Damn it, Christian, think.
I lay her down in front of a tall shrub so I can peer through the wrought iron barricade before me. “Don’t worry, sugar. He musthelp, he said he would.” I notice the gate has already been pushed apart, and the lock is broken.
Fuck, finally a break.
I grab Evelyn's arm, sliding her over the back of my shoulders in a makeshift ‘fireman carry,’ then weasel the two of us through the opening. The ghost town that materializes before me is silent, and devoid of light, with no sign of life whatsoever. As I carry Evelyn, we cross the massive grounds of the estate and up the stairs to the front entrance of the mansion. Before I knock, a blood-curdling scream reverberates off the pavement.
I step back as the screams continue, then dash around the back of the building. A cellar door comes into view, and as I lay my hands on the wood, I see the lock is broken. “That damned soul. This was, more than likely, their point of entrance.” I huff as I try to change my hold on Evelyn, shifting her weight so it’s easier to carry her. Then, like a lighthouse to a lost ship at sea… a beacon of salvation… far in the distance, shines a small, warm light.
I walk up to the building, glancing briefly inside the windows—avoiding the ability to be seen. It harbors a quaint little library, as the front stretches into a half-circle. Windows line the walls around the display of a little café, which sits snug in the upper corner, while the bookshelves disappear behind the barista’s bar. I find a safe place to lay Evelyn’s head, nestling her into some leaves beneath a winter-kissed bush.
I brush away the matted hair on her forehead and plant a soft kiss. “They better help you, or they’ll be the ones screaming. I will burn this entire plot to the ground and rebuild our lives from the ashes.” I reach up and squeeze the handle of the baseball bat hidden underneath my hoodie. “If I get even the slightestfeeling that he will turn you away, they will join the other souls soaked into the wood of this bat.” Tears bruise the back of my eyes as they torturously threaten to break loose, causing me to pull the Louisville from its homemade sheath and lay it on the cold ground next to her.
I hold Evelyn’s frosted hands in mine, before I slide the hoodie from my shoulders to use it as a makeshift blanket—with hopes it will provide her with warmth. I watch as a figure peeks between the bookshelves. A little old lady is restocking and putting books back in their designated places.
As I am here knelt alongside Evelyn. I recite a prayer I learned in basic, “Oh father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.” I look up to the sky, and proceed, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done... on Earth, as it is in Heaven.”
Looking back to her I start to sing, stopping when I notice her crystal blue eyes are open and staring at me, pleading with me. Red and glassy, but that didn’t matter—they were open.
Evelyn
What is this darkness that I am cloaked in? What are these random splashes of blues and purples?
The splatters appear like watercolors on canvas, then dissipate into the fabric of the void that surrounds me—it's like I’ve been lost in the ether and walkingthrough the passages of time. Moments my soul remembers but my mind doesn’t recall—fading in and out like the memoirs at the end of documentaries, that read, “In memory of…”
Suddenly, I am paralyzed, and my body is stiff, as a helpless feeling shackles me within myself. I can’t open my eyes, nor move my limbs. I am petrified as the same words echo habitually in my brain.
It’s your fault.
You are worthless.
You were never as special as she was.
YOU.DID.THIS!
Air whips around me as I fall, and the oxygen leaves my lungs while I panic. A cold sensation, like being plunged into an ice bath, encompasses my body—I still can’t move.
Anxiety hits me, seizing control of my other senses, and that’s when the scenery around me becomes more vivid. Then it hits me, I remember this night the only difference is she’s staring at me. With fear painted on her face, she just sits there, the depiction of an old oil painting—forever etched into the history of art.
The next instance, she begins to scream, but no words come out. “Emory!”I shout back, only to find it was in vain—I sit frozen, as my face catches fire from the tears that plummet downward. I look away from her, allowing them to fall, allowingmyself to feel. Just as I do, the voices are back, and this time they are right in my ear. Maneuvering my gaze back to her, all the emotion in her face has drained. She is just sitting there, straight-faced, glaring into my soul.
“It’s your fault.”She speaks, and the noise dies down around us, even the water as it rushes in through the car window—Is silent.“You are worthless. You were never as special as I was.”
Finally, I scream. “No! That isn’t true! You aren’t her!” That didn’t stop it though. Whatever demonic entity or dark part of my spirit that was trying to manipulate my memory of her continued with its torment.
“YOU. DID. THIS. TO. ME!”This creature wearing her face yells back at me, but I know better. Emory would never say that to me, but the figment of my imagination proceeds—repeating the last sentence, louder and louder.
Then silence, once again. I open my eyes after having previously closed them in a failed attempt to shut it out. I see Emory in the passenger seat, her head slumped as blood pours down her face—the true image I had from that night.
I can move now, so I duck under the seat belt strap. Leaning toward her, I slide my lower half from the belt—my body is now free, but she doesn’t budge. Reaching across her body, I attempt to free her as well. When her buckle won't release, I try to pull the material over her head the same way I did mine.
No use, it’s locked in place.
The mechanics are stuck, giving no leeway for the material to retract any further, and the water is rising fast. I yank the fabric in hopes of breaking the locking mechanism—to no avail.
I grab the belt where it meets the car, and just as I am about to pull, a voice, not belonging to Emory—speaks.“You did this to me, Eve.”This voice was soft and cryptic, and there is a ‘darkness’ about it. The words come out muffled, like they were being spoken underwater—the water barely hasn’t even reached our chest.
Immense pain.
