Heaven Seeks

The house moaned as the intensity of the wind grew in what seemed to be an unrelenting gale. Though the windows were tightly secured and the doors locked, a breeze ran through the house causing the curtains to dance to the rhythm of the storm. No lamps were lit, and with the exception the flashes of the occasional lightning bolt, the house was cloaked in darkness. A large German shepherd was sleeping on a small couch in the living room, undisturbed by the storm; his snores barely softer than the torrential rain pounding upon the house. The only other resident of the house was a man, sitting in the kitchen—alone, in the dark.

Scott could almost feel her touch as he sat at the table, staring at the half-eaten food on his plate. He rubbed his neck where the warm caress of her breath still lingered. It was the only warmth he could feel in the room. Her voice still hung in the air. There were no comprehensible words—it was more like white noise—but still, her voice lingered. He felt a cold chill that he was certain had nothing to do with the storm outside.

Scott.

It was the only thing that he understood from the string of whispers heard from over his shoulder.

Scott.

She knew his name. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t have to. He knew that no one would be there.

Though he didn’t recognize the voice that was whispering in his ear, Scott was certain that it belonged to her. He knew that with the same certainty that he knew she could not possibly be speaking to him. He knew this because he watched her die.

Scott Mathews was not a coward. On this morning however, he wasn’t feeling particularly courageous. Scott was beginning to get a headache from the constant flash of the blue and red lights coming from the patrol cars and ambulances that surrounded the small park. Almost the entire Brockville Sheriff’s Department had arrived this morning; six of the seven deputies were investigating the area and taking questions.

The seemingly endless, litany of questions felt garbled in his head. He still wasn’t sure what was asked, and he wasn’t certain how he had responded. Scott was fairly certain he was in shock. He felt a pain on his wrist from when he had tried to stop his fall and there was a dull ache in his legs from sprinting too fast, for too long. He remembered reading somewhere that you didn’t feel pain when you were in shock, but he wasn’t sure because he couldn’t think straight, and he was fairly certain that was a symptom as well.

“So let’s go through this again, up to the point where you ran.”

Scott was pretty certain that an accusatory tone wasn’t in the deputy’s voice, but he felt as if he were on trial nonetheless. He noticed that there were about four or five pages that were filled with writing in an otherwise pristine notepad. How many times have they gone over this? He simply couldn’t remember.

“I was running on the trail. I do that before work from time to time.”

“And you stated that you’re a warehouse worker?”

“Yeah, I manage stock for a landscaping company, Chemgreen.” Scott couldn’t remember if the officer had asked him that in the previous interviews. When he looked at the officer’s notepad, he saw that it was being underlined, so he assumed he was at least being consistent in his rambling.

“When I came to the park area, I heard crying. It wasn’t loud. As a matter of fact, I didn’t even know it was crying until I got closer. I thought it was a cat or something. It wasn’t until I saw the two men hunched over someone that I realized it was actually a person—a girl—that was crying.” Scott paused, catching a quick look of—doubt? It appeared on the deputy’s face and then was gone so quickly that Scott almost believed he imagined it.

“Are you ok sir?”

“I’m ok. I’m just getting things straight in my head.” After closing his eyes and finding the words, Scott continued. “There were two guys,” he stated emphatically, “White guys. I couldn’t tell you how tall they were, but one was kind of heavy. Not fat really, just bulky. He was balding on top. The other looked kind of slim, fit. He had a full head of hair. Both were clean shaven, and their hair was dark. I couldn’t tell if it was black or brown.” Scott paused and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall some image that would help. He sighed in frustration. “I just can’t remember.”

The deputy turned as another approached with two cups of coffee. He took both and handed one to Scott. “It’s ok. It’ll come back to you. Sometimes it just takes a little time.”

Scott took the coffee but didn’t take a drink. He stared at the cup as if trying to remember what to do with it.

