Prologue

The calm before the storm.

Prologue

October 12th, 2014

 

His hand wrapped around the brass knob, while he slotted the silver metal into its place, feeling the pins slowly bow to the correct ridges. His thumb pressed against his pointer with metal wedged between, pulling counter clockwise, hearing the mechanism click.

The weight of the door gave away, and he slipped through the crack, tenderly closing it behind him. His eyes surveyed the entrance hall, his gaze hovering over the wooden coat hanger. A few black and brown coats, some heavy, others made for lighter weather. Two of the knobs were bare. The man slipped out of the coat on his back, trailing his finger down to the tag resting at the neck, slipping his finger through the loop that his digit found. He placed it on the second to last hanger, before turning his attention to the end of the hall.

A soft, white illumination plastered itself against the blue wallpaper and carpet floors. It flickered and changed shape, fading and coming back with different levels of intensity. A miasma of sounds and voices held a moderate volume, growing louder the closer he got to the doorway at the end of the hall.

He put his smooth, pale hands against the wooden frame, leaning his body around the edge, eyes glazing over the dimly lit couch resting flat against the wall. A crumpled figure lay on the sectional, a black, purple, and green wool blanket drenched over them. The television flickered again, and he got a better look at the sleeping beauty; rosy hair strewn over her face, feet poking out of her comforter.

A sense of security swept over him, as he crept around the corner and into the living room, careful to avoid the pink and purple plastic anomalies scattered about. A plate of partially eaten dinner rested on the coffee table, a glass of half-filled wine close by. He approached the sleeping girl, with as much tact as he could muster, reaching his hand out to grasp the edge of her blanket. The man pulled it down a few inches, covering her cold flesh, and brushed his fingers against her exposed arm, feeling the coolness of her skin.

His eyes shifted, and his hands followed, seizing the cold plate of food and warm glass of crimson swill, feet wandering past her, towards the other corner of the living room. The doorway led into an open room, filled with appliances, metals and trinkets. His fingers guided the glass to the middle island, freeing his hand to pick up the fork resting on the side of the china plate. One press of his foot and he was scraping the green pile of salted, oil brushed asparagus and the remains of the roasted salmon filet into the plastic scented bag.

He turned back toward the sink, brushing his eyes over the glass stone stove top, squinting slightly at the light illuminating the surface. He drifted past, placing a hand on the silver faucet, turning the brass to the left, hovering the plate under the fall of water. His second hand fished the sponge out of the sink, pressing the bubble filled membrane against the stains. He scrubbed for a few seconds, then flipped it before continuing. The warm liquid slipping between his fingers made his mind wander for a moment, glancing at the windowsill in front of him. The small light casting a transparent reflection of himself.

A purple object floated past his vision, stomping against the frozen earth. A wisp of breath hovered in the air, confirming that his mind wasn't conjuring images. His hands set down the two objects in his grip, cutting the supply of water with a slow turn of his wrist. He flicked his digits at the metal tub, shaking the remaining drops of warm liquid away.

His mind jumped, following his eyes as they raked over the cobalt countertop, pinning against the wooden block filled with kitchen cutlery of every shape and size. His hand followed his thoughts, pulling the smooth blade clean out. His fingers clutched to it, knuckles whitening as his feet began taking him towards the living room.

His eyes followed his train of thought, peering ahead, leaning towards the glass door. At first he saw a man, a black haired, middle aged figure, dressed in the most common attire, an olive button up, blue denim digging into the fabric at his waist. Through the man, he saw the dark outline of a lumbering tree, and the grass plain leading into it. The light of the television shimmered off of the door, humming against the figure of the man, staring right back at him through the window. He realized he was looking at the image of himself, and through it, he could see a purple blob slowly trudge over to the dying bark of the tree. He placed his hand against the transparency so he could try and look past his self-image.

Thoughts processed in his head, while the figure became clearer he finally realized what it was. A small child, no older than five climbed onto the swing tied to the branches of the tree. The fingers he had tightly wrapped around the grip of the knife loosened, and he put it on the nearby stand housing the television.

