I’m only half paying attention to him as I scroll, searching for an attorney who can actually help. I’ve got nothing against the court appointed public defenders. It’s a thankless and much-needed job, but their work is hard enough for regular folks. Defending a demon is going to be near impossible, so we need someone who has done it before. My eyes skip over listings until finally I land on one that looks promising.
“Got it, you ready to write down this number?”
I slump in my seat after hanging up with Ro, exhausted by this day already. I’ve managed to convince myself that it was probably a small charge; he got caught stealing something most likely. He said he would sign a release for the attorney to contact me, so I turn my phone volume up and check it constantly, even though I know they likely won’t call today.
Naturally, I turn to the internet, as one does when they’re trying not to panic while knowing the internet inherently makes everything worse. I search for other cases involving demon defendants, going down a rabbit hole of information that becomes less and less comprehensible with my limitedunderstanding of legalities. I do my best to parse through the dense information, but it only serves to confuse and worry me more, so I turn to my own research instead.
I pull up all the usual websites: American Meteor Society, NASA, the Global Meteor Network, a couple different meteor maps run by independent research companies, and a handful of user-based forums. There’s nothing new, as I feared, so I expand my search across the entire midwest and southern Canada, hoping against hope for anything I might have previously missed.
All the while, I ignore the little voice in my head taunting me about how I had just convinced myself Ro wasn’t going to leave me, only for him to get arrested.
22
TO LIE OR NOT TO LIE
November1316, 1994: Send them back. Never fall. Take them in. I Need. Where is their home? Try to find, but. They must be free, just like me. But do we have a home? What is such a thing… as free? Earth and sky. Back to ash…
Lor
A few hours later, I’m idly scrolling across another meteor map when the TV I have on in the background catches my attention. There’s breaking news of a fire. Arson, they’re saying.
I stand from the table and snag the remote off the couch. It’s a story on a massive warehouse fire that just so happens to coincide with the building I normally drop off the stardust at. The blood drains from my face, and I drop onto the couch.
Kahlo mrows a scolding at me for bouncing the cushions, but I don’t acknowledge it. I can’t tear my eyes from the TV and the roaring flames. They show a clip of the blaze with firefighters spraying down neighboring buildings to contain it, then reveal an after-shot of the charred remains. There’s hardly anything left; even the metal supports are twisted and warped.
Ro did this.
This is why he’s in jail.
My mind blanks, and I click the TV off. The silence is monumental, both inside and outside my head. I don’t know what to think. Was anyone hurt? He must have followed me one time when I thought I lost him, but why did he burn it down? Was it an impulse, something he couldn’t control? That doesn’t feel right, he wouldn’t have let it get that out of hand.
Which means it was on purpose.
My heart starts thumping in my chest, pounding so hard I’m half-convinced something is wrong. The muscles in my legs tremble before I tense them to stop it, and it feels like I’m not getting enough air into my lungs. I need to get out of here, to get away from all this.
I jump off the couch, startling Kahlo enough for them to hiss and dash away, but I’m already by the front door. I snag my keys, and am on my bike before I know it. My hair flies behind me, a tangled mess, but I don’t care enough right now to worry about it.
That’s future Lor’s problem. Current Lor has enough problems she’s already running from.
And now I’m talking to myself in the third person. That can’t be good.
I try to empty my brain, try not to think about fire, or jail, or the club, or anything to do with Ro. It’s impossible though, when I don’t feel his eyes on me. I’ve become so used to the sensation, that to go without it feels bizarre. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, like when you think you forgot something, but can’t remember what it is.
I clench my jaw and twist the throttle harder, desperately hoping to leave my fears and worries behind, but the further and faster I go, the more wrong it feels.
When the sun dips from under the heavy clouds and nearly blinds me, it shocks me out of my stupor enough for me to realize what I’m doing. I have no idea where I am, no destination in mind, and the ride has not cleared my head like it normally does.
Because he’s not here following you.
As soon as the thought crosses my mind, horror slides down my throat to settle heavy in my stomach. Ileft him.He didn’t leave me, not intentionally. If he really did set that fire, I have no doubt it was to protect me. Somehow, he found out what was going on, and this was his response.
“God-fucking-damnit!”
I continue to curse up a storm, throwing a leg out as I whip the bike around in a 180. It leaves skid marks along the road, and my front tire leaves the pavement for a moment when I gun it back the direction I came.
I don’t have time to be out here. Ro needs me, and I was ready to abandon him.
My heart feels like it’s lodged in my throat, and anger at myself pulses scorching heat through my veins. I’m sweaty when I get back, bursting through the door and earning myself another hiss from a different room. I toss my helmet and gloves on the couch as I sprint to the kitchen, then scramble back to my laptop and pull open the tab with the attorney’s information. My fingers shake as I type the numbers into my phone.
