I sit Indian-style in the front row of bleachers, a pen in my hand and a well-used notebook open in my lap, each blank page filled with the universe inside my head. Normally I would be scribbling furiously, but at the moment my attention is fixed. The cheers and shouts of hundreds of excited teenagers roar around me, their blue and gold clad bodies densely packed together in a sweaty mess of hormones and school spirit. I am the only one sitting in the whole bunch, but it doesn't bother me at all. It's a hot night, however I barely notice the humidity pressing in from all directions. My eyes are fixated on the field, though not on the game but on the girl standing in front of it, the one with the shiny black kodak camera around her neck. I trace the features of her face from memory, capturing every detail in my head like an artist and his muse. Her red hair is like fire pulled into a ponytail, and her smile is as bright as the sun's sparkle off ocean waves. She is the sun.

Suddenly, the sea of flesh around me rises in one massive tide, ringing cowbells and pumping the air and screeching until my ears bleed. The sun girl cheers too, her eyes alight, snapping pictures of the excited players and jumping up and down in between shots. I tear myself away to glance at the scoreboard: 25 to 23 in our favor, and the clocks run out. It's the end of the game, and I don't remember a single play. I don't care, though. Instead, I smile at the sun girl, giddy from contagious joy as I watch her make her way to the athletes on the sidelines. She high fives Sam and fist bumps Benjamin on the way over, trailing flames in her wake before reaching a boy with dark hair and a large number fourteen on the back of his jersey. He's facing slightly away from me, so I don't get a good glimpse of his face, but I still feel the sting as the dark-haired boy turns towards my sun and embraces her with all the enthusiasm of a lover, holding her tight and kissing her passionately. She kisses him back with all her fire, too, and every touch they share is a knife in my heart.

They break away after the long, torturous minute it takes to destroy me completely, and the sun girl looks over his shoulder at me, curiously. Suddenly I can see them clearly, as if they were right in front of me, and they are right in front of me, the boy's back still turned and the girl's eyes staring into mine. Her hair is in flames, and now the field is in flames, burning everything in a raging, roaring inferno. She opens her mouth to speak, wider, wider, wider still, and then she's swallowing me, head first, and I'm falling into oblivion, my limbs flailing frantically in the darkness of her throat. The roar of the fire is audible even as I fall, but it's changed into a desperate, blood-curdling scream that settles into my bones and chokes me until it's all I can feel and it's all that I am and I don't know whether the scream is hers or his or mine and then suddenly I'm...

Awake. My eyes fly open to the blank plaster of the ceiling above, my skin coated in cold sweat and my heart beating like one thousand drums are trapped in my chest, pounding to get out. I wildly search the room, unsure of my surroundings. I'm lying on a light brown sofa in someone else's living room, a plush pillow propped underneath my head and a soft red blanket covering my legs.

I jump to my feet automatically, and instantly the world goes fuzzy and blackness fills my field of vision in blotchy patches that make my head swim. Dizzy, I fall back to the safety of the couch, barely holding onto consciousness.

A loud, metal-on-metal clang interrupts my thoughts, seemingly coming from the room beyond the empty doorway just to the right of the couch. Still blinking the black from my vision, I leap up and scramble behind the sofa into a low crouch. On instinct, I frantically search the room for a weapon. There, by the fireplace, is a black, ash-covered fire poker. Quietly, I remove it from its bracket, hefting it into my hand and tiptoeing over to the doorway. I swallow nervously, pressing my back to the wall and steeling myself. Before I can talk myself out of it I storm into the adjacent room, letting out a battle cry and raising the poker above my head.

"Holy Shit!" Someone yells as I leap forward. The clang resonates once more as a man by the stove drops a metal pot to the tile floor, landing on his foot. A stream of curses flows from his mouth as he grabs his toes in pain. I realize that I'm in a small, brightly lit kitchen occupied by a man whose graying head he is desperately trying to protect from the swing of my poker.

"The hell was that for?" He shouts. "I rescue a man after a fainting spell, bring him into my home, and what does he do? Attack me in my kitchen making him dinner. Alex always told me to 'be kinder,' to 'look on the bright side,' and to 'help my fellow man,' and look where it got me?! Murdered, is what it got me! See if I ever help anyone out again!" He trails off, muttering under his breath and picking the pot up off the floor.

"Look at that," he grumbles, picking up a rag. "My broth. All over the floor."

