Winter Wakes

The cold air in the parking lot didn’t bother me like it had before. I walked a few steps behind James Dreyton, anxious and uncomfortable, feelings which wouldn’t seem to leave me alone that day. Staring at his broad shoulders beneath the crisp black coat made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Would you mind if we took my car, Ms. Walton? I’ll bring you back after we’re done. I see no need in you wasting gas for a meeting I requested at the last minute,” He said without turning around. I couldn’t offer up an immediate reply. The high intimidation factor that came with his presence had me unable to decline, yet, I couldn’t quite bring myself to say yes.

“Um, I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

He scoffed. “Nonsense. I’m the one troubling you.”

Yes, yes he was. The Dreytons made me uncomfortable. Their family predicament was beyond terrifying; one son dead, one son in a coma, supposedly at the hands of someone so painfully unbelievable that I wanted nothing more than to escape the presence of anything so much as even vaguely connected to them.

“I’m parked back here, just a few more rows, I think.”

I turned, looking back towards the parking lot entrance to our far left; my car was somewhere over there. Mr. Dreyton had parked in the very back corner on the opposite side. I really didn’t want to have whatever conversation was on its way. He wanted to know about Simon; and he didn’t look like the type of person to believe in the nonsensical world of the paranormal. I had always held a slight fascination with spirits and hauntings; they were interesting, intriguing, although sometimes insanely bogus. On occasion, though, I would read a story, or watch a program featuring a horrifyingly believable scene that would send my mind reeling with excitement, and even a slight hint of fear. I had always been a hopeful, not necessarily a full time believer. But after dealing with death my whole life, I will admit that on occasion there was a strange feeling that would inhabit the funeral home with the presence of particular clients. But, it was only with the ones who had suffered premature deaths, or were surrounded by mysterious circumstances at the time of their demise. It was just a feeling though; an uncomfortable, unhappy, or even angry sensation I would ignore, or push to the back of my mind. That was until Simon showed up. Simon brought my belief in paranormal to an entirely new level.

“Here we are,” He stated, pace slowing as he turned next to a small black sports car. I hesitated next to the trunk, watching as his pale gaze settled on the door. A few seconds later a click emitted, and he pulled the door open. My body became completely rigid as a scalp of white blonde curls rose from the open door; eye to match Mr. Dreyton’s shortly followed.

Oh dear.

My throat felt dry as I stood staring at Simon, his gaze lacked amusement, and it was just hard and cold. I hadn’t received that look in a while. It made me uncomfortable, it made me feel like an outsider, and it even scared me a little.

“Fancy meeting you here,” the blonde drawled, slowly circling around to the back of the car. I averted my gaze to his father, whose face was much more unreadable than his deceased son’s. It was cold and concentrated, but nothing else could be interpreted from it.

I swallowed, watching the ghost step slowly around to the car’s trunk, stopping a few feet in front of me. I cleared my throat. “I need to run to my car right quick, would you mind? I forgot my phone, and I need it in case my dad calls or something.”

“That’s fine, just make it fast. I only have so much time left before I have to return to the office. I do have a job, you know.”

I gave a short nod before turning to trot across the parking lot. Lies, lies, lies. I had never lied so much in my life. That’s what Simon had done to me, turned me in to a class-A liar. Looking back over the past weeks, I couldn’t think of anyone who I hadn’t lied to, whether it was just a little white lie, or a full out story. I had been a fairly honest girl before, now I couldn’t quite say that.

Simon appeared at my side, towering over me. I took a moment to analyze him from the corner of my eye. He was tall; height being another genetic gift from his father aside from his eyes; same broad shoulders as well. I didn’t quite understand how he and his brother inherited the fair skin of his mother, and her hair, when the darker traits usually overpowered such light colors. If it wasn’t for his eyes, I certainly wouldn’t have even believed he was the man’s son, not physically anyways. I believed he got his distant, cold disposition from his father as well, but only today’s meeting would prove how true that statement held.

