Cold Bill

By R. A. Mello

After two years of fighting a bloody war in the Middle East, Bill Colden sends word to the love of his life that he is finally coming home. His routine task is to lead a patrol down a dark desert highway and then Bill could return home for good. However, fate would intervenea fate that would give birth to insurmountable horror and unspeakable taboos. On that dark highway, amidst the debris, something malevolent awaits Bill and his squad. Something ancient and evil is stirring within one them, awaiting release. There is hunger . . . there is always hunger . . .

Back home in Derrylin, Abigail Josephine Lux lives life day by day, patiently awaiting Bills return. After Abigail receives word of Bills accident, she begins experiencing terrifying nightmares that raise the question, is Bill still out there somewhere? On the brink of total hopelessness, Abigail begins a journey through the supernatural world to unravel the mystery of Bills whereabouts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503539532

R. A. Mello

R. A. Mello, author of Cold Bill, was born in Merced, California. He grew up in the Turlock-Modesto area until the age of thirteen when he, along with his mother and father, older brother and younger sister, relocated to Eufaula, Oklahoma. Throughout high school, he has written several short stories and few novellas. After graduation, he studied at Eastern Oklahoma State College. R. A. Mello has served in the United States Marine Corps, and he is a proud veteran of Operation Desert Storm. He resides with his wife and son in the Greater Oklahoma City area, where he spends his time writing.

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Copyright © 2015 by R.A. Mello.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Original Art Concept by Dylan Ray Kelley.

Artwork by Dianne Addison.

Rev. date: 01/30/2015

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Preface

1. The Visit

2. Storms

3. Letters Home

4. Position of Attention

5. Dark Desert Highway

6. Awakening

7. The Wolf

8. Desperation

9. Their Awkward Encounter

10. Malsum’s Curse

11. The Fever

12. Recurring Nightmares

13. Ill-Gotten Gains

14. Blaster’s Ailment

15. First Adversity

16. Fallen Angel

17. Bill’s Echo

18. Mental Quandary

19. Roland’s Betrayal

20. Alone Again

21. The Ambulant Jordy Merlot

22. Revelation

23. Severed Bloodline

24. A Necessary Betrayal

25. Jack Flag

26. Exacerbation

27. Grisly Discoveries

28. Fight or Flight

29. Fond du Lac

30. A Dash of Hope

31. Vision Walker

32. The Deal and the Demon

33. The Unrequited Two

34. Tracking the Undead

35. Humanity

For Desarae and Dylan; my loved ones, my muses, my balance keepers.

For my father and mother, brother and sister.

And the enduring spirit of Alex and Sandy, who reside with God.

For the U.S. military forces courageously serving around the globe.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank the following people for believing in me enough to offer their endless support, praises, and thoughts of encouragement. Without you, I have no strength lest unheard words.

Donald KattDaddy Brewer, Manuel and Belinda Mello, Curtis Culwell, Jason and Lisa Campbell, Sheri Mendenhall Bowen, Andrew Money, Scott Culwell, Rena Walker Thornton, Rick and Christie Mulliniks, Dylan and Cara Kelley, Robert and Andrea Mello, JR and Tawana Gray, Kirk Barchenger, Blake Valdez, Dominic C. Boyer, James C. Seals, Vadim Mescoi, Joey Lattanzio, Alli Chastain and The Violet Hour, Al Marsiglia, Tina Snider, Jessica Goodlet, Delsa Hanson, Daniel Ramsey, Muriel George, Lisa Shurtleff Horlamus, Amy Getz, Leah Rutherford, Sharon Moffit, Holly Williams, John and Jennifer Thompson, Teresa Thompson, Jack Nelson, Amy Winegeart-Hundley, Suzie Courtner, Beth Pena, and Kimberly Kint.

There is no love sincerer than the love of food.

—George Bernard Shaw, Man and Superman

Sometimes I am terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts.

—Edgar Allan Poe

PREFACE

The cave is cold and dank with a constant echo of dripping water. Abigail can smell the stench of salt and seaweed hanging in the damp air. At one point, she realizes she has fallen asleep in Western Civilization class, so it must be a dream. Behind her, at the mouth of the cave, she can still hear Mr. Hammond lecturing the class. All of her aspirations involve seeing Bill, so Abigail quickly leaves thoughts of school locked down in another part of her mind and focuses on what the cave might reveal.

