Evermore

Chapter 1

The wild autumn wind whistled through the trees, weaving between the wrangled limbs and falling leaves, catching them up in a majestic ballet, a dance of golden majesty. The grey laden clouds hung motionlessly against a colourless backdrop, a washed white canvas upon which the earth clung.

Silence encumbered the world- streets, paths, driveways- all mirroring the ghostly stillness. Children no longer at summers play chased away at seasons change to halls of learning and lessons of life. Men and women occupied offices, shops and all manner of pointless repetitive endeavours in the city, hoping to survive another day in the oppressive twilight of a society of scavengers. Alas the suburbs returned to a state of silent solitude left to the autumn chill, and the wild winds will.

The house stood lonely, apart as if detached from the world, or longing to be so. Ever wanting to be claimed by natures embrace. Ivy encompassed the walls fingers of the forest clasping at the structure. Glass windowed eyes stared from within the ivy shell, and mirrored in those eyes one could only see the sadness, longing, and regret the walls beheld.
The garden stood a testament to time, slowly being reclaimed by the woodland. Weeds writhed through the flowerbeds rising out of the neglect. Bushes rolled out over the garden unkept, brash and wild. Debris of time lay everywhere, and soon time itself would claim this and nature would have the rest.

The only monument to rise unscathed out of the tragedies of time was the giant woodland oak that rose from the centre of the garden, as if to threaten the sky itself. Limbs flailed in the breeze as if trying to claw back the horizon.

The swing that hung from the branches swayed gently in the breeze, bereft of all it once beheld. The weathered rope upon which the swing rested creaked and groaned as the wind curled about it, a gust of wind shattered the stillness.

The woman stared through the midst of the sorrow, feeling the weight of sadness press against her heart, dragging down on her soul. She was the mirror image of the garden, a reflection of which circled about her. Just like the garden she was beautiful, but alas had fallen foul of the tragedies of time, her whole life stripped from before her laid bare in the heat of the sun, all that remained turned to dust in the breeze. All her hopes and dreams shattered, the shards raining down to stab at what was left of her heart.

A silent tear rolled down her cheek, as the swing creaked on. A tear of heaven sent memories, and demon like days, of crushed hopes, and unwoven dreams. She sighed a weary soulless sigh, empty of all but the grief that wracked her heart. Slowly she allowed her fingers to brush against the window, the glacial glass chilled to the touch, it felt as if she is trying to reach out grasp at ether like memories, fading in to dust, and ash.

She turned away from the world that haunted her every step, peering down at her hands to find them shaking uncontrollably before her. She looked round the emptiness of the room, not necessarily empty of things, but of the warmth embrace of purpose. She gently brought her arms about herself hugging against the cold, but mainly in an effort to chase away the loneliness she walked hand in hand with. For a moment she was reassured by the comforting embrace, imagining and immersing herself in the feelings of what once was and shall never be again, as her perception returned to reality.

She lowered her head, her dark hair falling elegantly in front of her pale face, gone all gone. Everything was gone she was alone. She cried then not knowing how long for whispering a silent prayer in the stillness, a prayer to disappear into the shadows that lingered at the corners of the room. She had lost everything, her family, her past. WHY? She screamed out in the silence of her mind, holding her head in her hands, begging, pleading for a reply she knew would never come, and the answer she could never behold.

She stared out of the window once more her vision impaired, obscured by the angel kissed tears that rolled down her cheek, stoking the scars, cuts and burns that ran down her arms, feeling a sense of bitter hatred of herself for what she had become. A shell. A hollow remain.
She could see in the void of her mind. Their screaming faces. Their pleas for salvation. The look in their eyes as the fire, the flack rained down and she was helpless to help. Their eyes pierced deeper than any knife ever could.

She reached down to the window sill, feeling the cool smooth touch of a bottle between her fingertips, it wasn’t the answer, she knew, but it dulled the pain. She unscrewed the lid and allowed a large mouthful of the clear liquid to run down her throat, burning within her like the anger, hatred, and pure inferno.

What was she doing? She asked he question as another mouthful of fire ripped through her, waiting for a reply from an unknown entity. She gradually made her way over to the couch collapsing into the comfort and the little embrace that it offered. She felt the weight of the world bare down on her once more, felt the woe bare down on her. She couldn’t have stopped it? Could she? Why? The blaze, the lights, the pain, the screams, the blood. The blood. The rose-stained vision tainted her mind.

