Buried in Sunshine

by Matthew Fish

  “I’m not sure,” Elizabeth says as she cocks an eyebrow. “I don’t know?”

  Emma takes Elizabeth’s hand and is back on her feet. “Thank you…”

  Elizabeth nods in reply; she still has a confused look upon her face as though she is trying to figure out exactly what just happened. She shakes her head as though to clear away the confusing thoughts and leads Emma towards an old wooden door with a brass flower designed handle. She then places Emma’s hand upon the door.

  “The basement…” Emma whispers as she bites her lip nervously. Despite her newfound courage, she still is apprehensive about going down into the basement—even when she was more…normal, she still felt strange in the basement. It was not only due to the fact that she found the cord there to hang herself. There was simply something more, perhaps it was just a common fear that a lot of other people also have—perhaps there was something more. Elizabeth bringing her here would point to the latter.

  “Yes,” Elizabeth says as she pats Emma’s hand reassuringly.

  “We’re going down there?”

  “You are going down there,” Elizabeth says as she shakes her head. “Not enough light—it’s not… It’s not good for me. Also I’m not particularly fond of the place.”

  “What am I looking for?”

  “I don’t know,” Elizabeth answered as she brought her hand to her chin and began to rub it the same way that Dr. Riley often would during their sessions. “I imagine you’ll know it when you see it?”

  “Right,” Emma says as she takes in a heavy breath for confidence and turns the knob. The old door creaks on its rusty hinges as the straight staircase is revealed beyond the threshold. She pulls on a metal chain and the basement is illuminated in a pale yellow glow of old dusty lights.

  “The first step is always the worst,” Elizabeth speaks as she walked away.

  “Right…” Emma adds, although she secretly thinks to herself ‘whatever the fuck that means.’ At this point she felt that every moment of this excursion was going to be the worst. She takes that proverbial, and literal, first step and follows it quickly with a second and third. She reaches the bottom of the stairs with little incident.

  “Now what am I looking for?” Emma mutters as she begins to navigate the labyrinthine basement. She passes room after room. Some were filled with boxes, Christmas decorations—some were empty. She attempts to imagine what purpose all these places had back when this was a working farm. As she passes one room she shudders as a large slab stone table stands in the center and a drain lays sunken into the ground nearby. A sink exists in the corner; her mind flashes horrible thoughts of animals being slaughtered upon the cold stone table—the blood draining down into the hole. Something about the table makes her feel uneasy. She continues on, attempting to remove the negative thoughts from her overactive and overly visual mind.

  As she reaches the back wall, Emma finally discovers what she believes she is looking for. Upon the far brick wall, a crude image of the sun has been drawn in white chalk along a section that looks slightly different than the rest. Emma wonders why she never noticed it before. Perhaps, it was because she was never really looking. Even as a child she had a bad feeling about this place.

  A metal rod, probably used to hang curtains in the past, rests against the ground nearby. Emma picks it up and hits it against the regular looking section of the wall—the rod vibrates violently in her hand as a dull thud echoes through the basement. She then takes the length of metal to the suspicious wall with the drawing of the chalk sun. She brings both of her hands back as she tightens her grip upon the rod and swings it at the wall. The loud, resounding thud seems to echo through the wall—the noise is not just confined to the basement, as she suspected, there is something behind the wall. After all, it was a little obvious, but she had to be sure.

  Emma tosses the bar to the ground and makes her way back towards the stairs. She feels a little better having completed her task—and, at least, this time there was no horrible revelation or series of flashbacks. Just the revelation of an empty space—perhaps a secret room behind the far wall. She hopes there is nothing terrible beyond the bricks and mortar. Her overly vivid imagination flashes her ideas of a dead body, decomposing over the years. Or worse, a long dark hallway—one with hands that would grab her and pull at her as the light chased her. The latter was more a product of her nightmares and seemed less likely. This truth gave the idea that a decomposing body resided beyond the wall was a much better choice and seemed to disturb her much less when presented with the two options that her imagination posed.

