by Amy Cross
“That she what?”
“Well, she...”
I take a deep breath. I guess I have to tell him now.
“Well,” I continue, as the child's cries get louder and louder, “she died. I'm sorry to have to tell you that, but Ms. Stewart succumbed to her injuries while she was still in the vehicle.”
“What are you talking about?” he asks. “Charlotte's...”
He pauses, before turning and stumbling across the dark room. When he reaches the doorway, he stops for a moment and stares out at the snow.
“Charlotte's the best driver I know,” he says cautiously, keeping his voice so low that I can barely make out a word he's saying. “She must have... I mean, she'd never...”
He pauses again, before turning to me.
“It looks like she left the road at high speed,” I explain. “Obviously we'll get to the bottom of it as soon as possible, but... Sir, can you confirm to me that you were in the car with Ms. Stewart? And the child?”
“It grabbed us,” he mutters.
“I'm sorry?”
He turns to me, and for the first time I see a hint of fear in his eyes. “It was like we were driving along,” he continues, “and then a giant invisible hand just reached out from the forest and pulled us off the road.”
I wait for him to explain exactly what he means, but he falls silent.
“Right,” I say finally, “and... So, um...”
My voice trails off.
I'm not quite sure how to respond to all of this.
“Did you hit your head?” I ask finally. “Sir? In the impact, did you bump your head in any way? Did you maybe come here to recover?”
“It was so sudden,” he replies. “The car just rose up in the air, turned over, and then slammed down off the side of the road. There was nothing Charlotte could have done. Is she okay?”
“She -”
I swallow hard. Clearly this guy doesn't remember what I told him just a moment ago.
“What's your name?” I ask, figuring I should try a different tack. “Sir? Can you tell me your name?”
“It just grabbed the car,” he replies, his voice filled with a sense of wonder. “Just... plucked it straight off the road and down into the snow. I didn't see it, but I felt it. I felt the wheels spinning and the engine surging as the car was swung around and...”
Again, I wait for him to continue, and again he seems lost in his own thoughts.
“So what exactly happened?” I ask cautiously. “Are you saying there was a gust of wind that blew the car off the road? That seems quite extreme.”
“It wasn't a gust of wind. It was a hand. I felt it.”
“A giant hand?”
I wait.
No reply.
“Are you really sure about that part?” I continue. “It just seems a little... difficult to swallow.”
“It was strong enough to lift the car up. Strong enough to turn it around. The engine died on impact. Charlotte was still screaming, I think. And Esther too. And there was glass everywhere.”
“Right. So Esther would be...”
My voice trails off as I hear the child's sobs continue.
“Is that Esther now?” I ask. “Can you maybe let me know where I can find her? I'd really like to check that she's okay.”
I watch as he grips the door-frame, and it's clear that he's struggling to stay on his feet. In fact, the more I watch him, the more I start to realize that he seems very unsteady.
“Maybe you should sit down,” I tell him, heading over to join him at the door. I look around for a light-switch, but suddenly the man stumbles and grabs my arm, and I have to reach around behind him and support his weight. “Easy there,” I gasp, already on the verge of dropping him. “Let's get you back to a chair, okay?”
He mumbles something under his breath, but he's starting to rasp slightly and I barely manage to get him to the nearby sofa before he slumps down.
“What's your name?” I ask. “Can you tell me that?”
Again, he mumbles something unintelligible.
“You've got a name, don't you?” I add. “It'd be really useful if you could tell me what it is.”
I wait, but he still seems way too dazed to answer. Spotting a bulge in the pocket of his pants, I reach down and slip his wallet out.
“Tony Stewart,” I read out loud from the license card. “Okay. Hi, Tony Stewart. I'm gonna guess that maybe you're Charlotte's husband. And maybe Esther's father? Is that right?”
He doesn't show so much as the faintest flicker of recognition as I slide the wallet back into his pocket.
“You shouldn't try to move too much,” I continue, taking a step back. “Listen, I've got no way of getting in touch with the station from here, and you're clearly not in any fit state to come traipsing through the forest with me.” I pause, trying to think of a better plan, before realizing that there's really only one option. “You're gonna have to stay here,” I add finally. “I'll be quick, and I promise I'll bring help, but I have to wait until my colleague comes back with the truck. He'll know how to help you. Okay?”
“Help Charlotte,” he groans.
“I'm not sure I can do that.”
“Help Charlotte. And Esther. Get her away from him...”
“Okay, well...” Realizing that he seems like he's out of his mind and then some, I figure there's no point explaining about Charlotte Stewart all over again.
Still, the girl is crying, but I really can't figure out where she might be. I head to the door and look through into what seems to be the little house's only other room, but there's no sign of her. Turning, I head back over to Tony.
“I hate to leave you,” I continue, “but the sooner I go, the sooner hopefully I can get help. Do you understand? I'm gonna go, but I'll come back real soon. It'll probably be an hour or two. Okay?”
I wait, but he's simply sitting and staring down at his lap. Frankly, he's acting like he's three or four sheets to the wind, although I don't smell alcohol and I'm pretty sure he took a nasty bump on the noggin. Hopefully someone can help him once a medical team arrives, but for now it might be better if he just sits right here and tries to avoid getting too stressed. Heck, by the time I get outside, he'll probably have forgotten I was even here.
