1 Chapter 1

Solitude was a cold comfort, but it was a comfort. In his aloneness, the only person who might be hating Sel was Sel himself. He wore this weight as close as skin. Life had been cruel to Sel. He was crueler.

The crust around his eyelids made it easier to excuse his decision to stay on the ground, acting as though he was still asleep. He was only lying to himself. He did that often. He felt something crawling behind his ear. The fleas and lice normally didn't bother him, but once he noticed one, he couldn't ignore it. He wiped his closed eyes and somehow found the motivation to open them.

Sel found himself at the end of an alley, near a dumpster. He wasn't sure how he got there, but waking up in this particular dark, dank alleyway was actually a blessing. He knew the owner of a restaurant whose back door faced the alleyway, and that man had been kind to Sel. His head was pounding, and he was weak from hunger and dehydration. He hobbled to his feet, using the dumpster as leverage. After an appropriate amount of stretching and popping various joints, he shuffled toward the back door of Rob's restaurant.

Cris kicked the door open as Sel approached, nearly hitting Sel as she struggled with two bags of trash whose combined weight was close to her own. The sweet and acrid scent of the Chill filled the air around Cris. Sel's body responded involuntarily. He momentarily forgot his aches and pains, and his body became lighter. Cris came up short as she saw him. "Oh, Sel," she said. "I've seen you in worse shape, but it hasn't been often. How long have you been out here?"

Sel racked his brain for the answer. The momentary rush of the Chill scent had worn off. His mind was foggy, and his words were hard to formulate. "What day is it?" Sel asked.

"It's Tuesday," Cris said.

Sel groaned to himself. The last thing he could remember was sneaking back into the city after going outside the wall to look for some Ice Flowers. That had been three days ago if it was Tuesday. This must have been a particularly nasty bender. "I'm not sure how long I've been out here, Cris. I woke up in my usual spot over there."

Cris tisked and sucked her teeth in disgust, a tick she usually had right before she planned to go into one of her motherly lectures that Sel had heard many times. He cut her off with a question. "Is Rob in there? Do you think he'd let me grab something to eat if I spent a few hours washing dishes for him?"

Cris was not fooled. There had been many nights similar to this one where she had found him in this alleyway and promptly lectured him about laying off the Chill and cleaning himself up. Nevermind the fact that she was desperately addicted to it too. This time, however, she allowed Sel to steer the conversation in a different direction. "Yeah, he's in there, but I don't think letting you wash his dishes is a good idea. You know what people think of you. You make the customers uncomfortable. They might stop coming around if you're always in the kitchen."

A voice came out of the open door. "Mom? What are you doing back there? Is Sel out there?" Rob poked his head out of the door that Cris has just come through. He and Sel locked eyes for a brief moment, and then Sel looked away. "Oh, Sel. You look awful." The concern on Rob's face was genuine and, it held no hint of the superiority that Sel had come to expect from others. He never expected that from Rob, and Rob never gave it. That made it all the harder to hold his gaze. "He's so much better than me," Sel thought.

"Rob, I know what you're thinking, but we can't keep letting Sel into the restaurant. We'll go out of business. Think of your father and me. We need your help. We'll never get by if the restaurant closes."

"I know, mom, but we can't just turn him away. Come on in, Sel. We'll hide you in the back room. No one will see you." Before Sel could protest, Rob had led him to his office and made a spot for him amidst the stacks of boxes and paperwork. Rob was a great chef, but he was a messy business owner. Being a businessman had never come naturally for him, but his brother had left the business to him. Rob's customers were loyal, too. What he lacked in organization skills, he made up in charisma, cooking skills, and old-fashioned hard work. With Sel's reputation, he wasn't sure if that would be enough if Rob kept helping him. Cris, in all her hypocrisy and meddling, was actually right. The thought of Rob failing because of him filled Sel with even more self-loathing.

"Rob, your mom is right. I can't be seen here. You're a good friend, and I know you want to take care of me, but I have to go. I'll find something else to eat." Sel began playing the rest of the conversation out in his head. Rob would tell Sel how he didn't care what his customers thought. Sel needed help, and Rob could give it, so he would. Sel would retort that Rob would lose the means to take care of anyone, including Rob himself if he wasn't careful.

Instead, Rob bustled out of the office, muttering that he didn't have time for a pointless argument and that he had work to do. The silence of the room was heavy after Rob left. Sel sighed and stared at the door. After a few minutes alone, he decided to busy himself with straightening up the office. He picked up a stack of papers and thumbed through it. He quickly realized that he was looking at receipts from about three years ago. The Governor was notorious for bleeding every successful business owner dry when it came to taxes. If Rob was audited (which happened more often to the businesses who had a reputation for success and quality products), he would have a very hard time providing accurate records to the Governor's office with his own office in this state. Sel knew exactly how he could earn his next few meals.