  Emma opens up the door; she is relieved to be back on the first floor the house. She follows the smell of cooked bacon as she rounds the corner and enters into the kitchen.

  “Emma?” Elizabeth’s voice asks as the clatter of plates is heard in the kitchen.

  “You cooked?” Emma asks as she spots a plate of food set out upon the kitchen table. A plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and some toast with butter—no jelly, Emma hates jelly in all of its various flavors and forms.

  “It felt like the right thing to do at the time,” Elizabeth says in a monotone voice as she pauses and looks blankly out the kitchen window. It appears as though, in some way, she is not always completely in control of her actions.

  “Thank you?” Emma says, confused at Elizabeth’s strange actions. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  “I don’t eat.”

  Emma places her hand upon the chair and slides it outward. She sits, all the while keeping her eyes on Elizabeth who seems fixated upon something outdoors. “Do you want to sit with me?”

  “I’m fine here.”

  Emma begins to eat. It has been a long time since she has had a home-cooked meal—even if the circumstances are rather questionable, she is quite grateful. The eggs are cooked to perfection, and the bacon is crispy and not fatty. The toast is buttered, overly buttered, just as she always liked it. “Thank you again… Elizabeth.”

  “Huh?” Elizabeth whispers a she turns away and looks to Emma. Outside the window, a small grouping of clouds is besieging the morning sun.

  “I found the chalk sun,” Emma says as she drinks a glass of orange juice. “It was a little ham-fistedly obvious. What is on the other side?”

  “I don’t feel right,” Elizabeth whispers as she places her elbows upon the table and buries her face in her hands.

  Emma gets up and rushes to Elizabeth side. She places her hands upon Elizabeth’s shoulders. “You’re cold…”

  Elizabeth looks to Emma. Her blue eyes dark back and forth as her breathing slows. “Who am I?”

  “You’re Elizabeth…” Emma whispers as she catches Elizabeth as she collapses from the chair. Emma begins to freak out as her face turns blue. Her breathing has stopped completely. She places Elizabeth down to the floor. She has to get to the phone and call an ambulance—despite the fact how strange this will all seem.

  Just as Emma reaches the phone, she looks to Elizabeth and sees her erupt and tear away like dying embers of a fire. She allows the receiver to fall to the floor as she begins to walk back to the kitchen table. All that remains of Elizabeth is a small outline of black soot. The last of the glowing embers rises into the air and disappears with a soft hiss.

  Emma covers her mouth and represses a scream. She does not know why this image fills her with such horror—it is not as though she has not witnessed this transformation before. However, this time, she felt something. Emma felt closeness to this creature, this… human? She was not the terrifying ghost she was before; she was vulnerable, and caring.

  The light from the kitchen window grows brighter as the clouds retreat and allow the sun to stream back into the kitchen.

  With a terrible gurgling gasp for air, Elizabeth reappears upon the floor. There is no grand entrance, no sign of her return—she simply exists again. Elizabeth begins to contort her body in odd ways as she struggles to get back to her feet. Her breathing is heavy and tormented as though she has just esca
ped some kind of hell.

  Emma watches in disbelief, her feet are glued to the very spot by the shock of it all. As she allows the fear to wash away, she rushes to Elizabeth and helps her back up to a sitting position on the table. “Are you… Are you alright?”

  “Where…” Elizabeth manages between heavy breaths. “Where did I go?”

  “I don’t know. You were here, and then you just kind of disappeared—you kind of burned away to nothing. It was terrible. It was just like the first time we met.”

  Elizabeth begins to cry.

  “I’m sorry,” Emma says as she places her arms around Elizabeth. The warmth of her skin has returned. It is almost as though this is a completely different person than who visited her the first time. There was no vulnerability in the first visitor—she seemed like a much stronger, resolved presence.

