Page 34 of Sweet Silver Bells
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound of knuckles against his window pulled Hunter out of his trance, his eyes pulled away from her pouting, juicy lip, and toward the cop on the other side of his window, shining a flashlight down at him.
“Because it’s too close to Christmas,” Hunter answered Olivia, and he rolled his window down.
That’s the best you could come up with?
“Son, do you know why I pulled you over?” the cop asked, shivering in the snow, his head bobbing a little.
He shone his flashlight at Olivia, who cowered away from the attention.
“Would you believe me if I told you I was heading to the police station?” Hunter asked nervously. He was no outlaw. He didn’t do bad things; he was a goddamn elementary school teacher, and this . . . this looked very bad.
“I’m going to need you to step out of the car, sir,” the officer said. “Ma’am, are you alright?”
Hunter obeyed, the click of his seatbelt loud in the quiet. The cop’s badge read Mason. Hunter knew that name. He’d taught so many Mason kids over the years.
“Hunter, let’s go,” Olivia called softly. He looked back. She had one knee hiked onto the dashboard, showing them everything.
“Take me home now.”
“I have to make sure you’re not in danger, ma’am,” Mason stammered, mouth hanging open. “I see bruises and cuts under that jacket. Where did you get those?”
“Do you ask your wife the same questions when you’re staring at another woman?” Olivia giggled.
Mason recoiled, face flushing red.
“I’ll be taking you both back to the station. There are clothes there to get her covered up,” he said, hand on his radio mic.
Olivia lunged forward, crawling across the seats, her face going void, empty. Then she changed, alive with rapture as her mouth opened. Her voice poured out, a hum that tangled around Hunter’s mind. A lullaby, a death promise, a black hole.
This didn’t happen last time.
Jump in.
Her song lured him toward that darkness. Hunter stepped forward, eyes locked on the void, blind to the car, the cop, the world.
Vines, black and purple, unfurled around him. Thorns pulsed at their tips, begging him closer. He wanted to touch them. I wanted to feel the prick on his skin.
Metal clanked against his watch. Hunter’s hand hit the car frame and snapped him out of it. His vision cleared. The police car engine roared, tires squealed. Snow and slush sprayed up his legs as Mason fled, disappearing into the night.
Hunter turned to Olivia. She sat back in the passenger seat, calm as a queen.
“What do you see?” Her song was gone. Her scent, earth and rain still overwhelmed him.
Why am I standing here?
“I’ve never seen it before, someone resisting my song. What did you see?”
I resisted her song?
A crash cracked the night—glass, metal, a sickening pop. Hunter ducked behind the door. Down the street, the patrol car had plowed through a general store’s front window. Mason’s body lay half on the hood, half inside, unmoving, a dark pool spreading under his hand.
“What did you do?” Hunter’s voice shook, small and stunned. His brave self, his rational mind, was gone. “We should call someone. He needs help.”
He noticed that there were no other witnesses. It was just them and the midnight silence interrupted by the shrieking alarm.
Your phone. Get your phone.
