Nemelatro Dawning

Killing the engine of the car, I just sit in the silence trying to digest the fiasco that was the evening of my seventeenth birthday. I was expecting a chill night with my best friend eating good food and watching a movie in the theatre with ridiculously overpriced popcorn, but apparently Luke had a completely different idea about tonight.

My best friend of seven years apparently decided to ditch the friend zone, completely taking me by surprise and leaving me dumbfounded. The whole night he was like a different person. He kept trying to hold my hand every chance he got. Not gentle or friendly entwining of hands, but a possessive tether turning my to a show pet led by my handler. Caresses to my thighs, ones that would make most girls melt, had my skin revolting. Just the memory has an uncomfortable shiver running through me.

I am not some innocent wallflower, seven minutes in heaven with Josh Adams in grade nine made sure of that. I am more than familiar with anticipation making your heart thrum in your chest and your skin prickle with awareness, I am human after all, but tonight I didn’t feel that, just pure unease with every touch. I don’t want to say it made me feel gross but honestly I am at a loss of any other way to describe it. Again, just thinking of Luke trying to flirt and touch me like that, makes me want to gag. It almost feels incestuous, just wrong.

The whole thing is like a bad revolving door of icky. I need to go inside and talk to Aunt Helen, she will know what to do about Luke. He made it quite apparent tonight that he wants more than friendship but nothing in my being can muster those kinds of feelings for him. He has been my best friend, my confidant, practically my brother from another mother, for seven years. I just can not transition our relationship to something romantic, it is wrong and has a nasty lump sinking in my gut.

All of a sudden, the confined space of the car feels suffocating, like Luke’s desire is a physical weight in the vehicle, trying to crush me. Exiting the car, I lean back letting my eyes wander over the stars twinkling above, just trying to breathe. Those damn stars shine bright, peaceful jewels in the sky, practically mocking me with their vast and endless presence, making me and my petty woes feel small and inconsequential.

My brain refuses to leave the memory loop of the night and just to torture me plays over his good night kiss. The feel of his lips on mine, the way his hands pulled at me possessively trying to make me bend and accept his advances. Remembering the moment sends hot unease spiraling from my lips to permeate my whole body, like a bad internal rash. Luke made it so much worse when he tried to deepen the kiss even with me acting like a statue, not reciprocating. He ran his slimy tongue over the crease of my lips, trying to coax me to open for him. Honestly if it had been anyone beside my oldest and dearest friend trying to push me like that, I would have bit off their offending tongue. My stomach drops and twists with discomfort. How the hell am I going to fix this? I honestly thought unrequited love only happened in books and movies.

I start away from the car, my mind hazily running over the night, but the internal voice of Aunt Helen screeches at me, 'Do not forget to lock that car Danielle Eastman. We may not have a neighbor for kilometers and theft is nearly non existent, but Murphy's Law. If you don't lock it that is when something will happen. You need to think and act responsibly.'

Clicking the lock button on the keys Aunt Helen's car beeps back happily with approval. I walk slowly enjoy the fresh smell of lilacs in the air, a reminder of Grannie. She always had a bouquet of lilacs on the table in the early spring. The memories make me feel light for a sweet moment, a little reprieve. I miss you Grannie, my mind calls out silently.

I wonder whatGrannie had loved Luke, always calling him her sweet boy. For years he has been ingrained into my family like another member. I am flabbergasted by our apparent “date” I had no clue I agreed to when I accepted his invitation out for my birthday.

At the front of the house, the rough drift wood arch marks the start of the path, fragrant lilac bushes on both sides. Sometimes it feels like stepping onto a covered path from a fairytale. The rough wood intrinsic, like it was grown there amongst delicate flowers and green leaves, so dense you can imagine any form of magical creature hidden within. At least that is how it usually felt.

Tonight with the sun gone and only the moon and stars to illuminate the way, the path feels different. No light magical aura, just deep shadows shrouding the area, making it feels dark and foreboding. Anxiety creeps up my back in a hot wave, spreading through my limbs like flowing lava. Shapes come alive prowling in the shadows of the path, like dark monsters just waiting to pounce. A cold sweat starts on my forehead and the flesh of my arms pebbles. Everything is feeling so menacing and sinister, like a bad horror movie.

