I walk slowly through the halls, staring blankly at the approaching metal doors. The scattered conversations, ringing phones, and firm orders fly over my head. I listened to nothing but the squeaks of my shoes on the dirtying, white, tile floors and the reverberating words in my head. The painful phrase that shot from her mouth and pierced my astonished heart. The sentence to perdition: “It was me.”

The rain slithered across the clear glass as it tapped repeatedly above me. The crackling bloom of the soothing flames rivaled the song of the wind and the booming stomp of jagged beasts ripping the gray skies apart. I walked away from the window, smiling at the heat that embraced me in the cold downpour. That’s when I saw her. Her face was pale and she was shivering. Her expression showed sorrow.

“Come by the fire,” I offered. “It’s nice and warm.”

She remained at her position, unmoving and arms crossed like the ancient remains of a citizen of Pompeii. I stood looking at her and noticed her change. Her state was unfamiliar and her gaze was demoralizing. I knew that there were no words to change her condition. No words to fix it. I walked away from the fire and as I passed her, I watched the dancing shadows on her face cast by the waving incandescence. The shadows slid across a plane of despair and heartbreak. I patted her on the back and she recoiled at my touch. She had lost someone.
Retreating home, I could not stop thinking about her expression. The torrents of confusing thoughts that must have been swirling in her head, like swarms of bees with no queen. I knew she should not be alone at this time. I realized she needed someone. I wanted to ease her with friendly resolve and make her laugh to ease her pain. I wanted to bring her comfort food and comedic films to pull her from her anguish. I wanted her to feel like she used to. I wanted her to feel safe. I wanted to be there for her.

When I returned to her, she still seemed wounded and depressed. She wanted to be alone, but I knew that that was the opposite of her needs. She pushed me away as I tried to console her and I walked away, disappointed and disconcerted. I knew then that she had completely changed. I myself had transformed as well. I could no longer see the solutions to her problems. I could no longer be the person she wanted near. I could no longer give her a feeling of safety or happiness. I was no longer her friend. Her father, the sheriff, made sure of that. He never approved of me. He never saw what she used to see.
After several sly attempts at alleviating her woe, I finally surrendered. She had secluded herself into the darkness of her emotions and I had succumbed to its cold shove of anger. I had retreated home after another day of failure. I could see no joy in sight. I saw only the flashing of red and blue lights and I could hear the buzz of radios drowning out the dry, rustling leaves. I stood there in shock as they noticed me. Quickly, they rushed towards me and tackled me into the cold, unforgiving terrain that soon caught the silver needles of the skies. The jagged beasts returned and deafened me to the clamors of the deputies. The symphonic storm returned and among the roar of thunder, I could hear the clicking locks of metal bindings. The tightening of the manacles. The locks to our acquaintance.
As they drove me away, they stopped to display me to the broken assembly of her and her father. The fluid beads glided over her face, which was draped by the vines of her hair. Though they were covered in strands and shrouded by the darkness, I could see her glistening eyes reflecting the flashes of the skies. I gazed into them and she knew what I wanted. As she leaned in through the window, her whispers overwhelmed me. She knew she could tell me. She knew she was safe.
I knew what had happened. She could no longer bear the pain of having me around. She could no longer look the other way. She could no longer stand her guilt. She could no longer ignore the sound of the hollow swishing of the metallic container among the other turbulence echoing in her head. She could no longer withstand the noise of breaking wood and falling structures. She could no longer endure the snapping discord of the growing flames. She could no longer tolerate the familiar screams.

The uproar of the crowd soon faded and I could only perceive the rain falling on the surfaces of the vehicle. I could only ignore the squeaking of the wipers, the subtle growl of the engine, the splashing of puddles, and the grinding sound of the tires driving over a domain of rocks and pebbles. The only thought that drifted across my mind was my only question. A question for only one person. A question I already knew the answer to: “Who told them?”