First week of October, present day...
"Sorry, but we're really not interested." the girl snapped, she had her arm interlinked with her friend's, holding her cellphone like a cross. "What a freak..." she whispered under her breath.
"Jacoby said he'd be a little odd, but I had no idea he'd be a psycho... I'm so sorry Em-" the other girl's voice faded as they quickly walked out of the bar to their parked cars, the clicks from their stilettos echoing on the slick wet pavement, leaving Hemlock Godfree crowded with his thoughts. He rubbed his temples, his nerve endings on fire, and lit a cigarette trying to calm his shaky breath; thunder brewed on the distant horizon. His best friend, Jacoby Hawthorne, stared at him exasperated before calling after the girls, offering to call them a cab so they didn't need to drive. By the looks of it, they accepted and waited on the curb, their puffs of breath drifting off into the chilly night air. Hemlock turned his back and started walking home, not bothering to see if Jacoby noticed.
The sky was aglow with a fluorescent shade of peach from the city's luminous street lights. Scatters of cabin lights flickered in the darkness upon the ominous slopes that cradled the small town of Half Moon, Wyoming. The town, nestled in an alpine valley in the middle of the Wind River Range, was the only civilization within a 30-mile radius. Not far from town was a large lake- popular with kayakers and fishers alike, also called Half Moon because of its crescent-like shape.
Suddenly, indigo ethereal lights glittered and hummed along the skyline, shimmering from inside the clouds that descended from the heavens and came to settle above the city; in the distance, snow fell on the peaks above. Usually, only lights such as these would appear in the early hours before dawn, and many of the locals would discuss it over their morning pie and coffee, usually spiked with whiskey. But now, close to 2:00am, it was as if the gods had woven a blanket of cumulus to strangle the city, isolating it from the moon that was most likely now high in the sky. These unidentified lights were watching Half Moon with eyes that seemed to hush the town in fear. Then, like the crack of a whip, a single ear-piercing thunder roll shook the town, startling Hemlock from his trance. The swirling fog poured its guts out onto the sidewalks, rooftops, and on the heads of the wandering folks who had been walking home late that night.
His breath ceased as the azure glimmers passed overhead, caught in awe. Hemlock was still trying to clear his head from the night at the bars with Jacoby and his friends from college. He resumed his walk towards his apartment. No one else seemed to be noticing them; a woman working late at her small shop accidentally shoved her way past him fumbling with her umbrella and a large, overcompensating truck raced down the street rolling coal. Hemlock stared in a daze at the flickering lights that soon disappeared behind the clouds. He flicked his now-soaked cigarette into the gutter and glanced back once, just in case he would catch another glimpse of the lights. Cursing under his breath, he slugged on his coat. Hemlock's shaggy charcoal hair was soon dripping, giving off the look of slick raven feathers; his bangs fell in front of his face. Scowling, he swore he saw a snowflake or two mixed with the freezing rain.
Only in Wyoming would it be frosty in the morning, a heat wave in the afternoon, and then rain at night, he thought, ducking under the cover of a closed Western attire store's doorway. Shaking his head from side to side, the water droplets from his hair landed on the nape of his neck and dripped from his cold nose. His breath huffed through the air in little clouds. Biting his lip, he tugged on the edge of his dark gray shirt, trying to dry his hands. Hemlock's black jeans were slightly bagged from the rain. Peering around the block, he wondered how many people were caught in this mid-night rain. Images of the evening flurried back into his mind and he felt his face redden in the cold. I just wanted to try dating again.... He shook his head once more, trying to erase the embarrassing thoughts of the evening, as well as releasing a new wave of water droplets that were turning his tips to icicles. He rummaged through his coat pockets for his wool beanie but came up empty handed. The sidewalk looked like a mirror of the sky; a quivering pool of reflections as rain constantly hit it. The arid, crisp smells of Half Moon filled his nostrils; crushed sagebrush, diesel smoke, wood burning fireplaces, and autumnal wet aspen leaves.
