The night wore on. Gunther’s throat had grown raspy and raw from the cold, dry air and his own constant wailing; the only sounds he still made were gritty and pathetic. His mind was dark and muddled, and hardly a conscious thought had crossed him since being taken in, but his eyes stayed wide open, catching medics and soldiers moving about from cot to cot, tending to other wounded men. Voices crossed his ears now and again.
“Bad storm last night.”
“Yeah, got a lot of guys with frostbite.”
Gunther looked over to a man lying a few feet away in the cot next to his own. His arm was blackened and cracked. It didn’t look real.
“Hey, kid….”
A voice was directed at Gunther. He moaned in acknowledgement.
“Close your eyes and get some sleep—it’s almost morning.”
He struggled to utter any comprehensible sounds. “Can’t….”
He heard only a sympathetic sigh in response. More time passed, and as Gunther watched some of the men from the night shift disappearing and being replaced by new medics and soldiers, he grew nervous.
His body shifted. Only minutely—almost imperceptibly at first—his discomfort grew.
The mysterious apprehension inside was expanding. It morphed into worry, then to alarm, then fear, then terror, and something beyond, until the sensation was so overwhelming, Gunther couldn’t bear immobility any longer.
“Help,” his dim, scratchy voice brimmed with whatever urgency it could.
No one noticed.
“Help,” he forced out a little louder.
“What’s wrong?” asked one of the new medics.
Gunther’s voice was panic-stricken. “I don’t know… I don’t know… I don’t know….”
He had only once felt anything like this: it was the fear that had gripped him when he touched the fallen branch in the forest, but he couldn’t tell where it came from now. Something about the entire world, or being uncovered, or outside, or something, was so horrifying he thought he might vomit, and did. The medic drew back. “Ah, shit. Get me a rag over here—”
Gunther couldn’t hold back any longer; he ripped himself from the bed, toppling the medic over. Gunther dove to the ground, knocking instruments and pulling sheets down with him in a tangled mess to the dirt floor of the tent. He scrambled like an injured animal, flailing wildly about the earth and screaming like never before in between violent coughing fits which splattered bloody phlegm around him.
“Hey, what the hell?”
Amid the ensuing commotion, he grasped desperately beneath his own canvas cot, crawling under and curling up with his face buried into his knees. He didn’t know what he was hiding from: the air itself, or perhaps the sky. He couldn’t understand, but something horrified him.
“Get out here, you.”
A hand grasped Gunther’s foot to pull him out. He kicked violently as another arm took his wrist.
He screamed tearfully, “Stop, please,” as someone ripped the canvas cot away, exposing him. Gunther flailed and began to wrestle and crawl again like a frightened, cornered beast. A clenched fist drove another syringe into Gunther’s neck with no effect. Another medic caught hold of his arm and drove one more needle in, this one breaking as Gunther spun away.
“Please! Help!” he screamed.
The more conscious patients were watching in terror as the medics and three soldiers scrambled to contain the frenzied boy. Gunther broke away from his captors once again and collapsed against a heavy metal crate. With desperation, he threw open the lid and began to rip out medical supplies, throwing them away until enough room had been made inside that he could slip in. The soldiers grasped him once more and a medic thrust another syringe into Gunther’s spine with a massive dosage of morphine, but Gunther wrestled them away again. He wasn’t any stronger than the soldiers—far from it—but his ferocity was shocking—almost carnal—and their grips weakened long enough for Gunther to bury himself in the crate. He slammed the lid down and held it fast; the sound of his tearful panting echoed inside.
The soldiers, medics and patients looked around now that the chaos had subsided. Nobody understood what they had just seen.
In the darkness of the crate, Gunther’s perception of time disappeared once again. He could hear commotion outside and around him from occasionally, but no one tried to open it. His fingers were pressed readily against the latch though, prepared to forcefully pull it closed should anyone expose him to whatever it was he was so scared of.
A single panicked thought boomed through his mind repeatedly: don’t let the light in… don’t let the light in….
* * *
Aurelio leaned downward to pull a branch out of the path of Ashley’s push lawnmower. He took a deep breath of cold air as he prepared to continue onward—it wasn’t the right time of year to be mowing the lawn, but Ashley had been putting it off for weeks, and it needed to get done before the worst part of winter set in.
