The wind hits me like a slap as I run down the steps of the theater.
For once, it actually feels like Christmas Eve.
The air is so cold that my breath comes out in silvery plumes, and my sweat freezes on my skin in an instant. Thick clouds blanket the night sky, blocking out every star.
I’m hurrying up Castro Street, trying to find the right pace where I can stay ahead of Shaw without losing him.
I have to look distraught, which isn’t hard to do. Fighting with Cole was awful. I know we were both playing a part, but it made me feel like shit hearing him speak to me that way, seeing the ugly look on his face. I hated putting Sonia in the middle. I’ll have to apologize to her for that—assuming I’m still alive come morning.
Alone in the dark, this plan seems like madness.
I know Cole is close behind me. In fact, he should be running ahead by now, taking the direct route so he can beat me to the park. I fight the urge to glance back over my shoulder, to check if Shaw is following as well.
I turn left on 16th, slowing my pace just a little. Behaving as if I stormed off in a rage, but I’m cooling down now.
It’s almost midnight. I’ve never seen the streets so empty. I pass several houses with parties in full swing: Christmas lights strung up in the windows, music thudding and people laughing. The sound of merriment from a distance always makes me feel lonely.
No one’s out on the sidewalk with me. Barely any cars drive past. Everybody already got where they’re going.
I’ve almost reached Corona Heights Park.
As I cross Flint Street, I feel the unmistakable sensation of eyes on my back. Every sound becomes painfully acute: the rattle of dry leaves blowing up the street, and the scrape of my boots mounting the curb.
Shaw is behind me. I fucking know it.
I know it because I feel it.
My flesh prickles, the sparkling gown scraping across my skin. The air goes still, the pressure dropping.
I’ve reached the park entrance.
I pause for a moment, at the head of the winding pathway leading into the trees.
If Shaw is watching me, I want him to think I passed this way by chance. And that I’ve only just thought of Cole’s sculpture up on the flat top of the park, almost completed.
I hesitate, shifting my weight back and forth on my feet. As if I know I should continue along my way, but I’m drawn by curiosity. Wanting to see the sculpture in the moonlight.
I take one step along the sidewalk, then turn abruptly, heading into the park instead. Striding with purpose.
The path is narrow, bordered on both sides by cypress and eucalyptus. As I turn the first bend, I’m sure I hear the grit of heavy footsteps following after me. I stop, standing still in the middle of the path. The sound stops, too. When I resume walking, I hear him following again.
My heart rate doubles.
This is what I wanted. I wanted him to follow. But now that I know he’s right behind me, I can hardly breathe. I want to get up to the sculpture as quickly as possible, because that’s where Cole will be waiting.
I hurry up the long, winding path to the flat top.
Twice I stop and look behind me. The second time, I catch the edge of a dark figure stepping back behind a tree, only a dozen yards behind me.
“Cole?” I call out, as if I think it might be him.
Only silence answers.
I can imagine Shaw standing behind that oak, grinning to himself, his white teeth gleaming in the dark like a Cheshire Cat.
He’s waiting. Watching me. Making sure we’re truly alone.
I continue up the path, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Every creak of a branch, every rustle in the bushes makes me want to scream. It doesn’t matter if Shaw can see the tension in my body, if he can see my footsteps quickening. He knows I’m frightened and that’s just fine—it will only excite him.
He’ll think I came here stupidly, in the heat of the fight, only now realizing that someone might have followed.
The air feels thick and expectant, as if even the wind is holding its breath to see what will happen next.
I step out of the trees, finally arriving on the high, flat vista where Cole built his sculpture.
It towers over me, the glossy black walls of the labyrinth over twenty feet tall.
The entrance yawns like a dark mouth. I know the route through, because Cole showed me his diagram dozens of times. But I’m also aware how disorienting it will be inside, with no proper lights and several false paths designed to trick me.
I step out into the clearing, slowly approaching the entrance. My boots crunch over the dry, frosty grass, the sparkling train of my dress whispering behind me.
Something soft touches my cheek.
I look upward.
Puffy flakes of snow drift down from the thick bank of clouds.
I stare in astonishment: I’ve never seen snow in San Francisco in all my life. It feels surreal, as if this is only happening to me. As if I truly have stepped into another world.
I turn to look back the way I came, to the tangled tunnel of branches and the dark path beneath.
A figure steps into view. Tall, broad, dressed in a midnight-blue tuxedo. Fists clenched at his sides. Chin lowered like a bull as he stares at me.
We both stand fixed in place. Frozen like ice sculptures. Waiting for the other to move.
Shaw’s lips split apart in a grin.
He lowers his head and charges.
He barrels toward me, arms pumping, legs churning, head down like a linebacker, crossing the space between us with horrifying speed.
I don’t have time to think or even to scream.
I turn and sprint into the labyrinth.