  “That first night… I kind of remember.” Elizabeth whispers as she attempts to compose herself. She wipes away the tears with the short sleeve of her white dress. “As the sun is—so am I. I never realized it would hurt so much.”

  “It was the clouds then?” Emma asked as she looked out the window and to the sky beyond. “When the sun set the first night you disappeared.”

  “I feel weak.”

  “You should rest,” Emma says as she takes Elizabeth by the hand. As she leads the girl up the stairs to the second floor she finds it strange that she has come to care so much, so quickly, for someone who has brought her a message of doom—a message of her nightmares becoming a stark reality not just for Emma, but for all.

  “This is your bed,” Elizabeth protests as Emma helps her beneath the covers.

  “Just rest,” Emma replies.

  “You’re going into city now.”

  “I planned on it,” Emma says as she sits at the edge of the bed and looks to Elizabeth. There is some kind of connection, despite the obvious, she almost feels sisterly to the being. “I can stay here for a bit though, if you like.”

  “You need to go,” Elizabeth weakly replies as she turns away and faces the window, another group of clouds are approaching from the distance. “This is my purpose.”

  “I don’t understand,” Emma says as she places her hand upon Elizabeth’s, it is growing cold to the touch. “Why do something if it brings you such pain?”

  “Take Pennsylvania Street—to get to the store,” Elizabeth whispers as she watches the sky in apprehensive nervousness.

  “Do you need anything?”

  “Have a good time.”

  “Is there anything that I can do—this just seems…unfair,” Emma says as she begins to head towards the door. “You shouldn’t be suffering while I’m out.”

  “You shouldn’t care so much about me. Don’t forget who sent me.”

  “Did you ever hear the expression don’t shoot the messenger?” Emma whispers as she stands by the doorway and looks to the tortured form. In some strange way and despite the knowledge to the contrary, Emma still partially views Elizabeth as her sister.

  “I never have,” Elizabeth whispers in reply. “A laptop—“

  “You want a laptop?”

  “For you,” Elizabeth says as she begins to shudder slightly. “Get internet—and whatever else makes you happy. Get something that makes you happy.”

  “About the basement…”

  “That will work itself out,” Elizabeth interrupts.

  “Right,” Emma says as she nods, she lingers for a moment longer. She does understand the horrible circumstances for which Elizabeth is here—however, she cannot hate her for it. Especially after seeing Elizabeth endure such terrible pain, she seemed like a lost soul. Perhaps the old Emma could be uncaring, however this new version, this more complete person that Emma has become—this Emma could not be apathetic.

  “Go…”

  *

  As Emma approaches the city she detours from her familiar route and makes her way down Sixth Street so that she would eventually cross Pennsylvania. As she approaches the road she turns and drives a short distance down the street. This route is a little out of the way—however, she feels that there has to be a reason. As she passes the second set of traffic lights, she spots the back of a girl walking barefoot on the sidewalk. She is dressed in the familiar, bright white, short flowing dress and has blond hair.

  “Elizabeth?” Emma whispers as she begins to slowly tail the mysterious girl as she walks down the street. A horn resounds from behind her as a car passes her and the passenger, a non-descript male, gives her the finger. Emma ignores the gesture and keeps her focus on Elizabeth. The girl stops in front of a building, and after a brief pause, she enters. Emma pulls her car over to the closest available spot. She digs through her purse for some change and feeds the meter a few quarters. She rushes down the sidewalk and enters the doorway—however, to her surprise; the girl is nowhere to be found. Instead she finds herself in a familiar office. Realizing where she is, she quickly turns. However, it is far too late for that.

  “Emma Corbeau?” A man’s voice speaks from behind her. “Is that you?”

  “I’m sorry,” Emma says as she turns to face Brian Metcalfe.

  “No need for apologies,” Brian says as he gets up from behind his desk and hurries over to greet Emma. “I haven’t seen you in a long time—At least, not under any kind of… good circumstance.”

