Rage of Winter

by Sam Herrera

  “Starshine, starshine.

  Your time is longer than mine.”

  “You’ve been there since forever.

  Oh, baby, you change never.”

  “I’m so happy to see you up-close, be inspired by your light.

  And see you as no one else can: at your great height.”

  “Starshine, starshine.

  Your time is longer than mine.”

  “I’m in awe of you. I don’t get how this miracle is true.

  I think of you, up there in heaven, and I can’t even believe I can see you

  Twenty-four, seven.”

  “Starshine, starshine.

  Your time is longer than mine.”

  “You were there before I was born.

  You’ll be there long after I’m gone.

  I can’t wait to fly up and see you again.

  Everything down here you’ve far outshone.”

  “Starshine, starshine.

  Your time is longer than mine.”

  “Starshine, starshine.

  Your time is longer than mine.”

  I grinned as the last notes faded and all three of us took a bow to Caleb’s rapt applause.

  “Babe, you were phenomenal,” he grinned as he pecked me on the lips, the brief contact making me feel contained in a warm glow. “I don’t know how you do it: come up with all those lyrics and songs.”

  “It’s a gift,” I smiled.

  *

  I was good at rocking but I’d felt like a Philistine, drowning out all of nature’s symphony with my racket. We said goodbye to the smirking brothers and sat by the lake shore, watching the ripples spread all across the lake, leaning into each other, not talking, just being here and enjoying this. We were interrupted only by the sound of footsteps. Abby, Caleb’s cousin, with David Grey behind her, walked into the clearing, smiling and nodding.

  “Hello.” We both got up, blushing.

  “I heard you and your band from far off.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. You were brilliant,” Abby gushed. I smiled modestly.

  “Something wrong, Dad?” Caleb asked, getting up from his grassy seat and taking in his father’s grim face. Grey exhaled quietly.

  “No, son. But you probably shouldn’t be out here. Either of you.”

  “Why not?” I asked, frowning.

  “A body’s been dug up.”

  “My, God,” I gasped, wide-eyed. Was he serious?

  *

  Yes, he was. The bones of fresh victims, deep into the woods where they’d been missed by the cops first time they’d investigated. Daniel Harper had been found by the groundskeeper’s dog. Grey had been told, over the phone, to keep everyone clear of the scene while they cleaned the place up.

  We walked, side-by-side, along the woodchip track, up to the house, gratefully leaving them to it. When Caleb and I had started holding hands, it felt kinda great.

  “Nice.”

  “Sorry?” I asked Mr. Grey, walking beside us.

  “Your guitar. It’s nice.”

  “Thanks,” I nodded, slinging the case over my shoulder, only now remembering I had it. I’ve got to give Fred this back.

  “You’ve always been into music?” he asked, falling in step with us.

  “Yes, since I was a kid.”

  “Cool,” he nodded, smiling. He and I began discussing music and lyrics for a while. I caught Grey’s fond smile at our joined hands a few times and did some smiling myself, glad most of his family liked me. I kept an ear cocked, hearing Abby pulling her uncle away slightly to discuss us.

  “They’re getting on well, aren’t they?” Abby said.

  “What? Sorry, Abby, what was that?”

  “Mara and Caleb. What kind of a name is Mara Hale anyway?”

  “An American one.”

  “Reminds me of something.”

  “What?”

  “A film I once saw.”

  “Oh, If I Stay. Yes, that’s one of my favourites.”Mine too.

  “You’ve seen it?”

  “Seen it? I cry each time I see it.”

  “She’s interesting, isn’t she?”

  “Who, the star?”

  “No, Mara. I’ve never met anyone like her before.”

  “Quit it, Abby,” he said firmly.

  “What?”

  “I don’t want you making Caleb’s girlfriend uncomfortable. Summer gives her enough grief over her skin colour as it is.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “Well, don’t.” I was spared further embarrassment by my phone ringing. I told the others to go on ahead while I answered.

  “Mara?”

  “Fred. Whassup?”

