The harsh, grating noise of the phone nearly made Myra jump out of her skin. It rang out again, and again, and she realised it came from one of the payphones set up for customers over by the northern wall. Except it couldn’t possibly be a customer calling at this hour.

“Maybe he’s been caught somewhere else,” one of the uniforms said.

“Killed, let’s hope,” another replied, and rushed over for the phone.

Myra looked back at the main entrance, then back at the officer as he picked up the receiver, then to the main entrance again. Irrational though it was, she couldn’t help but worry that the Bomber would strike exactly when there was some sort of distraction.

“Uh, yeah, she’s here,” the man said after a few seconds.

She was the only female officer in the bank, and took a hesitant step towards the payphone before the man even turned her way. He handed her the receiver and returned to his post as she put it up against her face.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, Inspector,” said Petyr.

“What... what is this?” she said.

“I may have pretended to be calling from the station.”

“That’s illegal!” she hissed.

“I know. Sorry about that,” he replied, not sounding sorry at all.

For some reason she lowered her voice for the next bit of dialogue.

“How did you know where I am?” she demanded.

“I called each bank, asking for you, until someone could tell me where you are. And yes, I did pretend to be calling from the station.”

“This is a BAD time for an interview,” she told him. “Do you know what we’re trying to do?”

“The Bomber, right?”

“Yes, so I’m ending this-”

“I have information,” he said hurriedly.

“Tomorrow!” she replied.

“No,” Petyr said. “Not tomorrow. This is important.”

Myra hesitated for a breath.

“What is? What is so damn important?”

“Telling you will do no good,” he replied. “I have to show you. You simply wouldn’t believe me otherwise.”

“That’s a strange claim.”

“Yeah. Trust me, I know.”

She waited for him to continue, to start making some sense. The silence on the other end stretched out, and she started wondering if he was in turn waiting for her.

“You KNOW something is wrong,” he finally said. There was something in his voice. A certain deep, deadly seriousness, and a determination to get it across.

“Profoundly wrong,” he continued. “It itches in your mind, just like it does in mine. And if you want answers, then I can start you on the right track.”

“Answers?” Myra repeated. She had meant to make it sound incredulous, but something within her rebelled and put a certain quaver in her voice. She didn’t like what he was saying. Or rather, she didn’t like how it affected her.

She stood still and silent for a little while, scratching her head in irritation, at a loss for words.

“We are trying to put a stop to the spree killer that’s been terrorising this city for weeks now,” she said, rushing the words out of her mouth as soon as she found something to fall back on.

“And how is he doing it?” Petyr asked. “How does his weapon work? How did he make that leap when he escaped you after the loft? I went and took a look at the street he jumped across when you lost him. It is simply not humanly possible to clear that distance.”

All of Myra’s frustrations from past weeks seemed to hit her at once. All the failures, all the violence, all of the doubts. She put a hand over her eyes.

“I have to stop him,” she said, hating how weak her voice suddenly sounded.

“The odds of him showing up at that particular bank are pretty slim, you have to admit,” he told her with infuriating rationality. “And what I have to show you is more important than capturing a lone madman.”

“That’s quite a statement, considering his body count,” Myra replied, and felt anger starting to blossom.

“Oh, I know,” he said. “Believe me, I know. I mean, ask yourself if I’m dumb enough to make a statement like that without a very good reason.”

She did try to reach that conclusion, but found that she simply couldn’t.

“And you really aren’t going to tell me over the phone?” Myra asked.

“No. It wouldn’t do any good.”

“You’re very frustrating.”

“That’s the duty of a journalist,” he replied. She thought he was trying to make a joke but couldn’t manage levity. He overall just sounded strange.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Don’t you have that feeling?” Petyr then asked. “Under the surface? Of things simply not being as they should? Once I actually started looking for it I realised it’s been there within me all along.”

“I don’t... I...”

Myra felt completely and utterly helpless, and she hated it. She didn’t know how to continue, and so simply didn’t.

“Please come over,” he said. “Tonight. Please. And, I mean, if nothing else you’d better come arrest me, because I’ve been breaking and entering.”

“What?”

“Over in High Town. I’m calling from a phone booth outside of 42 Peace Street. I’ll be up on the eighth floor, in apartment 40. I think the view will be pretty nice up there. Also, I... killed that Wolf guy. The gang leader. He’s dead.”

Myra was silent for a moment.

“This is quite the conversation,” she then said.

“42 Peace Street,” he repeated. “Eighth floor. Apartment 40. We need to talk.”

He hung up. Myra stared at the receiver for a few seconds, then got out her notebook and jotted the address down while it was still fresh in her mind.

“What was that?” one of the officers asked.

“I’m... I’m needed elsewhere,” she replied and put the notebook back.

“I thought you wanted the Bomber more than anyone else in the city.”

“I do,” she said through her teeth, then started walking for the main entrance before she could think better of it.

# # #

Ana was faced with the reality that she had no plan at all. All she had was this strange drive to escape the city. Every step she took was a fight, utterly shameful in how right it felt, as it took her further away from her responsibilities and the people who relied on her, and closer to she knew not what. A childish impulse? Had her nerves simply given way from all the built-up pressure?

Ana didn’t know. All she could do was carry on.

Her lack of planning extended to not having thought to bring a map, or to head for any particular place outside the city. She did stop at a damaged, graffiti-covered bus stop and look over the plan, but there were no routes that led out of Black Bend, Fields and Cliffs. After a bit more walking along the still-slick streets she approached a train stop, finding much the same thing. People were on their own when it came to leaving, and so she continued walking.

