Evangeline, Alone. (Book 1): Evangeline, Alone

by Styles, M. A.

  "Evan!"

  The 'n' sound went on forever into the darkness that surrounded her until all of the sudden, she woke.

  Her eye lids lifted slow and heavy, and some how her ears still rang from the sound inside of her own mind. As her eyes focused, panic rose in her. She didn't know where she was. She didn't know where Evan was. Then she slowly began to remember where she had been. She sat up quickly. Too quickly. Pressure and pain in her head happened immediately and nausea rose in her gut as the wood log walls of the room began to spin and fade to grey at the edges.

  She laid back down and touched the back of her head where it was throbbing most. Her hand touched hard, crusted hair at the surface. She crunched through gently, and felt the tender spot with its bit of warm, now thick wetness. When she brought her hand back in front of her face, the pads of her fingertips were smeared with red stain. Flecks of dried blood were in her finger nails too. Her eyes narrowed, and she realized she had to pull herself together and figure this out.

  She started with her breathing, calming herself until her pulse stopped pounding in her ears. She looked at the ceiling above her: exposed wooden beams, stained a deep chestnut. Slowly, she turned on her side, and faced out into the room. It was small. A tiny window showed the light of dawn beginning to filter in. Off in the corner stood one lone wooden chair, atop it sat her pack she had left for her trip in the manor’s locker room. She turned her head away from it and started to follow the wall back to the twin bed she laid in. A square night stand stood next to it, right in her face. She was eye level with the top. On it sat a short lamp, a dog eared book with pages curled and aged, a brown ceramic mug, and the Glock she had gotten from the house. The house.

  Her breathing started to catch in her chest as she remembered. Everything. Slowly, and out of pure stubbornness, she rose and swung her legs over the side of the bed. A bit of the light, airy, red fabric of her gown slid against her calf. She looked at her feet. They were still bare and covered in blood that splashed up past her ankles at parts. It was all over the hem of the gown, and more still up its entirety. Where was he? The thought alone made her place her feet firmly on the ground. She quickly placed a hand on the night stand to steady herself and closed her eyes until her head felt like it wasn't trying to spit her brain out anymore.

  First was a step forward. Then another. One more and she was looking out the window. The faintest sparkle of dew glossed the green grass around the little cabin. She saw a black SUV parked off to the side. It was the kind used for public officials, the windows tinted so dark they almost looked like they were actually just shiny panels of black plastic. The little hunting cabin was set in a clearing, a few yards away. The trees were standing all around it. She had never been here before, knew nothing of this place, or whose it was, and she did not want to be there. Slowly she reached her hand out to the side, still staring out of the glass, until her hand brushed the thick canvas. She let her nails skim the fabric where her name was embroidered. Another gift from Burke. God, Burke. She moved her fingers up until they reached the handle at the top, and she hooked her hand into it. At first holding it felt like a comfort, but her anger soon washed that away. Her hand slowly squeezed the thick loop until her palm stung, and her nails dug into her own flesh. She was leaving. Now.

  She unzipped her pack, pulling out clothes, and the hiking boots that were crammed at the top. Her hands began to slip the straps of the dress off her shoulders, when she realized what was the damn point. It was torn at all its delicate seams at most spots, from top to bottom. She yanked it off and pushed it down over her hips. Then there was a soft clomp as her mothers derringer clattered out from her top onto the oblong rag rug that filled the center of the floor. Her body was frozen, slightly bent over, the sides of the dress still in each hand, and she remembered where she had left her mother. And her brother. And her father. She forced her eyes shut, hard, willing herself not to let out the mournful wail that was building inside her, and her breath caught in her chest. It quivered in pain, and grief, and guilt. She went back to getting dressed. She kept going.

  Moments later she was ready. The door to the room wasn't even shut all the way, just closed until it touched the frame, never latched. She pulled it open, and it protested with a faint creaking. And then there he was, sitting with his back to her at the tiny kitchen table. It looked like he had a cup of coffee, a plate of toast, and his ear piece and radio sitting in front of him. He was still wearing his black dress pants from the party, but only his white undershirt on the top. He didn't turn to look at her, but he did sit straighter in the chair.