A rapping at the door brought her awake with a start, her head throbbing, her body aching through and through. Again the knock rang through the house; she rose unhurriedly running her fingers through her hair, gripping her pounding head. She walked out of the room, down the corridor to the door, the silhouette that rose before her all to familiar, as she pondered this she found herself hugging herself against no chill. Her dark dress hung off her petit form, her paper pale skin emerged from the dress, smooth, and unmarked other than the scars that ran the length of her fore arm. Scars of which had relieved the agony if only briefly, relieved the heartache. Her long dark hair draped about her unkept, long, dark and wavy violet in the fading light. Her face was soft yet angular, almost elf like, yet ghost like. Mirrored by the misery and desolation that haunted her eyes.
Cautiously she unlocked the door, allowing it to swing open of its own accord, holding herself once more. She tuned away as he entered heading back toward her dark existence.

“Elone?” he whispered to her compassionately following her into the living room, “What’s happened to you?”

She stopped, grabbing at the bottle of vodka, not turning to face him, feeling ashamed to even look at herself. “What do you think?” She felt the tears streaming down her face, “Go on. Guess!” She didn’t bother to hide the anger in her voice she didn’t care, what was there to care about?

“Elone,” he spoke again undeterred, softly trying to reassure her, “you…” he paused again not knowing what to say, feeling all the pain emanating from the room.

“I know, I’m a…” not needing to finish the sentence she turned to face him, “John, I’m sorry”

“It’s not your fault”

“I should have done something”

“You did all you could,” He spoke quietly to her, he knew what had happened, everyone knew, “it wasn’t your fault at all, you carry blame that’s not yours”

“I should have done…” She whispered solemnly staring off toward the swing once more, “something”

“You were scared,” he put his hand comfortingly upon her shoulder “everyone was”

“I just…”

“I know”

“I could’ve…” She trailed off again going to take a long draw of vodka, stopping as the liquid came in contact with her tongue. She dropped the bottle, stifling a scream not wishing to humiliate herself more.

“Look,” He placed arm around her not in an act of intention, but out of compassion comforting her as a man would comfort a child, “I’ll go put the kettle on and we can watch some TV, I’ll stay as long as I can, but April will want me back soon to look after Lou”

Elone watched him walk out toward the kitchen; he was her oldest friend, a year older than her, she had been in accelerated and excelled classes as long as she could remember. What gave her this she never knew, but it had something to do with who she was as her mother would always say. Her mother. The thought dragged her down like the very night draws down the sun. She turned her attention back to the memories of John. He had been there when she needed someone to look after her just like now, even though he had dropped out of college, married and started a family; he still remained very close to her. She pondered this thought memories hung timelessly in her mind.
He emerged once more 2 cups of hot dark coffee in his hands and a caring smile on his face he came ad sat in the adjacent seat of the room. He was tall a good 6ft with long mahogany hair which curled and waved about his face, dark wisdom filled eyes, very captivating and dashing face and very tanned skin. He was slim and athletically built his clothes hanging off him still as they would a teenager.

“How is the world?” She asked uninterestingly trying to break the awkward silence, “anything worth sharing?”

“Well, what do you expect, its not exactly sunshine smiles, all the same crap really.”

“Why doesn’t it surprise me?”

“Because its all the same, it always will be and you know that better than most people….” He trailed off himself leaving another silent void.

“How’s April?”

“She’s fine preoccupied by Lou,” He pondered this for a moment; She watched feeling the tinniest snippet of joy rise from her mournful heart. “Little tykes started crawling, you’d be surprised by how fast they can move, little rascal” he sighed, “oh and I have a message from Jo, she has a book that you ordered on symbols and mythological things.”

“Oh right, yeah I was gonna but….”

And the conversation continued, covering the melancholy elements of life, and all but sustained by John’s futile attempts to bring a little life back into her cold, frozen soul. It wasn’t soon till night had filled all but the uttermost corners of the horizon; she saw him out and made her way upstairs to her room, knocking back several double shots. The moonlit room embraced her as one of its own as she entered. She removed her garments letting them fall and lay in any fashion they wished, with all the rest of the unkept clothing, rest of the neglected items. Without care she threw the nearest nighty over her chilled naked pale skin, holding herself and the nighty close she sat upon the ledge of the bed staring out of the window into the dark night, the faint moonlight etching out her elegant curves.

