...The girl turned to him and said, “It’s love.” Such a strange statement to lead with, but yes, it was love. Jordan nodded, and before he could stop himself it all came flooding out. His problems with Faro, his mother’s confessions, his despair for the future…everything. The girl just listened and nodded, wrapping her arm around his shoulder when he was too overcome to talk about it anymore.

“Ton gars, il vit dans ton coeur,” she said. “He lives inside your heart. You are never without him. He is never without you.”

Those words overwhelmed him, too, but in a very different way. They warmed him. They gave him hope, and he nodded, curling in to set his head on her shoulder. And then…he slept. He didn’t realize it until the Goth girl shook him awake as they approached Aylmer’s station. She rose to let him out of his seat, and kissed his cheeks when he left, but he was too rushed and befuddled think of anything better than “thank you” to say to her.

Jordan was still dazed and confused when he stepped off the train, dragging his suitcase behind him. He stood on the platform, watching the cars pull away one by one, and feeling a pinch in his chest as he saw them go. Was that his lifeline? Was it?

Aylmer’s station had never been built up, and Jordan tugged his luggage over the tracks, falling into the loving embrace of a snowdrift on the other side. God, the cold against his face felt good, felt strangely soothing after overheating with tears and sleep. He wanted to stay here, right here in the snow by the train tracks. Pressing his face right in, he swallowed the virgin snow, feeling it turn from ice to liquid in his throat, a reminder that he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in more than twelve hours. He should go, now. He should walk to his mother’s house.

It wasn’t far, but he took his time. The streetlights were few and far between, and when he looked up he could see so many stars the night sky looked more white than black—not even black, but a dark velvet-blue or purple. There were things about this town he really did miss. Like his mom.

When he arrived at her door, he knocked for good measure, and when nobody came he figured his mother wasn’t home yet and opened up. Stepping inside, Jordan lifted his luggage over the threshold and kicked off his boots. He sighed at the familiar scent of home: potpourri and pot roast. But there was another aroma on the air, something he recognized, but not from this house. It was the sort of strange realization that paralyzed him for a moment, and heightened all of his senses at once. Suddenly, he could hear everything, from the hum of the refrigerator to the familiar crackle emanating from the living room. His eyes adjusted until the darkness was no longer darkness. Still, he couldn’t move, even when he smelled the sulphur of lit matches.

“Who’s there?” Jordan called to a house that was supposed to be empty.

Silence. Just the refrigerator noise and the crackle he’d heard before.

“I’m coming in,” he hollered, certain there was another person in here somewhere. “And I’ve got a…” A what? “A gun!” Yeah, right.