A Kindled Winter

by Rachel L. Demeter

  Drawing on David’s strength, Jeseca nodded and inhaled a fortifying breath. “It started happening when she was seventeen. At first my mom thought she was reacting to my dad’s death. He … he was an alcoholic and chronic drug user. Pain pills, mostly. Aside from his addiction, he was a loving father and very affectionate. He … he died from an overdose. It was awful … so sudden. I mean, we all knew he needed professional help, even though he denied it … but you never expect it to happen to your own family member. Anyway, we went out to eat one night. Aubrey stopped the car and pulled over to the side of the road, hyperventilating like crazy. When I asked her what was wrong, she said she had a secret she needed to share … that she had died along with Dad, and had become an angel. It was crazy talk … so unlike Aubrey. I called Mom from my cell, not knowing what to think, what to do. Was Aubrey on drugs? Neither of us had any clue. It was so contrary to her character, to who she was as a person. Later that night, Aubrey insisted that the meatloaf had been poisoned … that I was trying to kill her, so it’d just be me and mom.”

  Jeseca’s voice broke off mid-sentence. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she found it impossible to so much as breathe. David shifted against the sofa, tightened his grasp, and moved closer. She felt herself leaning into his hard chest, inhaling his spicy scent, soaking in the comfort he offered. His other hand rose to her hairline and brushed fallen strands from her eyes.

  Then their gazes fused together—and she nearly lost her breath at the shared pain she found in those blue depths. “Then Aubrey attacked me. Chased me through the halls of our house. Mom stood in between us and spread her arms, creating a barrier, protecting me. I … I don’t think Aubrey would have really hurt me. At least that’s what I’ve told myself for years.”

  David squeezed her fingers, while the other hand continued to stroke her curls. “It doesn’t matter. She wasn’t in her right mind. Your sister loved you … and she would have never willingly caused you harm. That’s all you need to know, all you need to remind yourself.”

  Jeseca felt her tears dry and a smile crawl across her lips. “You’re right. Thank you.” She caressed his welted skin while a long, soothing breath seeped from her lungs. “Thank you for everything.” David nodded and returned her smile. Then he urged her to continue, his eyes bearing into her own. She found strength in his reassuring touches, in his crooked grin, in his nearness. She’d never spoken the story to anyone—not for over eight years—yet the words spilled from her lips without conscious effort.

  “Mom called 911. Aubrey was rushed to the emergency room and tested for drugs. Not a trace was found in her blood, as we suspected. After a couple weeks, Mom took her to a psychiatrist. Aubrey was diagnosed with stage three bipolar disorder—basically bipolar disorder plus psychosis. The episodes got much worse … and eventually she was committed to St. Mary’s. Things quickly escalated from that point. She suffered from acute paranoia … thought the nurses, doctors, me and Mom, were all out to get her … that we were trying to poison her …” Tears coated Jeseca’s cheeks as the images violently whirled through her mind.

  Aubrey slamming her forehead against the wall. The doctors holding her down and injecting her with needles. Aubrey screaming for help until her vocal chords split into two. Her sunken cheeks, deathly pallor, and vacant stare …

  “They had to hold her down to inject the medications. But she was committed too late. They never could get her stabilized. She wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t drink. She kept ripping out the IVs and feeding tubes. God …. her arms were raw, a bloody mess. She became malnourished and her immune system soon broke down. For the longest time, my mom blamed herself … blamed herself for not picking up on the illness sooner. She still blames herself, I think. Aubrey had been so vibrant—even more than myself … so cheerful and brimming with life. To watch her wither away into nothingness—it stole a piece of my soul. And it haunts me every day and night. It’s inescapable. Every time I close my eyes, I relive her pain, her personal torment. I—”

  “She will never be nothing. Do you hear me? Never.”

