by Jack Parker
Grass crunched beneath a pair of feet, feet which dragged themselves across its surface, then wavered, relaxed and waited.
Someone sneezed.
"It is this way, isn't it?"
He sneezed again, then sniffed. "Yeah."
"Who would've thought the almighty Cal would catch a cold?" Her voice was chiding, laced with honey.
"Shut-up."
Lia grinned and stood there, waiting for him to catch up. Normally it was the other way around. The change in positions made her feel in control. She folded her arms and exhaled, watching her breath collect in a cloud of white, then diminish.
The fog had settled over the mountains –a few far away peaks which towered in the distance – and everything looked shrouded, misty. Icy wind cut at the bridge of her nose, but she resisted the urge to sneeze.
Cal didn't. Lia laughed.
"Shut-up."
"You've never been ill before. It's hilarious."
He caught up with her, his breathing harsh, rapid. "Do you remember the way?"
The urgency in his tone caught her off guard. Lia listened intently but heard no sirens. No, no one had come for the bodies yet –they didn't know. So what reason did he have for being urgent?
She wavered, gesticulated. "Sort of."
"We need to hurry."
He was in front of her now and she hurried to catch up. Once at his side, she replied. "Why?"
"Because."
"Because what?"
Cal coughed and Lia creased her forehead in wonderment. What was wrong with him? She began to ponder this, but was met with a sudden jerk as something collided with her, causing her to fall back into the frost. Ice pierced her flesh like daggers and she shivered abruptly, then looked around. Cal was lay, strewn across the grass, eyes closed and head cocked slightly to the side.
Panic overrode her senses and she stumbled forward, frantically searching around for any form of life. There was no one and if someone had shot, surely she would have heard it. His hand was hot, damp with sweat. Lia bit her bottom lip and felt his forehead; it was hotter.
She dropped his hand, eyes running over the broad stretch of landscape. There was no one about and he was too heavy for her to carry. Lia shot up and gazed at the forest. She knew what she had to do. As long as she remembered the way, she would be fine.
But, then again, who was to say that an old man would be able to help her carry him all the way back?
There was no other choice.
Lia raced forward, darting into the trees, her breath slicing at her throat. Icy wind lashed her cheeks, but she ignored it. The frost hadn't fully settled yet, so as long as she kept to the grass she wouldn't slip.
Luck was with her and she only took a little while to find Andy's house –the small building which stood, encircled by a pack of lush, green trees which glittered like diamonds beneath the night's wavering frost.
She pounded at the door. It shuddered and an amber light flickered on one of the windows, then the sound of descending footsteps. The old man opened the door and took in her drenched form, quizzically.
She didn't wait. "Cal, he and I – we told you we were coming, he –" She took in a jagged breath, the full extent of the situation overcoming her. "We were walking and –" She coughed, her throat still searing. "It was really cold." He had to help; he had to understand.
The old man, Andy, cut her off, his eyes running over the trees, the frost. "I think I can guess what happened. Follow me and hurry up."
She didn't take in his words, the mere suggestion of help overcoming all thought of possible logic. Something was pulling at the bottom of her stomach, her chest, and it refused to diminish.
He hurried to the back of the house, his pace brisk. A rumbling cut through the air and he returned with a vehicle; all she could see was its heavy outline. She rushed inside and sat down, then directed him with haste to where Cal was. They took another route, a wider route which enabled the vehicle to pass through –one that's existence she had been unaware of until now.
The route was hampered, trees blocking their path and lashing against the windows, so that it took longer for them to get there than it had taken for Lia to reach him. When they reached the field, she jumped out. The momentary fear, which until now had subsided, came back in a rush as she reached the unconscious body.
How were they going to pick him?
She was strong, but not that strong.
However, it was a problem she need not have worried about. Andy hauled him into the vehicle and they were off again, cutting through the wood and back to his house. Upon reaching it, he took him out and tossed Lia the key, ordering for her to open the door. She did.
Darkness met them and she fumbled with a light switch and then, once she had found it, helped Andy haul him up the stairs and to a room. It was a small room, the walls of which were plastered with posters. The light was too dim for her to make them out and even if it hadn't been, she was far too scared to give them a second glance.
She found the switch and pressed, but was met with nothing. A rasping was heard, then a flicker of light from Andy's direction. He lit a candle, placed it on a small desk beside the bed and turned to her.
"The lights need fixing upstairs."