After Sel had spent a couple hours reading, organizing, and filing documents, Cris entered the office. Once again, Sel was greeted by the familiar scent of the Chill coming from her. She was carrying a bowl of thick soup. It looked cold. "Rob told me to take this to you about an hour ago. I'm sorry, Sel. I got a little distracted." Sel knew that likely meant she had spent that hour grinding up Ice Flowers and mixing them with the appropriate spices to produce a batch of the Chill. Most people didn't notice it, but a fellow user could always tell when someone had recently taken a few drags. Sel could tell now. Cris set the bowl down on a recently cleared desk. "You've made quick work of some of this stuff. I've been dreading the thought of getting this office in order."

"I'm not even halfway done," Sel said. "Once we get all the paper copies organized, we'll need to digitize all this, and upload it to the Governor's self-reporting portal. Not having up to date digital records in his system is practically begging for an audit.

"You think I don't know that? I've told Rob dozens of times, but he just can't be bothered to do it," Cris moaned.

Sel thought to himself that Cris was more than capable of doing this for Rob, but he held his tongue. Although he despised this woman, he knew that much of his animosity came from the fact that he and Cris had a lot in common. For starters, they had both done a very good job of hiding their Chill usage from almost everyone (other addicts aside) for years. They had never openly talked about it with one another, but there were telltale signs that only a fellow addict could easily notice. The tinge of blue under the nails, the nearly subliminal shiver that an addict had when the wind was blowing over the city from the direction in the forest where the Ice Flowers grew, and there was always the smell after an addict had recently used. That smell could drive an addict mad if they had gone too long without using it themselves.

Sel finished organizing the stack he was holding when Cris had entered the room. Then, he grabbed the bowl and spoon that Cris had brought in a few minutes ago. The soup was delicious. This was tangible proof of Rob's incredible skill. For a few minutes, Sel and Cris sat in near silence, save the occasional clank and scrape of bowl and spoon. After Sel began eating, his body signaled to him just how desperate it had been for sustenance. It took considerable effort for him not to devour the soup like an animal in front of Cris. That didn't stop him from relishing every morsel that he could. When he could scrape no more from the bowl, he picked it up and licked it clean. This was purely for Cris' annoyance. He set the bowl on the table with a not so quiet sigh of contentment, noticing Cris' thinly veiled disgust. His spirits were picking up after the purpose he had felt in working and the pleasure of a good meal.

"You can't keep coming around here, Sel," Cris said. "You know what people think, and you know that things could get bad for Rob and me and the rest of the family. We love you, but we can't help you anymore. Rob would never tell you this, but business is not what it used to be. People talk. Don't you remember the scene you caused in the dining area a few weeks ago? Some of those people were daily customers. They had been for years. We haven't seen them since."

Sel only remembered pieces of that day. The only thing worse than the effects of too much Chill use was the Chill withdrawals. They affected different people in different ways. For Sel, they made him oscillate between weepy self-loathing and extreme paranoia accompanied by hallucinations. One was annoying and pathetic. The other was dangerous and pathetic. All Sel could remember was finding himself standing in the lobby with a knife falling from his hands to the floor as Rob held him and told him that everything would be okay. He sobbed until his eyes were dry. Rob stayed with him until he came back from that state. Everyone had left the restaurant in the middle of that episode, and no one came back until the middle of the next day.

For the second time that night, Sel had to admit that Cris was right. He sighed and voiced his acquiescence. It was humiliating, but Sel was hardly in any place to hold even an ounce of pride, lice in his hair and stench of garbage coming off of him. Cris snuck him back through the kitchen and through the back door. Sel wished he had been able to say goodbye to Rob, but this was easier in a lot of ways. Cris wished him luck and closed the door. Sel could hear the bolt slide into the frame. He felt the weight of his own company and began one of his familiar refrains of internally reprimanding himself for the state of his person and his life in general.

He got to the edge of the alley and was about to step out onto the street when Rob emerged from around the corner. Rob's eyes were bloodshot, and his face was puffy. Sel's eyes immediately filled with tears to match Rob's. They embraced. "I'm so sorry," Sel said.

"None of that," Rob cooed. "Listen to me. I don't want you to go, but I need you to, at least for a while. At least until you can sober up. Mom just told me about the Chill. It all makes so much sense now." Sel's body tensed and then quickly deflated. He hated Cris. He was sure Rob had no idea his mom was an addict too. It would tear him to pieces. The news about Sel was obviously tearing him up now. "As much as I hate to say it, my mom is right. We're losing customers. We're struggling to get by."