“I thought you were visiting your brother,” I mumbled, squeezing in between to horribly parked cars.

Simon scoffed. “And I thought you couldn’t miss any more of Yarborough’s classes.”

“I couldn’t. But your fantastic ex-girlfriend was just determined to prevent me from going,” I snapped. “I came here to get you; because I was already late by the time we finished our nice little chat and bumped into your father on the way to go find you. Apparently I wouldn’t have found you in Oliver’s room, anyways. What were you doing sitting in your dad’s car?”

“I was in the car because I don’t like being in the room when my father’s there. It’s painful enough to just see Oliver lying in that bed, looking like someone beat the hell out of him with a baseball bat but it’s about ten times worse when dad is there. I have never seen the man so distraught.” He paused. “And you, you expect me to believe Felicia ambushed you? Why the hell would she want to talk to you?”

I could see my car two rows over as I bit my tongue. I didn’t want to tell him what she had said, although he already knew the truth, it just didn’t seem right to rub it in. “I don’t wanna talk about it. She’s psycho. Can we leave it at that, please?”

My surroundings became silent for a moment, just long enough for me to reach the driver’s side of my car and unlock it. I opened the door; the handle was jerked out of my hand as it was forcefully slammed shut. Chilled fingers wrapped around my wrist, jerking me away from my car, before being shoved back against it. Simon’s hands held both my arms against the cold metal of the car, as he hovered inches from me. I didn’t like what I saw when I looked into his face; it was a harsh expression, one riddled with anger and resentment that I could only tie back to the first few days we shared together. Only his eyes betrayed any other sense of emotion as pain and sadness swam in their clear blue depths.

“Why are you doing this? I thought we were past all of this, Maggie. Why do I feel like you’re hiding something from me?” Hurt rolled from his lips, coating his words.

The wind whipped around us, biting my cheeks, nibbling painfully at my nose. But it wasn’t near the pain I felt as I watched Simon then. Frustration was beginning to settle in as I stood with my mouth slightly open in front of the unfortunate boy; I was hurting him. I was keeping things from him just like everyone else had; withholding secrets that could change everything for him, and also shatter him to his very core. I was lying by omission—avoiding informing him of what George had really said to me that day when he had disappeared momentarily. I was destroying the very trust I had tried so hard to gain, tried so hard to provide him with. What else was there to withhold? Feelings; my feelings towards the broken apparition that had me pinned to my own car; the very one I wanted to help more than anything, but as of then, I could only hurt.

I sighed, dropping my head to focus on the concrete below. I didn’t want him to see the tears I felt welling up in the corners of my eyes; that would just bring about more questions, ones I really didn’t want to discuss, let alone think about.

“She wanted me to stay away from Daniel, that’s all,” I replied quietly. “Your dad’s waiting for me, I need to go.”

He didn’t move as I waited. Silence filled the lapse in conversation only momentarily, before, “That’s it?”

I scoffed, sniffing as I felt a side-product of tears begin to fill my nose. “Yes, Simon. That’s all she wanted.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. Is that really all you have to say? You don’t have an explanation for why you’ve been acting distant the past few days, why you seem so frustrated and puzzled most of the time? Nothing?”

No, there was nothing more I could say in truth without revealing something I would regret. One secret would destroy him, the other, was destined to destroy me if exposed. It was a lose-lose situation.

“How do you expect me to act, Simon? I’ve been drug into the middle of a murder I had nothing to do with, a really, really fucked up situation that I never should have been involved in in the first place. I am frustrated, I am scared, I don’t know why this is happening, but guess what? It doesn’t matter why it’s happening anymore because I’m already in way too deep and now there’s no turning back. Do you have any clue how stressful this is? My life was not supposed to be like this, everything was just fine, everything was planned out, and then you come crashing in and destroy that order. You put me in this situation, and yet you still have the nerve to question how I act? I think if anyone, I have a fucking right to act this way.” I exhaled harshly, breath jagged as I tried not to burst into a fit of tears. Be harsh; be painful; be cruel; sidetrack him. Hurt him now to prevent worse pain in the near future. I couldn’t let him know how much I wanted him in my life; I couldn’t tell him all I knew. Why? So I could protect him, so I could protect me. Everything boiled down to pain. I had to hurt him to protect him. I had become just as vicious as he originally would, except the wounds I inflicted were deeper than the flesh, they were meant to cut into his very soul.

