VEGA

It is one of life’s quieter tragedies that roses survive longer than most teenage confidences. Mine—a dusty pink rose I’d nursed from its days as a little bud—sat on my windowsill, as dutifully alive as the Sunday morning I brought it home. I was less dutiful.

My hair fell forward as I bent over the rose, messy strands catching the glass. Almost violet among the soft pink. I hated how obvious it made me. I wanted to be invisible and in a way, I was. Until I pulled my marvin off and everyone saw the roaring flames that were my locs.

Still, I wrote.

This morning—like every morning—nib to page, daring the world to notice me. A dream here, an insult there, the kind of words sixteen-year-old aren’t supposed to think but do.

If you asked my father, he’d say the rose was the better investment. At least it didn’t talk back. But I loved my journal and no one could take that away from me. Roses die quietly. Words never do.

I’ll admit, I watered her more faithfully than I brushed my own hair; orange and unruly. Unthriving. My eyes went to the sill. It was still wet when I left my room, dew on its petals, water dripping from the petals to the pot. Proof that I’d been there at seven-thirty on the dot, plotting how I would survive another day in Eldermire.

Downstairs, the house was already alive with the rest of the pack’s clamour. Janeesha—my cousin—was clattering about the kitchen looking for something like she was in the final five minutes of a cook-off no one would ever watch; cupboards banged as if she had a vendetta against the cereal boxes.

“Oi!” I called. “If you’ve finished vandalising the cutlery, might want to explain why the hells my conditioner bottle is empty.”

“Sod off Julie,” she spat. “Maybe if you didn’t moult so much like a fucking ginger cat you wouldn’t bloody need it.”

I rolled my eyes, tugging at the strands clamped on my brush. Exhibit A, your honour: Juliet Vega’s hair—evidence of the crime scene formerly known as my scalp.

The journal was still on my desk. The closing line of the day’s entry glared back at me like a forewarning: Eldermire is a small town, but its shadows stretch long. Maybe it was mere speculation on my part. Maybe I was paranoid. Maybe I was right.

I didn’t know which was worse.

My phone flashed. I groaned at the caller ID. Fiona Bloody Burkley. Eldermire High’s monarch. The kind of person who could announce genocide in a group chat and still have everyone turning up with cupcakes. She had a gift. A glow I could only wish to possess. And she used me as her unofficial handmaiden.

As far as handmaidens go though, the gig wasn’t too bad. Sure it was: Juliet, grab my coffee. Juliet do not wear that. Juliet, if I wanted a clown, I’d go to the circus and buy one. But on the plus, I got a front-row seat to LD’s social scene because of my involuntary service to her and her posse. Yeah. We’re still doing those in 2023.

I wasn’t brave enough to say no to her. Not yet.

So I grabbed my faux fur jacket and hoped she wouldn’t nab this one and use it for one of her own fits, shrugged the damn thing on like armour. Hideous armour but armour nonetheless.

As I glanced at the rose one final time, I touched two fingers to my lips and directed them to the rose. A gale blew in through the window. It didn’t flinch. I did.

The gossip detonated before the first bell.

Fiona’s group chat was purring when I checked my phone, screen too bright against the morning grey. ”Someone nicked the mid-term answers lads." No one had said who but the speculation was vicious, as if everyone knew who it was but they didn’t want to say. Like they were waiting for someone else to say it first.

I wasn’t going to take the bait. Instead, I walked through the squeaky brass door of The Brass Bean, the town’s one attempt at looking cosmopolitan. Is smelled of roasted expresso and wet wool. A radiator hissed in the corner. Students huddled in booths while an old man in tweed muttered crossword puzzle clues under his breath.

And then there was her.

Behind the counter: Aoife. Blonde bob, eyes like a December sky over Galway Bay and a smile that belonged in a painting and not a provincial coffee shop where the mugs were chipped and the tables creaking with age.

She slid Fiona’s ridiculous pumpkin spice latte across the counter 7:45 on the dot, like clockwork. Never mind it wasn’t autumn, Fiona insisted on living in a perpetual October. Aoife didn’t even roll her eyed, which told me she was either saintly or dangerously good at customer service.

When my flat white followed, her hand lingered. Our fingers brushed. Hers were warm. Too warm.

