Summer Shadows

The second day back in Rhode Island I hadn’t awoken until nearly one. The deep rumbles of thunder pulled me out of my sleep with a jolt; disrupting a dream that felt to be both pleasant and unpleasant at the same time. I watched the sheets of rain pound down beyond the windows, pushing the disheveled hair from my face. Darren’s words had shoved me into dreams of my father still being around; dead but not gone. He had been like a mirage, visually present in our unburned home but not physically touchable. It was as he promised me “always” to be by my side that he had begun to change, girth diminishing, black suit fading white, as his salt and pepper hair seemed to lengthen, paling to a white-blonde. He had become Simon, and the broken promise on his lips had left me in tears. It was as he had reached out, fingers nearly brushing my skin that I had awoken to the crash of thunder and the flash of lightening beyond the walls of the Dreyton estate.

After ten minutes of trying to gather myself, I had managed to slip out of the bed and into the hall. The house seemed empty; room across from where I stayed open and void of any occupants. As the storm pounded against the house I had made my way down the stairs, grumbling of my stomach dragging me into the kitchen that seemed as barren of life as everywhere else.

I certainly wasn’t upset that the housekeeper was nowhere in sight; we hadn’t spoken since she had left me in the graveyard the day before. Oliver had arrived a little while after Darren vanished with the news someone in the world of the dead wanted him to keep his distance. He hadn’t asked what had happened, he hadn’t spoken at all, actually. His hair had been damp, lips a hard line as he barely looked at me. I couldn’t say I blamed him; I had avoided him for the duration of our trip and ignored his warning to keep a distance from Mrs. Russo. It must have seemed as though I was trying to upset him.

There were muffins on the counter beneath a clear plastic cover; some dotted blue, others red. I pulled one I assumed to be strawberry out, the fresh smell of berries and butter intermingling as I took a bite. I chewed it quickly, going for another bite. It was the first time in months that food had tasted right; tasted as though I wanted to eat it. It took less than a minute to devour it, and I grasped for another. I wasn’t going to take my newfound appetite for granted; I swallowed a lump growing in my throat as I chewed the freshly baked blueberry muffin. I remembered my father’s concern about my drop in weight before his death; and I knew it wasn’t a far-fetched worry. My weight had dropped during and after the fiasco with Simon months back; and the part of it I’d managed to gain back had vanished with my father’s death. I knew I wasn’t healthy, and I knew I needed to at least eat more. The problem was; stress killed my appetite. It left me with an unsettled stomach and an uncertainty as to whether or not anything would stay down.

It was as I reached for my third muffin that the sound of a door slamming echoed through the house. I kept my eyes on the glass plate as I slowly pulled back; breakfast cake still in hand. It took a few seconds to decide to maneuver myself off the barstool and slowly through the dining room. My appetite seemed to disappear as quickly as it had come at the sight just around the doorway’s corner.

His head was dropped low, hair plastered to his skull as droplets of water fell from him in a steady beat. The white shirt he wore was plastered to him, making it transparent as his shoulders heaved in an uneven rhythm. There were large stains on it; green and brown meshed unpleasantly together. His weight seemed to be almost completely on the banister to the stairs as he leaned against hit, arms wrapped around the base.

“Oliver?” My voice was quiet, but in that moment it seemed as loud as one of the crashes of thunder that were dancing around the house. His head jerked quickly in my direction, water droplets dotted all along the lenses of his glasses. As he tried to push up a wince of pain danced across his face. I was moved towards him quickly, slowing to a halt at his side as I hesitated. “Oliver, what happened?”

“I slipped,” he stated through gritted teeth. The fingers of my free hand wrapped around his arm without much thought; I felt him tense below my touch as I pulled his arm away from the banister and draped it over my shoulder. His lips were a thin line as he tried to pull back, my nails digging into the flesh of his wrist as I denied his attempt. “Ouch!”

“Stop, I’m trying to help you here. Did you break something? Do we need to go to the—“

“We are not going near a hospital,” Oliver snapped, whipping his head in my direction. I cringed back a bit, the icy gaze leaving pins and needles in my stomach. After a moment his face softened, and he looked down. “Sorry. It isn’t broken, I don’t think, just twisted. I need to get off it and get some ice on it. It should be fine then. We don’t need to go to a hospital.”

“Okay, no hospital,” I said quietly. His body was warm, and only as I grasped his torso did I realize the muffin was no longer in my hand. Peering back over my shoulder bits of it were crumbled across the foyer floor. I hadn’t realized how hard I had been squeezing it. He leaned against me as we hobbled unsteadily up the stairs, my fingers pressing unintentionally hard into his firm torso as I tried to keep a hold on him. Our staggering height difference made things no easier. Slowly we maneuvered our way up the staircase, both of us panting a bit as we hit the flat platform at the top. The wiry muscles in his arms were more prominent as he clasped onto me; the musky scent about him intermingled with something earthy. I realized for the first time, that I felt almost hyper sensitive to Oliver Dreyton’s presence.

