Winter Wakes

Bad days often left me riddled with daunting and unwanted thoughts when I tried to sleep. In one single twenty-four hour span I had absorbed more horrid information and scarring images than a lot of people would in twenty-four years. Those bad days always ended in quite a miserable fashion, with nightmares. Trust me; it was the cherry on top of any situation. You’re probably thinking that as a small child I probably had a lot of nightmares since my father owned a funeral home. Well, that’s not true. I may have a had a few nightmares about the dead people that were wheeled in, but I had more about the creepy old people that attended those funerals with their withered faces and bodies garbed in all black, or the kid at my preschool who pushed me off the slide on more than one occasion. Yes, he pushed me off it; not down it. Aside from that I didn’t really have nightmares. Again, they seemed to correlate with bad days. Only one nightmare actually repeated itself, which was after the single worst day of my life. Honestly though, yesterday was the only other experience that could possibly even hold a candle to it.

Staring up at the white ceiling of my room my mind was muddled with images of both yesterday’s actual events and those from my nightmares. None were even remotely good. My eyes burned a little, I tried blinking. I t was proving to be a difficult task considering the tear-fest from the night before. I did distinctly remember coming home only to cry. My boyfriend and my best friend were getting together behind my back, they were the only two people aside from my father I considered close enough to me to open up to. There was a tinge of pain in my chest as I tried to suppress what I believed to be another bought of tears trying to force their way out. A two year relationship and an almost lifelong friendship felt like complete lies. People often weren’t who you thought they were; just like situations weren’t always as they seemed.

I’d also learned that the hard way the day before when confronted with the matter of Simon’s death. It had gone from classified information, to suicide, and the wheel had finally stopped on murder. That had played a part in my nightmares as well. Chassie and Darren had taken turns stabbing me repeatedly in the hazy world of dreams. It was just like the murder of Julius Caesar by Brutus and others he considered close. Murder most foul.

I squeezed one of my pillows closer to my chest with my good hand. There was a part of my memory that seemed vague and muddled pertaining to yesterday. It concerned a certain ethereal being whom all of my woes seemed to be centered around. I wasn’t quite sure if the vague recollections of kindness and concern—or at the very least pity—were from my dreams or from reality. Simon and anything that so much as gave him the slightest connotation of being capable of emotions beyond anger seemed surreal.

And then there may have been a slight twinge of guilt that was beginning to pick at the back of my mind. I had broken down yesterday in front of him over a relationship, when he was the one with the real problems. Death by murder seemed a bit more serious than the loss of a relationship. No matter though, that guilt didn’t stop me from feeling lifeless and lost; I still refused to so much as move a muscle, hugging my pillow while staring blindly at the ceiling. A hollow ache was the only emotion I was capable of maintaining at a constant pace.

The opening of the door with an audible click pulled no movement from me.

“Hey, Maggie?”

I watched the unchanging ceiling, “Yeah dad?”

“Are you feeling okay? You’re usually out of bed by now,” His voice slowed. “Mags, what’s on your wrist?”

Shit. I forgot about that.

“I fell… down some stairs yesterday,” I mumbled with no emotion.

“What? When?” There were a few footsteps harshly approaching my bed. I kept my eyes steady on the ceiling.

“Between classes. It’s just a sprain dad, nothing to worry about.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” I caught the traces of exhaustion and frustration mingled in his words. My fingers idly began picking at the pillow in hand, noting there were far too many bumps on the ceiling to count.

I sighed, “I’m sorry, dad. I got a little distracted.”

“What the hell could have caused such a distraction that you wouldn’t even call me when something like that happened?”

A dead guy with more secrets than the Kennedy family.

“Darren’s cheating on me with Chassie.”

Silence. My father was probably trying to process what I just said; probably imagining he misheard. He’d known Chassie ever since we first became friends in fourth grade. She’d stayed the night sometimes and the two of us would wake up to the smell of freshly cooked waffles in the morning. He almost thought of her as a daughter because he had known her for so long.

As for Darren, well dad had always liked him. He actually had approved of us dating; that in itself was a miracle in my opinion. Sometimes when he had been waiting on me to get ready for a date or something, I’d walk downstairs to find them chatting animatedly in our living room about football or some other stupid manly thing. What did he think of the kid he had occasionally and jokingly called his “future-son-in-law” now?

“Are you sure, Mags?”

I swallowed a growing lump in my throat, trying to maintain my blank composure, “I saw them making out at Little Shogun over sushi last night. I’m sure.”

Now that was one all too vivid image I couldn’t forget. My stomach dropped simply at the thought of it. I doubt I’d be eating the Japanese food that was still sitting in my car any time soon.

“Oh.”