Lia cast her gaze to Cal's figure as he lay, strewn across the bed. She hurried towards him, his breathing heavy.
"What's wrong with him?" She crouched down beside the bed.
"The frost." She felt something move and Andy stood up. "Ever since – His body's not good with cold weathers. It's weak in that sense, but he'll be fine by the morning." His voice was warm, cordial, and she had no other option but to believe him, so she did.
He went to the door. "I'm bringing him something warm to eat. I'll show you to your room meanwhile; you should get some sleep."
She nodded numbly. Lia was tired and that's what she needed right now. Sleep. Hopefully it would clear her mind.
* * *
-
Rain… lashing… pattering.
A scream.
-
His breathing grew harsh, jagged.
-
White… so white…
Something shattered.
-
He tossed, turned to the side.
-
Gray light … black… darkness. It pooled through.
Frost was settling.
-
Fists clenched over damp covers and knuckles glistened a stark white from holding on so tight. Moonlight danced over white highlights.
-
Glass… screeching… screams echoing…night…
"Where are you?"
-
The figure tossed again, harder this time.
-
Something fell, balanced, dripped...
"Where are you!?"
-
His breathing grew heavier, louder.
-
Frost glittered over the bone…
"WHERE ARE YOU?–"
-
"Cal!"
A voice jolted him from his sleep and he shot up, panting. His vision was blurred, muffled, and he shook his head, trying to clear it. A warm glow swept over the room and he blinked twice, the figure before him stumbling into focus. That glow outlined her form, a shower of black and rich skin, but before he could make out who it was the bed jolted.
She pounced, her arms wrapped around his neck. He fell onto the bed and his head collided with the board.
"I'm so glad you're okay! I was so worried."
He coughed. "Lia –"
She blinked and met his gaze. "Huh?"
"You're choking me."
Something in her gaze flickered, as if a light bulb had suddenly come on, and she let go, then let out a sheepish laugh and scratched the back of her head. Her voice was softer this time. "I was worried."
She wrapped her arms around her legs, pulling them to her chest, and awaited admonition.
Cal pulled himself up so that he was in a sitting posi
tion. His vision had cleared out now and all he felt was a slight chill. He propped his chin on his hand. "I'm touched." His tone was dry.
Lia pouted and shoved him. "Ass." He fell back again, his body slightly limp, and her eyes widened. "Oh my god, are you OKAY?"
"Yeah…" His head had hit the board again and now he felt dizzy.
"I'm so sorry!" Her voice was so high pitched that he wanted to laugh.
He did.
Her forehead creased into a frown and she huffed. "Here's me being all concerned and all you can do is be all annoying and –"
Cal cut her off. "Lia."
"What?"
"Just shut-up."
"That's harsh."
A grin. "You're cute when you're worried."
"Only you would say something that sadistic."
He cocked his head to the side. "You were worried about me?"
Lia swung her legs. "Don't stick it too far up your ass."
"Crude."
"I know, yeah."
Silence ensued for a few seconds, then she added, only softer. "What happened?"
"I fainted."
She shook her head. "No, I mean, like –"
"I have a weak chest." The answer was final but she knew there was something more to it, something deeper. She didn't pry. The look in his eyes –she knew that it would be pointless.
The flame flickered, casting an amber glow over the room and coating it in warmth. Shadows danced across his face and Lia fumbled with her hair.
Silence again.
Lia coiled a strand over her fingertips, watching gold light dance over black and make it appear lighter, browner. She looked up and met his gaze head on. His look was intense and he looked paler – a slight milky color – beneath the harsh light, the wavering gold. Green eyes glinted, pooled with the amber and the corner of his lips was tugged up in a half grin.
She creased her forehead, tugging at the hair. "What?"
His eyes didn't leave hers and she felt unnerved, self conscious. Cal leaned forward and propped both elbows on the bed. Still no answer.
"What?" she reiterated, something cutting at the edge of her tone.
She averted her gaze, cast it over the candle. Wax dripped down in a pool of white and the flame was dim. It would be best to go to Andy and get some matches. Lia made to move but a hand grabbed her wrist. She met his gaze again; green shimmered like clear water sparkling in an oasis. He pulled her wrist and she fell forward, meeting with his chest. Cal wrapped his arms around her, his head in her hair.
He was so warm.
Candle light flickered, wavered.