The open door to his room seemed like a relief as we stumbled in, his motions pulling me in the direction of the small sofa rather than the door that presumably lead to the bathroom. It was with a low grunt that he collapsed onto it and nearly pulled me down with him, eyes squeezing shut as he dropped his head back. I quickly maneuvered in the direction of his bathroom, grabbing the black towels on the rack before returning to the room where he had pulled his leg onto the couch and was peeling his socks off. I tossed them at him before he could even look up.

“Dry off, you’re going to catch your death. I’ll go get some ice.”

The sports ice packs I found in the freezer caught me off guard momentarily; it was almost too perfect of a coincidence. Then I remembered the dead twin had been an athlete; they were just a memento from when he was still alive. I found dishrags in the cabinet below the sink, wrapping the ice pack as I tried not to think about the dream with Simon and my father.

I quickly trotted back up the stairs, tripping just before the top one and nearly face-planting, only to catch myself on the banister.

“Alright I got the ice, now just—“

A shirtless Oliver sat on the couch, hands rubbing the towel against his damp hair as I crossed through the doorway. The last time I had seen him shirtless I had been in a state of panic, my life nearly lost at the bottom of his pool. This time the circumstances were a little lighter; a twisted ankle wasn’t quite as much shock as nearly drowning. But the moment of entry into his room my eyes had unintentionally settled on his bare torso, the tanned skin still slightly damp but taut against the muscles of his stomach and chest.

One of his eyebrows rose slowly from behind his glasses, the corner of his lips quirking up the tiniest bit. “I think I’d like that ice pack now, please.”

“I—here, sorry.” I fumbled over my feet, averting my gaze as I handed it off quickly. Clearing my throat I turned away, heat in my cheeks a sensation I hadn’t experienced in months.

“Looking away doesn’t change the fact you’re blushing, you know.”

I closed my eyes with a sigh, hands reaching up to cover my burning cheeks. The added heat was definitely from added embarrassment.

“I’m just saying, you kind of give yourself away when you do that. Not to mention it’s just silly,” he continued, and I could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

“You both would point out the fact I’ve blushed,” I muttered just loud enough for him to hear. “I don’t know what I expected, smugness must be a family trait.”

“Well considering you’ll barely acknowledge me any other way at this point, what do you expect me to do?”

I whirled on him then. “Do what any normal person would; take a hint and leave me alone.”

He leaned back against the couch, watching me as he tilted his head back slightly. “Why, precisely, do you want me to do that?”

“You seemed to have no problem with the idea when I first arrived at your beach house,” I said, avoiding his question; I seemed unable to keep my eyes from flickering down to his bare torso.

“I thought we agreed on this to keep my father at bay.”

“No.” I held up a finger, irritation bubbling. “No, we agreed to put on an act to keep us off some psychiatrist’s couch. He’s not here and there’s no reason to keep pretending.”

Any trace of amusement in his face or demeanor faded away, lips pulling downward as we had each other locked in a stare. Moments slipped by in a heavy silence. My stomach churned uncertainly as I recollected Darren’s threat; it was like video of a car crash on replay, over and over and over.

“Maggie, what’s wrong?” His voice was lower, the soft tone laced with an almost tangible concern. It resulted in an unwanted ache, the idea that he was genuinely worried bitter and welcome. Welcome—I realized—because I was still unintentionally thinking of his brother; bitter because I knew that was wrong.

“A lot, Oliver.” His name stung as it passed through my lips. “So very much is wrong.”

“I don’t think you want me to chase you down again, but I’ll do it if I have to.” His eyes shifted down to his ankle and the ice pack on it, mine followed suit and I knew I wouldn’t leave, just like I knew he would come after me despite his injury. I let out a weak laugh as I leaned back against the wall, closing my eyes.

“You, for starters. You’re just… I can’t do it,” I sighed. “I can’t look at you and not see him. That’s bad; it’s wrong, it’s cruel; but most of all its dangerous. Not just for me, though. People I care about are dropping like flies. The closer you get the more hazardous it is for you; and I can’t take much more of it. I can’t deal with someone else dying because of me.”

The more I thought about it, the truer it seemed. It wasn’t even people that cared; they just simply had to get involved. Simon, his mother, George Max, Darren, my father, and Chassie—all dead. I was the one common factor; I must have been the causation—indirectly or otherwise. Darren’s threat made the burden of knowledge that I would have another death on my conscious if something were to happen to Oliver almost unbearable. Shouldering the weight of another death would be bad enough in itself; but when factoring in the likeness to Simon the boy held it was unendurable.

There was a pause in the air, only for a moment before he spoke. “You have so much misplaced guilt.”

My brow scrunched together, looking up to meet his gaze. Those were words I had never expected to hear from him.

“They’re all dead because of me,” I emphasized. “Your
mother, your brother, all of them because they got involved with me. I thought you of all people knew that.”

“I never blamed you for what happened. I never—“ He clenched his jaw, looking towards the far side of the room before he took a deep breath. “You did nothing wrong; that is what I know.”