It is dimly lit either by the fading lights of the classroom or the actual daylight from outside the cave. Neither is important now as she moves forward, careful in her footing. In every direction, all Abigail can see are military crates, patches of thickly overgrown moss, and small depressions filled with clear water that trickle down from lichen-infested walls. She is not entirely sure where to go, but a faint and indecipherable voice off in the distance piques her curiosity.

As Abigail continues to move forward toward the voice, the cave becomes increasingly darker and darker. The passage narrows, and she can barely squeeze through or see her own hand out in front of her face. Jagged porous rock, uneven and protrusive, scuffs the smooth skin of Abigail’s slender arms, but she still pushes through the narrow passage and into the opening of a large cavern filled with stalactites and stalagmites.

At its center is a shallow pool of clear water, and it is there that Abigail can see a dark shadow of a thing hunched over, peering into the water; its own reflection rippling through the surface. The creature mutters continuously to itself. Whatever the frail figure of a man is saying, Abigail cannot discern. However, from the tone of its constant animal-like baaing and mumbling, she gets the distinct impression that something troubles it.

Hello? Are you okay?

What? she immediately thinks to herself. What the hell, you crazy bitch. You just can’t go around talking to strange creatures living in dark caves.

Yet she speaks to it again, and this time, Abigail moves even closer to it, although still quite a distance away. Are you hurt? Do you need help… Bill?

The figure refuses to acknowledge her presence, seemingly preoccupied with its reflection in the water.

I can see you there… by the water. Are you okay?

Okay, Abs, if it kills you and eats your brain, it’s your own dumbass fault, she reminds herself. Just stop it. You are creeping yourself out!

Still, the creature pays no attention to her. She halts within ten feet of the thing as a sudden chill sweeps over her body. Now might be a great idea to start running in the other direction, through the narrow passage, out the mouth of the cave and back to her Western Civ class.

The thing looks subhuman, of skin and bones, with a sparse crop of wiry white hair atop its large bald head that runs down its knotted back. It is too thin, and its bones protrude from under stretched leathery skin—especially around the shoulders, hips, ribs, and spine. The thing, which is nude and resembles a twisted nightmarish hobgoblin of sorts, hunches over and constantly uses its curved bony claw to break its reflection in the water.

It seems peaceful in its solitude, and although its appearance mortifies her, Abigail decides not to retreat after all. Instead, she further investigates the strange thing. Her footsteps are much slower now and carefully placed in the sand, not on or over anything that will suddenly alarm the creature, so as not to cause it to charge toward her with its nightmarish features shaking in surprise.

I see you there… by the water. Are you okay? she speaks soothingly with a slight tinge of restiveness. Do you need help?

No, Abigail. You do, she tells herself. You need therapy.

Something about the creature feels familiar to her, but she cannot put her finger on it.

Please don’t make any sudden movements. I just want to get a little closer to see if you’re all right, saying this more to herself than to the creature. Before Abigail realizes it, she is standing next to the water. Hello?

Hello, the creature says in a croaky voice, sounding thoroughly parched.

It turns its burning gaze upon her; yellow orbs of searing, irrefutable hatred set deep in their sockets, paralyzing Abigail with fear. She thinks she might have seen something serpentine slither up into its mouth but is not entirely sure. The creature’s fiery pinpoint eyes captivate her too much to notice anything else.

1

The Visit

July 9-10, 2010

Abigail…

Abigail Josephine Lux shoots up from her sleep in a panic with a dreadful feeling that something terrible has happened. Pulling back the blankets, she stares at the alarm clock next to her bed and notices it blinking off and on—12:00. A crash of thunder explodes outside. Startled, Abigail jumps and quickly realizes the power must have gone off sometime during the night due to the violent storm. Her room is completely dark, and it is impossible to make out a single object. There is an unmistakable feeling of déjà vu circling her thoughts. She puts them out of her mind while visually investigating the outer storm window, making sure the window is down and securely latched.

