The rain-soaked blacktop glowed like a dark mirror, reflecting the shadows of nearly eight million people. Its surface bred an acrid mix of steam and smoke that haunted the streets like a poisonous ghost, while taxicabs ribboned the depths of great labyrinth in yellow. Their headlamps blistered the wet ground with straps of light that illuminated the urban landscape. But the dismal twilight could not shroud the furious race of mortality taking place upon it, people thriving on carelessness as they hurried from one day to the next without considering what they were doing in the first place. It was remarkable in a society of such multitude, that so few possessed the foresight to look beyond the horizon. They found it easier to stick to personal routines and not worry about their fate. Maybe they didn’t care, but maybe they didn’t want to.
Lisa Miller dashed through the rain along with the rest of them, but for a very different reason: she was being followed. She managed to hold onto the small box tucked beneath her arm without losing it. Her behavior wasn’t out of place in the frenetic pool of energy that seemed to drive the city, and nobody stopped to help her. They didn’t know that a stranger had relentlessly shadowed her for three blocks in the rain, despite her best efforts to lose them. So far she had managed to stay ahead of her pursuer, but Lisa wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it up. She was cold, tired, and wet. Eventually she would have to stop running, and when she did, he would catch her.
As Lisa negotiated the crammed sidewalks, an irrational part of her mind reviewed how she had come into such a state of solitary desperation. At 40, she had realized most of her career goals, but her days of work in radio journalism had become a monotonous sludge of existence, the months and years pooling together in a dismal soup. With each passing day, she could almost feel the hands of time wheeling their endless path around the clock of eternity, and with every continual week of rain her outlook darkened along with the weather.
In the late 90’s, Lisa was at the top of her game. She was the supervising producer of WNYX, and one of the most respected radio news anchors in New York City. But that was before Jimmy James sold the station and retired. She jumped at the chance to manage his media empire in rural New Hampshire, a move that allowed her to realize her longtime goal of becoming a news director. Of course that involved ripping up the roots she had established in New York, but Lisa was a careerwoman first and foremost, and she always acted in her own best interest. Her intuition was usually reliable, but she had paid the price for her impulsiveness before. Her marriage was a good example.
Things were good for awhile, but she couldn’t hold everything together herself, and Lord knows she’d tried. Between running Jimmy’s newspaper and managing the station, Lisa made regular trips back to New York to visit her husband in prison. After a year or so, it was apparent that Johnny didn’t care if he ever got out. The problem was that he was so damned optimistic about everything, particularly being a model prisoner. Much like the corporate vice president he’d played in the heyday of his career, Johnny Johnson was happiest when he was on top of the world, even an incarcerated one. He seemed content to spend his days making license plates, convinced that he was playing a vital role in the community.
With each visit, Lisa watched her once-adored husband grow more and more detached from her, like some crazy, license plate-making Boy Scout, until her presence in his life diminished beyond hope. When that happened, she told him goodbye and filed for an annulment. It was the only sensible thing to do. Ever irrepressible, Johnny had been fine with her decision, saying that she had to do whatever made her happy. Lisa was crushed by how lightly he seemed to take the news, especially when it had been one of the hardest decisions of her life. But she was glad when it was all over. She would have turned to Dave for support, but she hadn’t spoken to him since Beth’s wedding, and she understood why. He never forgave her for marrying Johnny, and she couldn’t blame him. But that had been her decision, and she had to suffer the consequences.
Six years later found Lisa back in New York, much wiser than the misguided reporter who had married a drunken wino, and followed an eccentric billionaire and his band of radio misfits to New Hampshire. Those days were far behind her, and only returned to haunt her when she slipped into lapses of sentimental reverie. But Lisa didn’t like to dwell on it anymore. The pain of lost friendships and love faded with each passing year, only to be replaced by a different kind of sadness, one that withered her with remorse. At night, the guilt settled over her like a dark veil, and plagued her dreams with doubt. In spite of all of her potential, Lisa had wasted her chance to make a mark on the world, and now it was too late. Then there were the headaches, a physical side-effect of her grief. She hadn’t been able to find a cure for that one yet.
