Eerie Silence

Damian rolled onto his back, black hair fanning out around him as he rubbed sleep crust from his eyes. Last night came rushing back to him, slapping his face like a breath of icy cold morning air. Climbing to his feet, Damian struggled to make it into the tiny bathroom. Turning on the faucet, he splashed a handful of cold water into his face before running his heavy hands through his hair. After that he took a quick shower and changed into a lose pair of sweatpants and a plain black shirt. He slipped on a beaten up pair of white sneakers and slung his bag over his shoulder as he jogged down the stairs of his apartment building.

Fresh air filled his lungs as his feet made a rhythmic thud on the concrete. He ran, he ran like he used to when he was living and not some undead monster of the night. He ran to escape, to forget and to find something. The difference now was that his inhuman speed carried him faster, blurring his surroundings, and giving him much less time to be free and think. It took less time then he would have liked before his current high school came into view. The large building loomed over the small people and peaked into the dull sky.

Crowds of kids hung around the steps and sat out on the patio, specks on the tables and blobs on the benches; most of them yelled out to him and waved as he past by. A few gave his new wardrobe a quizzical look, one even tried to ask a question, but she fumbled over her words, blushing furiously and looking away.

They hadn’t heard the news yet; he doubted even her closest friends knew.

As he approached the building, a short blond girl with bright green cat eyes skipped over to his side, linking her arm with his.

“Hey D.”

“Hey Marcy,” he said with a half smile. He wouldn’t be the one to tell them, he couldn’t; after all he couldn’t even bring himself to say it out loud.

“Are you okay?” she asked as they swung around into a small circle of people. Marcy let go of his arm and looked up at him, her eyes glowing.

“What happened to you?” a dark haired girl asked, circling him. The other boy in the group just leaned against the wall, his head tilted to the side, chocolate bangs shadowing half his face.

“Not enough sleep,” Damian lied. “Tracy, did you get the math homework last night?”

“To busy with our little Amy, were you,” Tracy said in place of an answer. The three of them snickered, not seeing him go rigid. Damian let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes momentarily.

“Speaking of Amy,” the boy said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I haven’t seen her this morning.”

The school bell rang loudly, reverberating and cutting off Marcy’s next comment. Unfortunately for Damian, Marcy and he had the same first, second, and third classes of the day together. He marched through the halls, dark hair hiding his pale face, and his sad eyes glossed over. Coldly, he opened the door to his first class, deep lines creasing his forehead and circling his down turned lips. In the back of the room, Damian sat down.

Marcy wiggled through the crowd, scooting into the seat beside his. Besides a few other early students, they were alone in the room, and that meant she would not think about what she could ask.

Marcy opened her mouth, smirked and then began her own game of twenty questions.

“Did you have fun last night?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So little Amy didn’t give it up?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“What did you guys do then?”

“Shut up Marcy,” he growled.

The second bell rang and the teacher signaled them all to sit down and be quiet. Marcy glared, her cat eyes piercing him as if she was reading his soul, if he had one. They began their daily lesson, and Damian tuned it all out, doodling on the side of his clean white sheet of paper.

When the loud beep filled the hushed class, he jumped, dropping his ballpoint pen. Marcy scooped it up and tapped her foot impatiently.

“Come on. Come on,” she mumbled.

Slowly he slid to his feet, slinging a heavy bag over his shoulder and brushing back his dark hair. Together, they wove through the rows of desk, breaking into the sea of students. People pushed this way and that, little bodies crashing into wall and lockers and the larger ones swayed through. Yellow lights flickered above their heads as they past oak door after oak door. Some teachers stood out side, watching and appraising the students, other doors swung open, knocking students around a shuffling the hallway order.

They approached another wooden door, and gripping the handle tightly, Damian pulled back. Marcy slipped inside their class, wiggling into a small group of kids and waving Damian over from his position just outside the classroom. He pinched his brow. Pushing his hair out of his face once again, Damian took a seat in the back of the room, pulling out a thick, hard covered, book from his backpack. The little blonde haired girl rolled her eyes and then rejoined the conversation as he begun to read.

“Damian!” a loud screech pierced his ears. “How are you,” a tall redhead slunk over to his side, sliding into the seat in front of his. She twisted half way in her seat, brushing her long fingers over his knuckles. Her low cut bronze shirt clung tightly to her stick like frame, and her mini skirt showed the fake tan of her thighs.

“Fine.” His dark eyes moved over to the next page.

Her warm fingertips circled his hands, covering words. “Why are you always reading?” Her hand came to a stop, crawling on top of his.

Damian pulled back, bringing the book closer to his chest. “It’s soothing.” Looking over the book’s edge, Damian could see her pull her brow together. Small wheels turned in her mind as she tried to fathom what he was saying. Books were boring and dry. In her world make-up and parties were good, and a being surrounded being peers was soothing. Poetry would have been utterly lost on her.

