The coat was red.

It hung on the hook by the door. It had been red for ten years. Or perhaps it had always been red. I could not say for sure. My memory of the color was thin, like frost on glass. It wore thin.

I put it on. The wool bit my skin. It smelled of damp earth and old smoke. The buttons were brass. They were cold.

"Ready?" asked Elias.

He stood by the window. The rain blurred the world outside. We were in a cabin in the High Atlas. Or so the map said. The map was old. The map was wrong. The sky was a bruise.

"I am ready," I said.

We walked out. The air was sharp. It cut our lungs. We walked into the grey. The path was a scar in the rock. It led up. It led down. It led nowhere.

We had been walking for three days. My legs burned. My mind burned. The coat hung heavy on my back. It was not just wool. It was weight. It was history.

Elias walked ahead. He did not look back. He never looked back. He was my brother. Or my friend. I could not remember which. The lines had blurred. We had been together since the war. Or since the silence after the war.

"Stop," I said.

He stopped. He turned. His face was a mask. His eyes were dark.

"Is it here?" he asked.

"I do not know."

"We must find it."

"We must."

We walked on. The wind picked up. It whistled through the pines. It sounded like a name. It sounded like her name.

Margaret.

I said the word to the air. It fell to the ground. It did not echo.

"Do you hear it?" Elias asked.

"No."

"I hear it."

He pointed to the left. There was a ridge. It was black against the grey sky. It looked like a spine.

"We go there," he said.

"We go."

We climbed. The rocks were slippery. My hand slipped on a stone. I fell. I caught myself. The coat tore at the shoulder. A small rip. It bled white thread.

"Be careful," Elias said.

"I am careful."

"You are not."

He was right. I was careless. I was always careless. I was a fool.

We reached the top. The view was vast. It was empty. There was no city. There was no ghost. There was only the mist. It swallowed the horizon.

"It is not here," I said.

"It is here," Elias said.

"How do you know?"

"I feel it."

He was right. I felt it. A pull. A tug. Like a fish on a line. It tugged at the coat. It tugged at my chest.

We walked deeper into the mist. The path disappeared. We were lost. We were blind.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Nowhere," Elias said.

"Nowhere."

The word tasted like iron.

We walked for hours. Or days. Time was a loop. The sun did not rise. The sun did not set. The light was constant. It was pale. It was sickly.

My coat grew heavier. It soaked with rain. It soaked with sweat. It soaked with fear.

"Take it off," I said.

Elias looked at me. "No."

"Why?"

"It is us."

"It is wool."

"It is more."

I took it off. I held it in my hands. It was warm. It beat. It had a pulse.

I put it back on. I could not live without it. It was my skin.

We walked on. The mist thickened. It was a wall. It was a sea.

I saw a shape.

It was small. It was far.

"Is that..." I started.

Elias stopped. He pointed.

It was a woman. She stood in the mist. She wore a red dress.

My breath stopped.

"Margaret," I whispered.

She did not move. She did not turn. She was a statue. She was a shadow.

"We must not go there," Elias said.

"Who?"

"The one who follows."

I looked back. The mist was behind us. It moved. It breathed.

"Run," Elias said.

We ran. We ran into the white. The world dissolved. The ground vanished. We fell.

We landed on soft ground. It was moss. It was green. It was alive.

We were in a forest. The trees were tall. They were dark. The light filtered through the leaves. It was dappled. It was warm.

We stopped. We gasped.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"We are home," Elias said.

I looked at him. His face was different. His eyes were clear. His hair was grey.

"How long have we been here?" I asked.

"A long time," he said.

"I don't remember."

"You never do."

I looked down. The coat was gone. I was naked. I was shivering.

"Where is it?" I asked.

"You do not need it."

"I need it."

"You are it."

I did not understand. I looked around. The forest was empty. There was no path. There was no exit.

Elias sat on a stone. He closed his eyes. He looked peaceful. He looked tired.

"Tell me," I said.

"Tell you what?"

"The truth."

"There is no truth. Only the loop."

"Explain."

He opened his eyes. "You are the ghost."

"No."

"Yes."

"I am the man."

"You are the memory of the man. You are the coat. You are the red wool. You are the stain that will not wash out."

I felt a cold. It was inside me. It was in my blood.

"Who is she?" I asked.

"Margaret."

"What did she do?"

"She loved you."

"I loved her."

"She died."

"I know."

"Did you kill her?"

The question hit me. It was a bullet. It was a knife.

"No," I said.

"Did you?"

I did not answer. The silence was loud. It roared.

"I was there," I said. "I was with her. I was holding her hand."

"Was she bleeding?"

I remembered. I remembered the blood. It was on my hands. It was on my face. It was red.

"Yes," I said.

"You let her go."

"I tried to save her."

"You let the cold take her."

"I was afraid."

"Fear is a strong master."

I looked at my hands. They were clean. They were pale. They were young.

"I am not young," I said.

"You are what you were. You are what you will be. You are the middle. You are the ache."

Elias stood up. He brushed the moss from his clothes. He walked toward a gap in the trees.

"Come," he said.

"I am not going."

"You are going."

"Why?"

"Because the loop must close."

"I do not want to close."

"You must."

I followed him. I had no choice. My feet moved. My legs moved. My body obeyed.

We walked. The forest changed. The trees became stone. The moss became dirt. The light became grey.

We were back in the cabin.

The rain was still falling. The window was blurred.

Elias stood by the door. He looked at me. He smiled. It was a sad smile.

"Put it on," he said.

I looked at the hook. The coat was there. It was red. It was whole.

I took it. It was warm. It was heavy.

I put it on. It fit perfectly. It was my skin.

"Ready?" Elias asked.

"I am ready."

We walked out. The air was sharp. It cut our lungs.

"Where to?" I asked.

"Up," he said.

We walked into the grey. The path was a scar. It led up. It led down. It led nowhere.

I looked back. The cabin was gone. The door was gone. There was only the mist.

I looked at my hands. They were red. They were wet. They were bleeding.

I looked at Elias. He was gone. He had vanished into the fog.

I was alone.

I walked on. The wind whistled. It sounded like a name.

Margaret.

I said it to the air. It fell to the ground.

I walked. I walked. I walked.

The coat grew heavier. It soaked with rain. It soaked with sweat. It soaked with fear.

I did not stop. I could not stop.

The loop was tight. The loop was cruel.

I was the ghost. I was the stain. I was the red wool.

I walked into the mist. I walked into the dark. I walked into the end.

But there was no end. There was only the beginning.

The rain began to fall. The sky was a bruise.

I put on the coat. The wool bit my skin.

"Ready?" I asked the air.

"I am ready," I answered.

I walked out. The air was sharp.

It cut my lungs.