Suddenly an arm shot out in front of her, and Lisa dropped her package with a startled yell, thinking she had been caught. She twisted her body to bolt away when she realized that the sidewalk had ended. The crossing sign above glowed DON’T WALK in crimson defiance. Another few steps would have put her in the flow of traffic. She retrieved the fallen parcel and thanked the lady who stopped her, a woman with auburn hair that made her think of Beth. The woman frowned in disapproval but Lisa just turned away, listening as the rain tapped a plastic rhythm on the forest of umbrellas and passing taxicabs. The gentle shower was short-lived, though. Within seconds, the soft drizzle became a rumbling staccato that hammered the pavement with a fusillade of wet bullets. Lisa turned up the collar of her leather jacket and cursed the Atlantic hurricane season as the storm soaked her long brown hair.
As she stood wet and shivering on the corner of Third Avenue, the world began to vanish in a misty white haze. Lisa removed her glasses and wiped the lenses on the inside of her sleeve, wanting nothing more than to be at home in bed, sleeping a deep and dreamless sleep while the weather tortured the world outside. Then the hairs on her neck prickled with apprehension as she felt the presence of the watcher nearby. Lisa quickly replaced her eyewear and peered across the avenue, where a dozen people waited in the relentless downpour. She scanned the crowd with growing unease. The rain made it difficult to see, and her glasses began to fog up again. Lisa’s heart fluttered weakly, and she thought she might faint.
A long, agonizing moment passed. Lisa blinked uncertainly when nothing happened. The rain continued to fall steadily, and the people around her huddled under their umbrellas, afraid of nothing more than getting wet. Lisa allowed herself to relax. She felt foolish and embarrassed. Here she was, a fully grown woman, running from shadows like she was in some kind of a paranoid fantasy. Nobody was after her, she told herself. Then an arm went up on the other side of the street, and the blood shot through Lisa’s veins like cold lightning. He was right there.
The stranger was of medium height, bundled in a long overcoat with a thick scarf wrapped around the lower half of their face, and a pair of earmuffs protecting them from the dismal conditions. The clothing effectively hid the person’s identity, but she didn’t have long to think about it. The light changed, and the pedestrian masses flowed together in the street like ocean swells. As Lisa was pulled along like a piece of driftwood, she tried to convince herself that it was all in her imagination. They were probably hailing a taxicab, or waving at somebody else. But she didn’t really believe it. Deep down inside, she knew they were after her.
Directly ahead, Lisa could see the mysterious figure striding toward her with such singleminded purpose that it removed all doubts. She slowed with trepidation, her shoes dragging like blocks of lead as each one propelled her toward the inevitable encounter. As they drew closer, Lisa noticed a wave of long, silky walnut hair billowing around the person’s shoulders, and she realized with relief that it was a woman. She was hypnotized by the sparkle of life in her soft gray irises. They radiated kindness, yet projected a strange mix of sadness and respect that stopped Lisa cold in her tracks. She was frozen by wariness and expectation as the woman loosened her scarf with an elegant hand. Then the world around her went unfocused, the swarm of passing bodies evaporated into insignificance as the knitted wrap fell away to reveal the face of an angel.
“Lisa Miller, I presume?”
“Yes?” said Lisa, shivering in the rain.
“Cutest reporter in New York?”
Lisa winced. “Once upon a time, yes.”
“My name is Jaimee Patterson. I’m a journalism student at Boston University, and I’d like to interview you for a project if that’s okay. Can we go somewhere and talk?”
The girl hugged herself in the downpouring rain and twisted her body from side to side, nervously awaiting Lisa’s answer. She had a complexion of soft pearl, with a touch of rose on her cheeks, and fine, dark eyebrows that accentuated the intensity of her granite eyes. Lisa squinted at the younger woman, as if trying to locate a flaw in a work of art. She wasn’t a deranged stalker or psychopath, she realized, just a hopeful young student with aspirations for a career in broadcasting. For some reason Lisa felt oddly disappointed.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for this.” she finally declared, and sidestepped the girl.
“Please wait!” begged Jaimee with a note of desperation in her voice. “It wasn’t exactly easy for me to come see you today.”
Lisa turned back. “Why?”
“I have a condition known as gephydrophobia.”
Lisa tried to remember the meaning of the term, but came up hopelessly blank. For the first time in her life, her education failed her. “What does that mean?” she relented, hating herself for having to ask.
