I watched it spiral down the drain and wondered how many more bodies it would take before I found the answers I was looking for.
How many more before I found Gabriel.
How many more before I found myself.
I saw the shadow when I came up the stairs.
The bar was dark—the chairs were up, the lights were off, the door was locked—but I'd seen something through the window. A figure. Tall. Male. Standing across the street, watching.
This time, he didn't run.
I pressed my palm against the glass. The window was cold. The street was empty except for him, and he was standing under the streetlamp, his face hidden in shadow, his hands in his pockets.
The name came out as a whisper.
He didn't move. Didn't acknowledge. Just stood there, watching, waiting.
I ran to the door.
By the time I got outside, he was gone.
But he'd been there.
I'd seen him.
He'd let me see him.
Why?
What did he want?
Why was he following me?
Why had he left the note?
"Be careful."
Careful of what?
Of him?
Of Gabriel?
Of myself?
I stood in the empty street, my breath fogging in the cold air, and I stared at the place where he'd been standing.
The streetlamp flickered.
The shadows shifted.
But he was gone.
He was always gone.
"Daddy."
The whisper was soft.