“Okay,” I say after a moment, taking a step back. “I think we understand one another. I'll go get help. Just hang on in there.”
Turning, I head to the doorway. I'm still not entirely sure that I'm doing the right thing, but it's not like I can drag the guy through the snow, and I'm more than a little freaked out by the fact that I can't find the source of the sobbing sound.
I stop for a moment and check my radio, just in case by some miracle it's working now, and then I look out at the dark, snowy forest. I'm not exactly looking forward to the trek back to the car, but a moment later I realize that I might actually be saving a life. That thought is somewhat overwhelming, and I pause for a few seconds before figuring that I should get going. I reach down and make sure my jacket is zipped all the way to the top, and then I step out onto the porch.
Suddenly I hear stumbling footsteps over my shoulder, and I turn just as Tony comes staggering through the doorway. Startled, I step back and watch as he tumbles past me. He drops to his knees and lets out a gasp as he rolls onto his side, and then he starts slowly hauling himself back up.
“Slow down there,” I tell him. “What's wrong? You don't need to be -”
He mumbles something, loudly but without making sense, and then he turns to face me. Moonlight picks out his features, and there's genuine fear in his eyes. A moment later, I see something dark starting to dribble from his mouth, and I realize he's bleeding.
“You really need to rest,” I say cautiously, stepping closer and reaching out to take his arm. “Listen, I -”
“Help Charlotte,” he gurgles, as more blood runs down his chin.
“I think -”
“Help Charlotte!” This time he stumbles toward me, spraying blood fr
om his mouth.
“Wait -”
“Esther!” he gurgles.
I step aside, avoiding most of the blood but getting a small splatter on my shoulder. Tony grabs my arms and holds himself up for a few seconds, and then he turns away.
Something is embedded in the back of his head, shining in the moonlight.
He stumbles out into the snow.
“Wait!” I shout, trying not to panic as I grab his wrist. “You're hurt!”
He murmurs something indecipherable, and it's clear that he's starting to become increasingly agitated.
“You have something in your head,” I continue, peering closer and seeing what looks like the side of a large glass shard running horizontally from the back of his head all the way to the spot behind his left ear. As he turns to stumble away again, I hold him close and see that a big chunk of glass is definitely wedged in his head.
“Help Charlotte,” he whispers, sounding a little frantic now. “Help Charlotte... You have to help Charlotte... Esther...”
“I think I have to help you right now,” I tell him. “Come on, let's get you back into the -”
“Help Esther!” he stammers again, clearly starting to worry. “Don't let him get her!”
“Tony, please -”
“Help her!” he shouts, pulling away from me and stumbling out into the snow, before losing his footing and dropping to his knees. “You've got to help Esther! He wants to take her, and I don't think she can defend herself!”
I step a little closer, while making my way behind him so I can get a better look at whatever the heck is embedded in the back of his head. So far, it looks like a long, thick slice of glass, but I keep telling myself that this simply isn't possible. If he had a chunk of glass wedged in his brain, there's no way he'd be able to talk or walk.
“Help Esther,” he groans, suddenly reaching up with trembling, blood-stained fingers and fumbling to find the glass. “You have to help her...”
It takes a moment, but finally his fingers reach the glass and I watch in horror as he takes a firm grip. He winces slightly, silhouetted against the moonlit snow, and then slowly he starts to pull the piece of glass free.
“I don't think you should do that,” I stammer, hearing a faint gurgling, sucking sound. “I really -”
Before I can finish, I see a torrent of blood run from his mouth and down his chin. His hands are trembling more than ever, but he's slowly and steadily sliding the glass out. After a few more seconds, he pulls the large chunk completely free, leaving a thick and bloody wound running across the back of his head. As more blood runs down his chin, he takes a look at the glass for a moment, furrowing his brow as if he doesn't quite understand where it came from.
More and more blood is running from his mouth now, spattering against the glass and the snow. It's almost as if the glass was keeping the blood in his head, and now it's all coming out.
“I don't know that you should've done that,” I tell him, as thick, dark blood starts oozing from the back of his head. “Maybe you oughta just -”
I let out a shocked shriek as he suddenly gets to his feet. He turns to me, dropping the piece of glass in the process, and then he takes a lumbering step forward.
“You've got to get her out of here!” he gasps, sounding firmer and more certain than before. “What are you doing here? Go find Esther and get her out of the forest before it's too late!”
“I don't know what you mean,” I stammer, stepping back. “Please -”
“Save Esther! And Charlotte!”
“Charlotte's dead!” I tell him, trying not to panic. “I can't save her! She's dead in her car!”
“No!” he yells. “That's not possible!”
He reaches for me, but I stumble back through the doorway and watch in horror as he limps closer. After just a moment, however, he stumbles and drops to his knees, and he grabs hold of the door-handle as if he knows that otherwise he'll collapse completely.