  Jeseca swiped away her tears as the heavy, eight-year-long burden lifted from her chest. She exhaled, then filled her lungs with the smoky scent of the fireplace. For the first time in so long, she was able to breathe. “Imagine it … every time I glance in the mirror, I see my sister staring back at me. After her death, I avoided my own reflection for months! It was just too painful. Mom freaked out, of course. She was convinced I was losing it. But I wasn’t crazy. Only heartbroken. I couldn’t bear it, couldn’t look at Aubrey’s face …” Jeseca exhaled another long breath and squeezed David’s hand. “I waited … waited for the disorder to hit. It’s often genetic—and we weren’t just sisters, we were fraternal twins. I was convinced I’d end up like Aubrey; see, we were always connected in a special way. I know every twin must say that—but it was true. It was like we could sense each other, even when miles separated us. So I was sure we’d be connected in this way, as well. But I was never diagnosed. Not yet, anyway …” Her voice trailed off, fading into a brittle whisper. “I miss her so much. Each and every day. She truly was my other half.” Then, through a small grin, she corrected herself, “My better half.”

  “And Charlie was mine.” David bent forward and pressed a kiss to her hairline. The blistering memory of his lips on her own caused her heart to thud an uneven tattoo. She ached to lose herself in his tentative, yet arresting touches … to crawl into his lap, hook both arms around his strong neck, and seize his mouth. Instead, she nuzzled against his sturdy shoulder and inhaled the aroma of his skin. Her eyelids soon grew heavy, and a peaceful calm overcame her.

  Silence prevailed; the only noises were his breath in her ear, Brody’s snoring, and the wind. David’s strong arms cradled her against his chest and held her soundly. His warmth radiated, surrounding her like a protective cocoon. A potent, indescribable connection expanded between them, as if he truly understood her pain and agony … as if she could remain in his arms, just like this, and forever be safe and secure. She sighed and settled against his chest.

  She knew next to nothing about this man—yet something told her that he was fiercely loyal and protective of those he cared about. And if she wasn’t cautious, she could easily abandon her heart to him.

  He bowed his head, and Jeseca tensed as his husky voice filled her eardrum. “Have I told you how much I admire you?” Holding her tighter still, his fingers ran through her curls in pacifying caresses.

  Jeseca smiled into his eyes and touched his cheek. The stubble pierced her palm and sent shivers racing down her spine.

  In a matter of minutes, she found herself falling asleep in David’s arms—and for the first time in over eight years, the nightmares never came.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Three days till Christmas

  David gazed out the window, observing as the sheet of snow thickened into a dense, wintry blanket. The sky was bruised a vivid purple and positively enchanting.

  When was the last time he’d admired a sunrise? The truth was unmistakable and frightening to comprehend: since Jeseca’s arrival, a transient, fragile hope had bloomed inside his chest. And everything was indeed changing.

  David used to suffer from the gaping hole inside of him with every sunrise. It was where his heart had once been, and now where the memory of his son lived on. For years, grief and self-resentment had filled the remainder of that inner void. But now, with each passing moment, those feelings were rapidly fading—and Jeseca Reed was claiming their place. An unstoppable smile curved his mouth as he checked another item off his list: Jeseca didn’t prefer coffee or tea. She drowned her sorrows in cider.

  Beyond the walls, a gust of wind rustled through the trees and rattled their branches like shivering bones. Resting both hands on the dusty sill, he replayed Jeseca’s heartfelt confession countless times.

  He clenched his fists, once, twice, three times, relieving the inward tension. He would have never guessed she’d lived through such trage
dy. He’d sensed the sadness in her eyes the moment they’d met—but she was such a warm, cheerful person … nothing like himself.

  They were day and night. Summer and winter. Fire and ice. And yet a poignant connection had quickly formed between them.

  He admired her more than he could say or comprehend. And a part of himself envied her strength. A protective need, unlike anything he’d known since his son was alive, took command of his mind and body.

  Even worse, he craved Jeseca’s warmth with a nauseating force. Her iridescent, emerald eyes. The rich music of her laughter. The way her glasses slid down the bridge of her nose. Those dimples that showed on her cheeks when she gifted him with a smile …

  She damn well stole his breath away.

  It couldn’t be helped—and most certainly couldn’t be avoided. A distinct, unwanted warmth circulated through his entire body.

  David dug his nails into the windowsill until faint lines marked the wood. Steadily she was becoming a dangerous addiction. He’d laid awake the entire night, tossing and turning—imagining her body positioned in a thousand different ways, imagining the thousand different things he’d do to it, if only given the chance …

  For the first time in so long, he ached to no longer be alone. He ached to emerge from his isolation and share in another’s warmth and light.

