Rage of Winter

by Sam Herrera

  “It’s beautiful here,” I sighed.

  “Yeah. Beautiful,” he said. I became aware that he was looking at me, not the scenery and turned my blushing face away. We pulled up alongside the jetty and began walking around the shore of the lake under the bright sun. I’d brought my guitar case, but it seemed wrong, blasphemous even, to drown out the twittering birdsong and the rustling of the pines with manmade music.

  I followed him down the dappled path to the fringes of the woods, admiring again the glowing pines and flashes of cloudless sky between them. We came to a circular clearing of soft, green grass with a little brook, over a bed of pebbles, running through it. On either side of this little stream were tiny strips of sand. Out here I could hear nothing but birdsong and the gurgling of the water. We sat on the green carpet and all I wanted was to watch him. With the sun shining on his hair, showing up again the russet highlights, his closed eyes and horizontal, relaxed posture, he was the picture of peace and calm.

  “I’d like you to meet my family,” he said suddenly, raising his head.

  “Really? Now?” I asked, looking from him to the house, just visible through the trees.

  “Yeah,” he nodded. “Sure, why not? They’ll love you, trust me. Also it would be nice to have a friend; I don’t know many people.” I was surprised: Summer-bitch-Grey was always with a group of brainwashed admirers and Caleb was a real overachiever in class, coming top of his every subject.

  “Actually, I’ve heard you’re a rocker; I wanna to hear you play your guitar. And maybe you and your family would like a tour of the house sometime? It’s one of the biggest in the neighborhood,” he added.

  “Yeah, I see that,” I smiled, looking over his shoulder. “Okay, I’ll come,” I nodded, shrugging and trying to downplay my feelings and bite back the big, broad grin. He’s inviting me to his house?!

  *

  “Well, hello. What’s that?” someone asked when we reached the doorway of Redstone. Caleb’s father stood there, seeming very surprised to see me. I felt awkward, like I was being scrutinized as though I were an intruder.

  “Hello, Mr. Grey. It’s a guitar.” Obviously.

  “David, please. I’ve heard you’re dating my son?” he smiled, shooting a sideways glance at Caleb who returned it with an embarrass-me-and-you’re-dead glare.

  “Not really. We’re friends.”

  “It’s nice to see you again, Mara. I’m sorry, again, about what happened.”

  I shrugged and looked over his shoulder at the suits of armor and the foot-wide staircase.

  “It’s a very nice place you’ve got here.”

  “Thanks,” he smiled. “I see you’ve just had the guided tour of the woods. Would you like to come in?” he asked, moving a little to the side. Looking uncertainly towards Caleb, I took my first, tentative step through the doorway, leaned my guitar against the wall and hung up my coat. I felt Mr. Grey’s curious gaze on my back as I walked into the sitting room. There was an attractive brunette on the sofa who slowly rose to her feet at the sight of me, a curious frown on her forehead.

  “Hello,” she said in a thick Irish accent.

  “You must be Caleb’s mom?”

  “I am, yes. Who are you?”

  “A friend of his from school.”

  “Ah. Jamie,” she said, coming forward to shake my hand.

  “Mara,” I nodded, taking it. I caught her, several times, eyeing my white face and pink eyes. I’m not a goddamn museum piece, ya know? Caleb shot his mother a warning look, seeing this, as he and his father came in. His posture was almost protective and I thought that was rather sweet of him. Come to think of it, he had never stared openly like his parents were right now either; he’d admired, not ogled. I like the decor, I thought, looking around at the plush armchairs and portrait-covered, wood-paneled walls.

  “Sit?” Mr. Gr— David offered, seeing I was still standing awkwardly. I took one of the chairs, wiping my hands on my skirt. I sweated a lot when nervous, especially in a new place. “So, you’re a musician, huh, Mara?”

  “I’m practicin’,” I smiled modestly.

  “I’m really sorry about Summer,” Mrs. Grey added.

  “‘S alright.”

  “No, it’s not.” Just then the door opened and the old saying,“Speak of the devil” was confirmed. Summer walked in and froze, glaring indignant daggers at me.

  “Would you like a drink, Mara?” her father asked.

  “Tea’d be nice,” I nodded.

  “Sugar?”

  “Um, hum.”

  “Do the honours, would you, sweetheart?” he asked, turning to Summer with a winning smile. I smothered a grin as she, blinking, turned on her heel making a squeaking noise against the wood, and stomped off into the kitchen. Caleb, though, was beaming from ear to ear and I suddenly felt a whole lot better. I thanked Summer when she came back in, her knuckles white on the mug. She, ignoring this, put it on the side of the table, as far from me as possible, and then quickly left. We heard the stamping echoes on the stairs even up to the very top. So long, Princess.

  “What were we talking about?” I asked as Caleb got up and moved the mug closer to me. I lifted it to my lips, enjoying the sweet, hot flavor. “Music practice, right?”

  “Electric?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Your guitar, it’s electric, right? Caleb’s not into music, he prefers to stay up in the attic all the time.”

  “Anything wrong with that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Well, son, it is a little worrying. A young man like you should be out having fun with others. What do you do up there all day, anyway?” David frowned. I looked across, my interest piqued. He just sniffed and looked away without answering.

