Bleakly Ten

It’s a short one today, but it’s still technically a page long.

I woke up two days later, face-down in the scum that collects on the floors of restrooms in bars of sufficient dinginess. I pushed myself up from the floor and realized I’d been using broken bits of mirror as a pillow.



I have to call Smith.



 In that instant, each piece of the broken mirror beneath me shifted- a thousand eyes an acid searing gaze godDAMN


TO TELL HER I CAN’T HELP HER EVER. IN FACT SHE WILL PROBABLY BE SADDENED AND MADE INFINITELY REMORSEFUL BY MY CALL.The moment faded and lots of little Tom Bleaklies looked up at me from the bloodstained glass. The sight was not a large improvement on the demon eyes.


Well maybe I’ll be a little helpful.I stayed up ’till three in the morning, partly because I couldn’t sleep, and partly because I had a premonition that Bleakly might call at such an hour.



At three forty-five my phone rang.



“Have you found my dad?”

“No, and nobody can or ever will. Don’t try to contact me again.”

The line went dead.

Five minutes of shock, five minutes of cursing, and ten minutes of tears later, the phone rang again.

“You son of a bitch-“


My voice caught and, I couldn’t help it, I started sobbing. “Are… are you okay?”

“No. And Hannah?”


“Thank you very much for the sandwich. Goodbye.”

I dropped the phone. I had no one left to call. I was alone with nothing but a tearstorm so fierce I was afraid – no, I hoped – it would tear me apart.

I was lost in the dark.

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