“But I'm not,” the person— woman, he corrected himself— finally spoke. “I'm not a stranger. Not to you anyway.”
“What d’you mean?”
The woman laughed a little, though not very long. Her silhouette stepped into close proximity, grabbing hold of the sheet that limited the man’s sighting of her. In one swift, clean move, she tore the sheet off the doorframe. The room was instantly filled with the shining yellow light. The man cried out and shielded his eyes from it; he had not seen daylight for a very long time. Agony subsiding, he stared at the woman standing at the door. He had gone pale and drawn, shock resculpting the angry features of his face. The lady smiled weakly.
“Now Juan, is this really how you greet an old friend?” she asked.
He was too surprised to answer.
“How are you still alive?” he asked.
The two were sitting on a white stone bench situated outside of his filthy home. All around them the scent of life swished by with every coming breeze. The outdoors seemed to be having a good effect on him; he was looking and acting more and more like his old self. The woman smiled sadly.
“After the Fall, the enemy had me and Lukas taken to the most guarded, high-tech prison they had,” she explained. “They took us to separate interrogation chambers and tried to torture your whereabouts out of us. They were careful to go easier on me, because of my status as the daughter of the prime minister. But Lukas… I'm sorry, Juan. He- he didn't make it.”
“Say that again,” he said numbly. He couldn't be dead, he couldn't be— Not Lukas, not the man who had stayed with him, fought with him, and sacrificed himself for him— His best friend… No. He couldn't be dead.
“Juan… This hurts me just as much as it’s hurting you,” she whispered. “But, no matter how much I wish it wasn't true… He’s gone. He's not coming back.”
“STOP!” he shouted, taking his head into his hands. Then, taking a deep breath, “Please stop. I just want to be… alone for bit.” A nod, then the sound of feet padding away.