Yeah, oh. I know he didn’t know what to say in a situation like this to me. The “I’m sorry for your loss” bullshit we used on our customers didn’t really have the same effect on me since I’d been around it my entire life, and he knew that. I was beginning to wonder if the original comment Simon had made when I first met him was actually true. Maybe every time we gave our sympathies to someone because of the death of someone they knew it was just a lie; a fucking pre-programmed response that really held no meaning or emotion for either one of us because it was just routine at this point. It didn’t seem so ridiculous right now.

“That’s… unexpected,” He muttered awkwardly. “Are you okay?”

I’m refusing to get out of bed and staring at the ceiling, did I look okay? And then when adding the fact that that’s not anywhere near all my problems, I’d say hell no. I’m far from okay. There was so much pressure from everything that had happened I didn’t really know how to function. Why was all this happening at once? Why to me?

“I’ll be fine. I just don’t know what to think,” Little cracks of despair were starting to shine through in my voice.

The heavy sigh confirmed the fact that he didn’t either. I hadn’t expected him to.

“If it helps, your classes for today, and hell, probably the next few days are cancelled. But I’ve still got to go in to the funeral home. I’ve already gotten three calls this morning.”

I was so close to asking why I didn’t have class, until I remembered a very minor detail of the night before: It had started snowing as I got home. For the first time that morning, I moved. Shifting my weight I pushed myself into a sitting position, cross-legged with the pillow hugged to my chest, my chin resting on it. Outside my window, it was completely white. The ground, trees, everything was covered in a blanket of snow. The light flakes were continuing to fall swiftly, hindering sight to a certain extent. So I had been right about those clouds the night before. Usually snow would have excited me. I didn’t like going out in it, but I loved watching it fall and coat the woods behind our house. There was something fascinating, and almost magical about it, especially watching it do so in the night. I had yet to encounter such a gorgeous sight. But right now, it pulled no feelings from me. I looked out into the wintry scene with glazed eyes.

“You’re really not gonna drive in that, are you?” I asked quietly, watching the snow dance lightly in the wind.

“I have to, Mags.”

I knew he was going to say that. Of course, why else did he have such a massive SUV? Four wheel drive, all terrain power steering, anything else that would make it possible to get through the snow and to the funeral home. It didn’t matter though; I still hated the idea of him driving in that. There was no doubt in my mind the roads were iced over at the very least. I didn’t see how he could still even consider driving in that stuff. I knew he remembered just as well as I did.

“Be careful, please?” I gave him a desperate look.

“You know I will,” He smiled before turning to leave, but stopped after a step or two and turned back to me. “Oh. I was supposed to tell you, Darren called the house. Twice. He said he really needed to talk to you. He sounded desperate actually. You must have chewed him out pretty well when you saw that last night.”

When he turned this time, he didn’t stop. I heard his footsteps fade down the stairs, and the front door snapped shut only signaling his departure. I merely watched the empty archway of my door, my eyebrows scrunched together. I hadn’t said anything to Darren last night. He hadn’t seen me either, I don’t think. Had he? Aside from that I wasn’t the confrontational type; I wouldn’t have said anything to him. Ignoring his very existence was the worst I would have done. The same went for Chassie; I wasn’t going to say anything to her about it, let alone talk to her at all. Cutting ties like that would hurt, but I knew keeping them around despite what they’d done would cause much more pain. I may have my moments of stupidity, but I wasn’t a complete moron.

“You don’t deserve that, Maggie.”

Such a familiar voice; such an unfamiliar tone. Yet that sentence resounded off the corners of my mind. Had I really not deserved that? I was the one who hadn’t bothered to contact Darren for nearly a week; I was the one who had shut Chassie out when she only wanted to help. But would they really turn to each other in that way simply because I was acting oddly?

“Ah, you’ve moved.”

Simon appeared through the wall that led into the hall, walking over to the bookshelf before crossing his arms and leaning back against it. He watched me with a slightly bored look on his face.

“Did I say anything to Darren last night?” The question was out of my mouth before I had time to fully process just what I was saying.

His facial expression didn’t change as he continued to look at me, “Did you say anything to him? No. Did he receive a text message from your phone accusing him of being a small-dicked two timing bastard while threatening to expose his darkest secret? Maybe.”

“I sent him what?” My eyes were practically bugging out of my head. When? How? I don’t even recall doing that. Surely I would remember—“Wait. Simon, I didn’t send that, did I?”

A small smile was starting to tug the corners of his lips upwards, “It was sent from your phone so—“

“So that doesn’t necessarily mean I was the one who sent it,” I interrupted. “Stop twisting your words. You did it, didn’t you?”

“Now what on earth would make you think that?” He countered with fake offense.

“Who else knew about it? And who else had access to my cell phone?” I deadpanned.

“Your logic is astounding,” He muttered while turning to my bookshelf. “But yes. I was the one who sent it.”