He had seen things tonight. Again. And it had gotten worse. He was what Angrim, his older brother, would call a bad "Sixth Sense" remake. Lifting the collar of his hoodless coat, he ran out into the rain again, taking large strides in the direction of his apartment. The sound of huge droplets hitting the hard nylon of his coat's outer shell gave him a slight sense of ease, at least. It was relaxing to hear the sound of rain upon his clothes, the old brick street, and the gushes of water spewing from the gutters. He slowed his jog to a brisk walk, trying to unwind and enjoy the empty street around him. Downtown Half Moon was basically a tourist draw, except for the few dive bars and tacky gift shops scattered around its lonely blocks. It was filled with bougie coffee shops, steak houses, gun stores, and the rest were shops featuring Western attire and cowboy "authenticity" that made Hemlock want to gag. Even though he could feel the uncomfortable friction of wet clothing against his skin, he continued to take in the cloudy ginger sky as he walked. The rain was getting colder by the minute and the electricity in the atmosphere gave him shivers. The distant thunder, flashes of lightning, and flurries of snow that came rolling down the mountain tops told him that the storm would only worsen as the night went on.
He climbed the steps of his apartment building, which at one point had been a hotel in the 1800s. He quickly fumbled in his wet pockets for his keys, making sure he hadn't misplaced them somehow. Pushing against the heavy wooden and steel door, he entered the quiet lobby of the apartment building. Hemlock shook his head; sending water everywhere and lept towards the tiny wooden stairwell towards the 5th floor. The fluorescent light at the top of the staircase flickered, hungry for a new bulb, sending shadows that looked like splintered fingers down towards the lobby. He felt, with each ascent, his knees starting to slow, as if his instincts were resisting him from reaching the top. My anxiety is bad tonight... I need sleep. When he got to the 3rd flight of stairs, he rested one hand against the wall and rubbed his neck with the other, trying to get his tense muscles to relax. All he wanted was a boiling hot shower, some dry clean clothes, and his bed.
A shiver ran up his bones and he could feel his hairs start to bristle, a sensation that was all too familiar. Something caught his eye. Not too far behind him, a dark figure in his peripherals was also ascending the stairs. He slammed his fist against the wall, making the shadow dissipate. Turning left, he went down the narrow hallway to number 309. Turning the key, Hemlock opened the door and entered the pitch black flat. He reached over and flicked on the light switch, letting the golden ceiling lamp reveal his and Jacoby's apartment. Hemlock felt a twinge of guilt, wondering if he should have waited for Jacoby to accompany him home.
Despite the building's historic exterior, the apartment had been recently renovated. It had dark wooden floors, and creamy white walls with little holes in them here and there. The ceiling was decorated in late Victorian medallions that had been covered over in layers of paint. The living room area was small but had inviting yellow glass windows and a sliding door that led to a tiny balcony. Against the left wall of the apartment was a couch with a pullout bed. Underneath the comic book covered coffee table was a thrifted Persian rug, and on the walls were posters of his favorite horror movies, framed newspaper cutouts of paranormal stories, and signed concert posters. Down the hall was the only bedroom, which Hemlock happily gave Jacoby when they moved in together. Jacoby was a digital editor for a lot of things really, but he needed a private room for his virtual meetings and computer setup... he was also an avid video gamer, keeping him up at all hours of the night. But Hemlock was fine with sleeping on the pullout couch, using the hallway closet as his wardrobe.