  “We’ve got a gig at the local watering hole. You in?”

  “What?” I swallowed, suddenly sweating a river. My band. My. Band was being invited to play a gig in front of people?

  “Mara, are you in?”

  “Ummm, yeah okay. Who’ll be there?”

  “All the local crowd. See ya there.”

  “Yeah, see ya.” Oh, shit.

  *

  I flexed my fingers and picked up my guitar, willing my thoughts on a different track. Walk out, you’ll just make a damn fool of yourself was going around and around in my head. I sighed and rolled my neck around my shoulders, giving Dom a smile. He nodded, looking like I felt.

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen, a group of enthusiastic local youngsters, headed by America’s own Mara Hale!” Not blushing became a real effort as the club manager had made out I was a celebrity or something. Fred took his seat on the drums. Dom stood beside me on the stage. I wanted to run. But then I saw Caleb smile and wave at me from the bar. I smiled back, forgetting all my fears. As one, Dom and I walked forward.

  “Hi,” I said into the microphone. “I would like to dedicate this to my cousin, who has been missing for a long time,” I smiled sadly. My fingers began to fly over the fretboard, giving voice to Come Back to Me.

  *

  I stepped off the stage, dripping in sweat and feeling like I’d just run a mile. With many a bow and handshake the three of us headed for the bar where we were on the house. Well, Dom and Fred headed for the bar; I headed for Caleb. We kissed to even more applause.

  “Bravo,” he beamed. I grinned back broadly, moving in for another kiss, this one softer and deeper, savoring those beautiful lips.

  “Sorry to interrupt.”

  “Hm?” I turned to the guy behind me, expecting another autograph.

  “Kyle!”

  He threw his arms around me and lifted me bodily, not caring about the sweat, spinning me around a few times. He made me feel like a tiny kid.

  “It’s good to see ya,” he whispered into my ear.

  “It’s good to see you,” I grinned. “You’re out. How?”

  “I’ll tell you later, rock star.” I grinned, nodding. I gave a small gasp, seeing his face.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  “Do I get an introduction?”

  “Huh? Sorry. Kyle, Caleb. Caleb, Kyle.”

  “Kyle Thayer?” he asked, tensing.

  “Don’t worry son, I’m not going to start shooting people. I was just released.”

  “Would you excuse us?” I asked him. He reluctantly moved away but not too far.

  “What happened to you?” I repeated. We sat and Kyle told me the whole story, starting from when he was locked up to his release.

  “I had him. That’s what kills me: I. Had. Him. I could have got where Mike was out of him and…” He compressed his lips into a thin line, shaking his head. I looked away, having no idea what to say. “I’m sorry” sounded…well, lame. We just sat and enjoyed a totally clear view of the great sunset through the club windo
ws.

  “Hey, you sounded great up there. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

  I grinned, blushing.

  “I went to your house first but Andy told me you’d already left for the gig.”

  “I still can’t believe it.”

  “Believe it. It was your band. You are signing autographs.” I got the feeling there was more to this reunion than a high-five.

  “So, whassup?”

  “Do you wanna come to my wedding in a few weeks?” My eyes bugged and I was suddenly paying full attention. Had I just heard what I thought I heard?

  “Aunt Sarah?”

  “No, the bartender. Who else? I asked her and she, mad bitch, said yes.”

  “Really?! Holy shit. Aww, I’m so happy for ya. Congrats,” I gushed.

  “Language, Mara. Thanks.”

  “Now we have the Winter…?” I asked, my smile fading.

  “No,” he said, reading my mind, “he’s vanished. That’s why I’m doing this. I cannot lose Sarah as well. I won’t.”

  “Sorry. And you want me to be there?”

  “Hell, yeah. Why not?” he asked, sounding surprised I would even ask.

  “The restraining order,” I reminded him. My eyes suddenly bugged. He’s gone to my house, asking about me.

  “Mara, you’re eighteen,” he scoffed.

  “I’m seventeen.”