His fingers left my skin as he stepped back. I shook my bangs into my face before looking up, wiping a tear away from my eye in a not-so-subtle manner. I made a mistake then; I met his eyes. His blank face would have given nothing away if it wasn’t for the pale blue crystals of eyes he had; the ones that seemed dull and broken.

“Why are you doing this?” He whispered.

“I…” I choked on my words. “I have to go. I’ll see you after we’re done. No, Simon, don’t come with me. I’m serious. Just leave me alone!”

He stopped dead in his tracks, the same look marring his alabaster face as I watched him from over my shoulder. I shook my head, quickly retreating back to the place I knew his father was waiting for me. I couldn’t muffle the sobs, or keep the tears at bay any longer. I cried as I walked; I hated myself for what I had just done. Each tear left a cold trail down my face; no matter how many times I wiped it away a new one would appear in its place shortly after.

I didn’t say anything to James as I opened the passenger side door, climbing in to the already warm car. I sighed, throwing my head back against the headrest. I was miserable, I was frustrated, and part of me sincerely wished none of this had ever happened. But by the same hand, I knew things wouldn’t have been the same without Simon. I wouldn’t have strayed from the painstakingly planned road I had been on, and felt so many emotions I otherwise never would have experienced. I wouldn’t have escaped a relationship that had no future. I wouldn’t have known what truly caring for someone felt like.

“Ms. Walton?” James’s voice interrupted my silent reverie.

“I have my phone, we can go.”

“From my experience, people don’t burst into tears simply from going to retrieve their cell phones. And didn’t we agree on telling the truth, Ms. Walton?” He asked tersely. I felt the car begin to roll backwards, as I stared emotionlessly at the dashboard.

“Simon,” I replied. “Lately it’s always boiled down to Simon. I said some things to him just now I didn’t mean just to get him to leave me alone, and I feel horrible.”

“Simon was with you just now?”

I sighed, closing my eyes. “Yeah. I didn’t need to get my cell phone. He was waiting here, at your car when we walked out. I had to talk to him.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Walton, but if you honestly can talk to my son and see him, I find it hard to believe that you don’t know this is his car, not mine,” He scoffed. “Did you ever think that perhaps you’re delusional?”

“This was his car?” I asked.

“Yes, and to be quite honest, I hate the damned thing. Not only is it tiny—I prefer my SUVs—but it’s also a manual. Why in God’s name that boy wanted a manual I’ll never understand. Oliver and his mother can’t drive them, I don’t like to, myself. But Simon refused to drive anything that was automatic. Lucky for me, I found this beauty just in time for their graduation. Simon always loved Stingrays,” He explained. “But back to the point, Ms. Walton. You have presented me with no proof you have actual contact with my son, and while I do feel bad for you, a few tears aren’t going to be enough to convince me otherwise.”

Sitting in Simon’s car, talking with Simon’s father; everything went back to Simon. Every part of my life these days was riddled with bits and pieces of his existence. I couldn’t escape it no matter how hard I tried.

“He has his mother’s skin and hair, your eyes, your height, your shoulders. There’s a scar in his left eyebrow,” I mumbled, turning my head to look at the ghost-boy’s father as we drove towards our destination. No trace of a smile, nothing; he was completely blank.

“Very good, Ms. Walton, but those are all physical things, things you could have seen in photographs. Although very few people pay close enough attention to notice the scar you mentioned, it still proves nothing.”

I couldn’t blame the man for his disbelief. In all honesty, it was well grounded. But I needed him to believe me, I couldn’t quite say why then, but I did. He wanted the truth, and I was giving it to him, I just needed him to acknowledge that.

