Dana Ferinscoe carries Snowball on his shoulder.

  The sun is so hot that most days he wakes up completely covered in sweat. His janitor uniform is soaked beyond recognition, but he makes sure to wake up at five every morning to make it to his seven ‘o’clock shift. This way, he is still able to arrive on time—in order to not let Mr. Harrison give him a further reason to write him up. To freshen up, he sneaks into the gym to shower the sweat and gunk off him, and makes sure to give Snowball a decent scrub. His hair is slightly damp as he approaches the airport, and his heart sinks as he approaches the building, watching the group of multiple people pass in and out of terminals. A pair of whiskers brushes his knuckles as Dana gently sets the mouse into his pocket. He’s placed plenty of leaves so he’d be comfortable. Snowball looks up, nose twitching. The young man’s hands tremble, but he gently strokes the mouse’s pale fur.

  They probably won’t be able to see each other until lunchtime. The last time he needs is for his only friend to be snatched away. He tugs at the ID tag around his neck as he steps into the cold building. Immediately, he flinches and raises his hands over his ears. It is absolutely packed today, and the wave of noise that overwhelms him causes him to throw his hands over his ears. He clumsily steps in line, twitching his thumbs as the line to the scanner gets shorter and shorter. By the time he’s standing in front of it, he’s practically shaking.

  His dark eyes focus on the computer.

  The TSO , clad in a bright blue uniform and a golden badge, beckons further. He is wearing large shades and loudly pops the gun he is chewing at his desk. His gaze hardly leaves the monitor screen as he rapidly drums his fingers against the desk. “Next.”

  Dana hesitates.

  “C’mon man, I ain’t got all day. I said next.”

  Releasing a shaky breath, Dana steps below the scanner. He raises his arms up under the machine, and his stomach drops as the TSO comes forward and steps to the side. He clears his throat and points at Dana’s oversized left sleeve, which is tucked deep into his pocket. “Show me what you have.”

  Snowball squeaks.

  A deep shade of red crosses Dana’s face.

  “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” the TSO says, folding his arms. “Hurry up.”

  Very slowly, Dana scoops the mouse out of his pocket, leaves falling on the ground. He caresses the creature in his large hands.

  ”He’s a nice fellow.” TSO sighs and pulls off his shades. “But he needs to be in a cage, microchipped, and at least two years old. Otherwise, I can’t let you carry him past this point. I’m sorry. I don’t make the rules, kid.”

  Dana’s gaze falls. He nods, and is about to turn away, when the TSO’s voice makes him stop. “Tell you what. I’ll keep him here until your shift ends. You can take him home then, okay? But you have to have him in a carrier.”

  * * * * * * * *

  It’s raining again outside. Many people’s flights are delayed, and they sleep on the hard, cold benches, wrapped in blankets. The thunder outside causes children to flinch and run under the safety of their parent’s arms.

  Dana wrings the soapy water from his mop as he continues down the enormous hallway. He’s moving a lot quicker than usual, hoping to be out of here by four. Claire gets off the school bus around that time; and if he could just meet her there before their uncle arrives, it would ease the ache in his chest immensely. Once he gets paid on Friday, he’d find a cheap motel, get him and Snowball under a decent roof. Too many times they’ve had close calls with people in the public park bathrooms. The other night, him and Snowball had slept underneath a bridge.

  He vacuums the carpeted floor around each gate. He wipes down each seat and cleans the enormous windows, where the planes outside sit under the gray clouds, waiting their extended departure. Once he finishes both restrooms on each individual floor, he sees Mr. Harrison walking up to him, nodding in approval. A faint smile is on his face. Dana has never seen Mr. Harrison smile. Not once.

  “Not bad,” he says. “Looks like you’re a lot more focused today.” He chuckles and folds his arms around his protruding belly. “Maybe it’s those meds that are doing wonders, eh?”

  Dana looks at him, before pulling the trash out of the bin. His eyes dart back and forth. It is two fifteen. Only forty-five more minutes.

  Mr. Harrison slaps the young man’s back. “Live a little. Y’know, since you got so much done, why not take the rest of today off? You finish up the lobby and then clock out. Okay?”

  * * * * * * * *

  “Isn’t she beautiful?” Ma asks him.

  He is eleven years old, timidly standing by the hospital bed. He’s a little scared to approach, but Ma beckons him with her arm. Her dark hair is scattered across the pillow, and although her eyes are tired, a smile crosses her face. She motions for him to come again.

  ”Come on, Dana,” he hears a male voice. The stranger pats his shoulder. “She isn’t gonna bite you now, is she? No need to be shy.”

