he said. “I doubt we’ll be able to leave now.”
A chill spread over my bare, cut arms. I wanted to ask the waiter why we couldn’t leave, what in the world was going on, but no sound escaped my mouth. My hand flew to my throat, and I opened my mouth to speak again. Still, no noise. My nails clawed my throat as I panicked, leaving red marks on my skin. I looked back at the waiter and froze.
The black smoke had returned. Yet, it looked less like smoke and more like a dense fog as I studied it in my frozen state. The mass shook and shuddered before the waiter and me, and a low croaking sound emitted from it. Alive, I realized. The fog is alive.
I watched the waiter stare into the darkness. His whole body trembled; his eyes twitched. His light skin turned paler, and beads of sweat ran down his forehead. The fog grew louder, the guttural croak spreading through the entire restaurant.
In a moment, he cried out. His limbs shook spastically for an instant, and then he went completely motionless, still, and silent. He did not stir again.
The fog dissipated, and I returned to my dreams.
***
My mind ran through my life since Will as I slept.
Will and I started going out after that encounter in the street. I had been a sophomore at the time, and Will had been a senior. We clicked immediately after discovering that we had so much in common. He was at UPenn studying finance, and I was studying sociology, but we both had intentions to go to law school. We bonded over it and went out for a few months before we fell for each other.
We married the same year I graduated from U Penn and William entered law school at Columbia. I went the next year. My dreams to become a lawyer were never fully realized, though. Once we had our first child, attending law school full-time no longer seemed practicable. I left for maternity leave as a 2L and never went back.
I could never regret having my children when I did. We ended up having three children: Finn, the eldest, Noah, our second, and Cassie, our youngest and only daughter. They were my life’s greatest gifts, and I loved them immensely. And yet, I still had an ache in my heart when I thought about what I gave up having them. My connection with Will when we started dating began with our shared dream to become lawyers. William yearned for the prestige of the profession while I had big ideas of studying constitutional law, working in Washington, and changing our country’s laws for the betterment of society—both valid in their own ways.
My purpose for the past eight years had been to raise my children, and I had done so tirelessly and without complaint. I wouldn’t want to trade them for anything. As they grew up, though, I began to wonder what I would do when they no longer needed me like they used to. They were still so little, I didn’t intend on abandoning them, I would never.
As I watched them leave for school each morning, grow taller, and develop, I couldn’t help but wonder what my purpose would be once they were all grown up.
***
I woke with a clearer mind than before and found myself staring directly into the heart of the dark mass of fog.
Fear rose in my throat, tasted like bile on my tongue, and I shut my eyes tight. Again, my voice wouldn’t find me. Even if it had, I would’ve shrieked. I wasn’t an adult woman, married with three children in that moment but a child. I wanted to hide behind my own mother’s body and let her fight the monster off. I thought of Will, my husband, my best friend whose whereabouts were still unknown by me. I wanted him to flash me his characteristic, reassuring grin, to pull me into his arms and hold me there until I was sure this was all a dream. Alas, I was alone.
The fog croaked low and deep all around me. There were whispers, too.
Don’t leave, Mommy, it breathed into my ear. Please don’t leave us.
Terror struck my heart. That was Cassie’s voice. I would recognize her soft, lilting timbre anywhere.
Mommy? Noah’s voice now. Help us, please. We’re in here. It has us. Please!
Mom, come save us! I wanted to sob at Finn’s cry. Cas and Noah are here, and I can’t find them! Help me. Help us!
My whole body began to shake. I felt hysteric. Was this how the waiter had gone? Terrified beyond measure at the tortuous cries of his loved ones?
Bianca! An adult voice joined the horrid chorus. Don’t give in, Bianca.
I forced my eyes to open. Will, I thought.
Run, Bianca, it said. We are not here—it’s a trick. Run, my love, run!
Stay here, Bianca, it whispered.
I caught eye of the gold and diamond ring on my finger. No, I thought. I’m going home.
I faced the fog head on, gave it a simmering glare. My heart still pounded with alarm and fear, and my hands continued to tremble. But I was resolved. I would not die here like the waiter and possibly the others. I was going home to my family, or to whatever was left of it.
I pushed past the fog and ran for the elevators at the back of the restaurant. The voices were louder, screaming in my ears, begging for me to stay. I tuned them out as best as I could, ignoring the terror in the imitated children’s voices.
The elevator opened almost immediately after I pressed the button. I rushed inside and punched the ‘close’ button until the doors shut, hard. Then everything was silent.
And I was safe.
***
The darkness had whispered its way through the streets of New York City that night, terrorizing civilians in apartment buildings and skyscrapers alike. Shockingly, though, scarcely anyone could remember the full events of the night. Everyone save for the ones who went head-to-head with the darkness.
Like me.
That night still scarred me. I had returned home drenched in nervous sweat and shaking profusely. Understandably, the sitter had been surprised to see me in such a state. I quickly sent her off, though, and sprinted upstairs to my children’s rooms to make sure they were there. They were sound asleep in their beds when I found them. Despite everything, I didn’t have the gall to wake them up to hug them.
Will made it home a few minutes after me. I tackled him as soon as the front door clicked open. I ran my hand over his face quickly, and he gave me a weird look.
“Honey?” he asked. “What’s with the staring?” He then noticed the cuts on my arms, and his eyes widened in alarm. “What happened to you?”
I laughed a little, bewildered, then proceeded to catch him up on my night. While I recounted the story, he sat me down on the couch with the first aid kit and cleaned up my cuts, got ice for the bruises. He was utterly baffled when he heard. He had no recollection of the darkness, just that he had passed out for a few hours while he was stuck in traffic. After we were done catching up, he pulled me into his arms again. I relaxed for a moment but then pushed away to look at him.
“I love you, Will,” I said.
He raised his brow. “I would hope so. I’ve loved you for a while, too.” He teased, but he grew silent, allowing me to continue.
I smiled. “I love you. I love our kids, and I love our life. I could never believe that we’d get this lucky. I’m eternally grateful for this life. The thing is…” I took a deep breath and continued. “I still want to follow my dream of becoming a lawyer. I thought at first that you pursuing your dream was enough to satisfy us both, but I was wrong. I need a purpose in my life, outside of raising our family.”
I waited, listening to the grasshoppers outside chirp and sing in the garden. Then, he took my hand.
“You always wanted to make the world a better place,” he said softly. His eyes became serious. “I hope you never thought I would stand in the way of your dream, love. I have only ever wanted the best for you.”
I beamed. “Never,” I said. “I just needed your reassurance that this is the right choice.”
He smiled. “You, doing everything in your power to help others? That is always the right choice.”
I kissed him, he kissed me back, and I leaned my head on his shoulder. When I fell asleep with the two of us on the couch, I didn’t dream of the past or of frightening monsters. I dreamt of the future.