I was sick. I was sick. I was sick. All the way across the park, all the way down King Street, past all the restaurants and convenience stores and weird kitschy lifestyle boutiques, all too busy, too full of people who had no idea how they were going to die, or when—how close it might be.

The lock gave first go, and the door opened so suddenly I nearly fell. When I shut it behind me, the darkness was still there. It had followed me in. I could hear it, feel it, smell it. Hot and sour. Blood and vomit. Death.

Marnie was in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove. It smelled like death. Like rotting flesh. Blood and vomit. ‘Hey,’ she said, surprised to see me. Maybe surprised. I could barely tell, barely hear her. She looked up and her face changed. A freak show mirror. Tilted. Disappeared. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Tired,’ I said. I could smell burning. I could smell gas. I could smell death. Blood and vomit. Hot and sour. ‘Need to sleep.’

Need it all to stop.

Careful. Careful.

And then nothing.

AUGUST, ONCE

AUGUST, ONCE

The car pulled up and I looked at it. At Lina.

I’ve got to tell you something.

I cancelled the Uber. The car drove away.

I’m going to New York. I bought a ticket anyway.

I watched as he turned left, towards the city.

I turned back to Lina. She looked stunned. You’re going without me?

I’m so sorry. I just have to. It’s all I’ve wanted to do for years.

Have you given any more thought to what we talked about last week?

I closed the browser window and the flashing lights went away. I’ll do it.

I didn’t tell her. I pulled the door open, slid into my usual seat. The Caitlin seat. Statistically safest. Looked at the driver. He asked me how my night was. I started to say something, something meaningless, something unimportant. Then a sound. Loud, but not loud enough. My ribs. My spine.

‘Oh God.’

I kept hearing the sound.

When I moved there was glitter and Gerry the Irish Uber driver was dead. Luka’s dad. Boy Luka.

I was in a park, not far from home. I just had to get home. I just had to get home but everything hurt and it was too hard to walk and I kept hearing the sound.

Oh God.

My stomach twisted, lurched, my knees buckled. Cold as they hit grass. Hot as the vomit poured out of my throat. Green.

Oh God oh God oh God.

Dead.

Someone was dead. Gerry. Luka’s dad. Someone was dead and I wasn’t dead. But—

Something broke. Broke all the way, the wailing so loud it was all I could hear.