Page 7 of Dead By Dusk

“Silene, my love, you can’t hang on forever.”

It was barely a whisper in the back of my mind, a voice that didn’t belong to me, but it was enough to finally let go. If not for myself, then for the memory of the man with a deep, honeyed voice who had to have, at one point or another, spoken to me with such tenderness and affection. I don’t know if I was able to then, but I will let go now.

And when I land on my feet, I bend my legs to ensure no injuries would result from my landing and to, hopefully, ease the pain making its way through my legs on impact. My hands hit the ground to steady myself. I only let myself take a second to notice how soft and green the grass is between my fingertips because once I have my balance, I slowly rise up and turn my body so it’s no longer facing the house of mystery, and instead, is facing the land stretched out around me.

The first thing I notice is the vast stretch of flatland that looks like it forms a circle around the house before trees burst fromthe Earth. Trees that look as if they have stood for hundreds of years and will stand for a hundred more if they must. Evergreens that are so full of life, I know I could stare for hours if given the chance. I would walk through those foggy woods slow enough to memorize every tree and wonder what it had lived through. Maybe wonder how many had been planted and meticulously tended to and how many had willed themselves to life. I would’ve—

My thoughts are cut off when someone barrels into my body and pushes my back against the hard wall of the house. My head makes harsh contact with brick as the stranger slaps a dark hand over my mouth. And when my eyes open up again, they’re met with the wild, frantic and possibly, crazed gaze of another woman.

4

The Woman With The Crazy Eyes: Silene

Ibend my arms as best I can to try and wrap my hands around her wrists, hoping that my eyes are able to convey my message of “I won’t do or say anything, please just let me go.” As she pushes me into the wall harder, I realize that is probably not the message received on her end.

I don’t try to fight her off. I don’t find a real reason to, honestly. Call me crazy if you want, I’ve been looked at like I am several times already, but she doesn’t seem interested in harming me. No matter how distressed she may seem with torn clothes, greasy and wild hair, and wounds in various stages of healing marring her body, she seems frightened and pleading more than anything. Though her fear and injuries definitely don’t seem to be doing anything to hinder her physical state. She’s strong, stronger than she appears at first glance.

No matter how crazed she may appear, she’s survived something that I know awaits me.

So, I release all tension from my body instead and slowly blink at her, waiting for her to either let go or give me answers. I’d be okay with either at the moment. Though, answers would definitely be the preferred option. She may be the only one able and willing to provide them.

I notice her eyes shift slightly and observe her the best I can from how we’re positioned. Her grip is strong and sure, but her hands slightly shake as if she’s unsure she’s making the right decision. Her face is gaunt, with dark circles under her eyes. When was the last time she ate or slept? I can sense a bone deep exhaustion emanating from her. Despite it all, she still seems on guard. Like the exhaustion won’t stop her from running at the drop of a hat. Like she’s willing to fight if she must. She’s tired, but she’s a fighter.

She keeps as much of a watchful eye on me as she can while continuously scanning around us and over her shoulders. It almost seems as if she’s expecting someone to approach us. Someone unwelcome who has obviously embedded fear into her.

But no one does.

When she realizes just how alone we are, I watch as her gaze softens with relief. I’m half hoping she’ll ease her grip on me, but that hope falters when her gaze lands back on me and hardens once again. Breaking the silence, she finally speaks her first words. They’re quiet, but raspier and deeper than I would’ve expected.

They chill me to my very core.

“I need you to listen and truly hear what I’m saying. We don’t have time for me to repeat anything, so hear me now. Nothing is as it seems, and someone in that house is lying. You can’t trust them. You can’t trust any of them. You need to run. Get away from this field. It might be the worst place for you right now.Do you understand? They’re hunting you. You can come with me if you want, but if you don’t, that’s fine. But you’re better off dead than with anyone in that house. Staying with the group is practically a death sentence. Run into that field, do what it takes to survive, but you can’t stay here. We have to leave before the hunters find us, they’re the ones th—”

That’s all she gets out before her dark almond eyes bulge open as wide as possible, her brows creasing, and she drops her hands from my body and whispers the word “Run.” She falls onto her knees in front of me. Behind her is a tall and lean, pale man wearing all black fighting clothes,clothes so similar to mine, standing twenty feet away with a sinister smile on his face.

I chance a brief look at the woman that stood paranoid in front of me just seconds ago, now on her knees with a knife through her upper back. Slowly, I back away from both of them, watching the man’s movements with quiet calculation. A calculation that seems practiced enough to be muscle memory, telling me that this isn’t the first time I’ve been in a situation such as this one. God, I hope that my instincts pull me through the version of this that ends with me still alive.

He watches me as if he’s a predator and I’m the prey he’s been hunting for. Watches me like he knows something that I don’t and is waiting for me to put the pieces together, but when I make no sudden movements, a smug smile tugs at his lips. It should piss me off, but there’s something else hidden in his eyes. Such a contradiction to what his body language says, but I recognize it quite well from watching the skittish woman in the house. The one that I hope has remained hidden in the second floor bathroom and hasn’t grown curious enough to investigate why I’ve taken so long.

Fear.

There’s fear in his eyes, and I know he knows me from somewhere. He has to, and what happens next, I assume, isgoing to be revenge for something that I don’t have any memory of doing to him.

His hand glides up and down the length of a sharp metal staff that’s not quite as tall as him, but definitely taller than me, and I see it for what it is.

A threat.

A warning.

A promise.

I await with bated breath to see if he’ll move closer to attack or if he’ll decide that I’m not worth the effort. I wait to see if he’ll do anything other than tighten his grip on the staff. Will he take the necessary step forward in order to gather enough momentum to launch his weapon from a distance? I wait for any kind of tell to help me determine my next move. I won’t give myself away; but I will wait for him to.

It doesn’t take long for him to grow impatient waiting for me to give him a sign. His foot twitches ever so slightly before he stops again, taking another brief moment to ensure I don’t plan on moving. Hopefully with the belief that my instincts have disappeared along with my memories. Hopefully, he fully believes I’m too scared to do anything other than keep my feet rooted to the ground in shock and paralyzing fear.

I will not die today.

It only takes one second for him to find a solid grip, take a long stride toward me while swinging the staff over his head and letting momentum carry it toward my body. It happens quicker than I thought it would. Quick enough that, had I not been waiting for this moment—anticipating it, even—it would have killed me. In another reality, I would have faced the same fate as William and the woman who lived long enough to warn me before she fell victim to the same end.

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