Available Darkness Season 1

nearly suffered the same fate just a few minutes before.
    “Oh,” she whispered, “like that.”
    “Yeah,” he said, “but I don’t really know how it happened. It… just did.”
    “You’re him , aren’t you?” The understanding that had flickered across her face ever since he’d first entered the small unspeakable chamber, now blossomed in her eyes — like a torch tossed into the rage of a bonfire.
    He gazed at the girl for a long moment, trying to decipher what she meant, wondering if perhaps she could fill in the missing pieces in his memory.
    “You know me?” he asked.
    “I’ve been waiting for you.” Her large dark eyes swam with a sense of awe which both confused him further and unsettled him.
    “How,” he tried to swallow his disbelief, “do you know me?”
    She said, “Wait here,” then turned slowly and headed back upstairs.
    He waited for a minute that felt like an hour until she returned with a folded slip of paper. She held it out, then seemingly thought better of handing him anything, and let the paper waft without ceremony to the edge of his feet.
    He reached down, retrieved the paper and unfolded the crayon drawing of a man with dark hair, blazing blue eyes, and the wings of an angel. The man in her drawing had large overlapping ringlets of red circles ― undulating waves of fire as expressed by the quickly waning innocence of a child — circling his hands. He was ascending toward the heavens, hovering just above a burned body that could only have been one person — the bald man. Below the man were thick dark black lines, caked as if the crayon had been pressed repeatedly to its breaking point against the paper.
    “I dreamed about you,” she said, “Two nights ago. You saved me.”
    He stared at the paper, trying to make sense of everything, and felt as if his head were going to split open.
    “That’s not possible,” he said trying to deny the fulfilled prophecy as drawn by the child.
    Before Abigail could say anything, something triggered an immediate anxiety in him, like some sort of alarm ringing that only he could hear.
    Someone is coming.
    He wasn’t sure how he knew someone was coming, or if it was just fear driving him to flee, but without memory, he had to trust his instincts.
    “I have to leave,” he said, approaching the sliding glass door as another battery of foreign memories rained through his mind.

    The old gas hog.
    Keys dangling from the hook by the kitchen.
    Garage door opener in the glove box. Three $100 bills clipped inside a fold out map beneath the seat.

    He spun around toward the kitchen, finding the dead man’s keys immediately. “Give me ten minutes, then dial 911,” he instructed, “you’ll be safe.”
    Abigail didn’t cry. She instead threw him a look that made him wish she had.
    “No. You can’t leave me here. I have nobody,” she said in a voice so tiny it seemed as though it would perish amid the faintest of winds. “My family’s been gone almost as long as I can remember. Most of my memories are… There is nobody else.”
    The amnesiac fell to one knee and put his hands behind his back so as not to inadvertently touch her. He wanted so badly to take her hand in his, wipe the tear veined grime from her cheek, and promise her his undying protection. Instead, he locked his eyes on hers.
    “You can’t come with me,” he said meeting her wounded eyes, “the police will find a place for you. They can keep you safe.”
    He stood up and found himself unable to look away from her two tiny marbles of hurt. He opened his mouth for a final apology, but fell to the ground, howling in pain as a splintering agony shot like lightning through his head.
    He teetered back, the protest “not again” barely leaving his lips before he fell into another alien memory — this time of the bald man, just as the stranger was laying his death touch on him. The amnesiac tumbled backward through the sliding glass door, crashed through the glass and descended into another void.
    His mind’s eye flickered on a memory he had not recognized. Of the girl, alone, walking along a surreal landscape. Decaying urban streets and buildings surrounded her. Corpses, human and otherwise, littered the street, being torn to jagged pieces by blurred creatures he could not quite see. Above her, a red sky was a swirling chaos of racing storm clouds; so black they were barely clouds, and more like a darkness chewing the fabric of the world.
    What the?
    Just as he