Grey October (East Hollow Chronicles)

by Charlotte Munro

  Blood. Rain. Blood. Rain.

  Piercing lights cut through the fog, my scream is lost as the train clatters by. Madison’s broken body, strewn apart, broken like a doll, her face, her beautiful, perfect face, shattered and unrecognisable.

  Blood. Charlie. The ding of the door as I push it open, the lights are still on, even in the morning light, as I turn them off, thinking Charlie has forgotten, I see him. His body across the floor, sideways, face towards me. His eyes, his soft gentle eyes gaze up at me, hollow, lifeless. Dead.

  I rush to his side, feeling his pulse in his neck, when I cannot find one, I check his wrist. Nothing. I know by his hollow stare and the blood matting his silvery hair against his forehead, that he is gone. But it does not stop me from rolling him onto his back, breathing into his mouth and pounding against his chest. Please, please don’t be, please don’t be… you can’t. Not Charlie. Not Charlie…

  My heart feels like it’s bleeding, it feels raw, as though it has been ripped out of my chest and I’ve been left to bleed out, the pain, it stabs at me and I cannot breathe, all I see is paramedics rumble through the store, police officers pulling me away. I see the flash of fluorescent yellow and green of the paramedics’ uniforms as they lift him, as they shake their heads and say no, they mention time of death, by rigor mortis, sometime overnight. I scream, and the officers hold me back, I urge them to do more, they cannot let him go, they need to save him. I see them bundle him away, put him into the black bag, and as they zip him up I start to cry. The tears do not stop, they still run down my cheeks in the rain; even when I think my eyes have dried up, and no more could possibly fall, more salty warm tears tumble from my eyes, run down my cheeks and burn my cold face.

  I’ve been wandering around town, ever since the police had let me go; they’d finished questioning me, they’d finished making me pull out all the memories of my past, my sister, my life. They made me lay it out in front of them like a drawing, and they were erasing all the parts that were irrelevant. Which was all of it in the end. Leaving me cut open, all my pain, all my memories in front of me, forgotten, unnecessary.

  I stagger forward and as I do, I trip over the slight risen slab of concrete, it does not take much to knock me down. My knees scrape the stony hard ground and my hands stretch out before me, clawing at the pavement, wet and cold, like ice, like stone, unmoving, dead.

  Does he have any family to contact?

  No.

  Any wife, kids?

  No.

  What about the store, is it his, or rented?

  His.

  The officer tapped his pen against his lip, pushed back his chair and got up, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. When I asked what will happen to Beaumont’s, he shook his head; there will be one less antique store in East Hollow.

  I get up, wobbly on my feet; the rain pounds against me and I feel exhausted. The sobbing, the crying, it has wracked my frame and it feels like I’ve taken a beating. All I want is warmth, all I want is Evan.

  Out of everyone I know, my friends, my non-existent parents, all I want to see is him, to see Evan.

  I know I haven’t known him long; it seems silly. All that foolish stuff like believing in love at first sight. But I can’t help it, that blue eyed guy, he knows me, he has seen into my soul, I have felt it. He has wrapped his fingers around my face and opened my eyes to my own dream. I am not Madison. I am Ellison, I am Elli. I recall his words and in the cold, harsh winds, I can hear them.

  ‘Evan.’ I whisper, biting my lip as I stagger forward, heading up one of the cut through alleys.

  I want his arms around me, I want his warm embrace, his fingers knotting into my hair and his soft words in my ear. Most of all I want my heart to feel whole, I want that missing puzzle piece and I know, I know he is it. Around him, I feel my heart flutter, I feel a warmth in my chest, I feel as though the empty space left by Madison, the cavernous oblivion, feels knitted together, slowly, slowly I have felt the fibres of my being knit together, my heart feeling a fresh movement, feeling a new electrical current.

  And now this. Now Charlie.

  The wind picks up and in the alley it feels like a hurricane; the rain torrents into me without care. The air feeling so icy, so thick with haze, I cannot catch my breath, I cannot stand straight, let alone walk. It picks up stray food wrappings and crushed metal cans, it treats them like a string of leaves and twists them into a flurry, all the way down the alley, to the far end, which as I draw my gaze up, I see him.