  Dana takes a few steps forward. The scent of shampoo fills the air, as the baby has just gotten her first bath. He sees the dark tuff of hair just poking out under her hat; fingers curled up underneath the blanket. Her large eyes meet his, and she releases a yawn.

  “You want to hold her?” Ma asks. “Go on.”

  Dana nods, and slowly holds his arms out.

  “Here, let me show you. You just support her head like this.” Ma smiles. “There you go.”

  ”She’s so tiny, Sarah,” the stranger says. “How much does the doc say she weighs?”

  Their voices fade away. Dana feels the baby’s heartbeat. He watches her eyes peacefully close as he gently rocks her back and forth.

  When she first learns to walk, Dana holds his arms out of her. Her feet clumsily sway on the carpet, but he catches her just in time. She giggles as he claps his hands. There’s a glass shattering in the kitchen, followed by some loud shouting, but Dana knows what to do. He catches a glimpse of two twisted shadows in the hallway, before slowly closing the door. He joins his sister on the carpet, placing her on his lap and opening a book with pictures they can just jump right into. An adventure.

  They’d go on many more.

  * * * * * * * *

  Dana’s boots crunch against the ground.

  He’s running so fast that the people next to him seem to be in a blur, his ID badge swinging back and forth, back and forth. In his pocket, he holds onto Snowball in hopes that he doesn’t end up flying out. What started out as a light drizzle is now sending currents drench him from head to toe. He left at around three thirty, and as he reaches his old neighborhood, he has to bend over to catch his breath. Both of his lungs are on fire. He stands by a tree, where other parents are waiting underneath large, striped umbrellas.

  The bus arrives.

  Clad in brightly colored raincoats, the children file off the bus. Dana’s dark eyes scan for a bright pink unicorn backpack and coat. But after twenty agonizing minutes, the bus pulls off the curb, spurting muddy water in the air.

  He sets Snowball on the lower branch of the tree and motions him to stay put until he comes back. The creature tilts his head and watches his figure disappear down the road.

  * * * * * * * *

  Trash scatters the overgrown front lawn of the trailer. Dana jumps over a discarded couch, before rushing up to the porch and banging on the door with his fists. There is no response, so he knocks on it harder. After pondering for a moment, he picks up a rock and chucks it at the window. The sound of glass fills the air as he climbs through the gaping hole, stepping over the overflowing kitchen sink. The scent of the trailer is so strong it makes Dana’s eyes tingle. Cockroaches climb up on the walls, and the countertop and dining tables are filled with papers, cans, and cardboard boxes.

  Charlie’s lease is in the ground.

  A chair falls over.

  Dana abruptly spins around.

  John’s twisted shadow is nearby the stained refrigerator. He raises a beer can to his lips, taking a long sip, before crumpling it to the side and tossing it to the floor. He chuckles and points a finger at the young man.

  “Didn’t I tell you not come here again?”

  With one swift motion, Dana pushes past him and heads straight to Claire’s room. He flings the door open, only to see that her mattress is missing and all the drawers to the dresser are empty. Her stuffed animals, books, and toys are nowhere to be seen. The faded pink color on the dirty walls makes it harder for Dana to breathe. In the corner of his eye, he sees John brandishing a kitchen knife.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Dana spins around and moves just in time as his uncle charges at him. Breaking off a wooden post from the bed frame, he brings it across John’s face. The man drops to the stained carpet. The knife slides out of his grip. With his shaky hands, Dana grabs the older man by the shirt and roughly slams him against the wall. His face is red, and he begins delivering one blow after the other. Blood drips down his uncle’s nose and jaw. Dana’s left hand reaches for the knife, positioning it directly on top of John’s neck.

  John laughs. “Why are you upset? I sent her to a better place. Somewhere even more warm than the old sunshine state.”

  Dana applies the knife a little deeper.

  “Careful, boy. I wouldn’t want you to be slapped with an attempted murder charge.” John coughs, licking the blood across his lips. “It’s a nice Bahaman couple. Loaded, too. They have three boys and five other girls. I thought Claire could do away with some new siblings. She hated it here.” His eyes darken. “She didn’t want nothing to do with me. Not after the way that girl had disrespected me.”

  The knife falls out of Dana’s hands.

  John leans forward and sneers. “She went off crying and hollering. They had to practically drag her away. I don’t know why you comin’ up here now, some six weeks later, acting like you’re the victim. I’ve given you plenty of chances to change yourself. But you’ll never improve. You’ll be the same deadbeat, stupid child you always were. I was there when your mother passed. You weren’t. You have no right to act out like this.” He smiles. “I told Claire that you abandoned her, just like her own mother did. You abandoned her. I had to bury Sarah. Lower her in the ground.”