“The girl was saying something in between sobs. I couldn’t make out what it was, but I think it was something like I didn’t, or I can’t. I’m not sure. I wasn’t close enough to tell.” He gestured off to the right where the trail opened up into the park. He was never too good at judging distance, but it looked to be about a hundred feet or so.

“And these men that you claim you saw, did you hear either of them speak?”

Scott shook his head and looked at the deputy intently. Claim? He wanted to tell the deputy that there was no “claim” about it. There were two men there, and they were standing over the girl. Instead, he continued with his account.

“They were just holding her down and staring at her. The thin guy did lean in close to her like he was whispering in her ear, but it was only for a second or two. Then he leaned back and the other reached down. I couldn’t tell what he did, but she stopped crying. Stopped moving! Just like that, she stopped. I noticed other people in the park, a couple that was jogging, and a girl with a book; maybe a few others. They were all watching too. I think the man from the jogging couple was calling someone on his cell.”

Scott stared at the notepad that the deputy was holding as he spoke. The deputy started a new page, flipping the previous one over in a quick, practiced movement. He could see the events of the past few hours play out in his mind. He was running on the trail, approaching the turn-around point where the trail opens up into the park. As he entered the park, he saw the crowd of people. He could see each clearly in his head. He noticed that they were looking at something towards the center of the park where the bike trail and running trail intersected. He followed their gazes and saw the girl and two men. The girl was pretty and young, and it was evident from her face that she was in pain. The two men were crouched over her. No, that makes it sound more menacing than it was. Kneeling beside her; that’s what they were doing. Why can’t I remember anything about them?

Scott snapped out of his thoughts and looked at the deputy. He had a mix of sympathy and determination on his face; as if he felt sorry for making Scott drudge all of this up, but was determined to get every last bit of information.

“That’s all I can remember.”

The officer wrote down something else on the note pad and underlined it. “And that’s when you ran?”

Once again, the officer asked it with the same sympathetic coaxing he had used for all of his questions, but in Scott’s ears, it was an accusation. “Yes, that’s when I ran.”

Scott wasn’t sure why he had fled the scene. He was a twenty year veteran of the Marine Corps with countless operations, both training and “real world” under his belt. There was nothing extraordinarily frightening about the events that he witnessed, and yet he was overwhelmed with panic. It puzzled and concerned him.

“I ran through the woods. I didn’t know where I was until I fell into a ditch near Hamill’s Road. I just hid in the ditch until I saw the police cars go by. Even then it took some time for me to get up the nerve to come back here. I don’t know. I just panicked.” Scott shook his head in denial. He had never been so scared in his life.

He continued, “I have never thought of myself as a coward, but that was just blind panic that came over me. I’ve never experienced that before. It was terrifying.”

The officer patted Scott’s arm and offered something consolatory but Scott couldn’t hear the words. He assumed that he was finished when the officer gave him a card and walked off, but Scott stood there holding the coffee and thinking about those men. He may as well have been looking at cardboard cut-outs for all of the detail that he was able to recall. I was closer to them than I was to any of the other witnesses, and yet, I’m drawing a blank.

He looked at the card that the officer handed him. Sergeant Stewart Walsh. He told himself that he would call Sergeant Walsh after he had some time to collect himself, but it felt like a lie the instant it entered his mind. He had a feeling that he shouldn’t say anything, that he had given enough detail.

Scott looked down at his arms. Blood seeped from multiple scratches on his forearms and biceps. He assumed that he ran through some thorn bushes. He felt nauseous and his stomach served as a poignant reminder of the fear that drove him on that run. He dumped the coffee that he was holding onto the ground and crumbled the cup in his hand. He walked over to one of the cars that Sergeant Walsh had indicated would give him a ride back to his car, but it was empty, so he stood near the back door and looked around.

The paramedics had already put the girl in a body bag that was zipped up and placed on a stretcher. They were talking over the corpse, one nodding at something the other was saying and every once in a while reaching down to stroke the girl’s head through the bag, as if soothing her. Scott didn’t think the paramedic even realized he was doing it. It was just a reflex act of kindness to a girl that suffered a horrible tragedy.

