Blood Moon

7

Peter threw his duffle bag on the bed assigned to him. He set the old, rusted key on the nightstand next to it and flopped down on the bed which looked older than his eighteen years. He looked up at the surprisingly smooth ceiling, painted the same shade of pale blue as the rest of the room. The old quilt on the bed felt thick and warm under him, but since the incident, he had not had a problem with the cold. He had spent much of the past few months sleeping in alleyways and sneaking into abandoned buildings in his travels.

In truth, the bed was uncomfortably soft.

He knew he should get sleep, but his brain was running a marathon in his head. Selene had told him to stay in the room. She warned him that his presence in the town could be dangerous if he indeed was a wanted man. Selene had gotten the room set up and paid for the week with the elderly landlady of the Bed and Breakfast on the outskirts of town. The building looked like it was about to fall apart, but it was quiet, and it seemed like the landlady would not ask any questions. Peter helped Selene carry their luggage up the stairs before Selene sped off to find the detective.

Now, Peter was supposed to be stuck in the room. That lasted ten minutes.

Peter opened the window and in a swift motion jumped feet first out the second-story bedroom to the garden below. He landed in the manicured grass with barely a sound, his fist hitting the ground to distribute the impact. At least that was what he told himself. With the lack of an audience, he could not use the excuse that it made him look cool.

He ran, leaping over fences with a single bound, something he had never been able to do since the incident. He ran miles with ease, pacing Olympic sprinters without breaking a sweat. He made sure to stick to the shadows and neighborhoods that he would not be easily recognized. He did not stay still long enough for anyone to get a good look at him if they would have.

In a matter of minutes, Peter was strolling up Derby Wharf. His hands buried deep in the pockets of his sweatshirt. His hook cast a shadow over his eyes as he focused them on the small light station at the end of the wharf. The navigation beacon was circling at the top of the station at least for a bit longer. By the time he reached the station, the night sky had started to turn a deep crimson. He sat on the nearby bench, looking out on the water toward the rising sun.

It had been months since he had been here. He once frequented the wharf in early mornings. Once a week before school, he would come out to watch the sunrise. The familiar salt air coming from the ocean always set a smile on his face. It was the one place he felt truly at peace, and it became a site that was closely tied to his life.

Beginning his senior year of high school, he started bringing Jess here in the mornings. The duo had been almost inseparable throughout high school. They spent most evenings studying together, either alone or among friends. They ensured their schedules were similar enough that they could help each other with assignments.

It was one chance Wednesday morning, as the cool autumn air set in, Jess snuggled into him. He had the forethought to bring a blanket with him. Sitting close together on the wharf, watching the sun break the horizon, the duo shared their first kiss. The first of many that would follow that year.

The sun broke over the watery horizon and a single tear streaked down Peter's cheek.

It was here, in the early hours of the morning, the incident occurred. Peter did not remember what had happened exactly. He remembered coming out to the wharf, as he had many times in the past. It was a warm, summer morning.

Jess had been waiting for him. It was the first time they had been allowed to see each other since he had been released from the hospital. He was not allowed visitors, not even his parents. He had been kept for observation for a few days before being released. Jess was a welcome sight for him. He remembered holding her close, as tight as he could without hurting her. He remembered tears from them both, streaming as they did for him now, sitting on the wharf. They spent hours together, just enjoying each other's company. No words needed to be said.

Then, in an instant, there was a gap in his memory. He remembered blood. Blood coated his hands dripping down to the ground where a pool had already formed. He looked down at her body, lying broken on the ground. She was looking up at him, tears streaming down her face.

He could not shake the look of betrayal in her eyes.

Peter did the only thing he could think of at that moment. He ran. He ran as far and as fast as he could. He saw the squad cars approaching the wharf and avoided them, sticking to the shadows as best he could. They were going to help Jess. They would keep her alive.

He knew in his heart he was lying to himself. She had lost too much blood. It was confirmed a few days later when he picked up a newspaper in Boston. Her obituary was sweet, written by her parents. Her senior photograph was used to headline the article.

In the same newspaper, Peter's picture was shown. He was wanted for questioning regarding her murder. Peter knew he could not go back. He kept the newspaper and left Boston that night. He left Massachusetts, set to start a new life.

Now, months later, he had returned to the scene of the crime. Tears streamed down his face as he watched the sunrise. He was going to clear his name. The detective was going to help. He was the first person he had met that believed him, that seemed interested enough to investigate the case. Whatever his motives were, he was the last chance for Peter to remember what happened that night.

Peter wiped his tears away and stood. The sky was now turning from orange to blue. Soon, the wharf would be crawling with tourists and he could not risk being seen. He pulled at his hood, ensuring it was covering his face, and started to jog back toward the city.