The starlit sky rained down from the velvet canvas, the moon illuminating the shadows in an arc of silvery beauty, silvery spectres motionlessly hung in the silence, absolute silence, how rare a thing. She sighed, oh how she longed to disappear into the calm tranquil splendour she beheld. And with a single breath she drifted into the night herself, her eyes fluttering and closing her body immersing itself in sleeps welcoming grasp.

She awoke with a start, sweat dripping of her brow, thrashing out at invisible recollections. Her breathing was rapid, her chest aching, pulse racing, adrenaline pumping. She screamed out in spite of herself calling out to the shadows that loomed about her welcoming her into their clasp.
She sat up, he head throbbing, pounding like the heart in her chest, beating through to her ears. She pulled the covers close to her to fight off the cold draft that passed through the gaps in the door. She felt so scared, so alone, she dreamed of dark memories, memories she wished to shed like the clothes she had worn. She cried into her hands, it wasn’t always like this there had been happy times, yet they seemed so distant so far removed from her present life.

She rose from her bed her body throbbing, her thoughts all jumbled and confused, the sun was all ready streaming in through the windows, warmth radiating through. Clouds were sailing across the bright sky, as ships would across the seven seas. She didn’t care. She slowly made her way over to the shower and walked into the cold water, allowing the raining water to wash away the sweat, grime and dirt and the fruitless attempt at washing away memories stains. Not bothering to dry properly she threw on some clothes, some tatty jeans and a white button up shirt, netted and flaring.

She slowly made her way through the pit that was now her home, carefully taking care not to fall down the stairs, although she had on more than one occasion merely fell, on purpose or by mistake she wasn’t quite sure once again she didn’t care. She poured herself a glass of orange with a double measure of liquor.

She thumbed through the multiple documents on the table, looking for the letter she had received yesterday, swallowing the pills she had been given to help her forget…they didn’t work nothing could asphyxiate the memories. She found the letter between a letter from the insurance company, and a piece of writing she had written before….before. The letter was addressed to her with international markings on it, it had come from well pretty much everywhere. She went to open it curiosity flowing through her, stopping at the last moment, why? Why should she bother even looking? Why couldn’t she do anything? Why didn’t she care!?! She felt so angry with herself, so ashamed. About to drop the letter she stared at it once more and began to opening it against her original intention.

Dear Elone,
It has been a long time, and I wish I could be under better circumstances. I’m sorry about what happened, and only wish I could be there to offer what little comfort I can. I have finished assessing your work and begun contacting publishers, editors, proof readers and all manner of advertisement agencies throughout Europe and the US. I have made an effort to represent you at all meetings and hope one day soon you may be encouraged to make a video conference with the head of the publishing co-corporation. This was just a quick message to notify you of progression, and the standing offer on your work is in excess of 20,000 dollars and rising
Best Regards
Your Agent and Friend
Arthur Bradshaw (PhD)

Elone stared at the paper; if it had been under better circumstances she would have been over the moon her first work was reaching the publication stages. But alas it filled her with more confusion and a distinct distaste for the modern workings of society.
She walked back to the lounge feeling the weight of the world once more; she closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift.

The explosion ripped through the city, windows shattered and flung arcs broken glass across the sky. Fire flooded the building screams rising in the wake of the ear splitting roar. People were running everywhere, smoke, dust, shrapnel hung in the air like a thick soup, death could be smelt on the air, tasted on the breeze. Blood ran in streams freely flowing from the bodies that lay in ruins, pain and sorrows carry in the midst. As screams and pleas turned to weeps and cries, a second explosion across the street sent fire ash and glass careering out onto the street, raining down on their mourning souls. Bright eyes stared wide from everywhere, empty and lifeless, shells staring. Just staring. People ran all around not knowing what to do, panicking, Crying, Calling, Collapsing, and Dying. Death. So much Death. She froze staring around at where she had come from knowing all to well what was happening, she screamed. She cried out her voice carried on the wind. She stared trying to call, staring straight in their eyes, seeing the horror as the third explosion careered through the building. Watching the fire encumber them their eyes still staring, the pain, horror, fright mirrored in their screams. She stood frozen, shock soaring through her veins. Suddenly it all went silent, and then abruptly everything went black.