The deputies investigating the death were scattered across the small park. Each was talking with a different group of witnesses. Though he couldn’t hear her, the girl with the book was recounting her story in what appeared to be a rather nonchalant pose and tone. She didn’t appear rattled in the least bit. This was the closest that he had been to any of the other witnesses, and from here, the girl looked very familiar. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew her from somewhere.

The man from the jogging couple was very animated and passionate in his retelling, adding just the right amount of concern into his voice. The woman looked distraught and she would occasionally say something in between sobs, but the man was talking with very pronounced hand gestures, waving his arms around to drive each of his points home. Neither seemed very genuine. Another older couple was sitting at a bench on the far side of the park. There was a deputy standing by them but he wasn’t paying them much attention as he fervently wrote on his notepad. They sat quietly, holding each other and looking at the victim on the stretcher sadly.

The whole incident still seemed surreal to Scott. He was feeling confused. When he closed his eyes, he could recount every detail about the people at the scene. The girl with the book; she had brown hair in a ponytail. It reached down to about the middle of her shoulder blades. She was wearing a red, long sleeved tee, blue jeans, and white tennis shoes. She looked like she was either in high school or recently graduated. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty. She was petite and attractive. The male jogger was probably around Scott’s age, forty-two or three.

The woman who was with him was much younger. She was probably old enough to be his daughter, but there wasn’t enough of a resemblance. Maybe she was just a running partner; maybe something more. The male jogger had short, black hair and a five o’clock shadow. He was in good shape and well proportioned. He wore blue sweat pants and a white tee-shirt. The woman had blonde hair, also physically fit. She had a runner’s build; long, toned legs, small breasts, and toned arms. She was wearing red shorts and a blue t-shirt with a picture of an eagle’s or hawk’s silhouette over a full moon.

The older couple was probably in their sixties. Both were graying, and the woman was a little overweight. The man looked like he was either getting ill, or had recently recovered from being ill. The older woman was wearing a white sweater and brown pants. The man was wearing a brown leather jacket and blue jeans.

Scott could recall all of these details, but try as he might, he could not recall the faces of either of the two men that were holding down the girl. One had a dark complexion and the other, light. It was as if the memory slipped away whenever he tried to focus on them. The harder he tried, the more elusive it became. One thing was for certain. Just before he ran, both men turned and looked at him.

With all of the people in the park, including the jogger dialing frantically on his phone, they singled out Scott. Even more, the WAY they looked at him was unnerving. He could feel their eyes on him, penetrating him to his soul. He still wasn’t certain why, but that is what sent him into a panic. That was why he ran. It was something about their gazes; they felt like condemnation.

The storm continued to batter the roof of the house and Scott could hear every creak and groan caused by the wind outside. The girl was no longer in the room. He wouldn’t have been able to see her regardless, but he was certain that she was gone. Why she followed him from that park, he didn’t know. He didn’t believe in ghosts, or spirits, and wasn’t convinced of an afterlife—until tonight, at least. He had a lot to sort out. His hands were still shaking from the incident.

He couldn’t remember much of anything that occurred in the park. It seemed that as the hours passed, the memories grew vaguer, until nothing was left but the death of the girl. Oddly, the memories of the other witnesses were still solidly in his mind, but he couldn’t recall any of the events leading up to the girl’s death. Another piece of the puzzle was his running from the scene. He couldn’t remember seeing anything that would have scared him that much, but he could remember the fear. It was almost palpable. None of this added up.

Sitting on the couch, Scott leaned over and grabbed a small picture frame off of the end table. It held a picture of a beautiful, blond woman sitting in a pile of leaves with a young boy in her lap. “Becky! Gregory!” The names came out in a sob. Scott reached up and scrubbed a tear from his cheek with the back of his hand. “I miss you so much.”

