FATE'S PAST

by Jason Huebinger

  Carrie wiped sweat from her brow and renewed her quest down the bloody road. She ran for about half a mile before there was a break in the woods.

  In front of Carrie was the restaurant from earlier in the day. It was unchanged—a small establishment, adorned with dull maroon-colored wood paneling, Christmas lights hanging from its roof, and a large sign that read “RESTAURANT.” But, unlike before, the Christmas lights were blinking, and a trail of blood ran to the door.

  Carrie looked all around but saw no other signs of Gretchen. There was no other way to go but forward.

  Carrie walked towards the restaurant, and as she followed the blood, a dull throb stirred in her stomach. The effects of her involuntary fast were literally eating at her.

  She walked up the restaurant’s steps and up to the door. Like earlier, she heard no movement. Taking a moment to collect herself, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  III.

  Cameron lay on the earth unharmed and alone. His mother’s body lay next to him. The section of the rope above the part tied in a noose had ripped off under his weight and rested near him. The beast had disappeared. He did not know how to find Carrie. He was alone save for his dead mother.

  Normally, Cameron did not mind being alone—he enjoyed moments with just himself and his thoughts. But this loneliness was one of absolute abandonment, as though the whole universe had moved on, and all that remained were he, the noose, and the countless trees.

  For a moment, Cameron contemplated just remaining on the earth for however long he had left. Maybe the beast would return to finish what it begun, devouring both him and his mother. Maybe he would wither away from starvation, though he still felt no tinge of hunger. Maybe he would just lay evermore. None of the possible consequences meant more or less than any of the others. He was but a meaningless and fleeting glimmer that sparkled on a diamond, never to return and with no fanfare about its exit. There would be countless other glimmers, many far greater and brighter than his.

  Cameron’s will was shattered, his mind weak. He could not remember the voice of his mother, or the words of his father. He had no comprehension of how far he had run, nor did he care all that much. He barely could remember the color of Carrie’s eyes.

  Yet, he remembered their green glow. He remembered the way they shone when she was ecstatic, and darkened when she was upset. He remembered the way the light danced off her pupils and into his essence.

  Maybe that memory was enough. Maybe…but probably not.

  Carrie was gone. Cameron’s mother and father were gone. Even the beast no longer cared to track his scent. He had no place in whatever world he existed, good or bad. He was without meaning or purpose.

  It was, far and away, the worst possible existence imaginable, and he loathed that he was living it.

  No, he wouldn’t live it. He would not wait to watch the body of his mother eaten by some demonic monstrosity. He had to get her to safety. He had to continue his journey. There was no other option.

  He stood and brushed the dirt off his clothes. When clean, he walked towards his mother, who lay on her side, her face looking away from Cameron. This suited him fine, as he did not want to stare into her deadened eyes.

  He bent down and placed his arms under her. After taking a few breaths, he lifted. Her body felt much heavier than the hundred pounds he remembered her weighing.

  Her body lay limp, her limbs bending downwards like taffy. He hated seeing her like this, so helpless and weak. He remembered her being so strong, so resilient. Perhaps it was just his youthful mind glorifying the ordinary. But perhaps not, for it would have taken an impossibly strong person to put up with his father for as long as she did. He beat her down, took away all her strength until she was less than the pulp before Cameron.

  With his mother’s body in his arms, he closed his eyes and took a moment to slow his racing mind. Over and over, he repeated her last words: Never give up. Never give up. Never give up.

  With his thoughts better stabled, he took a step. Then another. He opened his eyes and walked. To where, he did not know. All around him, the unchanging trees remained, mocking his attempts to flee, to find a safe resting place for his mother. He tried not to focus on the futility of his task, and instead pressed forward.

  Step by step, he scanned his surroundings, which did not change. He kept walking, pressing back limbs that snapped back at him, stepping on ground that did not leave an indent. Onward he went, for he would not stop until his legs gave out.

