Chapter 10 The Present
THE PRESENT
AMELIA
The thunder tore across the sky like a wounded beast, its deafening roars rippling through the frigid air, each crack a blow to my chest that sent jagged icicles of fear racing through my veins.
My body, cold as carved marble, trembled with each echoing boom. Around me, the world felt warped. Every shadow stretched into unfamiliar shapes, every footstep on unseen ground felt aimless, as though I were stumbling in a vast, directionless void.
I hurled my voice into the blackness, a raw, ragged plea for rescue, but the darkness swallowed it whole. No answer came. I was utterly alone in a suffocating sea of night.
A stinging wind snapped at my exposed skin, its icy fingers tearing through the thin fabric of my clothes, leaving me raw and quivering.
Above me, the trees stood like skeletal sentinels.
Gnarled branches twisting skyward, black as old bone, each twig scraping the air like the talons of a ravenous horror.
Rain began to pelt me, cold needles dancing on my scalp, then driving into my flesh with increasing fury, as though the storm itself sought to shred me apart.
I squinted into the void, praying for the slightest glow—a distant star, a fraction of moonlight—but the sky offered nothing but impenetrable black. It pressed down on me like a living blanket, its weight crushing, its silence absolute.
Every path I ventured twisted back into more lifeless gloom, the leafless forest a labyrinth of despair. It felt alive with malice: the bark of every tree seemed to pulse with a hidden heartbeat, and I could almost sense eyes tracking me from the shadows.
A cold dread pooled in my gut, each footfall louder than the last, echoing across the emptiness where no creature stirred, where not even an owl dared break the hush.
Then the earth beneath my feet began to change. The damp soil darkened, blooming into a thick, congealed crimson that sloshed underfoot like grotesque syrup.
A metallic tang bloomed on my tongue, and a rancid stench flooded my nostrils, yanking me back to the memory of finding my sister’s lifeless body in her bed. My heart slammed against my ribs as I stumbled backward.
A shape materialized a few paces away, and my hand flew to my mouth as a strangled scream ripped from my throat. Terror rooted me to the spot, my limbs refusing to obey.
The figure stepped into the weak, flickering gloom: my sister, blood-soaked and battered, her pale skin mottled with bruises and wounds that oozed dark rivulets. Her once-lustrous hair hung in greasy tangles across her shoulders.
I could hardly bear to look, yet I was powerless to look away.
Slowly, she rose to her feet, each movement stiff and unnatural. Her eyes, once warm and familiar, now glowed with a feral red light. As if embers of rage burned behind her dead gaze.
In a motion so swift it left me breathless, she seized a handful of my hair and yanked my head back. Her lips curled into a savage snarl, revealing stained teeth. The fetid odor of decay surged from her like a physical blow.
Her hand, white and cold as marble, pressed against my throat. Ice spread across my windpipe as she squeezed, her face inches from mine.
I tasted the stench of earth and blood and an otherworldly rot that clung to her. She resembled a spirit returned for vengeance, every line of her face twisted in hate. “My death is all your fault. If you weren’t so cowardly, I would still be alive!”
Her words reverberated around me, sharper than knives. All your fault. All your fault. The accusation hammered at my mind, and tears burned behind my eyes. I was helpless, my sobs breaking free in ragged gasps.
In an instant the world shifted. The forest dissolved, replaced by a sheer, rocky precipice. The sky above roiled with dark, bruised clouds. My pulse thundered in my ears as I realized what was coming.
Without warning, Lillian, a figment of my own grief, shoved me over the edge. I plummeted into the abyss.
For a moment I felt nothing but the wind rushing past, a curious peace settling over me before terror returned in a final, breathless gasp as I hurtled toward the unforgiving rocks.
Then everything blackened.
A strangled scream tore from my throat, and I snapped awake, heart hammering, chest heaving. Morning light flooded my room, soft and ordinary, dissolving the nightmare like mist.
I lay on the floor beside my bed, trembling as my eyes adjusted to the gentle dance of dust motes in the sunbeams.
It was just a dream, I told myself, the same mantra I repeated every dawn when my past surfaced in horrors too vivid to be mere slumber. I forced myself up on shaky legs, determined to shake it off and greet the day as though the nightmare held no power over me.