“Why?”

His fingers trailed lightly along the spines of the books before him, but he didn’t say anything. It looked like this was one of those times that he just didn’t answer simply to be a prick, or to irritate me. I watched as his pale, somewhat-translucent fingers stopped on the spine of a short, slightly worn book. He placed his index finger on the top of it before lightly plucking it off the shelf.

“I don’t need a distracted tool, that’s why,” He stated, thumbing through the pages. “Of course after the display he put on last night I honestly didn’t expect him to attempt to contact you after receiving a text like that. I just thought he’d let it drop and continue on his merry little way with the anorexic red-head he was mouth-raping over sushi. I thought him ignoring you would be better than other outcomes, at least that way you could possibly get over the situation faster. I don’t need you emotionally or mentally unfocused.”

“That’s why you did it?” There was a bit of anger boiling with the self-pity and pain I’d been feeling all morning. That trace of kindness I remembered after seeing Darren and Chassie together must have been part of a dream. There was no way this selfish, dead boy cared about anyone but himself.

Those pale blue eyes of his scanned the page before him, not even bothering to look up at me, “What? Did you expect me to do it because I thought he was in the wrong, or as some kind of protective gesture towards you? No, I just need you focused for what lies ahead. Luckily for me, this snowstorm gives you a few days to regroup yourself. I’d advise you do that. Otherwise I may have to resort to other means to, well, help you.”

“You’re heartless,” I muttered into my pillow. He still managed to make me feel like an idiot, even in times like these. Had I really thought he’d done it because he was even the slightest bit worried about me? God, I was stupid.

I jumped, as the book he had previously been holding impacted my face with a “thwack,” and the edge sharply hit the bridge of my nose. I growled as I massaged the spot where a stinging sensation was beginning to grow. He’d never change, who was I kidding?

“Why don’t you use your free time to brush up on your Agatha Christie novels, hm? Get yourself acquainted with the possible motives and effects of murder.”

Blinking once I found his face scarily close to my own; his hands on the footboard of my bed as he leaned over me. From the look in his eyes I recognized what he had just said as a command, not a request. He had morphed back into the old, horrifying Simon simply over night. I was having a very hard time deciding whether that was a good thing or not.

“If that book had hit me in the eye I wouldn’t be able to read anything, you know,” I shot with mock confidence. Of course, I should have foreseen the retaliation. In a flash he was on the left side of my bed, hastily jerking my comforter up and basically out from under me. A yelp fell from my lips as I, crashed off the side of my bed and onto the hardwood floor of my room. Luckily the arm I landed on was my uninjured one, and not hard enough to do any damage to it. I will say though, there was no doubt the impact rattled my skull a little. With an irritated grunt I managed to push myself off my back and into a sitting position. The sensation of something cold pressed into both sides of my face shocked me, as my head was jerked up. Simon’s cold, appraising glare met my startled look as he kneeled before me.

“I guess you should be grateful I have good aim then,” Voice matching his chilling eyes. From yesterday, that look was different though. Those eyes lacked the uncertainty and chaos I had witnessed then. There was no near-crazed gleam behind them, nothing that reflected the stranger that had been slowly becoming more and more apparent. He was back to himself, his sure, cocky, violent self.

Despite the violent treatment I had just received, I felt a small smile pulling at my lips, “Simon?”

His face didn’t change, “What?”

“Welcome back.”

“Get to work, brat. Before I decide to assault you with your own books again,” The corners of his lips began to pull upwards a little. He gave my cheeks a light squeeze before releasing them and walking over to the window seat and staring out into the blizzard-esque weather.

I remained in my spot on the floor for a minute, observing him with curiosity. I take back what I said about him before; Simon Dreyton wasn’t heartless. If he was, he would have thrown me to the floor so I hit it with the right side of my body and my sprained wrist, rather than my undamaged one. The car ride home the night before and someone with extremely cold hands running their fingers through my hair in a soothing manner hadn’t really been a dream. Moreover, no one who was so self-centered would have done what he just had; cleverly tried to take my frustrations and sadness over last night’s events and channel it into a less painful thing. He intentionally made me mad at him. He was a lot more complex than the jackass mask he wore gave him credit for. There was kindness in there, along with pain, confusion, and other emotions I had originally considered impossible for him.

I pushed myself off the floor and clambered back on to my bed, picking up The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, which he had previously chunked at me. I opened the yellowing pages to the beginning of chapter one. I glanced up one more time; Simon was still positioned before the window, looking out at the still-falling snow. His eyes seemed distant, as though his mind was somewhere else, white blonde curls hanging loosely in his alabaster face. He appeared serene in that moment, yet another thing I never expected to witness.

Simon Dreyton, just when am I going to understand you?