The Alchemy of Forever

It’s 11:17 PM; I have ten minutes before the next train leaves the BART station.
    I hear a shout behind me and whip my head around, nearly losing my balance. It’s only an old homeless man having an argument with a street sign. After that I keep my gaze focused straight ahead, too terrified to glance backward.
    “Sera! Stop!” Jared yells. I run even faster, my dress swishing against my thighs and my hair lifting high behind me in the damp wind. It feels like my skin is falling off my bones, and I know my bare feet are probably bleeding. My failing heart beats erratically in my chest, fluttering like a trapped bird. I pray I have the strength to reach my getaway car. That’s all I need , I plead with my body. Please.
    Finally daring to look behind me, I see Jared gaining on me, Amelia only a few steps behind. He would love nothing more than to drag me back to Cyrus like a puppy who’d gone off leash. Amelia, on the other hand, would probably be happier if I disappeared forever, though loyalty to Cyrus is all the impetus she needs to join the pursuit.
    The BART station sign looms in the distance, its black-and-blue logo illuminated but out of focus in the fog. There’s more foot traffic as I get closer to the Embarcadero stop, and I shove people out of my way. “Watch it!” I hear as I blaze by.
    It’s a game night, and every other person is wearing the Giants’ colors. A woman decked out in an orange-and-black jersey pushes an empty stroller. I misjudge her direction and trip over the stroller, falling to my knees on the sidewalk.
    “Sera! Stay there!” Jared’s voice has an undercurrent of panic. If he goes back empty-handed, Cyrus will surely “have words” with him. I know all about the very real scars those words can leave.
    Scrambling to my feet, I take off again, Jared and Amelia only a block behind me now. I look back once more and make sure they’re watching as I finally reach the BART station entrance, shoving through drunken baseball fans down the escalator. I hop the turnstile without paying, hurrying toward the rising wind and industrial screech of the trains rumbling into the station.
    The platform is packed with Giants fans, all orange and disorganized and jubilant. The arriving train is headed for the East Bay, and the crowd struggles to board. I catch sight of my reflection in a window: wild-eyed, hair a tangled mess, dress torn, blood dribbling down my knees.
    “Seraphina! You need. To. Stop!” Jared’s voice is urgent and close. I turn around and catch his eye, then push my way onto the East Bay–bound train. People give me a wide berth, and I feel someone touching my hand. I gasp and look down—but it’s only an older woman sitting near the doors. “You okay, honey?” I nod wordlessly, eyes trained on the platform. Amelia and Jared dash into a car two down from mine.
    “The doors are closing. Please stand clear,” says the conductor.
    That’s my cue. I spring into action.
    The rumble and horn of an approaching train—heading in the opposite direction—are the only sounds I hear. I dart out of the car just before the doors close and dodge across the platform, sidestepping people and slipping toward the front of the crowd as the San Francisco–bound airport train opens its doors with a sigh. Pinned by the window, I turn and look behind me, where the East Bay train has yet to depart. Jared and Amelia are still on the other train, scanning the crowd.
    Amelia’s eyes lock with mine. I’ve been seen. It doesn’t matter. Their train is already chugging to life and sliding out of the station. They’ll be stuck on it for the long ride under the bay, between the Embarcadero and West Oakland stations, giving me a good twenty-minute head start if they decide to come back after me.
    I ride for only two stops and exit with the crush of people at Powell Street. No doubt Jared and Amelia will think I’m headed deeper into the city, toward the airport. But when Cyrus wakes up, he’ll find my note and realize I haven’t boarded any planes.
    The rush of adrenaline has worn off, and I’m exhausted. But still, I am free to follow this night’s course of action to its dark finish. The wind has stopped, allowing the fog to settle thickly over the neighborhood. It turns city blocks into something more private, like small, silent rooms. Through the haze the fractured beam of a streetlight glints off a metal surface. I squint—it’s the car. I had kept it hidden near our apartment