Rowan Voss

  A gloomy afternoon. I walked through an empty passage, leaning against a rain-slicked pillar. The chill gnawed through my trench coat, seeping into my suit. Mist swallowed the skyline.

  A sharp clink. The gritty scratch of a flint wheel. A small flame flickered to life. I lit a cigarette, snapping the Zippo shut. Rain pattered on the slate roof, in rhythm with my sinking thoughts. The deeper I fell, the more I inhaled the coffin nail.

  As I exhaled the smoke, my fingers slipped inside the pocket, grabbing the pistol by its rough grip, absently tracing the cold metal of its brand. It was heavy and cold but strangely comforting, like a silent companion.

  But when it came to death and life, its quiet rumble felt like a whisper in my ear, reminding me to go on living this dull, purposeless life—whether I wanted it or not.

  The phone inside my pocket buzzed, pulling me back. I stubbed out the cigarette and glanced at the bright screen—a message from the company: “The intel was successfully delivered.” I slipped the phone back inside my pocket and turned to the wet city once again.

  I walked along the pavement, descending the staircase through the rain, watching ripples form in puddles along the way. A blurred reflection wavered in a puddle. For a moment, their faces flickered beside me—ghostly, shifting with the ripples. So clear, then gone. A car sped past, shattering the vision into nothing. I blinked, wiped my eyes, and kept walking.

  The afternoon bled into evening, the street crowded with people; I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets. The damp wind whispered into his ears, carrying faint conversations and the hum of car engines. Neon signs and shopfronts cast shifting shadows. Among them, a warm glow caught my eye—a café.

  Inside, a group of friends laughed over drinks, carefree as if reunited after years. Glasses clinked. Ice sparkled under warm yellow light. Steam curled from fresh coffee. Their joy mirrored the rain—constant, unending.

  Every now and then, muffled laughter and cheers come about as one of them leans forward, sharing stories or jokes. A slight smile appeared on my face as I looked away and walked into the mist of the rain.

  I exhaled, slow and deep. The only thing I could think of is the time with my friends. How could I forget that laughter as it softly echoes—a whisper from another time? I could almost hear it, almost embracing it. How long has it been since we last met? The thought came softly—I was afraid to imagine. It wasn’t a question, but something distant, something that slipped away a long time ago.

  At some point, my smile had faded. The air thickened with unspoken feelings, tightening around me, making it hard to breathe. The rain streaked the streetlights into trembling pillars of gold, wavering—just like my vision. I turned away. The blurry gaze couldn’t stand watching them for any longer.

  They all rose higher, while I remained—bound to the company, serving them. Because, in the end, what else was there?

  Why did I choose this path? Why did I abandon everything—because of someone's death? I thought to myself as he kept walking. He would be so disappointed. Opportunities came and went, but he had let them slip through his fingers. And that promise… that sweet voice… The words echoed, a ghost of something lost.

  I leaned against a wall next to an electronics store. The muffled chatter of a news anchor leaked from TVs in the window—“a new continent risen from the ocean depths.” I barely glanced at the screen, uninterested. I took another breath and walked on.

  I stopped in front of the Horizon Skyline hotel and walked to the entrance, where a doorman greeted me. ‘Good evening, sir,’ said the doorman, holding the door—inviting me in.

  I nodded slightly and stepped into the hotel lobby, where the thick air carried the scent of fresh roses, mingling with the golden glow of a chandelier. Its delicate ornaments were the purest crystals, exquisitely arranged into the finest piece of art.

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  At the receptionist desk, a female front desk politely asked me, ‘Good evening, sir, what can I help you with?’ I slid her a card with the company mark on it. She checked the screen for a moment and handed me back my card. ‘Please take the elevator in the right corner. Then change the elevator on the 20th floor, on our casino grounds.’

  I thanked her and quietly walked to the elevator. A charming ding echoed, and the elevator door slowly opened; the lobby’s floral scent faded, replaced by the faint aroma of cigar and whisky, as the elevator slid, revealing the famous Horizon casino, the cheers of the gamblers, the metallic noises of coins, and its blinding light beckoned those who believed in fate: get in as a gambler, get out as a millionaire—or so they say.