It was scorching hot all summer without a single drop of rain. Even springtime in Derrylin was rather warm and dry. The previous winter had gone without a hint of snow. There were some cold days but nothing like in 2007, when a freak ice storm downed most of the power lines, and thousands of people all across Kansas went without electricity for nearly an entire week. By tomorrow, Abigail knew the heat would return and the humidity with it.

Heavy rains continue to pelt the outer window, and another wave of rolling thunder shakes the house. Abigail rubs her eyes. She runs her hands through her long hair and sighs—oddly exasperated. Slipping both feet onto the carpeted floor, Abigail stares searchingly into the darkness outside her bedroom window, unable to shake the bizarre premonition that something has gone terribly wrong.

Abigail… A phantasmal voice drifts across her dark bedroom.

She shrieks, whipping her head around, anxiously studying the far wall and the bedroom door—the point of the voice’s origin. A nearby flash of lightning briefly illuminates a figure leaning on the wall, which is covered with an amethyst wallpaper trimmed in silver. The figure is unmoving; its face turned toward the corner of the door and the adjoining wall as if in a time-out.

Again, Abigail rubs her eyes and takes a closer look. The relentless lightning strikes a third time accompanied by a loud, thunderous BOOM. There, near the door, Abigail clearly sees someone and breathlessly gasps.

Don’t scream, the grating, whispery voice warns her, but Abigail immediately flees the comfort of her bed, scurrying into a far corner and away from the intruder.

Someone has broken into the house, her mind begins to race. And they want to kill me, mom, and dad. Even do worse terrible things afterward!

There were no serial killers or rapists in Derrylin. There were a few burglaries here and there but definitely none of the aforementioned. Derrylin was just not that kind of town. It was quite possible that in the past, the town suffered from isolated cases of political and financial corruption but even then, with Ted Colden at the helm, Abigail strongly doubted it. Yet still, there is someone in my room!

Abigail’s imagination runs wild with horrid details of her possible demise. Her hand involuntarily shoots up to her mouth, preventing a startling scream from escaping. With such an intense storm brewing outside, Abigail strongly doubts it would wake her mom and dad if she screamed. Although, it is probably better if she does not excite the intruder or raise alarms.

Abby? Is that… you?

The voice is clearer now—less guttural. She knows that voice. She knows it as she knows her own name. Slowly, cautiously, Abigail reaches to switch on her bedside lamp. Bill? she asks. She isn’t entirely sure if her intention is to make the apparition flee before the sudden cascade of light or if she really expected to see her boyfriend, Bill Colden, in her room. Had Bill made it home from Kuwait? Had he somehow sneaked into her room just because he was unable to wait until morning, and because that was the kind of love they shared?

Leave the light off, Bill blurts out, prompting a painful groan.

The seconds pass and lightning strikes again. Frozen with fear, her thoughts quickening into rampant discerning rivers, she wants to jump over her bed and run into his arms, but she refrains and not because Abigail is scared. She refrains because she knows Bill is not there. Bill is off fighting in the war in Iraq and is not due home yet. He is a corporal now, and he has his own squad. His letters, which she kept in her top dresser drawer, detail such things. Bill was proud of his promotion, and in turn, Abigail was proud of him. Even though she dearly missed him after such a long separation, she found sweet sentiment in the things they shared in their letters.

It’s good to hear your voice again, Bill says.

I’m turning the light on. I want to see you.

Leave it off and stay by your bed, Bill speaks with stifled urgency.

Am I dreaming? You’re not here, not really. Are you? This is all just a dream.

I’m not sure, but leave the light off and listen to me. Something has happened.

This is a dream, she sobs into her trembling hands, disheartened. You’re just a stupid dream.

Listen to me. There might be someone coming for you.

Who? And what happened? Abigail pushes away any thoughts of Bill getting hurt. At the same time, she leans forward, peering through the darkness to get a better glimpse of him. She sees nothing. Anxiously, she asks him, Has something happened to you? Are you hurt?

Promise me you will stay by your bed, and I will tell you everything.

Why can’t I come to you? I want to see you. I need to hold you. Again, she reaches for the light switch.

Leave it off.

It doesn’t matter… You’re only a dream.

I don’t want you waking up. Leave it off.

Is everything okay?

