Nemelatro- Dawning

The thud of the car door echoes into the quiet evening, thankfully signaling the end to, a train wreck of an evening. Tugging at my hair, I try to sort it out; it was a ten car pile up I couldn't walk away from, staying and letting the disaster unfold. Finally home, my sanctuary and reprieve from the awkward event one would call a date, I can breathe again. Leaning back against the car, a sigh of relief escapes me as I try to comprehend how Matt could have thought this was going to be a good idea. We have been best friends for as long as I can remember, practically family; lovey romantic shit did not fit the parameters of our relationship.

Yet, here I stand, my stomach still rolling when I think of him tonight. Sweet and awkward, but then their was that hungry look in his expression. His eyes were practically feasting on me. I shudder remembering his dragging possessive hands pulling at mine like he could barely control himself from touching me.. My brain can’t seem to reconcile that the guy tonight, who was ready to devour me, with the boy who has always been my best friend, ready with a stupid joke and kind smile. I focus on the stars, twinkling so happily above, trying to let my mind quiet, maybe then I could understand how things could have taken such a drastic turn . The brightly shining stars become a taunt, reminding me I am the moron who accepted the invitation from Matt. I let things shift to this weird new reality where our relationship has an uncertain future. I am not sure we can just go back to being friends, not after I saw that side of him. How can I have a friendship with someone who lusts for me under those friendly smiles?

Matt could be considered a catch by most. He is the sweet boy next door type, cute with warm caramel eyes, dark chocolate waves that frame a soft slender face highlighted by sweet dimples when he turns on that megawatt smile. He can be a little clumsy and awkward at times, but his thoughtful kindness and quirky humour easily make him a worthy catch for any lucky girl. Any lucky girl that is not me.

Ever since he stood up for me when we were kids, it has been him and I against the world, thick as thieves. When he asked me out, my gut told me it was not right, that I could never see him as anything more than a friend, but that longing hopeful look in his eyes. He had me ignoring the alarms going off in my mind that screamed, “No, this is wrong.”

Matt obviously believes there could be more between us. The mere thought makes me want to fight back against the inherit wrongness of it all. I tried ignoring the instinct to pull away when he held my hand. I suppressed the urge to bolt when he pulled me close even though I could feel his desire for me. I thought with how great of a guy Matt is, maybe I could find a way to reciprocate his feelings, but that idea flew out the window, when he kissed me good night. My stomach heaved and it took everything in me not to lose my dinner all over him. His kiss was tender and warm, everything a first kiss should be, but I found it repugnant. I wanted to rip myself away and put as much distance between us as possible. When we finally pulled back Matt’s eye were bright, and dreamy, full of so much affection. His happiness was blinding, like he believed that kiss was the start of our everything. I could see the story of romantic bliss playing across his mind in his expression, while for me it felt incestuous, making my skin crawl with disgust.

Now I am stuck between a rock and a hard place; how the hell can I turn back time when we were friends, and eradicate Matt’s ridiculous inklings of love between us. My brain is so fuddled trying to understand let alone fix anything. I need to talk with Aunt Helen, she always knows what to do.

I lock the car with a click of a button, my brain working on instinct drilled into me from my aunt’s countless lectures about ‘Murphy’s Law’. She is a firm believer that if something can go wrong it will, so be preventative as well as prepared. She is smart and organised for what seems like anything to happen, almost to the point of being paranoid. Damn useful paranoia cushioning me, like no matter what my life will be okay with her in my corner. Helen Eastman is ready to handle any possibility or situation.

The car beeps happily as I slowly meander in the warm spring evening, the silver lining to the night. It has been a warm one this year, making it feel like summer will be coming fast to the Cariboo region. I love this time of year. Not only is it my birthday, it’s the time of year when the lilacs are in full bloom. I take in their sweet scent their calming effect hitting almost as quickly as the images of my late grandmother arranging a bouquet of lilacs on her table. She loved the flowers so much she planted the grove of lilacs that cover the front of the old farmhouse. When I was little, Grandfather carved a path through the flourishing bushes, my own fairy tale forest to play in. Even just walking up the front path transcending the lilacs to the front door, always seems to feel magical in the warm spring days. Tonight the walk up the path is different, I can feel something prickling at my senses. Only the moon illuminates my steps as I look towards my door, causing creeping silhouettes and dark presences to form in the shadows of the fragrant lilacs.

The front porch light is off, and no light shines from the windows. Pulling out my phone, it is already ten o’clock at night. Aunt Helen should be home, and there is no way she would be sleeping, especially since she knew how nervous I was about the date with Matt; she would be waiting for me.

Heaviness settles in the pit of my stomach as I move towards the front door. All my thoughts of Matt and our drama is gone in a breath and all I can focus on is my home. Sounds don’t exist, it is too quiet to be normal or right; not a scuffle of a creature perusing the farm or the chirp of a bug nestled in the grass, just nothing. The silence is heavy, weighing down something in my chest and dread fills me.