“Not many girls brave The Brass Bean before nine.” she said, voice lilting in that Irish way that mad every vowel sound like a secret. “You should come back sometime...when I’m not chained to the machine and when you’re not chained by your duties to your queen.”

I blinked, pulse betraying me, then I found my tongue. “Careful what you wish for,” I said, sliding Fiona’s drink off the counter with one hand, steadying my own with the other. “I have been known to mirror my queen’s nature.”

“For a beauty like you?” Her smirk sharpened. “I’ll risk it.”

And I walked away before she could see me smile.

My eyes snagged on the booth by the window.

Fiona’s boyfriend.

Not with Fiona.

With someone else.

Her hand on his. His grin, lazy, wolfish. He spotted me, held my stare and winked.

The wink said Don’t tell.

The wink said It’s our little secret.

In the reflection of the cafe’s frosted glass, I caught another pair of eyes—dark and unfamiliar—watching me from the corner table. A ghost, perhaps. Or a witness.

Either way, I suddenly wanted to be back in my safe little haven with my little potted plant, blooming peacefully instead of my heart thudding like this.

“Pumpkin,” I said, holding out her coffee.

She snatched it, took a sip and her smile stretched smug and satisfied, like the universe had remembered just who it rightful ruler was.

Then he appeared. Elliot Cavanaugh—Fiona’s trophy and torment, dark-haired and jaw sharp enough to cut glass. The kind of boy who knew the weight of his smirk. He strolled up late, shirt untucked just enough to look intentional.

Before Fiona could launch into her usual act of worship, Lila Pearson—the posse’s number two and perpetual cheerleader—gasped. “Fi, babe. I saw Elliot this morning. At The Brass Bean. With—” her voice dropped to a scandalous whisper, “—Clara.”

Fiona’s head snapped round so fast I thought she’d sprain something. “Clara who?”

“Clara Holt. You know. Brown curls, drama club, tragic taste in eyeliner.”

Elliot’s grin didn’t falter, which meant either he was guilty or he was better at poker than anyone gave him credit for.

“What cafe was that again?” Fiona demanded.

Lila blinked. “The Brass Bean. Swearsies on my Gucci pumps. And those are like...my best ones!”

That’s when Fiona swerved towards me, like a queen interrogating her court jester. “That’s where you got my coffee this morning, wasn’t it Janice?”

Juliet. It’s Juliet.

I wanted to say it but instead, I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. You’d think after being friends with her for like two years she’d at least have the grace to remember my name. Then again we already established that Fiona disposed of friends like out of season Burkins.

“I got in, got your coffee and got out. Didn’t exactly take a headcount. Besides...” I tilted my chin, feigning nonchalance. “I was a little distracted by the cutie at the counter to pay your boy any mind.”

For a moment, she was silent. Then she let out a giggle, dismissive, sharp. “Propaganda.” She flipped her honey blonde hair over one shoulder like she was brushing off the very idea. “As if my Elliot would bother with eyeliner-girl Clara Holt.”

Her arm slid around Elliot’s like it belonged there by divine decree. He leaned into it, still smirking.

As they turned to glide inside, I lingered just long enough to catch Elliot’s eye. No words. No smiles. Just a quick, invisible wink.

And then I walked off to my class, heart hammering against my ribs like I had just committed high treason in broad daylight.

I kicked my locker shut with the toe of my Converse, the metal clang echoing louder than I’d intended. Not that this was the par for the course of my Monday mornings. A few heads turned. Let them. Half this school had their ears pressed against doors, desperate for gossip.

Elliot the damn idiot. Like I wanted to be dragged into his entanglements. I shivered.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

—Cute barista huh?

My spine stiffened. Heat crawled up the back of my neck. I hadn’t told a soul about Aoife’s smile, about our encounter. Not even Fiona who extracted confessions like teeth.

I glanced around. Fiona was already halfway down the corridor. Clara had followed her, gossip grenade still in hand waiting for the next secret to detonate.

Another buzz.

—Don’t fret love. Your secret’s safe. For now.

I swallowed. Hard.

Someone was watching me.

The bell shrieked and I shoved my phone deep into m pocket. Mathematics next. Nothing like the slow bleed of algebra too take your mind off of the fact that you’ve just been ghost texted by a stalker.