  But I wasn’t here for games; I changed to another elevator, heading to the rooftop. The casino’s lively hum receded with each passing floor, melting into silence.

  I walked out of the elevator to the rain-soaked rooftop; the skyline was sunk in ink, its buildings smudged into shadowy silhouettes. The lights scattered like embers, glowing gold and white.

  At the city’s edge, there was a man leaning on a handrail, holding an umbrella. The man was wearing a thick coat with a suit beneath, similar to mine.

  I walked toward the man, but just a few steps away, a voice broke through the silence in a young adult tone, halting me in my tracks.

  ‘How's it going?’ The man turned around, facing me. ‘You don’t look so well—lost in the memories again?’ Chuckled the man.

  I exhaled, shaking away the haze. ‘You called me earlier. What was it, Reed?’ I walked closer to him.

  Reed is my broker—the one who hands me jobs, important intel, and sometimes, unsolicited advice.

  Reed softly sighed and came up with a calm smile. ‘Someone wants to meet you,’ Reed explained, handing me a folder with a card stapled on it.

  ‘Is it a job or what?’ I asked, taking the folder from his hand.

  ‘You could say that, but it's more like a meeting.’ Reed moved away from the railing. ‘His name is Bishop—a higher-up.’

  ‘Bishop,’ I muttered, reading the name on the info card to myself.

  'Yeah, the intel is in the folder; the number's online 24/7, so maybe give it a call.'

  I nodded, slipping the folder inside my coat; my head was clouded with questions, piled up with the former sinking thoughts.

  'You should take some rest,' said Reed, watching me carefully. 'You look like hell.'

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry.’ I smirked, waving him off.

  Reed sighed once again, shaking his head, and leaned on the railing.

  'A man of work he was.'

  I stepped back into the elevator—leaving Reed admiring the night sky.

  _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  Meanwhile, the man from the higher-ups sat at a corner table in the café, quietly observing the group of friends.

  His fingers idly traced the rim of his coffee cup as he listened to their laughter and conversations. In front of him, there was a folder marked in red—Classified. Bishop reached for the folder and mildly concealed it inside his coat.

  He took a slow sip of his warm coffee. ‘What will the shadow of the past offer me, I wonder?’ he murmured to himself under his breath.

  A smile formed at the edges of his mouth. His gaze lazily turned distant as he lost himself in his thoughts, whether it was the far future or the next fleeting second. No one knows.

  Bishop walked out of the café into the dark hours of the street; the rain above softened into a delicate drizzle, barely whispering against the ground.

  As he wandered down the alley, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He picked it up, expecting a call from his new contractor.

  ‘Hello, hello, is this the supervisor’s number?’

  The voice spoke quickly and uncertainly, as if he was in a rush.

  ‘I’m the supervisor, Bishop, speaking. What’s the deal?’ Bishop replied in a casual tone.

  'I’m on the White Road with the delivery container; could you confirm the “drop-off” site, please? I’ve been driving for at least an hour from the entrance, sir.’ His voice was steadier this time.

  ‘There is nothing but white walls on both sides of the road, sir.’

  ‘Hm? That's strange; drive in the same direction as you were for 15 more minutes. If you still found nothing, just turn back the same way.’

  ‘Understood, sir.’ And the call hangs up.

  Bishop stopped on his path, leaning against alley walls—thinking. He felt strangely uncomfortable after that call. He rubbed his hand against his chin. Is it a worry? He couldn’t tell. His mind starts racing… After a short moment that felt like an hour, the softened rain now entirely ceased, leaving him surrounded by complete silence, just dripping droplets against the soaked ground.

  The light smile in the café is now gone, only leaving the furrowed brows as he pressed his thumb against his forehead repeatedly with unexplainable concern.

  Bishop took a long, deep breath, ignored all thoughts, and kept on walking through the dark alley—fading into the night.