This I Know

by Holly Ryan

  “Of course.”

  Damn.

  Suddenly, she turns to me and places her hand against the center of my chest. “She’ll love you.”

  Without thinking, I set my hand atop hers. She doesn’t respond much; just looks from me to our hands resting together comfortably where we’ve placed them, but then she pulls her hand out from under mine, leaving my hand to hit against my chest, empty.

  She turns away.

  I shouldn’t have done that. The no-thinking thing was a mistake.

  “Avery…” I move the few steps over to where she is now. “What is it?”

  She’s avoiding my eyes. “It’s nothing.”

  I put my fingers to her chin and turn her to me.

  She sighs against my hand. “It is something.” She perks up. “Sorry.”

  “You should know better than to ever apologize to me.”

  She musters a crooked smile, one that’s not very genuine, but at the same time her eyes light up so I know I’ve gotten through to her. I want to ask her if it’s because of my hand, if she sees something in me that she thinks is better left unspoken … something that reminds her of her attacker.

  “You’re so kind to me, Ethan.” She’s speaking quietly, with a meekness that I’ve never before heard from anyone, not to mention such a beautiful girl. It doesn’t necessarily fit her, but it just contributes to the beauty and mystique that I’m coming to learn is Avery.

  I take her hand again and re-place it against my chest. I want her to know I mean what I’m about to say. “I don’t want to be any other way,” I tell her.

  And in the comfort of her love, I forget all about the pounding of fear that’s still going on behind my ribcage.

  Avery

  “Mom, we’re over here.”

  We’ve finished setting out everything we need for dinner, and since then Ethan and I have been watching TV while waiting for her to arrive. I couldn’t help but to keep checking my phone; the last time my mom texted me she said she was stuck taking over another hospital room for one of her co-workers and she’d be home as soon as she could.

  The sound of the front door closing, along with a sigh that we heard even from our distant place in the living room, finally announced her presence.

  Now she appears in the kitchen.

  “Avery,” she says. I can hear the fatigue in her voice. “Sorry I’m late. You know how it is at that place. I tried, though. I really did. Did you get my text?”

  I nod. “I know. No worries.”

  She coos when she sees the food we’ve laid out, “Oh, you two are too much,” then she approaches us in the living room.

  Ethan stands and extends his hand.

  “Ethan,” she says. “I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too. It’s a beautiful house you have here.”

  She looks around. “Do you think so? It’s too big for us, if you ask me. Hard to keep clean with how much I work these days. And too much space in general, I’d say.” She sets one hand on her hip. “Well, I’m hungry. What about you two?”

  As we eat, my relief is overwhelming. I can’t believe how well these two are getting along. Ethan’s saying all the right things, and my mom isn’t nearly as uptight as I thought she would be.

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she actually liked him.

  That’s funny. The impression she’d given me the other night was one of reluctance and potential for contempt, like this was something she just wanted to get over with. Instead, here she is enjoying herself.

  I want to hug her.

  All of a sudden, my mom’s alarm-like work pager goes off, the sound blaring through the entire house. She sighs and practically slams her drink down on the table.

  “Please, tell me that’s not what I think it is,” she says, walking over to it, pressing some buttons and reading it. “It is. Avery, Ethan … I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go back in.” In a hurry, she shuffles her things around on the counter, searching for her phone and keys. “We’ll have to do this again, you two.”

  None of this is surprising; my mom’s schedule is insane, and in the back of my mind I suspected something like this to happen. I excuse myself from the table, leaving Ethan for a moment to join my mom as she walks out.

  “Avery, he’s lovely,” she says as she pulls on a sweater from the coat closet, “but he’s not to stay here tonight. Is that understood?”

  “Don’t worry, Mom. I know something like that would give you a heart attack, and I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  She has no time for jokes. “Good. I’ll text you.” She kisses me on the cheek, then leaves.

  “Well, that went well,” I say back at the table.

  “Your mom works some long hours.”

  I sit down again and pick at my plate. We’re both pretty much finished. “She does, but it’s part of the job and I think we’ve both gotten used to it. She’s paid well, though, and that’s what keeps her motivated.” I push my plate away and lean back. “She said we can’t stay here tonight.”

  I glance at the time above the stove. It’s still early. We look at each other.

  “Okay,” Ethan says. “Want to go to my place?”

  He read my mind.

  “I think it’s out of batteries.”

  “You’re probably right, but I have another one,” Ethan says. “Do me a favor. I think my spare’s in that drawer. The top one on the left. Can you grab it? It’s a better controller than this one, anyway. You’ll probably kick my ass with it.”

  For the last hour, we’ve been playing video games in Ethan’s room like the couple of teenagers that we still are. I pull open the drawer, and my eyes meet with an explosion of beautiful color. There’s no controller. Instead, the drawer is full of dry, pressed flowers of all kinds; blue ones and purple ones and yellow ones, and there’s one on the top that’s bright red. I pick it up and twirl it in my fingers, not believing what I’m seeing – what’s he doing with these? – and what I’m thinking – this must be a sign from the universe.