The black glass envelops me, cutting off the outside world. The walls appear sleek and featureless, but I know there’s hidden doorways in the glass, impossible to find unless you stand at just the right angle, or run your fingers down their length until you find the openings.
I don’t have to do this, because I already know the way.
I hurtle down the dark alleyway, taking a hard right, then a left. I head to the next intersection and run down the middle branch, hoping that I’m losing Shaw with all these turns.
Cole should already be inside the labyrinth, hiding up ahead.
My chest burns, my legs shaking beneath me. I underestimated how frightened I’d be, and how heavily it would affect me: my legs are rubber, my feet stone lumps inside of my boots.
I’m starting to worry that I misremembered the turns, and I should have gone right instead of left at this last turn. The reflective glass disorients me. Ghostly versions of myself chase along my left and right side, splitting off at dizzying angles every time I turn. These bits of motion in my peripheral make me jump and spin, thinking Shaw is right behind me. Now I’m not even certain if I’m going the right way. I might have turned all the way around.
If I followed the route, then I should meet Cole soon. He should be waiting in the center of the maze.
I run to the next intersection, expecting to see him. Expecting him to give me the nod that means, keep running, head to the exit, I’ll get Shaw as he passes.
I burst into the middle of the labyrinth, which is a perfect circle, with eight pathways leading off like the spokes of a wheel. A black glass obelisk marks the exact center point, jutting upward to the cloudy sky.
The snow thickens, whirling downward in a spiral.
I see the obelisk, I see the snow, but I don’t see Cole.
He isn’t here. I’m all alone.
Where the fuck is he?
I spin in a circle, searching for him.
We agreed that he’d be here.
We agreed that he’d give me the sign that it was safe to run through.
Cole would slip into the wall up ahead. I’d wait for Shaw, to make sure he followed. The moment I saw him, I’d sprint down the aisle. As Shaw chased after me, Cole would jump out and bury his knife in Shaw’s neck.
That was the plan.
Shaw will be here any second.
What do I do? What do I DO?
Shaw’s heavy footsteps pound toward me.
Without waiting for him to reach the middle, I sprint down one of the spokes. This isn’t the way I was supposed to go, but it doesn’t fucking matter. If Cole isn’t here, I only have two options: run all the way out and flee from the maze, or try to hide in the walls.
Shaw is chasing after me way too fucking fast. He’s probably visited the maze himself, late at night while it was being built. He knows the way through. He’s faster than me. If I run, he’ll catch me.
If I hide, it might give Cole enough time to find us both.
Where is he?
I thought he’d be here. I was so sure of it. Not for a second did I believe he’d let me down.
He won’t let me down.
He’ll be here.
I just have to stay alive a little longer.
I dart into a tiny alcove hidden in the glossy black wall. There’s a dozen of these niches scattered through the maze. I try to make myself as small as a mouse, stifling my panting breath, covering my mouth with both hands while gasps leak out in a frosty mist, harsh and ragged.
I can hear Shaw’s breath, even heavier. He’s puffing like a buffalo, winded from chasing after me.
I hate that sound. I really fucking hate it.
His thudding steps pause as he reaches the center of the maze. I can hear him turning this way and that, pausing as he stares down each spoke, searching for me.
His voice cuts through the still night:
“I know you’re in here.”
I press both palms over my mouth.
His tone is low and flat, devoid of emotion. Just like the night we met.
I know you’re awake.
He cut me open. Left me to bleed out on the ground.
We’ll see who bleeds tonight.
Slipping my hand into the pocket of my coat, I find Cole’s knife and close my fingers around the handle.
Cole said to stick to the plan no matter what.
Well, the plan is fucked.
I’m the one hiding in the walls. I’m the one with the knife.
Slowly, carefully, I flick it open.
The blade snaps into place with a minute click.
I can feel Shaw stiffening, his head jerking up, his ears straining to find the direction of the sound.
“There’s no point hiding, Mara. Come on out and we’ll talk. Face to face. Woman to man …”
He gives a nasty chuckle.
He’s coming closer, his heavy steps slow and measured. He knows I’m hiding close by.
“Are you afraid I’m going to hurt you? Don’t worry … I just want a little taste …”
I think he turned down the path next to mine. I hear his voice moving off at an angle. But just as quickly, he turns and strides back again.
“You might even like it. Some girls do … at least to start … Your roommate Erin certainly enjoyed herself …”
He’s walking down my aisle now, I’m sure of it. Drawing closer and closer …
“The first time we fucked she was bouncing and squealing so loud it echoed up the staircase … Half the party must have heard her. The second time … well, the second time I wasn’t as nice …”
He’s walking right past me. The opening in the wall sits at an angle. I’ve wedged myself into the furthest corner of the alcove, out of view.