“Hmm. Why don’t you put the book away and talk to me instead?” She batted her heavy mascara eyelashes, running her fingers down his hand once again.

Marcy snapped to attention just then, her blonde hair swaying around her as she moved across the room, her movements cat like and calculated. “Leave him alone leech. He’s so not interested,” her bright eyes gleamed, catching the light so that the green flashed white.

The redhead snorted.

“Go away Sophia,” Marcy said before she could consider a comment.

The bubbly redhead, bounced to her feet, her skirt hitched high on her thighs and her shirt ridding up her stomach. Standing, Sophia towered Marcy by a few inches, but the blonde held her ground, her gaze steady. Tension sparked in the air like a building thunder storm. The two girls had a short stare down. The class closed in, waiting for a fight, but Damian stood, his baggy pants sagging and his shirt shifting with his movements as he walked between the two, boldly positioning his frame between the two girls. Without looking back at the redhead, he flicked back his hair and took hold of Marcy. Pulling Marcy away, his cold hand latched on her arm, Damian headed for the back of the room, someplace out of earshot. As they left, Sophia snorted again, flipping her fiery hair over her shoulder and prancing away as the others scattered.

Damian, still pulling Marcy by the arm, marched to the back corner of the room. When they were far from the other students, he let her go, and turned to face her. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“Yes I did,” she grumbled, stomping her foot on the floor. “If I hadn’t stepped in…God, she was practically feeling you up D. You let her get away with way to much.” Marcy folded her arms across her stomach and ground her teeth together. “What would Amy say?” she asked in a softer voice, a reasoning voice.

“I love-” he coughed, cutting of the past tense he almost threw onto his words, “I love Amy. She has my soul and my heart. Sophia was just being Sophia and taking advantage of Amy’s…absence.”
Marcy sighed, rubbing her forehead.

A long pause ran between them as she twisted her hair and pinched her lips together, and then she sighed again, dropping her hands to dangle by her sides. “Just don’t do anything stupid, or I will personally kick your-“

“I won’t,” he said, ruffling her hair with a forced smirk. With that, he slid gracefully into his seat, propping his head up on one hand and opening a book with the other hand.

He moved through his day never fully aware of his surroundings, and by the time he arrived at lunch, Damian was sick of everyone. All day he had been getting questioned about his clothes, and when that wasn’t happening some girl was trying to flirt with him just because Amy wasn’t around. That only helped to remind him that she would never be around again, that he was alone, just like they had always said it would end. Dumping his food in the trash, he walked out of the busy lunch room, slipping into the shadows until he was completely off school grounds and once again running. His feet flew over the cement, the wind whipped his face and he drifted, mind and body. The cold brushed over him, filling the growing hole in his chest with ice crystals. Speeding by his building, he continued on an undecided path, his typically light feet heavy on the pavement. Even as fire ran over his calves and his chest constricted, Damian ran. Black hair caught in the wind, lashing out like Medusa’s snakes.

When his feet stopped, nearly throwing him onto the cement, Damian was in the driveway of Amy’s house, the cement leading up to a quant house and rows of flowers. The white walls loomed over him as if he was shrinking and they growing, caving in on him, as his feet shuffled up the front porch. Up the three steps and one pace over the porch, and he stood before an elegant green door. To the left, a small window was cracked open, and on the right were another two windows. These two were larger bay windows that, when opened, allowed natural light to filter in and illuminate the front room. Before they could be swung open though, a small white bench had to be shifted. That bench had been there as long as Damian could remember, and the windows had never been opened as far as he knew. Two white and blue striped cushions padded the small bench. The white had faded and was stained here and there; threads poked out around the hem and there appeared to be a dent leaning to the right arm rest of the bench. A slightly less apparent curve was in the second cushion. Damian had not spent as many sunny, or cloudy, afternoons on that bench, binders resting on knees and pens stuck up in hair, but when he could, Damian had sat with her, explain math or telling jokes. Often a night they would wrap themselves together, her head resting on his chest, and his arm curled over her shoulders, his fingers running smoothly up and down her shoulder.

He raised his hand and took a deep breath, poised to knock, but at the last moment he shrunk back, jumping back a step and sitting down on their stairs. Shaky breaths rattled his chest as sobs built. Dipping his head down, Damian cradled his head. Thick locks slid over his face, like silk running over his cold skin. Bright drops of water built behind his closed eyelids, and within seconds on him sitting down, streams of tears decorated his flawless skin.

The fresh scent of lilies circled him, mingling with her scent. This was her house. Cotton tinged with lilies flipped past his nose. She had sat on these stairs and she had slept on the bench. Fresh wind with a hint of strawberry shampoo stabbed him. Everything here was a part of her, Amy, the unique scent that was hers, lingered everywhere.

