Forever and Goodbye

It had been cold last night, frighteningly cold. Winter was coming, although it had already settled into my heart. As the houses’ windows were crusted with thick frost, so were my feelings, until all I could feel was a chill that spread throughout my entire self, and deep as the marrow in my bones. As promised, Callie and the guys had left quite early this morning, around five I would say: I had no notion of time; I couldn’t sleep at all after Callie’s cruel lust and Connor’s atrocious words. All through the late hours of the night I thought I could hear them whisper; of what was a mystery to me, although I could very well guess what it was.
“What shall we do with this pathetic whore?” I could almost hear Callie’s crooning voice, and could definitely picture her hand resting upon Jake’s chest as he puffed on a burning cigarette.
During the nights that had followed Callie’s first outburst, I had often thought why they kept me around. Nobody seemed to care if I stayed or disappeared off the face of the earth, and that was the bitter truth. Most of the time, it was hard to believe they ever noticed my presence in the claustrophobic apartment at all: they hadn’t even realized I was awake as they took their leave!
I now was freshly showered, and shivering in the freezing air outside. I had called Lindsey a few hours after their departure, just to be safe, and she had given me hushed explanations on how to find the abandoned church. It was a ways away, around an hour and a half walk from the apartment, she had told me, yet I could not afford to take the chance to be discovered prematurely. And so here I was, following a forest path which seemed barely ever traveled on, amongst massive trees that blocked out most of the sun’s rays. Often I found myself squinting as I strolled under thick canopies, and many a time dodged mini avalanches of falling snow.
It was no wonder why New Haven’s inhabitants gossiped about these woods. They were dark, gloomy, and bore so many trees that the small indent of the path was the only place to walk if you wanted to keep both of your eyes intact. This forest’s gloom also sent shivers down your spine and seemed completely empty of life. Here and there, I saw remnants of what could once have been live: a broken carriage of rotten wood, slumped on its side not too far from the walking path; and a small cabin with walls turned black from decades of rain and fire. As I stepped lightly to the other side, I saw the cabin’s right wall had been completely scorched, and had long ago caved into the main room. One push would topple this desolate building to the ground, I knew, and so I continued on my journey.
My fingers soon grew numb, and my eyes became heavy as my sleepless night tugged on my weary bones. I just wanted to go home, and slip into warm pajamas, but I was too far gone, now, and I could not afford to stop. I closed my eyes, feeling the path with slow, uncertain steps; Suddenly, my toe connected with a rock surface, and as the pain climbed from my poor, frozen foot up the inside of my leg, I stumbled, and fell flat into the snowy ground.
“Fuck!” I squealed, as my body went down and my face connected with the carpeted ground. I rolled unto my back, wiping away the snow from my face, and finally opened my eyes to find a great statue of an angel holding a bundle inside of its arms. I stood, and admired the sculpture: the face of the angel appeared to be weeping, looking directly down to the spot where I had fallen. Gasping, I realized this was a grave, and a very old one at that. I whispered the inscription under my breath: “Here lies Desmond Lancaster, a babe forever sleeping in God’s embrace”, and felt my heart go out to this child. The Lancaster boy had only been five when he had died, by what means was not specified. I traced the angel’s weeping face with my fingers, its once-soft cheek rough under my finger tips. Then it dawned on me: the grave soil had seemed to be freshly overturned, yet the inscription said the young boy had been dead and gone twenty years. Were there grave robbers around these parts? I thought it quite doubtful.
I left the suspicious grave of the late Lancaster boy, and turned my sights into the great clearing that began a few feet away from the angel’s resting place. It was a monstrous thing, littered with hundreds of grave stones, but nothing compared to the dead-looking church that loomed in the middle of the clearing. It was an old brick building which, in the whirling wind, gave the impression of swaying. Once a formidable gathering place, this church had long been overpowered by patches of moss and massive leafy creepers. Its double doors, once a deep mahogany, now turned green and splintered, spoke of an elegance it had once possessed in kinder days. Now, it was only a sad excuse for a gathering hall, trembling in the wind like a long dead leaf.
I tip-toed to the middle of the clearing, side stepping grave sites, trying not to notice the dreadful inscriptions etched into stone. Thankfully, I didn't have to worry much about being spotted from the inside: every window was boarded shut, complete with fading graffiti. It was not long until I was furtively sneaking along the wall towards the double doors. My heart was pounding in my chest, my breath coming out in labored, shaky pants. My feet had become numb from the cold, but I didn't mind. What I wanted was to know what was on the other side of those grimy brick walls. A moment later, I headr a woman’s feeble scream, and I hurried to the nearest window as my heart sang. I heard other voices, distorted, inaudible, but scarcely louder than a whisper. My fingers traced the wooden boards, and finally found a crack the size of my pinky to look into the dark abyss inside. I took a deep breath, peered inside, and gasped in fright.
This could not be real! This couldn't possibly be! My heartbeat now drummed an S.O.S, and soon, a shrill scream escaped from my frozen throat as the sight inside the church registered into my mind: A man was crouching over a woman, a hunting knife in his hand, ready to strike. Another two stood a few feet away, arms crossed, and smoking as they stared at the carnage before them. That was when I screamed, when the knife was just about to reach the woman’s heart. The man’s head spun in my direction, and all I met were his cold, wild eyes; and then I ran.
I could hear their footsteps as I ran for the woods. I had nowhere to go, and a madman with a weapon chasing after me; but I did not stop. I simply bolted from the trees. I ran so blindly, tears rolling down my cheeks, that I never noticed the shovel lying near one of the overturned graves. I tripped over its wooden shaft, and struggled to get back to my feet, ignoring the pain skewering my ankle. But all was in vain. Someone’s body crashed on top of me, seizing my flailing arms and pressing the steel against my exposed neck. This is how I die, I kept repeating in my head, this is how my sad life ends: alone on a dirty ground. I thought of my parents, I thought of Callie, of Jake, and of Connor, who would never know what happened to me. I wondered if they would care. I cried, and could feel the knife biting into my flesh, sending waves of pain, and letting drops of blood stain the pure white of the quiet snow.
“Kill her” I heard the voice of a young woman, muffled through the pounding in my ears. There was a grunt, and an evil chuckle.
“In due time: I would like to see the face of our little intruder as her lifeblood pours out of her veins.” The man’s voice was hoarse with excitement, loving every little bit of the chase; he was a tiger come to slaughter his prey.
Strong hands turned me around, but I could not bring myself to look into my murderer’s eyes. However, instead of the biting steel, I felt rather than heard an inaudible pause, a shocked moment as I showed my pursuers my soiled face.
“Well fuck!” I heard the man’s voice boom next to my ear, as well as a soft thump. It was the knife hitting ground. I opened my eyes, wondering what brought a psycho to a pause, but as my watery eyes adjusted to the sky’s bright lighting, I could no longer breathe.
The man who pinned my arms painfully down with his bony knees had long hair as white as the snow below me. He had eyes the color of a lush forest in the heat of summer, and his hands, now pressed against his face, left trails of blood from his forehead to his chin. The two standing, with cigarettes still in hand, were stone faced and wide-eyed, although neither looked displeased with finding me here. The girl, her hair almost stained scarlet and dripping crimson, was none other than Callie, and the man towering over her, grinning, was none other than Jakob.
But my eyes were only for the one who had intended to spill my blood, whom was now staring at me with eyes that spoke of rain. Although his hat was missing, the boy could not be mistaken for anyone but Connor, whose hair matched shade for shade Callie’s silken mane.
We stayed like this, staring in horror at the other's face, for a second at the most, until everything turned to black, and Connor’s bloody face dissipated from my disbelieving eyes.