Bill shuts his eyes and sighs exhaustingly. The lightning refuses to let up. Flashing intervals of bright light reveal the true horror of his condition, illuminating the leathery stiffness of his brownish-white third-degree burns. The fire burned through most of Bill, destroying any flesh below his cheekbones. Beneath the glazed translucent eschar along both sides of his distressed face, where his cheeks once sat high, Bill’s teeth and jawbone now nervously and painfully chatter. He hides his disfigurement from the disruptive bolts of lightning by standing guardedly in side profile. Just being in proximity to Abigail had already excited him too much. When he speaks, he is unable to mask his pain. His words are dry, subdued, and he winces with each shallow breath.

I tried to get back to you. I couldn’t, he says.

Quickly becoming disoriented, overwhelmed with anticipation and flaring pain, Bill pauses. He grunts, attempting to hinge his jaw back into place, and although he urgently needed to warn Abigail, Bill now speaks with careful consideration. Something went wrong.

I don’t understand. Don’t let the war get to you. Come home. You promised me.

If it were only the war I wouldn’t be here. Bill sighs to himself.

Returning to her bed, Abigail sits along the bottom edge. Peering through the darkness to where Bill lingers, she appears completely stripped of emotion. Silently, she confesses to herself there is little left of her that she can offer to this sad tale, presuming Bill has only returned to further break her heart.

He listens to her softly sniffling through her boundless tears. The ache in her heart is familiar to him as he carries his own burden of guilt. Reminded of the horrors from his very near past, Bill dwindles at death’s threshold, mere cinders of the person he once was. In his mind, he understood the mistake it was coming here but it was no mistake of his.

Glooskap ended me, and for whatever reason, the Maimed One has given me this chance to say goodbye. Perhaps he has taken pity. Perhaps he has peered into my soul and witnessed firsthand the relentless torment of Abigail’s memory. Glooskap rewards me with further torment. I will thank him the next time we meet.

It’s been so difficult, all these months without you.

I know, Abigail sobs.

No, Abby, you don’t. There is little time. Listen carefully. I need to get this out before you wake up.

Then you’re not here, are you? she says. Do you have any idea what it’s like every day, sick with grief, worrying about you?

I’m sorry. I am… but it was the same for me. Now listen—

How could it be the same? Bill, you died.

*     *     *

I have to be somewhere between the here and now and the candid past. If only I could remember, but the dream suppresses my real memories. Bill is off fighting in the war in Iraq… this much I know. He’s going to come home to me, and we are going to live out our lives growing old together. This apparition resembles Bill but nothing else. Eventually, he will leave, and when I wake in the morning, I will barely remember anything, but then… why blurt out that he had died? Did he die in Kuwait? Bill is dead. My Bill is dead!

You… you died, and you left me here. Abigail erupts in tearful sobs, lowering her head into her hand. Her bottom lip trembles uncontrollably. She knows it must be true. How could you do this to me—to us? Answer me.

That’s what I am trying to tell you, Abby, if you will just listen.

No. You can’t keep doing this to me. Release me from whatever this is… I don’t want you haunting me. I want to wake up now.

I DIDN’T DIE!

Bill pauses; his jaw clicks and grinds as Abigail listens to the sickening scratching of his painful readjustment. Half of her wants the apparition gone from her life forever and yet the other half, which she could no longer tell as her more honest half, is scared and relieved. She sits stunned in silence, unsure if she wants him to continue.

I didn’t die, Bill carefully reiterates. What happened to us out there on that highway was far worse than death. It’s hard to explain, but something assaulted us during the explosion… something unimaginable. It could be coming for you.

You’re not making any sense. What explosion? Who is coming for me? Bill, you’re scaring me.

Bill sighs.

What explosion, Bill, and why tell me now? What difference will it make? I am going to wake up in the morning and deal with these thoughts, worrying about you.

Again, Bill sighs. She shoots him down at every turn. She always does, but he does not blame her. One of the many things Bill loves about Abigail is her ability to make an already awkward situation even more awkward. It might sound odd that Bill thinks of this as a good quality, but Abigail always approaches it innocently with grace, and in doing so, she keeps Bill grounded. Except now, when he really needs her to listen to him.

