refreshing and sustaining as well. I closed my eyes and danced to the music, feeling the possibilities spiraling around me, feeling the energy of the crowd, feeling alive like never before.
As I clapped and cheered at the end of the song, I caught sight of Dante standing behind the bar. His eyes were black pools of shadowed night. His whole body quivered with coiled tension. I watched him gasp for air as though he were drowning, his chest heaving with the strain. His eyes whipped to me across the room and I felt a flash of panic shoot through me. He was drowning—somehow he was being washed downriver in the midst of this crowded dance floor and I was the only one who could throw him a line, could save him from oblivion. He needed me. Now. Right now.
I took a step in his direction, confused by the intensity of my emotions but wanting to help somehow.
And then I heard Zo’s voice start another song— “The world is older than we imagine / Time more fluid than we think” — and then I felt Jason touch my arm and then I broke eye contact with Dante for just a second and then and then . . . and then the moment was gone. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I realized how thirsty I was. That must have been why I was thinking of drowning, why my thoughts were filled with images of rushing water, of crashing waves.
I grabbed Jason’s strawberry soda and drained the rest of it in a single swallow. Revived, I turned my attention back to the show, singing and clapping along with the crowd.
But in the back of my mind, I could still see the image of a shadowy figure, standing alone on a bleak and barren shore, his hand extended to me as I was swept away on a wave of light and sound.
~
“Abby? Are you asleep?” I felt Jason’s hand on my back and I abruptly jerked upright from where I had been resting my head on the bar.
“No. No, I wasn’t asleep,” I slurred, rubbing at my eyes. “What time is it?”
“Almost two,” Jason said. “The show’s been over for nearly an hour. C’mon, it’s time to go home.”
The wild, dancing, singing crowds had thinned, dispersing like fog at dawn, and the Dungeon was nearly empty. Zero Hour had finished packing up their gear, but a few knots of people were still talking to the band, unwilling to let the amazing evening come to a close. I saw Valerie talking to V, her hand on her hip in full flirt mode.
“Where’s Natalie?” I asked, looking around the room.
“She got tired of waiting for Valerie and went home with Robert.”
“Must be nice to have a brother to hitch a ride with in a pinch,” I said.
“It can come in handy. Wait here. I’ll be right back,” Jason said. He tousled my hair before heading in the direction of the bathrooms.
Pleasantly exhausted, I yawned and stretched my back, my ears ringing a little from the show. I felt remarkably alert and refreshed, considering the late hour. I saw Dante and Zo talking to the right of the stage. I found myself grinning and, seized by a sudden impulse, I hopped down from the bar stool and walked over to them.
“Hey, Dante,” I said, leaning on one of the large black boxes marked with Zero Hour’s numberless clock faces.
“Hello, Abby,” he said with that small smile I only seemed to see when he said my name.
I flicked a glance at Zo. He was taller than Dante. Older, too, but probably not by much. The frosted white tips in his dark black hair glimmered in the stage lights. A dark black chain had been tattooed around both of his wrists.
Zo caught me looking at his hands and he pushed up his sleeves so I could see them more clearly. “Do you like them?”
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to stare.” I narrowed my eyes. “They look like the chains in your band’s logo.”
He rotated his wrists outward, and I saw the familiar numberless clock logo marked on the inside of each wrist. The same arrows pointed to a nonexistent midnight hour. One wrist held the letters MDVIwhile the other
As I clapped and cheered at the end of the song, I caught sight of Dante standing behind the bar. His eyes were black pools of shadowed night. His whole body quivered with coiled tension. I watched him gasp for air as though he were drowning, his chest heaving with the strain. His eyes whipped to me across the room and I felt a flash of panic shoot through me. He was drowning—somehow he was being washed downriver in the midst of this crowded dance floor and I was the only one who could throw him a line, could save him from oblivion. He needed me. Now. Right now.
I took a step in his direction, confused by the intensity of my emotions but wanting to help somehow.
And then I heard Zo’s voice start another song— “The world is older than we imagine / Time more fluid than we think” — and then I felt Jason touch my arm and then I broke eye contact with Dante for just a second and then and then . . . and then the moment was gone. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I realized how thirsty I was. That must have been why I was thinking of drowning, why my thoughts were filled with images of rushing water, of crashing waves.
I grabbed Jason’s strawberry soda and drained the rest of it in a single swallow. Revived, I turned my attention back to the show, singing and clapping along with the crowd.
But in the back of my mind, I could still see the image of a shadowy figure, standing alone on a bleak and barren shore, his hand extended to me as I was swept away on a wave of light and sound.
~
“Abby? Are you asleep?” I felt Jason’s hand on my back and I abruptly jerked upright from where I had been resting my head on the bar.
“No. No, I wasn’t asleep,” I slurred, rubbing at my eyes. “What time is it?”
“Almost two,” Jason said. “The show’s been over for nearly an hour. C’mon, it’s time to go home.”
The wild, dancing, singing crowds had thinned, dispersing like fog at dawn, and the Dungeon was nearly empty. Zero Hour had finished packing up their gear, but a few knots of people were still talking to the band, unwilling to let the amazing evening come to a close. I saw Valerie talking to V, her hand on her hip in full flirt mode.
“Where’s Natalie?” I asked, looking around the room.
“She got tired of waiting for Valerie and went home with Robert.”
“Must be nice to have a brother to hitch a ride with in a pinch,” I said.
“It can come in handy. Wait here. I’ll be right back,” Jason said. He tousled my hair before heading in the direction of the bathrooms.
Pleasantly exhausted, I yawned and stretched my back, my ears ringing a little from the show. I felt remarkably alert and refreshed, considering the late hour. I saw Dante and Zo talking to the right of the stage. I found myself grinning and, seized by a sudden impulse, I hopped down from the bar stool and walked over to them.
“Hey, Dante,” I said, leaning on one of the large black boxes marked with Zero Hour’s numberless clock faces.
“Hello, Abby,” he said with that small smile I only seemed to see when he said my name.
I flicked a glance at Zo. He was taller than Dante. Older, too, but probably not by much. The frosted white tips in his dark black hair glimmered in the stage lights. A dark black chain had been tattooed around both of his wrists.
Zo caught me looking at his hands and he pushed up his sleeves so I could see them more clearly. “Do you like them?”
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to stare.” I narrowed my eyes. “They look like the chains in your band’s logo.”
He rotated his wrists outward, and I saw the familiar numberless clock logo marked on the inside of each wrist. The same arrows pointed to a nonexistent midnight hour. One wrist held the letters MDVIwhile the other
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