  A shadowy figure. His shadow looms against the flicker of streetlight behind him. As it flashes again into place, the amber stream picks out the glint of silver on his fingers, the blue beneath his hood.

  ‘Evan.’ I call out, my voice weak and hoarse from sobbing, feeble in the beating of the wind. He outstretches those ringed hands to me and I run, I trip, I stumble and run again, his hands out for me to grasp, his eyes I see them flicker, all blue and brightness, all familiarity and life.

  I want to feel his warmth, I need his embrace. I need him. As every foot pounds against the concrete, I feel it match my heartbeats. I see his smile, his white teeth, it lures me in, pulling me upon a reel.

  Evan, Evan, I need you.

  Evander –

  Deserted. Paper strewn on the floor, discarded cellophane wrapping from breathing apparatus mixed with the cardboard boxes housing trinkets. Empty. Cold. I close the door behind me, it is night, and everything locked. I managed to work my way in like we normally do when we take our ceremonies and parties inside the Mall. I used my magic, to slide open the door; telekinetic powers come in handy when no one is around. I unlatched the lock on the other side and pushed it open, to be met with a mess of golden trinkets, old busts of ancient deities and tall Chinese silk lampshades. But still, nothing.

  I thought I would find her here, something in me thought I would; Ellison, loyal and kind-hearted, she wouldn’t leave Charlie on his own. I can imagine the scene and as I walk in I can feel it, I see flashes of her tears, of her screams. They vibrate through all the staring eyes of the portraits, through the cabinets as I touch them. A lot of sorrow has marked this store in the past day.

  Just ahead of me, beside the counter, amid the strewn paper, I see the slick blackness of blood. It is dark in here, I cannot see much, but I can see where he hit his head when he fell. That would explain the blood upon his face, before the torturers got to him.

  Treading closer, I kneel down, crouching just so I can use my hands to sift through the paperwork – so many envelopes, so many letterheads. I start slicing open the letters with a nimble fingernail, only to find nothing, nothing but receipts and thank you letters. Letters describing antiquities that might just interest him. I sigh, getting up and making my way to the back room, slipping through the door, I stop. Through the dark, I can make out a sweater, I can catch the scent first.

  Sweet cherries and lavender. Rose and spice.

  I’m beside it in a few strides, taking the soft cashmere into my arms, feeling the softness of it against my skin. It smells of her. I feel foolish, I feel like I am betraying everything. Everything I have ever known, my mission, my future, my father…

  Just to try and help this girl, just so she can see her sister, just so she can be happy… for a little while.

  Something catches the corner of my eye, a crisp white envelope, I place Elli’s sweater where I had found it, strewn over a hefty wooden chest, and I make my way through the boxes, through the rubble of antiques and riches, to see that the note is addressed to none other than me.

  He knew this? How could he possibly know…?

  I make haste at tearing it open, flicking over the folded parchment I start to read;

  Evander,

  You must think I am but a simple minded fool – an old simple minded fool. I would like to tell you I am not. I have lived a long life, full of riches of knowledge and not once have I kept a penny to my name. All that I have is in this store. This store, It is my legacy. I have seen the way you
look, I knew from the moment I first saw you that you are your father’s son. It’s the eyes.

  When I found that necklace on my doorstep, I knew, I just knew that it was from him. Little did I know, that it was yours. You have a strange way of finding a companion. Or, whatever it is your kind call it. You see, I know what you are. I made a deal with your father, I sold my soul for a little extension on my shortening life, and for that, I would have paid more. Just for a little more time.

  Ellison, darling Ellison. She is like a daughter to me, one I have never had. When she came to my store that day, a year ago, she was lost. She was trying to find something to bury with her sister. It was such a raw, emotional time for her and I let her in, I helped her and in time, she helped me. You see, I am an old man, I have never married nor had any children. When I found Ellison, she grew on me, she became a permanent fixture here and I offered her a job. I needed a hand with all the work, I was getting old and not any better. Plus she had a light to her that filled this dull shop, a light, I am sure you are well aware of.