  He craved happiness. Companionship.

  Most of all, he craved Jeseca Reed.

  Let me know you. Let me in … And last night, she’d done precisely that. Jeseca had allowed herself to become vulnerable and exposed. She’d bared herself completely. She’d trusted him—someone who was little more than a stranger—with her deepest secrets, spilling the most intimate contents of her soul.

  And today, God help him, he would share a part of himself.

  •

  Long streams of moonlight slanted through the woodshop’s thatched roof. Dust motes fluttered midair as they glided through the darkness like iridescent snowflakes. David flipped on the light switch, and the two naked bulbs that dangled from the middle of the room flickered to life. Their gentle glows slid across the countless tools and the workbench’s nicked surface. Mind spinning, David inhaled a calming breath and leaned against the doorjamb.

  An image of Jeseca materialized inside his mind … her warm, infectious smile … the feel of her luscious curves molded against his own. Then she faded away—and Charlie stood in her place.

  Suddenly it was five years prior, and his little boy was alive again.

  Charlie’s eyes grew wide and attentive as he leaned against the workbench and watched David wheel the saw forward. Bursting with energy, he hopped up and down and propped both hands on the countertop. David chuckled and peeled his tiny fingers safely out of harm’s way. He kissed each of Charlie’s knuckles and mused his hair before gently nudging him backward. “Woah, careful. Not too close, now.”

  “But I can’t see anything!”

  “Now whose fault is that, short stack?” Charlie’s brow wrinkled in distaste while he glared daggers. Laughter burst from David’s belly as he mused his son’s hair again. Thick and dense, it fell to his nape in an unruly swarm of curls; those rebellious locks echoed his fiery spirit to perfection. “Okay, okay. Up on to your magic stool.” Smiling from ear to ear, Charlie leapt onto the step stool, fully engaged.

  He scrutinized the plank of wood, excitement dancing in his cobalt eyes. That gaze was so much like his mom’s—stubborn, intelligent, and brimming with youthful mischief. At seven years old, he bared Lizzy’s hot temper and vitality—though it was counterbalanced with David’s sensitivity and practical sense. His compassionate nature, thirst for knowledge, and keen mind never failed to steal David’s breath. Indeed. Charlie would make an excellent surgeon one day.

  “What’s it gonna be, Daddy?”

  “A rocking horse. It’ll have to make due until mom lets me buy you a real one. Now you know the drill,” David commanded, handing Charlie a pair of earbuds. “Pop these bad boys in. Nice and tight. There you go.” Minutes later, Charlie observed as David lowered the saw into place. Dust particles and clanking metallic sounds congested the air, clashing in a dizzying array—yet David couldn’t remember when he’d felt happier and more free.

  Charlie vanished from sight like a true phantom, causing the emptiness to return again. Shaking from head to toe, David clenched his fingers and ventured into the heart of the woodshop. In spite of the cold air, his palms grew hot and clammy, and perspiration beaded from his forehead. Those salty rivulets leaked into his eyes, blurring the world around him. Harnessing back tears, David inhaled the piney aroma and smoothed his palm over the workbench. He barely sensed it through the layers of dead skin and scar tissue.

  Then he felt it—the flames crawling up and down his arms, the limp weight of Charlie’s body, the acidic burn of his tears, warped screams pulsating inside his throat …

  Without warning David’s legs gave way. He crumbled at the knees and full-on collapsed. The entire room spun in nauseating circles … round and round it went, undulating with no rhyme, reason, or logic. He felt lost, detached, and utterly without hope. The vivid torrent of memories swallowed him whole. Flames filled his lungs, charring his mind and heart into ashes.

  Fighting for breaths, David slumped against the workbench and struggled to anchor himself. His pulse reached breakneck speed, and his heart rapped a dangerous rhythm. It pounded against flesh and bone, threatening to burst free. He closed both eyes and swallowed, willing away ghosts that would never be laid to rest.

