Cobb Devlin

The girl sat on the cold steel railing of the Hanover Harbor bridge staring at the mist-shrouded river far below. The city felt still this early in the morning. Occasionally, a car drove past her, but the drivers either didn't see her or didn't care enough to slow down. Probably the latter, Mya thought.

She shivered in the cool air, but didn't bother to zip up her jacket. It doesn't really matter anymore, she thought. Her tights and leotard provided almost no warmth for her thin frame at all; the torn strap over her left shoulder barely held together even with the safety pin she hastily applied earlier as she fled from the theater. She had warmer, better clothes in the small duffel on the walkway behind her, but she didn't care enough to want to climb down and find a place to change. Maybe someone would find them and have a good use for them, she thought as tears preceded her down to the inky waters below.

Just as she felt like she'd finally found the will to push off, Mya suddenly became aware of a strange scent. Earthiness, with a touch of vanilla and cedar wood. A thin stream of smoke rolled past her. But unlike the foul cigarette stench she'd grown up with, it smelled comforting. Welcoming.

She looked to her right and nearly fell from being startled. About twenty feet away, a man smoking a huge cigar was leaning against the railing, staring out over the river. She thought he was pretty tall, but kind of heavyset. Looking closer though, she realized he was built like a powerlifter who'd stopped lifting years ago and was letting himself go. He was dressed in a leather jacket of some kind and had a hat like her great-grandfather wore in the pictures she'd seen of him. "Why ... why are you standing there?" she stammered. Way to go, Ms. Rizz! her inner voice chided.

"I saw you sitting there," he called back. He didn't shout, but his voice carried clearly as if he was only an arm's length away from her. "It suddenly felt like a good time and a good place to think some deep thoughts, maybe reflect on the past and look at the future."

Mya blinked at that, like he was speaking a foreign language that she should know but didn't. "But why there?"

He took a big pull from his cigar, and let the smoke go from his nostrils. "Well, I figured that if I ran up on you I might scare you into doing something that you can't come back from." He took the cigar from his mouth and stared at the coal. "Life's like a candle that can't be relit. If you're not careful with it, you lose the light forever and the world is just a bit darker for it."

For some reason that put her back up. "What do you know about darkness?" she scoffed.

He turned to look at her for a long minute. Just an hour ago, that would have made her skin crawl. But here, now, she didn't feel like she was being leered at but some old perv. She felt like, rather than being looked at, she was being seen. It felt oddly good. "I suppose that a young woman with torn clothes and streaked mascara has the right to ask that," he finally said.

He probably wants to get some himself, her inner voice warned. And then it turned cold. Why not give it to him? It's not like a worthless piece of shit like ...

"Hush you!" the man called out sternly. "We'll have none of that now!"

Mya blinked in surprise. "You can hear ...?"

"Sometimes you don't need to hear to know what's being said," he replied in a normal voice.

She was thoroughly confused now. "I don't understand any of this," Mya almost sobbed. She stared down at the river again, but now it didn't look welcoming at all. It looked cold, uncaring, and ready to swallow her and take her away.

"Don't be afraid, sweetheart," he said, "but I'm going to reach into my pocket and show you something. Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you or try to grab you." He spoke with the kind of soothing voice that someone might use to calm a stray dog that was scared and growling. Moving with exaggerated slowness, he pulled a small cylinder from the pocket of his jeans and held it under his chin. With a soft click, his face was suddenly lit up.

A flashlight, she realized. She looked at him closely now. He wasn't handsome, but not unattractive either. He had rugged features, a strong jaw, and eyes that held all the pain in the world. He does know about darkness, she thought.

"I had to fly across the country a few weeks ago," he said, "and a TSA guy laughed at me when I put this little flashlight into the tray. 'Who carries a flashlight in their pocket in broad daylight?' And I said to him, 'Let me ask and answer two questions. First, when do you need a flashlight the most? Answer: when it's dark and you can't see anything. Second, when's the worst time to look for a flashlight? Answer: when it's dark and you can't see anything."

Mya didn't know what that had to do with anything at all. But then, it made sense. Obvious sense, even. She turned away, looking out into the night. The mist was squelching the lights of the city, muffling the sounds of it, isolating her. Darkness taking her vision, making it easier for her to trip. To fall. She looked down again, then back at him. "My name is Cobb," he said.

"I'm Mya," she said. Then, almost whispering, "Can I borrow your light? I need it now."

Suddenly he was there, lifting her up as if she were a little girl again and placing her firmly onto the bridge deck. They stood for a long moment that way, his hands lightly on her hips. She collapsed into his arms and hugged him, head against his chest, and she could feel his warmth, the beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his breathing. His arms were around her now, and she felt safe at last. "Of course you can, Mya," he said. "We all need someone to lend us some light sometimes."