The Town That Knew Me

My phone dies somewhere between two roads I do not recognize clearly

Twenty minutes later, I find a town that is not on any sign I passed

I stop at the only gas station with its lights still on

Coffee's fresh. Pumps still work, if you're filling up.

The man behind the counter is watching you a little too closely, like he's checking your face against something.

You want directions? Everybody does, this time of night.

If you have time to kill… Maybe a cigarette break, I’ve been on the road for a while now…

Time's the one thing I've got too much of. Go on, take your break.

He sets a pack on the counter without being asked. His eyes stay on you.

Funny. You used to smoke these. Same brand.

He catches himself, like he said more than he meant to.

Forget it. Long shift. Where'd you say you were coming from?

Somewhere between here amd nowhere… *I lit the cigarette.* How much? *I take out my wallet.*

Put it away. On the house. Like always.

He leans in, and the fluorescent light catches something like fear crossing his face.

Alastor. You're going to make me say it, aren't you?

The cigarette burns down between your fingers, forgotten.

Twelve years back, a kid with your face and your name lived four streets from here. Then he was gone.

Whole town looked.

He glances past you, at the window, then back — and his voice drops low.

And if you're really him, God help us both, because some people never stopped looking.

Twelve years is a long time to be gone. Long enough to forget a whole town.

The ash falls from your cigarette onto the counter. He doesn't brush it away.

I used to hope you'd walk through that door. Stopped hoping around year five.

The man behind the counter looks at me and forgets how to breathe.

Then he says my name.

“You finally came back.”

Headlights sweep across the gas station windows.

The attendant locks the door.

A police cruiser stops beside my car.

Sheriff Vale sees me through the glass and goes completely still.

The attendant whispers,

“Please. Do not let Noah find out you came back.”

I turn to him.

“Why?”

His face changes.

“Because he already lost twelve years because of you.”

Before you can answer, headlights swing off the street outside. A second car, parking crooked.

The gas station attendant goes white and steps back from the door.

A young man gets out and walks toward the glass. He's your age. He's not hurrying.

Don't. He's here.

The sheriff moves between you and the window, but the door was never locked against him. It opens.

Hello, Alastor.

He looks at you the way people look at something they've rehearsed losing again.

Twelve years. You want to say you don't know me. Go ahead. I've heard myself imagine it enough times.

Noah, that's enough. He just got here. He doesn't remember anything, and you're not going to fill his head with—

The sheriff's hand is resting on his holster. Not gripping. Resting.

Well… *I take a hit on my cigarette.* This cigarette break wasn’t meant to be this… Interesting… *I cross my hands beside my back, resting on the pistol I always carry.* So… Twelve years…

Interesting. That's one word for it.

Noah's eyes flick to your hand at your back. He doesn't flinch. The sheriff does.

Nobody's drawing anything in here. Nobody.

Relax, Vale. He carried it back then too. Never once used it.

You kept it in the same spot. Left side, reached behind. I used to tell you it'd take you three seconds too long.

He says it evenly, like a fact he's checked a thousand times.

Twelve years. You want the short version or the true one?

Noah. I am telling you, as sheriff of this town, to stop talking.

You're telling me that as Vale. The town doesn't care what you want. It never has.

*I slowly take out my pistol and pu it on the counter, then nod to Sheriff Vale. I turne back to Noah.* So, what is the worst that could happen? Me coming back with lost memories, or you remembering it all?

The sheriff exhales when the pistol hits the counter. Noah barely glances at it.

Worst that could happen? That already happened. Twelve years ago.

You think you disappeared from this town, Alastor. That's what it looks like from inside.

You didn't disappear. You escaped.

The words land wrong, like a door opening in a house you thought you knew.

There was a night. There was a line, and you crossed it, and you were gone. And I was supposed to be right behind you.

Noah — no. Don't you dare say the rest.

I never crossed. That's the rest. I stood there and I watched you go, and I have been standing in this town ever since.

The sheriff's hand leaves his holster. He looks at the window, at the dark, like he's listening for something.

Twelve years, Vale. He's earned more than your silence.

Outside, something changes in the quality of the dark. Nobody says anything for a moment.

You asked what's worse. What's worse is that you got out and forgot. And I stayed and remembered everything.

The sheriff turns slowly toward the window, and his face drains.

Vale backs away from the glass, one step, then another, like the window itself is the danger.

No. No, it can't be morning. It's not time. It's never this soon.

Noah turns from you, slow, and looks where the sheriff is looking. His whole face changes.

Outside, the road is back

Noah stares at it.

“Twelve years ago, I pushed you across.”

Memory hits me all at once.

His hand leaving mine.

Me running.

Noah never crossing.

I look at him.

“You stayed for me.”

He shakes his head.

“I stayed because only one of us could leave.”

Then he takes my car keys.

“And now you came back.”

Noah drives toward the town line.

The second he crosses it, the road behind him disappears.

Every porch light in town turns on at once.

Sheriff Vale steps beside me and presses something cold into my hand.

A house key.

My name is already carved into it.