“He got that scar from some kid named Arnold Hoggins in his first lacrosse game,” I stated. “And when he was ten, he and Oliver took a tumble down the hill in your backyard, Oliver had a broken leg, and Simon had to get stitches in the back of his head. They didn’t dare go anywhere near that hill until they were sixteen, did they, Mr. Dreyton?

“He likes to read. He used to help his brother rehearse for plays when they were in high school. He’s sarcastic, he’s defensive. He doesn’t like to let anyone close, because when he does, they see the real him. The boy who valued his brother’s happiness over his own, and joined him at Brown University. The boy who feels everything far too strongly, and worries far more than he wants anyone to know. There’s the reason he was waiting in this car just a few moments ago instead of visiting his brother in the hospital, because he can’t stand seeing you in pain. That, Mr. Dreyton, is your son. That is the person I hurt just a few moments ago, and regret it more than you or he could understand.”

Starbucks came into view as we the car grew quiet. James Dreyton said nothing as we pulled in, parked, and entered the building. He was stoic as he held the door open for me, speechless as we stood in line. The first words he spoke were when he asked me what I wanted to drink. I informed him only to receive a short look of uncertainty followed by a nod. He ordered, paid, and waited for our drinks as I scanned the room around us. Most people entered, got their coffee and left. One young couple sat awkwardly in the corner. The girl’s hair colored an unnatural bright red; she shot the boy scalding looks between sips from her cup. He only smiled in return, shaggy brown hair hanging in waves around his ears. I watched her eyes narrow as his hand slipped across the table to clasp hers; she glared at it momentarily before her expression softened slightly. The word she spoke was almost inaudible because of the distance, but not quite. It came out with a defeated kindness, “Prick.”

My heart hurt; in some way, I was jealous. I shook it off as James held out a cup. I took the caramel frapuccino without a word, following him to the farthest part of the room. The closest people to it were two tables down. I slowly stirred my straw in the frozen mixture, trying my best to ignore the copious amounts of whipped cream that sat atop it.

“I didn’t believe it when my wife told me that you could see our dead son.” James finally spoke. “I thought it was ludicrous; just your way of scamming us for a chance to enter Brown’s. I couldn’t understand why she believed you, why she let you enter. I figured it was simply because she was at her wits end, one son dead, one in a coma. But in our position, who wouldn’t be?”

I nodded slowly, watching as he took a small sip from his steaming cup. His eyes wouldn’t meet mine; they were trained meticulously on the coffee cup in front of him.

“I had every intention of proving to myself and my wife that you were lying, today. But I can’t honestly say that you are, not with what you told me. The story behind his scar, or the hill, those took me by surprise. But what really settled the matter for me, was how you described him. Not just anyone would be able to explain his behavior how you did, most of his friends even couldn’t. That was a part of him very few knew, Ms. Walton.” He sighed, looking out the window. “I just have one question for you, why is my son still here?”

“I told Caro—Mrs. Dreyton already. She didn’t tell you?” I inquired, looking up from my drink. He looked me in the eyes then, offering no reply; just a stare. I didn’t smile, just continued to meet his gaze. “Simon didn’t kill himself. And I don’t think Oliver’s ‘accident’ was really an accident. He’s angry. He wants to know who did it, and why. That’s why I’m at Brown.”

Outside the wind tugged at the naked branches sparse shrubbery that was littered between the sidewalk and the actual store. I shivered. Not at the sight of the wind, or the thought of the cold. Just at the ridiculous situation, just at the fact the words fell from my mouth so easily.

“And you, Ms. Walton. Why are you helping him?”

I blinked, replaying his question in my head. That certainly hadn’t been what I was expecting to be asked, maybe a “Are you certain?” or “How do you know this?” But certainly not that.

I looked at his hands, wrapped loosely around his scalding cup, arms and shoulders relaxed as I traced them to his torso. I thought of how I felt, how I was acting, my fingernails pressed harshly into the sides of my plastic cup, back rigid, eyes wide. How was he the calm one?