  “So Mara, are you any good…with the guitar?”

  “I’m okay,” I smiled modestly.

  “She’s more than ‘okay’, Dad,” Caleb protested. “She told me she’s been practicing since she was about six and has only got better since.” I smiled modestly.

  “So, what’s this about the attic?” I asked. Caleb glared at his father. Happy now?

  “My art, drawing and that,” Caleb muttered airily.“Which, according to your brother, is for sissies.”

  “My brother’s an unappreciative idiot,” I sniffed.

  “How old are you, Mara?” Mrs. Grey asked. “I’m sorry, it’s just you seem a lot older than Caleb.”

  “I’m fifteen,” I said. Grey looked surprised for some reason. As I sipped my tea, I wondered what to say next.

  “So, how long have you and Caleb been friends?” his mother asked.

  “A little while,” I nodded. I looked out the window and smiled at the gorgeous scenery. It never got old. We chatted a while about England and the States, talking about the many flowers over here. I was told all their types and varieties. And I, afterwards, gave a rendition of ‘Starshine.’ It was a pleasant couple of hours that passed all too quickly.

  I and the Greys all rose at the same time.

  “I’ll see her out,” Caleb offered. He walked me to the door and took my coat down for me. “I’m sorry about Mum’s starin’. It must be embarrassin’ for you.”

  “It’s fine,” I smiled. “I’m used to it and they didn’t stare long.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have to put up with it. Differences are what make the world better.” I nodded and looked away, smiling.

  “I’d like to see one of your drawings sometime.”

  “Sure,” he nodded. He turned his head to look back down the hallway and then kissed me. Just like that. It was only a slight brush of the lips, but still…My first ever. I pulled back to look at him, eyes wide. Whoa. We smiled, both blushing.

  “Was that okay?” he asked.

  “Um, yeah,” I nodded, downplaying how my heart was racing and every fibre of my being was ti
ngling. This was massive.

  “Did I mention I’d like to meet your family sometime?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well?” he grinned.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I promised. I walked back down the path with a big, broad grin all over my face that seemed as though it would never come off. Caleb, Caleb, Caleb. That seemed to be all I could think of. What was happening to me? The tingling only got worse and worse with every step I took. I exhaled in a whoosh. God! My phone began vibrating as I skipped on.

  “Hey, Kyle, what’s up?”

  “Hey, Mara, it’s just…you and Sarah are still pretty close, right?”

  “I guess. Why?”

  “Have you heard from her recently?”

  “No. Why?” He told me why.

  “Do you know her?”

  “Well, she’s pretty famous. Are you joking with me?” I asked, a slow grin, of demurral this time, spreading across my face.

  “No!” he snapped. “According to the papers, the two of them are together often, chatting in restaurants and shit and she’s always hidden in a hood and shades.” I frowned.

  “I’m… sure there’s an explanation.”

  “It’s weird though. I mean what does she want? She has just lost her grandmother and it’s emerged that her mother’s car was sabotaged; causing the wreck that killed her. You’d think the woman would be gunning for me as I’m in jail for both but she’s not. It’s like they’re friends.”

  “The daughter and granddaughter of two of your alleged victims… is your girlfriend’s buddy?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “Wait, you’re in jail?”

  “Yes,” he sighed after a while.

  I couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. We made some small talk and then I hung up, instantly dialling Sarah’s number.

  SARAH

  “I’m glad you’re doing this: helping me. He’s got it coming y’know. I’m glad we’re trying to bring him down and I hope they don’t let him off easy. Bastard. The needle’s too good for him.” I stopped, seeing her glaring at me. She slowly, with her eyes blazing and her jaw set, got up.

  “Wait, wait,” I sighed, grabbing her by the arm. “I’m sorry.”

  “How’d it feel?” she asked, lowering herself back down, her entire body way too rigid.

  “What?”

  “Wondering if you would ever see him again, wondering if you had lost everything? ‘Cause that’s exactly how I feel except for me it’s worse: I’m seeing it coming whereas it was a total, uncalled-for shock for you.” I slowly nodded. It was true; I had been a bitch.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry,” I repeated.

  She clenched her jaw and slowly sank into her chair, looking more forty than twenty. “I just can’t believe it. I can’t believe what he’s doing to me. He must hate me.”

  “If so, it’s because he doesn’t know you.” I reached out to take her hand. Despite her gaunt, tired, drawn face, it was like the hand of a child.

  “He’s my whole family. It. Fucking. Hurts,” she whispered, her eyes starting to shine too brightly.

  “I know.” I couldn’t think of anything to say. I had no idea how to comfort her in the face of this. I was utterly clueless.“He’ll pay for what he’s done to you, I promise.”

  “I don’t want him to pay. I want him… not to be that. I want… I don’t know.”

  “Wait,” I sighed. She didn’t. She pushed away from the table and ran out. I was about to follow when my phone started ringing.

  “Sarah?”

  “Hi, Mara.”

  “How is she?”

  “Who?”

  “You know who.” There followed a long pause.

  “She’s fine,” I lied.

