A Promise Fulfilled (Watty Awards 2012)

Prologue: Memories of the Forgotten Past

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"If you are chronically down, it is a lifelong fight to keep from sinking.."

Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation

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The air was moist. The ashen sky occasionally boomed with thunder, punctuated by flashes of lightning. The 1987 four-door Lincoln Vignale moved down the winding road at a decent, if unhurried, pace. The car's interior was filled with the inviting aromas of warm sourdough bread, baked chicken, peach and cinnamon pie from the picnic basket that sat so temptingly between the two children in the backseat.

On one side of the picnic basket, was Timmy. The name was a contraction of his given one, Timothy. He was seven, small for his age, though there was a promise of height in his long feet. He did not posses the lanky limbs and athletic grace of his sister, Jenna, who sat on the other side of the basket. Timmy also lacked the confidence that burnt so brightly in Jenna's eyes as she filled the blank pages of her notebook in her lap. And yet, he held his worn stuffed bear with the unbreakable clench of a wrestler. His eyes were large like his sister's, and slanted piquantly at the corners. But where his sister's eyes had the glint of the sapphire sparkle of a sun-silvered ocean, Timmy's were a warm opaline lavender, laced with youthful innocence.

Arthur Ryeille was driving. He seemed unaware of the approaching storm, or even the car's other occupants. His slender fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel, the tips of his fingers callused from years on punching the computer keys; his forehead creased with worry lines.

Arthur Ryeille's job in the bank had brought him very little money. The Lincoln Vignale did not belong to him, for luxuries as such seemed forever beyond his reach. The car had been borrowed for this special outing from a trusted friend. Certainly the woman sitting next to him had not married him for his money.

Sheila Ryeille usually bore well her husband's disappearance, despite the fact his job has always allowed him an escape from the bothersome details of life. But later, when the blanket was spread and the picnic food was apportioned, she would nudge her husband from his numerical alchemy. They needed this outing together, and not simply for the fresh air and special food. This surprising warm late winter's day was a godsend in many ways. She stared out of the car at the threateningly sky.

Go away, storm, please go away now.

To ease her skittishness, Sheila turned and looked at Timothy and smiled. It was hard not to feel good when looking at the little boy, though he was a child easily frightened. Sheila had often cradled her son when Timmy had been seized by a nightmare. Fortunately, his fearful whimpers would be replaced by an angelic smile which showed his dimples when Timmy would at last focus at her. She wanted to hold her son always, and keep him safe.

"How're you doing, Timmy?"

The little boy answered by letting out a crowing sound that banged off the car's interior, startling even his inattentive father.

"Miss English said I'm the best rooster she's ever heard," said Timmy, and he crowed again, flapping his arms. Sheila laughed, and even Arthur turned and smiled at his son.

Jenna smirked at her brother, but then reached over and tenderly patted Timmy on the head. "And you are, Timmy. A lot better than me when I was your age."

Sheila smiled at Jenna's remark. "Arthur, you're coming to Timmy's school play, aren't you?"

"Mom, you know he's working in the bank." Jenna interjected not impolitely so. "He doesn't have time to watch Timmy playing a rooster."

"I'll try, Tim. I really will this time," Arthur promised. Sheila knew that the level of doubt in his tone heralded yet another disappointment for Timmy. For her.

Timmy's enthusiasm, however, was not fazed. "And next I'm going to be the Easter bunny. You'll be there, won't you, Mommie?"

Sheilla graced him with a smile.

"You know Mommie wouldn't miss it," she said affectionately, tousling his hair.

But Mommie did miss it. They all missed it—Arthur, who had been smiling at Timmy with fondness, turned back and saw something that pulled his blood from his face and made him cry out.

"Oh my God!"

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Author's Note: 

This is for you Natalie @GryffGirl7 for being my first fan and my "Fallen Angel"! Also, your fanfiction, Faith is Stronger, is indeed "The Shock of Time" and also "My Hidden Fantasy" in "One Summer"! (Ok, the last part's a little funny.....But who cares????) Thank you!

Also, never forgetting @biscuitmonster who inspired me to write this. I love you <3

Please do comment, and tell me if you liked it! And the vote button's ==>>