Grave Burden

by P. Anastasia

  A small smile curled across her lips and she lifted her hands to her heart. “I tried to resist him, but I could not. Please, understand that I tried.”

  “You do not have to cry anymore,” I whispered, trying to reassure her. “I am here, and I love you, regardless.”

  I embraced her tightly again and then propped my back up against the trunk of the tree so she could rest against me.

  “I wanted it to be you,” she said weakly against my chest. “I was certain it was to be you.”

  “Shh.” I hugged her and brushed a hand over her stiff, frozen copper curls. Snowflakes settled on my skin and my jaw tightened from the aching cold.

  Her body continued to pulse against me as she cried, but she slowly began to calm. Her fingers came up toward my collar, where they grasped onto and wrinkled my shirt, just as she had done many years ago. There was a part of me that took pleasure in being able to feel her there again.

  And a part of me that hated it.

  Kathryn possessed a ghostly, frail form I had never seen before, and the fragility of her condition sickened me. The thought of what Derek must have done to have forced Kathera to such a breaking point, made me burn with rage.

  I hid my feelings and thoughts from Kathryn, so as to not terrify the poor, tortured thing, but they billowed fervently within me.

  I would not let him live…

  There was no telling when Derek would take control of Kathera’s mind again, but I was not about to abandon Kathryn. She clung to me, though our closeness could not fight back the chill, and she continued to tremble until her teeth chattered.

  “My love.” I brought a hand toward her face to gently coax her to look at me. “You are so very cold. Please, let me help you.”

  I stood slowly, carefully moving so as to not touch any of her bruises, and then removed my long coat.

  “Y-you will f-freeze,” she uttered.

  “I will be fine.” I knelt in the snow and helped her slide her fragile, pale arms into sleeves that were far too long for her. She pulled the flaps closed tightly at her chest and tried to smile in thanks, but the biting cold forced a quivering frown to drag down her lips.

  The cold consumed me, too, and uncomfortable, painful sensations I had not experienced in centuries continued to crash over me.

  But I had to move forward and push through the discomfort for her.

  It was Kathera’s mind—fueled by splintered remains of Kathryn’s soul—and the horrible manifestations there could not harm me.

  The snow fell faster, flakes taking on large shapes which continued to pile up. I looked around, squinting to gaze past dead trees and blustering swirls of snow, into the distance. There was no shelter of any kind.

  Then I looked down at Kathryn. She had slumped back against the tree and was hunched over with her feet pulled close to her chest again. Her toes were turning a ghastly shade of blue.

  A gust of wind roared past, sweeping over me like the touch of death—its icy kiss making me gasp and my teeth clatter. I had to get her out of the damn cold.

  Without asking permission, I reached down and scooped Kathryn into my arms. She whimpered, briefly, but then threw her arms around my neck and shoulders and clasped onto me as best she could.

  I trudged through the snow against the deadly wind that nipped my face. Kathryn clutched onto me with all her effort, though her grasp still felt very weak.

  But the distance trekked revealed nothing but more emptiness and cold—a barren wasteland of frigid white.

  “It is h-hopeless,” she murmured. “We will perish here. Leave me for my sins. S-save yourself.”

  It was then that I realized Kathryn’s subconscious was guiding us, and that it was her own brutal self-criticisms that must have been isolating us to the treacherous place. If she truly believed she had been trapped in eternal nothingness, then that is all we would see.

  But, perhaps, if I could make her believe otherwise...

  If I could make her think, for a moment, that we had found sanctuary from the cold, then—

  “Kathryn, look,” I said, raising my voice over the whistling wind. “I see shelter ahead. A small cabin, by the looks of it.”

  There was no cabin in the distance, only skeleton trees clattering in a foreboding ocean of white.

  I raised a cold, painful hand and pointed up ahead.

  “There, I see it,” I said.

  She turned her head slightly and squinted as she tried to see it, too.

  I took a few more steps, lowering my head to brace against the cold while holding Kathryn close against me.

  “Perhaps…” she spoke.

  I continued to slog through snow that was now calf-deep and felt a sudden lull in the air. The wind quieted down, and as I lifted my face to peer into the distance again, the heavy snow shower slowed to a gentle dusting.

  “I see it now,” Kathryn whispered.

  I looked up ahead at what appeared to be a small cabin.

  With the wind having died down and the snow coasting to sprinkling, visibility became better and it took only a few more steps before the building came into focus.

  As my bones began to stop aching, and my hands regained some feeling, I picked up pace until we reached the front door of the structure. It wasn’t in the best shape, but it would suffice for escape from the cold, assuming no one was inside.

  “It looks abandoned,” I said, in an effort to soothe Kathryn’s distressing suspicions.

  The truth was, I could not tell if it truly were empty or not, but I had to lie to make sure her fears did not conjure someone’s presence.

  I set her down a few feet from the door and asked her to stay put while I investigated.

  The wood panels were old with some weather damage and cracking, but it appeared structurally sound on the outside. I crept up the makeshift steps leading to the door and pushed the metal handle. The door drifted open, allowing me to see inside—into the empty room.

  I poked my head through the threshold.