“Hello—”
Aurelio turned to Sydney, who was nesting in a nearby tree.
“Excuse me—”
It wasn’t the bird who was talking. Realizing it, Aurelio turned to the voice’s actual source—a woman and younger girl approaching from the driveway. He shut down the roaring mower.
“Sorry to bother you,” the woman began. “Is this the Miller residence?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you know if Mr. or Mrs. Miller are at home?” she asked. “I’m Sister Carroll, from Saint Elia’s academy—this is Hannah.”
“Oh, uh, sure.” He pulled off his gloves and started toward the front door of the house.
“Sorry to be a bother—”
“It’s no trouble,” he assured her as he rapped his knuckles against the door in a distinct pattern.
There was a short silence, followed by a muted, “Come in.”
Aurelio pushed the door open, letting Sister Carroll and Hannah step inside, and without following, shut it behind them.
The pair briefly stood all alone in the living room, but Ashley soon emerged from around a corner into his steam-filled kitchen. He was taken aback. “Well.” His tone was pleasant enough. “This is a surprise. How are you, Sister?” He switched off a burner on the stove and moved a pot away.
“Oh, just fine. Good afternoon,” she said. “Ashley, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. “What can I do for you?”
Behind Ashley, Stam appeared from some hidden location and slowed as she noticed the two visitors.
“Hi there, Stam, dear.” Sister Carroll greeted her before replying to Ashley. “I thought maybe I’d be able to have that conversation with your parents.”
Ashley stepped away, carefully balancing a plate on one hand and two tea cups in the other. “Aw, gee.” He feigned dismay, having already anticipated and prepared. “They’re out of town right now—I’m sorry.”
“…Oh.” Sister Carroll was put off. “I see.”
Ashley placed the plate, cups, and additional utensils on the kitchen table. “Yeah—I’m sorry.”
“When do you expect them home?”
“It’s hard to expect anything around here,” he said. “We sort of had a… family emergency.”
“Oh no, nothing bad, I hope.” Sister Carroll’s concern was genuine.
Hannah, in silence, feeling out-of-place, scanned Ashley’s dusty, record-filled living room as the conversation went on. She appeared to be deliberately avoiding eye contact with Stam, who stood by Ashley, also unsure of how to conduct herself in this strange scenario.
“No, not at all.” Ashley smiled. “It’s just a long story—nothing to be concerned about.” He gestured to the kitchen table, set for three people. “Would the two of you like to join us for lunch? I always make more food than Stam and I can eat.”
“Oh, no, we couldn’t possibly,” Sister Carroll declined while Hannah shook her head, politely indicating no interest on her end either. Outside, the sound of a closing garage door could be heard.
“Some tea, then,” Ashley suggested, holding up a pot. “I insist. You came all this way for nothing—I feel terrible.”
“Well, I tried calling ahead, but maybe I didn’t have the right number?” Sister Carroll looked at Stam. “I couldn’t get through on either your cell or the other I had for your house.”
“I’m so sorry to have troubled you,” Ashley offered, answering for Stam. “I don’t often answer the phone. We weren’t expecting any calls.”
The kitchen door squeaked open as Aurelio and Sydney appeared through it. Sydney squawked, emulating the sound, as Aurelio smiled to the group and headed to the sink to wash his hands.
“Oh, my,” Sister Carroll gasped. “What a beautiful bird.”
“Beauti-ful,” Sydney clacked.
Ashley chuckled. “You have no shame.” He took the bird from Aurelio.
“What’s her name?” Sister Carroll asked.
“His,” Ashley corrected her. “It’s Sydney.” He motioned to the set table. “Anyway, why don’t you stay for a few minutes and at least have some tea?”
Seeing that Ashley was hardly giving them an option and had already begun to move over an extra chair, Sister Carroll and Hannah approached the table. Aurelio and Stam took their seats while Ashley pulled up a second chair for Hannah. “And what’s your name?” he asked, smiling.
“Hannah,” she said, quietly taking her seat. “Thanks.”
“I thought it might be good to have Hannah here to talk with Stam and your parents. She volunteered to share some of her story and talk about some of the issues she faces as a teenager and how she deals with them through God, extracurricular activities, and so on. I think she could be a good role model for Stam.” Sister Carroll smiled at Hannah. Hannah smiled back, a bit bashfully, a bit more uncomfortable.