  Dana’s vision is blurry. He shakes his head over and over, stumbling over the trash and empty beer cans in the room. As he wanders out the front porch in a daze, the blade of the knife suddenly sinks into his back.

  * * * * * * * *

  It was the Fourth of July.

  The smell of hotdogs and hamburgers sizzling on the grill made his mouth water. He was pushed his sister on the tire swing from the oak tree in the yard. She had a big grin on her face, her cheeks stained with red from the watermelon she had held in her hand. She takes another large bite, causing more to go all over her overalls. Dana grabs a napkin and begins to wipe here sticky chin.

  Ma was stepping outside, wearing a bright yellow sundress. She slung her purse over her arm and went over to Dana, planting a kiss on his and Claire’s face. “I’ll be back,” she said. “I need to grab more ketchup and lemonade from the store. You stay put.”

  He asked her if they would see the fireworks.

  Ma had smiled and bent down. “Of course.”

  Dana told her he would. The radio is on.

  Ma looked around and placed a hand on her hold. She then asked him where the stranger was. He said that he saw him enter the trailer a few moments ago, but hadn’t come out yet.

  “You gotta be kidding.” His mother frowned and lowered the grill, waving back the smoke. “What a fool. These are about to burn. Be a dear and run inside for me to see tell him I’m leaving, won’t you? I’ll watch Claire.”

  Dana nods, before running up the lawn and entering the house. He calls the stranger’s name, but the kitchen is empty. So is the family room. He checks the bathroom, his untied shoelaces squeaking against the tile floor. His eyes then focuses on the bedroom.

  He calls the stranger’s name, loudly. He tells him that the food is burning and that he needs to help him make cherry Jello with frosting.

  There’s no answer.

  The door is stuck a little due to a snag on the carpet, so Dana has to push against it with greater force. The hinges creak, and he ends up stumbling forward in the dimly lit room.

  On the floor is a stool that is knocked to the side. The bed is nearly made, the dresser in order. A laundry basket is halfway empty, some folded clothes on the mattress. Two bare feet dangle from above, the stranger’s blue jeans rolled up around the ankles.

  The air grows heavier.

  Dana stands frozen. He watches the bare feet in front of him, just as still as he is. He doesn’t know how much time has passed. But he hears the front door open, his mother’s abrupt footsteps behind him, and then her screams. Her howls shake the entire house. There’s a commotion outside. But Dana doesn’t turn around. He just stands there and stares.

  More footsteps rush inside the house. The front door opens and closes.

  He stares.

  A neighbor abruptly scoops him up, covering his eyes with a hand as he carries him out the house. He sees another woman holding Claire by the tire swing. He sees the blue and red lights from the squad cars in the hard. The noise frightens Claire and makes her cry, but Dana can’t move. There is a rock in his throat. The red and blue lights are there all night. Ma is covered in a blanket, sobbing in the arms of two other women by the porch.

  A week later, they bring Dana into a room with a strange lady with glasses. She asks him a lot of questions, but Dana can’t answer them. Can’t make a sound. There is a rock in his throat. He sees Ma, begging him to say something. To just her name. He tries to.

  But he can’t.

  * * * * * * * *

  Dana picks up Snowball from the wet leaves. There is a pulsing in his back, where the three inch deep gash is leaking into his shirt. He pulls it over his head, wincing in pain as the cold rainwater washes the blood. His uncle is passed out on the sagging porch.

  The next morning, Mr. Harrison tells him that he has to let him go, because he was fifteen minutes late. Dana does not make eye contact with him. He takes the meager pay check, uses it to have a hotel room for the night. He and Snowball sleep on the bed.

  Dana’s stomach grumbles. He tries to look for food in the trashcans. The nearest soup kitchen is four miles away, so he ends up walking there to hopefully make it before seven. The lines are long, but he is relieved to have a generous helping of soup and bread, which he makes sure that Snowball receives plenty. He smiles. The mouse eagerly stuffs the bread crumbs in his mouth.

  He can’t afford the hotel room, so they stay under a tunnel below the freeway the following night. It makes strange noises at night, and the scent of garbage and sewage clings to Dana as he shields the mouse from the rushing water dripping above. He wasn’t lucky to find any breakfast the following morning, but he did find a library. Using the last three dollars he had, he went to the vending machine and brought some crackers and potato chips for Snowball, which he hies underneath his filthy janitor uniform.

  Dana scans the multitude of books on the shelves before locating one in particularly about the Bahamas. After checking to make sure that no one was watching, he rips out a page that had the map of the country. Snowball squeaks, so he places a finger over his mouth and hands him another piece of cracker. The mouse’s whiskers brush his jaw.

