Othello Station by Rachael Wade Read Free Book Online Page A

that dampens the day and refreshes the mind. I breathe deeply and return to the desk, sitting down to get back to work. I can’t have Mira. I can’t avoid this project. I can’t avoid anything right now, as much as I might want to.
    I glance at the calendar on my desktop.
    Except going home. That, I can avoid. At least for another two days. After that, who the hell knows.
    ***
    Light reflects off of something, sending a shooting, blinding light bouncing off the tall, endless window pane in the distance. I examine the pane—a glass shield, some kind of dome—blocking me from the other side of the world. I want to know what’s over there, on the other side. I’m drawn to its frailty, to its exclusiveness. Why is it off limits? Why can’t I touch it, have it?
    I walk toward it.
    Forbidden and beautiful, it grows closer, clearer. I approach the glass and reach out to touch it, placing my palm against the glass. It’s cold and fragile, just like the world that appears on the other side. But there’s sun. Lots of sun. It’s so bright, my eyes are sensitive to it, leaving me wishing I had sunglasses to combat the light.
    A girl appears, mirroring my approach. Her hair is long and dark, with caramel highlights that mimic the rays of the sun, as if they’re soaking up the light. She watches me curiously, a small, peaceful smile on her face. She extends a hand, reaching out to place her palm against the other side of the glass, bringing her palm up to mine. Our hands line up, her fingers matching the position of mine. We stare at our hands, then one another. I feel a smile tug at my lips—the first real smile I’ve felt in a while.
    When she opens her mouth to speak, I can’t hear her. The harder I try to listen, the more I realize I have to back away. I have to retreat from the glass wall, have to leave the beautiful angel on the other side. She really does look like an angel, dressed in all white, like she fell from the clouds or something. The longer I stare, the more I see the halo, the veil of innocence that surrounds her, and it only makes me want to run.
    As fast as I possibly can.
    I begin to back away, retreating into the shadows of my cold, wet world, where the angel’s light cannot reach me. Our eyes remain locked, but I continue to back away, slinking as far as I can into the distance. My back hits stone, a tall, rigid wall, and then the angel disappears back into the clouds, drifting up, up and away. As the stone wall chills my back, a white dove takes the angel’s place, its wings flapping gracefully as it takes flight. And then the dove is gone, too. Gliding somewhere into the distance, somewhere into the other world on the other side of the glass, where I’m sure I’ll never see it again. As soon as it’s gone, a familiar emptiness fills me, taking hold of my chest and gut.
    What I wouldn’t give to fly away with the dove. To feel light, like its feathers. To see the angel’s home.
    An annoying ring sounds behind me. I think it’s coming from somewhere near the stone wall. Inside it, maybe. I groan and look away from the glass, even though I don’t want to. Even though the angel and the dove are gone, I still want to stare, even if I have to do it from the shadows, where the light doesn’t burn my eyes.
    The ringing grows louder, more obnoxious.
    I curse and begin to blink, until I no longer feel the hard wall behind me. Instead, my back is resting on sheets, and something else just as soft, like the clouds I’d been watching beyond the glass pane. I bring my palm to my forehead, which is aching, now. Suddenly a new kind of light fills the room—the hotel room. The glass is gone, just like the angel and the dove. Once again, I’m surrounded by an empty void, the one I’ve banished myself to in order to get some work done and clear my head.
    But my head only feels more jumbled, messier than before.
    I sit up in bed and glance out the window at the Space Needle. It’s no longer raining, but