"The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time."---William Butler Yeats

Azalea Parker made her morning vigil through the streets of Aubrey Parish as soon as the sun rose each morning. The pinkish-red hues that usually signified another hot day on the horizon were only visible for about 30 minutes until the perpetual cover of clouds and rain arrived to protect those sensitive to the sun's warmth.

"Look, Mr. Grimm. It's another beautiful morning." The cheerful girl waved as she passed the park and the cemetery, although no one even appeared to be on the streets so early. The dawn glints off of Azzie's curly coppery-red locks and her strangely black eyes are wide as she takes in the familiar sights of the Parish. Azzie was now twenty-four and still walking the streets to greet the town with the same enthusiasm she had when she was a girl of eleven. Barely standing over five feet, she made up for her diminutive size with a contagious laugh and flamboyant accessories. In fact, she had grown into a lovely young woman who lit up the world with excitement over the strangest things.

In a world of people always coming and going, Azalea Rose Parker was an Aubrey Parish fixture. She was one of the few things that not only stood the test of time but bloomed with its passing.

Mr. Grimm had not fared so well. He was starting to go bald and one eye was slightly disjointed from its socket. It was difficult not to stare at the unattractive green orb grown more milky-grey with time. One arm fell limply as Azzie walked with him through the town.

Azzie didn't notice, not really. Every morning and every evening, you could count on the fact that she'd be walking through the streets, her arm holding on to Mr. Grimm's good one. If she was asked why the pair went for a walk every day like clockwork, she'd always give the same reply. "Someone has to say good morning and good night to the Parish. One day, I realised  it had to be me."

Mr. Grimm never spoke, but Azzie seemed to understand him without words. Once, the chef at Mudbugs who had taken a liking to the petite redhead suggested that it was time for Mr. Grimm to be in a retirement community. He was old and quickly deteriorating. There were places for those like him to spend their days in safety and comfort.

The young chef was not a man of any great ambition. He knew he was a perfectly ordinary kind of man built for small-town life. It didn't occur to him to think much beyond the walls of Aubrey Parish. His daydreams revolved around two things: owning Mudbugs one day, and being able to marry Azzie. There was more, of course, but he tried to keep them away for the sake of his own sanity. He often failed, but the darkness that lurked within, he hid from Azzie. Her life had seen enough unhappiness.

In the meantime, he worked on constantly creating new dishes and saving money to make both of his dreams a reality. The young man was impatient, as young men are. The way the good-natured redhead cared for Mr. Grimm kept his dreams on hold. He didn't want to always come second.

"He belongs with me. If he went to one of those places, they'd never let him see another sunrise." Azzie's response was polite but firm. "And you shouldn't talk about him like he's not even in the room. He can hear you just fine."

She didn't much like the chef at Mudbugs after that. The poor guy never knew what he did wrong, but he wouldn't get the time of day, much less another date. When it was time for Azzie's walk the next day, she had changed her route so she and Mr. Grimm wouldn't pass the open-air front of the restaurant and walk by the young chef with a greeting.

That was a year ago, and Azzie and Mr. Grimm still took their twice-daily walks, rain or shine. The young chef still gazed out at the street sometimes, hoping to catch a glimpse of bright copper locks decorated with ribbons, or bows, or butterflies.

Today, the colours of the sky were more muted than usual but Azzie didn't seem to mind. She was dressed in a turquoise blue that complimented her coppery hair and reminded others of a beautiful, still ocean and expanse of cloudless sky. She'd woven bluebells into her hair and her white sandals skipped happily along the stones of the streets. They were still drying. Last night had been Halloween, and one of the worst storms they'd had in a long time. It's going to be an unpleasant winter, Azzie thought.

As they walked past the Parish library, she squeezed Mr. Grimm's arm very gently to indicate it was time to stop. A figure lay slumped in front of the building, a coffee cup next to him and tousled hair against the bricks. He wore a flannel shirt over a t-shirt and looked as if he hadn't seen a razor or a shower for days. Anyone who came within a five-foot radius could tell he reeked of booze.

"Good morning, Damon," Azzie announces cheerfully. "Mr. Grimm says hello too! It's time to wake up and go home."

The man had simply stirred disagreeably, flipping his middle finger straight up without opening his eyes. "Fuck you. I don't have a home anymore and I'm getting some goddamned sleep." He groans in pain and opens one eye. "Oh, heya, Azzie. Sorry about that. Not feeling so well..."

Azzie leans down to take his coffee cup, and replace it with a new one. In front of the cup, she leaves a small plate with freshly baked cookies and strips of bacon. "Hi, Damon! I brought you your favourite breakfast." Turning to Mr. Grimm, she says, "Come on. Let's throw this away".