“Damian?” A light voice traveled over the threshold, “Damian, sweetheart, come on in.” The voice was higher them Amy’s, but just as warm.

He coughed, stiffening his back, and dabbing the tears from his face. Slowly, Damian pushed himself off the stair, stumbling into the house. His feet felt like cement blocks, and after running for so long, a few simple steps had a thin line of sweat covering his forehead. Passing through the threshold and into the front hall, the door swung shut behind him, and his eyes began to adjust to the new lighting.
Amy’s mother was a tall slender woman, with thick red hair that sometimes looked as if it had been painted purple. Her round eyes were melted chocolate, and her skin was like the cool cream that was poured into coffee. Amy got her skin tone from her mother, and her curves.

The woman before him was patting her eyes with the end of her sleeve, and her sleek hair was disheveled, falling all the way to her waist. “I assume you’ve heard,” She said, folding her hands in front of her.

He nodded, ignoring the wet streaks covering his own cheeks.

“Honey!” She yelled, her voice quivering. Then she embraced Damian, her arms warm as the closed around him, and her tears already flowing as patted his back. It was awkward, for a moment, and Damian hesitated to put his arms around his girlfriend’s mother. Carefully, like she was a china doll, he cradled her, holding most of her weight as she sobbed.

Somewhere down the hall a door bounced closing, and then heavy foot fall moved closer to the two standing in the hall. Amy’s father was a large man with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. Two hands like bricks hung at the man’s side, and his feet slid across the floor as if he was dragging weights behind him. Coming into the dim lighting, the man rested his hand on his wife’s shoulder. With his other hand, he pushed Damian back gently.

“Damian. Why don’t you wait in the living room,” he said to the boy. To his wife he said, “Let’s get you to bed.”

Damian turned down the hall, tuning down his senses. He didn’t want to hear them talking. He didn’t want to keep smelling Amy. His eyes were stinging again, and an icy tear trickled down his cheek slowly. With heavy feet, the boy walked into the small living room and placed himself in a chair. It was wooden, with a short back and two arms blocking the sides.

Moments later, he heard the heavy footfall drifting down the hall. He slid to his feet as Amy’s father entered the room.

“Please,” the older man said, “have a seat.” His deep eyes appeared to be sinking in, and the color was greatly dulled. The dark hair that covered his head was beginning to show signs of age, silver stands weaving here and there. Carefully, he sat on the edge of the couch, resting his large hands on his knees.

Damian repositioned himself in the wooden chair and clasped his hands together, listening to the heavy silence. Air drifted uselessly in and out of his lungs. He thought of a few things he could say, but didn’t say them. Respectfully, the boy waited.

“She was a good child, a good person,” the man’s deep voice stung Damian’s ears. “Too young to die…” his voice cracked as he dropped his head into his hands.

Unsure, but with a brush of bravery, Damian glided to his feet. He rested his hand lightly on his shoulder, kneeling before him. The man tensed and then relaxed, the glow of his eyes appearing just above the rough tips of his round fingers.

“Amy celebrated life. I think she would want us to be happy with who she was instead of crying for who she’ll never get to be.” Damian spoke in a deep voice, masking the emotions from his face and keeping close to a whisper.

Silence filled the room as Damian glided to his feet and put space between his self and the man. Upstairs the soft sobs floated though the hallway like those of a moaning ghost, and Damian felt the world shrinking in on him. It was as if at any second they might jump on him, proclaiming the truth, accusing him to be the creature he was. There was a heavy pressure on his chest as his throat closed. He staggered back, curling his hands into tight fists and gulping down the tinged air.
“Will,” the man choked. “Will you read at the funeral?”

Damian’s heart skipped, the blood rushing to his toes. “Of course.” He turned abruptly and rushed through the house, closing the front door behind him. A sharp wind tore at his skin, picking at his shirt and tugging back his hair. Once again he was running, his feet flying over the cement, carrying him to the cemetery.

Soon the old trees were twisting around him as the tomb stones grew closer together. The back of the cemetery was packed with crumbling and destroyed sites that were no longer visited by family or friends. He could feel the spirits curling around him, cloaking his body in a thin film. A pile of rubble stood at the tip of his toes, ashen rocks stacked in a pile of weeds and brittle sand. On the rocks letters and a set of numbers were etched, slowly fading over the long years that it had sat in the shade, suffering through seasons year after years. His eyes found the one and then the seven. The thirty-three hadn’t been there in ten years, and half the name was gone. Besides, the pieces were a scattered puzzle that could only be placed together by someone who knew the name.

Her tombstone would read Amy: beloved daughter and dear friend, 1992-2009.

With a heavy sigh and a great shudder, Damian sank onto the rubble, folding his hands over his face and sobbing. Time would be at a standstill from now on, inching forward like molasses.