Author’s Note:
Apologies for the delay—this chapter is a week behind. The past few weeks have been rough as I recover from a full ankle replacement surgery. This was no minor ordeal. They essentially cut out what was left of my right ankle and replaced it with a shiny new cyborg-like upgrade.
Finding a surgeon willing to perform this procedure on someone my age wasn’t easy. But I’m incredibly lucky to have someone in my life who’s, well… let’s just say, very plugged into the medical community. With her help, I was able to find the right specialist.
As many of you know, I’ve been mobility impaired for years, relying on a cane when the pain was manageable. My ankle was bone-on-bone, deformed from old injuries. (My other ankle, for those keeping track, is held together by a high-line system of titanium rods and cables—remnants of an adventurous past.) But this surgery offers real hope—maybe even full mobility. That’s the dream, anyway.
There have been a few hiccups already—a minor infection scare, Medicaid inexplicably shutting down twice in the middle of all this—but I’m holding out hope. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll walk, run, and jump again. Maybe even get back on a snowboard… or give pickleball a shot.
Anyway, that’s why this chapter took a little longer. Also, I really got into this week’s illustration—it took a few extra days, but I think it was worth it.
Thanks for sticking with me. Now, let’s get back to They Knew.
Cheers!
~JVT
Several fire trucks had already pulled up to the building, their red and blue lights flickering off the smoke-streaked windows. Stunned residents, wrapped in robes and blankets, milled around the parking lot, their faces smudged with ash, eyes wide with shock. Smoke billowed into the night sky, illuminated by the fire’s glow.
A neighbor, an older woman in a fuzzy pink robe, rushed toward Raven. “Thank God, you made it out!” she gasped, relief turning quickly to worry. “You and your dad were the last ones to get out—where is he? Is he okay?”
Raven’s throat tightened. She opened her mouth, but no words came. Instead, she shook her head, slow and deliberate.
The woman’s expression crumpled. “Oh, honey…”
Raven turned away, wiping at her face with her sleeve. She couldn’t stand there. Couldn’t answer questions. Couldn’t let the grief sink its claws into her just yet. Without another word, she disappeared into the night, the strobe lights of arriving police cars flashing across her retreating silhouette.
She ran.
The bike path behind her apartment was dark, lined with skeletal trees whose branches reached like grasping fingers toward the sky. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her lungs burning from smoke and exhaustion, but she kept moving. The rhythmic pounding of her boots against the pavement was the only sound in the night.
Half a mile later, she reached the park.
It was almost exactly as she remembered it. The old swingset, the worn slide, the same wooden benches where she had sat as a child, her father pushing her on the swings while her mother watched with a quiet smile. It had been so long ago, another lifetime entirely.
Raven sank into one of the swings, the metal chains creaking softly under her weight. The cold bit through her jacket as she let her backpack slide off her shoulders, her fingers fumbling with the zipper. She reached inside and pulled out the Phoebee device.
The moment her fingertips touched the surface, a soft blue-white glow traced around them like phosphorescence on the ocean’s surface. A quiet beep followed, and then text scrolled across the top of the matte black brick.
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