There was a freedom from running, the burning lungs and the wind whipping your face, the grass crushing beneath your feet with each step. Fisher didn't run unless a cop was chasing him, but tonight he needed to get away from the shackles that bound him, away from the people and that place, the ghosts and the insanity and medication, straight jackets and people screaming. He needed to feel like a human being for just a night, just an hour. This was the closest he had felt since college.
The lighthouse was closer and bigger with each stride, and while James slowed down, Fisher did not. His feet kicked up dirst in the path, small stones cutting into his skin but he ignored it. The other man's voice was barely heard over the rushing wind in his ears. "Been told I was a great kisser once!" he shot back, using up a lungful of air he could not afford to lose. Everything ached, and felt great at the same time.
Finally he reached the lighthouse, his run slowing to a jog, then a staggering amble before he fell hard onto the bottom step of the winding staircase, panting like he'd been sprinting at the bottom of a volcano. He waited for James to get to him, leaning back on the staircase to catch his breath. It took a few moments, but finally the other man arrived, a strange look on his face.