Hold the Light (31 page)

"Yes, sir. Apparently it just gave out. Did she act strange last night?"

"Not really, she said she was really tired," I answered as my eyes watered, "I couldn't sleep much so I took a walk and when I came back she was ...she was ..."

More people asked me many questions but I never even looked at them, they were just voices. I remained mute and no-one bothered me much after they realized they weren't getting any answers from me. They thought I was in shock and I probably was. Eventually people stopped talking to me.

Of course the autopsy proved a natural death, but I never cared. I knew what had happened. Just the thought of it made me colder than the gift ever did. My skin felt like ice to my own touch. Jessica had complained when my feet would touch her under the covers, even in the summer and after she died, it made me uncomfortable when I touched my flesh.

Sometimes she would draw a warm bath for me to melt in, but I couldn't do that for myself. It reminded me of her. There was no reason to talk or listen to anyone; everyone worth confiding in was dead.

Her family did all the burial rituals and put her in the earth, in a plot near the city limits, where she couldn't be touched by anything hovering over me. Every relative came to offer their condolences, but I was still trapped in my mind, replaying memories of our past. I was usually tugged around to the different places I needed to be, never knowing where I was and where I was going. Occasionally I would wake from my stupor, but I never woke for long. The only things that grabbed my attention were the tombstones in the green graveyard. The only thing I could comprehend was the dead; they were easy, the living was a foreign species speaking mute dialects.

I awoke the most at her funeral. My stab wounds ached repeatedly, pulsing with my heartbeat, harassing me the entire time, until it was over as I took another trip as Death. I was so close to catatonic that I barely moved for the convulsions. I shivered a bit. Many speculated and worried if I was drugged after they tried to speak with me. I was as lifeless as my wife. The pains pounding from my stab wounds were the only indicator that I was still alive. Strangely enough, even in death, Jessica still made my life go by quickly.

"Hey," a voice spoke.

A raindrop patted the tip of my nose and slapped me awake. The sky was gray, dim and heavy, and it began to drizzle. Nowhere seemed worth my attention but nevertheless, the grassy wet hills of the cemetery came into view.

"Hey George, wake up," my sister called.

Attempting to find my bearings, I slipped on the slick grass, kicking up mud and green blades. She was waving in front of my face and caught my arm, helping me stand.

"Thanks sis," I muttered, regaining my balance.

Looking about, I wandered away from Jessica's burial plot to a small, graceful hill sporting a limp and ancient tree. People in dark clothes and coats plagued the area. It made me wary, each of them looked too somber, maneuvering their grief for my lost loved one. And anyone of them could be the convict. They were all too short, though.

I knew he was out there somewhere, stalking me. The window of opportunity was wide open for him to attack me in this state and he was bound to capitalize on my vulnerabilities. I was in a waking dream more times than not and the more I tried to pay attention, the more I drifted away. But the convict and the demon remained in the foreground of my thoughts.

Rain matted my hair and left a misty layer on my head. The hill I stood on was covered with the same coating of dampness. I could hear the harbors in the distance and all the bustle of the ships. The ships looked ancient, over two hundred years old. This foreign place felt familiar though. Deja vu through the gift from the convict. The ships came slow to my eyes, barely making it through the gray drizzle, then disappeared.

"Whatcha doing way over here?" My sister asked from behind me.

"I don't know," I replied. "Just felt like coming here."

"How are you?"

"Terrible."

"I am sorry, I really am. What can I do?" she asked, showing unprovoked kindness for the first time.

She caught me off balance. I was waiting for her to insult me in some way, even if it was accidental. Or just act like a bitch. But it seemed something inside her had changed. I saw it right away. She was different, in her eyes, she was more grown. Maybe she stopped idolizing our father or she just pitied me after losing my wife.

"You know Amber, I don't know what I'm going to do," I let the floodgates open to her.

"When Dad died I ran away, when Mom and Randy died I just did the same. The only thing I know is when someone close to me dies, I have to keep on going no matter what the direction. To stay resilient and stubborn so I don't suffer. Survival instincts, I guess."