The car smelled faintly of Fiona’s perfume—a blend of vanilla and roses—layered over the stale tang of crisps most likely from the night before. Seven of us wedged into her brother’s car, windows fogging in the late summer chill.

Fiona called bagsies on the front seat. I mean, of course she did. Her sibling privilege kept me sandwiched in the backseat, squeezed between Gossip Mill (Lila Pearson, sharp as a thumbtack, eternally scrolling her phone) and Janeesha my unfortunate cousin whose head bopped to some tune or the other as she gazed out the window. A girl I barely knew, Mia, was wedged right in the middle awkwardly—not that any of us paid her any mind. New recruit. Long nails, liquid eyeliner, the kind of girl who could flick her hair and have someone fetch her a drink without ever saying a word. I actually liked her because she looked like the kind of person who could give Fiona a run for her money on the Eldie crown.

Then there was Elliot in the very back. Golden boy stretched in the corner seat opposite me, eyes searching mine like hooks whenever the car lurched over a bump. He was smiling. I didn’t like it.

And driving was her brother.

Adrian Walsh. Twenty, give or take. Movie star hair swept back in a way that looked accidental and was absolutely not. Stubble shadowed across a jawline so clean-cut it could’ve been sculpted. Tattoos slipping just beyond the sleeve of his black tee, catching in the glow of the dash. His arms—hairy, muscled, casual—rested loosely on the wheel like he owned not just the road but the night.

Our ticket in. Fiona had bragged for weeks that her brother’s mates were hosting some “proper,” college bonfire. Music, drink, the whole sordid bacchanal by the lake. And because Adrian said yes, the gates of Olympus swung wide open for us mere mortals.

“Reckon you’ll swim Vega?” Elliot’s voice cut through, smug as the smirk plastered on his face. “Wouldn’t mind seeing you in a two-piece.”

The car shifted with snickers. Lila raised her brows in mock scandal. Mia smirked. Fiona giggled.

“Don’t be ridiculous babe.” she said without even sparing me a glance. “Jennifer’s a total nun. Anything above the knee would be scandalous.”

“Jennifer?” Adrian asked.

“Juliet.” I corrected, heat rising to my cheeks.

“They both start with J, don’t they?” Fiona asked pulling out a hand mirror from her quilted handbag. “Be grateful I don’t put you in the G. Like Gretchen, Gretel or Greta over there.”

“You mean Mia.” Mia muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Gretchen seems to suit you though.” she gave her a look through the mirror.

“I think I prefer Mia, but thanks.” she wasn’t backing down.

Adrian’s voice slid in low, lazy. “Something tells me you’re not her type mate. Besides, she doesn’t date fools, Elliot.”

He met my gaze through the rearview mirror.

“And if she ever did, she wouldn’t start at the bottom.”

The laughter snapped off like a light switch.

Elliot’s grin faltered, then clawed its way back, thin this time round. Fiona flipped her hair, her eyes narrowed like it was taking her a minute to register that she’d just been insulted for her questionable taste in....well in Elliot I suppose.

There it was again. My heart hammering. Damn this stupid organ.

The lake was aglow with firelight. Music thudded low and dirty from someone’s Bluetooth speaker and the air stank of smoke, beer and perfume. College boys were kegging by the waterline, shirts long gone. Couples tangled openly on blankets. A spin-the-bottle circle whooped at every sloppy kiss. Two drunk freshmen girls ground against each other near the fire, laughing too loud, the blaze turning their skin golden.

Mia sat on the tailgate of a track watching it like a girl sitting between a fantasy world and reality. Too young to belong here, too smart to look impressed.

Elliot leaned against the side panel, nursing a Solo cup he clearly hadn’t paid for. His grin was wide, but his eyes—Mia noticed—kept darting across the fire, toward Fiona.

Fiona, who was at the picnic table, barking orders at Juliet. Fetch this. Hold that. Fix her hair. Juliet obeyed, quiet, which made Fiona glow even brighter for it.

“You should be careful Eli.” Mia said, her voice low.

Elliot tilted his head sending a grin her way. “Careful?”

“With her.” Mia followed his gaze to Fiona. “She doesn’t quite forgive slights. You so much as look at someone else and she’ll cut the legs out from under you.”