“I don’t understand you,” I said in exasperation. “I don’t understand how you can go from wanting nothing to do with me to defending me from myself like you actually care. You can’t keep doing that when I know for a fact that if something happens to you it’s going to be because of me. The more distance we keep between us? The better off you’re going to be. I couldn’t protect Simon; not from the truth about your mother, not from what happened to him. I don’t want to see that happen again, I won’t let that happen again. And if keeping my distance from you is the only way to do it, then so be it.”

“You know, I should have died in that accident,” he stated calmly. “I’ve cheated death once; I don’t see why I can’t do it again. Did you ever consider that maybe I’m the person you don’t need to worry about? Did you ever stop to think that maybe it’s you someone needs to be concerned for?”

“Why?” I laughed. The simple idea seemed ludicrous when I wasn’t the one being targeted. No serious harm had come to me, but death danced around me as a moth to a flame, kissing anyone who dared venture too close. The potential danger those around me constantly hovered under was where the concern needed to be placed; not on me.

Oliver shifted on the couch, pushing himself up as he swung his legs over the edge. He kept most of his weight on his uninjured leg as he stood up, and I stepped forward to push him back down. The rough feeling of his fingers around my wrist caught me off guard, and I tumbled onto the couch with him. The blonde caught my other arm as I tried to push off him, to put some distance between us as a rush of panic embraced me. His grip was firm and my breath caught in my throat; our proximity was alarming. I caught his gaze unintentionally, and while it quieted me outwardly the alarms rang loud and clear in my mind. This was too close for either of us and the steady, rapid thud of my heart left me nearly certain it was going to explode. The blue depths of his eyes were filled to the brim with a grave worry that rendered me motionless under his gaze and touch.

“Because you are haunted,” he said. “Haunted by a past that isn’t your fault and was beyond your control. And it is killing you.”

Oliver’s words rang with an irrefutable sincerity; raw earnestness catching me like a punch to the gut. The way he said it told me just as much as his statement did; it was what he saw—me wasting away, fading like one of the last smoldering embers of my home. The past and the fatalities I had witnessed were slowly taking bits and pieces of me with them. Simon’s loss had dealt me a near fatal blow; my father’s death had only added to the unrepaired state I was in. Darren was arsenic; slowly but surely serving me a tainted present that would eventually push me into an early grave—whether by my hand or his.

Oliver was horrifically and indisputably correct. Oliver was also unknowingly part of the past that wouldn’t let me go. I saw more of Simon in him than I wanted to think about, and as each day and conversation passed, he seemed to be turning into him more and more rather than merely remaining just a physical likeness of him. They were both cold but caring; panic would set the worry they kept hidden to the surface like a diver for air. They could both read me on a level that was alarming, and, I realized, I wanted to protect Oliver as badly as I had tried to (unsuccessfully) keep Simon safe.

“You’re right. But it’s all the more reason for you to keep your distance,” I said, carefully pulling back as I attempted to put a bit of space between us. His grip loosened unwillingly, an unvoiced regret biting at me as our skin lost contact. The close proximity had sent my heart rate skyrocketing for all the wrong reasons. “One of those ghosts seems to be projecting into you; and I’m still in love with him, not the brother who managed to cheat death.”

Oliver remained perfectly still, eyes unblinking. My throat felt tight against my confession, the ache in my chest throbbing back to life. I went to push off the couch when his hand circled my arm, surprising me. I stared back, confused as he maintained a firm but gentle grip on me.

“You…were in love with him?”

“How long have you been in love with him?”

His words reminded me of Felicia’s, and in that moment I regretted my slip of tongue. Admitting it made it even more real, and the confrontations it resulted in made me that much more certain of it’s truth.

“Yes,” I confirmed softly, offering a slight smile as I once again removed my arm from his touch. “Which means it will be easier for both of us if we keep our distance unless absolutely necessary, don’t you agree?”

I was off the couch and nearing the door before he had a chance to reply. My shaking hand brushed the doorframe as I reached the threshold.

“Why do you do that?” He asked. I traced the mold around the door with my fingertips, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the frustration in his voice. “Why do you think pulling away and putting a wall between you and someone else is the only way to protect them? It doesn’t help anything; it hurts, Maggie, and you both suffer because of it. Distance isn’t protection; it’s pain.”

“I’m going to hurt regardless of how this situation turns out, Oliver. The least I can do is try to make sure that unlike Simon, I don’t I don’t get you killed, too.”

The low rumble of thunder filled the silence between us in the early afternoon. The dampness of my shirt from where I had supported Oliver sending a slight chill down my spine in the cool air of the house; I needed to change.

Looking back over my shoulder at him, I offered a pathetic excuse for a smile. “I’ll come check on you in a bit. Keep icing that. If it’s not feeling better by the morning I can go to the funeral by myself.”

“Maggie,” he said, giving me a determined look over the tops of his glasses. “There’s not a chance in hell I’m letting that happen.”