The Risen: Dawning (30 page)

It is enough and it sends the two clowns into hysterics.

Cutting the tree down was a three team effort. How much of that is from having to battle the thick trunk with a hand axe, or lack of trust for being the center of a male mischievous joke, goes unsaid. Finally hearing the snapping of the trunk’s surrender, Rhett and Chapel guide the forest’s monster to the ground. The forest echoes with its fallen comrade, sending the birds scattering through the skies with their farewell.

Aimes claps again with her excitement and childlike joy. She tackles Lawless in a hug as he stands, causing him to laugh with her appreciation, and return her hug. She begins to clean off the forest floor from his back and arms as I watch them in their friendship.

“Let’s not cue that rerun.” J.D. says beside me. My face must have shown my feelings and I fight to regain its placidity, ignoring his private message.

“Man was in the forest.” She says, as they look down upon the giant tree.

“You can call me-.” Rhett begins, but she cuts his sentence short.

“I am so not calling you anything.” She tells him trying to keep a stern face amid his teasing.

“Not even Wolf?” Rhett lowers his voice with sexual tension hinting his knowledge of a not so long ago conversation.

Her cheeks flush at her own memories of that morning. Rhett wins again.

He looks to me in his victory over her. We exchange smiles of our own over that morning, and I know his mind is now remembering a different game played. A game he lost.

“Any time.” I tell him. “You don’t even have to ask.”

I taunt him with his own words. The color of his eyes deepens with his excitement at the memory. I am watching his face become one of a pure hunter with his racing thoughts of our rematch. His smile grows in proportion to Lawless’ shrinking.

“Seriously, not again.” J.D. mutters to me under his breath. “We’re all still too fresh for this little show of yours.”

“I’m not showing anything.” I force my smile to stay frozen, sliding my words out between locked teeth.

“Really? Seems to me you are showing him you don’t forgive them yet.” J.D. tells me, turning his body to appear as if he is scanning the area to cover our conversation. “You were a daisy until she hugged him.”

His words steal the smile from my lips and pulls my face to him. It is all the confirmation he needs to the power and truth of his words.

“Get over it.” He tells me, walking to the rest of the group to help them figure out how we are going to carry our kill back to the high school.

The very last thing you want to tell a woman is to “get over it”. That phrase is the exact opposite of what a woman will do when told to do so. Now, I am willing to sit in this funk all day, just to prove to J.D. that I will not simply “get over it”. I am completely secure in the fact that I will be the Grinch who stole “over it” in the middle of their Whoville celebration. Unless I have to paint myself green. Then all bets are off.

I
t is the peek of her white nightgown that I see first above her bare ivory feet when she goes by me. The delicate white eyelets of its lace float above the white snow as she runs, keeping pace with me. The trees shield her, keeping her in a peek-a-boo pattern. I can almost hear her giggles as I watch her golden hair trail behind her.

I am not surprised that my mind would bring Lilly forward now. If innocence has a mascot, it would be her. The only thing that made this season bearable for me
was
her, with her loving heart. In the past, this season would always bring the best of humanity from mankind. Those that were already blessed with such depths, only added to its heights of peace and goodwill.

There was not a heart that Lilly could not melt with her white-hot smile. Years of frost would loosen from any soul that she touched with her laughter. This season was her playground, and she has come back to play.

She runs beside our group, keeping a line of trees between us, in the winter cold. Sometimes she runs ahead of me to see what the men are doing with their heavy evergreen burden. Sometimes she keeps pace with me, running from thick tree trunk to tree trunk, keeping hidden from my full view. Other times, she waits behind, only to have to run to catch up. She runs beside me now just as silently as she stalks me in my mind at night.

There is a clearing ahead, and I know I will finally see her fully in the parting of the trees. My heart elates with it. My mind shivers with the dread over what she may show me.

Just as I had anticipated, she darts forward into the clearing, keeping her back to me. My soul pines with the need to see her smile. My mind is screaming, afraid that I will. Her long blonde hair is thick with unkempt curls. The hem of her nightgown is tarnished from its natural white with the mud and snow it has collected. She stands so still ahead of me like a phantom of winter chilling my mind with fear, and the world has grown silent with her appearance.

J.D. grabs my shoulder, halting me roughly. I cringe under his fingers that are grasping me so tightly. “Shhhhhh.” He whispers into my ear. My confusion turns me towards him, and what I see only confuses me more.

His eyes scan the area ahead. He silently takes a position ahead of me, blocking her from my sight. His body is on edge with what he is seeing. I cannot spot the danger. All I see is Lilly, standing so still, so silent, and so alone before J.D. and me.

It cannot be possible, but I am going ask him anyway. “You see her?”

He turns only his eyes to me, keeping my body behind his. “Shhhh. Yeah I see her.” He whispers.

“…but she’s dead.” I whisper to him. Images of my broken flower flood my mind the way her blood poured from her wounds, hotly, painfully, and rapidly.