Elliot chuckled, a little too loudly. “I can handle her just fine Mims. She’s my little diamond in the rough. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Mia’s eyes narrowed. Because she saw it then—the way his gaze slipped from Fiona to Juliet, lingering just too long.

Mia leaned in. “Juliet Vega?”

She sighed. “Eli don’t be an arse. No one even know what kind of a person she is. Everyone calls her The Handmaiden of Eldermire, cause she follows Fi around like some sort of lady-in-waiting. But that’s about it. Girl gives me the creeps.”

Elliot looked back at her then, sharp defensive. She tilted her cup and asked almost too casually, “How’s Xavier?”

His whole expression soured. “Not your business.”

“Eli, please,” Mia pressed, standing now, blocking his way when he tried to brush past. “Please, they won’t let me see him. Just tell me.”

“Drop it.” His voice was rough, almost a growl.

She grabbed his wrist, nails biting just enough. “You don’t get to shut me out about him.”

His resolve shattered, yanking his wrist free. ”In case you forgot Mims, he’s in there because he tried to protect you. It should’ve been you but he’s the one paying for your mistake." he hissed.

But even as he said the words, he regretted it. Her eyes brimmed with tears threatening to spill any moment, like golden teardrops in the bonfire light. He ran a hand over his face.

“Shite.” he muttered. “Fine. I’ll take you to see him. Later. But you’ve got to be prepared for whatever you’re going to see.”

Mia’s heart skipped. She maintained her composure, her lips tight. But her fingers were tight around her cup.

I stumbled on a patch of uneven ground, and one of the cups nearly tipped. Before I could catch it, a hand appeared balancing the tray.

“Easy, handmaiden,” a low voice murmured.

I looked up. Adrian Walsh. Leaning lazily against a driftwood log, cigarette ember glowing like a rival to the bonfire embers. His smile was sharp but private, like he only let a privileged people see it.

Heat climbed into my face, “I am not anyone’s handmaiden.”

He flicked the ash into the dirt, amused. “Then why do you carry her goblets?”

I ignored him pushing on toward Fiona. She didn’t thank me when I arrived, not that I expected her to anyway. She simply snatched a cup, then —eyes glittering—poured another over the head of a nervous freshman who approached her and tried to talk her up. The poor boy sputtered, drenched before feeing into the dark. Fiona’s laughter rang out, sharp and jagged.

“Ugh, Jocelyn. Make yourself scarce. You have the rest of the night off.” she waved me off dismissively.

“Thank you oh great monarch of our skies. I abhor you for your grace and kindness.” I said, but I guess she didn’t hear me because she went back to laughing with a few other college girls like a pack of body-glittered, french-tipped hyenas.

Damn. Maybe I was her handmaiden after all.

I escaped to the edge of the lake. I dropped onto a log, unlatched my shoes and buried my toes in the cold sand as though the earth might anchor me. The chatter, the shrieks...all of it was on mute for a minute.

Then a shadow fell beside me. Adrian sank down, close enough that I caught the faint scent of smoke and lake water.

“Here to remind me of my subservience to your sister?” I looked ahead, not daring to meet his gaze. “I’m slowly breaking out of the matrix, don’t worry about it.”

He lit another fag up and passed it to me.

“I’m waving the white flag on that one.” he said. “I meant no offense.”

I pushed his hand away.

“If you’d meant no offense, you’d have clocked I’m not the fag-type.” I retorted.

“I clocked you’re not the drinking type,” he shrugged. “Gimme some credit for not trying to get you drunk.”

My eyes went back to Fiona who tugged the collar of another freshman boy and kissed him like she was doing him a favour. She pulled back, gave him a pat on the shoulder and the boy walked away dumbfounded and she just did this thing where she lifted one shoulder and cocked her hip to one side, so that her curves popped out more.

“Has she always been like this?” I asked. “Your sister I mean.”

He tilted his head. “Like what?”

I nodded at her, as she pulled off her shirt to reveal a blue bikini underneath, basking in the glow of her worshippers.

“Unhinged.”

He chuckled low in his throat, though not unkindly. “If you think this is unhinged, you don’t want to see her when she’s actually wiped.”

Pause.

“Once, she locked herself in a wardrobe for three hours because she thought it’d take her to Narnia. Another time she swore she would find and marry Prince Eric from The Little Mermaid and she wore a seashell bra over her uniform until the headmistress confiscated it.”

