by Raven Taylor
WINTER
By RAVEN TAYLOR
What is it I am waiting for sat here alone in the blind dark with only my fears and my misfortune? Is this how they feel? If so then why do they fight so hard to cling to life when the cool embrace of death is so soothing? So long I have been in ignorance and through ignorance have arrogantly stood up to a force I never really understood. Now I understand that force at last, what it is to be one of my kind, now that I am left only with this darkness that shrouds my wilting body.
There is warm rivers trickling slowly across my palms. Small drips growing pregnant until the weight becomes too much and they fall heavily from my finger tips to be swallowed by the silence. My level of consciousness changes, I can feel it shifting in my head like the sands in an hour glass. Yes, the grains are slipping away from me, a landslide inside my very mind, and the feeling is pleasant, giddy, like floating or being high.
The initial stab of pain throbbed and then slowly disappeared a long time ago down that narrow hole with the first of the sand. I feel the greater part of my being now following it into the abyss. It is good to let go and be consumed willingly by depths of blackness. To drift in a new sea. To rest as the drum slows. The clock ticks but once an hour. I now see each individual grain as it falls. I watch as each memory leaves...Caroline! My eyes snap open. Caroline...I am going to give you something most people never get...if I get through this and come out on the other side I will come back to you and explain it all. I promise.Then you can decide... There is no sense of time anymore. I do not try to stop it go. One heart beat. One gentle tick. One last lulling breath. One last twitch of my hand...this is for you Caroline...
PROLOGUE
It was as though all at once the world had fallen still, spell bound by some unseen force that held it captive in a state of suspended animation. Nothing moved; not the bare, skeletal branches of the trees, nor the birds who seemed to have deserted this place, not even the cold biting air. It seemed that it had been this way for weeks now, as though everything under the perpetually grey sky held its collective breath and waited in anticipation. Waiting perhaps for the liberation of spring to come and set it free.
Winter had descended swiftly and without warning this year and had swept across the land turning the earth to iron before blanketing it in a clean white shroud that temporarily hid all that was ugly and made it seem that for once the world was pure and innocent.
Then there she was; cheeks flushed red from the cold, eyes shining, a stray red curl falling across her white cheek, smiling at me as she looked back over her shoulder and beckoned me into the clearing. But she isn’t really there of course. Only in my mind.
I am the only one here. I hear a bird utter some sad strangled cry and I see beautiful red roses recently laid in the snow that have been turned so wonderfully fragile by the frost. Delicate tributes to someone’s memory, a tiny gesture to say they haven’t been forgotten and never will be. My boots crunch in the snow and as I come to stop in the clearing I find myself inexplicably offended when I realise that so much snow has fallen I can’t even see what it is I came here for. It seems such a blatant show of disrespect and, angrily, I crouch down so that I can brush away the powder from the marble surface. Ah now this is what I came for; the gold leaf lettering that is her final eulogy.
I feel my pain still as fresh and cutting as ever and I press my cheek against the cold marble. I hate to think of her alone in the cold ground. I wish I could hold her. I tell her in a low whisper that I am sorry and make a silent vow that I will find her again, that nothing will separate us, not even death.
Ah yes, death. I know all there is to know about death and even now I despise it still.
I sit down in the snow and lean back against her headstone. I know what I have to do, there is nothing left in this world for me now but I simply cannot let this go unsaid. It may take a while but that doesn’t matter, I am not in a hurry, I am happy just to be here, knowing she is close by. Caroline, I realise I left without saying goodbye and I never truly thanked you for the kindness you showed me. That's why this is for you. You deserve to know the truth. I hope you can forgive me for what I am about to do.
On the other side of the clearing there is a large stone angel on a pedestal. The artist who created her has expertly captured every fold in her flowing gown with startling detail. The march of the decades has robbed her of one of her arms but the remaining one is cast up towards the sky while her head is tilted towards heaven. Her face has such a perfect expression of mourning that it is almost painful to look at it. She is almost a perfect mirror of my own sorrow, so like me in so many ways.
“It has to be told Lilly,” I say out loud, as though my writing this needs justified, almost as if I am seeking her approval. And would she approve? Would she want the world to know the story of our time together?
“It has to be told,” I say again but this time with more conviction, “You told me once I could be a writer, well let's see."
I put pen to paper and begin to write and once I start I know I will find it hard to stop.
CHAPTER ONE
“I don’t suppose there’s much point in asking you how you got there, out on the road that is?” His face was so close now I could see the lines around his eyes that told his age. He was older than I had first thought. From across the table the lines had not been so visible but now, as he leaned in towards me with his exasperated stare, I could see them clearly. The intensity of his scrutiny made me feel self conscious, made me wonder again what it was he had seen in me when we first met that had made him shudder, and I lowered my head, thankful for the way my long dark hair fell and shielded me from him.
