Light the Way

47%

August 12

At 7pm, I told my mother I wasn't feeling well and pretended to go to bed. Twenty minutes later, I snuck out the window and down the street.

The darkness was oppressive as I made my way to the address I was given yesterday. If you think the days are dark, the nights are worse. It's like the moon doesn't even exist anymore. When I looked up, it was a small faded disc hanging dully in the sky. It didn't glow.

After a good half-hour walk, I came to an old concert hall, fenced off for renovations. I checked to make sure I was at the right address. 5/112 Jefferson Rd.

The concert hall bore only a metal 111 above the front doors. The places on either side were labelled 110 and 114. Across the road, I could make out only a 109 and a 113. There was no 112.

"You're at the right place," someone said, seeing my confusion.

I jumped. Beside me stood a boy in a dark hoodie and jeans, hands tucked loosely into his pockets. I couldn't see his face too well; it was too dark. He pointed at the fence. It had been covered in banners and advertisements. Someone had spray-painted the number 112 across an ad for a music concert.

"You're here for...?"

"Relax. I'm here for the meet-up. There's a break in the fence back this way."

He headed off and I watched him, part suspicious, part afraid. He looked back. "Well? Aren't you coming?"

I nodded numbly.

He was right. Around the corner, there was a clear tear at the bottom of the chain-link fence, as if someone had attacked it with wire cutters. The boy went first, bending down to crawl through. I followed, being carefully not brush up against the jagged metal edges of the fence.

When I was through, he offered me a hand. I accepted the help and he lifted me to my feet.

We approached the building. We had to walk up a couple steps onto the patio before reaching the large double doors. One was already slightly ajar. I stepped forward, edging it open a little further, enough to slip through. The boy slid in after me and returned the door to the way we found it. We were in a small waiting room. Through the glass door I could see the concert hall, large and silent.

"There must be a downstairs," he said, looking around.

There were a couple doors on either side of us. One had a piece of paper taped to the front. I stepped up to it. "Hey," I said.

"What is it?"

I pointed at the page. It was blank save for a large 5 in black marker.

There was just enough light to allow me to see his smile. "Clever bastards. They gave us an address that doesn't exist."

He pushed open the door, revealing a set of stairs. Light filtered in at the bottom of the stairwell, spilling up towards us. For the first time, I could see his face: squared and olive-toned, brown almond eyes, thin lips. His hair was dark and slightly spiked.

He caught me looking and smirked. "The name's Jarod," he said.

I nodded and started down the stairs.

"Aren't you going to tell me yours?" he asked, still standing where I'd left him.

I looked back up. "It's Kiran," I told him.

"Nice to meet you, Kiran."

I met his eyes. He seemed genuine. I still didn't trust him. "Yeah, whatever. Let's go."