It dawns on me, the porch light is off. Not one light shines from inside the house, only the pale moonlight filtering through the curtains of lilacs lights the way. Well that explains the ominous vibes. The dark has always made me hesitate, like something was waiting in the blackness to snatch me. Confusion and irritation fill me first, Aunt Helen knows I hate coming home in the dark, only making me worry more. Aunt Helen said she would be up and waiting for me. She is a woman of her word, there is no way she left or went to bed.

I slowly pick my way towards the house avoiding catching my toes on loose rocks lifting from the old worn path. My anxiety spikes when I try the door handle and find it locked. My stomach feels like a giant pit as I fish out my house key. This isn’t right; Aunt Helen would never lock the door when she was expecting me home.

I turn my old skeleton key, hearing the mechanisms clicking into place practically echoing in the deathly silence. Not a creature can be heard scurrying around the old log farmhouse; no crickets, bats or even the neighbour’s old nomadic cat, Oliver. The old creaking house itself, isn’t making any of it's usual groaning noises. It is like suddenly being in a vacuum of space, everything is silent like the night is holding it’s breath.

Apprehensively I open the door, my heart in my throat as I enter into the front room, and find it pitch black. The air is tinged with a metallic scent, maybe copper. The familiar aroma throws my nerves on edge. With shaking fingers, I flick on the light illuminating the room. The sight in front of me is devastating, my once comfortable home is completely trashed.

My Aunt's treasured books lie in heaps below the floor to ceiling bookcase directly in front of me. Some of the books are slashed and ripped, while others are scorched. The glass front of my aunt's china cabinet, smashed with all her trinkets turned to glass confetti littering the floor. Even our ancient couch is gutted like it had personally offended someone. Smoldering fabric catches my eye and. I rush forward, dampening the embers with a cushion. A dappling of scarlet across the beige surface catches my eye making my stomach lurch.

"Aunt Helen?” I yell , praying she will answer me.

Instinctually I turn to Aunt Helen’s office. Flicking on the light I am met with papers strewn across the floor, the old wooden office chair is smashed against the far wall, her beautiful antique roller desk is collapsed inwards and every drawer has been thrown to the floor Someone was looking for something and they wanted it badly, the destruction in both rooms being a testament of that.

"Where are you?" I call out, my voice choked with worry. No response or noise, just chilling silence.

I made my way towards the kitchen, my adrenaline has my heartrate spiking and I can’t stop my eyes from swiveling in every direction. The crunch of porcelain under my boots, echoes though the house. I am sweating, my muscles tense, fight or flight mode simmering just below the surface.

Standing beside the cold pot-belly stove, I see my aunt’s bedroom door smashed through, the edges tinged the deep red of partly dried blood. There is a lot. Her room has been completely upheaved and destroyed but even more scarlet is splashed against the dresser top with large smeared hand prints on the mirror. Copper permeates the air, coating my taste buds with death.

I stumble away from her room trying to swallow the rising bile, but everywhere I look there are more signs of a violent struggle. Every cupboard in the kitchen is thrown open, the fridge door ajar and even the stove looks like it has been attacked.

I unconsciously flick on the light, moving towards the attic stairs to my room but a thick trail of warning red leads into the sun room halting my movements. My heart rages in my chest, my stomach heaves but I can not stop myself from following the grizzly path. Moonlight shining into the room, illuminates the streaks of bloody drag marks across the floor. Adrenaline pumps through me as I rounded towards the stairs leading to the basement. The back door hangs open innocently, like someone just forgot to close it. Gripping the cold handle to close it, I end up pulling my hand back like I was burned because I felt it covered in a wet sticky substance. Feeling like everything is trembling, terrified to look, I find my hand is covered in blood, making me hyperventilate. I rub my hand vigorously across my pants, frantic to clean my hand. Flicking on the lights by the stairs, I am horrified to see hand prints and steaks of red going down the wall below the railing, like someone was trying to grab at anything to avoid going down stairs.

Each step down makes my feet slip and slide, with the amount of carnage coating them, and I keep descending. The logical part of my brain screams I should call the police but there is a pull, something telling me to keep going. There is no stopping me from going forward, my body is driven like it had a goal just a head out of sight from my mind. A sense teleofection grips at me through my terror and the devastation just waiting to crash the party.