“Yeah, that’s normally how it happens.” He is as confused over my confusion at a situation that we have encountered so many times already as I am over him being able to see her. He does not understand that this time, it is different. It is Lilly. It has to be Lilly.

J.D. stares into the clearing with caution. He whistles the men’s whistle of warning to gain their attention without startling the apparition beside them. Like statues, they still mid-step, looking for the danger that has been signaled. The tree is forgotten in a gentle heap of motion when Chapel, Lawless, and Rhett stare at what has formed beside them unawares to them. They were lost in their conversation of laughter, and teasing, swept along with Aimes in her joy.

Melting backwards to us, in an attempt to keep the frozen girl’s back to them, Aimes and I are pushed behind as they form a half circle around us. I want to tell them it is okay. She just wants to see the tree. She always loved the tree when it was decorated. They do not have to fear her. It is just Lilly; my gentle Lilly.

“What are you doing?” I hiss at Lawless as he pulls his gun from its holster.

“She’s right. If there are more of them this close to the High School, then that shot may trigger them to head this way.” J.D. reaches over to push his gun down, back to waiting.

“Too late.” Chapel is staring at another spot in the forest. Many weaving shapes blend and contrast with the sunlight and trees. There is no denying what is slowly flowing our way.

“Plan?” Rhett asks anyone. His eyes are trying to monitor the shape before us and the many shapes beside us.

“If we get far enough away from their sight, they will go back to their “resting stage”. It may keep them far enough away from the High School. We can take out the one in front of us and slip away. The others are too far away to really frenzy yet.” Lawless’ plan makes sense; except for the part about Lilly. Why do we need to hurt her?

“Why? She will just go away.” I tell him, trying to get him to understand.

“Hells, since when do they just “go away”?” His response chills me.

“Always. They always just go away.” All of their eyes swing to me. Most of the eyes hold confusion, but two pairs are holding much more. They see what I am seeing. Chapel and J.D. capture my gaze with understanding, and sadness.

Chapel pulls me through the line to his chest. “Don’t look.” He tells me, securing me tightly against him so that I have to obey him.

How can I “not look”? When have I ever been the one to “not look”?

I place my face flat against his winter soaked coat. This allows me to see from the safety of his arms. I am a small child hiding from the opening of the closet at night. Part of me is curious to see what is about to happen. Another part of me is filling with sadness knowing what is about to happen.

Chapel had the sense to remove the axe from my hand before holding me to him. He hands it now to Rhett, the only man he deems dark enough to do what has to be done. How little Chapel knows of my sins. Sins that are now standing before us, waiting for me to repent for my wicked, wicked ways. Sins that slowly turn towards me, with their desire of a confrontation, in my daily denial of them.

I want to yell at her to run. I want her to escape what is about to happen to her. I want
me
to escape what is about to happen to her. I have seen her dead form laid low once already. I have seen her die a thousand times when I close my eyes. We should not have to go through this horror again, but we do.

The little girl turns slowly, clearing a path of fresh snow with her feet at her motion. Her little toes do not feel the razor sharp pain from the cold. She can’t feel anything anymore. I stare at those tiny fragile feet unwilling to see her face. The nightmare of her white nightgown is enough. Even as I fight against it, when have I ever been one to not look?

Reluctantly, I visually take in inch by inch of the white doll standing, watching us. The front of her gown is not the virgin white I had seen running past me. Many shades blend together from the dark dried browns to soft yellows of its wear upon her. Her fingertips are damaged, and caked, from the overly rough use of their tender flesh. Her face is pockmarked with missing flesh in irregular patterns from horrors we will never know. It is covered with the rage that only the Risen can hold at the sight of their prey. Faded brown eyes hop from each person before her as she gauges which one to attack first. Rhett takes the debate from her with his sharp axe and smirking face.

“It’s not her.” I whisper into Chapel’s coat. I close my eyes against the sounds of their combat. “It’s not her.” I whisper again to myself with each wet, thick sound Rhett fells upon her.

“It never is.” He whispers into my hair. I know at this moment, I am not the only one haunted with the sounds of delicate laughter and the scent of baby shampoo.

“Let’s go.” I hear J.D.’s voice fill the now very silent space around us as other sounds stop. “You got her?” I know he’s talking about me without having to peak from my shelter.

Chapel’s sliding of me under his arm to cradle me, still in his protection, as we begin to walk, answers J.D. He does not tell me to not look. At this point, we both know his words will be hollow advice. The white snow is seeping into red crystals as her blood creeps, expanding its circle with its escape. Her body is truly broken now from Rhett’s massacre.

She lies on her back, with the many brutal cuts to her torso, gaping up to the sky. Her once white nightgown is embedded into each slash and it slowly pulls the dark blood into the material staining it with his assault. Her face is a ruin of blows to her skull, leaking blood, and thicker materials, to the ground around her. Only her eyes stay intact, and for a moment, they are the crystal blue of warm oceans peering out at me amid so much destruction.

