Not Alone Tonight

She heard a door close. She peered over to the house beside hers, where the noise had originated. A tall boy with brown hair and a dog on a leash was walking down the front path of the house. She wondered why he was walking his dog at 1 o’clock in the morning, but then again, who was she to judge?

She watched him as he passed the white BMW parked in the driveway, to the sidewalk. She watched him turned to the right, walking slowly with his dog, looking this way and that. She watched his tall, slim figure walk down the sidewalk, until his silhouette blended in with the darkness of the night.

She sighed contentedly, her anxiety gone as she realized she was alone again. She reached into her pocket and felt cool metal against her fingertips. She withdrew the object and held it gingerly, her eyes straining in the dark to process what she saw. She ran her hand over its smooth exterior. She felt the small indents of the letters that had been engraved into it. “Annie Sommers”. She didn’t have to read it to know what it said. She felt along the side for the latch, and pressed it. Two sides swung apart, revealing cigarettes along the inside. She removed one, placed it in her mouth, and reached for a pack of matches. Striking the match, she inhaled, thinking about how the case had been her mother’s. How her mother would smoke them out of the kitchen window, and tell detailed stories about her childhood with her best friend. How her mom had named her, Chandler, after that best friend. And how seven months prior, her mom had been killed with that very best friend by her side.

There was no mystery as to how her mom had died. She knew all the details. Her mom had been at a bar, reuniting with some old friends who were visiting, when the building was engulfed in flames. Nobody had made it out alive. The police had found the man who started the fire, and prosecuted him accordingly. But none of that settled Chandler’s quest for revenge. She wanted to see the world suffer for what it had done to her mother, to her. In the month that followed her mother’s death, she was forced to move cross-country from California to her father’s home in Maryland.

She was not happy about the move, nor about whom she was forced to live with. Her father and her had never gotten along. He proclaimed it because she was so very much like her mother. They had divorced when Chandler was nine, and of course she had stayed with her mother. But seven months ago, that choice was ripped away from her. And she hadn’t been the same since.

She took a long drag, closing her eyes, and felt the nicotine enter her body. She exhaled, the epitome of relaxed, and kept her eyes closed. Blank were her thoughts. Blank were the canvas behind her eyelids. Startled were her eyes when she opened them, alarmed at the sound of a voice.

“Hey, it’s you!” The tall boy was standing in front of her house, dog to his left. His voice was excited, friendly, normal. Normal, exactly what she could use in her life.

“Yes, it’s me.” She spoke slowly, not sure what to think of the boy. Perhaps he was nice. Perhaps he wasn’t. Perhaps he was troubled. Perhaps he had the perfect life. Perhaps he was a pyromaniac, like the one that killed her mother. She chose that she would take a chance with him. “Would you like to come join me?”

He smiled, although it was invisible to her through the darkness. “I would love to,” he spoke, his voice still holding that same note of excitement. “Let me just go put my dog back.”

He ran to the house beside hers, his house, and shoved the dog into his mother’s hands, saying he would be back later. He ran back outside, and saw her, still smoking her cigarette. She motioned to the side of the house, where he saw a ladder leant against the wall.

“You shouldn’t be smoking, it’ll give you wrinkles.”

She turned to face him, now at the top of the roof, and shook her head. “I don’t really care. Nothing keeps you warm like a cigarette.”

“Not even the warmth of a nice, loving family?” He replied jokingly, a sly smile spread across his lips, still invisible despite their proximity.

“I don’t know, I don’t have one of those.” She tossed the butt, stood, and walked towards her window. He saw the glint of her chestnut hair, and he memorized it, glad to know something about her besides her address and bad habit.

“Are you leaving?” He asked, disappointment clear in his voice. He had just gotten up there.

She didn’t answer, but instead pulled the window up high enough so that she could fit through the space.

“Well, I’m Alex. What’s your name?” He stood up, still looking at her, her back facing him. She stood there, still for just a moment, and then abruptly turned.

“Chandler.” She responded curtly, then faced the window again and climbed through the opening. As she turned to shut it, she looked at him. Her eyes, one a brilliant blue, one a earthy, warm green.

“Goodnight,” she whispered. His jaw dropped just as she shut the window.