  “There are a lot of rumors about you two.”

  “Like what?” I sighed.

  “That you’re a couple.”

  “What? She’s… that way, huh? Well, I’m not, Mara.”

  “Why would you wanna hang around her though, knowing that?”

  “Well, why not?” I frowned. “She can screw whoever and whatever she likes; it’s a free country.”

  “Well, is she making trouble for you, being a bitch about it?”

  “Don’t talk about her that way,” I whispered, narrowing my eyes.

  “Auntie? Relax.”

  “No, I will not re-lax. Don’t call her a bitch. She would never slander and she would never start an affair. She’s too honest for that shit, alright?!”

  “Alright,” she whispered.

  “I have to go,” I said shortly.

  “Sarah?”

  I threw the phone down in a stinking mood, picturing the corners of her mouth tugging downwards and her overly bright eyes. Bimbo?! Screw you, Mara. Screw you too.

  There were a bunch of them, seated together in the corner. They were regulars at the park café. I had noticed them here before but I’d never been gawked at by them before. I watched the still-swinging door. It was one of my rare days off and I usually enjoyed it here. Plus it was a few miles away from the centre of town and, I had thought, away from gossips. I followed her out, not seeing her anywhere at first. Then I caught a flash of dark hair at the foot of some trees with plenty of shade. I walked down the steps, still feeling utterly helpless. She was curled into a little ball with her head down and her arms curled around her shins. I knew full well why she had sought the leafy canopy: she hadn’t wanted anyone, especially the paparazzi, to see her crying.

  “Go away,” she mumbled into her thighs. When she raised her drawn, tear-stained face, with dull, wounded eyes, to look up at me, I saw that she was beautiful despite her pain. I sat and reached for her. She was stiff and resistant at first, but then the walls of anger and grief came tumbling down and she cried out the last of her tears on my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. I smiled as I recalled reading about some paparazzi asking her about her sex life and being given the same answer she’d given all before him: mind your own fucking business. And I’d heard she was a major voice against online bullying and harassment. Her work on environmental campaigns was also well noted. Now, though, she felt just like a frail, little… girl. Small, thin and wounded.

  “I hate this,” she mumbled.

  “Yes,” I sighed.“Yes, I know. Look, I can’t feel anything for him. He was willing to let my boyfriend, someone I love, take the fall; spend the rest of his life in prison. You’ve given us hope. You can’t blame me for being happy.”

  “And you can’t blame me for feeling like absolute hell,” she retorted. “For hating him for putting me in this shitty position.”

  “I don’t. I don’t,” I assured her as she leaned into me. I held tight to her thin, bird-like shoulders as she hiccupped and sniffled. When she calmed, I pulled back to arm’s length, pulled out a tissue from my pocket and offered it.

  “Goddamnit,” she sighed, dabbing at her eyes. I glared warningly at some spying dick on a bike as he braked to have a look at the Hollywood big shot crying like a baby. If he goes for his phone, I swear to God…I flicked my head. Taking the hint, he rode off. That’s right.

  “I don’t know what to say, I really don’t.” I didn’t. I was lost. I felt like an amateur surgeon, with zero experience, faced with a medical crisis. She dried her eyes and was herself again. We stood up.

  “It’s gonna be okay,” I promised her. “You will get over this, find a girl, screw her brains out,” she smiled, “adopt a bunch of cute kids and have a great life. I mean you’re already on the way: all your movies and shit.” She sighed and nodded.

  “I hope so,” she smiled, “and congratulations on your cute kid.”

  “Thanks.” I watched her go, truly worried for her.

  “Excuse me.” I turned and my eyes narrowed. It was that fucking biker, strolling
up, leading the bike by the bars. Can he take a fucking hint? She, I saw as she lifted up her visor.

  “What do you want?” I frowned.

  “You’re Sarah Hale, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, who are you?”

  “I’m a reporter.” With a sneer I began walking away, not wanting to hear it.

  “Is she your girlfriend? Is she?”

  “Beat. It,” I growled warningly.

  “You’re really lucky to have a movie star on the side, huh? I know it’s none of my business, but—”

  “Spot. On.” There must have been something in my look for she rode off without another word.

  As I walked out of the park, all the anger draining out of me to be replaced with sadness at how fucked up this world truly was, my phone began ringing.

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  I knew who it was instantly and my blood began to run cold.

  “What do you want?”

  “Do you really think you two can beat me after I have gone undetected for so long?”

  “Yes,” I snarled, hanging up. I didn’t want to hear a word from him ever again.

  MARA

  The next morning, the morning of our next countryside jog, I saw David Grey again. He came jogging along our track as we were all taking a well-deserved breather. I was disappointed that Caleb wasn’t with us, he had a cold, and that his sister was.

  “Enthusiastic, isn’t she?” I watched as he crossed over to our group and began chatting to Phillips, the gym coach. He offered a hand, which Phillips ignored, stepping slightly between him and us, his body language defensive. My ears pricked up at the sound of Caleb’s name being mentioned.

  “Yeah, he’s not so bad himself.” Both I and Mr. Grey smiled. Phillips smiled back and the atmosphere became somewhat more relaxed.