"I'm so sorry, Sir," I grovel, taking the rag from him and getting on my hands and knees to scrub the tile. The man makes a sound of displeasure and turns back to the counter where he was chopping vegetables before I came swinging in. Filled with remorse, I clean up the spilled broth as fast as I can, squeezing the rag into the sink next to the stove again and again until it's clean. The owner of the apartment stays silent the whole time, refusing to acknowledge me.

When there is nothing left to scrub I stand awkwardly by the sink, waiting for the man to speak first. He doesn't, and the silence stretches on.

"Excuse me, sir," I start. "But who are you? Where am I?"

He sighs, turning towards me and gesturing with the knife in his hand. "You can call me Davis. I saw you outside by the elevator, passed out cold. I would've called an ambulance, but my phone was dead. And just when I was about to go find a neighbor to make the call, you woke up."

"I did?" I ask. I am reminded of a faint memory, reminiscent of an unsettling dream. I try to remember, unsure of whether I was awake or asleep when it occurred.

"Hm," the man grunts, going back to his vegetables.

"What did I do then?"

He continues chopping. "You said you were fine, and that I couldn't call a hospital. Over and over again, 'can't call a hospital, don't need a hospital, can't call a hospital.' I decided to respect that, so I invited you in. Helping a fellow man and all that. You agreed, walked inside, and fell asleep on my couch as soon as you saw it."

I think back, astounded. I have no memory of waking up, from the time I passed out until waking up on Davis's couch.

"You really don't remember, do you?" He asks. I shake my head.

"At least I'm still in my building, I guess," I say.

"You live here?" Davis asks, pausing.

"Yeah, just down the hall."

"Huh." He dumps a diced carrot into the pot.

"What?"

"I just thought I knew everyone that lived here. At least their faces, anyway."

I consider this. "Well, my wife and I have been living here for less than a year."

He shrugs. "What's your name then?"

"Matthew. Marshall," I say.

"Ah. And your wife?"

"Jennifer Marshall. She has red hair, you can't miss it," I explain. Remembering Jenny all of the sudden, I quickly dig my phone out of my pocket and check for messages. Red hair and green eyes stare back at me from the confines of the screen. No messages, just an empty screensaver. The clock reads 6:30.

"Ah, yes. Her I've seen around. But not with you. She's usually with this other dark haired fellow. Tall guy, dresses nice?"

I look up, shoving my phone in my pocket. "You must be mistaken."

He shakes his head. "No, I'm sure I've never seen you. This man was different."

Something dark settles into the pit of my stomach: suspicion. Why isn't Jenny answering her phone? Who's this man Davis is talking about? Could it be possible that Jenny was having an affair? No, she wouldn't do that. She loves me, and God, I love her so, so much it would kill me if she were.

Find Jenny, find Jenny, find Jenny.

"Hey, Matthew," Davis asks. "You alright?"

I shake my head, passing a hand over my face. "It's my wife. She's missing."

His frown deepens. "Missing? Missing how?"

I sink into a kitchen chair, suddenly drained. "She hasn't been home since last night, and she's not answering any of my texts. I called her best friend and even she has no idea where
Jenny is."

"I'm sure there's a reason she's been gone, and it's only been twenty four hours. It'll be alright."

"No," I argue. "It won't. There's something wrong. I can feel it. Don't you know how it feels when something's wrong?" Reflexively, I place a hand to my abdomen where the knot has sat, painfully tight, since this morning.

"I can't say that I do, but if she really is missing, as you say, you need to report it to the police, of course."

"No cops!" I shout suddenly, as if the words were pulled out of me. I clap a hand over my mouth, unsure of my own reaction.

Davis turns to me with one eyebrow raised. "No hospitals and no cops, eh? Sounds like you got something to hide."

I shake you head. Why would I have anything to hide?

Don't tell him anything. He can't know. You can't let him know.

But what would I have to hide?

Davis gives me a skeptical look and I don't meet his eyes, feeling guilty for some unfathomable reason.

"Alright, well, everyone has secrets, same as you and me. If you're gonna look for the girl yourself, I'll help ya." He tosses bits of potato into the pot.

I look up, startled. "You don't mean that?" I ask.

"Of course," he says, adding salt and pepper. "You young people. Do ya even have a car to drive around?"

I consider this for the first time. "Well no, I guess not. A lot of people in the city don't."

"Fortunately for you, I happen to have one. So, do you want my help or not, Matthew?"

I nod in agreement. "Yes. Thank you, Sir, very much. And please, call me Matt."

He makes an affirmative grunt. "Alex always had a soft spot for helpless people."

I'm a bit miffed at being referred to as helpless, but I stay silent.

"Anyway, sit down at the table. The soup'll be done in a bit."