It Can't Rain All the Time

Saved by the Crow

Climbing the steps onto the sidewalk, Sarah sighed in defeat. It was still raining, she was cold and wet, and there was nothing but an empty apartment waiting for her. Tomorrow was Devil's Night, and she was going to be all alone for it... again. Maybe somebody would blow up their building and she just wouldn't bother to escape.

Sure, why not? she thought, climbing onto her skateboard and pushing off into the street. What do I have to live for anyway?

Then, without warning, the lights of a cab that she hadn't seen — or maybe she had seen it and didn't care less, she wasn't sure which — loomed up out of the darkness only a couple of yards away! Too close, too close!

Suddenly a pair of strong arms wrapped around her, lifting and snatching her out of the car's path so superhumanly quickly that her feet almost bounced off of its side, and her skateboard shot between its wheels. Sheer claustrophobic panic struck her for an instant as she was blasted with the backwash of the car's passing and its reeking exhaust, and she struggled uselessly against the relentless grasp that had lifted her as effortlessly as if she were a baby.

"Let me go, you creep!" she yelled, fear making her abusive, but when her unknown rescuer promptly set her down safely on the sidewalk, she was overcome by embarrassment at her reaction. Ashamed of her fear and of the not-so-nice way she'd treated the stranger who'd just saved her life, she did the first thing that came into her mind — which was to abuse the departing cabdriver who'd come so close to flattening her.

"You didn't even slow down, you dickhead!" she shouted at the retreating taillights, and didn't see how her rescuer winced away from her in painful recognition, or how he cupped his hand to his face to hide it from her, turning away and reaching blindly for the support of a telephone pole, his eyes blurring with sudden tears.

"He couldn't have stopped," he said quietly, his voice tight with emotion, as he turned his face away from her and leaned wearily against the pole.

"He was a buttface! I could've made it," Sarah said stoutly, but it was a false bravado — she knew she would've been killed if this stranger hadn't acted so quickly. He'd saved her, and then he'd let her go, giving her plenty of space when she'd yelled at him. He probably was a really nice guy, and all she'd done so far was holler at him. Well, she wasn't going to apologize — she had a right to get upset, and she didn't owe this guy anything. Except your life, her conscience nagged at her.

Well then, I can be friendly, I guess. She stepped closer to him, wondering why he wouldn't look at her. And why was he leaning up against that pole like that? Had he hurt himself rescuing her? She saw that he carried an electric guitar slung across his back, and the sight of it awoke painful memories — Eric had played a guitar like that, sitting cross-legged in Shelly's loft, composing songs for his band. Then she saw the white makeup on his face, half hidden behind the tangled tendrils of his wet hair — he was wetter than she was.

"What're you supposed to be? A clown or something?" she asked curiously, just to let him know that she didn't spend all her time hollering, and while it wasn't exactly a thank-you, it kind of opened the door if he wanted to talk.

"Sometimes," he said, in such a sad voice that she knew she wasn't going to get any more out of him. In her experience, when grown-ups were that unhappy, they were scary to be around.

Still, she owed him some kind of acknowledgement for helping her, even if it was nothing more than a moment's friendliness. But what could she say? Thanks for saving my life? No, that was too... personal. She was more comfortable avoiding the subject altogether.

"It's more like surfing than skating," she said conversationally, going across the now-quiet street to retrieve her skateboard from the far curb where it had landed. It still wasn't much of a thank-you, but she didn't want to just skate off without saying something. Besides... there was something hauntingly familiar about the face behind all that white paint.

She sighed, looking at all the cold wet pavement ahead of her. "I wish the rain would stop, just once," she said bitterly, letting a little of her own unhappiness show, as if in response to the stranger's mood.

"It can't rain all the time," he said, in such a wistful, yearning voice that it almost broke her heart... until she was stunned by recognition. She knew those words — and she knew that voice!

"Eric?" she cried in hope and disbelief before turning around to look at where he'd been standing.

But he was gone... although less than a second had passed between his words and her remembrance of them. He had vanished into thin air more quickly than humanly possible.

Eric was dead, so who — or what — had she seen?