  “Yeah? What was your last birthday?” I thought hard. Damn, he’s right.

  “Okay then. Yes, I would love to come.”

  *

  This Glastonbury concert was a major deal; thousands had thronged to hear us and I had sung and strummed like I was on fire. I still had no idea what had come over me. Dom and I hugged tightly, he smiling just as broadly as I was. Shit! I flopped into the nearest chair in the VIP trailer, almost in sync with the others, gasping and sweating.

  “Wanna beer?” Fred offered.

  “Nah, I’ll have a water,” I smiled, wiping my brow and shaking out my damp hair. My phone began ringing as the others bought brews. I frowned as I saw the caller ID: Kyle.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”

  “Forgotten what?”

  “My wedding, dumbass.”

  “It’s today? Oh, fuck. Oh, shit, I’m sorry. Yeah, I totally forgot. I’m at Glastonbury festival right now. Look for a stadium with a big, silvery pyramid in the middle, surrounded by loads of people.”

  “Fine. Shower, pretty up, wash your mouth out. I’ll pick you up with your bridesmaid’s gear.” Nodding, I hung up and made my getaway.

  *

  “Mara? I thought you were in England.” I didn’t hear that at first and had to ask her to repeat it: I was too busy being entranced by the vision in front of me. I thought of the million or so times I’d come home from school to find her passed out and drooling on the couch. That sloth was a world away from the radiant beauty in front of me now. In her simple, form-fitting, white wedding gown with white flowers in her hair, she was absolutely stunning. And I had thought Kyle looked good in the suit. But there was more to it than the nice dress: the rings around her eyes were gone; they were now bright and clear. Her voice was clear as well with none of the slurring. Kyle had told me she’d kicked the booze, but I was seeing the proof now. She’s finally happy. I smiled,, looking over her flushed cheeks and huge grin.

  “We came over in the W—Learjet,” I told her, eyeing the other bridesmaids.“You look amazing,” I whispered. “Are they real?” I asked, indicating the huge string of pearls around her neck.

  “Uh, huh, Ron’s gift to me.”

  “Father gave you them? Wow.” I shook my head. Has the guy actually become giving? “Eve Marshall, this is Sarah Hale, my aunt,” I introduced, seeing her looking curiously at our pilot. Shit, did she hear what I had just said about the jet?

  “We’ve spoken a few times on the phone,” Eve nodded as they shook hands, giving no indication she had.

  “Hi, Mara,” one of the bridesmaids, a tall, dark girl, said as she got up from fiddling with her hair and came forward. “Nice to see you again.”

  “Do I know you?” I frowned.

  “It’s me, Scout. Nice dress.”

  “Scout!” I grinned, flinging my arms around her. My old school friend squeezed back as good as she was getting. I pulled back to get a proper look at her. Look up at her to be more precise; she had grown by three inches since last I’d seen her, when she’d been about my height.

  “Yours is okay,” I smiled, downplaying how good she looked in her black bridesmaid’s gown. She reminded me of the front cover of the novel, Fallen.

  “Have you checked out the groom? He’s hot.”

  “Really, Scout, in front of the bride?” Some things never change. I blinked, awed, at another bridesmaid I didn’t know, personally anyway, who walked forward to get introduced.

  “I’m…Mara,” I stammered, wide-eyed.

  “Hi,” she smiled, shaking my offered hand. She doesn’t need an introduction, I thought as I beheld a face that had so often graced the covers of movies and TV shows, a face I had long admired, but never more than now.

  “I’ve heard you and the groom have been friends for a long time?”

  “I’ve heard you are to thank for all this?” I smiled.

  “I guess so.” She and the bride exchanged smiles.

  “I’m really sorry,” I said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

  “I’m okay,” she nodded. “This is Astrid Cole, my girlfriend. Astrid, this is Mara Hale, the bride’s niece.” I shook hands with a tall, brown-eyed brunette then blushed slightly as they kissed. It was only a short peck on the lips but still.

  “Let’s get you hitched, huh, Auntie?” We grinned at each other as we walked out of the chapel.