Just remember—it’s always you. So many things I wish I could have told you back then. I’ve taken too many things for granted and… and now it’s too late. I’m sorry. I will always love you. You will always be my girl.

Abigail is speechless. Bill repeatedly nudges his head into the corner of the wall. Silently, she watches his silhouette in between flashes of lightning as he wrestles with his frustration. He seems perpetually bothered; as if he is withholding something he needs to tell her but decides to spare her his horror story.

I fell for you the first moment I saw you, Abby. You took my breath away. My life hasn’t been the same since. When I think back now, I was nothing before you came along.

Abigail lowers her head in defeat. I won’t struggle against you. I can never stop loving you. If this is us, fine… I’ll accept that.

She lies back, reaching for her pillow. Resting her head, she stares at the tiny droplets of rain on the outer storm window and the occasional illumination of nearby lightning. Bill? Come sit next to me?

I can’t, Abby. I shouldn’t.

Bill, please. I need you, Abigail pleads. I want to feel you next to me.

He knows better. He understands the outcome of Abigail’s request even if she does not. Soon, Bill would be gone, and he couldn’t imagine leaving her with such a horrid image of himself. Nevertheless, Bill could no longer resist the temptation of holding Abigail and lumbers from the door to the bed. He then concentrates to control his pain as he eases himself down next to her.

The outline of her silhouette and the light playing off her white camisole are like realized distant dreams rather than reality. To be here next to Abigail after such a long time apart is something he never again thought possible. She motionlessly lies between sleep and consciousness with one arm buried under her pillow and her other arm resting on the delicate curve between her breast and the naked hip above her thigh. He watches as she squirms around to get comfortable and then settles back into her pillow. Bill then looks down at his damaged skeletal hands and thinks to himself, why would he send me here like this? Why did Glooskap send me to her at all? I accepted my fate. I can’t tell if I am in the past or present. If this is the past, I will only worry and torture Abigail with horrible thoughts—dream or no dream. If I am in the present, I will probably do the same, but what I will tell her might ease her heart and possibly give closure. Still, at the very least, she will be prepared. Although I would have preferred to stay away altogether… I would have preferred to slip away into the darkness where I belong.

Don’t look at me. Promise me, Abby.

I won’t, she promises. Stroke my hair until I fall asleep?

Bill lifts his trembling hand, the less damaged one. He looks at it in disgust, unsure if he can bring himself to touch her soft, beautiful, honey-colored hair with such a sordid thing.

Please, just until I fall sleep.

Abigail feels the soft pressure of Bill’s hand running over her hair and the back of her neck. He is warm to the touch—no, feverish—and he gives Abigail familiar chills. As the minutes pass in silence, they reacquaint themselves with each other. Bill is careful not to touch Abigail’s skin, which only torments her. She needs him to touch her. She wants nothing more than for him to hold her in his arms. However dissatisfied, she never looks at Bill, as she promised.

Getting sleepy now, Abigail closes her eyes and quickly reopens them as she fights off the urge. Again, her eyes close, and this time, she allows herself to drift away. Seconds pass and she drifts further from her fleeing consciousness. She feels the absence of Bill’s touch and her eyes flutter.

Bill? Are you still here? she mumbles languorously.

I’m here, Abby. Once again, she can feel Bill’s touch as he carefully strokes her hair. She drifts off… so sleepy, so very tired, so… again, he denies her his touch. She leans over and turns on the lamp; her bedroom fills with soft, warm light.

Is this all that is left of us? Abigail looks up at Bill.

Abigail, something is wrong! Bill flickers, disappears, and then reappears, looking down at his incorporeal hands. They begin to glimmer. Abby?

His body continuously blinks in and out of existence, briefly disappearing and then reappearing until it reaches a steady rhythm. Lost, flickering, and before he can register what she has done, Abigail sits up stunned, staring at his badly burned body.

No, Abby, DON’T— he fades out, covering his face, and then all at once becomes solid again. Bill rigidly stands up at the edge of the bed and turns away from her like a vampire exposed to the fast-rising sun. She covers her mouth, cutting her scream short, and then shoots up in her bed, cowering against the headboard, bringing her knees up close to her chest. Bill watches as the true depth of his horror unveils itself in front of Abigail’s wide terror-stricken eyes. Completely vulnerable and exposed, Bill lowers his head.