“I… I’m the only one who can see him,” I muttered. “He was kind of, well, very persistent, and I couldn’t rightly say no. So here I am.”

“You are supposed to be honest with me. That’s what we agreed on, is it not?” Mr. Dreyton’s voice was void of any emotion.

I pushed the cup back and forth between my hands, watching it slide across the small trail of condensation it left in its wake. I sighed, “Because I care.”

“That’s all I needed to know, Ms. Walton. Thank you. Now, I believe it’s time I return you to your car. I have business to attend to. Things have been a bit shaky at the bank the past few months. I can’t afford to stay away for too long even if they have been progressively getting better.”

I followed him out; dumping the remaining half of my frapuccino in the trash can as we passed it. In the car I watched the world roll by my window. The sky was laced with puffy white clouds, bright and beautiful under the sun’s rays. It wasn’t long before we reached the hospital. Simon’s car slowed to a subtle roll as we approached my car; so smoothly there wasn’t even the slightest jerk when we finally came to a halt. I undid my seatbelt, fingers maintaining their hold even after it was off.

“Mr. Dreyton?” I looked over. He gave me the same unreadable look I had been getting our entire meeting. “Do you even miss Simon at all?”

He blinked slowly, head shifting as he turned to look out the windshield. The corners of his lips tugged downward ever so slightly, eyes glazing over a bit. The atmosphere became noticeably heavier and I felt my heart drop. I only asked because I had never even seen the man remotely upset at the mention of Simon, not even at his funeral. It was disturbing, after everything that had happened, after everything I had learned, I couldn’t help but wonder.

“The day those boys were born, a part of me awakened that I didn’t know existed. I loved them more than life itself. I loved them more than I ever knew I could love anything. I love Caroline, don’t get me wrong there, but to be quite frank, a man really doesn’t know what love is until he holds his child in his arms for the first time.” James Dreyton paused; his entire body seemed to deflate a little. “The day Simon died—the day we had to go claim his body—was easily the darkest day I have ever faced. Everything seemed distant and faded, absolutely surreal. It felt like a nightmare I couldn’t escape. I have never felt pain like I did then, Ms. Walton; pain that I still feel, as fresh as if his death were yesterday. I loved my son, Ms. Walton, don’t ever question that. If my death would bring him back, be sure that I would end my life without a second thought. Because the day Simon died, he took a part of my heart with him.

“And if someone did murder him, Ms. Walton. I want them brought to justice. I want them to pay for what they did to my son. There was no reason for his life to be taken from him at so young an age. They will suffer for what they did.”

The anger and pain that swam around us were almost tangible. I couldn’t help but stare at Simon’s father. Suppressed pain, anger, and frustration. He and Simon were so much more alike than I could have imagined.

“I apologize for this, but you have to go now, Ms. Walton. I’m already late at the office. But thank you for your honesty. I apologize for not trusting you, but you must admit, no one in their right mind would without proof. Have a good afternoon.” His clipped tone returned quickly.

“Thank you, Mr. Dreyton.” I opened the door, looking back over my shoulder. “And I’m sorry for asking that.”

One foot was out of the door, cold from the work around me intermingling awkwardly with the heat from inside the car. “Ms. Walton?”

I stopped.

He sighed, “Don’t let him feel alone. He needs someone, he’ll never admit it, but it’s true. He always at the least had Oliver. He doesn’t have that now. All he has is you. Please, be there for him. You have no idea how much he probably needs you.”

