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There is a lone woman in front of a window. It is daylight. Outside, there are so many buildings. So many buildings. The sun is bright and unobtainable and blinding. Fortunately, the woman can look down.
She doesn’t know how high up she is, or what floor she’s even on. Where is she again? Oh well. It doesn’t matter. The weather seems warm today, and she wants a sweet breeze to touch her.
She wears a black blazer. As if she was at a funeral.
But whose?
The question eludes her.
A red scarf pulls her pulse in close to give her neck a hug. A tight, tight embrace she has no way of escaping from. It is soft, warm. And never going to let her go. If she closes her eyes, she could pretend it’s someone else.
The woman opens the window. It is so nice outside. It must be so nice to be outside. A bird soars by. She pulls herself in close. Has she forgotten something? To fly, perhaps? Something inside her chest hurts like a ticking time bomb and she wants to defuse it before it needs figuring out.
Rays of sunlight kiss the woman’s eyelids. The sun is as warm as she dreamed it was. The rest of her dreams are up in the clouds above, tangible but impossible to reach.
Her red scarf droops down from the window like a hand outstretched. Below there are tree branches trying to reach up to her, reaching their jagged arms high to pull her in for a caress.
There is this girl. Not her. Someone else. Someone special to her. The girl has eyes deeper than the blue ocean. The woman wants to protect her.
She wants to be hugged. She wants to be held. The woman can feel her ribcage curling inside her chest to try and hold her heart. Can this girl hold her? No — will she ever be able to hold this girl again and truly protect her with her boneless embrace?
The sun shines brighter than ever. One bird becomes two, and they are singing. They are saying her name; they are saying, do you remember your wings? They’re telling her she can fly.
And the woman finally believes it. The world turns upside down, and the wind furiously races endless kisses along her skin. The woman holds her hands out, her fingered wings of flesh. Miraculously, the birds are clapping, and telling her to keep going, stretch your arms out, sing the song stuck in your throat —
A large hand forcefully yanks her back. It’s pulling her by the waist, back into the darkness.
The hand spins the woman around, away from the light. There is a man. Much taller than her. Much more frightening than her, sudden like a lightning strike. His hands go over her shoulders and dig in. Deep.
The man drags her away from the window.
“Lana,” the man says sternly, eyes on hers.
Suddenly the scarf around her neck feels tighter. Remembering who she is, Lana is reminded of what it means to suffocate.
The window is open. And it’s Damon Gant, the Chief of Police and her boss, that shuts it.
“Lana,” he repeats, a spell that stuns her still, “I’m locking the windows from now on.” Gant’s green eyes stare at her from above his pink spectacles, which catches a ray of artificial light.
Lana chooses her next words very carefully. Nothing. Lana chooses to say nothing.
Damon Gant pulls Lana in for a hug. Close to her ear, he says, “I’d hate to lose someone like you. Your little sister would especially hate to see you go.” His grip around her tightens. “She needs you. Very badly.” He gives her one last squeeze before pulling away.
His hand is back on Lana’s shoulder, and he claps it, grinning. The traces of graveness on his face melt away like acid. “So I’d think twice before opening that window next time!” Gant laughs, as if he cracked a good joke. “We wouldn’t want any accidents to happen, right?” He asked reassuringly.
It is an arrow to the heart. Damon pulls Lana close again for another hug, a great, big swoop of a bear hug that holds her tighter than any blanket. But all Lana sees are the bars of the cage closing in.