"I guess I did the same, in a way, when Mom died. I don't know ...I ...just don't want to lose you, too, George," Amber said. The scar on her lip caught my attention.

"You won't," I said, starting to actually believe that I could manage to keep that promise.

"Stay with me awhile. I don't want you going back to your apartment alone. Probably not at all. You need your family and I need to make up for lost time." God she sounded like an adult. God I hoped she changed. Could it be?

She put her arm around me and we walked down the hill. Men in black coats and grave demeanors slithered about the grounds, aggravating my paranoia again. The convict had to be out there somewhere, but my eyes, any of my senses couldn't focus enough to find him. Everyone was merely a black blob of misery. Every person in that dreary rain, that was visiting a grave, was there because of me. And I pitied all but one. All but that solitary man out there I couldn't see. Out there somewhere, pretending to mourn but watching me instead, watching for the right time to strike.

"Stay with me as long as you want," Amber said. I tried to pay attention to her, but I was feeling worse and my eyes grew intolerably heavy.

"Alright," I muttered.

"We're almost to the car now, George," Amber said, leading me by the arm.

My neck lost all strength and my head swiveled, all my weight rested on Amber. Everything below my chin was heavy. Then came a poke, a snagging at my shoulder. It was gentle at first, like someone getting my attention, but it hooked onto my coat and pulled. The tug was so hard that I leaned with it, falling to the side, arms flailing in the air as dead weight.

I slipped right out of Amber's hold. I instantly thought that the convict was attacking. My fist whizzed through the rain. I was in no condition to take on a hulk like the convict, but I had to try. Had to stun him to find time to run. My sister was there and he would destroy the only members of my family. She was all that was left.

My blind swing through the air hit nothing but raindrops. Amber's hand reached behind me and she unhooked me from a tree branch that had snagged my coat. The jagged limb bounced in its freedom and I turned to face the threat I thought was the convict. I spun too fast and splashed into a wet mess of grass and mud. I still squirmed, ready to fight off the tree that slowly stopped appearing like the convict.

"George, George! Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I grumbled, slowly rising to my feet with her help. "I just wanna leave."

We hurried to her car and she drove off to her apartment. Reaching in my inside coat pocket, I pulled out the piece of crumpled yellow paper and rubbed it between my thumb and forefinger. It was safe. I wrapped up tightly in Randy's old coat and slept the entire drive.

Chapter 62

Amber woke me and brought me into her place where I fell asleep again, mildly shivering and convulsing. Eventually I fully woke, yearning for food that she already had waiting wrapped in the fridge. Night had fallen and fragments of dreams haunted my mood in blue hues. Images of anguished souls lingered as I woke.

Her apartment was bright and blinded my sleepy eyes. Fresh and immaculate, everything was neatly placed in its spot around her home. The walls were a brilliant white and the carpet a clean cream. The pictures of her were still on the wall but were fewer. My eyes were still adjusting as Amber sat with me and I ate.

"Could you turn up the heat, sis?" I asked, looking for where she put my coat.

"I guess," she walked to the thermostat near the kitchen.

The rain persisted. It came down hard, straight and bleak from outside the window behind her.

"Thanks, Amber."

"Sure, I just wish I could do more."

"Well, we could talk," I offered.

She sat at the table with me for an hour and we chatted as lightning and thunder rattled the window. A couple of convulsions kicked in but I had them under control, it looked like I was just shivering. I flirted with the idea of telling her about the gift, but never found a good enough reason or spot in the conversation.

She had done well for herself. And had become kinder than I'd ever thought she was capable of. Amber had saved money, though that was never a surprise to me because Dad was such a tightwad. All aspects of her life seemed to be set and proper, everything but her family life.

The night passed and the death trips slowed. I grew colder, so she got my trench coat for me. I dug around for more information about her.

"Dating hasn't been too good," she confessed, "Work's too important."

"Whatever works," I replied.

"I also wanted to apologize for neglecting your wedding," she added.