The usually vocal old house utters nary a word, holding its breath. Trying to pull open the door, it breaks the silence with a thunderous rattle but doesn’t budge, locking my entry. The door is never locked. Anxiety creeps up my spine like hot lava, causing me to fumble as I attempt to pull out my old skeleton key to open the door. Clinks and clangs of the lock mechanism sounds loud, in the chilling quiet that blankets my house. Every nerve is firing with awareness as I push open the old door, the creak screams making me grit my teeth. The normally inviting and warm living room is pitch black filled with deafening stillness, causing a lump forms in my throat. This is wrong, something is not right in the air. The flesh of my arms pebbles as a light sheen of sweat forms at the base of my neck from my spiking adrenaline.

My legs are moving me forward faster than my stalling brain can keep up with. I stumble over the threshold as I reach for the lights. Maybe everything is fine and Aunt Helen was just tired and went to bed. I want my instincts to be wrong, everything will be fine. Then the room illuminates leaving me gaping as my heart stutters. Shocked still, I stare incredulous at the destroyed room, the level of destruction almost unconceivable. It’s state is like the aftermath of a trip to hell and back, complete with scorch marks marring walls, even leaving some of my aunt’s treasured books burnt. The shattered glass of the china cabinet coating the floor, littered with confetti made up of books and pieces of the gutted couch. The old sofa looks like it has been attacked by a fucking dragon. The stuffing everywhere with singed material hanging from the frame.

Trepidation has my legs trembling as I move into the room, like some unknown thing is compelling me, while the logical part of my brain screams at me to back away. It is like I am the idiot from a bad horror moving, creeping towards uncertain demise, but I can’t stop. I know that this is not a situation I should be stepping into but I am moving further into the house.

My eyes quickly find a pool of blood soaking debris in front of the skeletal remains of the couch, my heart drops. My uneven breathes accompanied by the crunch of the remnants of my aunt’s china and knick knacks underfoot are the only sounds that fill the space as I move forward following the path of carnage that leads to the kitchen.

“Aunt Helen,” I croak out, “where are you?” Silence that sends a chill down my spine is the only answer I receive.

An invisible force has me continuing past my aunt’s bedroom adjacent to the kitchen, trying to ignore the dappling of crimson highlighting the smashed in door. My hand trembles as I reach into the room to flick on the light. My fear is thick in the air but an unexplainable undercurrent thrums through my body and keeps me moving; the entire room is ransacked. Every cupboard, drawer, the stove and even the fridge are thrown open with all the contents strewn around everywhere, the aftermath of an apparent hasty strip search. Someone wanted something badly enough to unleash a tornado of destruction. A sharp metallic smell has my focus swivelling around the room while my stomach to lurches into my throat.

That smell is all too familiar from my time helping the neighbour butcher their pigs last fall. That smell means death and should not be clinging to the walls of my home. By the eastward door of the kitchen is a smeared sticky path of carnage. My every muscle coils as my heart rages in my chest, pumping blood and adrenaline through my system. Basic survival instincts should have me going the opposite way, but no, I follow the trail. Someone half sane would have not moved this far into the house, they would be outside calling the police but in this moment, I am not sane but driven by something unknown.

In the glowing moonlight, the crimson lines cut through the back room, leading me to the back door hanging ajar. Instinctually I reach to close the door, but encounter a cold thick substance coating the handle that has me pulling my hand back like I was electrocuted. Copper fills my nose, as I stare at my drenched hand in the glowing light of the moon. Flashes of the blood randomly splattered around the house fill my mind and I can’t stop hyperventilating as I erratically try to wipe it away on my pants. I see the red warning beacon, progressively coating my light denim jeans. I need to stop, I need to go back, but I keep moving to the top of the stairs.

Reflex has me flicking on the basement light, my stomach heaves in protest as I take in the bloody path of handprints and drag marks the whole way down. Someone bleeding at a dangerous rate, was trying to grab at anything, they did not go by choice. I will myself, screaming in my mind to turn back, I know nothing good can be down there. Those marks are telling me to turn back, but instead I steadily move down the stairs. I cringe as I feel the squelch of coagulated fluid beneath my unfaltering feet. The smell is some how worse than what I see. It permeates everything, the thick metal taste coating my throat while my sinuses are filled with the stench of death.

At the bottom I find my vision level with what only can be described as a massacre scene presented on the surface of my Grandfather’s antique pool table. The vibrant felt now marred with splotches of blood in various states of drying, from deep red to browning rust. Dropping to my knees, my lungs burn as I struggle to breathe; my face is drenched in tears I didn’t even know were falling. What the hell happened in my house while I was gone? Where in the fuck in my aunt? What am I supposed to do? What am I going to do?

The house is completely silent despite the torrent of emotions raging through me; I can’t stand it. I am panting, short tiny breathes barely supplying me with oxygen, making my head swim. I am terrified not for myself, my only thoughts on Aunt Helen. It is suffocating like a clawing beast in my chest.

