Buried in Sunshine (17 page)

Emma attempts to cry out for help. She cannot do
so. She can hardly even breathe. Like quicksand she feels herself
sinking further and further into the earth. The sunlight blinds her
overhead and the light from its all encompassing glow engulfs her.
The ground swallows Emma completely as she is overcome by
panic.

Emma jumps up in bed. Just as so many mornings
before, she is covered in sweat. She tosses the damp blanket to the
ground and attempts to remember why she is naked and in her attic
bedroom again. Then the memory of the time she spent with Ethan
returns to her mind as it begins to calm down from the shock of the
nightmare.

“Sol,” A familiar voice says, catching Emma of
guard.

“Elizabeth…” Emma whispers as she turns to the
girl who sits upon the old sun worn couch. Emma quickly gets up
from the bed and pulls a long pink t-shirt from the closet and
covers up her naked form.

“It’s Latin for sun,” Elizabeth whispers.

“Could you see…?” Emma begins, as she attempts
to comprehend Elizabeth’s words. It is far too early and Emma is
still groggy. “…my dream?”

“It’s strange,” Elizabeth says as she raises her
knees up to her chin and wraps her arms around her legs. “I have a
memory of it—when I arrived, I had this in my mind.”

“So is it real?” Emma asks as she sits back down
against her sweat soaked bed.

“The knife…?”

“I believe it is,” Elizabeth says as she nods
once. “I think Alexis has it now.”

“What does it mean?” Emma asks as she attempts
to make any sense of the dream. “Why was she so intent on finding
it?”

“I don’t know that,” Elizabeth says as her eyes
narrow and a sad frown forms on her face. “I know that we can keep
things…”

“The necklace,” Emma says as she notices the
familiar, sun shaped, yellow glass necklace around Elizabeth’s
neck. “It went with you?”

“It did,” Elizabeth replies. “I suppose that
means that Alexis can take that knife with her. I don’t think she
can be trusted—even if she is one of us.”

“Do you know that?”

“It’s just what I feel,” Elizabeth says in a
tone that is almost jealous. “Alexis seems to be able to do things
I can’t.”

“Elizabeth,” Emma whispers.

“Yes?”

“We’re friends, right?” Emma asks as she gets up
from her bed and places her hands upon Elizabeth’s shoulders. “I
mean I care for you—and you take care of me.”

“I think we are,” Elizabeth says as she nods
robotically. “When I was sent here, I had this notion that I’d hate
you—or that you’d hate me. You’re not like I thought you would
be.”

“Well I was more like Alexis,” Emma whispers as
she continues to keep her gaze upon Elizabeth. “Until someone
changed that, maybe you—but that doesn’t matter. I don’t hate
you.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth whispers. “Though I’m not
worthy of your friendship.”

“You are.”

“I’m not as important…”

“Look, you are extremely important to me,” Emma
says reassuringly. “I need to know, from a friend to a friend, is
there anything I can do to stop all of this from happening?”

“You care about someone—a relationship,”
Elizabeth whispers.

“Yes,” Emma says as she nods her head
emphatically. “So please, if you know anything—even if you don’t
think it is important. Even if it is something you’re supposed to
keep from me. As a friend, I’m begging you.”

“I’m sorry Emma,” Elizabeth says as she hides
her eyes and begins to weep softly. “…there is nothing that I know
that I haven’t told you.”

“It is alright Elizabeth,” Emma whispers as she
places her arms around the fragile girl. Her body feels tepid to
the touch. She does not understand why this version is sick, or has
been growing weak—perhaps; it has something to do with Alexis being
so powerful.

“I fear that this is my last day,” Elizabeth
says as she continues to cry.

“Why would it be?” Emma asks. “You thought you
wouldn’t be back today, but you are here.”

“It is just how I feel.”

“I know you feel that way, but it doesn’t have
to be that way—just keep hanging on,” Emma says as she squeezes
Elizabeth’s shoulders firmly. “I’ll find a way to fix this if I
can. I’ll find a way to make you normal, I promise.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Look, I get it—“Emma says as she takes
Elizabeth by hand. “You were sent to tell me something terrible, to
keep me playing this game that I have to see through to the end—it
does not mean that I do not care for you. You aren’t like me.
You’re kind. You may look like me, but you are your own
person.”