What are you doing? she asked herself. And why did you bring your violin?

She resolved to simply head in a straight line. Escaping couldn’t get any simpler than that. Just a line. The direct route out. The notion grew into a fierce determination within her, only to be frustrated when the street ended in a T-intersection. Before her was a long apartment building, and she evaluated the two directions available to her, before settling on the third.

There was a fire escape, and it creaked and groaned as she ascended, threatening to give in after years of neglect. She crossed a roof blanketed by rotting leaves and other junk, and looked over the edge for a way down. She opted for a dumpster, and it shortened the drop enough for it to only hurt a little bit. She did almost pitch forward onto her face, but managed a clumsy hop down onto concrete before regaining her balance.

And on she went. There was a chain link fence and no gate that she could see in the darkness. So she climbed. It was an awkward process. She wasn’t much of an athlete and the violin case made things harder than they needed to be. But though the top scraped her hands she got both legs over before losing her grip, and her feet again slammed into the hard, man-made ground.

She walked on, keeping to her straight line. It took her through an industrial sector, dark and depressing in its abandoned state. She vaulted a brick wall that came up to her chin. She cut through an alley that only barely allowed her entrance. She entered an abandoned storage building, and with some effort kicked open the back door.

Straight line. Always the straight line.

There was no neat end to the city. It simply gradually thinned out. After a few minutes of walking on sickly grass she came upon a small river, or a large brook. Ana stepped in, and the chill of the night was replaced by a freezing shock as the water went up to her knees. It crept up her thighs as she crossed, then jumped up to her crotch as she stumbled over a rock at the bottom. The other bank was higher than its opposite, and she had to grasp at the weak, sparse straws and bare earth to make it up.

Ana turned around. She’d gone far enough now to take in the whole city at once, or at least the hints of it created by the lights. More lit than anything was Sentinel Tower, all the way over in High Town. At this distance that glorious structure looked like it was made of light, and loomed over everything else, even in High Town.

It served as Ana’s guide as she continued on across the grass. With darkness all around her and the city fading away, all she had to do was keep her back to the tower, and she knew she was headed into the right direction. Whatever that meant.

If there was a road nearby she simply couldn’t see it. Ana thought she could perhaps glimpse spread-out farms, but those could just as easily have been hillocks, or tricks of her mind. The mind did tend to act up when left without stimulation, and there was nothing for it to grasp at out here. There weren’t even people to be wary of. Just the darkness, her freezing cold legs, and the squelching in her shoes with each step.

A strange sensation built up as she left the city further and further behind. In spite of the wide open spaces this reminded her oddly of her journey into the tunnels. There was that same unreal sense of being all alone in some whole other world. Since she could barely even see her own body it was as if she was nothing but thoughts in darkness. Just the blackness and her own awareness of it.

What are you doing? she asked herself yet again. It had become almost a meditative chant at this point, but somehow the thought was losing its potency. She didn’t know what was happening within herself; if she was going mad or reaching some sort of revelation. But it was something.

It took her a little while to realise that she wasn’t walking on grass anymore. Ana stopped and scraped her foot experimentally on the ground. It wasn’t concrete beneath her; it was far too soft. But it didn’t feel like earth either. Nothing was dislodged by her foot.

She bent over and somewhat hesitantly put her palm on the ground. It brought her no closer to an understanding. Something held her, keeping her from simply falling into some empty void, but her fingers could make no sense of it.

A moment of dread struck and she turned around, relaxing slightly when Sentinel Tower continued to light her way back, even as the rest of the city was little more than a mirage. A phantom, in a sea of ink.

Ana stepped forward. She was repelled.

She gasped, expecting the pain of impact to hit a moment later, but nothing came. She tried to step forward again, and again found herself forced back, as if pushed by a soundless wind.

“Hello?” she tried, even though it felt foolish.

The darkness was predictably silent. Ana reached into her coat and brought out the forgotten flashlight. She clicked the button to no effect. Ana cursed silently and opened it yet again to fiddle with the bit of paper that kept the battery in place.

It still shone at nothing.

She had started to worry that the battery had simply run out, when she realised that the bulb was in fact shining. Putting her hand in front of it illuminated the fingers just fine. But shining it up ahead did absolutely nothing.

She aimed the beam down. It caught on her feet, freezing, miserable feet, but nothing else. She moved it to and fro, but there was simply nothing for the light to shine on.

Ana thought she might panic. The possibility was on the edge of her mind, threatening to burst loose in a flood if the wrong brick was removed. But she kept it at bay through rational observation. She carefully held her hand out and walked alongside this strange phenomenon, feeling the repelling effect as a vibration of sorts. It stayed consistent as she walked and walked and walked, and so did the blankness of her surroundings. But the tower was ever in the distance, warding off the threat of panic with its assuring guidance.

As one last test she got her wallet out, fished a single coin out of it, and then threw it ahead. It promptly flew back, bouncing off her hat.

“I think...”

She bent over. This made no sense. Except... it did make sense. If she allowed herself to slip into a different understanding of what that meant. To accept a different reality. And the sensation that had been building within finally found a release, like a flower opening its bud.

“Oh.”

It was a relieved exhale.

“Yes. Of course.”

She straightened out, turned back to face the city, and then unslung her violin case.