“Well?” he pushed. I was all to aware that I had not given him an answer and I would have given anything to be able to tell him something, anything, but I just did not know. I had not been able to answer any of his questions and he was loosing patience with me. He probably had a family at home waiting for him. All of this must have been a terrible inconvenience, especially on Christmas Eve.
“I don’t know.” my voice was barely audible, a mere whisper.
“What about your date of birth? Can you tell me how old you are?”
He had been quizzing me like this since I arrived. One question after another in quick succession as though firing at me like that would jolt my memory. What is your name? Where do you live? Do you stay with family? Do you know what day it is? I tried to think, to summon anything that might be of use but my mind remained blank. I didn’t know who I was, where I lived, how old I was or why I had been walking down the road in the woods through the snow completely naked.
“Well you don’t look much more than a kid to me, late teens, early twenties perhaps,” he speculated as I stole a glance at him from behind my hair, “Did somebody hurt you?”
That question frightened me and I tried to shrink back into the chair. Perhaps I had suffered a trauma so great out there in the woods that it had wiped my mind completely blank. Could such a thing happen? I felt as though a storm was brewing in my head. All these questions sent my thoughts spinning in a thousand directions yet still I could remember nothing.
“Well are you injured?” he pressed, “Surely you must be able to tell me that?”
“Stop!” I wailed and pressed my hands to my ears.
“Please,” interjected a soft voice from behind him, “I think you’re upsetting him.”
He pushed his chair back and stood up. The storm in my head began to retreat and I felt a little better at not having him so close. I gave you a grateful look. You smiled at me from where you stood by the desk, a weak, uncertain sort of smile. You looked uncomfortable, Caroline, as you hugged yourself and shuffled from one foot to the other, nuzzling your chin into your scarf and becoming suddenly very interested i
n a poster about Neighbourhood Watch. Where you perhaps regretting getting involved? We had been here nearly half an hour and you must be eager to get to your sister. You had told me as we drove that that was where you were going. Going to spend Christmas with your estranged family. You had told me a lot of very personal things during that short journey, as though something in my silence had compelled you to surrender all there was to know about your life; about the abusive husband you had finally escaped after years of unhappiness, about how he had forbidden you contact with your family, about the baby niece you would be meeting for the first time, about your parent’s farm out here in the middle of no where to which you had been driving from your home in Edinburgh. And where was the middle of nowhere? We had been somewhere near Loch Eck when you picked me up, so I was told. You had talked the whole way, endlessly, while I had sat silent and afraid. Funny how some people talk and talk when they are nervous, as though telling their life story to a perfect stranger might somehow ease their jangled nerves. Now here we were in the tiny police station that served an unfamiliar place called Dunoon.
“How can someone not even know if they are hurt?” he addressed you and you looked at him timidly.
“He doesn’t appear to be hurt,” you offered, stepping forward and around the table so that you stood at my side, “Other than this.”
I felt your hands on my shoulders, kind hands, as you gently pulled at the blanket you had thrown around me when you found me so you could both look at me. There was a few moments of silence and I strained my neck trying desperately to see what it was that you were both looking at.
“Well now that is unusual,” I heard him say as you pulled the blanket back up over my shoulders, “But they’re well healed, not from recent wounds. I don’t suppose you know how you got the scars?” He looked at me without much hope.
Scars? I did not even know I had any scars so there was little chance in me remembering how I got them.
“So what do we have so far then?” he rubbed his temples and began the short recap, “You’re name is Winter, we don’t know if that is your first or last name and you have no memory of anything that happened before this Lady found you on the road. Not much to go on is it?”
"There's also this," you tugged at the chain around my neck, "might it be of any relevance?"
You unfastened the clasp and held up the fine silver chain for the inspector to observe. I looked at the pendant as if seeing it for the first time. The tiny silver angel swung on the chain and shone in the bright lights of the small room.
"All pieces in a jigsaw," he muttered and took the pendant so he could examine it.
"Give it back!" I surprised myself with the strength of my voice. The little charm was important. I had no idea why but I wanted back around my neck. Wanted the little angel against my skin, close to my beating heart. You obligingly took it from him and passed it back to me. I clasped the tiny figure in my palm so tightly that I could feel the wings digging into my flesh.
The inspector sighed heavily and turned his back on me so he could lean on the counter of the small reception area, I could hear him muttering under his breath, “In all my years I have never seen anything like this,” and things like that. He was clearly at a loss as to what to do next. You had not left my side and I was grateful for that. You placed a hand on my shoulder and I looked up at You. You smiled again. You had such a kind face, caring and motherly and I found myself wondering how anyone had found it in themselves to mistreat one such as you. One so kind that you would put yourself at risk by stopping to help a stranger when most would have driven by.
“Right,” the inspector turned back to face us and clapped his hands together to announce that he had finally settled on a plan, “This is what I am going to do. I am going to phone for an ambulance to take you to the hospital so they can give you the once over, you’ll probably have to stay there, for tonight at least.”