  “God, Charlie … it should have been me,” he whispered to himself. “I’m so sorry. I’d give anything … just to hold you one more time …”

  Jeseca rose inside his mind again—vibrant and soothing. Her image held there like a beacon of light and anchored him in place. The room stopped spinning, everything slowly came into focus, and the hole in his heart dissipated.

  A long sigh escaped David’s lips as he allowed himself a semblance of peace. One by one, his limbs fell limp, his mind grew clearer, and the knot in his chest loosened several notches. All the while, he kept Jeseca’s image within his thoughts—and it worked magic upon his soul … much like a soothing balm.

  Indeed. Jeseca held a strange calming effect over him. It was a phenomenon he couldn’t put into words. Something that betrayed reason and logic. In the midst of his agony, the mere thought of Jeseca Reed helped chase away his inner darkness.

  Then it hit him. Inspiration, unlike anything he’d felt in years, pulsed through his veins and caused his imagination to catch fire. Heart and mind decided, he jackknifed onto his feet and ran his fingers over the dangling tools.

  Yes. He wanted to create something beautiful for Jeseca … to give something back, to return her numberless kindness with one of his own.

  He ached to create something truly unique and special. He wanted to impart a piece of himself after she’d left him and returned to her own world—something that could represent and preserve their time together. Smiling to himself, David collected his tools and began constructing Jeseca’s Christmas present.

  •

  Hours later, David’s chest heated while Jeseca drank in the sight of his woodshop. Dawn’s first light slanted through the windows and set her eager expression aglow.

  He relaxed and leaned against the doorjamb, feeling entirely in his element amongst the shavings, countless tools, and towering stacks of wood. Now, with Jeseca at his side, the ghosts of his past faded away, leaving only the two of them.

  She strolled through in silent awe, admiring the various constructions that were propped against the panels. Hand carved chairs, tables, the rocking horse, and an elaborate, work in progress dog house. Blatant appreciation danced in her gaze and illuminated her features. It was as though she wasn’t sure where to look first. Beaming eyes feverishly shifted from one corner to the next, taking in everything: the hanging tools, which dangled from suspend hooks along the walls, the half-completed projects, stacks of dust-covered b
lueprints. A rusted Christmas tree stand was tucked in a far corner. David watched as her eyes swept over the neglected item, then shifted upward.

  She stopped in her tracks, craned her neck, and examined the dangling tools. They tinkled and swayed as she swept a fingertip over each one. David hardened, craving that gentle caress upon his skin …

  “David … this is amazing! Truly amazing.”

  Light illuminated the dust motes that floated midair. She edged into the woodshop, her eyes wide and attentive, the light encircling her body. Her brilliant hair shone like fire as it drank in the rays. The curls cascaded over her slender shoulders in dense, rippling waves—and David fought the desire to fist a handful of them. She set her palm on top of the large workbench, which filled the center of the room, and tracked her fingertips along the blemished surface. Her finger pads cut through a layer of dust, embedding the countertop with faint railroad tracks. Her eyes continued to shift from side to side, corner to corner, taking everything in at once.

  “I had no idea. How long have you been crafting?”

  David stepped closer, drawn to her energy and spirit. She tensed as he came up behind her and aligned their two bodies. She gripped onto the workbench, pressing her palms into the countertop. Then he reached in front of her body and engulfed her fingers with his own, threading them together. She glanced downward and smiled while a light tint spread across her cheekbones. The movement caused her glasses to slide down the bridge of her nose. Her smile expanded as David urged them upward with a slight nudge.

  “It was a pastime I shared with Charlie—a very special one. Now it’s a way for me to continue using my hands.” He elevated her own hand in midair and examined their interlaced fingers. Warm rays of light caressed his skin like a lover’s kiss. “I missed the beauty of creation … of rebuilding.”

  Smiling wider, she nodded and glanced over her shoulder. Then she cleared her throat and returned a forward stare. A small box, which was about a fourth of the way completed, sat in the heart of the countertop. It was still in a primitive state; the slabs of woods had been roughly assembled, and no hinges or ornamentation had been added. She nodded toward it while one of his hands slid down the length of her spine—down, down, down—venturing all the way to the small of her back. “What’s that going to be?”