The laugh burst out of me before I could stop it, a sound that startled my own throat. He smiled—soft, almost fond—but then his expression dimmed into something pensive.

“Something tells me you don’t want your first college revel spent brooding over your monarch,” he said quietly. Then he leaned a fraction closer, conspiratorial. “Let me show you a whole new world.”

I couldn’t hold the snort if I tried. “You did not just make an Aladdin reference. That is so dorky.”

He smirked, getting to his feet.

I hesitated, searching his eyes. And then, against my better judgement, I nodded.

“Follow me,” he said.

We slipped away from the bonfire, the noise fading behind us. The moon hung above the lake, a polished coin against velvet sky. Adrian led me along the rocky age until we reached a narrow inlet.

“Here,” he said, stripping off his shoes.

My eyes widened. “You expect me to—”

“Swim, yes. I’d carry you on my back, but unfortunately I don’t have the speed, strength or grace of a dolphin love.”

I almost laughed at the absurdity of it, then shook my head with a sigh. “Fine. But if I drown, it will be on your conscience.”

“Then I’ll play Orpheus and fetch you back,” he quipped, already wading in.

The water was shockingly cold, stealing my breath. His hand found mine, steading me as we dove beneath the dark arch. For a moment the world was nothing but bubbles, pressure and the thud of my pulse. And then we surfaced at last.

I gasped.

A cavern opened above us like the hollow of a geode. Crystals jutted from the walls, catching the moonlight that filtered through cracks above and scattering it in violet, blue and silver light. The water glowed beneath us splendidly.

Shivering, hair plastered to my cheeks, I forgot the cold, I pushed myself out of the pool and reached out touching the stone. “It’s like Coleridge’s Xanadu,” I whispered. ”A miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice.”

Adrian’s voice answered softly, completing the lines. ”And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree."

I turned sharply. “You’ve—read Coleridge?”

“Lit major,” he said, smirking, pushing wet hair back from his forehead. “For the time being at LDU. Thinking of moving to the city. Broader waters.”

“You’d leave?” I tilted my head smiling. “That would be a loss. You’re one of the town’s hidden gems. Pun fully intended.”

He chuckled. “Honeyed-tongue, Lady Juliet.”

I groaned. “Really? Predictable. That’s what they’d call me if I picked Lit too. My mother—” I stopped, breath catching before continuing more quietly. “She was a photographer. She had this nifty little Polaroid camera—”

He burst out laughing. “Nifty? Who in the world still says nifty?”

“I do,” I shot back. “And it is the only word for that camera. Model SX-70. She swore it captured souls.”

“Nifty,” he repeated with a grin.

I brushed my fingers over the gleaming wall, voice soft. “Beauty like this should be immortalised in film.”

A click startled me. I spun. Adrian stood with his phone raised, smirking.

“Hey!” My cheeks warmed.

“Don’t worry,” he said lightly. “I won’t post it. Beauty like this should be immortalised in film.” His gaze held mine, steady and unblinking.

For a heartbeat the cave hushed around us. My words caught in my throat though something in me longed to answer.

“How did that thing even survive the swim?” I finally broke the ice.

He revealed a plastic bag with a smirk. “Planned ahead.”

I stepped closer, close enough that the droplets on his lashes caught the light like tiny stars. “So you did.” My voice curved into a dare.

“Oh, no. No, no, no—” Before he could gloat any further I shoved him back into the pool. He splashed down with a curse muffled by laughter, and the echo bounced off the jeweled walls. I dove after him, kicking up the waves and for a few reckless minutes we were like kids—ducking, splashing, reaching, chasing. His hand caught my ankle; I wriggled free and tugged him under with me. We surfaced breathless, gasping, laughing too hard to speak.

And then we stopped. Our faces hovered inches apart, laughter softening. I could feel the warmth of his breath against my lips, the cool water lapping at our chins, the fire of something sparking between us. It wasn’t just me imagining it was it?

“We should get back.” he said firmly, like he was drawing a boundary and I felt my heart drop to my stomach.

My lips pressed into a thin line.

“Absolutely,” I tore my gaze away from him. “You’ll be missed. We wouldn’t want that now would we?”