Hemlock took off his coat, now extra heavy with moisture from the storm, and threw it on the radiator by the door. He lowered the needle on his vinyl player, which started playing Jethro Tull. Opening the balcony, he was greeted by a breeze that smelled like wet pine needles. He left the sliding doors slightly open, letting the cold mountain air into the stale apartment. Slowly making his way through the living room, he unbuckled his pants. Entering his small kitchen, he threw the soggy denim pants into the washing machine beside the dishwasher and took off his shirt; the wet cotton combined with the apartment's frozen air made it seem like he was peeling ice from his skin. He walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Grabbing his bottle of stabilizers, he took his dose of medication. As the steam welled up in clouds against the sink mirror Hemlock climbed in limb-by-limb. Closing his dark blue eyes, he let the hot water roll over his knotted shoulders and down his spine, the smell of black pepper enriched body soap allowed his muscles to ease up. The tattoos that covered his pale arms seemed to brighten as the steaming water brought more circulation to his frigid skin. His mind escaped into a daydream trance, trying to find peace. But in his gut, he knew it would never come.
<*>
A single drop of liquid slid down the side of Hemlock's face... was it blood? Sweat? Tears? At this point he didn't care; all he could feel was a sudden fear of the unknown. Sprawled out before him was an abyss of blackness. Multicolored stars and nebulae slowly came into focus, surrounding him and clouding his vision. He was scared stiff... but of what? Wiping his forehead, he looked down at the liquid coming from his head and gasped. It was blood. Behind him stood the shadow of a person, a scythe in its hands and fresh blood dripped from its blade. He tried to cry out for help, but a scabbed hand came out of the black mass's robes and covered his mouth. The gray skin burned against Hemlock's pink flesh, the hand was blistering cold.
"Child of shadow, you are my kin... Don't ignore my plea, let me guide thy path." The dark angel spoke, its velvet voice as smooth as dark chocolate and just as bitter, a voice that was both gentle and poisonous.
"I... I won't go with you again..." Hemlock pleaded. He tore the skeleton's clawed hand away from him. He fell to the ground, becoming faint with the loss of blood. But where was the wound? He could feel no source of pain.
"Another will come for you... Death always finds a way. It is one of us and one of you. It is one of the nether and one of the earth. A prisoner against its will." It scorned, happy that Hemlock was beginning to weaken. The being tossed him its weapon, the weight seemed to crush Hemlock against the starry floor of the cosmos, making him unable to move. The demon leaned over him, its face almost touching his. He could feel the darkness' icy breath upon his face, like the wind from a tundra. It studied Hemlock, staring into his sapphire eyes. With a growl it grabbed its scythe and flew off, leaving a trail of burning black feathers behind it.
Hemlock tried to stand up, but a pressure behind his eyes made him fall over again. He cried out for help, his voice echoing off invisible walls. Suddenly it hit him, the feeling of a deteriorating fall; down, down from the star streaked outer space, the sickening stomach pull of a roller coaster dive, the tearing apart of flesh and nerves, and the ear-splitting sound of a woman screaming in the distance.
Hemlock was jolted awake by the sound of his phone buzzing off the nightstand and colliding with the wooden floor. Being awakened so quickly from his dream, he felt disoriented and dizzy. He groaned and bent down over the bed to grab his phone, the golden sunlight spewed past the curtains and shined onto his face, blinding him momentarily. He picked up his phone and noticed with horror that it was 8:15am. His cell had been going off for almost an hour! And the worst part was that his work had started at 8:00am.
Hollering in frustration, Hemlock jumped out of bed and ran towards the closet. Throwing on the first pair of jeans he could grab, he didn't even bother to change out of last night's tank top. He slipped on his black hiking boots, tossed on a dark flannel shirt, and threw a hand through his black tangled mop. Grabbing what he needed, Hemlock scurried out the door, letting its slam echo down the hallway behind him; he hoped that he hadn't woken Jacoby. But he didn't even hear if Jacoby had gotten home last night. He flew down the stairs at double time. Now would be a decent time to own a car. His brother Ange, had two; a leisurely town car and an off roading Jeep, but then again, he also had a full-time job, and he needed them more than Hemlock did. He thought about calling Ange, but that would take too much time... Good thing this job was only about 20 minutes away on foot. Exiting the building from the front doors, Hemlock was greeted by a blast of heat from the morning sun, yet the wind off the mountains was crisp and smelled of thawed frost on aspen leaves.
