“Damn. They close the gate at three o’clock. We must have just missed it.” But he wanted pictures of the cemetery, of Anne’s tomb. The light was still good, the sky a crisp cerulean, and he was here. He didn’t want to come back. He didn’t like the cemetery any more than Sara did, given the way she was rubbing her arms like she was cold, and crossing her ankles, eyes wary.

To Gabriel, the cemetery symbolized the fact that he could never die, that much better people than him left this mortal realm, some far too soon, and he was condemned, by his own misconduct, to walk the earth forever without purpose. The cemetery made him angry, and it frustrated him that he was denied entrance, figuratively and literally. He didn’t often use his strength, chose largely to ignore what he was and what he was capable of, but he wanted in, so he reached out, picked up the lock, and yanked it down.

It broke, separating so that he could easily detach it from the gate. “Look at that,” he said, showing Sara the busted pieces, before shoving the gate open. “Guess we can go in after all.”

Sara made a sound of protest. “Gabriel! It was locked for a reason. They don’t want us in there.”

He was already moving inside, knowing she would follow him. Her fear of the cemetery, of breaking the rules, wasn’t nearly as great as her fear of being left alone. The shells crunched under his feet as he walked, and pausing at the first tomb on the right, he turned back to her. “Come on, Sara. It’s not a big deal.”

“The gate was locked.” She had inched forward, just inside the gate, but she was peeking around like she expected to get arrested for trespassing, or maybe to encounter either a mugger or a ghost.

“I’ll replace the broken lock. But since it’s open, we might as well take some pictures. I’ll show you Anne’s tomb.” He wasn’t sure why he didn’t just let the whole thing drop. Why he didn’t just turn around and take Sara back to his apartment. But he thought she needed to be pushed. Or maybe he wanted to be pushed, and if he pushed her, she’d push back.

They had a lot in common. Both living in a precarious little isolation tent, struggling to survive, to be normal. Kidding themselves. Lying and ignoring the blatant truth—that they were clinging to the edge, one stumble short of going over the side.

“Come on,” he said again, and this time he reached out, took Sara’s hand in his, and pulled her forward into the cemetery.