  I stare at the flower as it dances in my fingers. Maybe he’s my guardian angel.

  He’s behind me in an instant. He slams the drawer shut.

  “The left.” There’s panic in his voice, but his tone isn’t mean.

  I hold up the red flower. “Why do you have these?” I re-open the drawer, and he doesn’t try to stop me. He moves back two feet. I pick up another flower, this time a blue one.

  He swallows hard. He goes to the left drawer and pulls out the controller. “They were my dad’s. I made them with him.”

  “Oh. Well, they’re really pretty.” I take a seat next to him. “Can I tell you a story?”

  He looks at me. There’s something in him, something going on deep down that I can sense but can’t see. There’s something he’s keeping from me.

  “Sure.”

  “When I was recovering in the hospital, I think a stranger left a flower just like this for me. Either that, or … well, you’ll probably think I’m crazy.”

  He stiffly shakes his head. “Tell me.”

  “Well, no one I talked to knows who left this flower, and I used to have dreams about someone in my room.”

  He doesn’t say anything.

  “It was just the drugs, I’m sure. But I still think those things have meaning, you know?” I set the flower down on his dresser. “Do you believe in fate?”

  He nods. “Yes.”

  “Me too. And I believe sometimes mysterious things happen to tell you something, or to help you, and they can’t be explained.” I take the controller from him and sit next to him, ready to play again. “That’s all.”

  Ethan

  It’s raining.

  Actually, it’s pouring. I can barley see the pavement among the thick layers of bouncing gray raindrops on its surface. But I can see that she’s running away from me, as fast as she can, as though her legs are flying; and I can feel that I’m chasing after her.
I’m worried that she’s moving so quickly in such wetness, and I want to yell out to her to stop, she might fall. I don’t care that I’m getting wet, and that’s good, because within all of five seconds my clothes are soaked; my socks are soggy, my overgrown hair is plastered against my head in a way that I’m sure looks foolish, and the water from the sky drips down my face and runs off my nose and chin.

  When I finally reach her, I use my hand to wipe my face. I’m faster than her, and stronger, of course, and I’ve used that to my advantage.

  I take hold of her dangling hand and that causes her to stop. She turns with a look of surprise, as though she somehow couldn’t hear me stomping along behind her.

  But I ignore that shock. Once I have her, I release her hand and move my own up to her face. I lean into her and pull her to me at the same time, creating a force she can’t escape from even if she wanted to; which, from the now-yearning look in her eyes, she doesn’t.

  “Ethan,” she says, her voice shaky and uncertain. Our bodies are pressed as one. The rain pours down her face just as much as it does mine. It doesn’t ruin any of her beauty, though. Somehow.

  “Ethan,” she says again, echoing.

  I love to hear her say my name.

  And then I wake.

  I have no idea what time it is, but it’s still dark outside.

  I rub my eyes awake. I slip on my shoes. I’m wearing what are essentially my pajamas – an old training shirt from the days I used to play football and a pair of my most used sweatpants. I make a stop in the bathroom to brush my teeth and try to fix my hair, but I make it quick because despite whatever time of night it is, after that dream I’ve got somewhere to be.

  I take a gulp of black instant coffee before I leave. Inside the tipped mug, particles of grinds play at the bottom, trailing against the white porcelain.

  I can do this.

  I have to do this.

  I want to do this.

  Not for my sake, or the sake of my ego or my conscience. What I’m about to do is for her sake, and her sake alone.

  I park in the street, a good distance from her house so that my truck won’t wake anyone up. I take a second to check the time on my phone: 11:40pm, on the dot. It’s later than I thought. This should be interesting.

  I turn the key and my truck’s engine stops. It’s quiet outside as I creak open the door and step out into the street. There’s no sign of her mom or any of her neighbors being awake. No lights are on in her house, and only the streetlights and some normal, neighboring nighttime glows come from other houses on the street.

  When I reach the front porch the memories come flooding back. Of her hands so close to mine. Of her lips so close to mine.

  What I’m about to do could cause me to lose all of that in one instant. It might be the fastest I’ll have ever destroyed the potential for something good in my life.

  Oh, stop overthinking this, Ethan. You’ve got to come clean to her, and that’s why you’re here.

  I touch my phone in my pocket, and realize I have to call her. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course I have to call – I can’t just show up here and knock on her door without calling.

  Creep factor, man. It’s something you’ve really got to work on.

  I pull out my phone. As I scroll through it to find her name, a movement catches my eye. Something’s moving on the right sight of the house. I barely make out a figure in the shadows. A moment or two later, a rustling comes from the same area, and then a heavy breathing. Then a hushed voice.

  I silently click off my phone and hide it in my pocket to try and become invisible. I creep closer through the darkness.

  With each step I take, the rustling sound intensifies. Just when I’m close enough to peer around the corner of the house, to hopefully see who’s there while staying hidden, I stop to listen to the voices. Whoever it is can’t see me here.

  It’s a male’s voice, but I can’t make out the words. Then I think I hear the whispered replies of a female.