Encompassing the entirety of his body are blackened flakes of ruined flesh, leaving behind only patches of badly damaged muscles over of an exposed and charred skeleton. His body uncontrollably twitches, and his teeth helplessly chatter; pieces of him break off with a timber-like sound that fall to the floor—immediately crumbling to ash. Bill tries to stop himself from falling apart, but due to his extreme pain, he is clumsy. Abigail only recognizes this ghoulish thing as her boyfriend because of the sorrowful depth of Bill’s distinct dark blue eyes. Any features she can remember fondly, from the bridge of his nose to everything else below, are now gone.

He lingers too long, staring down at her with his beautiful eyes. Then as her torrent of expressions overwhelms him, Bill turns away. He walks toward the bedroom door in a manner consistent with his detrimental condition. With bated breath, Abigail fixes her intense eyes on him then averts them toward the messy comforter before calling out to him. Bill? Wait! Please… please… just wait.

Bill stops as he is reaching for the doorknob. She knows he doesn’t have it in him to subject her to such hideousness, but she no longer cares. He is the love of her life, and she will not let him go thinking otherwise. Moreover, if this is the last time they are to be together, as he has vowed, she wants Bill to stay with her for as long as possible and at any cost. Bill, however, remains facing the door; his head hangs low as his hand grazes the doorknob.

I’m not dreaming, am I? she asks, managing to place one foot down on the carpet. Slowly, Abigail stands up. She forces herself to study his burned body and somehow finds the strength to stomach it. You’re here, right now, in my bedroom. How—?

I… I don’t know anymore. Bill wearily shakes his head and charred pieces of him fall away. Whatever is happening, Abby, I am here for now.

She loves how Bill says her name—Abby. She always has; it soothes her.

Should I leave? he asks. I should go.

I know I’m not asleep. Somehow you’re really here. Bravely, she crosses the room and lifts her hand to touch him.

Don’t. I’m hideous.

He would not look at her. Regardless, Abigail places her hand on Bill’s shoulder; his texture is rough like sandpaper, and fever consumes him. You’re real. I can feel the heat radiating from your body.

I traded one monster for another, but I couldn’t leave without seeing you one last time, he says and shrugs away. I’m sorry it had to be like this.

Turn around. Look at me. I still love you, you know.

How could you possibly love a walking corpse?

Bill, will you trust me? I can take it. It’s been two years since we’ve touched, kissed, or anything else. Please, just look at me.

I must restrain myself, even though my every desire is to take her into my arms. Sadly, I can only compare our tragic situation to the titular Phantom and the siren-voiced hero from Gaston Leroux’s, Phantom of the Opera. I miss such simple pleasures like watching a good movie.

Do you really expect me to play Erik to your Christine Daaé? Bill speaks with intensity and a tone of accusation in his voice, although he knows Abby would never grasp the comparison, and as he expected, she didn’t. She looks befuddled and exasperated. She holds her breath.

Bill spins around facing her, submissively locking with her eyes. It is important that this is the only place she looks at him. Her fury leaves her as she stares into those mythical eyes, the one place she could still see him. Then, briefly, Abby closes her eyes and delicately snickers under her breath. There you are.

This isn’t how I planned to come home to you.

You got hurt over there? Abby says, taking in the revelation and then begins to cry, growing more and more hysterical. OH, MY GOD! YOU DID DIE… WHY DID YOU TELL ME? Bill? No—

No, Abby, I didn’t.

Then what… why this? She refers to his condition and wipes her tears away.

It doesn’t matter; not anymore. I’m too exhausted to go on. I should leave.

Bill, she scolds him, it has taken us so long to get here, and now you want to leave me? If you think for one moment I am just going to let you walk out of my life again, then you can just forget it.

He watches as Abigail walks to the edge of her bed and strips away the amethyst comforter. Callously, she then tosses it to him, revealing a hint of irritation in her green eyes. "Cover yourself if you need to, but don’t, for a second, feel sorry for me. I’ve endured far worse things than you appearing in my room as Casper the crispy ghost."

