On the crowded pedestrian streets of downtown Washington, D.C., the temperature had begun to drop to around 7 °C (45 °F), with a light wind drifting off the river, typical of early evenings in November. The streets hummed with footsteps, rolling carts, bus engines, and the neon glow of shops beginning to animate the city's nighttime face.
Garret Widen wandered without direction, his old gray suit wrinkled, dirty clinging to his slim but upright frame, breath audible from the cold and fatigue. He still carried the residue of the morning's vision: the shadow of a crow flitting past, the name Michael Mortem echoing, the thirty-day countdown hanging in his mind like a shattered hourglass.
Turning a street corner amidst the rushing crowd, his eyes caught a young woman running torn clothing, pale face, panicked steps. She clutched a small bag, one strap dangling loose.
Garret didn't intend it, but his foot brushed hers. Their bodies collided lightly. The woman stopped, staggered, turning with wide, terrified eyes. Garret bent instinctively to steady her and inadvertently touched her skin.
In that instant, the world in his eyes shifted. He closed them for ten seconds, as Michael had instructed. When he reopened them, he saw: the woman in a narrow alley, dim streetlight overhead, a man unknown trailing her from behind. She fell to the ground, a strangled scream escaping. The man lifted a knife or some sharp object her body aflame or grievously wounded, death approaching with deliberate slowness. Garret witnessed this flashback frozen in time.
His step halted. His body trembled. The city noise behind him seemed suspended. His jacket sleeve felt damp from cold sweat. The passive soul he had been now dragged into the center of violence.
He looked back at the woman in front of him still the same figure. But now a man ran from the next block over, dark jacket, inverted cap, long strides. Garret recognized him from the vision.
He wanted to follow, but the crowd obstructed his view. He lost them. Car horns, shouting street vendors, flashing red lights blurred everything.
Garret stopped, drew a long breath, then recalled every detail from the vision: the narrow alley near the city library, yellow streetlight, cracked paving stones, faint steam from a sewer vent. Pressing a hand to his chest, he felt his heartbeat accelerate.
With unsteady steps, he moved toward the alley. Approaching, he heard screams for help. Loud shouts in the tight corridor, side doors ajar. Dim yellow light. The woman pressed against the wet brick wall. The man stood before her, knife glinting. Garret's vision tunneled, adrenaline squeezing his perception.
He moved not with skill, but instinct. He swung his coat like a shield, hands shaking, feet dragging. The man turned, gaze sharp. Garret flinched, fear surging. He did not know how to fight. His body resisted, muscles aching as the man stabbed into his bag. Blood stained the worn gray fabric. Cold wind kissed exposed skin near old scars.
The fight was chaotic: Garret struck, fell, groaned. The alley air thickened with the smell of iron and sweat. The knife raised, reflected by streetlight. Garret kicked a paving stone; the man faltered, the blade slipped. He grabbed it, handle slick with blood. Summoning unknown strength, he retaliated with raw, brutal motion; the knife sank into the man. He collapsed, breath ceased, red pooling on the stone floor.
Garret stood frozen, trembling, still gripping the knife. The woman's eyes were vacant against the wall. His hands slackened. The streetlight outside flickered. A crow passed a black shadow, swift, across the rooftops. Garret saw it, breath caught.
He remembered Michael Mortem and the thirty days. He sank to the wet curb, jacket stained, metallic scent of blood surrounding him. His body ached, chest pounding, the city night cold around him. He stared at the man now motionless, unsure where savior ended and victim began.
And in the silence, he realized: by killing him, did he delay his own death or hasten it? Was this redemption, or a curse?
The wind blew, sirens wailed faintly, and the crow vanished into darkness. Garret closed his eyes for ten seconds yet he could not open them again. The world was too bright, too alive.
He remained there. And then forever.