Homecoming Shadows

Chapter Thirteen: Shiny Trinket's Worth

It was 4 a.m. The dark night sky was an expanse of ebony velvet, dotted sparingly with shivering stars. Daria, a young woman, staggered down one of the desolate streets of Asheville. The click-clacking of her tall, high-heeled shoes echoed eerily on the cemented pavement. Disheveled with smeared makeup, untamed red hair, and dirty, broken nails, she was the epitome of a captivating mess.

In her right hand, a half-empty bottle of rum swung carelessly. Her other hand bore the weight of multiple trinkets — rings and bracelets— that jangled with her unsteady movements. They were as colorful as her life, yet bore the same undertone of cheapness and refusal. A glance at her own reflection in a roadside puddle made her smile wryly. She thought of Cay, the man who had always made her feel more. More than just a shiny trinket. More than a disposable existence. With him, she experienced the joy of being a precious golden ring. He made her feel special.

Yet, on this night, as the remnants of alcohol tainted her sense of reality, her mind was burdened with the painful memory of a horrific turn of this night. The wounds on her knees stung beneath the fabric of her torn, pink nylon tights. Holding on to the last remnants of her strength and sobriety, she managed to get herself to the front porch of her apartment complex.

Among the monotonous heap of newspapers and junk mail, her bleary eyes were drawn to a dash of yellow. An yellow envelope. Her heart panged. She picked it up, almost dropping it in her drunken stupor, and slumped onto the icy cold porch steps, the envelope clutched in her trembling hands.

Handwritten in thick, bold letters were the words: "Daria". A note was inside. She squinted, her blurred vision struggling to make sense of the words.

"May the 8th. Our cabin. Cay."

A knot tightened in her stomach. A surge of worry washed over her, momentarily sobering her up.

With unsteady hands and a fluttering heart, overwhelmed with dread and unexpected anticipation, Daria tucked the yellow envelope into her purse, her mind whirring with questions and uneasy thoughts.

Daria Wilson

"Dari?" A soft, sleepy voice resonated throughout the dusky hallway.

Massaging my sore feet, I shrugged off the high-heeled boots, their echo clanging against the antediluvian wooden paneling. The hallway, blotted with vacant shadows, was filled with the cozy, homely aroma of freshly baked pie.

My abode, a charming vintage apartment, was an erstwhile inheritance from my unmarried aunt. The years since her departure had been lonely; a solitary era of five years. But, I wasn't completely alone, was I?

Arms gently as if painted with feathered strokes, wrapped around my waist, enveloping me in a warm, comforting cocoon.

"How was work, love?" murmured Adela, her voice a sultry whisper against the folds of my ear. Tufts of platinum curls cascaded down my shoulders, their touch as velvety as gossamer threads. She carried an intoxicating whiff of strawberry soap - a scent that always brought a smile to my face.

"It was rough, as always," I mumbled, turning around to align my gaze with hers. The corners of my lips twitched upwards, forming a half-smile, "Get some rest, it's ridiculously late."

Her eyes, a pool of ebony, shimmered under the dim lights of the hallway, as she retorted playfully, "How about some cherry pie?"

"Are you implying...?" I began, my hands moving lazily down her back.

Making her move, Adela planted a gentle kiss on my lips, a consoling touch that tasted of the night's tranquility. Sliding away, she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving behind, only a trail of memories.

It was almost as if time froze as I watched her slip away, for I hurried into our bedroom right away. I needed respite from this night. None could witness the evening's remnants - my tear-streaked makeup and torn tights –, more so Adela, none of her concern. The ugly accident I had tonight was a secret, a shared pact with Cay. And that's how it was intended to be – a bloody secret, wrapped in the layers of the dark night, silent and forgotten for good.

Adela doesn't need to know about tonight's grave secret. No one does. It is a secret, only known to me and Cay. As I wash the tear-stained makeup off my face and slide off my dirty clothes and torn tights, a profound dread settles in the pit of my stomach. The horror scene that is perpetually linked to Cay stirs in my mind.

Post cleaning myself up, I sit down to join Adela. I mindlessly indulge in the cherry pie, my mind enveloped in confusion. How did Cay manage to accomplish our agreed-upon task in the woods and then send a note to my doorstep? It was inexplicable. But, if there's one thing I've learned over my teenage years is that Cay is a riddle, a Pandora's Box of mystery. No one saw it back then, but me. Not even his favourite Ruby.

My silent contemplation is interrupted by Adela squeezing my hand, "Are you okay, Dari? You seem off."

Snapping back to reality, I attempt at a reassuring smile, "Yeah. I just need to sleep everything off. Don't worry." I mask my worries as best I can.

In a world filled with sinister escalations, the semblance of a normal life is my only solace — Adela, the cherry pie, and an apartment filled with memories. The dread lingers, but I shove it to the back of my mind. After all, screw it! Soon I'll be far away from that damned town. Somewhere warm, drinking wine with Adela.