Temptation nudged at me to reach for the cabinet in my kitchen, to pour myself a bottle of wine to dull the distress, but I shook my head at the thought. I was not my mother.
My friend Cathy often insisted that I was an alcoholic because of how frequently I indulged in wine at night.
“To be an alcoholic, it must completely ruin your life and leave you in shambles. Believe me, I know,” I would respond matter-of-factly. Just because I drank in larger quantities now and then did not make me an alcoholic. I had my life together; despite all the hardships I had endured.
People claimed one could live a seemingly perfect life yet still feel profoundly unhappy. They said it was possible to achieve every ambition and still grapple with a persistent sense of despair.
My life was close to perfect. I earned a good income as a writer. I had a lovely, suitable home. Each day unfolded with the same simple routine. I savored the aroma of freedom, relishing the opportunity to do my own thing, far removed from the misery of my past.
I had believed that running away and starting anew would heal me, that I could forget the trauma and heartache and become someone else entirely. But this was not a fairy tale. I had not encountered my prince charming or lived happily ever after.
The shadows of darkness still haunted my vision, trailing behind me and whispering in my ear during moments of silence and solitude.
From time to time, happiness enveloped me like a delicate veil. I wore it like a safety blanket, hesitant to peel it away, fearful of what lay buried beneath the mask. If I didn’t delve too deeply into the horrors of my past, I was fine. I could wake up and live the illusion of a perfect life.
Almost.
I cleared my mind of the heinous dream that had haunted me, focusing instead on preparing for the day ahead. My current best friend had asked to meet this morning, claiming she had exciting news to share in person.
Sabrina had been my savior when I first moved to this town. As my real estate agent, she had helped me find a home, and our bond had blossomed during that process.
Without her, navigating a new place would have been infinitely harder. Although she was a few years younger than me, it never felt like a barrier.
Two hours later, I arrived at the town’s beloved café.
The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sweet pastries washed over my senses the moment I stepped inside.
It was a quaint little establishment, filled with friendly workers and warm customers.
I spotted Sabrina sitting at a table by the window, sunlight illuminating her auburn hair like a halo.
The café’s amber morning light pooled around us as Sabrina swept in, her laughter rippling through the air like warm honey.
“Amelia! How are you?” she called, rising from her table to enfold me in a quick, buoyant hug.
I inhaled the faint bouquet of her rose-scented shampoo and the rich aroma of espresso, then eased into the rattan chair across from her.
“I’m alright,” I said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Had a weird dream last night, but let’s skip that. What’s up with you?”
Sabrina’s grin bloomed. She held her hand aloft, palm tilted so the overhead light danced across a single, enormous diamond. The gem sparkled like a shard of starlight.
“You’re engaged?” I whispered, leaning forward, eyes wide as I took in the ring’s fire.
“Yes!” she gushed, cheeks flushed pink. “Shane proposed, finally! I’m over the moon to be his wife.”
A genuine smile curved my lips as happiness radiated from her face. Then she paused, her voice dipping into excitement so bright it made the coffee steam swirl. “But that’s not the best part. I want you to be my maid of honor.”
Silence settled between us for a heartbeat. My heart pounded in my ears. Sabrina pressed on, voice softening with warmth. “You know I don’t have siblings, and my circle’s small. You’ve been my rock since you moved here. I couldn’t imagine anyone else beside me.”
I blinked against a surge of emotion. No one had ever asked me that before. “Sabrina, oh, I’m honored. Yes, I’d love to.”
She whooped softly, clapping her hands. “Yay! You’re the best!” Her eyes shone like emeralds as she sipped her cappuccino.
“I’m really happy for you,” I managed, though a dull ache tugged at my chest. Lillian’s absence, her lost wedding day, flickered through my mind in a wave of grief. Sabrina must have seen it.
“Hey, everything okay? You seem… distant.” She tilted her head, concern furrowing her brow.
I swallowed. “I’ve been wrestling with bad dreams and old scars.”
Her gaze softened. “I’m sorry. Have you thought about therapy?”
I rolled my eyes, recalling sterile offices and surface-level questions that never reached my wounds. “Therapy doesn’t cut it. I need something more real.” I glanced away, ashamed.
Sabrina chewed her lip, then sat forward, eyes alight with determination. “Okay. I have an idea, something to pull you out of this funk.”
I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Oh? And what’s that brilliant idea of yours?”