She closed her eyes and dug her head into his shirt. Lia exhaled, took in the scent and was washed, basked in something incomprehensible. His arms tightened, as did her grip. An ecstasy and a fleeting thought; something fluttered, flickered over the flame, was washed anew, then reined through ashes which ravaged, peaked and flew away to the wind.
It lasted for a few seconds, then lips fell to her ear and a soft whisper. "The candle's going out."
His breath tickled her ear and she pulled her hands from his chest. "I'll go get the matches from Andy," she breathed. She pulled away, slid off the bed and out of the room.
The hallway was dark and she squinted, searched for the stairs and made her way down. The lights worked down-stairs, so she merely had to put on the hall light and it would pass to the landing. The matches were probably in the kitchen and all she had to do now was find it.
After putting the main light on, she scoured her eyes over the small hall, then went for the door nearest to her. It was the kitchen. She slid it open and the first color she saw was white, a stark, blinding white.
Andy was perched on the counter, a pipe placed deftly between his lips. A window above the sink was open, chill air cutting through the room. Moonlight pooled over his white hair, the coarse, gray-white strands. He looked so solid, stark, vivid, beneath the shattered light and she watched him, his gaze cast towards the open window, as he fiddled with the pipe. He looked soft, worn, but there was something firm about him, something livid and powerful and immeasurable by mere words.
A question shot through her mind, one which would not be polite to ask, but she could not help but wonder. How old was he? And, considering this question her thoughts wavered again, strayed. At one point in time he must have been the same as her –nineteen years old – so did that mean that he had felt the same things as her, been through the same experiences? And since he was older, he must have been through so much more and he must have overcome everything somehow to have lasted this long. If he had been in her situation, what would he have done and did he know what the right thing to do was? Did he know the answers to all of those questions, those which plagued her every day because he had been through that time in life and overcome the obstacles or was he still as ignorant as she was? Looking at him made her realize how ignorant she must have been –how ignorant she was – because if she had learnt so much in such a short space of time, how much must he have learnt through so many years?
The respect formed, filled her and made her see him in a new light.
She wondered, what had he been through?
"The candle has gone out?"
His voice cut her from her reverie. She nodded, nimbly. "Yes. Well, not entirely, but –"
He tossed her a box. She caught it. "Take them anyway and relight it."
Lia bit her bottom lip. "Okay." She made for the door, then wavered, stopped, turned around. A question which had been plaguing her for so long resounded, reverberated and she felt an inclination to ask.
Andy noticed that she was still there. The old man brought his pipe to his lips, breathed in and let it out in a puff of smoke. "Yes?"
Lia gesticulated, shuffled her feet and met his gaze. "I – How do you, I mean, how do you know Cal?"
A light grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "You don't know much about him, do you?"
It wasn't the answer to her question; nonetheless, it heightened her curiosity. "I don't." It was a statement, an admittance to something that she herself had not until now realized, rather than an answer. "Tell me."
"If he hasn't told you," he fiddled with the pipe, "then I am not inclined to break his trust."
She replied, indignantly, "He's not exactly in the state to tell me anything."
"He's not." The placidity, the finality, in his tone irked her.
Anger boiled. "Tell me."
"No."
"Why not?"
The old man cast his gaze towards her and there was something harsh, unnerving in his gaze. "I have no right to tell the secrets of another. If he hasn't told you, then he must have good reason to."
Lia stood, defeated. "I don't understand."
The old man shrugged. "His mother used to send him here when he was a child. He liked the trees," he supplied, in answer to her earlier question. "He said they were strong, independent, and the best thing was that they didn't talk, merely listened. And he liked that."
She blinked, unsure as on how to answer. She didn't need to.
"The candle must be out by now." His voice carried over, through the air and she knew that there was so much more to what he said –so much then she didn't, and maybe never could, understand because he was so much older, so much wiser, and he knew so much more.
He resumed with his pipe and she left, closing the door behind her.
* * *
Morning light blared through the window and Lia awoke, squinting, then shivered. The window was caked in frost and outside she could see white, a glittering milky white, sprinkled over the small hollow of trees. The grass was a faint green, then white at the tips and shimmering like shattered diamonds.
A noise was audible from downstairs: a television. Someone must have already been awake. She made her way out of the room and downstairs, following the sound. Upon reaching the sitting-room she discovered that both Cal and Andy were awake –Cal slouched on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, eating and watching te
levision whilst Andy was perched on a table in the corner, smoking his pipe.
Andy was the first to notice her. "Good morning."
