Issue 2 - 4/1/2026

Red and blue lights strobed against the wet glass of the apartment building, turning the balcony doors into flashing mirrors. The rain had stopped, but everything still smelled like it. Wet pavement, hot asphalt cooling off, that faint electrical burn that hung in the air after something shorted out.

Barry stepped out of the ambulance and pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders.

“We were just here...” he muttered under his breath.

Owen closed the driver door and looked up. Steam still rolled lazily out of the hot tub on the balcony, curling into the cool night air.

“You don't think it's-” Owen started to ask.

“No, he called it in.” Barry cut him off, then pointed with his hand still in his pocket. “Over here.”

A couple of cops stood nearby talking over each other while a neighbor in sweatpants tried to explain something no one was really listening to.

Barry led the way past the police and up the stairs. He climbed the stairs two at a time. A single cop stood at the open door to Omar's apartment.

“Oh hey, Owen,” the cop smiled. “Funny seeing you here.”

“Oh shit! Hi Jim!” Owen looked to Barry. “You good here?”

Barry shook his head and stepped inside. He walked through the apartment and out onto the balcony.

That’s when he saw Omar.

Omar sat on a patio chair with a blanket around his shoulders. His hair was sweaty and clung to his forehead. His hands shook just enough to notice if you were looking for it.

Barry walked over slowly.

“Omar…”

Omar looked up at him, eyes glassy, face pale under the balcony light.

Barry jerked his head toward the hot tub. “What the hell happened?”

Omar swallowed hard and stared past him at the water. “She slipped.”

For a moment neither of them said anything. The hot tub bubbled quietly behind them. Seeing death never got any easier. It became too easy, too regular, too... familiar.

Barry knew the body wasn't going anywhere. He had time to sit with his friend.

Omar leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the hot tub.

Barry stood beside the railing with his hands in his pockets, giving him space.

Below them, the scene was still alive. Red and blue lights flashed across the wet parking lot. A second ambulance had arrived. Cops moved around the taped-off area near the pool stairs while neighbors gathered in clumps along the sidewalk.

After a minute, Omar stood. He walked slowly to the edge of the balcony and rested both hands on the railing.

Ambulance doors hung open. Officers moved back and forth across the pavement. The brush along the fence line swayed gently in the breeze.

Omar slipped a hand into his pocket. His fingers touched cold metal.

The lighter.

His stomach tightened. For a second he could hear her voice again.

"Iterum et Iterum."

Omar pulled the lighter halfway out of his pocket but kept his eyes on the parking lot below. He didn’t want to look at it. Didn’t want to read it. He just held it between his fingers.

Then he flicked his wrist and tossed it over the railing. The silver lighter spun once in the air before disappearing into the dark brush beside the fence.

Omar exhaled slowly. Relief washed through his chest.

Barry put his hand on Omar's shoulder. “You okay, man?”

“I don't know, Barr... I don't know.”

Behind them the apartment door opened.

A uniformed officer stepped out onto the balcony. “Mr. Hassan?” he said.

Omar turned. “Yeah?”

“We need to ask you a few questions.”

Barry glanced toward the door just as Owen stepped out onto the balcony behind the officer.

Barry clapped Omar lightly on the shoulder. “I should get to work,” he said.

Owen nodded toward the stairs. “Let’s go.”

Barry gave Omar one last look before heading inside with Owen, leaving the balcony to the police and the quiet bubbling of the hot tub.

~~~

The cop guided Omar inside and into the living room.

The apartment suddenly felt smaller with the balcony door closed. The flashing lights from outside still bled through the blinds, painting slow red and blue stripes across the walls. Omar sat on the edge of the couch.

The officer pulled a small notebook from his pocket and sat across from him in one of the dining chairs. “Alright, Mr. Hassan. You're not in any trouble here,” he said calmly. “Just walk me through what happened.”

Omar rubbed his hands together. “She lit her cigarette,” he said. “Then she just kinda… fell.”

The cop scribbled something down. “Just slipped?”

“Yeah.” Omar gave a nervous little laugh and shook his head. “Craziest damn thing I ever saw.”

The officer looked up from his notebook. “That all?”

Omar hesitated. “Well… she used my lighter.”

The cop glanced toward the balcony and back again. “Did she say anything?”

Omar leaned back slightly and stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying to remember. “Just what the lighter said.”

The officer paused.

“And what was that?”

Omar pretended to think for a moment. He didn't want to repeat it, but he didn't think he had a choice.

“Iterum et Iterum.”

The room stayed quiet. The officer finished writing in his notebook. Omar felt his shoulders loosen a little.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The officer closed his notebook and leaned back in the chair. “Alright,” he said. “Just sit tight for a bit. Someone else may want to talk to you.”

Omar nodded. The officer stepped outside onto the balcony again, leaving Omar alone in the quiet apartment.

Red and blue light continued to pulse through the blinds. Omar leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. His hands still trembled.

Voices moved in and out on the balcony. Radios crackled. Barry and Owen came back through with a stretcher for the body. Maybe fifteen minutes went by.

Omar shifted his weight on the couch. Something pressed against his thigh inside his pocket.

He froze.

Slowly, carefully, he reached into his pocket. His fingers touched metal. Cold. Dry. Omar pulled it out.

The lighter.

The same brushed silver Zippo. The spiral stared back at him from one side. The engraving caught the flashing lights from outside.

For a moment Omar simply stared at it.

His stomach dropped. He knew he had thrown it. He remembered the flick of his wrist. He remembered the spin as it disappeared into the brush.

Yet somehow… It was back.

*Rule #7. The lighter must be given to or picked up by another soul. If discarded, it will return to its current bearer within fifteen minutes.*

Omar turned the lighter slowly in his fingers. His mouth had gone dry. Before he could process what he was looking at, the front door creaked open again. Another officer stepped inside.

Different guy this time. Older. Thicker mustache. “Sir,” the officer said. “I just need you to repeat something for me.”

Omar slipped the lighter back into his pocket without thinking.

“Yeah?” he said.

“What exactly did the woman say before she fell?”

Omar tried to swallow, but the dryness wouldn't let him. The phrase felt wrong sitting in his memory. He squeezed the lighter in his hand.

< I don't want to say it...>

But the officer was waiting.

“Just… what the lighter said,” Omar muttered.

“And that was?” The officer frowned slightly. “I need you to repeat it.”

Omar shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

< Fuck. >

“Iterum et Iterum.”

For a moment, Omar expected to explode there on the spot. Have a heart attack. For the cop to pull out his gun and shoot him...

But nothing happened. At least, nothing that Omar could see.

The officer scribbled something into his notebook again. “Alright,” he said. “That helps. Thanks.”

Omar nodded slowly, confused and relieved.