  "I'm sorry about your head," he said right from the start. "I had to get you out of there."

  "No. I had to stay. The reason we were even there in the first place was to stay, and stop that. Save who we could. It's our job. You left them all there!”

  "That-" He collected himself for a moment, then started again. "That, what ever that was happening… that was not our job."

  "The people were.” The bitterness in her voice sharpened every word she spoke.

  "We did what we could.” He reached out and picked up his mug of coffee, turning his head just slightly to see her behind him in his periphery. Then he turned back and sipped. She steadied the anger in her voice before she spoke, trying to quell all the pent up emotions making her body and voice shake. "We left them all. My family. Evan. Burke-"

  He cut her off quickly. "They're all dead. You know that." He spat it out, callously. Then went back to his coffee again.

  She reached her limit. Each breath quavered, her chest making little hops as she inhaled and exhaled it out choppily. One step towards him. Then another. She dragged her pack along with her on the ground as she moved forward, focusing so she wouldn't faint from the head trauma he gave her. When she reached the point right behind his chair she stopped and let the pack fall. He turned again just to peer over his shoulder at her from the corner of his eye.

  "Sit down. I'll get you a cup of coffee."

  He began to stand, and she lifted her other hand, with all the fury inside her, and whipped him in the back of the head with the butt of her gun. He dropped immediately, knocking the chair over, and tipping the mug, spilling the coffee.

  She stood still, her shoulders rising and falling, rising and falling, the gun dangling down at her side. All she could hear was her own breathing and the dripping of the coffee as it slowly streamed off the table top to the floor. Little by little, her breathing began to slow again. Careful not to bend her head down and cause the blood to rush in, flooding her skull with a blinding pressure, she squatted down just enough to scoop up her pack by the handle again. Then she took one step. And then another. Past Logan on the floor. Past the kitchen table. Past the minuscule kitchen itself, barely even taking in the fully stocked open shelving on its walls. She passed right by it all and through the little living room. When she got to the end of the cabin, a picture on the lone little book shelf in the room caught her eye. The agent Burke pulled into Evan's room was kneeling down, beaming, holding up a twelve point buck by the antlers at the front of that cabin. She looked at it for just a moment longer, then walked right out the door.

  She didn't know how long she walked. The rest of that day, maybe two, could've even been three. They just passed. Whenever she would stop to rest, her exhaustion would put her right to sleep. She would wake up disoriented and in pain, her head still throbbing every time. Then she'd remember and start wandering again like she could walk away from the memory. While she slept she dreamed of Evan screaming and her screaming. When she woke, she could still hear it. Sometimes she could've sworn she heard it right next to her, or off behind her. Slowly it began to drive her mad. She would stop in the middle of the woods, spinning in place trying to find where the little voice was coming from. Was he here, somewhere? Then she started to see little flashes of color dart behind a tree. First, on one side of her, then the other. She could've sworn she saw that silly dark red sweatshirt with the yellow tricera
tops on the front that he loved flit behind a tree to her right. Then there it was again, to her left. She rubbed her eyes and clenched her jaw, then started forward again to nowhere. Then she saw the horses. At first she looked right at them, and they didn't disappear, but they were just standing there.

  Then she noticed the riders seemingly frozen too, but they stared back at her. Was this some kind of flash to when they'd play at being cowboys in the yard? Evan loved pretending to ride over to somewhere and save the day. She felt her eyes moisten, just a bit. The thought that, after everything she'd been through in her life and done, it would end by her losing her mind, alone, in the forest… it seemed like the worst fate. Lost in the woods with all of your demons and regrets. She rubbed at her eyes almost drunkenly to ensure no tears would fall, or that she could wipe away the eerie cowboys. Then she turned and took a step. And then another. Suddenly she heard a different voice in her head, then more. She was losing it. She turned to follow the sound and saw the cowboys were still there, but they had dismounted, and the taller one was slowly coming for her.