I see a slice of Shaw’s broad back as he passes by. I see the carefully combed waves of his sandy-colored hair, and the high collar of his tuxedo jacket. In between, the nape of his neck … thick and muscular, but unprotected …
I clench tight to the knife, slipping out of my hiding place. Stepping behind him, smooth and silent as his own shadow …
“I bit her nipple off and swallowed it whole,” Shaw chuckles.
Gripping the handle of the knife overhand, I stab the blade toward the base of his neck, planning to bury it in his spine.
Maybe it’s the motion that gives me away, or some whispering sound.
Shaw whirls around. The knife embeds in the back of his shoulder, wrenching it out of my hand. Shaw’s bear-like arm swings around, clouting me in the side of the head, sending me flying into the glass wall opposite us.
“You fuckin’ BITCH!” he howls, clamping his hand over his shoulder. He’s trying to reach behind him, trying to grip the knife. His arms are too thick—his fingertips graze the handle, but he can’t pull it out.
He rounds on me, face flushed with fury. Genuinely outraged that I dared to fight back.
I’m already leaping to my feet again, sprinting away from him, back into the center of the maze.
My feet slip on the freshly-fallen snow, and I almost eat shit rounding the corner. I can hear Shaw barreling after me, grunting through his teeth, utterly enraged.
I’m running in a mad panic, all memory of the labyrinth wiped from my mind. I’m back in the center, but I don’t remember where I came in, so don’t know the way out.
I pick a spoke at random and sprint down it, taking turn after turn, praying that I’m not about to run down a blind alley into a dead end.
I find another alcove and jump into it, planning to hide again, but when I look back the way I came, I realize something awful: I’ve been leaving footprints in the snow. I can see exactly which way I came, and so will Shaw. He can follow me as easily as if I left a trail of breadcrumbs for him.
I drop out of the niche and sprint once more, chest burning, legs burning, eyes watering so badly I can hardly see in front of me. Snowflakes whirl into my face, sticking in my eyelashes, blinding me. The black glass walls seem to go on and on in every direction. A dozen ghostly Maras stare back at me every way I turn, faces pale, eyes black holes of terror.
I cross over my own footprints, and I can see Shaw’s right on top of them, twice the size, his weight churning up the dirt. I can’t hear him, but I know he’s close. Following my prints. Hunting me.
Picking up the skirt of my dress so it won’t drag, I run backward down the next aisle. I hope this might confuse him. Then, when I reach the next intersection, I run forward again. Then backward once more.
I still can’t hear him. Where the fuck did he go?
Is he hiding in the walls now?
Is he about to jump out at me?
I’m staring around on all sides, wild-eyed, fighting against the waves of panic threatening to overwhelm me.
Where is he? Where am I? How do I get out?
Dazed and distracted, I see my own reflection running right toward me.
I slam into the smooth black glass, falling backward onto my ass. Scrambling up again, I hear a low laugh.
Shaw stands at the other end of the aisle.
I’m trapped.
There’s nowhere to run.
He’s cornered me in the dead end.
Shaw isn’t running anymore. He approaches calmly, casually. Smiling like he did as he walked through the technicolor spiderweb: knowing he has every advantage, and I have none.
He only pauses to reach around behind his shoulder once more, finally catching hold of the handle of the knife and wrenching it out of his back with a grimace. He examines his own blood on the blade, as dark and glossy as the labyrinth walls.
“Got me good, didn’t you, you little cunt,” he grunts.
He holds the knife upright, the tip as wickedly sharp as the point of a fang.
“I ought to peel your fucking face off with this,” he says. “See how pretty Cole finds you then.”
He opens his fingers, letting the knife drop to the ground, the impact causing a spatter of blood to flick across the fresh-fallen snow.
“I don’t use a knife,” he says, giving me that blinding white smile, bracketed on both sides by boyish dimples. “Why would I need one, when I’ve got fingernails and teeth? I’m gonna rip you apart with my bare hands. That’s what I like Mara—I like the taste of your throat tearing against my tongue. I like the feel of your eyeballs giving way under my thumbs. I want to feel you breaking, cracking, ripping. I want your warm blood pumping down my arms.”
I’m so afraid that I’ve passed right through to the other side.
A deathly clarity settles over me.
This is it. This is the end.
Whatever happens, I won’t give in. If he kills me, I’m going to take some pieces of Shaw with me.
I slip out of my heavy coat, letting it fall behind me. Allowing the soft flakes of snow to settle in my hair and on my bare shoulders. Feeling their cool kiss one last time.
“You tried to murder me before,” I tell Shaw. “As a killer and an artist … you’re mediocre.”
Shaw’s upper lip twists from a grin into a snarl. His teeth clench so hard I can almost hear them cracking, and his fists shake. With a howl, he charges down the alley.
He’s running right at me, getting bigger and bigger, until his shoulders almost touch both walls.
He’s a wrecking ball swinging right at me. There’s nowhere to run.