The boy looked like Scott with his prominent cheek bones, and slender nose, but it was even more evident that he was the woman’s son. They both had green eyes that shined with the same laughter, and they both had the same, almost angelic smile. That smile brightened both of their faces as she tickled his ribs. The picture caught a moment where she appeared to be saying something to the boy.

“Are you going mess up my leaf pile again?” Scott mumbled with a faint smile on his lips.

He could remember that day vividly, every laugh and every word. It started like any other day, and ended with the death of his wife and son. He dropped the picture face down on the couch next to him and stood, looking around the house absently. There were so many memories in this house, any one of which he would have been more than happy to forget, if for just one night. Sometimes those were the ones that the mind chose to hold on to. Sometimes, his mind was a cruel bastard.

Scott walked over to the kitchen thinking that there was one thing of which he was certain. He wanted to be plenty drunk before the ghost girl came back for another visit. He retrieved a large bottle of Crown whiskey from the cabinet. Looking back at the frame, face down on the couch, Scott knew that there were some things that he simply could not face sober.

The rain came down in sheets, saturating the red clay trail and drowning out all other sounds of the forest. The occasional bolt of lightning illuminated the canopy of trees, but the wet leaves just caused a glare, doing more harm than good for anyone trying to make their way. The cold rain hitting the clay that was warmed all day from the summer sun caused a mist to form on the forest floor, further hampering sight.

A clawed hand grasped a root that was protruding from the clay trail. The meandering path was steep as it led down into a small, tree-shrouded culvert. The grade and the sleekness of the now saturated ground would have made it difficult to navigate this trail during the day, let alone a stormy night. The owner of the clawed hand, however, crouched on all fours with stability and confidence, paying no heed to the storm that raged around it. Head perfectly still and body poised like a coiled spring, it sat; ready to leap in any direction should the need arise. The only movement it made was to flick its long forked tongue to taste the air.

As if a beacon fire were lit deeper in the forest, its head snapped around to the right, and it was off. Running through the forest, alternating between running on two legs and all four with equal ease, it was like a black arrow shooting through the trees. The scaled body moved with grace, power, and murderous intent. It was closer now than ever before and it did not want to miss this opportunity.

Leaping over a small stream and crawling up the adjacent embankment, the creature slowly crested the top of the mound, peering into the gloom. In good conditions its vision was adequate, at best. On this night, it was virtually useless; but this creature was a predator, and sight was the least of its finely honed senses. Once again tasting the air, the predator found the trail of its prey. It had worked hard to get its prey lost in these woods before the storm moved in. Now that the storm was here, it knew that the prey was at its mercy. There was a hint of another human, a female that was also lost, but the Hunter didn’t consider her a threat. It would hunt her later. For now, it stalked the male. The male was strong, and though it would be more of a challenge, the Hunter needed a specimen with a strong body. It proceeded more slowly, deliberately crawling through a clearing in the trees and occasionally stopping and checking its bearing with a flick of the tongue. It knew it was close. It could almost imagine the rapid heartbeat of its victim. It could definitely taste the fear.

On the far side of the clearing, a man darted into the thicker foliage. Had it been able to see more clearly, the Hunter would have marked its prey by the white t-shirt and blue sweat pants that he wore. His clothes stood out, even in a storm like this. With its weakened vision, the Hunter didn’t take note of the clothes; it had to rely on its other senses. The scaled beast closed its eyes. The sense of taste that has led it this far was faltering, losing the prey’s trail in the rain. A thin veil covered its lidless eyes as they rolled toward the back of its head. Though its prey was once again gaining a lead, the reptilian creature waited.

As if having an epiphany, the Hunter’s eyes snapped open, focused and intent, looking in the direction its prey had run. While it was entranced, the Hunter’s prey had covered significant ground and was deep in the woods once again. But the Hunter knew exactly where its target was now. Though there were hills and forest blocking its view, it could point to the exact location. Its acerbus had told it what it needed to know. Its inner darkness was being its guide.