Stam’s eyebrow was raised in perplexity and had been for several minutes now. Aurelio glanced at her, and to Hannah, and to Ashley, and then Sister Carroll, feeling mystified by the whole scene—like an outsider. He picked at his food. His was the only plate on the table aside from a small dish holding a corn cob in front of Ashley.
“You think so?” Ashley’s fascination with Sister Carroll’s offer seemed genuine. He directed his attention to Stam and Hannah as he lifted his tea cup to his mouth. “You two know each other at all?”
“Yes,” replied Stam.
“Kind of,” Hannah agreed.
Ashley inhaled a lush, lavender scent from the cup and then set it back down.
“Hannah’s been picked as the soloist for our Christmas concert tomorrow,” Sister Carroll explained. “The choir still has openings, and there’s even still time to practice—obviously not for tomorrow—but for some of the spring concerts.”
Her suggestion was lost on Stam. Ashley had to nudge her. “You interested in choir?”
“No,” Stam replied.
“I think it would be good if you got involved with more activities around the school—straightening up the church is one thing, but we’re about community; just attending mass now and then doesn’t really allow you to meet other kids and make friends, does it?”
“No, I suppose not,” Stam offered, with little emotion.
“Hannah has a lot of friends. I’m sure she could introduce you to some of the other girls who you might have things in common with. You know, shopping, movies, even boys.” She winked, pleased by her own wit.
Ashley stifled a laugh, though Sister Carroll failed to notice.
“You could all hang out, right?” she urged Hannah.
“Of course, Sister.” Hannah played up her charm and then spoke defensively, “I mean, we always try to include Stam.”
Ashley smirked. “She’s a little shy sometimes.”
Sister Carroll nodded. “Well, we’re all friends at Saint Elia’s, Stam. Maybe you could start staying after mass for some of the bible studies? Hannah is part of the afternoon Small Group—maybe you could join that.”
“I could,” Stam replied, noncommittally.
“Well, it’s definitely something to consider.” Ashley held up the small piece of corn cob to Sydney, who quickly began to gnaw away at it. “Maybe you should have gone to that dance with that kid after all.”
“You’re not going?” Hannah feigned shock.
“No,” Stam replied.
“I think it’s best you and David keep your distance,” Sister Carroll interjected before glancing to her wrist watch.
“Sister,” Ashley said, letting Sydney wrestle the corn cob from his hand—the bird clutched it with one claw and continued gnawing away. “Stam’s a good kid—she really means no harm to anyone.” He shot a surreptitious glance at Hannah, which only she noticed.
“Oh, I would never think that,” Sister Carroll insisted. “I’m just worried about you, honey.” She offered a hopeful smile to Stam. “I really do think it would be great for you to get involved with one of the Small Groups or one of our other activities, right, Hannah?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Hannah agreed.
Sister Carroll looked to Stam, who only nodded, and then the woman examined her watch once more. Ashley noticed and glanced to his own clock:
5:14 p.m.
“Well, listen,” Sister Carroll began, “we have choir practice tonight—we really need to be going, but thank you so much, Ashley, for your hospitality.”
“Oh, no trouble at all.” He stood and motioned to the front door.
“I still need to have another talk with David,” Sister Carroll spoke firmly to Stam. “I know you’re both good kids.”
Stam nodded again, and Sister Carroll turned to Ashley as he politely ushered them toward the door. “Thank you again for the tea.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Hannah joined in.
“You’re quite welcome,” Ashley smiled and turned to Hannah, “and thank you. Stam could really use more nice friends like you.” His eyes narrowed imperceptibly to anyone but Hannah. “It’s not easy to move to a new town, not know anyone, be a little different, you know. It’s really nice when people are willing to accept others who aren’t just like them.”
Hannah nodded, unnerved by his tone. As the group reached the door, and Sister Carroll grasped onto the knob, Ashley shot out a hand out to hold it shut and glanced at the clock once more:
5:16 p.m.
He turned to the confused pair, and then smiled again as his hand pulled away. As though nothing had happened, he motioned for Sister Carroll to open it. After one last brief goodbye, she and Hannah disappeared down the steps and into the darkness of a new night.
As the door shut, Ashley let out a heavy sigh.
* * *
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