This is not my Lilly. My flower is withering, pressed between the yellowing pages of my memories. She sleeps with so many other Angels lost to this cold world. Angels that have turned their vision from those of us that still remain here in this Hell. Just as I have mine, I leave this broken blonde child behind, spilling her life onto the white floor that surrounds her. Is someone missing her the way I am missing mine? Does someone scream her name into the darkness of night with the fear of what has happened to her? For her sake, I hope not. I hope they are now finally all at rest, together.

I dared ask my Wonderland a question, and it answered me in the most horror-filled answer pulled from its darkest secrets. It brought forth its White Queen to me. Now, as we follow the red dotted trail of her blood dripping from the axe that took her head her army searches for us. Silently, we escape with our stolen winter prize among her army’s vocal fury.

“It is a poor sort of memory that only works backwards.” Said the White Queen to Alice. If she only knew how correct she was.

“D
ear Lord, what happened?” Paula rushes to us from behind, tiptoeing around the many red teardrops Rhett leaves behind in his wake.

“The tree fought back.” Rhett answers her with his “prove me wrong” smile. We know that it means he does not want to talk about it. She does not.

“Are you hurt?” Paula rubs her hands over him looking for the wound that she cannot see. I guess she has not caught on that, unless it is self-inflicted, the axe in his hand is a glaring oversight.

“He’s fine.” Chapel’s annoyance with her is amusing. Do I sense a little jealousy there, Chappy? “Did you find something to put this in? And where?”

“Marxx is waiting for you upstairs.” Her voice is icy sensing Chapel’s disapproval.

“Why is it always upstairs?” Rhett sighs, adjusting the weight of the tree in his hand.

“Not you.” J.D. motions for Rhett to hand his side to Chapel.

“He is right. You cannot go up there looking like a Christmas version of Macbeth,” I tell him, “….and no, I will not help you wash out the spots.”

Rhett does a mock pout at my words, but laughs just the same. “Stars, hide your fires. Let not light see my black and deep desires.” He kisses the top of my head, the way the men have become habit to do. Unlike the rest of the men, his hand slides down my back, cupping me in his hug, giving further weight to his quote.

One never knows with Rhett how much of his personality is games and how often you are allowed to see the truth. This is no exception, but it stirs something inside me just the same. I watch his back retreat to the showers of the gym with many thoughts swirling in my mind.

“Somehow, I find it very fitting that he can quote Macbeth.” Aimes overhears our exchange, and with a smile, she joins me as we watch him.

“Somehow, I find it very strange you knew it was Macbeth.” I point out my amusement of her literary sense.

“You always fill me with such great confidence.” Her words might be formed to be biting, but the tilt of her head as she watches Rhett turn the corner takes any heat from them.

“It’s a gift.” We both almost sigh when he fades from view.

“You ready to get this upstairs?” Lawless’ voice shreds the images of my imagination as if they are smoke. They slip away in wisps of unspoken desires.

“Three flights of stairs, sharp bends, and cussing galore? What is not to look forward to?” Aimes asks as she leans into the heavy metal doors, propping them open with her body to help the men with their hunting spree.

That is exactly what followed, a lot of cussing, a lot of stairs, and a lot of sharp turns that required many attempts of reverse to shimmy the tree through. Aimes shouts her helpful advice at each one until finally the glares reduce her to silence. True to Aimes’ earlier words, once the three are able to get it through those final metal doors, they drop it. Chapel, J.D., and Lawless collapse on the couches near the door with their refusal to help in any more of Aimes’ Holiday planning.

“I said if you wanted a tree, I would get you a tree. There is your damn tree.” J.D. pants around his words.

“Merry Christmas.” Chapel echoes his agreement to being done.

“Well, this went well I see.” Marxx has caught up to us. He is holding a tree stand that has seen better days. I think it may have seen better centuries with the amount of rust and misshapen pieces along it.

“We found it in storage.” Dolph answers my doubts that must be showing upon my face. He steps over the large tree, blocking the entrance of the doors, with disbelief and mild amusement. Reinforcements have arrived to further the tree escapades with the arrival of Marxx, Richard, Simon, and Dolph.

“What did you do, pick the biggest one out there?” Richard is eyeing the heap of an evergreen on the floor with as much faith in the tree stand as I hold.

Lawless and Chapel both point at Aimes simultaneously, and her face expands with the shock of being ousted so bluntly. “It looked smaller outside.” She tries to defend her tree selection among the many annoyed stares.

“They always do. That’s why I don’t go naked in the forest.” Rhett is back, and as charming as ever.

“And anywhoooo…” Aimes recovers the conversation for us all with an exaggerated eye roll aimed at him.

Paula and Shelia join Aimes and me at our safe vantage point of the comedy show. The tree may be down, but it has far from lost its fight. Each struggle draws more words from their mouths until they are finally just one giant long string of amusements for those of us watching. How many men does it take to screw in a tree stand? Don’t know. Ask me again in an hour.