“I can’t cross bridges.”
“And you came here to see me all the way from Boston?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a long way to go for a school project.”
“It’s very important,” the girl added as drivers blared their horns impatiently.
“We’d better cross,” advised Lisa.
The pair quickly moved out of the street as the light went green, and found themselves in front of a fancy men’s shoe store where they ducked beneath the awning to get out of the rain. Lisa leaned forward and tried to brush some of the water from her hair with her free hand as Jaimee looked on awkwardly.
“Don’t you have an umbrella?” she asked, pretending to look at the shoes in the warmly lit window.
“I left it at home,” Lisa confessed. “I didn’t think it was going to rain this hard today.”
“I’m sorry if I frightened you, but you ran away so fast that I had trouble catching up. I should have called first to arrange a meeting, but I was kind of in a hurry,” explained the student.
That would have saved me a lot of trouble, Lisa thought, but said, “Don’t worry about it. There’s no harm done that can’t be fixed with a blow dryer and a towel.”
The girl sighed with visible relief. She didn’t want to alienate her prospective interview subject.
“I’ll give you one thing,” added Lisa, returning to their first conversation. “You have persistence, and that’s one of the most important qualities for a journalist to have.”
“Thank you,” she said, with true gratitude.
Lisa turned her head as a bell chimed nearby, and a couple abruptly exited the store. Jaimee deftly tried to sidestep them, but was not quick enough. She accidentally clipped the man with her elbow, causing him to swear irritably. He called her a dirty name, and told her to watch where she was going. The woman gave the flustered coed a nasty smirk in support of her boyfriend’s rudeness. Lisa scowled after them. “Bastard.” she muttered under her breath.
“Don’t worry, sometimes that happens in Boston, too.” Jaimee reasoned.
Lisa blushed. “Sorry, I guess that was louder than I thought. Are you hungry?”
“Starving!”
“Me, too. Let’s get something to eat.” said Lisa, pointing to a nearby cafe.

***
Seated at a window booth in Epiphany’s Edge, they enjoyed the cozy atmosphere while the storm pelted the outside glass with cold rain. Jaimee finally had the opportunity to take in Lisa’s appearance, and it wasn’t anything like she had expected. In the journalistic papers, Lisa Miller always dressed with professionalism, but the woman across the table looked like she might have been on her way to the gas station for cigarettes. She wore faded jeans and a black leather jacket with a distinctly lived-in look. Under it was a light gray shirt emblazoned with a pirate flag that featured a skull and crossed swords beside a clutch of dark palm trees, and the word Rum Runners in ragged lettering. Lisa’s feet were laced into a slick pair of black leather Converse Hi-tops that most women her age wouldn’t dream of wearing. On her face Lisa sported a pair of dark, thick-rimmed eyeglasses in contrast to the tastefully minimalist wire-frames pictured in her resumé profile. This current style of dress undermined her integrity as a newswoman, Jaimee thought. But Lisa Miller was the subject of her paper, regardless of how she presented herself.
Both women looked up as the waiter arrived at their table with a pair of menus, which he placed before them along with bundles of wrapped silverware. “Good evening, ladies. Can I offer you something to drink before you order?” the man asked pleasantly.
“I’ll have tea,” said Jaimee, taking a menu.
“Coffee, black without sugar.” Lisa answered before he could repeat the question.
“Very good,” he said, and hurried away. When he was out of sight, Lisa unrolled the cloth napkin from her dinner utensils and began to dry her hair with it.
“I like your shirt,” Jaimee pointed out, not knowing what else to say as she watched the award-winning journalist tend to herself like a homeless person.
“Thank you. It’s my favorite,” admitted Lisa, compressing the linen to the back of her head. “So, are you just in town for the week?”
Jaimee nodded. “I’m staying at the Skyline Hotel.”
“Too bad the weather couldn’t be nicer.”
“Hurricane season. It’s just this time of year,” the girl said with a dismissive wave.
“Which one are we on?” asked Lisa.
“Irene. It’s currently 75 miles southeast of here.” Then she smiled self-consciously. “Now I probably sound more like a meteorologist than a journalist.”
“Listen, I have to tell you something before we continue,” Lisa said, but the waiter returned before she could finish.