Sel couldn't prove it, but he was sure that much of the profits of the restaurant went toward feeding Cris' addiction. At this point, he would only come across as petty and vindictive to Rob if he voiced his suspicions. Another time, perhaps. "I understand. Honestly, I hold no grudges, Rob. I'll figure something out."

Tears welled up in both of their eyes again. They stood in awkward silence for a few moments. Rob was the first to break it. He held out a small card. "This has enough on it to get you to Pretick City. I have a friend there from the Police Force who you never met. He got out before I met you. His name is Adem. He's a real bastard. Quick temper, basically a loose cannon—you'll love him. He owns a machine shop over there. He told me he'd take you on as an apprentice until you can get on your feet. Ask anyone you see in the city about him, and they'll probably be able to point you in his direction. He's kind of famous for his skill."

Sel sheepishly took the card. He hesitated for a moment. "I don't know what to say. I can't do anything to make this up to you."

"It's a gift. I'm giving it to you. If you really want to pay me back, go get well, and make time for me to come visit. I will soon once we get the restaurant going strong again." They embraced once more and said their farewells.

Sel made his way to the gondola station. He walked along the side of the street, trying not to think about satisfying his craving for the Chill. Mere minutes after receiving a heartfelt gift from his closest friend, he had already moved on to strategizing about feeding his cravings. He made himself sick. He knew he didn't need the Chill. It only brought temporary pleasure, followed by days of shame and more craving. He had to break the cycle. He relished the idea of a fresh start in a place where no one knew him. Maybe if he got away from all these familiar places, it would be easier to shake this destructive habit. A childish part of him actually believed that. A less kind part of him thought, "You'll never be free of this. Wherever you go, you'll be there. You're the ultimate source of all your problems." Sel shoved that voice down. He had just been given a kingly gift from Rob. He was not going to ruin this moment by thinking about himself. That was so typical of him. "I'm a narcissist, always turning things back to me." He made a concerted effort to shove that line of thinking down again.

The city he was leaving had been home for nearly fifteen years. He came here with Elo. He had been thinking about her less and less over the years, but when he thought of her, he had a hard time keeping himself from spiraling into a nasty bender. Thank goodness he didn't have any Chill on him now. He wouldn't have been able to help himself if he had. Once again, he found himself wondering how she was doing. He genuinely hoped she was okay.

The spherical cars zoomed by him on the street as he continued his walk toward the station. There were people all around him who normally had no issue jostling one another and walking close to one another if it meant getting to their destination faster. It wasn't a big bubble, but Sel's state of hygiene had caused the men and women around him to keep a little more distance than normal. Sel was painfully aware of this. Even the beggars, who were honestly some of the men and women he rubbed shoulders with most often, gave him sideways looks as he went by. He needed to see if Adem knew of any cheap places to bathe when he got to Pretick City.

He was daydreaming of Elo as he continued heading to the station. Sel had learned quickly upon his arrival to the city that it was in his best interest to stay out of the roads. With Elo on his shoulders, he had walked right into a street. He was a much younger man then, with quicker reflexes. They had barely avoided getting hit by three different cars before he got Elo and himself back to safety. Elo brought the episode up repeatedly for years. It annoyed Sel at the time. Now, it made him smile.

He rounded the corner of a particularly tall building and was immediately faced by the entrance to the gondola station. He saw the cables stretching out into the distance, toward Pretick City, toward a new chapter in his life. He felt butterflies in his stomach as he contemplated all the unknowns he was soon to face. He walked into the station. The cacophony of noise that greeted him was unsurprising yet still overwhelming. His body tensed, but he made his way through the unorganized mass of people toward the gate. It would be so easy to be grabbed by the Police here or have some pickpocket take everything of value right out of his pockets without him even noticing. He clutched the card that was his ticket to a hopefully lighter future. Children screamed and darted through and around strangers' legs. Musicians played their instruments at random places all over the concourse, hoping to catch someone's ear and a few credits to boot. None of their performances were elaborate. Each of the musicians needed to be able to slip quickly into the crowd if they noticed any Police coming their way. A person could legally play in the concourse and ask for money, but there were hefty taxes involved. Capital City was notorious for its Governor finding all sorts of creative ways to take money from his people. It was also notorious for a population that resisted paying those taxes in many creative, though rarely violent, ways.

Sel got to the gate and scanned his card. The lights on the metal rail showed green, and the rail slid down. Sel walked through the gate and boarded a gondola. He noticed stares from many as he found a seat. He must have been a sight. He had woken up a few hours ago in a dank alley, behind a dumpster. He likely had deep bags under his eyes and the haggard, greasy look of someone who hadn't seen a bed or a shower for days. He still had no recollection of anything between sneaking into the city and waking up in the alley. None of that mattered. For the first time that he could clearly remember, he felt a trickle of hope for his future.