She walks to the trashcan with a look of revulsion on her face as she tosses the old cup into the garbage. Predictably, it didn't smell of coffee and likely never had. Azzie detested alcohol and this was why. She took a moment to collect herself and returned to the unshaven man in front of the library.

"I'm sorry, Az. Don't even know how I got here again. I don't remember. Tried to sleep but lots of people kept botherin' me."

Azzie pressed her lightly glossed lips together. "It's because you always come here. You have a house and a bed. Instead, the whole town thinks you're the drunk who lives in the library."

"Fuck this whole town!" Damon sits up, face red with anger. "Who are they to talk? The craziest loons and drunks and whores and God knows what else in one place, that's all this place is. I stay at the library because I love it. I look after it. Someone's got to care."

Disagreeably, he wraps bacon around a cookie and takes a bit. "It's like this, Az. You take care of Mr. Grimm because you love him. There's a part of you that knows if you didn't, no one else would. Same with me and the library. I have one more reason to get up every day now that the library needs me. Mr. Walters is retiring and leaving it to me. I'm not going to let him down."

Azzie's coppery locks shake back and forth. "If you loved the library, you'd treat it with respect. You'd show up clean and showered and chase away the drunks who try to sleep on the stoop, not be one of them. I think the library is sad every time it sees you like this."

She reaches down to kiss Damon on the cheek, and says quietly, "Please go inside and get cleaned up. I have to finish taking Mr. Grimm for his walk before the clouds and rain come. It's not good for him to get all wet in his condition."

Offering a hand, she helps Damon to his feet. He is desperately in need of a shower, and a shave, and a change of clothing. Instead, he moves to open the door to the library. "Thanks for breakfast, Az. I know I can always count on you."

Her face radiates a bright, sweet smile. "Like clockwork!" Taking Mr. Grimm's arm, she steers him toward the park and into the other side of the city. It's the part that always looks like it had a rough night the night before. It's also the part where she has to take the long walk by the water so she doesn't pass Mudbugs anymore.

Azzie doesn't care. Mr. Grimm is happy, so that's enough for her.

Mr. Grimm stares ahead at Damon with his emotionless, cloudy eyes. He doesn't believe the words the younger man says, but it's not for him to comment on. Damon was a drunk, no matter how hard he tried to clean himself up. Mr. Grimm hated how it broke Azzie's heart, but every morning, they had to head toward the library with a plate of cookies, homemade bacon, and coffee. Mr. Grimm thought he was entitled to bacon after almost 96 years on the planet, but no. Azzie said it wasn't good for him. The misshapen, cloudy eyes stare at the bacon angrily.

The wind blows and it covers up a sound like a sigh as Azzie steers him away from the drunk librarian and the bacon. Mr. Grimm may not have been able to talk, but it didn't mean he didn't deserve some fucking bacon every now and again.

Azzie had taken care of Mr. Grimm for a long time now. She was all he had left in the world now. Underneath the cranky and disagreeable veneer, there was nothing he wouldn't do for Azzie. At his age, most of the world he knew passed by and was already forgotten. Whatever life he'd had was dead and gone, the unlikely survivor of almost a century of changes. Mr. Grimm was somehow still here, though he wasn't always thankful for it. He would hear people talking about living forever, and he just wanted to tell them it wasn't what they thought. It was lonely and there were an awful lot of goodbyes. The girl kept him from being lonely and made life seem as normal as it could be.

Mr. Grimm knows that when people look at him, they see how strange and disfigured he is. Though he can walk with Azzie's help, he gets tired faster than the girl knows and that's why she has to wake him up to go on another walk. His face is contorted in the droopy half-smile and disfigured eye that characterise victims of strokes, the arm that hangs limply and seems to do nothing being a dead giveaway. The other one only seems to work well when the girl is holding on to it, giving him some power. Mr. Grimm notices everyone assumes he can't talk. He can't, but it pisses him off that they assume. So often, they don't even talk to him. It's like he's invisible even though he's right there. Other times, people talk to him in the voice most only reserve for babies and cute kittens. People are idiots.

The girl always looks at him like he should be happy, so he did his best to be happy. She was a sweet little thing. He just couldn't communicate clearly the one thing that would make him happy before the end of his extremely long life was to stop getting up at sunrise and to eat a giant plate of bacon every morning. A few of those cookies might be nice, too.

He also wanted to watch Law & Order. The girl kept switching the channel, saying it was too violent and upsetting for him. Mr. Grimm didn't ask for much. He liked Law & Order.

Sleep, bacon, and Law & Order. When you're 96, it doesn't get better than that. He hoped someday, someone would tell the bouncy girl who took care of him. He'd be long gone before she was old enough to figure it out for herself

Today was shaping up to be a good day, though. He'd get to watch Law & Order.