  The temperature remained oddly indifferent despite the sun beating down. He looked skyward, hoping to judge the direction of his wandering by the sun’s position. But the foliage above was much too dense, so he could not detect where the sun rested.

  Focusing his sights, he noticed that no single portion of the trees above allowed any more or less light than any other. The light poured down equally in all direction, slithering through enough to light the way, but not enough to provide any definitive path.

  Just keep going, Cameron thought, and you’ll find your way.

  He kept onward. At the start of his hike, he counted the steps, but soon lost count at around one thousand and sixty-two. With each step, he braced his mother against his chest, balancing her weight to ensure that she did not fall.

  No matter how far Cameron walked, it became no more or less difficult to carry her. Her weight remained steadfast: enough to be a burden, but not enough to overwhelm him.

  Soon, he sensed something. His stomach tightened and a tingling sensation tickled his neck. Suddenly, he was uncertain of his solitude. There were eyes on him. He was sure someone watched him.

  “Who’s there?” he yelled. Silence.

  No one’s there, he thought. Just keep going.

  He continued walking, but the feeling remained, gnawing at him. With each step, he detected the eyes coming closer. He gripped his mother even tighter, hoping to keep her in his arms if attacked.

  Leaves rustled behind him. Bringing his mother close, he turned. In the distance stood a man of Cameron’s height and build. The man wore ragged jeans, a stained white t-shirt, and a camo ball cap with the bill covering his face.

  Upon first glance, the two men seemed to be mirror images of one another. But to Cameron, the ball cap gave away the other man’s identity.

  Attempting to maintain his composure, Cameron asked, “That you?”

  “Yup.” The voice was that of Cameron’s father, Jim.

  “What are you doing here?” Cameron asked.

  “I need a damned invitation to visit my boy?” Jim looked Cameron over before saying, “What in the hell are you doin’, anyways?”

  The old flame of fury ignited within Cameron, but he tried to keep it to just a flicker. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m taking her to safety.” He couldn’t resist adding, “You know, something you never did for her.”

  “That so?” Jim said.

  “Yeah,” Cameron replied. “That’s so.”

  “Well, let me ask you this. What did you ever do for her?”

  Taken aback by the question, Cameron asked, “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what did you ever do to protect her? To stop her from being hurt? Nuthin’, that’s what. So who are you to talk back to me?”

  The anger blazed. “I was twelve, you son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah, and? When I was twelve, I was riding a tractor and helping my Pa fix the old Chevy.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “I’m sayin’ that a twelve-year-old ain’t useless. Not one bit. Not if he’s strong. But you just ain’t never was that. Strong. You liked doin’ all that other crap like reading, playin’ ball. None too concerned about what’s going on around you. Didn’t care about nobody but your damn self.”

  As Jim spoke, Cameron leaned down and softly placed his mother’s body on the earth.

  Jim kept going. “Nah, it was all about what li’l Cam wanted to do. And your
weak Momma gave you everything you asked for. She caused all of this. All of it. She did it. Can’t you see that, boy?”

  With his mother’s body on the ground, Cameron stood, clenched his fists, and said, “She was the most innocent person I’ve ever known. You did this to her. It was you and you alone. You beat her down so bad she had no other choice.”

  Jim laughed at Cameron’s comment. “Is that what you think, boy? That I did this to her. Well, if that’s the truth, how come you didn’t do nuthin’ to stop it? Just had your nose in a book, pretending nothing was happening.”

  Under his breath, Cameron said, “Stop talking. Stop talking right now.”

  “What?” Jim asked. “Can’t take the God’s honest truth? I didn’t have nuthin’ to do with your momma. She tied the knot herself. And, well, I reckon ’cause you didn’t care all that much, you helped her.”

  The fire burned through Cameron and he charged at his father. Striking shoulder first, Cameron plowed Jim into the dirt. Before they had even hit the ground, Cameron was already swinging.

  The fall threw Cameron’s punch off, and his first hit grazed Jim’s nose. But after they landed, Cameron planted his legs on Jim’s stomach and chest. Now stable, Cameron threw a second punch, this time directly between Jim’s nose and eyes.