  I’m about to back off when I hear a metallic flick.

  I peer around the corner.

  I see a glow, no larger than the width of a coin, floating through the air in the dark.

  It illuminates a hand.

  The fire begins small and creeps steadily up the side of the house. The orange glow brightens the side of the house, illuminates grass below, then the siding, then the gutter, and in an instant, it’s approaching a window.

  I start to run after the culprits but stop myself, turning on my heels. The flames are more important. I don’t waste another valuable second. I pull away from the side of the house and rush to the front door.

  I twist the knob. It’s locked. With a running start, I slam my weight into the door. It doesn’t budge. I favor my shoulder at the area of impact. Quickly, I search; there must be a spare key hidden around here. Isn’t there always? I pull up the doormat – nothing. No key. I frantically search through some bushes off the side of the porch, looking for one of those plastic rocks – same thing. I’m about to give up and break a window, when I see a pot of red and yellow primrose next to the door. I lift up the pot, and underneath is a solitary, silver key, glistening up at me.

  Without thinking, I grab it. I burst through the unlocked door.

  The house is dark and silent, with no sign of the danger outside and no hint that it’s raised anyone from their sleep. A nightlight shining from the kitchen shows me the way from the foyer to the stairs, leading up to what I assume must be Avery’s room. I race up the them, taking two or three at a time as my legs will allow, and fall through the first door I see – which I quickly realize was the right choice, as I see her there sleeping peacefully.

  Somehow the sound of me barging in hasn’t woken her. She’s a lump of flesh hidden beneath a bundle of sheets, her head facing away from me and toward the wall that will soon be on fire. Her steady breath rises and falls in perfect calm.

  I’m at her bedside in an instant and grasping her body through the covers, shaking as hard as I can to rouse her.

  “Avery,” I yell. “Wake up.”

  From here, I can hear the crackling of the fire spreading closer to us. She stirs but doesn’t wake. I look around. A cup of water is sitting on her nightstand … next to the flower I left for her at the hospital.

  I freeze, but then blink away the thoughts. I don’t have seconds to waste thinking about the flower. I pick up the cup and dump it over her face.

  She gasps and bolts upright.

  “What–” She brushes her hand across her wet eyes. When she sees me, she scoots back. “Ethan? What are you doing here?”

  I take her face in my hands and look into her eyes. “You have to come with me right now.”

  She nods, not breaking our gaze. She trusts me.

  Our hands grasp each other and I lead her out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and I’m about to guide her out the door when she stops me. She’s dug her heels into the floor and is pulling against my arm.

  “Wait, Ethan! My mom.”

  “She’s here?” I don’t release Avery’s hand willingly, but she pulls away so suddenly that she slips from my grip.

  Avery rushes to a room off the hallway of the foyer; a kind of lower-level bedroom that was initially hidden from view.

  I’m starting to smell smoke. My heart pounds in my chest. I can’t see her. “Avery!”

  The smell grows stronger. I can’t wait here any longer. Just as I lunge forward, Avery appears. She’s dragging her mother along through the darkness, who’s holding her mouth to the crook of her elbow.

  “What’s happening?” Avery’s mother asks as we arrive at the door.

  We run out into the driveway, and I pull Avery closer toward the street.

  “Mom, get over here,” says Avery.

  Avery’s mother is too busy staring at the house, holding her hands on her head in shock. The fire spreads and engulfs Avery’s side of the house.

  Avery’s mom turns to us. “Call someone,
for Christ’s sake.”

  I pull out my phone and hand it to Avery. “Here. You call.” Now that she’s safe, I have something more important to do.

  She takes the phone from me and dials the emergency number, then holds it to her ear. “Yes, this is an emergency. I need the fire department. No, I don’t know what happened. Everyone in the house is safe.”

  As Avery talks to the operator, I scan the area, looking for any sign of the people I had heard only moments ago. It’s only been a few minutes – they can’t have gone far. I walk back to where I last heard them, even though that area is now covered in flames.

  Avery places her hand against the phone’s speaker. “Ethan!” she calls. “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  She looks like she wants to say more, probably to force me not to go anywhere she can’t see, but the operator demands her attention.

  “Yes,” she says, drawing away from me to return to the call. “I’m still here.”

  I rush out of her sight. I can no longer peer around that same corner; the flames are too high, and the heat keeps me back a good ways. I shield my eyes from the bright, raging fire with the back of my hand. Then I turn my attention to the opposite side of the house, the side that’s still perfectly safe and untouched by the fire.

  There, I find what I’m looking for. From a cluster of bushes, a face peers back at me.

  I squint. I can’t make out who it is in the darkness and panic, and the reflection of the flickering flames doesn’t help, but I know it must be one of the culprits. It has to be.

  The figure runs the second we make eye contact.

  “Hey!” I shout.

  I run, too. I reach the corner of the yard where they had been and I see nothing. Whoever it was has slipped away into the shadows.

  Avery’s standing where I left her, my phone still to hear ear, talking away to the operator. Her mother is beside her, her arm wrapped around her in comfort. The fire department should be here any minute.