"It was small to begin with," I stated as I wrapped the coat around me, closing any area that could let in a breeze.

"She was great, I imagine," Amber asked.

"Yeah, Jessica was," I lamented with shivers running underneath my skin. My trench coat must have been letting in some cold air in because I had never been this cold. I hoped the branch that caught me in the cemetery hadn't torn a hole in my coat.

"You're still cold? Lemme turn up the heat," she said, walking towards the thermostat, "You must have gotten sick standing in the rain."

The storm continued to wail outside. A bright flash lit up the rain and I watched the city. Bright windows, billboards and streetlights several blocks away caught my attention with thin piercing light that pushed between the downpour. Amber turned the dial up and wiped her forehead. Shivers still shot through me, raising my hair on end. Never once has Randy's jacket failed to warm me. Something was wrong.

"Some like it hot," she giggled.

Her smile made me comfortable. I didn't thaw but something deep within me did melt a bit.

Lightning flashed again. The few lights left awake in the city below blinked out, blocked by something. Thunder followed. My heart skipped a beat. She turned around to look out the window, turned back to me, and then peered out the window again, trying to figure out what I was intently focusing on. I stood up, curious as to why all the lights below went out. Did the power go out? The lights are still on in here... My feet began to itch. I needed to run. But why?

Was I a child scared when a few lights go out? No, but there was still light from coming through the windowpane, it just seemed labored and tired as if it had to sprint around some massive obstruction.

Lightning blazed once more and a face appeared. Leering eyes shot out a vengeful stare. They gleamed with lust. Amber jumped back in fright and let loose a shrill yelp. I ran to her, crashing over the table and chairs.

The decrepit face at the pane smiled wide.

The window erupted. Glass showered over he the carpet and Amber as the convict reached out for her through the shadowy rain. A flood powdered in with his arm and soaked her. His hand landed on her head, matting her hair down over her face. As dark as it was, I could see him clearly. Even more rotten than before, his skin hung off his skull and his sulfurous reek immediately permeated the room. His right hand held her fast as she struggled. He stepped through the window into the apartment, turning sideways to fit. Setting both massive feet onto her clean carpet, mud seeped out from beneath his boots. He stood with Amber's head in one hand and crooked a finger at me with the other. The convict towered over my struggling sister, a black shadowed hulk, dripping mud and blood over the pristine white carpet and walls. He was a sick void surrounded by pure brightness.

He quickly shifted his grip to the back of her neck, expelling little effort holding her still as she kicked and screamed. Calm and malevolent, the convict squared up and his head nearly touched the ceiling. Both his hands tightly wrapped around Amber's neck. Solid as a tank and just as broad, he held her up below the ceiling, at eye level and laughed, ready to exact his revenge.

"Trade," he uttered in a strained yet commanding voice. It was deep and boomed around the apartment. The grainy sound of death pounded my ears. He stared from behind his finger aimed in my direction.

I was strewn across the chairs, struggling to get to my feet. I groggily reached for my bewildered sister with one hand and helped myself up with the other. He towered miles above me and I was sprawled in his creeping shadow, cast as square and tall as a building. He seemed even bigger than the last time.

"George, help," Amber begged and spat through her long hair, covering her face.

"Put her down," I ordered sternly with more authority than ever I knew I had.

"Trade," the convict forcefully repeated.

Randy's battered and broken face flashed in my mind and I saw his blood spilling onto the street again. The wound in my side, the one this bulky bastard gave me, pulsed in raging pain. I had to come up with something. Now.

"He's playing you, convict," I spat, allowing my gut to lead.

"What?"

"The demon. He is playing you."

"TRADE!" he snarled. "Or she dies."

"Why, dammit?" I wondered if I was going to get anywhere with this. "You want the demon to give you your wife back? You think it will once you get the gift back? What will you do then?"

"See her again," he said as rage filled his eyes and voice. "Do not stand between us. Give it to me!"

"George, just give it to him, what ever he's asking for...give it," Amber pleaded, managing to push her lips through her tangled mess of hair.