He picked up speed as he hit the red brick sidewalk. He was worried that people would wonder why he was running like a maniac through downtown, but Hemlock didn't care enough to slow down, he only sped up even more. He couldn't afford to lose this job; he needed as much money as possible. The people around him made way, and he could tell by the look on some that they were resisting the urge to stick out their foot and trip him, but the expression on Hemlock's face made them instantly reconsider; frustration and panic.
Turning the corner too sharply he almost sideswiped a suited man with a cowboy hat talking frantically into his cellphone. The man flipped Hemlock off and continued to curse into his phone. Usually Hemlock would apologize profusely, but he just didn't have time or patience to banter with an angry cowboy. Running alongside the county highway that cut the town in half, he almost got taken out by a white minivan when crossing the two lanes. Sprinting across the parking lot he arrived at the front door of his work, The Gannett Peak Outfitters Co.
"Heya. Sorry, I'm late," Hemlock shouted breathlessly, walking through the front door, grabbing his hunter green work apron from the hook and tying it around his waist. His boss, Mr. Guernsey, was waiting at the front desk, his fingers rapidly tapping the tile counter.
"No excuses, Godfree. You're lucky that we aren't busy this morning." Guernsey said, and tossed him an inventory clipboard.
"Like that would ever happen..." He hissed quietly. Guernsey glanced at him as he walked around to the back counter to clock in. The Gannett Peak Outfitters, specializing in clothes, guns, tents, shoes, books, and other recreational accessories. Their clientele was on all ends of the outdoors crowd; rednecks and hunters, granola lovers and hikers. The smell of leather and polish filled the store's overly heated air, mixed with the scent of lumber and burnt coffee. Dusty, matted, and badly made taxidermy covered the walls; a couple of mule deer, a ton of ducks, and a black bear.
"I overslept." Hemlock said apologetically, but Mr. Guernsey held up a hand, not willing to hear more.
"I know, I assumed so. You're usually on time!" In a way, it was a relief to hear this from him. Hemlock didn't want to explain what actually happened last night.
Hemlock yawned loudly, pouring himself a cup of the burnt, lava-hot coffee from the kiosk. He turned to stare at Guernsey, sipping his coffee, and almost regurgitated. Yep, it was definitely from yesterday. Mr. Guernsey had been a friend of the family since Hemlock could remember. Guernsey and his father went to high school together, taking Ange on numerous hunting trips when they were younger, but Hemlock had never wanted to go... he had a strange fear of guns. When Ange and Hemlock's father passed, Guernsey was one of the few to take them in as kids and give them a place to stay when their own family hadn't even attended the funeral. Ever since, he had been a constant help in their life, and when Hemlock needed a job after he dropped out of college, it was Guernsey who gave him one without question. He was a gruff, sarcastic old man, but Hemlock knew he had a soft spot for him and his brother.
"Oh yeah, we're out of coffee. I didn't order it because you forgot to remind me. That's still leftover from Thursday." And with that, he dismissed Hemlock with a wave of his hand. Hemlock gaped at him and tried not to recoil away from the coffee pot; he didn't want to give Guernsey the satisfaction of knowing how disgusting that sip had been. He rolled up his sleeves, letting his tattoos peek out from underneath his dark flannel and began his to-do list.
Not many people came in, and those who did just wanted to "look around", most asked if they had a shooting range, which they did not, and the others used the public restroom. The events of the day were monotonous; alphabetizing the numerous Books for Idiots, refilling the miniature complimentary popcorn stand, and taking obnoxiously long smoke breaks in the alleyway behind the shop. After being jabbed in the neck by a box of Halloween decorations that had fallen on top of him in storage, he decided to let Casey, the evening shift, take over the decor. When 3:00pm rolled around, he noticed that his shift was almost over. Thank God. Hemlock's stomach rumbled hungrily; Mr. Guernsey hadn't given him his lunch break because he had come in late, but that was fair because the store was understaffed.
