Vermilion

Chapter 8

The house was on a big fire as she finally made it to the gates. Peter was inside, choking and coughing to death in the conflagration. Fires caught her husband eating him whole to ashes.

She spun around. Where was Zach? He was not around and their house was crumbling down. A frightened scream escaped her throat. Tears were everywhere.

Finally she found him. But why was he lying down on the gardens? What happened?

She rushed to her little son only to find him bathed in blood. His head was bleeding. He was so cold in her arms.

Peter was burning and Zach was bleeding. Both were to die in front of her. The space began to press on her. The images of all the deaths in her life were all coming back.

Her father's. Her older brother's.

The fire continued. And she could see Peter lying down and burnt. She turned to her son who was in blood. Her sight shifted back and forth to her husband and son.

All alone and helpless. Ashes everywhere. Blood in her arms. Destruction of everything she knew. There was nothing but he fear. It was splitting her head.

Then she screamed. It was all she could do. Scream.

The scream jolted her to awake and found an old woman and a child beside the bed she was lying on. She had sweated cold and her heart raced but she calmed as soon as she recognized the worried faces looking down on her. Breathing deep, she pulled herself up and wore a smile on her face to ease the tension in the room.

"Oh my, Mary dear, you frightened us," Mrs. Cramwell said aghast then leaned to her wiping the sweat beads over her forehead.

Mrs. Cramwell has twinkling blue eyes overflowing with genuine concern. The lines on her face caused by the years did not decrease the beauty she has but it softened her features more. She was the picture of a mother she dreamed of since she was little. Her presence appeased the pain she has in her heart, which, as she noticed, was still empty and heavy as it was that night.

The night that changed everything. In that single night.

She had told herself that there were things, people, which would never come back. No matter what. But after all, his love kept the promise of protection. And one of its actions was when Mrs. Cramwell came to help her that night and the very reason why she was sleeping in one of her house's rooms.

"Mama, are you sick again?" she heard Zach's voice.

Turning to him, she met her son's red eyes. The eyes that have all the memories, those all. "No, I'm very well. Thank you for asking." Then she reached and brushed back the black locks that tumbled over his forehead.

"Since Mama is feeling well, cherub please see the horse and give him his hay," Mrs. Cramwell asked Zach.

The child nodded and gave his mother a kiss before scampering out of the door. They waited until his footsteps were far then gone. The old woman held Mary's hand and sighed as she looked at her with blue knowing eyes.

"The same nightmare, wasn't it?" Mrs. Cramwell asked anxiously.

She nodded wearily. The expression she hid from her son, although she felt so vibrant every time she saw the healthy child.

"Well then I'll fix you the calming tea."

"Thank you for your kindness Mrs. Cramwell."