“Oh but officer,” you shot me a pitying look, “Then he’ll have to spend Christmas alone in hospital, among strangers.”
“M’am,” he said wearily, “With respect, he doesn’t know who he is, where he lives or who his family are. Every one is a stranger to him I’m afraid. I don’t have a choice. I promise that while he is there I won’t hesitate to put the word out. Somebody out there must know who he is and be missing him. I’ll try all the local psychiatric hospitals too, see if any of them are missing any patients.”
Was that what he thought I was? An escaped lunatic? It would explain an awful lot I suppose. I stared at him miserably.
“Don’t worry son,” he said, trying to make his voice sound optimistic, “Chances are we’ll have you back where you belong by the morning.”
He was riffling through drawers now and pulling out various sheets of paper.
“I just need you to fill in one of these,” he told you, “Then you can go.”
As you leant on the desk and filled in the form the inspector disappeared into the back office. I could see him through the slatted blinds making a phone call. One to the hospital, no doubt, and one to his wife to let her know he would be home late.
“It’ll be ok,” you said from across the room, “If they don’t find out where your family are I’ll come and see you tomorrow. My sister won’t miss me for a couple of hours.”
I could not understand why you were being so kind to me. Why did you care so much? And that wasn’t the only thing that bothered me. I kept seeing that look you had given me when you first got out of your car and saw my face clearly for the first time. There had been a moment, before you thrust the blanket at me, when you had simply froze and shuddered as though seeing something unpleasant in me. I had seen something similar in the inspectors eyes also when we had stepped into the small town station and disturbed him as he napped at the desk. Was I hideously ugly? It was possible. After all, I had absolutely no idea what I looked like.
“Ok,” the door rattled as he emerged from the office, looking considerably relieved now that he had taken care of things and he was about to send me on my way, “Are we done with these forms? Lovely. You have been a great help Mrs. Hunter…”
“Err, Miss,” you corrected him, “Miss Hunter. I‘m divorced.”
“Yes, well, Thank you again for bringing him here,” he said with little enthusiasm and just a hint of sarcasm, “You can go now.”
“I’ll call in tomorrow to see if there has been any news,” you said as you picked up your hand bag from the counter, “And I meant what I said, Winter.”
You were by the door now and you gave me one last look that seemed to last a little too long as if you couldn‘t take your eyes off me. I gazed at you, at this kind woman who had probably saved my life. It was minus 12 outside and I probably wouldn’t have lasted long before my naked body gave in to the cold. Then, as I looked at you, I noticed something peculiar. There was something there that I hadn’t noticed before. You ran your hands through your hair in tired gesture and as you pulled it back away from your face I saw it. There was a mark on the side of your neck. It was a date written in thick black text. A tattoo perhaps? But why in the world would anyone have the 24th December 2011 tattooed on their neck?
"What does the 24th December 2011 mean?" I asked.
You let your hair fall back into place, obscuring the text from my view and shot me a troubled glance. Was that why you wore your hair down? To hide it? Was it something your sick and controlling husband had done to you, to brand you in some sadistic way? You simply looked at me with a worried expression but did not answer. I was appalled. Why would someone do such a thing? Then you pushed at the door and were gone, leaving me alone with the tired and frustrated inspector to wait for the ambulance that would take me away.
“Don’t worry,” said the inspector, obviously catching the horrified look on my face, “I really am confident someone out there is worrying about you right now. I bet you’ll show up on the missing person’s reports soon if you’re not already on there. You’ll be home in time for Christma
s dinner.”
CHAPTER TWO
His words echoed in my head all night as I lay in the dim ward of Cowal Community Hospital listening to the constant humming and beeping of the electronic medical devices that where sustaining the lives of those around me. He had said it with such sincerity that I had convinced myself that at any second the curtains around my bed would be pulled back and a distraught relative; a Mother, a Brother, a girlfriend, would throw themselves at me, tears of relief on their cheeks as they gushed about how worried they had been and they would take me home and there, in familiar surroundings, my memory would slowly return and I would know who I was and what had happened to me out there in the woods by the loch. As the grey light of morning crept in through the windows I was still waiting. Black eyed and pitiful I looked at the nurse who brought me breakfast and desperately hoped she would bring me good news. The morning passed painfully yet still nobody came.
Frustrated, I got out of bed and went to the bathroom at the end of the ward. It was a depressing place to be. It seemed that everyone in here was old and frail. Most of them where asleep as I passed by the rows of beds with tinsel draped over them in a vain attempt to bring some Christmas cheer to the place. As I stood by the sink in the bathroom my mind wandered back to you, Caroline, and in my head I saw you sitting beneath a bright Christmas tree, holding a baby, your sister, who I imagined to look a lot like you, was standing beside you and you were both laughing with the sheer joy of being reunited. In my fantasy there was no date tattooed on your neck either. Would you come like you had promised? I'm afraid my heart doubted you Caroline, it told me that you probably would not.
