Page 59 of Sweet Silver Bells
Silence.
Fuck.
Hunter took a deep breath and held it in, as if he were about to dive underwater. He marched right out the front door, leaving it open behind him. The air stung against his raw face, while light snowflakes and small amounts of rain hit and sizzled on his lips. He looked over towards the tree, where Olivia sat on the ground.
Her face was in her hands, and she was hunched over, sobbing, wearing clothes that undoubtedly came from the collection his mom had gone out and shopped for. Most of the front lawn was covered in snow, but the six feet around Olivia had obviously been disturbed. Ground and dirt flailed around her, dirtying and graying the lawn.
The area before her looked like a grave. A freshly dug grave.
Hunter looked down at his hands again, the skin raw, a fingernail gone, his knuckles aching.
No. No, that can’t be it.
“Olivia,” he uttered, too afraid to ask. He supposed that was what bravery was, though—doing something even when you were terrified, even when you expected the worst possible outcome.
There had to be another cop. Why else would she be sobbing in front of a freshly dug grave?
Olivia’s shoulders tightened, and she sat up, looking down at the recently moved earth, not daring to meet his eyes.
“Please tell me what happened.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
He walked toward her, boots still on his feet that did not press into the slush or snow because of the dirt stuck in the tread pattern.
“Olivia, you can tell me anything,” he said, his steps stopping when she turned her head, her eyes meeting his. He mighthave stopped because of that fear, but what it really was was heartbreak evident across her beautiful face.
His girl. His moon. His tree siren.
Hunter couldn’t watch her cry. He realized that he would kill all the police if it meant never again having to see her cry. For the first time in his life, he made a mental note to buy a hatchet. If he went down for Olivia, it would be swinging.
“Hey, hey.” Feelings that had frozen him now had him moving, rushing toward her and blanketing her in his arms, not minding the bite of the exposed skin on his fingers. “I’ve got you. I’m here. I’ll always be here. Olivia, I’m not going anywhere.”
She rested her head on his shoulder as they sat beside the grave, her sobs spilling out in shivers against his coat. Hunter noticed every car that crawled past, felt his pulse jump whenever a horn blared or a stranger with a leashed dog paused to ask if they were alright. He was used to it by now—being the hushed topic behind closed doors ever since Sarah’s death, the neighbor everyone watched from behind curtains. He could live with the stares, the whispers. So he pulled her closer, pressed his face into the curve of her neck, and breathed her in.
What a spectacle we are.
The world outside was lucky to take it in.
Hunter raised his face to Olivia’s, wiping a tear off of her beautiful, smooth skin, blinded by the horror that was his hands. She didn’t seem to mind or notice; she only looked at him.
“The grave, did I dig it?” he asked.
“Yes.” Her voice was bursting out, pushed forward by her sobs.
“We couldn’t find a shovel?”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“What do you mean?”
Olivia got up to her feet, snow crunching underneath her. “I just say what’s in my heart, and it’s done, my song and wishesmoving through someone’s brain. The order is obtuse, general; I don’t control any specifics. You chose to dig by hand.”
“I didn’t choose anything.” Hunter rose to match her. She looked at her feet, her head hanging in shame.
“That’s why I’m crying,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to control you. Something takes over me, my heart sings out and then suddenly, I’m a monster, a witch, the most horrifying of nightmares.”
Hunter’s mouth gaped open.