  Her body knew what to do before her brain even registered it. It was force of habit, years of training, muscle memory. She pointed the gun right at his head, and he stopped. Her vision was starting to pulse in and out. Her brain felt like it was shutting down. Betraying her. Her legs wobbled beneath her. She didn't know what was happening. Then she looked closer at the man. His hands were in the air. His eyes, sad, not looking away from her. Then she realized she couldn't look away from him. The other rider was pleading at her, but it just came into her ears as a buzzing din. The bass of it sending pulses of vibrations to the wound at the back of her head. The pain broke her gaze, and she lowered her gun. Whether they were real or fake, she didn't have the strength to deal with either. She turned and began wandering again. A few steps later and the world started to go black once more. She welcomed it.

  CHAPTER 24

  Shame On Me

  The path they drove down was overgrown, and even before all this definitely not meant for cars, but they managed to pull up right to the side of the house with only a few scratches to the cars. She led them through what seemed like a short maze of small additions connected by hallways until they were standing in the middle of a huge, once beautiful kitchen, now covered in dust, stains, and debris. There was an old brown dried up puddle of what most assuredly was fresh flowing blood at some point. A trail of semi-sliding foot prints led out of the double doors of another entrance. The counters were covered with dishes, shriveled up food so old it no longer resembled food at all, or so dry it couldn’t even grow mold. Empty bottles were still lined up in an orderly fashion at one end of a marble island.

  The first thing she did was walk to those double doors, pick up an apron that was tossed to the floor there, and tie the handles together with it. Very tightly. Then she shoved two wooden spoons through the handles making them cross through the straps. They stood quietly waiting. When they walked in to the house, they passed so many pieces, decomposed at all different levels, of what were once living people, some still moving if heads were still attached. There were so many that they didn't have to be reminded to keep their mouths shut unless completely necessary.

  They all watched her as she walked over to the end of the counter on the other side of the room. She went to slide her hand through the handle, thumb waiting to push down the latch, but stopped. She reached up, stretching on her tippy toes just enough to touch the top of the door frame and came back down with a key. Slowly, she pushed it into the the keyhole, then turned it. When it clicked the lock open, she stopped. Then she turned to the group.

  "Let's do this fast. One at a time. In and out. Grab boxes, sacks, cans, containers. Fill up your packs, and get out of the way for the next person. There isn’t enough room for us all in there. Wait back at that side door," she whispered flatly, pointing to where they came in. "Let's go."

  Each one gathered behind her in a haphazard line, their bags open and in hand. Joe was first, followed by Jack, then Cara, Nate, and Laila. They all stood and waited for Evie to open the door, but she was frozen there looking at her feet. It looked like she was listening to or for something, so no one said a thing. They waited, looking around the place. Jack turned to the large bay window now opaque with a coating of dust both inside and out. Through the light brown tint he could make out shapes on the ground. He knew what they were. A few still stood, moving so slowly it was barely detectable, picking up their feet just off the ground and inching them forward like they were weighted with cement.

  Past that he noticed something big and fairly bright. Once it had to have been huge, but he couldn't place it through the dirty glass. Maybe it was just a glare off of something. He unconsciously took a step closer to the window and squinted. Was it a large greenhouse? It looked like vines were dangling down from its ceiling. Sticks jutted out here and there; detritus all over the ground covered almost everything. The sun broke through the clouds and shown through the holes in the room’s roof, and he started to see some familiar shapes. He first made out a chair, then a table. He started to notice some color underneath some of the mess. Some blue, maybe red, then his eyes and brain connected the sight. It wasn't a building. Tattered strips of canvas hung down over bent and broken poles, some flapping with the light breeze outside. One back corner had collapsed at some point. Table tops faced him, tipped over on their sides still half covered with a filthy cloth. As he peered out of the window, he hadn’t realized he was moving closer and closer. He was almost to the window seat when he stepped on something and almost tripped. A pair of dusty, red high heels laid right in front of him.