The Hunter no longer sprinted through the forest. It knew its prey’s location, and there was no escape. It wasn’t over-confidence; this knowledge was a simple fact. Once the Hunter sought guidance from its acerbus, it never failed to get its mark. It knew where it was going and there was nothing in this forest it had to fear. The prey on the other hand would tire. He was exhausted, scared, and running as blind as the Hunter was moments before. It was a simple matter of time.

The ground was a quagmire now. Each step caused a splash on descent, and the clay greedily held its foot in place as if not wanting to let go. With determination, the Hunter moved steadily forward. It knew without seeing, without tasting the air that its quarry was no longer moving. It closed the distance between them at a slow stalk, circling its prey and savoring the anticipation of the kill.

The object of its hunt was in a small depression. He was grabbing his leg, trying to remove it from the crevice in which it was held fast. He was whimpering and frantically looking around. The prey knew that the Hunter was near but he was not able to pinpoint its exact location.

Now, under the guidance of its acerbus, the Hunter could hear its victim’s heartbeat. It was beating rapidly, almost like it would thunder out his chest. If it didn’t hurry, the Hunter feared that the prey would die from sheer fright, robbing it of its long awaited kill. The Hunter slowly tightened the circle as it paced closer.

“You are ssstrong, and yet you run. You whimper and cry like a child.”

Its words came out in a hiss, barely audible over the storm. It could tell that its prey’s heart was beating faster now. Fear was overwhelming it.

As if its disdain set it in motion, the Hunter sprang to the figure on the ground, pinning his shoulders with its clawed hands. The Hunter’s tongue flicked out, sliding up the prey’s cheek. The man that it held visibly trembled with fear.

“Where iss the boy?”

The creature beneath the Hunter stared silently. He appeared confused and frightened, but there was also a hint of defiance. Anger built from frustration had begun to replace the human’s panic and his face was locked in a silent snarl. His face showed none of the fear that his heart was certainly reacting to. He either managed his fear well, or his mind was tampered with. Maybe…

It lost its train of thought when the pitiful creature beneath it pushed forward with more strength then the Hunter would have anticipated, sending it back a few paces. The Hunter staggered, but still maintained its balance. The prey crouched as if to counter-attack but the Hunter struck first. As it lashed out, a bolt of lightning ripped through the black canvas of night, almost as quickly as the Hunter ripped through the prey’s throat. Its other hand reached up and grabbed the prey’s chin so that it could look into his eyes.

It held his face before it, turning his head left and right, scrutinizing him during the last moments of his life. He didn’t scream or beg. The Hunter had found that they always screamed or begged, but this one refrained—interesssting.

The light in the prey’s eyes slowly faded and the Hunter let him fall to the ground. Had it not been in the thrall of its acerbus, this event would have troubled it. This one was near the woman when she transitioned from life to death. If he knew something about the boy, that information was gone now; masked by the lux, the essence of light. Somebody knew of its hunt, and was intervening. The Hunter felt that it should find others that witnessed the woman’s death before determining how to proceed with its plans.

Nudging the body with its clawed foot, the Hunter looked around in speculation. It would feed on this one. The acerbus always drained it, but it had to be quick, for it had a new problem. It appeared that there were more players in this game than it had initially anticipated. Dropping back down into a crouch, the Hunter bound into the forest, back towards the female it had sensed earlier. Death on a mission!

It knew that fear could not work into its heart when it was being guided by the darkness, the acerbus; but after seeing the tell-tale signs of the lux in its prey’s eyes, it could feel something akin to dread permeating its being. It had worked too hard and waited too long to fail now and had to find the boy. It had killed this one too quickly, but maybe the female that he was coupling with would know more. If not, she might serve well in its future plans. With a flick of its tongue, it registered her taste. In one motion, it diverted its course and was off, searching for its new prey.