Electric Currents

The hat was the first thing Marcus noticed about her—a battered fedora that had seen better decades, perched precariously on dark curls as she nursed her third whiskey at the far end of the bar. It was two in the morning, and they were the only two people left in the world, or at least in this stretch of Williamsburg where the bars stayed open like wounds that refused to close.

Marcus should have been home. Sarah would be waiting, probably asleep or pretending to be, their marriage reduced to a series of carefully orchestrated avoidances. But here he was, running from nothing and everything, his phone buzzing in his pocket like an insistent insect he couldn't bring himself to swat.

"You look like someone who's seen a zombie," the woman said, sliding onto the stool beside him. Her voice was smoke and honey, dangerous somehow. "Or maybe you've just become one."

Marcus laughed, startled by the accuracy of it. "Corporate restructuring. Fifth round this year. I keep coming back but there's less of me each time."

"Ah," she nodded, understanding dawning in eyes that had seen too much. "The eating of brains. I hear the benefits are excellent."

Outside, lightning fractured the sky, illuminating the bar in harsh strobe-light flashes. The storm had been threatening all night, a heavy pressure building behind Marcus's eyes. He felt suddenly, painfully awake.

"I'm Elena," she said, extending a hand with chipped black polish. "And you're at a crossroads. I can tell by the way you keep checking that phone like it might explode."

"Marcus," he said, ignoring her hand to gesture at the window. "The storm—"

"Isn't the weather, Marcus." She reached over, fingers brushing his wrist with electric intent. "The lightning is inside you. Always has been. You're just finally letting yourself feel it."

He did feel it—sudden and sharp, a recognition that scared him more than losing his job ever could. Sarah would be furious if he didn't come home. But Sarah was always furious lately, and wasn't that its own kind of running away?

Elena slid the hat onto his head. It fit perfectly, like she'd been carrying it for just this moment. "Sometimes," she said softly, "you have to let the old life die. Zombie or not."

Outside, thunder shook the building. Marcus pulled out his phone, typed a message he'd been composing for months, and hit send. Then he turned to the woman who'd somehow seen everything in his tired face.

"Buy you another drink?" he asked.

Elena smiled, and for the first time in years, Marcus felt lightning strike—not outside, but somewhere deeper and more dangerous. "I was hoping you'd never ask."