  I have seen the way she looks at you, if only the few times I have seen. She is a good girl, one with a large heart, a heart that I am sad to say is still healing. A heart, that I am sure in time will be stronger than ever.

  Evander, I want you to give Ellison my will, I want you to tell her how sorry I am. And I want you to look after her. I know what you are, I know that a demon cannot truly love, cannot feel things like we do, but I’ve seen the way you look at her in return and I do believe that love can cross even between a mortal and a demon.

  Please find enclosed in this box, all the books and the jewellery that your father gave to me when I signed his contract. I do hope he is well, he is a fair man, for a demon.

  Yours,

  Mr Charles E Beaumont.

  I do not tear at the letter, I do not crunch it into a ball or drop it to the floor, instead I fold it back across the neat lines and slip it back into the envelope. I cannot place the feelings that claw at my insides, all I can feel is my face cracking, my eyes stinging. I drop the letter on top of the box and curl my hands into fists.

  Why was he taken early? Did he bargain with someone else?

  I squint my eyes, closing them tightly, picturing in my head his dying eyes, feeling in the air his last breath. Someone was here. I can feel it, I can taste the darkness they have left. It is definitely another demon.

  I throw my hands out around me, the force that comes from within, it stirs all the paper, all the loose books and it creates a whirlwind. A whirlwind of ornament, parchment and book, shivers and quakes, only to fall to the floor when I drop to my knees.

  Why am I feeling like this? Why?

  Father… he’s gone.

  Charlie. He was like Elli’s father, he helped her, and he helped her through the pain, the pain I caused. He’s dead, he’s gone. Now, now that just leaves Elli.

  ‘Elli.’ I murmur her name, somehow hoping she is hiding in one of the cupboards, or under a table, or somewhere, but no one answers. All I hear is the tick of the grandfather clock, the buzz of the electric clocks in the cabinets, and the sudden whir of paper in the other room.

  The will. I need to find the will.

  Ellison –

  The sunlight always seems brighter in autumn and winter; it’s the second thing I notice, the first being the carpet of orange and red leaves. And the naked branches of the weeping willow that reaches out in the wind and bangs against our bedroom window. I lay in my childhood bed, staring out at the myriad of autumn leaves as they dance, staring up at the rain splattered window which acts like stained glass as the sunlight pierces through. I look to the corner of my shared room, the side that Madison has decorated mostly in pinks and reds. Pink voile curtains draping over her scarlet red bedspread, just like a Princess; always a romantic sort, Madi is.

  I watch her twirl in the mirror, the floor to ceiling one that she got from the Antique store in the Mall; gilded hooks on the top and the feet, smooth and polished until it shines. I joked and said it looked like the mirror in Alice in Wonderland and she pouted at me and said that was why she liked it. Her fingers run through her chocolate waves, fluffing up her fringe, taking an eyeliner and finishing up the little wings to her eye makeup. Always the perfectionist, everything just so.

  ‘We’ll go to the city today, the sun is out, and it’ll be perfect.’ She pouts and blows a red lipped kiss at the mirror before grabbing her pink scarf and wrapping it around her neck, finishing touches make her. I sit up from lulling against the softness of my bed and perch on the side.

  ‘Are you not inviting Jack, today?’ I ask, eyes skimming her desk where she has placed the bouquet of red roses he gave her, on full display. Her eyes do not follow mine, she raises a brow and ignores my question, deciding to insult what I am wearing instead.

  ‘Why don’t you wear that floral skirt you picked up the other day?’

  ‘I’m fine with this.’ I curl my arms around my torso, brushing my fingers along the thick knit black cardigan, beneath that the pleated red blouse. Black and red, she laughed first thing this morning, calling me a Halloween show. She raises her finely plucked eyebrow but says no more, but I know what she’s thinking, and I cannot help but agree.

  How can she be seen with someone like me?