They quickly skimmed the menu as their drinks were placed on the table. Lisa ordered steak with a baked potato, hot buttered rolls, and peas with baby onions. Jaimee selected a large bowl of tomato soup for herself, and a dinner salad with ranch dressing and croutons. After their host departed, Lisa continued. “I’m not in radio anymore. I’m a courier for a global shipping company called Pangaeascape,” she said, patting the damp box on the seat beside her.
The student’s face registered a note of surprise, but she quickly recovered. “That will make an interesting footnote for my paper.”
“What is it about, anyway?” Lisa pressed.
“The decline of the radio broadcast industry in today’s digital world,” she recited. The subject alone was a mouthful.
“And why do you want to be a reporter?”
Jaimee’s eyes lit with excitement. “The media is so biased these days, and it’s not a secret. Most people aren’t aware that information presented as the truth is tainted. Facts are distorted to serve the credibility of the news agency, and the public is constantly being misled. I believe that one honest journalist can make a difference, and that’s why I’m here.”
“Which brings me to my next question.” Lisa said.
“I learned about you through Professor Walker,” Jaimee anticipated. “He said that you were one of his best students.”
“Really?“ Lisa said, appearing more than a little surprised.
“When I proposed the idea for my term paper, Professor Walker recommended you for an interview, and told me how to find you.”
Lisa nodded as everything started to make sense. In college, her favorite instructor had seen more than just the bright young overachiever on the surface. In Lisa Miller, the professor found an idealistic student who wasn’t afraid to challenge journalistic trends. She fervently believed that reporters could never go too far in their search for the truth, and that unflinching honesty was the highest ideal to which they should hold themselves.
But Walker opened her eyes to the sad truth, that while most reporters were driven by the goal to succeed, they weren’t opposed to bending the facts to their advantage—exactly the same thing Jaimee was talking about now. The bottom line was that news reporters who failed to deliver were overlooked for more reliable sources, which motivated them to do anything to succeed. If this young woman aspired to walk the same line that collegiate Lisa had chosen to follow, then she would do whatever was necessary to help.
“I also heard about the lemon drop incident,” Jaimee added with a smile.
Lisa raised an eyebrow at the mention of the infamous stunt. She threaded her fingers together and looked straight at Jaimee, her lips forming the slightest hint of amusement. “Yeah, well I was feeling a little spiteful that day,” she reminisced.
Lisa went on to relate the story of how she had switched the bowl of lemon drops on the professor’s desk for a batch of Atomic Warheads candies in retaliation for what she considered to be an unfairly graded exam. In doing so, she inadvertently started what later became a tradition at Boston U, executed at least once a year by freshmen displeased with Walker’s strict grading system. The prank didn’t improve her marks on the test, but the instructor was more reticent to use the red pen on future assignments.
When Lisa had finished her tale, Jaimee was covering her mouth with both hands to keep from laughing out loud. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you did that!”
“It made me very famous for awhile,” Lisa concluded, eager to move on with things. “But why interview me? I’m sure there are other people who have a better perspective on the industry than I do.”
“You are the only person from WNYX who will to talk to me,” the student replied, taking a microcassette recorder from her purse. “Everybody else that I contacted seemed to be too busy.” She looked up with sudden guilt. “Do you mind? It makes transcribing easier.”
“Not at all.”
“Good. My hand will thank me later,” Jaimee grinned as she pulled a one-subject notebook out of her bag and flipped it open. Lisa could see her list of questions written in precise handwriting down the page. She admired the girl’s professionalism. “I’d like to start with your background, if that’s okay.”
“That’s fine,” Lisa said in approval. “Fire away.”

They passed the next hour over dinner talking about everything from high school, to what led her into radio journalism. When asked what other career considerations she had before deciding on her chosen profession, Jaimee was more than a little surprised to find that Lisa had considered studying medicine in Chicago, and becoming a nurse or doctor. She called it an impulsive decision, and remarked that she had learned not to trust those too much anymore.
At the beginning of her tenure at WNYX, Lisa admitted to putting in 12-hour days, nights, and weekends in a bid for promotional advancement, but it backfired when the station owner picked a fresh-faced kid from Wisconsin to be the news director, the job that rightfully should have been hers. It would be another five years before she would realize her goal, and by then it was too late.