At the bottom of the stairs, the sight in front of me cements me in my place. My stomach is in full rebellion, heaving and rolling like a fucking gymnast, ready to vacate this situation despite how much I try to swallow it down. Droplets hit my hand, that I didn’t even realize came to my mouth, from the hot tears flowing freely from my eyes. When did I even start crying? The terror, for me but mostly for Aunt Helen is suffocating, making every part of me flash instantaneously between hot and cold. My body has gone full bipolar leaving me a shaking mess.

A bloodbath rivalling anything Quintin Tarantino’s twisted mind came up with in Kill Bill. The once beautiful, vibrant green, antique pool table has become an alter of death. The felt only green in tiny patches while the rest is in varying shades of red, some spots even browning where blood has dried. Whatever happened must have been right after I left, hours ago. While I was wrapped up in Luke’s shifted intentions, thinking fate was doing me so wrong, my aunt was going through a fight for her life; and I can’t even say she won.

I feel overwhelming loss, choking fear, and beyond vulnerable. An alarm is triggered deep within me; I feel raw, exposed, like without Aunt Helen anything and everything will get me. The weight of it all has me dropping to my knees and I just scream. It is loud and hard, grating my throat painfully; I sound like a wounded or dying animal.

Breathing is in the form of short rasps, as stifling terror feels like it is clawing me. It is impossible to pull in proper breathes, my head swims with disorientation and blurred vision. Red. Bright and crimson hazes my sight, so I close my eyes trying to do anything other than scream and cry. My body collapses in a heap, giving out as my consciousness slips and fades. Darkness presses in from everywhere, I can’t see anything. An endless void festering with the lingering image of that mosaic display of burning red death It can only mean one thing. Aunt Helen is gone. My mind rebels against the realization, can’t handle the mere thought and I feel it defensively shut down. It slips away like the pain is a physical wall it can just retreat from.

I jar awake like being physically thrown from my sleep. I gulp for air while my whole body shivers from being drenched in sweat. A jumble of sheets pins me to the bed like a burrito on a platter. My brain feels like it is playing catch up. Swirling red fear a lingering cloud behind my disorientation. Every time this memory turned nightmare, bulldozes through my sleep, I wake up confused. A temporary amnesia of the mind, and body. I don’t know anything and am exhausted like I lived through some physical battle.

Pressing my eyes, I push away the images screaming behind them. Ugh, fucking horror movie reality. With great effort and struggle, I disentangle myself from the bedding cocoon, practically dragging myself to my window. I need air. Flinging the open the glass like a crazed Scrooge on Christmas morning. Taking gulping breathes, I try to calm my body that is practically vibrating with anxiety.

The morning is warm, a pleasant breeze sweeps my tangled waves across my chest and bringing a cool touch to my burning skin. The bright midmorning sun glows past fluffy clouds, while birds and bugs sing in the background. Everything lighter than my heavy dream, truly the makings of a gloriously beautiful day. It helps me breathe fractionally easier.

My body calms achingly slow, like the tension needs to burn through every nerve before it will leave me. Rubbing my face an involuntary groan slips past my lips. Fuck. Months without having it, let me forget this mental weight that wears so strong it is a physical toll that comes with the memory of that night.

Four years. My twenty first birthday, the dawning of adulthood and the anniversary of losing Aunt Helen. Makes sense that her and the day she disappeared is bombarding my mind.

The loud clang of metal has me jolting from my thoughts, smacking the back of my head on the window frame. A sharp pain pulses through my skull. “Mother-trucking, assholes,” I exclaim, grabbing at my head.

“Good lord girl, you trying to kill yourself? I heard that bang from the kitchen,” John’s gravel voice sounds from my bedroom door.

“I am fine,” I hiss back. That is going to leave a mark.

“Well then get your ass in the kitchen; breakfast is almost ready,” he calls out as I hear him retreating down the hall.