“AUNT HELEN!” I scream so loud my throat burns, “where are you?” I sob dropping prone to the floor.

Everything is a blurred haze, it glows red and starts to feel like a pulse in my head. It is too much, my heart is trying to break free of my ribcage, and it feels like my own body is trying to kill me. A sudden jolt and it everything fades, leaving cold and silent nothingness

.

I jar awake soaked in sweat, gasping for air. That red haze still lingers, making the hair on my neck prickle. I try to move, key word try, only to find myself completely cocooned in my blanket and sheets like I am a freshly made burrito. Well, not so much fresh because I am a hot sweating mess. My anxiety creeps higher with each passing second as I feel more trapped and claustrophobic. Flailing around I try to untuck myself, only to end up, splatting on my floor in a heap. I am lucky I didn’t break my neck. With a groan, I thud my head off the floor in frustration, that fucking dream.

It has been nearly eighteen months since I had that forsaken nightmare, well technically a memory, that some how is more terrifying every time I remember it in my sleep. With way more effort than it should take, I disentangle myself from the mess that is my bedding. As soon as I am free I run to my window, throwing it open to pop my head outside and let the fresh air wash away the last tendrils of the rest robbing echoes in my mind.

“Fuck,” I groan, digging the heels of my palms into my eyes, I try to erase those images. Shaking my head like it’s an etch it sketch I feel how heavy it feels. I am completely drained, without any real energy to speak of, despite the sun shining the start of the day. It should be a rainy spring day, with clouds so thick that everything is just grey. The weather should just mirror my mood on days like today, that would make me less cranky. Misery loves company, right?

A light wind sings through the overgrown bushes and I catch a sweet smell teasing my nose. The gentle tickle of the breeze across my skin, cools my flushed flesh. My nerves, my whole body starts come down and calm a little . It feels less like I have been running for my life every second I spend breathing in the spring air.

Consecutive thuds have me smacking the back of my head on the window frame, sending a sharp pulsing pain through my skull. “Mother-trucking, assholes,” I exclaim, grabbing at my head.

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

“I am fine,” I hiss back.

“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 heavenly bacon hits my nose, helping me to ignore the throbbing pain. If I don’t hurry up and get my ass out there, Matt 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 just go back to bed, but bacon.

Walking down the hall, I feel like garbage after my lackluster sleep. I bang on Matt's door hard and fast, just to be a pest and am rewarded with the answering thud of him falling out of bed. I snicker as he grumbles he is up. Harassing him is one of my favorite pastimes, shows him my affection and plus is a pleasant distraction from my tender skull. I can’t help but love the knucklehead, if it was not for him convincing his dad to foster me, I am not sure where I would be. Matt is a great best friend, not that I will tell him that I will just continue to express it with mild harassment.

In the kitchen, 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 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. What time do you work today?"

I snort into my eggs and shake my head at John's sad excuse for a joke. "I work at eight this morning. Going to relieve 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. 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. "Matt 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 Matt 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 starving. Now trying to rapidly chew the salty goodness 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. His dark blue eyes focus while his arm muscles flex bringing the food to his mouth. 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 working to provide and taking care of Matt and I.

I zone our watching John, while eating my food, failing to notice Matt entering the room. I end up losing a forkful of eggs when he pulls a chair out and startles me. "So first day at the mill eh?"

Matt glares at me and 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. Reaching over, I tap his cheek, "Aww, poor Matty. Is someone cranky because it’s early?” Adding insult to injury by talking with the classic baby voice.

Matt smacks 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 a letter of official summons, stating that Aunt Helen is 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. The police had said there was insufficient evidence to prove her death, even with all the blood, so she was labelled as missing under suspicious circumstances. I had been informed that after four years this type of case would mature to presumed dead and her assets could be distributed. My heart clenches with the reminder of how long I have been without the last of my family.

I can feel tears building in my eyes, so I take deep breathes to try and hold them back. It stutters my breath thinking of Aunt Helen and how much I miss her.

Apparently, I am no actor because I feel Matt’s hand between my shoulders. “What’s the matter, Dannie?” he asks gently while rubbing my back, all his earlier sour mood completely dissipated.

“Just got this letter about Aunt Helen’s will and it made me think of her,” I whisper as tears escape and fall down my face. Matt pulls me into his side and I automatically lay my head on his shoulder. His embrace gives me a sliver of comfort, 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,” Matt reassures, his brown eyes sincere, while giving me a sympathetic smile.

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 had to be present for the reading and they are down in Victoria,” The realization of how long and far I will have to drive hits, “Fuck,” I 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, Matt pipes in, “When do you have to be there?”

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 Matt put their empty plates in the sink and head back to me. Matt 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 that 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 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.

“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,” she sighs.

“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. “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 leaving that swooning crap 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 taking a few different hunting parties out 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.