Vanishing Points

The night felt endless, its silence pressing against the walls of my flat. The lamp cast a muted glow, illuminating the chaos of my desk—papers sprawled out, names scribbled across them in a frenzy of half-thoughts. I was meant to make sense of it all, to map out a strategy, but my mind refused to obey.

Leaning back, I set my pen down and rubbed my temples. Maybe I needed a break. Or a distraction. Reaching into my bag for another pen, my hand brushed against something unexpected.

Frowning, I pulled it out—a small silver starfish charm, its delicate edges glinting faintly under the lamp.

For a moment, I just stared at it. The room seemed quieter now, as though even time itself held its breath.

---

It wasn't long ago. A little over a month, maybe, though it felt as distant as a dream you couldn't quite remember upon waking.

I had just finished my studies—full of plans but weighed down by uncertainty—when I met her. I wasn't looking for anything, and I doubt she was either, but somehow, we'd found each other.

I could still see her, leaning against the bar, her arms crossed loosely, a faint smile playing on her lips. She had this way of looking at the world like she could see the humour in things that others couldn't. It was disarming.

Her laugh was quiet but infectious, her voice carrying a melody I'd never forget. And though I didn't know much about her—hardly anything, really—it felt like I'd known her for years.

She never talked about her past, and I never asked. It wasn't that kind of bond. Instead, we spoke of dreams and impossibilities, of places we'd never been but hoped to see someday.

"The Great Barrier Reef," she had said one night, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "That's the first place I'll go. Just me, the ocean, and all that silence."

"And then?" I had asked, half-smiling.

She'd tilted her head, considering. "Tokyo, maybe. Get lost in the neon and the noise. I've heard the food's amazing."

I didn't realize how much I envied her then—the ease with which she embraced the unknown, the way she seemed so sure of herself even when the world wasn't.

But she wasn't invincible. I learned that the day she disappeared.

It started small—her not returning a call or a message—but it didn't take long to realize something was wrong. She wasn't at the places we'd always gone, and her phone was perpetually switched off.

I tried everything, asking around, retracing our steps, but it was like chasing a shadow. I didn't even know enough about her to start looking properly—no address, no full name, no connections. Just fragments of memories and the way she made me feel.

The charm in my hand now was the only trace of her left. She'd dropped it on the table the last time I saw her, and I'd pocketed it, intending to give it back.

But there was no chance for that now.

---

I shook myself from the memory, suddenly aware of the time. The clock's hands had crept past three in the morning. With a heavy sigh, I set the charm down on the desk and forced myself to focus.

But the words wouldn't come.

Eventually, I gave up and dragged myself to bed, the exhaustion of the day pulling me under as soon as my head hit the pillow.

---

It was nearly noon when I woke. The sun blazed through the curtains, and my phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand.

"Hello?" I answered groggily.

"You're finally awake," George's voice greeted me, equal parts relief and annoyance.

"What's going on?" I asked, dragging myself upright.

"I heard something," he said, his tone lower now. "You're going to want to know this. The director and Emma... they were having this weird, intense conversation early this morning. I couldn't hear all of it, but it went something like—"

"George," I interrupted, trying to wake up faster, "just tell me what they said."

There was a pause, and I could almost see him hesitating on the other end.

"Emma said, 'What's going on?' And the director—Mark—replied, 'I don't know. Did you get a call?' She said yes, and then he said..."

George trailed off, his voice fading.

"And then?" I pressed, heart pounding.

"They both just... stopped. Walked away like nothing happened. But, Will, it wasn't normal. Something's going on."

I stayed silent, my mind already spinning. A call? What kind of call could rattle both the director and Emma?

Something was unravelling, and I didn't like the feel of it.

I sat up, the weight of George's words pressing heavily on my mind. Did you get a call? So did...

I got dressed quickly, my thoughts racing. Something was off, but the pieces refused to fit together.

As I stepped out, the thoughts consumed me: who else had been called—and why?

The answers were there—I was certain of it. But how many more questions would I have to ask before I found them? It was starting to feel like the play was only the beginning.