The snow on the ground crunched beneath his bare feet. The burning pain was fading; he could barely feel the cold, or the wet, or the protruding sticks, or the stones threatening to gash the cracked, naked soles that carried him. They were rapidly growing numb, and he knew he would soon lose all feeling. Then, he would be in even more trouble.
His eyes scanned the darkened landscape for movement, but he could barely make out anything except the outline of the hills far ahead. Shadows created by the trees blackened the ground, creating hazards unseen. If he fell, would he be able to get up again? The strength that had carried him this far was almost gone, evaporated into the chill of the night.
His body became racked with shivers, as much from the cold as from the fear of being caught. He checked his watch: almost 4 a.m. He has been gone for nearly 3 hours now. They would be waking soon for morning prayers.
If memory served him right, there was an abandoned shack somewhere nearby. He thought he would have happened upon it already and panicked now at the thought that he had passed it. Had he gone the right way? He had only been this far a few times before and never after dark. Never anywhere after dark. No one had, except perhaps The Chosen; they had more freedoms.
He was sure The Chosen had been out this far, that they knew about the shack.
Still, he needed to find it now. To rest. He knew he must get out of the wind until the sun broke the horizon. Then he could move on.
Then he would have to move on—because they would be looking for him.
~
Sybil Moon
That sense of falling. Warm air surrounds her before cold air attacks her moist, barren skin. The air is getting colder … stronger. It is getting difficult to breathe.
Something is below her. It softens her land–almost lowers her harmlessly down to the ground. It is shapeless, but her contact with it is so brief she cannot tell what it is. It did her no harm, but she senses it wants to. Then it is gone.
She can’t quite understand what is happening. There is no before, only now; and she doesn’ know where now is. A haze surrounds her. It is totally dark. She cannot see but she knows she isn’t alone. Sybil places her hands out, feeling for any obstruction near her.
And she wanders.
She doesn’t know where she is going or who is here, and she is afraid. That thing is here with her. She knows it is–she can sense it. She can … smell … it. It smells rotten. The smell begins to grow so strong that fear grips her. It must be close. Getting closer …
And then she wakes up.
Sybil isn’t alone. Fred, her lover, is in bed beside her. She is home; she is safe. She rolls over and looks at him, sleeping peacefully and breathing so calmly. He is beautiful, and she is so grateful for his presence. She met him at a time of great peril in her life, and he was the calm through the storm. While he knows very little about her, apart from their rendevous together, he refrains from pressing into matters she isn’t ready to discuss, like work. He leaves well enough alone and focuses on making her feel good about herself. He brings honest joy to her life, and she hasn’t felt that in as long as she can remember. Thanks to her affliction–or blessing, whichever way you count it.
While she realizes this only happened in a dream, she knows these dreams are starting to reveal what happened in that basement in West Virginia many months ago. The dreams began simple, brief. But they have been growing, slowly and steadily; everything she has forgotten–locked out of her memory–is creeping back in.
And there’s nothing she can do to stop it.
Almost as if he can sense her, Fred rolls toward and reaches for her. With eyes still closed, he wraps his big arms around her. Sybil snuggles in, ready for sweeter dreams. If only she could fall back asleep…
Sybil gets out of bed and checks her messages and emails. Mostly junk. Nothing from Detective Greene. She hasn’t worked since her incident, or accident, or whatever it was. She took a brief vacation with Fred, disconnecting from everyone and everything. While her only friends are her brother and sister, their need to coddle and smother her back to health had become too much for Sybil, hence the getaway.
Sybil makes a cup of coffee and sits on her back porch. She’s careful not to make noise; Fred worked late last night and needs his beauty rest. She grips her coffee cup, allowing it to warm up her hands, and watches the sun come up. Wilmington is easing into its heat wave, which lasts around eight long months, but it is still a little cooler at night, and Sybil wants to enjoy what remaining crisp mornings they have. It is almost 7 a.m. and around 63 degrees. In another month, their lows will be the 7o’s, and she’ll start sheltering inside like a bear hibernating in winter, only going out for runs and to run errands.
She glances at her running shoes on the other side of the sliding glass door. They are worn and tired. She would buy a new pair except she’s only been on a handful of runs since she returned. It used to be her therapy, only now she worries she is becoming agoraphobic. It’s not her dreams, exactly; more like an overwhelming feeling that something out there is waiting to snatch her. Whatever she faced. She doesn’t remember what it is, only that it meant to hurt her … maybe even destroy her.
And her soul is uneasy.
The Pondering Pot 