Fade: Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven1

Every time a vehicle zoomed above me, its headlights seemed to echo of the ghostly lights that had lead me to the Thatchers earlier.  The hill I was climbing–or rather, trying to climb–even seemed to be similar to the hill displayed in the Thatcher’s house . . . the one with my mother’s car in it. It all seemed odd, connected somehow, but it wasn’t for me to figure out. I just had to find help.2

The grass was wet with morning dew, and my shoes were lacking in the tread-department. I had disposed of the knife long before, afraid of what might happen if I fell–even more afraid than if I didn’t take it along.3

The hill was steep too, it’s odd how they can tear down an entire forest for a city–but they can’t bulldoze a hill for a road. I stopped to rest, just a few feet from the large guardrails, the little rag-doll in my pocket peeked its head out when I sat down against the bank.4

Maggie. I paused. Something about the doll I held with me, something about the little girl, something about that house; it all seemed connected. Like a memory I couldn’t really remember, hiding away just beyond my thoughts. It was irritating, but, I was almost glad that I couldn’t remember. 5

Suddenly, like the two ghost lights from before, a pair of yellow beams shot into my eyes. I was afraid at first, but then a door flew open and a middle-aged man stormed out. He slammed the door behind himself and I flinched as he dropped to his knees–just inches from me.6

“Are you alright?!” He asked in a slightly gruff tone.7

I took a deep breath, relieved to be talking to . . . another person. I nodded, and stood up, the older man held my hand as I stepped up and over the large rails.8

“What happened to you . . . were you in an accident?” The man asked, looking down the hill as if to search for my lost vehicle. I couldn’t . . . really tell him what had happened . . . what I saw right? I didn’t truly believe it all myself.9

“I...I need to talk with someone. I think . . . something awful happened.” I whimpered, my body growing limp. The man held me up, placing his firm hands on my shoulders.10

“Calm down, please.” The man said excitedly. “I’ll . . . I’ll try to call 911, just try and stay calm.” I nodded. The man walked a few feet away, then pulled a small phone from his pocket. He dialed the number a few times before shaking his head and shoving the phone back into his pocket with disdain.11

“I-I’m sorry. Are you hurt badly...or anything...if not . . . I can.” The man paused and looked over my body, as if I had a gaping hole somewhere in me.12

“I’m..Ok.” I said plainly. “I just . . . need to talk to someone. The police. Hospital. I’d settle for anyone.” I shook my head.13

The man put his hand on my shoulder. “My name’s Nathan.” He said, slightly more composed. “If you want, I can take you to the nearest police station–or hospital even–I’m in no hurry.”14

I looked up into the older man’s grey eyes and let out a sigh of relief. No matter who he was, or what kind of person he could have been, he couldn’t be worse than the hellish house down the hill. 15

I nodded. “Thank you.” I said, brushing off my knees. “My name’s Melissa.”16

The inside of Nathan’s car was warm. It wasn’t the sickeningly foreboding warmth I had felt so often recently either, it felt more comfortably. Welcoming even. 17

For a while Nathan just drove. He said he wasn’t from around the area, but something about what he said sounded like a lie. It could have been the fact that he was in the lane to turn off onto Saint Larken’s Street too. That street only lead down to a turn off onto Silkwood Road . . . the road I lived on. I thought it was strange, especially since he claimed he wasn’t from around the area–but I didn’t pry into it.18

Once we got back on the main highway instead of the Saint Larken’s Street exit–Nathan began to talk. I guess . . . he was curious.19

“So . . . where do you live?” He asked, his steely eyes both calm and intense.20

I took a deep breath. “Silkwood Road.” I paused. “You turn off Saint Larken’s street . . . it’s a dead end and I live in the last house down.”21

Nathan paused, I think he sensed that I knew of his fib. Instead of elaborating on that, he asked a different type of question. 22

“So . . . ” Nathan paused. “Do you mind telling me what happened? You . . . look beat.”23

I nodded. I obviously couldn’t tell him that I had been trapped in my neighbor’s house, locked out of my own, and witnessed . . . disturbing things. 24

“I...got locked out of my house.” I said, coldly.25

Nathan nodded, he knew that I was holding something back–just as I knew that he was holding back–and yet neither of us pressed any further, we didn’t pry.26

The small car of Nathan’s drove at a normal-steady pace, and although it felt like an eternity, we arrived at the Mayborne Police station without any trouble . . . although Nathan didn’t seem to need any help finding it . . . for an outsider.27

Nathan steered the car around into the back of the station, I thought that was odd but shrugged it off as we both got out of the car. Nathan glanced over at me and started to say something.28

“...Are you ok?” He asked, calmly. I raised an eyebrow, unsure of what he meant. “I mean . . . can you walk alright?”29

“Y-yes.” I replied, preoccupied in my thoughts. “I’m fine.” 30

“Good.” Nathan nodded, and we both rounded the car and up to stairs of the police station. 31

I glanced over at Nathan as he reached into his pocket, while the station seemed empty–Nathan pulled out a set of keys and slid one into the lock. The door opened, and I turned to Nathan with a look of puzzlement.32