“Save them!” he gasps. “Don't let him -”
Suddenly he slumps forward, slamming against the wooden floor with a heavy thud. I take a couple more steps back, too shocked to know what I should do next, but now Tony is completely still. I wait, terrified that he might start moving again but also horrified by the idea that he could be dead. There's a large pool of blood spreading from beneath his head, however, and I don't think there can be much doubt, not now.
Figuring that I have to be sure, I step closer and crouch down, taking a moment to feel for a pulse on the side of his neck. I'm poised, ready to leap out of the way if he so much as twitches, but there's no pulse and his glassy eyes are wide open, staring over at the far wall.
And this time, he's not blinking.
I sit in stunned silence for a moment, staring at the corpse. A man just died right in front of me. I've never seen anyone actually die before, not in real life, and it's hard to believe that just sixty seconds ago he was up and about and talking.
“Hello?” I whisper finally. “Tony, can you...”
My voice trails off. After a moment, I lean closer and check his pulse again, just in case I was wrong before.
“Well... Rest in peace,” I stammer, reaching down to close his eyes. I close one, and then I have to kinda grab his head and turn it so I can reach the other. Finally I get the job done, however, and I slowly stumble to my feet before taking a step back.
He's dead.
He's really dead.
A man just died right in front of me.
“Oh God,” I whisper, making the sign of the cross against my chest before remembering that I'm not actually religious.
The child's sobs are continuing, although they sound a little less urgent now.
Suddenly I hear footsteps outside the cabin, and I stumble back. I stare at the open door, listening as footprints come closer, but so far I don't see anyone. I can hear a faint whistling sound, however, followed a moment later by the heavy thud of feet on the wooden porch. Finally, the silhouette of a large, bulky figure steps into view. His whistling ends abruptly and he stops, staring at me.
I take a step back, too startled to say anything much of use. I reach for my gun, before reminding myself that there's no reason to think this new arrival is a threat. In fact, I figure there's a chance he might be here to help.
“Well,” he says finally, with a calm voice, as he removes his hat. “This certainly isn't what I was expecting to find when I got home tonight.”
Twenty-Nine
Molly Abernathy
“Sorry,” I stammer, taking a step back. “My name is Molly Abernathy. I'm from Deal, I just -”
“I can who you are from your jacket,” he replies, interrupting me. He has a very calm, very soothing voice, which isn't something I've encountered very often out here in the wilds. From his silhouette, he appears to be a very thin man; despite this, when he takes another step forward, the floorboards creak under his feet. They didn't creak under mine.
I look over at Tony's body.
“Am I too late?” the man asks, stepping over to one of the chairs and setting a satchel down. “I'm afraid my storage area is quite some distance from my cabin. I told the poor man I'd be back as soon as possible, but there's so much snow...”
His voice trails off. Somewhere nearby, the girl is still sobbing.
“Still, it's not much of a surprise,” he continues. “That piece of glass in the back of his head was probably not survivable. Not at all. One still felt compelled to attempt a little assistance, though. I knew I couldn't call for outside help, so I resolved to go through my own medical supplies.” He pauses, watching me with a hint of caution. “Perhaps it's better this way. Perhaps I would only have increased his agony.”
He steps toward me and holds out a hand.
“But where are my manners?” he adds. “I neglected to introduce myself properly. You may call me Sebastian.”
As soon as I feel his hand in mind, I'm shocked to find that he's incredibly bony. So bony, in fact, that I almos
t feel he maybe has no skin. Or one layer at most. Just as my imagination threatens to run wild, however, he leans forward slightly, and I finally see his gaunt, smiling face.
“You're a long way from the road,” he points out, his voice purring a little now as he slips his hand away. “I can't remember the last time I saw anyone venturing this far into the forest. I'm used to being left quite along out here.”
“I...”
For a moment, my mind feels strangely blank, but I manage to pull my thoughts together.
“I was following some tracks,” I stammer, trying to force a smile before quickly giving up. “Through the forest. From the road. I mean, from the crash site.”
“The crash site?”
“It's out there,” I continue, pointing kinda unnecessarily toward the door. “It's not far from here. I followed the tracks and, well, I think this Tony guy was in the car's passenger seat when the accident happened.”
He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Accident?”
“The car went off the road,” I tell him. “It rolled real bad and, well, we already had one fatality. Now it looks like we have two.”
He looks down at Tony for a moment. “I suppose that would explain the glass in the back of his head.”
“Did you know about the crash?” I ask. “Did you know Tony?”
I wait for a reply, but Sebastian seems to be focused entirely on Tony's body, almost as if he expects to see some movement.
“Where's the girl?” I continue.
Again, no response.
“There's a girl,” I point out, as the sobbing continues somewhere nearby. “I'd really like to get a look at her, but I can't quite figure out where she is.”
“I encountered him out there in the forest,” he replies suddenly, heading over to the satchel and pulling it open. His bony hands reach inside, and he starts taking out medical equipment, which he sets on a nearby table. “Obviously I knew he had to have come from somewhere, but I'm afraid I failed to get a sensible answer out of him. His mind was quite gone, you see. Quite ragged and torn. I suspect he'd suffered some kind of irreversible damage. He was rather ranting and raving.”