  With all his force, Cameron struck down, and his fist landed with a crunch as Jim’s nose caved in. Cameron pulled his hand back and smiled at the blood on it. He threw a third punch with his left hand, hitting Jim’s left temple, forcing his head and hat to turn right. With the fourth punch, Cameron came in with his right hand to the right side of Jim’s face, leaving an indent in the cheekbone. He realized that he could not see Jim’s face with the hat pulled down so far, but that didn’t faze Cameron, whose vision reddened with rage.

  “God damn you!” Cameron yelled as he rained down punch after punch, each striking a different part of Jim’s face, each causing different intonations of the same cracking noise. After a few punches, the resistance lessened as mush rather than bone supported Jim’s face. Cameron didn’t stop though, because it felt too good. Each punch was for every nightmare, sleepless night, and woman pushed away.

  He only stopped when his arms tired. With no idea how many punches he had thrown, he rubbed his shoulder and looked down at his work, a bloodied Jackson Pollock masterpiece.

  Blood was everywhere. It stained Cameron’s fists, arms, shirt, pants, and the ground around them. It blotted Jim’s face, covering it in a pool of red liquid. Jim’s blood-drenched hat remained pulled down, its bill covering most of his face. Under the bill, Cameron noticed something unusual: a dash of blue.

  Slowly, Cameron pulled up the hat, revealing unmoving blue eyes staring at him. His father’s eyes were dark green. The shade of blue eyes staring at him was unmistakable––his own.

  After pulling off the hat, Cameron wiped down the bloodied face with his shirt. Once clean, it was apparent that Cameron’s blows had altered the dimensions of the face. But even after the disfigurement, Cameron knew he was not looking at his father’s face. He was looking instead at his own face and eyes.

  It’s not possible, Cameron thought as he covered the face with the hat. Cameron rubbed his eyes and shook his head. Get your shit together, Cam. He again lifted the hat, hoping to find green eyes underneath. Again, blue eyes stared through the streaks of blood.

  He placed the hat again on the face. Shaking, he stood and walked to the body of his mother, taking a knee next to her.

  For a moment, he considered seeking help. Yet a part of him knew there was no help to be found, so he continued on his mission. Steadying his breathing, he placed his hands under his mother, lifted her, and walked towards the other body. As he passed it, he turned his head to avoid eye contact.

  Adrenaline from the fight coursed through Cameron’s veins, quickening his steps. His body tingled with purpose, determined to find a safe harbor for his mother.

  Though he lost count of the steps, he eventually spotted something unusual in the distance. His walk became a jog, and soon the horror before him came into focus.

  Dozens of giants stood motionless, the shortest of which was at least thirty feet tall. The men and women wore black, and all wept. As Cameron approached, the cries grew louder. They soon became so loud that Cameron’s ears rung, but he could not cover them with his mother in his arms.

  He pushed forward, fighting against the audible onslaught. As he passed the giants, he looked up to see if he recognized anyone. All the giants had their faces buried in their hands.

  After moving past the monstrous crowd, Cameron spotted his destination: a single coffin lay next to a shovel. He placed his mother on the ground, grabbed the shovel, and reviewed the coffin. All brown with bronze handles and an ornate cross on the lid, the sun gleamed off of the coffin’s wood. Cameron knew this coffin well. He knew every inch of it. He memorized it on the day of his mother’s funeral, and its sight had never left his memory.

  His past hit him all at once, and Cameron fell to a knee, crying along with the giants nearby. He had already said goodbye once, why did he have to again? What purpose did all this serve? What had he done to deserve the hell that surrounded him?

  For a moment, he considered doing what he did as a child: stand steadfast, don’t look, and pretend like it wasn’t happening. But he was no longer a child. He was a man, burdened with the task of burying his mother.

