March 14th.

I am dying. Or I am eating. The distinction has blurred. My mouth is full of ash and sugar. It tastes like the end of the world. It tastes like victory.

I am in the Hollow. Not the basement of the church, though it looks like one. Not the cellar of the house, though it smells like old wine and rot. It is a place where the light does not reach. Where the air is thick with the scent of crushed petals and iron. I am here with Elias. He is my ally. He is also my enemy. He is the only person who knows what I am doing.

We are not detectives. We are not solving a murder. We are solving a hunger.

It started with a coin. A copper piece, found in the gutter of 5th Avenue. It was warm. It pulsed. I pressed it to my tongue. I tasted fear. I tasted the name of the woman who dropped it. I tasted the exact moment she let go of her life.

I am a detective of the senses. I have always been. I eat the world to understand it. I chew on the grief of strangers. I swallow the joy of lovers. It is a curse. It is a gift. It is the only thing that keeps me alive when the poverty of my soul threatens to crush me.

I am poor. I am always poor. My pockets are empty. My bank account is a joke. I live in a room with a broken window. I wear coats that do not fit. I am invisible. But my mouth is full. I am the most fed man in New York. And I am starving.

Elias found me in the gutter. Or I found him. It does not matter. He was eating a rat. Not a dead rat. A live one. He was biting into its fur. His eyes were wide. His eyes were white.

He looked at me. He said, "You taste like regret."

I smiled. I said, "You taste like desperation."

We have been together for three days. We are in the Hollow now. We are looking for the Heart.

The Heart is not an organ. It is a machine. It is a device that converts pain into pleasure. It converts loss into gain. It is the engine of the city. It is the thing that makes us keep going. It is the thing that makes us betray. It is the thing that makes us love.

We are looking for it because I want to destroy it.

I want to destroy it because it is eating me. I am its fuel. I am its food. I am the ingredient that makes the recipe work. I am the spice in the dish. And I am running out.

My hands are shaking. My teeth are chattering. I am cold. I am so cold.

Elias is talking. He is always talking. He talks to keep the silence away. He talks to keep the hunger away.

"Did you see it?" he asks. "Did you see the light?"

I look at him. He is pale. His lips are cracked. Blood is drying on his chin.

"I saw it," I say. "It was blue. It was cold. It was beautiful."

"Blue is the color of ice," Elias says. "Blue is the color of death. You cannot eat death, Thomas. It will kill you."

"I am already dead," I say. "I am just waiting for the body to catch up."

He laughs. It is a dry, rasping sound. It sounds like bones grinding.

"You are an idiot," he says. "You are a beautiful, stupid idiot. You think you are the detective. You think you are the one in control. You are the food, Thomas. You are the meat on the bone. You are the marrow. You are the taste."

I want to hit him. I want to strangle him. I want to eat him. I want to swallow his fear. I want to swallow his anger. I want to swallow his love.

But I cannot move. My legs are heavy. My arms are lead. I am sinking into the floor. The floor is soft. It is like mud. It is like flesh.

The light is coming. It is blue. It is cold. It is beautiful.

It is here.

The machine is here.

It is not a machine. It is a woman. She is sitting on the throne. She is made of glass. She is made of light. She is eating. She is eating the light. She is eating the dark. She is eating the sound. She is eating the silence.

She looks at me. Her eyes are empty. Her eyes are full.

"Hello, Thomas," she says. "I have been waiting for you. I have been saving your taste for the last course."

I want to run. I want to hide. I want to disappear.

But I cannot. I am one with the food. I am one with the plate. I am one with the eater.

I am the dish.

The realization hits me like a physical blow. It is not a curse. It is not a gift. It is a transaction. I am not a detective. I am a product. I am a commodity. I am the premium ingredient.

I have been investigating my own digestion. I have been analyzing my own consumption. I have been trying to find the source of the flavor.

I am the source.

Elias is screaming. He is clawing at the air. He is trying to reach me. He is trying to pull me out of the light.

"Thomas!" he shouts. "Thomas! Don't let her eat you! Don't let her finish!"

I look at him. I look at his face. I see his fear. I see his love. It is primal. It is instinctual. It is beyond reason. He loves me because I am part of the machine. He loves me because I am the key. He loves me because without me, the machine stops. And if the machine stops, the city dies. And if the city dies, he dies.

We are bound. We are transcendent. We are beyond the boundary of the self.

I look at the woman. I look at the glass. I look at the light.

I understand now.

The knowledge is the curse. The curse is the knowledge.

I know what I am. I am the food. I am the fuel. I am the end.

I can stop it. I can refuse. I can starve. I can let her die. I can let the machine break.

But I will not.

I am hungry. I have always been hungry. And now I am full.

I take a step forward. My foot sinks into the flesh of the floor. The light touches my skin. It burns. It cools. It tastes like salt. It tastes like tears.

Elias stops screaming. He watches. His eyes are wide. His hands are open.

He knows. He knows what I am doing. He knows what I am choosing.

He nods. It is a small movement. It is a surrender. He accepts his defeat. He accepts my choice. He accepts the end.

I walk toward the woman. I walk toward the light. I walk toward the taste.

I am not afraid. I am not sad. I am not happy.

I am just full.

The light wraps around me. It enters my mouth. It enters my eyes. It enters my skin. It enters my blood.

I taste everything.

I taste the rain on the pavement. I taste the smoke from the chimneys. I taste the blood from the butcher’s shop. I taste the perfume from the department store. I taste the hope from the hospital. I taste the despair from the jail.

I taste Elias.

I taste his fear. It is sharp. It is acidic. It is like lemon.

I taste his love. It is sweet. It is heavy. It is like honey.

I taste his betrayal. It is bitter. It is dry. It is like ash.

I swallow.

The machine hums. The light brightens. The woman smiles.

I am gone.

I am everywhere.

I am the city.

I am the taste.

I am the end.

Elias is alone. He is sitting on the floor. The light is fading. The room is dark. The air is cold.

He looks at his hands. They are clean. They are empty.

He looks at the floor. There is a stain. It is brown. It is red. It is the color of blood. It is the color of earth.

He picks up a piece of glass. It is small. It is sharp. It is blue.

He puts it in his mouth.

He bites down.

He tastes nothing.

He tastes everything.

He tastes me.

He chews.

He swallows.

He stands up.

He walks to the door.

He opens it.

The night is cold. The wind is strong. The city is loud. The city is hungry.

He steps out.

He walks into the dark.

He is alone.

He is full.