The memory lingered, never fading, the eyes always staring back at her. Tears streamed unhindered across her pallid face, she clawed at her arms reaching at anything sharp to relieve the pain. She tore at her skin with single minded ferocity lavishing herself in the pain. Blood ran down her arms trickling off and over her skin, following the contours and carrying away the sorrow, if only for a moment. She felt a momentary relief wash over her as the rose – kissed stains collected on her clothes seeping into the white shirt as paints to a canvas, art of the darkest sort.

The ring ran through the silence of the house shattering the stillness she had succumbed to, the answer machine clicked on after a few moments and the voice echoed through the hush as she hugged herself and sipped t some more vodka and orange.

“Hello err Elone, it’s me…” The voice paused cautiously and caringly, familiar, yet derived nothing more than sadness and longing once more inside her, “well I don’t really know, erm, well I know its been a while since, and I was wondering, if I could, well…visit, don’t worry if your busy or whatever forget it….if you need anything….you can….” He paused again before sighing sadly, “better be off, see ya”

“Messages deleted” spoke the faceless, monotone voice of the machine. She lifted her fingers away from the answering machine, blood still stuck to her arm thick streams staining her arm. Before bringing her fist down in a single fell swoop the machine splitting and cracking beneath the sheer momentum of her hatred. She walked slowly back through the house to the window that faced the creaking swing that mirrored the hanging memories and began the dark journey through the void of her memories once more.

Darkness descended once more upon the world casting shadows, casting dreams and fragments of memories throughout the homes of the unaware inhabitants as they lay lost in the encumbering sleep and solitude of their minds embrace. Voices and faces merge with time, space and the very world they have faced.

All her memories and dreams had passed her before as she sat silently in her room once more naked upon the end of the bed the cold air softly grasping her shielding her against the haunting faces the descent into sleep would inevitably bring.

Without as much as a sigh she laid back across the bed.


John stared out the window of his Land Rover as he made his way along the country lanes, the autumn countryside soothing his soul, the colours and smells captivating his attention. His eyes mirrored the distance he held in his heart, his thoughts drifting to Elone. She was so fragile, on the verge of snapping under the pure weight of the blame she placed upon herself, he wanted so much to save her before she destroyed herself. He sighed, allowing the autumn breeze to brush at his face, allowing natures fingers to soothe the aching he felt welling up within.

He followed the road for another mile, turning onto a country track, comprised of dirt, twigs, leaves and all manner of natures shedding. The vehicle shifted and bounded with the earth beneath it as an animal would bound across the dusty dirt track. John felt so at home amongst natures embrace, he felt some what at peace.

He came to a halt by a tattered old building and a small orchid budding with the most beautiful fruits. He stepped out of the Land Rover allowing the door to slam shut behind him. He soaked himself in the autumn feel once more staring at the crumbling white house worn by weather and neglected by time, all but a memory.

The windows were dirt covered and boarded up with cracked and weathered wood, nailed tightly down, silvery webs elegantly caressed the crevasses and cracks, some how as if all that held this house together was the sheet of cob webs.

Time, time would make a fool of us all he thought to himself breathing anxiously. He approached the house slowly; he hadn’t been here in seven years. A long time ago it had been the centre of all their attentions. He stared at the house once more, it felt as if the joy and life had been stripped from it, as if something or someone had come along suddenly and stolen it away.

He ran his hand against the dark wood of the door, feeling cold touch rush up his arm and down his spine; he shuddered in spite of himself closing his eyes against the feeling. He felt the sheer weight of the memories lay heavy on his heart, it had all changed here. Taking a deep breath he unhinged the rusted lock and stepped inside followed by the exhaling wind that rushed past him in warning, and feeling the entrance strip the life from him.

He opened his eyes cautiously, already feeling the sadness flow through him. The memories clung to him as a morning fog would cling to the trees reluctantly, however much the branches may sway.

The room was dull and drab, damp crept up the walls, followed by the shadows and webs. The silver strands danced from the dark corners through to the dim lit etchings of the room’s remains.
The air smelt old and dead as if a breeze had not swept through in a long time. The dark contents were burnt and destroyed by time and neglect.