  There was a meager fireplace on one side of the room, and a few pieces of broken furniture. A dilapidated chair and table had been left behind, and a few old wool blankets were piled in the corner. The windows were frosted and dark, but a small amount of light managed to come through. The whole place was dusty and hadn’t been touched in years.

  I turned back toward Kathryn. “It looks safe,” I said. “Come.”

  She scrambled up the steps and into the cabin, and I closed the door tightly behind her. A sudden gust of wind sent a flutter of snow in through the broken window on the other side of the room. I made haste to scoop up a rag from the nearby blanket pile and seal the hole by forcing it into the crack in the glass.

  A piercing sensation shot through my hand and I hissed. I withdrew my fingers from the window gap and a line of blood trailed down my hand.

  “You cut yourself!?” Kathryn rushed toward me and took my hand into hers.

  The wound stung, but it wasn’t too deep.

  She bent down, tore a piece of petticoat lace from beneath her dress, and then wrapped it around my hand. My blood stained the white with red, but then the bleeding ceased shortly after. I had not expected Kathryn to be so responsive to something of this nature.

  “Thank you,” I said, looking her in the eye. Some color was returning to her skin already.

  She smiled weakly, but smiled, nonetheless.

  “We should make a fire,” I said, gesturing toward the fireplace. She nodded and looked over at the broken furniture.

  “Will that burn?” she asked.

  “It should.” I crouched down to look up inside the fireplace flue, placing a hand near the opening. There was a subtle draft, indicating it wasn’t clogged.

  We searched the cabin for some kindling and managed to find an old pillow stuffed with straw. I combined it with broken furniture legs to start a scant fire which burned just long enough for me to gather more wood from outside. Some o
f it was damp from the snow, but there was a small pile near the cabin that had been graciously left by the previous occupants in a covered place.

  I shook the dusty blankets out outside and then tossed them onto the floor in front of the fire. Kathryn sat down with her legs stretched out in front of her and her feet flexing in the flickering golden light.

  “Thank you,” she said, looking over at me as I came down to sit beside her. She was still wearing my coat, which draped her small, malnourished body like a cloak.

  “You do not need to thank me,” I replied.

  “I would be dead without you,” she said, gazing at me with a small, grateful grin curling her lips. She slipped my jacket down off her arms and laid it out near the fire to dry. Her eyes met mine again. The dark shadows under them were less apparent now, and the bruises marring her arms seemed lighter.

  “How is your hand?” She slid a little closer to me.

  I unraveled the lace and revealed the slit across my palm. “I will be okay,” I replied, flexing my fingers. “It does not hurt anymore.”

  “Good.”

  A chill came over me and I shuddered.

  “Matthaya?” Kathryn moved even closer. She looked me over quickly. “Your clothes are drenched with melted snow.” She came to her feet and gathered up the blanket she had been sitting on. “Remove them, or else you will catch your death!”

  It was strong and sickening—the chilling cold washing over my skin, making goose bumps rise up across my arms as I trembled involuntarily.

  I tried to work my shirt buttons free, but I couldn’t stop shaking. When I finally grasped onto one, squeezing my fingers together made the wound in my hand flex open and sent a shooting pain through me.

  I grunted and tried again.

  “Here,” Kathryn said, sitting up on her knees beside me and inching closer. She reached up and easily undid the buttons. Then she peeled the wet shirt down my shoulders and helped me pull it free of my arms.

  She retrieved the nearby blanket and draped it over my back, rubbing my shoulders briskly to help warm me. Then she made herself comfortable on the floor again.

  “Thank you,” I said, shakily.

  We sat before the dancing fire for several minutes—perhaps even half an hour—before one of us spoke again.

  It was Kathryn who turned her face to me, opened her mouth, and said, “Did you mean what you said back there in the woods?”

  The chills had finally left me and I felt much warmer under the heavy wool blanket. I pulled it up over my shoulders enough that I could free my hands from holding onto it, and then reached over to her.

  “Yes.” I clasped my fingers around one of her hands. “I did.”

  “Does it not bother you?” She swallowed hard and clenched her jaw. Then she swept a hand down her skirt and took a deep breath.

  “We were meant to be together,” I said calmly. “Nothing will change how I feel about you.”

  “But I feel disgraced. Used. How will I ever free myself of these memories?”

  “You may not be able to forget them,” I said, “but we can create new memories—better ones—and leave no room for the others.”

  She looked up into my eyes and a sense of relief came over her. “You are very wise, Matthaya,” she said. “More so than I will ever be.”

  I chuckled.

  “Why do you laugh?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

  “I am nothing, and I come from nothing. Do not insult your intelligence by comparing yourself to me. You are brave and wise.”

  “Am I?” She tilted her head and glared. “Am I wise for finding myself here? For allowing that man to…?”

  “That is not what I meant. You helped me when I cut my hand, and you assisted me with the fire. You were even smart enough to get me out of that wet shirt so that I could warm up with a blanket. You are far from foolish.”

  “This was my fault,” she said.

  “None of this was your fault. Do not blame yourself for his actions. His sins are not your own, and he will pay for his deeds.”