~~~

The flashing lights outside were nearly gone. The crowd had thinned. Only one cruiser still idled in the parking lot below. Barry stepped back into the living room, rolling his shoulders after hauling the stretcher down the stairs.

Omar was still sitting on the couch. He hadn’t moved much. His hands still trembled faintly in his lap.

Barry noticed. “You alright?” he asked.

Omar forced a weak laugh. “Yeah… yeah. Just kinda messed up, you know? She just...”

Barry nodded. “Yeah. I know, man. It's fucked up.”

He reached into the small pocket of his EMS bag and pulled out a foil packet. “Take this,” he said, handing it over. “It’ll help you sleep.”

Omar turned the packet over in his fingers. “Thanks.”

Barry pointed a finger at him as he stepped toward the door. “Don’t drink with it.”

Omar nodded. “Yeah. Got it.”

Barry gave him one last look, then headed out the door to join Owen in the ambulance.

Omar sat there for a while. The quiet pressed in around him. Eventually he stood and wandered into the kitchen.

His hands still shook. He opened the cabinet and grabbed a glass. Then he reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer.

He stared at it for a moment. Then he popped the cap.

“Fuck it,” he muttered.

The pill went down with the first swallow. The beer was gone before he even realized he’d finished it. He went back to the fridge for another before he drifted back to the couch and sat down heavily.

The lighter pressed against his thigh inside his pocket. He didn’t think about it. Didn’t think about the words. Didn’t think about the woman falling and dying just hours before.

He drifted to sleep.

First, his eyes slowly closed.

Then, his breathing softened.

Slow...

Even...

Hours passed.

His breathing slowed more.

A faint white foam gathered at the corner of his mouth.

A breath.

Minutes passed.

His chest rose once more.

Then it didn’t.

The spiral on the lighter flashed blue in his pocket.

Rule #1. Only speaking the exact engraved words while in physical possession of the lighter activates the curse. If you do not possess the lighter, the words are meaningless.

~~~

The apartment smelled different. Not like cigarettes and cheap beer anymore.

Now it smelled like cardboard.

Boxes sat open across the living room floor. Drawers pulled out. Closet doors hanging open. Omar’s life spread out in small piles across the apartment.

His mother moved slowly through the kitchen, wrapping plates in newspaper. His sister worked in the living room.

Neither of them spoke much. The tears had finally stopped and the actual work to clean his apartment out had begun. Every once in a while one of them would pick something up and pause for a moment before placing it into a box.

A photo.

A jacket.

An old receipt.

The quiet between them felt heavy. Eventually the sister opened the small drawer beside the couch. Inside were the usual things. Loose change. Spare batteries.

A lighter.

She picked it up. Silver. Zippo style. Heavier than it looked. One side had a strange spiral engraved into the metal. The grooves caught the afternoon sunlight coming through the window.

She turned it over in her hand, studying it for a moment. On the other side were words. She didn’t read them.

Instead she shrugged and slipped the lighter into her purse.

“Mom,” she called softly. “You want to keep any of these old magazines?”

“No, Mina,” her mother answered from the kitchen. “Just throw them away.”

Mina nodded and closed the drawer.

A few minutes later they carried the last box out to the car. The apartment door shut behind them.

Inside Mina’s purse, the spiral on the lighter pulsed once.

Faint.

And hungry.