  ‘I thought we’ll get Dad to drop us off at the station, save walking in the chill.’

  ‘Don’t you want to see the late blooming roses in Mrs Hutching’s garden? October is so full of colour, I thought it would give you inspiration—‘

  ‘It’s cold, Elli, we’re going to be walking around all day, why would we get cold early on?’ her eyes narrow upon me, I nod slowly and get up, brushing off the bits of crunched potpourri from my trousers. I have a habit of picking at things, toying with things when I’m nervous, this time was the dried flower petals from the small bowl of potpourri. She’s right. She’s always right.

  Downstairs Dad is nowhere to be found, neither is Mum. Madison slams the refrigerator door, clutching a single bottle of diet coke in her grasp.

  ‘They left when they knew we were going to go to the city today; they could have waited. You know, if you didn’t take so long getting ready…’ she unscrews the cap from the bottle and brings it to her lips, staring over at me with made up eyes, she’s careful not to smudge her red lips.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, it’s not my fault.’

  ‘You could have said when they shouted up earlier.’ I wring my fingers into the hem of my blouse, feeling the soft material against my fingers bring me some sort of comfort. Not that I should be nervous of my Twin. We are one in the same, but she got the better genes, she is perfect. And that always makes me feel inferior.

  The Train station is just up the road, well, I still think it is, but half way there, Madi complains that she’s too cold. She complains that the sun is too bright and she should have brought her sunglasses. She moans that it is too cold and she should have worn thicker tights. I say nothing, and we continue to walk side by side, passing Mrs Hutching’s front garden. I peer over the white picket fence. Bird baths of alabaster stone, complete with nut feeders and fat balls. The mown grass neatly lined to resemble a chessboard, each rose bush pruned and well kept. The late blooming red roses look so bright and alive against the dew covered green leaves.

  I pull at Madi’s sleeve, gesturing her to look, but my smile, my contentment fades when she snatches her arm away and walks slightly ahead. Her pace quickens when she spies the station and she ends up walking that much far ahead that I find I only have myself to talk to.

  ‘Well I think Mrs Hutching has a beautiful garden.’ I look up and follow Madison’s tracks, her pink scarf trailing out behind her in the sharp wind. ‘You used to think so too.’

  Our Train is late, which is typical and as we sit in the waiting terminal, Madi makes a point in telling me that if I had dressed in what she had told me to, we wouldn’t have missed the train, because I took so long in deciding what to wear
– I had it on the tip of my tongue, but thought best not to. That I had to choose something different, something more flattering, if I am to be seen with you…

  She crosses her legs over each other, staring off at a few guys who were sitting opposite; one of them with near white hair and equally pale eyes meets her gaze and gestures with a wink. I nudge at Madi, wanting to tell her how silly it is, how Jack is the best in the world for her, but she waves off my concerns, she pushes herself slightly further away from me on the seat and leans forward, her soft brown eyes, all doe-like and made up flutter and I see that one of the guys turn away. His hood up and his black hair shielding over his eyes. They look like a trio of Goth guys. Dark clothes, dark shoes, silver rings on their fingers. I find myself staring at the one on the end, and as he meets my gaze for a few seconds, I am the first to turn my head away.

  ‘Our train’s the one after the next.’ I muse, looking up at the computer generated orange letters that flash up on the black chequerboard screen. ‘The next is a passer through.’ I get up, pulling down my blouse as it has risen slightly and bulges from the base of my cardigan, pulling it down, I do not notice that Madison is already up and walking to the platform. So eager. And then I know why, watching as her eyes flutter one last time to the three boys. I can’t help but feel completely mediocre. Not one of them looks at me.

  ‘Come on.’ Madi moans, her voice expelling a cloud of cold breath. Standing on the platform, I notice just how cold it has gotten and how foggy and dark the skies have become. I pull my cardigan closer as the wind whips by, taking with it a few pages of peoples’ newspapers. I follow one with my eyes, reading the headline. In the city they had a recent train jumper. I don’t know how someone could do that, jump in front of a train, think how destroyed the people you leave behind must feel.