  “I just wanted to come and thank you for all of your help,” Emma says as she attempts to come up with a viable excuse for her coming here. She did intend to thank the tall, large kind man—however, her former self was always too afraid, too self conscious to actually come here and do so in a proper manner. “I… You helped me a lot when I needed it. I just wanted to let you know that I don’t think I could have made it through my mother’s funeral, or all the paperwork, or any of that—without your help.”

  “Your mother was a great woman,” Brian Metcalfe says as he lets out a heavy sign and rests his heavy set frame against an old oak desk. “Not just a great worker, but just wonderful to be around—always kind...”

  “She was very kind,” Emma agrees. “I had a lot to work out. I don’t know if she told you that I had…issues?”

  “She said you had been through a lot—regarding an accident of a friend. I understand though. I expected that you might never come here, or see me, with your mother’s death--I had imagined that I would just bring back bad memories.”

  “These days I feel better.”

  “That is so good to hear Emma,” Brian says as he nodded. “I know it must have taken you a great deal of courage to come to your mother’s workplace—it looks like you’ve really made a lot of good steps.”

  “Yeah,” Emma says quietly. The truth is much farther than Brain can possibly even imagine. Just being in the spot—the same building even where her mother died…instantly, brings so much terror to Emma that it takes all she has inside of her to hide her true feelings. “You didn’t see anyone come in? …by the way?”

  “Nope, it’s been a slow day,” Brian says as he knocks against the oak desk with his knuckles. “Hopefully it will remain so—I’d like to get out of here early today, the wife has dinner plans for us and they involve driving two hours north.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Emma says, despite the fact that she was only half paying attention to anything that he was saying. “I should go—“

  “If there is anything else you need, in the future,” Brian says as he smiles and nods to Emma. “There was never any need to come and thank me, it was my honor to help in any way that I could.”

  “Of course,” Emma whispers as she turns towards the door. Through the glass she makes out a truck that pulls up right in front of the building. Emma pauses as a young man steps out of the white construction truck and makes his way towards the office. He is of average height, his hair is black and slightly messed up from both work and wind, perhaps a bit of neglect—however, it makes him look slightly edgy. His skin is dark, most likely from working outdoors. He is wearing a grey t-shirt and dirty tan ca
rgo pants. As the young man approaches, Emma can make out his face more clearly. He has a kind look to his eyes—a pale citrine green. His face is rough, almost as though he has gone a few days without shaving. As he passes into the building a wide magnificent smile spreads across his face.

  “Hey dad,” the attractive, Emma realizes—for the first time in a long time that yes, she finds someone attractive, the young man says as he passes Emma. “Are we still good for lunch today?”

  “Of course,” Brian Metcalfe says as he relieves his weight against the oak table as it creaks quietly almost as a sigh of relief. “I was just talking to Emma here, you met her mother—Susan Corbeau.”

  “Right…!” The man says as he turns his attention to Emma. “I’m… I’m really sorry for your loss. I talked to your mother almost every day when I’d come in to steal my dad away for lunch—she was, she was really nice. I saw you at the funeral, I wanted to say something—but I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I’m sorry we never met, properly.”

  “Thank you,” Emma says as she nods and nervously fidgets her fingertips against the seams of the legs of her jeans. “It’s fine.”

  “Ethan,” The young man says as he wipes away his dirty hand against his already dirty pants and extends a handshake to Emma. “I’m sorry I should have mentioned that earlier.”

  “Emma,” Emma says as she takes the handshake. His hand is warm to the touch, Emma beings to wonder why she would even think it would not be—then again given the circumstances, she supposed that anything was possible.

  “Would you like to join us for lunch?” Brain proposes.

  “Yeah,” Ethan quickly agrees. “We would be glad to have you join us—“

  “I would like to,” Emma lies. The prospect of being around the attractive man does sound rather alluring. However, Brian does bring back too many bad memories. She is not ready to deal with the both of them, at least, not at the moment. “I have to pick up my new cell phone today—I was on my way right now. I would… by the way do you do… what kind of construction do you do?”