  Jack turned to look at Evie as she began to open the door, slowly, little by little. Her face gave nothing away, but then he saw her squeeze her eyes shut for a moment. Her arm hesitated as it pulled, and just for a second he saw the pain register on her body. He bolted back to the line and put his hand on her shoulder just as she started to pull at the door again. She stopped, but didn’t look back at him. He put his other hand on the handle and stepped in front of her just enough to show that she didn’t have to do this at all. She looked at him, then back at the rest of the group. Everyone was looking at them in utter confusion, except for Nate whose eyes seemed to be growing wet as he looked between Jack and Evie. He had put it together too, from what she said in the car. Then suddenly her hand slipped from the door, and she stepped back. Her expression went unreadable again. She looked at Jack and nodded her head for him to go ahead.

  Jack’s pulse raced, and he wasn’t sure if he should have his gun out or not. He didn’t realize how long it was taking him to finishing opening the door until Joe slapped his back, then shooed him to it with his hands when he looked back at him. Adrenaline made him pull too hard, and the door whooshed open faster than he had expected, and he let the handle slip from his hands. It banged loudly against the wall in the silence. Everyone jumped at the noise, and Joe slapped him again, then froze. They all did as they craned their heads around the person in front of them to take a look into the butler’s pantry. The first thing they saw was the three, shriveled bodies laying on the floor inside.

  One was a man, half his face and down his neck missing like an unfinished puzzle. What remained of him was propped up against the short back wall like some kind of Halloween decoration. The other man was a leathery caricature of a human, like one of those mummies you see pulled from a peat bog, though his skin color hadn't turned the rich, deep brown of those corpses, but a dark, sickly gray. The entire front of him was covered in an old rust colored stain from his chin, down his arms to his hands and waist. The most unnerving was the third. Only the bottom half of the body was really intact. Everything above the pelvis that was left and decayed was torn and strewn about in tiny pieces. The legs were stretched out almost touching the door, the feet long ago fallen out of her shoes. A beautiful painting-like floral design in a once vibrant purple, red, and blue colored pattern still stood out on the now dusty white of
the skirt.

  Not one of them moved. They looked at the scene trying to piece it together, when Jack and Nate already had a pretty good idea. Suddenly Jack thought he noticed movement within the room. He inched closer, and peered at the floor trying to figure out what he’d seen. Then the dried up corpse of the man covered in old blood started to turn his head towards them. Tiny staccato movements had the head turning until the sunken face was looking right at them. The pupils were huge, but severely clouded over; the lids long ago dried out. Jack took one step back unsure of how to approach the next move, but he didn't have to worry about it anymore.

  Evie pushed through from the back of the group that had all crowded around to see the scene. She stepped right in front of Jack and took in the pathetic creature. Jack was about to lay a gentle hand to her shoulder, when she raised her arm up and fired a shot into its head.

  Everyone quickly scattered back and away, and Joe hissed, "So much for being quiet!" But the rest decided to keep their mouths closed, especially when they looked at Evie.

  She was still standing there. The gun still raised at the end of her outstretched arm as she watched the thing’s head slowly loll to the side. Jack stood next to her, his hands to his ears in shock from the peal of the shot that still rang inside his head. His eyes were wide as she lowered the gun, staring a bit more into the pantry. Then she turned and walked through the kitchen and out the side door.

  Everyone looked at him for their next move with confusion on their faces. Jack couldn't get his thoughts straight and started to follow her.

  "Jack," Nate whispered to get his attention. “We still need to get this food." The man’s eyes portrayed the sorrow of the whole thing, but he was right.

  "Yeah. Okay. Start loading up your bags. Line up and move. Take it to the car as soon as you’re done. Just like she said."

  Cara was closest so she walked in, carefully stepping over the remains unknown to her. Laila walked and stood outside the doorway, waiting. Nate followed, then Joe who was still looking at Jack standing halfway to their exit.