Page 46 of Sweet Silver Bells
Hunter set the box on the passenger seat floor, wincing as his elbow knocked against a black, glossy pot jutting from the backseat. It wasn’t alone. Three more crowded beside it, heavy and awkward, their bulk promising an unpleasant struggle once he got home. One rogue pot had already escaped to the trunk, rolling and thumping with every turn. Each distant thud spiked his pulse as he waited to hear one shatter and break.
Part of him hoped Olivia was still at the window, staring out at the tree in his yard. It had been so long since he’d come hometo someone, and the thought alone stirred small butterflies deep in his stomach.
But coming through Market Street today had reminded him of the cost of ignoring warnings. The general store was boarded up now, caution cones and tape forcing pedestrians to weave around it—a silent memorial. Flowers wilted in the cold, hand-painted signs faded by the season, and stuffed toys sagged under melting snow, all a tribute to the fallen officer.
The Mason family had no answers. And they never would. Only he and Olivia knew and ever would know.
She’s a murderer, and you don’t care. She’s a murderer, and you didn’t turn her in.
Of course, he cared. He cared about her too much. That scared him. It shook him to his core. It was so right, mysterious, and because of his never-ending grief, because of the lifeless person he had morphed into in the past few years, this all felt wrong. A woman who piqued his interest, made him curious, was filled with every red flag possible, a nurturing that couldn’t be pure evil.
She was scared once, too. The nonchalant sinisterness that rose to the surface, gleaming from her eyes in sneaky one-second intervals, only existed because she was once fighting for something. Isn’t that how all villain origin stories began? He’d have to see if his comic book collection was still in that box in his parents’ attic.
She could not like you. She could be using you.
Hunter could not get past the thought, a blinding archway inviting him into the world that was Olivia. He would go through it, protecting his heart, protecting Sarah’s memory, keeping his distance while continuing to be a gentleman.
She’s yours.
Hunter laughed out loud at his own jumbled, contradicting thoughts. The car moved forward with his foot pressing againstthe gas pedal, wheels spinning on slush and ice until he pulled back out onto the salted, snow-plowed road. He got stuck behind a car going fifteen miles under the speed limit as the clouds opened up, letting the rain drizzle down, a light mist that would get heavier as he gripped the steering wheel and tried to control his road rage.
We live in Massachusetts—how can you be scared to drive in the weather?
When he finally made it and turned down his street, the rain had progressed into a violent dumping. His windshield wipers struggled to catch up. Hunter let out a yelp, swerving the car, stepping on the brakes in panic when he noticed a figure standing in the middle of the road, nearly blending in with the rain, with the doom and gloom of the day.
He opened his car door and let out his frustrations.
“What the heck are you doing? Are you trying to get killed, you idiot?”
“Your tree is so melancholy that it called on the sky to cry, to ask for attention.”
Olivia.
Hunter’s eyes quickly looked over to his house, only a few lots down, to make sure it was still standing. It looked the same from where he stood. The tree was also unchanged. The front door was wide open, the rain spilling onto his already damaged, old wooden flooring.
Olivia was soaked from head to toe, the thick sweater dress retaining water that streamed off a seam on her thigh. She didn’t shiver despite the bluish tone to her cheeks; she only smiled as she tilted her head back, letting her arms stretch wide as she began to turn and dance.
“What are you doing?” he asked, walking towards her, his car in park but still running, the engine purring under the sound ofheavy droplets against metal, against the pavement, and houses around them.
“You reminded me that I was hungry,” she shouted, spinning, swaying, water puddling at her feet while she kicked and stomped with elation. She hummed, and Hunter watched as the trees and bushes in yards nearby seemed to lean in towards her, as if they were waiting for something.
“In this world,” he said, putting his hand out and gripping her by the arm, “we don’t get our nutrients from the rain.”
Olivia stopped moving, her smile wiped as she looked down at his hand gripping her.
"Everything grows because of rain."
“I’m sorry,” he said, letting go. He’d gotten lost in the moment, casually touching her like they had known each other their entire lives. “I wasn’t thinking, I just wanted to get you into the warmth.”
Instead of pulling away, Olivia shuffled in towards him, her fingers finding his as she raised them, two star-shaped hands, wet, cold palms touching. Hunter curved his fingers in, intertwining with hers as rain dripped off his nose, soaking through his coat, his pants.
He could still smell her, even in the downpour. That warm earth smell brought him relief, any worry he had going away, as if her song were casting a spell over him again. This time, there was no song, no haze. There were only the deep, dark eyes that stared into his, that bore into his soul. It was as if she had been waiting one hundred years for him.
“Where else can I absorb more nutrients?” she asked.
Was she breathless? Panting under her words?
Or was that him?