The mouth watering, salty smell of bacon hits my nose, helping me to ignore the throbbing pain. If I don’t hurry up and get my ass out there, Luke will eat it all, I am sure. Rushing towards my dresser I find my feet tangled in my forgotten blanket and before I can stop myself I am falling to the ground like a cut tree, smacking my head, again. I have a feeling today might be crap-tastic and I should skip work and just go back to bed, but bacon.

Bacon makes everything better.

Taking way more effort than it should, I shamble my way down the hall, the promise of that salty treasure keeping me moving despite feeling like every ounce of my energy has been drained.

Luke's door is on my way, so just to feel a little better I bang on it hard and loud. Definitely sounds like a cop raid is ready to bust through his door. The cherry on top is when I hear the unmistakable thud and groan of Luke falling out of bed.

My loud, very un-lady like, laugh bubbles up, “Fucking hell, Dannie! You don’t need to wake me like a prison warden,” Luke hollers through his door.

Harassing him is one of my favorite pastimes, shows him ‘I care’ and plus gives my sleep deprived brain a little serotonin. I love the knucklehead, if it was not for him convincing his dad to foster me, I am not sure where I would be. Luke is a great best friend, not that I will tell him. I will just continue to express it with mild pestering and slight mental torture.

John is at the helm of the stove, with his work shirt clad back facing me. I instantly spot the plate of cooked bacon by his elbow and I swear my mouth waters instantly. Slipping closer, I reach for a piece but before my fingers are graced with the greasy goodness, John smacks them away.

I groan in defeat, "Damn it John, I was just going to grab one piece."

"Sure kid you say one piece and before we know it you will just be munching down all the bacon, never mind the eggs I made," he points towards the table with a spatula.

John eyes me over, and raises his brow skeptically, "You look like crap kid.” I respond by crossing my arms and glaring. "Hey you know what I mean. Didn't sleep good or something?" he smirks playfully, his blue eyes crinkling with silent laughter.

"I slept like shit obviously, so thank you for the lovely compliment," I chaff to John. I usually enjoy our banter but this morning food is higher on my priority list. Moving towards the pile of fluffy eggs, I eagerly deposit myself in the chair.

John barks back a laugh, his olive face wrinkling around his eyes, as he flips the bacon sizzling in the pan. "Well I call it how I see it kid; and those bags under your eyes look big enough to be used as a safety device,” he snorts, laughing at his own joke. “What time do you work today?"

I snort into my eggs and shake my head at John's sad excuse of a joke. "I work at eight this morning. Relieving Debby from the night shift at the diner," I sigh out.

John smiles at the mention of Debby, faint lines forming around his thin lips, and his cobalt blue eyes sparkle. He hands me two travel cups of much needed coffee, "One for you and give Debby the other with my regards.”

Reaching across the table, I pull one of the cups of heaven under my nose and breathe deep. I revel that first sip, John has made it just the way I like it; strong with a touch of sugar and cream. His jokes may be questionable but he makes killer coffee. “When do you work today?" I inquire.

John finishes up the bacon and brings a heaping plate over to the table, you would think he is feeding an army and not just three people. Sitting across from me, at his own plate of poached eggs, he glances at his watch, like I just reminded him of his own job. "Luke and I will be leaving for the mill in about thirty minutes, Finally got him on the clean up crew and out of that dead end cashier job. Was he awake when you went by is room?"

John looks up from his food expecting an answer just as I am inhaling the bacon I grabbed like a desperate starving woman. I am not trying to be rude, I am just ravenous. I try to chew the salty goodness faster, but it’s not helping; I give John a sheepish look. After trying to respond and almost having food fall from my mouth, I give up, just nodding at John. He shakes his head at me, turning to his plate of food, eating, while flipping through the morning newspaper, obviously deciding it is easier to turn a blind eye to my table manners.

His dark blue eyes focus while his arm muscles flex bringing the food to his mouth; he is definitely a little irritated. He absently runs his large calloused hand through his short sandy blonde hair before throwing more food in his mouth.

I have known John since I was five, but even I can admit he is a good looking guy. I never understood how he stayed single all this years. Not once have I seen this seemingly kind and thoughtful man with a woman. Basically John has dedicated his life to provide for and taking care of Luke and I.

I zone our watching John, while eating my food, failing to notice, the devil’s entrance into the room. Which result in me  losing a forkful of eggs when he pulls a chair out, startling me.