“You’re kind as well—you’re too kind to me.”

“If I have become kind, it is because you have
shown me how to be so.”

“Someone’s at the door,” Elizabeth whispers.

“Right now…?”

Elizabeth nods. They won’t come in though. They
are just going to wait for you to come down.

Emma quickly gets dressed, tossing on some tight
grey running shorts and pair of mismatched socks. “It must be
Hope…”

“I’ll have something ready for you for when you
come back,” Elizabeth says subserviently as she nods.

“Why don’t you come with us?” Emma asks as she
slips into a pair of worn white sneakers. “Getting out of the house
would probably do you a lot of good.”

“Alexis was right,” Elizabeth says sadly as she
looks down to the floor. “I can’t leave the house.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t keep her waiting too long,” Elizabeth
says as she gestures for Emma to leave. “Little girls can be
impatient.”

Emma rushes down the spiral staircase and opens
the door. Just as Elizabeth had predicted, a young version of Emma
stands in a white dress. The sun illuminates her light wheat blonde
hair causing it to glow in the morning air.

“You said you would play with me if I came,”
Hope says as she folds her arms impatiently against her chest.

“It’s pretty hot outside,” Emma says as she can
feel the heat in the air seeping in through the open door. “Would
you like to come inside for a drink before we go?”

“I don’t drink,” Hope replies. “I don’t want to
come in either.”

“Alright Hope,” Emma says as she nods and steps
out of the house and follows Hope down the cement staircase. “Where
are we going?”

“I always liked the woods—I have a favorite
place I like to play. Would you like to see it?”

“Of course I would,” Emma says as she allows the
little girl to lead her by hand.

The pair runs through the woods. A small breeze
offers Emma a little comfort from the otherwise oppressive heat.
The sun flashes like a strobe light through the trees as Emma keeps
in pace with the energetic girl. They stop as the woods
thicken.

“This way,” Hope says as she leads Emma through
a tiny opening in the thicket. Emma has to crawl on her hands and
knees to enter. The small passage leads to a thick, dim, forest.
Trees of all different sizes line the view ahead. The ground is
covered in soft moss. There is a sense of familiarity, of
sanctuary, to this place. If Hope used to play here—it is likely
that Emma often played here.

“Look,” Hope whispers as she points off to the
distance. “It’s a deer.”

“I used to see them all the time from my window
in the attic…” Emma says as she ducks down and watches the majestic
animal graze upon some low foliage. “I’ve never seen a white one
before.”

“I see her all the time.”

“They like it here because no one but me comes
out here anymore.”

“This is a pretty special place,” Emma says as
she watches the deer bound off and disappear into the thick brush.
“It’s very pretty.”

“This isn’t the place,” Hope says as she takes
Emma by the hand once more.

“Still,” Emma says as she slowly begins to be
led away. “This is a pretty nice place.”

“The place I play is a lot nicer—it’s a secret
building.”

Emma and Hope walk along through the woods until
they reach a glass building with a textured concrete foundation.
The glass building is in perfect shape, it is full of trees and
flowers that have overtaken the building.

“This is…the greenhouse?” Emma says
questioningly. “It can’t be the same one. This one is perfect.”

“This is where I like to play,” Hope whispers as
she places her hands against the glass. “Sometimes I leave the door
open and the butterflies come in. You can see in through here.”

“Emma places her face against the glass, through
a clearing of tangled bushes she can make out the familiar
greenhouse. However, there is no tree that has broken its way
through—a bed sits in the middle of the room surrounded by many
different flowers and twisting, overgrown, bushes.

“What is that man doing to mommy?” Hope says in
a shocked tone. “He’s attacking her...Help her Emma.”

Emma looks down to Hope, as she frustratingly
beats her open hands against the low concrete wall.

“I don’t see…” Emma says as she returns her eyes
to the bed. There, naked, she sees her mother—only she is much
younger than she remembers. A man is on top of her, thrusting as
beads of sweat drop down from his face and briefly catch the light
of the sun as they fall to the bed.