  *

  I beamed as I looked around the small, sparsely-lit interior of St Martin’s Church, a small, stone and flint building surrounded by short, gray walls and miles and miles of heathery, rolling downs. Kyle, entranced by the descriptions of the wild England I now inhabited, had opted for a good old-fashioned British wedding. I’d heard somewhere that the place was about 500 years old. It certainly looked like something out of the Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones era. I could easily picture a hobbit living there, manning his farmstead. The interior had wooden beams spanning the roof, dark-wood pews and a plain, wooden altar framed by walls of plain white stone. But for the great occasion overhead lights had been set up and wreaths of multi-colored roses were laid on the pews with white confetti on the floor of the aisle. It looked truly beautiful. Even the weather seemed to be on the side of the happy couple; the sun shone brightly through the barred windows. I smiled as I saw Kyle, looking like an older, way taller Macaulay Culkin in his flower-lapeled, three-piece suit, standing on the altar and he beamed back. David Jacobi and Jack Kendrick, Kyle’s friends from work, were on the altar with him. I had wanted to be Maid of Honor, but she had been asked already. I couldn’t really begrudge her. Without her, like I’d said, none of this would be happening. The entire small congregation stood to watch the beaming, radiant bride come down the aisle, arm-in-arm, with Father. He threw me a curt nod, as he gave the bride away, and took his seat. We sat through the spiel and then, finally, got to the “I dos.”

  “Do you, Kyle James Thayer, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  “I do,” he beamed.

  “Do you, Sarah Wendy Hale, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  “I do,” she grinned.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  I grinned, bouncing in my seat, as Kyle lifted the veil and they moved in for the kill, applauding with the best of them. I was truly happy though I had to swallow a rather big lump, seeing the tears in Sarah’s eyes. Things were going
great: he was on the run, only with nowhere to run. Kyle had told me all about the fight for the Winter and how it had ended in failure. I did think Michael was dead. It had been months and there was no word. Nothing. But at least my best friend was in the clear and now he was properly joining my family. God willing there would be other sons and daughters. I wished Caleb could be here. But all the Greys had gone to the funeral of Caleb’s grandfather who’d died of a heart attack a couple of days ago. Ah well, I’d promised to text him some snapshots of the party afterwards.

  BANG! BANG!

  I and everyone else screamed, as the two gunshots sounded out and Kyle fell to his knees, in Sarah’s arms, on the altar steps, clutching his bleeding shoulder. A man with a smoking gun stood in the vestry door, his weapon aimed at them. It was Kevin Greer; I knew him from the newspaper articles I had seen of the murders. No! “Nobody fucking move!” he yelled as walked forward. He kicked Aunt Sarah in the face as she crouched over Kyle. Her head snapped back and she fell down the altar steps. He pulled Kyle up by his lapels as the priest dived for cover, behind the altar, and I was caught up in the mad rush for the door.

  “I said,” Kevin Greer yelled, firing twice at the ceiling, “no. One. Fucking. Move!” People still left, but some cowered behind the pews.

  “Mara, come with me,” Andy whispered, crouching beside me. I shook him off. This guy was a killer. He was armed and he was holding the gun to my best friend’s head. No way was I going anywhere, scared as I was. None of us could leave anyway: those that tried to run were shot at if they showed so much as the crown of their heads above the pews. I moaned softly as a man in front of me was hit, trying to get out. He fell in front of my pew and never moved again.

  KYLE

  Mother. Fuck. That hurt! This was supposed to be the best day of my life and now I’d been shot, I felt like shit, my bride was on her back with a cut lip and a bleeding nose and my wedding had become the scene of a psycho’s last-man-stand.

  “Hi, pal.” I looked, through a fog of pain, up into Kevin’s bloodshot, crazed eyes. He was dressed in army fatigues with a rucksack over his shoulders. He stank of B.O. His beard had grown out and he looked as though he’d been sleeping rough and little. In short, he now looked like the total madman he, in fact, was.