After that, Jaimee had to know what caused her to abandon such a successful career. Lisa explained that after she came back from New Hampshire, things were not the same. The station was under different management, she didn’t know anybody, and she couldn’t work there anymore.
When the check finally arrived, it caught them both by surprise. “Ooh, I didn’t realize how late it is!” marveled Jaimee, looking at her watch. It was a quarter past nine.
“That’s okay,” said Lisa, pulling some cash out of her wallet.
“I can get that!” the girl protested, reaching for her own purse.
“No, it’s my treat. Really,” Lisa insisted, placing the money into the receipt fold. “It’s been very interesting. We’ll have to do this again sometime.” Then she had a better idea. “Would you like to ride with me tomorrow?”
“On your deliveries? That would be great!” Jaimee smiled enthusiastically.
“I’ll pick you up at the hotel in the morning. How is nine o’clock?” Lisa stood and grabbed the box that she had been carrying.
“Perfect!”
“What’s your number? I can give you a call before I leave.”
“Oh, my cell phone doesn’t work here,” Jaimee said quickly. “It’s a local Boston service, and I think I’m definitely out-of-range right now.”
“You’re at the Skyline?” asked Lisa, pulling on her jacket.
“Yes. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“Okay. Just look for the white pickup truck with numbers on the hood.”
“Thank you, Miss Miller.” said Jaimee with an appreciative handshake.
“Please call me Lisa. I’m not a teacher; I won’t fail you for being informal.”
They exited the cafe and parted ways in the night, heading down the street in opposite directions.

***
An hour later, Lisa settled into a hot bath of vanilla-scented water and relaxed for the first time in a week. She closed her eyes and focused on the delicious physical sensations of her much-deserved soak: the lustrous bath oil glazing her skin, the fluid envelope that encapsulated her naked body, and the blissfully complete silence that permeated the room. Pale clouds of steam rose from the tub in a fog that soothed the weary courier, and she forgot about all of her troubles.
“I hope your day was easier than mine,” she muttered, pressing the nasal strip firmly over the bridge of her nose with dampened fingers.
Daisy’s left ear pricked up at the sound of the voice as the brown-and-white beagle regarded Lisa curiously from its bed of twisted blankets on the floor nearby. The dog tilted its head at the peculiar white strip on her master’s face before returning to its comfortable curl when nothing more seemed forthcoming. A final sigh of relief escaped from Lisa’s slightly parted lips, and the world faded away into nothingness.
She drove casually, following the lazy curve of the road as it descended toward a two-lane bridge that spanned a small river. The steady hum of the tires against the blacktop was making her drowsy. She tapped the brake as another car came into view up ahead. Lisa was drawn to the shadow of the car, slanting briefly to the east in the late afternoon sun. The flickering pattern of the wheels turning on the glittering firmament was hypnotic, and she watched it cycle for a time. Then without warning, the day was plunged into blackness as the sun went out.
Lisa’s heart almost exploded in fright when she found herself suddenly driving in the dark. Her vision flared with the abrupt change of light. The wheels dropped off the right side of the pavement, and the car bounced roughly on the gravelly shoulder. Lisa wrenched the headlight switch on and struggled to bring it under control. Then everything happened quickly. An unseen force slammed the vehicle hard from behind. There was a loud rubbery pop as the front tires hit an invisible obstacle, and a bone-wrenching jar that smacked her head against the window, followed by a sharp drop as the car pitched over the side and fell into the river.
She was drowning. Lisa bolted awake chin-deep in water, her nose and mouth just barely above the surface. She sputtered in panic and gripped the edges of the porcelain concavity, hauling herself out of the cool water. Her left foot slid forward on the bare tile, and she grabbed the towel bar for balance, gasping in surprise. But not from the close call. She reached up to gingerly touch the side of her head, and gasped in pain. Beneath her wet hair, it felt like she had been struck with a baseball bat. Great, she thought, another sweet migraine. Just what I need tonight. She retrieved a bottle of triple strength aspirin from the cabinet with a trembling hand, nearly spilling the contents on the floor as she shook two pills out. They wouldn’t help much, but it was better than nothing.