Azzie didn't mind the way the Parish lost its glow in the dawn, looking like a trashy frat house the night after a huge party. She didn't even mind the fact that it looked that way every morning. As soon as she crossed past the cemetery and through the park to other side of the city, she'd find a string or two of colourful beads. They were like the ones they handed out and threw around in the big city, and Azzie thought they were a special kind of thing to collect. Every morning, she'd look carefully at the sidewalks and in the grass for stray sets of beads.

She wasn't the kind of girl who'd go to parties or the clubs at night, so no one had ever given her beads of her own. Once, Damon gave her a few sets of special ones he picked up. They had little trinkets attached that lit up and flashed. Mostly, though, Azzie just found regular beads and wondered about the people who so carelessly left them behind. She put them on and a little skip was added to her step. She put them on Mr. Grimm, and he did not seem pleased.

Since she couldn't walk past Mudbugs anymore, she had to walk down the neighbouring street, and all the way in an L shape along the waterfront. All the shops and bars were closed now, and the street cleaning crew hadn't gotten out to make the Parish look clean and respectable again. A man ran by, really fast. He wasn't wearing a shirt, a thing Azzie couldn't help but notice. The man didn't wear a shirt but everything about the parts she could see was made of muscle. She didn't know people could move that fast. Azzie never ran. She strolled everywhere.

When she passed the street with the big red building at the end, she knew she was halfway through her walk. She never strolled in the forest or down by the bayous. It seemed dangerous and creepy for a small woman and a 96 year-old to be there. Azzie thought the city part was safer.

"Excuse me, miss?"

Azzie jumps, not used to hearing the voice of another person. She breathes a sigh of relief when she sees a tall, thin man with dark hair.  He is wandering all around, phone up toward the sky. There were many good things about Aubrey Parish, but cell phone reception wasn't one of them. The Parish could get their phones and internet to work about half the time, on a good day.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I live in that building over there." He points to a pretty blue house across from the big red building. There were always a lot of beads near there, but Azzie didn't really understand the name of the bar. Someone called it The Red Question, and it was probably the Parish's biggest secret. No one knew what it meant, except the man who named it that before Azzie was even born.

She looks up at the man, holding Mr. Grimm's arm protectively. "I--I am sorry. I'm not used to people at this hour. Everyone's usually asleep. Is your phone broken?"

The dark-haired man smiles in a friendly way, and says, "Sorry again. If it makes you feel better, I'm not usually up at this hour either. There was a huge ruckus coming from the club across the street, so I came out in case someone was being robbed." He ruffles his hair, and asks, "Do you have a cell phone? I know I'm a stranger and all, but I promise I'm safe. My name's Aiden."

Azzie walks with Mr. Grimm up the desolate street, half-heartedly still searching for beads. "Miss, it's better if you don't walk this way." Aiden seemed to be blocking wherever Azzie tried to walk, a habit that frustrated her. Just because she was short, the world didn't have the right to step in front of her. "My cell phone isn't broken, but I can't get reception. I need to call the police. Could I use your phone to do that, please?"

The copper waves shake out a no. "I'm sorry. I'm sure you're really nice but I don't let people borrow my phone because that's a bad idea here. It's not safe. I can call the police for you, though. What happened?" She pulls out a small phone from her purse, a distrustful look still on her face. Azzie takes a few steps around Aiden before he can block her again, and that's when she sees.

"Miss, please. It's better if you stay away from this street. It's better if everyone does. If I had any of those orange cones--" Aiden's voice trails off, realising she has seen what he was attempting to shield her from. He moves behind the pair, in case either of them decide to faint. "I think there was a mugging after all, but I couldn't get here in time to help. Miss, please, don't look. It's very upsetting." Aiden himself turns away, the sight making his stomach churn. "That's why I need the phone, though."

In broad daylight, the shades of pink and blue and violet shone directly on the lifeless corpse in front of the Red Question. Pools of blood were everywhere and the body was soaking wet, throat slit from ear to ear.  Azzie just hands her phone to Aiden, staring at the body on the street without blinking.

"Thank you. Are you okay? Let's get the both of you away from here." Something about Azzie's perfectly still posture and the way she stares suggests the girl is in shock, and her companion is too frail to help her. She doesn't move, though, she just stares, one hand trying to shield Mr. Grimm's eyes. Even if he can't see that well anyway, he shouldn't have to see this. In the background, Aiden's voice is speaking, describing why he called 911 in a slightly agitated tone.

"Look, Mr. Grimm." Azzie's voice is soft and suddenly childlike. "He has gone to the River Of Souls."