  He focuses on the map again. There are so many islands—Claire was only on one. He glances around again, before folding the page and slipping it into his pocket. As he logs into a computer, he googles the price of an airplane ticket to the Bahamas. The number makes his head spin and his chest tighten.

  As he closes out that window, he slumps in his seat, dejected. He then notices an ad for a flight simulator game. The monitor’s blue light glows in eyes. He glances down to check on Snowball, who has comfortably fallen asleep.

  He clicks on the screen.

  * * * * * * *

  Getting another job seemed impossible. No matter how much he tried to keep himself cleaned, people avoided him like the plague. A group of teenager nearby laughed and threw a thirty-two ounce liter of soda over him. It took him two days to wash it off at the gym’s bathroom, as he scrubbed his filthy shirt, pants, underwear, and janitor uniform in the sink. When he smelled it, he sighed with relief and briefly smiled at Snowball. He turned around and placed a hand over the large scar on his naked back.

  For a while, the soup kitchen kept them going. Dana was able to get lunch or dinner from them, if he planned his meals carefully. But when they shut down, he starts to panic. Snowball is already so small. He’s scoured every trash can in every alley for leftovers, especially restaurants after closing hours. If he does get lucky, he makes sure Snowball eats first.

  When the rain gets bad, he always goes to the library to play the flight stimulator game. He remembers the buttons and controls, his fingers slightly tapping against the keyboards. He takes notes on what he did wrong, written in sloppy handwriting on the paper. He prints out more maps on the Bahamas. The cycle repeats. He examines the diagram of the jet model that he’s seen at Vero Beach Regional Airport while huddling below the dumpsters in the streets, amongst the discarded needles and trash.

  There’s not a moment that he doesn’t think of Claire constantly. He wonders if she really did believe he would abandon her—based on what John told him. But he makes a promise to her that he’ll come soon. As fast as he can.

  Dana manages to find a soggy ten dollar bill below the dumpster that he scavengers one rainy evening. Without a word, he goes into the convenience store, purchasing a lighter, a notebook, a sandwich, a wallet, and a bag of potato chips. He approximately has three dollars left in change, which he puts into the wallet, including his ID card.

  * * * * * * * *

  Snowball squeaks.

  Slowly, the young man strokes the mouse’s head as they sit in front of Vero Beach Regional Airport, sharing the sandwich. The mouse climbs onto his shoulder once dinner is finished. Dana hands Snowball the last remaining crumbs before he stands up, places the ID around his neck. His dark eyes solemnly observe the evening sky, which is orange and blue and purple and pink.

  Cars pass by across the road, their headlights glowing in the darkness. Dana’s hand grips the lighter and maps in his pocket, Snowball snuggled up in his other one. For the first time in three years, he struts inside the airport, the cold air drag across his face from the humid evening air. The bright lights hurt his eyes, and people push past him as they scramble to the kiosks to get their boarding passes.

  His dark eyes wander to the long lines near the TSA checkout section. After going to the men’s bathroom—which is empty, he locks the door and turns on the lighter, holding it up against the wall. The flame starts to creep up nicely, crackling. Smoke rises in the air, and as he calmly slips out from the bathroom, he can see a little bit leaking from beneath the door.

  An alarm goes out, and people begin to shout as the orange spreads from one wall to the next. There is so much shoving and pulling that some people are trampled as they attempt to get out the door. The smoke intensifies as Dana grabs a battered suitcase from the edge of the TSA checkout line. Licking his lips, he lights the nearby desks ablaze, the heat upon his face. The sparklers rain water above, and Dana dashes through the first, second, and third floor, where the flames have begun to creep up.

  In the midst of those screaming around him, Dana makes his way outside, in the darkness of the hanger, the door left wide open. He climbs up on the air stairs of an empty 737, throwing the suitcase in the backseat. In the distance, he can see the flames engulfing the building. He sets Snowball on the empty seat next to him, including the maps from the library. His hands are shaking badly.

  Dana takes a slow, deep breath.

  The jet’s engines come to life after he activates the Auxiliary Power Unit. He’s not sure how he got it out of the hanger, but the memory of the video game’s controls come back to him. He applies gradual but full power to the throttle, keeping the aircraft aligned with the runway by using the rudder.

  He continues the takeoff at the calculated V1 and V2 speed, gently pulling back on the control yolk to lift up the nose of the 737. Sweat beads down his face once he realizes that they are airborne, and retracts the landing gear. As he ascends into the dark sky, he understands that traffic control is planning to send down fighter jets to shoot him down.

  He hopes he’ll be closer to the Bahamas by then. He tries not to think about the fire, although the smell of smoke clings to him. Below him, Florida glows. It is all he has ever known, and yet, he knows nothing of it.