Lisa fumbled stiffly for the heater switch on the wall. Her arms and legs trembled as the austral blast erupted from the ceiling vent and warmed her skin. She unfolded a towel and dried thoroughly, pulling on her silk pajamas and a pair of thick ankle socks. Her bedroom light was out a moment later as she snuggled under the blankets and closed her eyes. Outside, she could still hear the rain persistently tickling the window. As a cocoon of warmth built around her, Lisa wondered when the storm would end. She lingered on the edge of consciousness, trying to ignore the pain. Then she remembered Jaimee’s face: impossibly beautiful and serene. She took in every detail, every soft curve and line. The last thing that she envisaged was the girl’s gentle, hazel-colored eyes, and then she fell to sleep; that most perfect state of human existence.

***
niche: The particular area within a habitat occupied by an organism.

Lisa scribbled furiously, the tip of her pen moving in a choppy blur against the paper. She flicked a cascade of dark hair away from her face in annoyance. A glow of light perspiration glazed her brow, and her slender wrist burned with the continuous effort, but she refused to stop. With a precise movement, she snapped her head to the left and quickly scanned the text written across the large chalkboard on the wall of the classroom. Symbiosis. That was the last one. Her brain repeated the word and its meaning for the benefit of her hand, which scratched it onto the last two lines of the page. Behind her, Lisa heard a pencil scribbling away with methodical fury, mocking her effort with every derisive scratch. She pushed herself to write faster, determined to win this time.

symbiosis: A close, prolonged association between two or more different organisms of different species that may, but does not necessarily, benefit each member.

A minute later, Lisa dropped the pen and turned to the person sitting behind her. “I beat you, Snuckey Girl,” she said with lofty satisfaction.
“In your dreams,” her friend replied.
“You did not!”
“Read it and weep, Miller.” she said, twisting her notebook around for her classmate to see.
As she turned the handwritten pages of terms—all 25 of them—Lisa was floored. In all her months of trying, she had never once finished copying the definitions off the board quicker than Jaimee Ellis, and it grew more frustrating each time she tried. How did she write so fast?
“You suck.”
“Maybe, but at least I’m not getting paranoid about it.”
“I can’t help it,” admitted Lisa, turning back to her own paper as a cloud of defeat brewed above her head.
From an early age, Lisa had been cursed with the need to prove herself in everything she did, no matter how trivial. Her competitive nature, fueled by insecurity, had tainted her with a somewhat neurotic outlook. In light of that, her response was completely reasonable, she thought.
“Look around, and then complain if you’re still not happy,” Jaimee reassured her with a light punch on the back for taking it so seriously.
Lisa swiveled her gaze across the classroom of bowed heads, pencils scratching busily on paper. Sure enough, they had both finished ahead of everyone else. Again. That was an accomplishment, she conceded with a nod of satisfaction. Feeling better, she allowed herself a moment of lightness. “So, have you sold any pecan-filled snow globes lately?” she teased with a wry smirk.
Jaimee scrunched her face in annoyance. “And where do you work, again?” she challenged.
“Um, nowhere.” Lisa said reluctantly.
“Thank you!” came the smug reply. “Besides, I like my job.”
“Well, that’s good. I wish I had one.”
“Someday you might, if you’d stop trying to be so perfect at everything.”
They girls enjoyed a brief laugh until Miss Gibbs trundled back into the classroom and settled into the chair behind her desk to consult the syllabus. The science teacher was an overweight, bespectacled woman in her mid-forties, with graying hair and a long ponytail. She was kind and soft-spoken, with a pleasant demeanor towards all of her students. Lisa thought she looked like Benjamin Franklin, but she would never admit it to anyone because she didn’t want to offend Miss Gibbs, who had openly prided Lisa as being one of her very best students.
“Tomorrow we will be taking a field trip off-campus,” the teacher informed, “So be sure to get here early and have all of your definitions copied before we leave.”
The announcement was met with exclamations of approval from the whole class. Lisa was quietly looking forward to it. She pulled out her Environmental Science book and opened it to the appropriate chapter as directed. The only way things could get any better, she thought, was if she could beat Jaimee to the end of the board tomorrow. Then she might have something to brag about while they were outside enjoying the nice weather. That would make for a truly perfect day.