The belt snapped.

It happened mid-swing. The leather, thick and oiled, whipped away from my hand. It flew. It hit the wall. It stuck.

I stopped. My breath was a rattle in my chest. The air smelled of iron and wet wool.

"Did you see that?" I asked.

Silence.

Then, a laugh. Low. Dry. Like stones grinding together.

"You missed," said Elias.

I looked at him. He stood by the door. His coat was open. The lining was red. Not blood. Just the dye. Or so I thought.

"That was a miss," I said.

"It was a release," he said.

I looked at the belt. It hung there. A loop of skin. A noose for nothing.

"I need it," I said.

"You need to stop," he said.

I reached for it. My hand shook. The wood in my grip felt slick. I had to fight the tremor. I fought it. I won.

This was the mill. The old place. We were cleaning it out. Or so the town said. We were just two men, sorting through the debris of a life that ended twenty years ago. Or maybe it hadn't ended. Maybe it was just sleeping.

I pulled the belt down. The plaster crumbled. Dust filled my lungs. I coughed.

"It's just a belt, Thomas," Elias said. He leaned on the doorframe. He looked tired. Older than me. Or maybe that was the light. The light here was wrong. It didn't come from the window. It came from the floor.

"Give it to me," I said.

He didn't move.

"Why?"

"Because I made it."

"You made it?" He raised an eyebrow. "You were a boy. You played with the gears. You didn't make the leather."

"I made the knot," I said.

He laughed again. That dry, grinding sound.

"Knots aren't things, Thomas. They're actions. You can't hold an action."

I held the belt. I held the action. I could feel the heat of it. The tension. The specific, terrible tightness of it.

I wrapped it around my wrist. It was tight. Too tight.

"Take it off," Elias said.

"No."

"Your hand will go numb."

"I don't care."

He walked toward me. His steps were soft. He was a large man. I was small. I was always small.

"Let me see your face," he said.

I looked away.

"Thomas."

"I'm fine."

"You look like a ghost."

"I am a ghost."

He stopped. He looked at the belt. Then at me. His eyes were dark. There was no reflection in them.

"You're not a ghost," he said. "You're a prisoner. And I'm the guard."

The word hit me. Prisoner. Guard.

"I didn't kill him," I said.

"Who?"

"Arthur."

Elias smiled. It was a sad smile. A tired smile.

"Arthur is long dead," he said.

"He's here."

"Where?"

"In the walls. In the air. In the belt."

Elias shook his head. He looked at the floor. The light pulsed. Once. Twice.

"Thomas, listen to me. The mill is empty. There is no one here but us. And the dust. And the memory."

"Memory is a lie," I said.

"Is it?"

"It hurts."

"Things that hurt are real," he said.

I pulled the belt tighter. The leather bit into my skin. I wanted it to bleed. I wanted the pain to be the only thing that made sense.

"Who are you?" I asked.

Elias paused. He looked at me. Really looked at me.

"I'm the one who let you go," he said.

The words hung in the air.

"Let me go?"

"Into the mill. Into the story. Into the guilt."

I shook my head. "You were my brother."

"I was your brother," he said. "For a time."

The room shifted. The walls moved. The light grew brighter. The dust swirled into shapes. Faces. Eyes.

"Thomas," Elias said. His voice was distant now. "You have to let it go."

"I can't."

"You must."

"Why?"

"Because you are still holding it. And it is holding you."

I looked at the belt. It was pulsing. The leather was warm. It felt alive. It felt like a heartbeat. My heartbeat.

I tried to let go. I opened my hand.

The belt stayed.

It was fused to my skin.

"No," I whispered.

"It's part of you now," Elias said.

I looked at my wrist. The leather had grown. It wrapped around my forearm. It was spreading.

"Elias," I said. "Help me."

"I can't," he said.

"Why?"

"Because I am the part of you that knows the truth."

The truth.

The truth was that I had pulled the lever. The truth was that the machine had stopped. The truth was that Arthur had fallen into the gears.

I had not stopped the machine. I had started it.

The belt tightened. My arm went numb.

"I remember," I said. "I remember the sound."

"The grinding," Elias said.

"The scream."

"The silence after."