I cough to cover myself and change the subject, "So first day at the mill eh?" The twinkle in Luke’s brown eyes before he switches it to a glares, tells me he knows he scared my sleep addled ass. He pulls up his plate of scrambled eggs, completely ignoring my question. I roll my eyes, but it is to be expected, he is up at six in the morning, and is more of a night owl than an early bird.

Perfect time to razz him

. Reaching over, I tap and cup his cheek, "Aww, poor Lukey. Is someone cranky because it’s early?” Adding insult to injury by talking with a pitched baby voice.

Luke bats away my hand, his annoyance clear as he narrows his glare on me harder. "Only a psycho would be so cheerful this early in the morning. I would rather be sleeping but obviously Dad told you I will be working with him," he huffs. Running a hand through his curly chocolate locks, he gives me one last glower before focusing on his food.

Just as we settle into eating, John hands me my weekly bundle of mail, as per our normal Tuesday morning routine. I mindlessly scan through bills and subscriptions until I come across an official looking envelope from Johnston Law. The name tickles my brain with familiarity, but I can’t pin point why.

Ripping it open, I find an official looking letter. Reading, it states that Aunt Helen is legally declared dead, so I need to attend her official will reading. My appetite dissipates as my stomach sinks. It’s

that

Johnston Law.

I remember their first letter arriving four years ago, announcing that the contents of Aunt Helen’s will could not be released pending a thorough investigation and entrance into legal adulthood. I guess turning twenty-one and being legal across the globe was enough time. The police had said there was insufficient evidence to prove her death, so she was labelled as missing under suspicious circumstances. I wonder if four years was enough time for them to figure anything out about that case. Constable Jenkins? James? Whatever his name was, basically told me that with all the blood and the whole house being a muddled scene, they didn’t have faith in finding out what happened. No finger prints. No witnesses. No clear motive for such a violent attack. They had nothing. 

Four whole years.

My heart clenches with the reminder of how long I have been without Aunt Helen. I think about her every day. She has been my only family after Mom’s car accident. The only person I could count on to be there even before Mom was gone. Missing her is a complete understatement, it is a deep longing ache that cuts deeper some days more than others.

Today, it feels like a split with a piece carved away leaving me incomplete. I can feel tears building in my eyes, so I take deep breathes to try and hold them back. My breath catches as my heart stutters, thinking of Aunt Helen and how much I wish she was with me.

Apparently, I am no actor because I feel Luke’s warm hand between my shoulders, “What’s the matter, Dannie?” he asks gently while rubbing my back, all his sour mood completely gone, replaced with concern.

“Just got this letter about Aunt Helen’s will and it made me think of her,” I whisper as tears escape, falling down my face. Luke pulls me into his side, his firm chest lending me some comfort and I automatically lay my head on his shoulder. His embrace calms me slightly, helping me to shake off the tears, “Fuck sorry,” I sniffle.

“There is nothing to be sorry about. I miss your aunt and she wasn’t even my family, so I can only imagine how hard it is for you,” Luke reassures, his deep chestnut eyes sincere, his thin lips turned in a soft and sympathetic smile. Luke is such a good friend.

Wiping away the tears, I clear my throat, “Guess I will have to talk to Rob and Karen about time off. The law office says I need to be at the reading and they are down in Victoria,” The realization of how long and far I will have to drive hits, “Fuck,” I groan, throwing my head back dramatically, adding a deep groan.

“Danielle Eastman, for fuck’s sake, quit cursing. Your aunt would beat me if she heard how you speak,” John chides. I quirk my eye brow at him and he does the same in return, daring me to call him out on his cussing.

Before I can cheek John, Luke pipes in, “When do you have to be there? I could come with you.”

John shoots Luke a scathing glare. The offer is sweet but we all know he can’t take off with me, just starting at the mill, so I just shake my head holding his stare.

I check the letter and can’t hold back another groan, “I have to be there by Friday at noon.” Two damn days away, they don’t give a girl much notice.

John and Luke put their empty plates in the sink and head back to me. Luke pulls me in, pressing his lips to the side of my head. “Text me if you need help with anything,” he mumbles into my hair.

John pats my shoulder, “I will get that oil change done on your car, when I get home.”