  Kathryn fell quiet and looked down at her hands.

  “Maybe you are right,” she whispered.

  There was another long, uncomfortable bit of silence before she spoke again.

  “But,” she started, and then let out a brief chuckle beneath her breath. “But I am still a fool,” she said, reaching to brush her warm fingers through my hair.

  I felt a thumping in my chest—my pulse quickening. I had not felt my own heartbeat in ages.

  “I am a fool who is hopelessly in love with you, and who wishes only for your love in return. A fool who would rather die than go on without you. All these thoughts and fears have brought me to this place of sorrow.”

  “Do not let doubt seize your mind ever again,” I replied, ensnared by the glistening reflection of fire in her fair blue irises. “You will always have my love.”

  Kathryn stared at me. “Even now?” she asked, searching for the truth.

  I nodded. “Even now.”

  My heart thundered in my chest as she threaded her fingers through my hair and then kissed me.

  I awoke with a fleeting sensation of warmth fading from my fingertips.

  Kathera lay beside me, and a vivid memory of the vision I had shared with Kathryn was swiftly escaping my mind, slipping away like water through cracked glass.

  Everything had felt so real in her mind.

  The frigid cold threatening me with frostbite and hypothermia.

  The heat of the fire.

  The warmth of her touch.

  The pain of my wound.

  I turned my hand—nothing but pristine skin where the cut once was.

  But a distant memory of warmth on my lips remained.

  Kathryn’s kiss…

  I brushed the back of my hand across Kathera’s cheek. Her skin was smooth and her expression made of such peace and beauty, unlike before, when distress tainted her blood.

  Then I looked at the fireplace mantel, to the portrait of Kathryn sitting there. Only moments ago, I had seen her face in the flesh, her eyes alive with hope and passion, and her body warm when I embraced her.

  The experience allowed clarity to permeate my mind, and I had an epiphany.

  We needed to confront Derek.

  A whispering voice reverberated through my mind, and I suddenly remembered.

  Kathryn had told me where to find him…

  Kathera opened her eyes and looked at me, bewildered.

  “What is it?” she asked, slowly sitting up.

  “I need you to come with me,” I said. The firm tone of my voice insinuated that there was no other option.

  Still, she hesitated. “Where to?”

  “We will settle this now.”

  Her eyes widened. “How do you know where he is?”

  “You told me, in a dream.”

  Kathera gazed at me with a look of confusion on her face. She had not remembered any of the vision, it seemed. Kathryn’s memories, and even her continued existence within her, had been lost to her subconscious.

  “And what will you do once you find him?” she asked. “I’ve already begged you not to—”

  “He needs to see the truth,” I interrupted. “He needs to know who you really are.”

  “I’ll go with you under one condition.”

  “Yes?”

  “Promise me you won’t take his life.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “His life was taken when Ve’tani changed him.”

  She sneered. “Promise me you won’t… end him.”

  “I have a plan.” I reached for her arm—the one with the bite mark on it—and turned it over so that I could see the faded black veins. “One that should put an end to this instead.” I released her wrist and headed for the front door.

  Under the cover of night, we set out to find Derek’s feeding ground.

  Just a few miles outside the city, an old apart
ment complex had been abandoned and condemned by the government. Yellow caution tape lay in shredded strips across piles of rotting refuse. The buildings had sunken unevenly into the unstable ground and crumbling brick walls looked as though they may collapse from even the slightest gust of wind.

  The complex’s dreadful, dangerous condition didn’t stop squatters from taking up residence. Although evidence of their presence remained, I did not hear or see any humans in the area.

  Kathryn was right to send me here. The scent of blood saturated the air, indicating this had been a place of slaughter.

  Potholes punctured the barren street. Windows had been shattered and shards of glass left strewn across the ground. Shingles lay scattered across the walkways of fractured concrete. The numbers on the sides of the front doors were rusted and many of them missing. Paint peeled up from the doorframes and all the light fixtures had been broken, wiring exposed.

  Life had existed here… once.

  Now the strong scent of death and decay filled the air.

  “Why would he be here?” Kathera asked.

  “Because the people he found here had been forgotten. They were easy targets.”

  I tried hard to recall exactly what Kathryn had told me in the vision. She had given me a place and a number—the building, I think.

  17?

  No.

  217.

  I remembered it clearly now—a number dangling from a cracked doorframe.

  The door closest to us read “203.” We kept moving.

  “There,” I said, pointing to the building with numbers just as Kathryn had described to me.

  “Is this it?” Kathera asked.

  I nodded and then held out a flattened hand, indicating that she should wait for me to investigate.

  As I approached the door, I could see the lock was not engaged and that it had been left ajar. I peered through the opening and a wave of fresh blood smell wafted through, hitting me hard and triggering my vision to shift into predator mode. My surroundings took on subtle silhouettes of color, jagged lines of red and yellow.

  I pushed open the door and took a step inside. There was blood along the doorframe. I looked down. Blood had been smeared across the tattered carpet and linoleum as if someone or something had been dragged through the building. By the smell of it, it was human, but more than one person’s scent saturated the air.