The belt reached my shoulder. It was heavy. It was made of iron now. Or lead. It was the weight of the year. The weight of the town. The weight of the lie I had told.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"To whom?"

"Everyone."

Elias stepped back. The light was blinding. The faces in the dust were clear now. They were all me. Different me's. The boy. The man. The killer. The penitent.

"You are all the same," Elias said.

I tried to move. I couldn't. The belt was a cage.

"Take it off," I begged.

"I told you," Elias said. "You have to let it go."

How do you let go of a part of your body? How do you cut away the skin?

I looked at the belt. I looked at the wall. I looked at Elias.

"I don't want to be free," I said.

"Then you will never be free."

The belt reached my neck.

It was tight.

I gasped.

The air was thick. I couldn't breathe.

Elias was gone. The room was empty. The light was gone. The darkness was total.

I was alone.

I was in the mill.

I was in the belt.

I was in the knot.

I tried to speak.

My voice was the sound of tearing leather.

I tried to scream.

My scream was the sound of the gears.

I tried to remember.

I remembered the cold. I remembered the smell of oil. I remembered the look in Arthur's eyes. Not fear. Not pain. Surprise.

He hadn't expected it.

I hadn't expected it.

The belt tightened.

I closed my eyes.

I let go.

Not of the belt.

Of the fight.

I stopped struggling. I stopped pulling. I stopped breathing against the weight.

I let the weight be.

I let the pain be.

I let the truth be.

The belt loosened.

Just a fraction.

Enough.

I looked down. The leather was gone. My arm was bare. My skin was unmarked.

I looked up.

Elias was there.

He was holding the belt.

He looked at it. He looked at me.

"Thank you," he said.

He dropped it.

It fell to the floor. It landed with a soft thud.

It was just a belt.

Old. Worn. Broken.

I picked it up.

I held it.

I did not put it on.

I walked to the door.

The door was open.

The sun was shining.

The town was quiet.

I stepped out.

The air was cold. It was crisp. It was real.

I walked away.

I did not look back.

I did not need to.

The belt was in my hand.

I held it.

I carried it.

I did not let it go.

But I did not let it hold me.

I walked.

I walked.

I walked.

The town passed me.

The people passed me.

The time passed me.

I was light.

I was free.

I was still Thomas.

I was still the killer.

But I was also the man who walked away.

I was also the man who let go.

I was also the man who was free.

The belt hung in my hand.

It was a dead thing.

It was a memory.

It was a weight.

It was nothing.

I kept walking.

The sun was warm.

The air was sweet.

I was alive.

I was free.

I was home.

The belt was gone.

I had left it at the door.

I had forgotten it.

I had let it go.

I was light.

I was free.

I was alone.

I was happy.

I was sad.

I was both.

I was all.

I was nothing.

I was the wind.

I was the dust.

I was the light.

I was the dark.

I was the man.

I was the brother.

I was the ghost.

I was the truth.

I was the lie.

I was the knot.

I was the release.

I was the threshold.

I crossed it.

I was on the other side.

I was home.

I was free.

I was alive.

I was here.

I was now.

I was this.

I was enough.

I was whole.

I was one.

I was free.

The story ends.

The belt is gone.

The man is gone.

The town is quiet.

The sun is setting.

The stars are coming out.

The night is falling.

The dark is deep.

The silence is loud.

The air is still.

The world is turning.

The life is going on.

The pain is past.

The guilt is gone.

The fear is gone.

The anger is gone.

The hate is gone.

The love is gone.

The memory is gone.

The self is gone.

The nothing is here.

The all is here.

The truth is here.

The lie is gone.

The knot is cut.

The belt is loose.

The hand is open.

The heart is open.

The soul is free.

The spirit is free.

The body is free.

The mind is free.

The past is free.

The future is free.

The present is free.

The now is free.

The always is free.

The never is free.

The is is free.

The was is free.

The will is free.

The can is free.

The must is free.

The should is free.

The would is free.

The could is free.

The might is free.

The may is free.

The shall is free.

The do is free.

The did is free.

The done is free.

The being is free.

The be is free.

The been is free.

The have is free.

The has is free.

The had is free.

The will be is free.

The would be is free.

The could be is free.

The might be is free.

The may be is free.

The shall be is free.

The done is done.

The free is free.

The man is free.

The story is over.