Hemlock sat down in the astronomy section of the store, surrounding himself with the various telescopes and posters of constellations, supernovae, and galaxies. Staring off into a picture of Andromeda, Hemlock recalled the dream he had last night. The dark being still haunted him, the sting of its icy breath, the burn of its hand on his mouth, and the hot blood that had trickled down from his forehead. He shook his head, awakening himself from the daze, only to feel warm liquid drip down the back of his neck, soaking into his hair. Hemlock reached and withdrew his hand to see red droplets trailing down his fingertips... blood. He could feel sweat spreading across his forehead, the room starting to swing.
"Hemlock!" a familiar voice hollered. He looked up in terror but was welcomed by the golden stubble face of his brother Angrim, 'Ange' as everyone called him, because their father had decided to call him a completely ridiculous name from their family heritage. It had been a struggle in school, because both he and Ange were bullied for their oddball names.
Ange approached with a look of horror on his face; this made Hemlock panic. He glanced back down at his fingers only to discover that they were clean. No trace of blood at all. Ange stood before Hemlock, dressed in a red hoodie and dark blue jeans; scuffed brown cowboy boots adorned his feet. He had his shoulder length ash blonde hair tucked behind his ears.
"Is that a hickey?" Ange asked, appalled, grabbing at Hemlock's neck. "Where in the hell'd you get that from?" he demanded. He stared at Ange, speechless and confused about what had just happened. Where was the blood?
"No, it's just a bruise!" Hemlock dodged Ange's reaching fingers. "But I guess it does sort of look like one. Why'd you say that?"
Ange smirked. "Jacoby texted me. He said you two had gone out? Aw, how come I wasn't invited?"
"We just met up with two of his old college friends. He had hoped I might click with one of them, and said that I needed to start dating again," Hemlock said, rubbing the dark spot on the side of his neck, fidgeting just slightly to check his fingers for any dark red liquid. Damn Halloween decorations.
Ange leaned against a telescope, playing with its lens. "Look at you! It's been what... like 5 years since your last date?" he asked and nodded happily at Hemlock. "Finally!" he shouted to the ceiling. A lady in one aisle glared at him and then walked away, dropping the wool socks she was admiring back into the sales bin. Ange turned crimson. "Sorry, ma'am."
Hemlock sniggered and stood up, pushing past his brother. "You're embarrassing. Plus I haven't been counting the days. I don't keep track, unlike you." Even though Ange and Hemlock were brothers, they didn't appear to be at all related. Ange was a couple of years older than Hemlock, and he was all Hemlock had left of their family. But Hemlock knew that Ange wasn't one for showing his emotions; Ange would become stoic and cold when the topic of 'family' was brought up.
"Can we not talk about this right now? And it didn't exactly... end as planned," Hemlock hissed, eyeing Mr. Guernsey, who was busy watching the TV that hung above the refreshment kiosk.
"What?" Ange dramatically exclaimed and followed Hemlock as he scooted his way out of the astronomy section, trying to dodge his teasing brother. "The infamous heartthrob didn't get lucky? How can that be?" His voice dripped with sarcasm. Hemlock had never been good at putting words together, especially in front of people he liked; he couldn't flirt, and he had never been interested in many people growing up... in fact, he wasn't interested in people, period. It had been forever since he connected with anyone on a personal level, let alone an intimate one. Last night had been a catastrophe, something Hemlock didn't want to talk about... especially not at work.
"I get off at 5pm. After that we should go get some food. I'll call Jacoby, he'll be pissed if he isn't there." Hemlock said, walking to the front of the store to ring up an old lady who carried a box of overly shiny leather clogs in her small hands.
"Fine...." Ange huffed. "I'll be next door in the coffee shop. Some people don't work on Saturdays," he added, and then he tapped his wristwatch. "Only two hours to go!"