 

He pushed open the glass door, stepping onto the concrete slab extruding out of the frame of the house. A frigid air pushed him, encouraging him to go back into the house. “A-“ Something caught in his throat, forcing him to clear it with a cough. He started again. “Aurora.”

The red colored face looked in his direction, sniffling. “Go away.” She said.

“What are you doing out here?” A sense of concern pervaded his voice. The man closed the distance, standing just a foot away.

“Running away.” She slid off of the swing, diving for the nearby woods.

He grabbed her arm, kneeling down before she managed to get out of his reach. “Oh, no you don’t.”

She immediately wrenched her arm to get free. “Let go of me!” She shrieked.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He pulled her closer, wrapping his second arm around her chest, getting a firm grip before speaking. “Hey, relax. Now what’s the matter? I thought you were supposed to be at your friend’s house.”

The girl gave up, eventually, slumping her back into his chest. Silence persisted, each waiting to see if the other would break and give them what they wanted. Her attention span was not nearly as impressive. “Let me go.” She strained against his arms again.

His fingers clamped down on the puffy coat she was wearing. “Tell me what happened, and I will.”

“You promise?” She asked.

“I promise.” He waited.

Silence followed again, longer than he anticipated. The cold air was starting to seep into his clothes, drifting through the thin fabric and embracing his skin. He stared at the tree in front of them, resting his chin on her shoulder. She looked at him, with a pair of big blue eyes. “Well?” He asked.

She turned her eyes to the line of trees so close by. “They started making fun of me. They said my name was stupid. And that I looked like a boy.” A momentary pause. “I started crying and Sarah called me a baby.”

He waited a few seconds, in case she had anything more to say. “Is that why you want to run away?”

She pulled her lips to one side of her face, thinking. “Yes.”

“You can’t run away from stuff like that.”

“Why not?” She questioned.

“When someone does something mean to you, you try to forgive them. If you can’t, then you tell your mom or me, and we’ll make it right.” He turned his eyes to her, softening at the sight of her bruise. “What happened to your eye?”

“Sarah punched me. After I punched her.”

He laughed, clasping his hand against her cheek, kissing her cold face. “Don’t throw the first punch. Throw the last one.” His breath warmed her skin.

“You said you’d let me go.”

“Tomorrow, me and your mom are gonna go to the theater. And then we're gonna get some ice cream.” He paused, watching her expression shift. “Don’t you want to come with us?”

“Okay.” She conceded.

“Good,” He brushed his thumb against her cheek. “Come on inside, it’s too cold out here.” He released his grip on her, and she ran around him, jogging to the glass door, pulling on it with all her might. He followed her, placing his hand on the top of the door frame, pushing it open out of her view. She triumphantly pulled the door open, peeling it away and stepping inside. “Quiet, your mom’s sleeping.” He said.

Once he stepped in himself, and saw the sitting figure on the poorly lit couch, he realized something.

“She’s not sleeping, daddy.” Aurora said.

He knelt down to his daughters size, turning her towards the hallway deeper into the house. “Go to your room, honey. I’ll come tuck you in soon.” He pushed her along, and she obeyed, looking back at her mother before she walked away down the dark hallway.

Once he confirmed that Aurora was down the hall,  he approached the redhead. “Charlotte…”

“Ward, I didn’t know you were home…” The red haired woman let the syringe in her hand falter. Her face spelled out how much she didn’t want him to see this.

He didn’t know how to react. “We talked about this so many times. I thought you didn’t need this anymore-“

Tears welled up in her blue eyes, and she tossed the needle across the room. “Me either! But you both were gone, and I…” She covered her mouth, trying to stop the liquids from flowing. “I felt…”

Ward sat down next to her, and she turned towards him. His eyes looked torn, and she could tell what he was feeling. Charlotte meekly waited for him to say something. The more the silence pervaded, the more her anxiety grew. She pressed her hand into his chest. "I needed you, and you weren't here. I tried-"

He shook his head. "That's not an excuse."

Her bottom lip trembled. "Please don't send me away again."

Ward looked at her, eyeing every detail of her face. The sadness, the pain, the longing and the fear. He brought one hand to her shoulder, and softly pressed his forehead into hers. "You are never going to be sent away again."