A dull ache began to pulsate in my chest; I nodded and climbed out of the car, watching it drive away. Simon wasn’t waiting in mine as I looked in the driver’s side window. That ache began to grow. I hadn’t meant what I had said earlier. I had just been spewing hurtful things to keep him at bay. I had known it was the wrong thing to do then, but I hadn’t realized just how wrong until then. I turned, quickly seeking out the hospital entrance, and impatiently waited on the elevator to reach the first floor. The ride up seemed to take ages; the walk down the hall—eons. I didn’t hesitate to open the door to the room I knew housed Oliver Dreyton; to be honest, I didn’t even look at that brother. I found myself staring at the empty chair at his bedside; the one Simon had been sitting in the first and only other time I had entered the room. I stared at it, wishing that maybe he would appear out of thin air, or walk through the wall. But he wouldn’t, and he didn’t.

I waited there for a few minutes. Simon never came. I retreated from his brother’s room, from the hospital and back to the chilled interior of my car. I sat in the parking lot alone, watching the sky turn orange as twilight rolled in. My eyes felt puffy as the tears started again. I started my car engine to the dismal, horribly painful reality: he wasn’t coming.

The drive home seemed long and slow, I found myself constantly wiping tears the entire way. This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to hurt him; I was supposed to be there for him. But in my attempts to protect him, I had gone too far. When and if I saw him again, I owed him an apology. I owed him more than that, but I still didn’t think I was quite capable of presenting him with the truth; I was unable to face it myself.

My house was empty; father away at some funeral, Simon gone. I gravitated towards the window seat in my room, staring sadly out at the darkening woods behind my house. Things needed to end soon. For his sake, and mine. I shouldn’t hurt like I did. I shouldn’t have ever felt the need to hurt him like I imagined I had. I stood there until the woods and sky were completely black; my room dark and lonely. Only then did I move away, pulling the script Dr. Anderson had given me from my bag and plopped down on my bed after flicking the lamp beside my bed on. Auditions were in three days. My mind seemed unwilling to focus on the jumble of words, always returning to Simon.

**

An increasingly familiar chill caused me to stir; brain slowly beginning to function as my senses came to light. The first—obviously—was touch. The cold fingers that held my arm up as his other hand pulled the script from beneath my sleeping figure was something I knew I would be able to recognize until the day I die. I didn’t open my eyes, or move. I just allowed the play to be removed. Then he gently placed my arm back on the comforter. His touch vanished, the cool air that surrounded him left as well. I fought the urge to open my eyes; part of me wanted to see him, wanted to talk to him, while the other part couldn’t stomach facing him quite yet after what I had said. I just remained as I was, pretending he hadn’t awoken me at all.

Somewhere, a sigh floated through the air. I listened intently; there came a creek, a slight muffled shuffling, and then a soft thud. A few moments later I felt a gentle rush of air, followed by the soft fabric of my favorite blanket resting against my exposed arms. The only reason I recognized it was because it was coated in a layer of faux fur; soft, unbelievably warm hairs that tickled my skin. But I relished the warmth that came with it; no blanket I owned had better insulation. I frowned beneath my layers of heavy hair; Simon obviously cared, despite what I had said to him. In turn, I felt all the worse.

I felt his fingers again, this time on my scalp. He gently combed the tangled mess of hair away from my face. I tried not to twitch, tried not to flinch. Ever so lightly, his fingertips brushed my cheek, lingering there.

“I never expected you to hide things from me,” He stated. “You, of all people. Why, why are you doing this?”

I tried to suppress the lump forming in my throat, push it back down; I fought viciously against the tears threatening to slip through my eyelids. If only he knew I was doing it all for him, to protect him, to save him, to hide him from something that might destroy him. But he couldn’t.

“Don’t make me face this on my own.”

My chest felt heavy; sorrow and frustration were my bitter enemies. I never wanted him to feel alone, like I wasn’t there. It wasn’t ever my intention. But in the midst of trying to shield him from accusations I myself didn’t fully believe, I had. It wasn’t how things were supposed to be.

Simon moved; his touch vanished. A new cold rolled in; one riddled with the misery and despair of being alone. It was something he must have felt constantly; in every tiny particle of his existence. Unlike him, I didn’t have to deal with it all the time.

“Goodnight, Maggie.”

He no longer believed I was there, that I was certain of. But I still had him.