“Look away Hope,” Emma whispers as she is
horrified by what she is seeing. This is impossible. Muffled moans
can be heard through the glass. How is she able to see this—why is
she seeing this? Before her confused mind can ask any further
questions she catches a glimpse of a man’s face on the other side
of the greenhouse.

“Dad…?” Hope whispers and then takes off
running.

Emma follows behind as they round the
greenhouse. The couple in the throes of passion seems completely
oblivious to all that is going on just outside the glass walls. As
she rounds the corner she catches the sight of a man running away
and back towards the house.

“Daddy…!” Hope shouts again as she quickly
chases after the man. “Help mom!”

Emma chases Hope as fast as her feet will carry
her. As they reach a small clearing close to the house, Hope
completely disappears.

“Hope?” Emma asks as she stops running and
attempts to catch her breath. “Hope!”

Emma searches the area, but finds no sign of
either the little girl or the man. Was that…her father? Was that
why he left? Was that the day that he left? Emma was beginning to
understand a little more now.

Emma runs back to the greenhouse. Her body
covered in sweat she enters the hot building. Everything is back to
how she remembers it from before. A tree branch has grown through
the glass, the bed sits beneath it. However, something is
different—the room has been trashed. Boxes are strewn about and
books litter the ground. Emma quickly recalls the dream from
earlier—Alexis had been here. Emma retraces Alexis’s steps and
carefully crawls beneath the bed. She retrieves an empty box with a
small note inside of it.

To my beloved Sarah Olivia Langford: A gift
for when you become that world class chef that I know you will be
someday.

You are loved, and always will be,

Brian Metcalfe

“Sarah Olivia Langford…” Emma says aloud.
“S…O...L…”

Emma places the note in the small pocket in the
backside of her running shorts. She enters the stairwell and begins
her trek back to the house. Things were making a bit more sense
now—perhaps her father had not disappeared after all. Like a
puzzle, things were falling into place. Her father’s unexpected
disappearance, the bricked up wall—Ethan had mentioned that his
father had worked on the house. Perhaps her father’s body was
buried somewhere in the house…that would account for all the hidden
broken concrete.

Elizabeth met Emma at the top of the stairs with
a chilled bottle of water.

“Did you figure out what you needed to?”
Elizabeth asks as she beckons Emma to follow her to the
kitchen.

“I think that Brian Metcalfe killed my father,”
Emma says as the reality of it all sinks in. “He was there—my
father—he saw everything. Brian must have found out and…murdered
him.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I need to confront him,” Emma says confidently.
For the first time, she is not afraid—although she feels that she
should be. However, Hope needed her to do this. She could feel this
much.

“You should eat first,” Elizabeth says as she
attempts to bring Emma to the kitchen.

“I can’t,” Emma says as she runs up the stairs
and enters her mother’s old room and retrieves the metal box of
letters.

“Please eat something first,” Elizabeth insists
once more.

“I’ll lose my nerve if I don’t go now,” Emma
says as she nods and smiles, “I’ll be fine Elizabeth—thank
you.”

“If I don’t see you again,” Elizabeth whispers.
“Please take care of yourself.”

“Don’t talk like that—I’ll be back, I
promise.”

*

Emma patiently sits outside of the small
insurance building waiting for the old lady who has been chatting
up Brian Metcalfe for the past fifteen minutes or so. Once she
exits the building, Emma makes her move. She jumps out of her car
and enters the office.

“Emma,” Brian says as he smiles.

Emma does not say anything in reply. She locks
the door behind her and closes the shades.

“What…” Brian begins, “What are you doing?”

“I want answers,” Emma says as she drops down a
pile of love letters onto Brian’s table.

With a heavy sigh Brian slithers into his chair
and begins to thumb through all of the old letters. “I had no idea
that your mother kept these…”

“You were just going to leave Ethan and your
wife behind?”

“You have to understand…”

“I don’t have to understand shit,” Emma quips
sharply as she slams an open fist upon the table. “You and my
mother were having an affair—you caused my father to leave.”

“I did not cause your father to leave Emma…”