Out of a passageway in the dark glass, Cole barrels into Shaw, diving at his legs, sending them both tumbling end over end, until they slam into the opposite wall.
There is no strategy. There is no plan.
Cole is already gasping and sweating and bleeding everywhere before the fight has even begun. He grapples with Shaw, no element of surprise on his side. From the second they make contact, it’s a melee of madness: desperate, bloody, and brutal.
The men fight and claw, biting, punching, and kicking, rolling over and over in the snow. The ground becomes a morass of churned-up mud and bloody slush.
This is like no fight I’ve ever seen, wildly hectic, viciously brutal. I can hardly tell one man from another as they punch at each other’s throats and gouge at each other’s eyes. This is how predators fight: not to win, but to kill.
Shaw is bigger, stronger. Cole is faster, but that’s of limited use now that they’re already on the ground. Cole gave up all the advantage when he tackled Shaw, taking him down before he could plough into me.
Cole turns, wild-eyed, mouth bloody.
“Mara RUN!” he shouts.
I’ve never seen him scared. He thinks he’s going to lose. He thinks we’re both going to die.
I’ve been trapped in the dead end, pressed up against the cold glass, unable to move because the fight is too wild, I don’t know to help.
But now I know what to do.
I dart forward, leaping over the men’s churning legs, running away from them down the narrow passageway.
Shaw gives a strangled yell of range, thinking I’m escaping. Cole is silent, focused only on Shaw, keeping him right where he is.
So much snow has fallen that for a moment I can’t find it. Then I see the glint of steel, and I dive my frozen fingers down into the ice, closing my hand around the handle. I pull out the knife, already stained with Shaw’s blood.
My fingers are so cold that I can hardly feel them, but I grip the handle tight all the same.
“COLE!” I shout.
He gives me one swift look, and in that moment, the terrifying computer in his head runs a thousand calculations.
He rolls over onto his back, letting Shaw take the advantage straddling him, throttling him. Cole puts himself in the vulnerable position, Shaw’s hands around his throat.
With his own hands, Cole grips a fistful of Shaw’s hair and jerks it back, while shoving the heel of his palm against Shaw’s jaw, wrenching his head to the side, exposing his throat.
Our eyes meet. Everything that needs to be said passes between us.
I’m holding the knife, sharp as a fang, dark on its point like venom.
Shaw is the spider, but I’m the snake.
I never saw a spider kill a snake.
Sprinting forward, I raise the knife.
I slash it across Shaw’s throat in one perfect swinging arc.
Blood scythes across the snow, a parabola of crimson on the blank white canvas.
Shaw sinks to his knees, lips parting in stunned surprise.
He can’t even raise his hand to stem the flow.
The blood pumps from his throat, a fresh spurt with every heartbeat, each more vivid than the last.
I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.
I watch him die, the snow drifting down, his last breath hanging like smoke in the air before dissolving into nothingness.
He slumps over and falls. His body hits the ground, heavy and dull. Not a man anymore, or even a monster—just a sack of meat.
Cole rises from the ground.
He’s covered in Shaw’s blood and his own, his skin wetly gleaming in the moonlight.
I look at my own hands, drenched in blood. Droplets patter down on the pristine snow.
Then I look at Cole again, and his face breaks into a grin of relief.
We run to each other, Cole sweeping me up in his arms. He spins me around, snow spiraling around us. He kisses me, his mouth warm and wet in the coldness, sweet and salty, with the taste of copper on his tongue.
Our breath mixes silvery between us. His wet hands slide over my skin, leaving red streaks vivid as paint.
He kisses and kisses me, both of us warm and alive, Shaw cooling on the ground.
Distantly, I hear the sound of sirens.
I don’t care who it is, or how long until they find us. I don’t care what happens when they do.
All I care about is Cole, and his arms wrapped tight around me.
He saved me, and I saved him. Not just from Shaw, but from everything else in this world that wants to destroy us—the demons outside, and the ones within.
I don’t need anyone else.
I just need one person to make me the center of their universe. I want to be two stars locked in orbit, burning bright in the blackness of space.
The snow reflects on the glossy black walls, thousands of flakes swirling all around us.
Cole whirls me around and around, his mouth locked on mine.
He presses me against a cold black wall, lifting the long, sparkling skirt of my gown up around my waist. I’m yanking at the waistband of his trousers, ripping off the button, pulling them open.
He thrusts inside of me, his cock blazing hot, our gasps puffing into the air, steam rising off our skin. The cold can’t touch me. I’m pure fire, burning and burning, but never consumed.
I’m floating outside my own body, watching us from a distance. I see us entwined, my legs around his waist, arms around his neck, his tongue in my mouth and his hands gripping me tight.
We’re wrapped together, twisted up. Not one snake but two, the black and the white.
We are the same.
And I like what we are.