Bill pulls the comforter up around him, and although painful to do so, he shakes his burned skeletal head. If he could have, Bill would have laughed at such a perceptive quip. She is angry with him, but strangely enough, Abigail’s anger gives Bill a sense of relief. It gives him the courage to stand before her despite appearances. After all, her love for him has not diminished over the years but rather flourished. Otherwise, she would not be able to stomach such a gruesome version of him.

Don’t be angry. I know I’m acting like a fool, but look at me.

You’re here, and that is all that matters, she says, and then more firmly, shaking and sobbing, That is all that matters to me.

Bill searches her face, her eyes, and the trembling corners of her thin fragile smile. Unable to return Abigail’s smile expressively, Bill affectionately whispers instead, It’s okay, Abby. I can stay a while.

Leaning on him and falling helplessly into his arms, Abigail places herself tight against Bill’s body in a tender moment of release. I’ll just close my eyes and imagine how we once were. It will be enough just to remember you that way.

After more than two years of separation and despair, Bill allows himself to be wrapped in her loving arms. This numbs his pain, and he closes his eyes. He has returned to his love; he is finally home. Every horrible occurrence Bill could remember about his past melts away with one meaningful embrace. Then, sharply, suddenly, he snaps back to reality and pulls away, remembering he has to warn Abigail about who would be coming for her. Bill then flickers, blinking rapidly in and out of reality. Before he can utter another word, he vanishes into nothingness and the comforter falls to the floor.

*     *     *

Abigail…

Her eyes open, immediately staring at the droplets of rain pelting the outer window as if she already knew they would be there. A single tear rolls down the bridge her nose and along her opposite cheek. She looks up at the alarm clock flashing 12:00. She has no idea why she is crying. She does, however, realize she is instantly thinking about Bill. She is always thinking about Bill. Abigail closes her eyes as a flash of lightning strikes nearby. She drifts off to sleep.

2

Storms

The next morning, Abigail awoke feeling restless with a splitting headache. Her best friend, Shelly Spencer, sits on the edge of her bed, repeatedly nudging Abigail’s shoulder while perusing a newspaper sales insert she swiped from the Saturday morning newspaper belonging to Abigail’s dad. It takes a moment for her room to come into focus, and when it does, Abigail realizes what is going on. She furiously scoffs, burying her head under her pillow and pulling it tightly down over her head with both hands. This only provokes Shelly further, and she quickens her nudges, never taking her eyes off the insert.

I’m not going anywhere. I feel like a crud, and I didn’t get any sleep, Abigail protests from under her pillow.

Sure you are, sweetie. You just don’t know it yet.

No, I am not. Abigail arises from under her pillow and piercingly glares at Shelly.

You might as well get your bony butt out of the bed and take a shower. We have things to do today—like shopping, Shelly says, ignoring Abigail’s spiteful glare. Something on the newspaper page suddenly catches Shelly’s eye, and she excitedly arches an eyebrow. She stands up, letting the insert drop in front of her lanky curves, and deliberately poses for Abigail. What do you think? I could rock this bikini?

Sure. Whatever. An irritated Abigail rolls her eyes.

Yeah, you’re right. I think so too. Shelly flips the page and points to a pair of denim cutoffs. What about these?

Shelly!

Wow… is someone in a bad mood? Shelly sits on the edge of the bed next to Abigail. Still no letter from Bill?

No, but that’s not the point. Like I said, I was up late last night. The storm kept me up.

Umm… what storm, sweetie? It was hot and humid last night, just like it was the night before and the night before that and the night before that and—

I don’t know, Abigail snaps at her. I guess I dreamed it. It doesn’t matter. I still didn’t get much sleep, and I’m not going anywhere, especially not shopping for some stupid bathing suit.

Don’t be a b—. It’s another lovely day in Derrylin, and you and I are going to make the most of it. Get your butt up, take a shower, and meet me downstairs. I want to get to Sharpe’s before all the good stuff has been picked through.

Fine, whatever. Abigail stands up, storming out of bed. You want me in the shower, I’m in the shower. You want to go shopping, we’ll go shopping—WHY NOT? It doesn’t matter to you that I have a headache or I feel like a crud.

Without hesitation, Abigail then stomps down the hall toward the bathroom, snatching two towels from the nook next to the bathroom door. Shelly pokes her head out of Abigail’s