Rachael
§
They met at a wedding.
It was back when he still worked on the commitments column of the local paper. Back when he was only starting out as a journalist; years before he investigated any more than where the bride had gotten her dress or how long the couple had known each other.
"So, how long have you known the bride?" He held a tape recorder instead of a camera.
"A few months. I'm only in the wedding because of my brother."
"Is he the groom?"
She nodded and he jotted something down.
"Is there anything else you'd like to know?" She flicked a droplet of water from her glass.
"Your name?"
"It's Rachael." Her eyes reminded him of chocolate milk.
"Miles." He reached out to shake her hand. "Miles Upshur."
§
When he ran the article a week later, she circled his name in red pen, tapping it against her lips before taking a sip of coffee.
"Did your brother like the article?"
She looked up to see him taking a sip from his own mug, raising a brow.
"He isn't much for this sort of thing. His wife has about twenty, though."
That made him smile. "Have you read it yet?"
"No." She sat her cup down next to the paper.
He craned his neck to look. "Why did you circle my name?"
"Because I like the way it sounds."
§
They'd run into each other every week or so for the next two years. She waitressed at a diner downtown while he wrote the commitments section and freelanced everywhere else. He always came in for lunch on Thursdays. She'd take her break when he came in and they'd eat together, talking about this and that.
"I got offered a job in DC." He said one day, cutting into his stack of pancakes. "Working for a bigger journal."
"That's good." But she sounded sad.
"Do you want to get dinner with me tonight?"
She blinked, twirling the straw in her glass of tea. "Sure."
§
After dinner he peeled her from her dark purple dress like he'd wanted to at the wedding. They sank into the mattress of his apartment; the frame squeaking beneath them.
Afterwards, she lay curled around him: her leg draped over his hips and her head against his shoulder. He lit a cigarette, staring at the cracks in his ceiling while he smoked.
"Come with me."
Her sleepy eyes opened, half-lidded. "What?"
"To DC; come with me."
She giggled, kissing his shoulder. "You're crazy."
"Is that a no then?"
"That isn't what I said."
§
"Where do you want to keep the mugs?"
"In the cupboard; where else would you keep them?"
She smiled, standing on the stool to put the mugs away as she plucked them one by one from the moving box.
§
The dogs next door always barked for attention when he came home. If they were on the balcony, he'd reach over and pet the tops of their heads before smoking a cigarette and heading back inside.
"We should get a dog."
"What?" She looked up from the skillet where she worked on dinner.
"A dog."
"What about it?" She went back to the skillet.
"We should get one." He came behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.
She smiled. "You're like a little boy sometimes."
"Not all the time, I hope." He kissed the side of the neck.
"Not right now." She giggled. "You'll make me burn dinner."
He trailed his fingers through her hair, resting his chin on her shoulder.
§
They named their dog Dallas.
He was only a puppy that padded around the apartment and slept curled at the foot of their bed.
"I got fired today."
She stopped, looking up at him from the couch where she lay. The puppy barked from where it sat on the floor.
"But you're so good at your job."
He shrugged and she sat up.
"They didn't like something I wrote."
"How come?"
He lay back on the couch, laying his head in her lap. "Because I told the truth that they didn't want to hear."
She ran her fingers through his hair. "I'm sure you'll find another job."
"I've been wanting to work freelance, anyways." He closed his eyes. "I already have some work lined up."
"Good." She smiled.
§
"I can't find much of anything about my next job."
She had her head on his shoulder.
"Mount Massive Asylum?" She read. "Who wants you to look into that?"
"I'm not sure. The email is 10260110756 . I ran a search, but couldn't pinpoint it. Just someone who wants the Murkoff Corporation investigated."
"It's all the way in Colorado." She looked up at him. "Are you just going to drive there?"
"The Wrangler will make it fine." He looked back at her. "I think I can make a lot of money if I look into this."
She only looked at him.
"Maybe we could even get a bigger place."
"I don't know, Miles." She leaned her head back down. "That's awfully far and it might be dangerous."
"I'll be fine." He kissed her temple. "I'll only be gone a week at most."
§
But he didn't come home.
§
She never even got a police report. She'd sleep on her side of the bed with her face curled in his pillow. The puppy—that eventually grew into a dog—still slept curled at her feet.
She had dreams about a man made of smoke; the black curling around his limbs.
When her lease was up, she decided to move out of their old place. She took the dog and their things and drove towards Colorado where Miles had disappeared.
She got a little house in Lake County that over looked the mountains.
§
She woke up the first night to Dallas barking at the foot of the stairs. She got up, rubbing her eyes before padding down the stairs.
"What is it, boy?"
The smoky man stood outside the door.
She tensed, backing away.
"Rachael, please." The smoke drifted beneath the door. "It's me."
She stopped, looking closer.
She didn't open it, just stared for a moment.
When the sun came up, the smoke was gone.