I tried not to focus on Adrian across the fire. The way he leaned, the way he listened. I shouldn’t have been staring, but I was. I couldn’t help it.

“You know he’s mental, right?” Lila’s voice slithered beside me. She sipped her drink, eyes following mine. She handed me the other cup swirling a multi-coloured drink. “And way out of your league.”

I didn’t answer. Just let the words hang as I sipped on the heavy sour...was this beer? You’d think it’d be sweet from the colour. I held my poker face and downed the entire cup.

“Rainbow cocktail.” she said. “Special party brew. Just for you.”

“I’m honoured. I guess.”

Then someone shouted for a game. Spin the bottle. Of course they did. No one in this town could ever come up with something original. Something like a gemstone cave...“Come on, play with people your age,” Lila nudged. Her grin was wicked. My body swayed when I stood—just a lightweight. Just a little dizzy.

I plopped down a log next to some chap I had never met. The game spun on, bottles clinking, cheers and groans. Kisses, sloppy and fast. Then it shifted—truth or dare. The air got sharper, the questions meaner.

“What about you?” a voice called. “Juliet, truth or dare?”

I blinked, slow. “Truth,” I slurred.

The questions came. The answers spilled. Too easy. Dad’s a cheater. Mum’s dead. Ex is psycho. The words fell like stones and I couldn’t stop them from spilling out. My chest burned, from the drink or the shame? I didn’t know.

“This is getting fun.” I heard Fiona say. At least I thought that banshee screech of a voice was hers.

“No it’s not.” Mia protested. “Julie, you need some water?”

“I mean she’s a little out of it, but she won’t die from a game of truth or dare.” Janeesha’s voice cut in. I’d almost forgotten she was here.

“Dare,” I muttered, trying to change it because I’d kept on truth three times in a row.

They laughed. “Kiss someone, then.”

I pointed—sloppily, stupidly—at Elliot. I didn’t even like him.

“She’s out of it,” Elliot said, voice flat but firm. “Pick something else.”

Fiona leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Fine. I dare you to jump of that ledge over there into the lake. Water’ll sober you right up.”

A crowd had formed, whooping and already surging toward the cliff. My stomach lurched hoping the dare was a figment of my drunken stupor.

Adrian was suddenly beside me, steadying me. “How much did you drink?” His voice cut through the noise.

“Lila gave me a rainbow cocktail. So pretty.” I giggled words sticky on my tongue.

His jaw tightened. “Juliet—stay here. I’ll get you water.”

“No. Don’t go.” I clutched his wrist. The firelight blurred his features but I could see the concern in his eyes. “I don’t care what Lila says. I meant...what I said. You’re a gem.”

He froze. Just for a breath. Then: “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He pulled away, disappeared into the dark.

And that’s when Fiona stepped in.

“I can’t believe you. First you lied for Elliot,” she said voice low enough to bite. “Then you sneak off with my brother? Or did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

I blinked at her. “What?”

“Stay away from my brother, Jackie.”

Something in me snapped. The drink, the party maybe? The names...all of it. My fists balled.

“My name,” I spat, “is Juliet. J-U-L-I-E-T.”

A few heads turned. The laughter stopped.

“Fiona Burkley you think you’re high and mighty.” My voice rose, sharper than I meant it to. “Because you boutght yourself boobs at fifteen and puked your way to cheer captain? Because you spread your scrawny legs one summer and now you think you’re a woman? Please. You think anyone’s worshipping you? They’re just wondering how far you’ll whore yourself for someone to choke on your dusty cooch.”

Gasps. Oohs. A ripple of shock.

Fiona’s face hardened, then cracked. Her palm struck my cheek—sharp stinging.

It took a moment for the shock to register before I lunged. Fist in her hair, knee in her gut, dragging her down with me. I saw red, slamming my fist into her face over and over and over again. The crowd roared, some egging us on, others trying to break it apart.

Then, Elliot’s hands on my arms, pulling me back. We struggled, feet skidding.

The edge was there before I even saw it.

One slip. One scream.

The world tilted.

And then cold. Crushing, merciless. The water slammed the air out of me. For a moment, I floated in the dark.

Then I saw it—red blooming around me like ink spilled in the sea.

My blood. The last thing I knew before the black closed in.