The tears on her face began drying, and she nodded, bringing her arms around his neck, turning her face into his shoulder. "I love you, Ward."

He adjusted his hand to her hair. "We'll get through this, one day at a time. Please keep Aurora away from it."

Charlotte mumbled something into his shoulder. "I dropped her off at Sarah's a few hours ago, I thought she was gone."

"She must have walked back." He remarked.

She raised her face off of his shoulder. "Sarah lives three miles away."

Ward nodded. "Yeah, she was pretty cold out there." The man briefly chuckled.

She shook her head. "My baby... why'd she come back?"

"Sarah was being mean to her." He admitted.

Charlotte looked longingly towards the hallway. "Aww, poor thing. She needs some lovin'." She went to stand up, her feet trying to get a stable positioning.

Her feet lost themselves, against the slippery wooden floor, and for a moment she thought she might drift into the coffee table below her. A hand pressed firmly against her abdomen, catching her in free fall. "Whoa, now. Sit down." He brought her back to the couch.

Charlotte still had her heart in her throat. "Oh, goodness."

Ward didn’t take his hand away from her immediately. “I’ll go check on her. Okay?” His voice was firm, his fingers pressing into her skin.

“Yeah. Good idea.” She seemed out of it.

Once he felt comfortable, he let his arm fall back to his side, eyeing the woman while she recovered. The television flickered again.

“We interrupt this programming to bring you breaking news. A new infection, now being termed “H1D3” is being observed in Africa and parts of Southwest Asia, spreading at an unprecedented speed. The early numbers are thousands of victims infected, but luckily a low mortality rating so far. Symptoms include a high fever, violent fits of anger, uncontrollable urges, and a never-ending hunger. The CDC have issued a statement, that they are not worried of it spreading any time soon.”

Ward shut the television off, and stood up off the couch, seeking out the nearby light switch and flicking on the living room light. “I’ll be back, and we’ll talk. Okay?” He didn’t see her reaction before he trailed down the hallway, his eyes pinned to his daughters door as he approached it. One simple twist of the knob, and he let the small amount of light through, cascading over the carpet and landing on the pink coverings on her mattress, the one she was laying on with her coat and boots still on.

He stepped into her room. “Hey.” He greeted her, closing her door behind him.

“What’s wrong with mommy?” She queried.

The man blinked rapidly, formulating a response. “She’s just working through some things. And she’s going the wrong way about it.” That wasn’t a lie, he thought to himself. He approached her bedside, kneeling down closer to her sitting position on the mattress. “Let’s get your boots off.”

She put up no resistance, as he began slinking the wet footwear off, and the ruined socks underneath. “Is she gonna get better?” Aurora seemed worried.

“That’s the question. The stuff she’s dealing with… it’s the kind that doesn’t go away You just learn how to carry it with you.” He looked at the blue eyed girl, trying to judge whether or not he confused her.

“I feel bad. For mommy.”

“She’ll be fine.” Ward began peeling away the puffy purple coat she was wearing, one by one freeing her arms from the wet fabric. He hung it on her bedpost, and placed her boots at the foot of the bed. “You have to get some sleep, tomorrow’s gonna be fun.” He smiled.

She returned it. “Can we get popcorn?” She turned to crawl into her covers, mostly free of her wet clothes.

He caught her pant leg before she managed to slip into her dry blanket. “Hold on now. Gonna get this off too.”

She turned and replied with a pouting tone. “But these are my favorite.”

Ward shook his head. “Last thing I need is for you to get sick from a bad case of wet butt.” The man pulled the denim off of her waist, despite her mediocre resistance. Once she was free of it, she defiantly crawled under the covers. Luckily she was free of all the wet clothes.

“Are you gonna come out and say goodnight to me?” He asked.  

A muffled, unenthusiastic “Goodnight,” popped out of the pile of blanket.

He chuckled, heading towards her door. “Goodnight. I love you, sweetie.”

Aurora poked her head out of the covers, her red curls dangling. “I love you too, daddy.”

Ward caught a glance of her smiling, slightly concerned face, as he slipped through the door and went to close it. Once the metal clicked into place, and the door was shut, he sighed. “Never ends.”

 

Author's Note

I invite tough love/honest reviews.