It is nearly seven when I finally quit staring at the letter, my eggs now cold and unappealing. Dumping them in the garbage, I wash up the dishes in the sink, before gathering my bag and sweater. I feel like I am on auto piolet while locking the door and driving to the diner. All my mind can focus on is the memories of Aunt Helen. It actually freaks me out a little when I pull up around quarter after seven; I don’t remember any part of my trip, it should have taken me thirty minutes. Thankfully, I didn’t get into an accident, hitting an animal or something.

The bell above the door chimes as I enter and I lay eyes on Debby. She is slumped at the front counter, leaning heavily on her hand. Her curly blonde hair is sticking out in all directions and her eye liner has smudged under her grey eyes, making her look like a raccoon. Either it was so busy she was run off her feet or it was so dead last night, she has been fighting sleep her whole shift.

“Oh thank god, it’s you Dannie,” she huffs in her raspy voice. “I honestly wasn’t sure if I would make it to eight.”

“Well you still have thirty minutes before I am technically on shift,” I chuckle handing her the travel mug John had gave me and watch her sip it. “John sends his regards.”

Debby perks up a little with the coffee but at the mention of John she is smoothing her hair and wiping the smudges below her eyes. “Well he can regard me anytime,” she winks, swaying her hips provocatively.

“Eww Deb. You do realize he is practically my dad,” I exclaim scrunching my nose at her.

“Are you into sharing that father figure, because he can be my daddy anytime,” Debby laughs. She sees me gagging at her comment and just giggles harder. Definitely doesn’t act like she is almost forty.

“Admit it. Your surrogate dad is a fine piece of man all rugged, sweet and definitely swoon worthy.” “I will admit he is good looking and sweet, but will leave the swooning to you,” I respond with a snort.

“Swooning, eh?” Rob chuckles poking out of the kitchen behind Debby, his peppered hair slicked back. “Talking about me ladies?” Rob flashes a toothy grin while nudging Debby.

Debby scoffs at Rob, “In your dreams. I was just rattling Dannie about her foster parent, that I wouldn’t mind calling daddy,” she answers with a smirk.

Rob looks to me with a grimace on his face from the comment about John. “Sorry Rob, you are a little old for my taste,” I laugh as Rob put his hand to his chest in mock dejection.

Putting on my apron to start my shift, signals Debby she is free to escape. Gathering all her things, she had ready under the counter, she grabs the coffee.

“Send my regards to Johnny boy,” she chuckles wiggling her brows suggestively. “I will bring your travel mug back tomorrow.” With that Debby waves good bye, the chiming of the door signaling her departure.

I turn to Rob, clearing my throat, “I am going to need some time off, by the way.”

Rob furrows his bushy brows a bit, “How much time and when?” All joking gone from his face leaving me with the serious boss. “Well I will need Thursday, Friday and Saturday this week.”

“That is short notice Danielle. Why didn’t you mention this last week, so I could schedule someone else?” Rob complains as he flips through the schedule, probably looking to see who can cover. “I am not sure I can give you that time. Who the hell can I get to cover a closing shift followed by two openers?”

I roll my eyes at his cranky tone. “I would have brought it up if I knew I needed the time. I just got a letter about Aunt Helen’s will and I have to go to Victoria.”

I see Rob’s face soften at the mention of my aunt and his lips form an ‘o’. “Ashley can work the Friday and Saturday; she doesn’t have classes those day. Maybe Karen can work with you Thursday?”

Rob snorts a little at the suggestion and then he sighs. “You know how Karen gets with customers.” Rob runs his hands through his hair making it stick up everywhere. “I will just have to cover the tables and bring Gerry in for the kitchen, but you owe me some shifts when you get back,” he finishes pointing at me.

I put my hands up in mock surrender, “How about I will work the Thursday shift to save you the trouble. I can’t have extra shifts cutting into my time off in September. Joe has me guiding that month.”

Rob nods his head, grumbling about pesky waitresses as he enters back into the kitchen. The front door chimes signaling my first customers. Plastering a smile on my face I grab menus and ask, “Coffee?” The truckers nod in acceptance and I sigh thinking how this was going to be a long shift, since I was already done with this day.