The door creaked unexpectedly bringing him back to himself. Carefully he crept into the depths of the room brushing his hands against the ash and crippled furniture. Everything beneath his finger tips whispered of times long gone and chances left behind. He didn’t know why he had come back here after so long, it just seemed right under the circumstances.

He left the room and made his way in to the adjacent room, feeling the breath leave his lungs once more. The room was damaged just like the last but more memories were here, and he could feel the ghosts of the past calling to him once more. He kept walking fighting the urge to leave and never return, fighting his instincts.

He walked upto the dresser that lay shattered and ruined and carefully tugged at the top draw, he knew in his heart what he would find, but he needed to see it. The draw held fast for a moment before giving way to its contents.

He breathed in, staring down at it he felt his heart lurch; the photo stared back at him. There was Toby, James, Maddi, Rich, Becca, Jo, himself and Elone in front of the building in which he stood right now, eight stupid teenagers, he smiled for a moment the joyous times replacing the sorrow briefly.

He left the house slowly, carrying with him the contents of the draw, allowing his memories to fade to black and the looming shadows to loosen their grasp.
He sat in the land rover for a long time looking through the photos. He knew why he had come back, of course he knew, he just couldn’t admit it too himself, not now, not ever. Photo after photo, letters, snippets everything drew heartache and joy in equal measures. He thumbed through as much as he could till he reached one letter addressed to him from Maddi, and without taking another moment he cast the documents into the glove box his head in his hands sighing longingly.

Maybe they would help Elone? He pondered this thought a moment, but then again maybe memories would just hurt? He didn’t know what to do. He slammed his fist down on the stirring wheel bruising his hand at the impact.

He sat in the silence staring off into the world around him, allowing himself to become one with it. Everything drew memories, his mind was now buzzing with images, the throbbing in his fist dissipating with every fresh vision.

The car started without hassle and he made his way back into the suburbs, allowing the gentle evening breeze and sheer beauty soothe his troubled soul. The rain of evening splendour shone down on him, oranges, yellows, reds, pinks all imprinted on the evening canvas.

He pulled up to the three bedroom semi detached house in which he lived. The house was a testament to time, being in his family for the best part of 150 years, his parents had passed it on to him and his wife when they had moved off to Canada. The white washed walls, grey fogged glass and worn garden mirrored the memories he had, all grown hazy with time, just because he was stronger than Elone, didn’t mean he didn’t hurt just as much. And with a soft sigh of regret he allowed the door to slam shut behind him.

The phone rang as he entered the hallway, photos and paintings lined the hall way that turned off to two rooms and the adjacent staircase. He slung his jacket haphazardly on the coat rack before reaching for the phone his mind was still sifting through thoughts and preoccupied with, well, everything.

“Hello?” he spoke walking toward the kitchen, in desperate need of a hot coffee to chase away the brisk autumn chill.

“Hello Mr. Redwood,” The voice was very commanding, yet somewhat hesitant, “I am looking for a young woman, by the name of Elone; I believe she is one of your friends?”

“Yes, yes I am what seems to be the problem?” He replied, listening tentatively now, “Who are you?”

“An old, let’s say, friend, I need to pass on a message to her,” The voice paused once more, something clearly wasn’t right, “Could you possibly pass on a message, of sorts?”

"Can’t you speak to her yourself?” Asked John, very suspicious now, yet also somewhat intrigued,

“What’s this all about, what do you want?”

“It is not you concern, can you pass a message on?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Can you?”

“What’s going on?”

“Can you?” the voice paused, “you obviously care about her a lot”

“I don’t trust you.” Spoke John accusingly

“I’m not asking you to, merely to ferry a message, is that so difficult?”

“It depends on the message.”

“You can weigh that up for yourself?”

John took a moment to ponder this, he was in a good position here, if he thought the message was damaging he didn’t have to deliver it, also he might get a clue to what was going on, who this stranger was.

“Ok, but,” he paused a moment before speaking in a protective tone, “If I think this is going to hurt Elone I will not pass on anything, and your not to contact me again,” he paused again mainly to allow his words to sink in, “Understood?”

“Yes” Spoke the voice, replying in an accomplished manner, “I merely ask her to send her prayer to Iris.”

The line went dead, leaving a puzzled John staring blankly at the now silent phone. The kettle whistle piercing through the void in which his mind now stood. What was that all about? Did that actually just happen? He thought to himself as he placed the phone down and went about making a cup of coffee.