  Collecting himself, he stood, braced against the shovel, and stared down at the dirt. He closed his eyes for a while, allowing the cries from the crowd to seep into his spirit. Then, when ready, he gripped the shovel, lifted it, and shoved it into the ground, pulling back the dirt it collected.

  One down, he thought. A thousand to go.

  He shoveled. At first, he worried that he would be fatigued from carrying his mother an indefinite distance. Yet, his arms did not feel at all tired, even with the strains of his violent thrusts into the ground.

  He shoveled, and the cries continued. After a while, the cries seeped beyond Cameron’s ears and touched his soul. They sounded much like how he used to cry so many nights in his room, after his father had passed out in his drunken stupor. Occasionally, Carrie still had to wake him when he cried in his sleep.

  He shoveled, and the cries continued. Thrust after thrust, the cries became louder and louder. Soon, Cameron trembled with anger. If I can keep it together, he thought, why can’t they? Who are they to care more than me?

  His fists tensed around the shovel as the anger built in his chest. He climbed out of the four-foot hole, walked towards the giants, and yelled, “Shut up! Shut the hell up! All of ya!”

  The giants did not heed his plea.

  Cameron screamed, “None of you knew her! Not like I did. So save your fake tears! They aren’t going to save her!”

  Again, the cries did not cease, and actually sounded louder to Cameron.

  The hand holding the shovel continued to clench and shake. The cries became too much to bear, and he rushed at the nearest giant, swinging the shovel at his shin. When the shovel struck the giant, it was as if it hit stone; the reverberation from the hit shook through the shovel and into Cameron, causing him to step back a couple steps. The rage dissipated, allowing him to collect his senses. When he calmed down, he covered his ears, walked back to the hole, and continued digging.

  Shovel after shovel, the hole slowly deepened. To block out the cries, Cameron filled his mind with thoughts of Carrie. Long nights, wonderful dinners, and possible futures kept him from fixating on the giants’ cries. Part of him understood that each shovel somehow brought him closer to Carrie.

  When the hole was about as deep as Cameron’s six-foot height, he decided he had dug enough. He climbed out and stared at what he had created. With no concept of how long it took, Cameron was still proud of his accomplishment. It wasn’t the resting place his mother deserved, but it was far better than the alternatives.

  He walked towards the coffin and
considered how best to place it into the hole. First, he considered pushing it, but he worried that it might topple and crack. So he mustered up his remaining energy to carry it.

  He stepped towards the coffin, bent down, tensed his muscles in anticipation, and grabbed the handles of the coffin. When ready, he pulled upwards with all his might; to his surprise, he lifted the coffin with little exertion. It was much less heavy than he expected, and, in fact, much less heavy than what the wood would permit. But Cameron seized the moment rather than fixate on the strangeness.

  He lifted the coffin, stepped towards the hole, and placed the coffin inside the small resting place Cameron had created. Once the coffin slid inside, Cameron climbed into the hole and opened the coffin. He caressed the red taffeta fabric, trying to determine if it was soft enough for his mother. Deciding he could do no better under the circumstances, he climbed out of the hole and approached her body

  Staring down at his mother, he felt oddly thankful. He was so young on the day of his mother’s funeral that much of it was a blur. Now, he could remember every aspect of his resting mother. And beyond remembrance, he found peace in the idea that she was away from danger. That he, in some small way, had saved her.

  When ready, he bent down and, for the last time, placed his arms around her. He lifted, savoring every moment, and approached the hole. When near it, he tightened his grip around his mother and slid into the hole.

  Gently, he placed her into her final resting place. He kissed her on the forehead like he wished he had done during her prior funeral.

  “I love you, Mom,” Cameron whispered. “And I always will. I’m sorry I couldn’t have stopped this. I would have if I could. I swear. But I never forget what you told me, Mom. Never give up.” He kissed her again and said, “I won’t. I swear to you. I’ll keep going, no matter what. Come hell or high water, I’m finding Carrie. I love you so much, Mom. Thank you, and I’m sorry.”

  With that, Cameron closed the lid to the coffin. He rested his head on the smooth wood and wept.