𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄
—𝚗𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟸—
𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓, 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐃𝐘 didn't wake up. The boy who sat next to her, staring at his fingertips, was slightly worried that he had killed her from the forceful blow. He didn't mean for her to hit her head, but he also didn't expect for her to be accompanied. But, to his disapproval, he had the other girl to take care of.
He planned on leaving the other behind— Alana, he believed was her name. After years, he hadn't noticed her going to the library. He had planned for only Melody to be there, searching for the answers she wanted. He wasn't supposed to knock her backwards, but it was the only thing he could think of in that short moment.
Melody didn't wake up in the night, and neither did Alana. But he had already given Alana sleeping pills; some that could keep her asleep until he could solve his problems. In this case, it could be days before she woke up.
Melody stirred in her sleep— or what the boy had brushed it off as. He watched her shift, before groaning, and murdering something under her breath. He smiled lightly, amused by the things she did. It had been a full night since she was due to be home, yet she hadn't arrived yet.
The boy was surprised that her parents hadn't come looking for her yet. But at the same time, he wasn't. They couldn't get to her, from the blizzard that had crushed the townspeople in their houses. Luckily, he had thought about that before he arrived at the library. A distraction— something that could get him extra time.
As he planned, the blizzard would last for days, piling the thick snow up the doors and windows, and locking the people in. Likely for him, it would be an average occurrence, and no one would think twice about it.
And as for Melody's parents, the boy knew that they would think she camped out at the library with Alana, or at her close friend's house. They wouldn't be worried at all, because they knew their daughter was reliable, and the most responsible teenager in Westbrooke.
Melody moved again, but this time, her eyelashes fluttered, and her eyes began to open. The boy held his breath, watching as she took in her surroundings.
Melody sits up slowly, pushing herself up my her hands. Confused, her eyes met those of the boy. She didn't dare question his presence, though, as she swiftly ran a shaky hand down her face.
"What happened?" She asks, glancing at the doorway that stands feet away from them. She looks back to the boy expectantly, waiting for an answer.
"That's a long story," he spoke clearly, something sparking in his blue eyes.
"And your name?" Melody cocks her head. "I don't remember there being a boy here. Well, from what I can remember, anyway."
"That's a long story, too," the boy hesitates, removing some hair from his face with his fingertips, "but you can call me Mason."
"Mason?" She raises an eyebrow. "I feel like I've heard that name before . . . a last name, maybe?"
"Maybe," the boy shrugged, pushing himself to his feet.
Outside, a small bird began to tap repetitively on the door. Melody caught a glimpse of it through the window, fascinated as she had never saw one before. But why would a bird be here, in a snowy town, when it should be in a warmer state?
Mason opened the door, looking sternly at the white bird. It stood out in the dull library. And, as Melody noticed, the bird looked like Mason. As its wings led on, a light blue began to tint its feathers, much like the color of its eyes.
"Its . . . a bird," Melody chuckles, standing, before walking over to where it perched on Alana's desk. "I didn't know they could survive in the cold."
"Yeah, well, this one is different," Mason rubbed the back of his neck.
The bird looked towards Melody, before chirping loudly. She giggles, before reaching her hand out to touch it. Mason shut the library door, before turning his attention back to the bird and Melody.
The small bird landed on her wrist, smiling in only a way she could guess.
"Is this your pet?" Melody asks, petting it softly on the head.
"I guess you could say that," Mason replies, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"What's his name?"
"Jude," Mason replies, eyeing the bird. "He's a handful."
"But a beauty, he is," she spoke again, more gently than before. "I never thought a bird would ever come to a place like this. From what my friend has told me, I only ever believed that they flew south for the winter. But in this case, they always pass us up."
"He follows me," he states, admiring the girl from a distance. "I believed they stayed with the warmth, too. But Jude was always different, I guess."
Mason was intrigued by the girl, more so than he thought he ever could. She was beautiful, and interesting beyond compare. Her freckles and light blush brightened the room, as well as her perfect smile. He didn't want to think about these things, but his mind wandered on its own.
"He's adorable," Melody says, the smile kept on her face as she stroked the bird. Jude didn't seem to mind, as he happily chirped again.
Mason shook away his previous thoughts, glancing out of the library, and at the piling snow outside. "We need to leave."
Melody paused, turning to look at the boy. "What?"
"We have to go," Mason says, clearer this time. He pulls his jacket off, before tossing it to Melody. She catches it, staring at him in confusion.
"I don't understand," Melody trails off, not daring to slip her arms through the jacket. "Where are we supposed to be going?"
"My home," he replies simply. Letting a whistle slide through his teeth, Mason watches as Jude moves, flying to perch himself on Mason's shoulder.
"But why can't I go home?" Melody asks, pulling on the jacket this time. "Besides, there's too much snow to be out there. I'm sure we're caved in."
"Not yet," Mason pulls open the library door, shooting a glance towards the supply closet, of which a sleeping Alana laid. "We need to hurry, I have some things to do before the snow clears."
"You haven't answered my question," Melody frowns. "Why can't I go home?"
"Because I'm in charge here," Mason replies swiftly, taking his first steps outside, the snow bounding to his knees. "Come on."
But Melody stood still.
It was strange enough that she had woken up next to a stranger, then met his pet bird. But if she had any common sense, she new not to leave with one.
"I don't know you." She states. "I'm not leaving."
Mason turned with a sigh, staring at her with something she recognized as slight annoyance. Steadily, he walked to her, paused, then tossed her over his shoulder.
At first, Melody was shocked at how easily he had lifted her— as if she was a rag doll. Then she began to realize the situation.
"Put me down!" She yells, slamming her hands forcefully against his back. "Someone, help me!"
"No one can hear you," Mason rolls his eyes, only tightening his grip on the girl as she struggled. "Please don't make me knock you out again."
"No!" Melody griped, hitting him harder as blood began to rush to her head. "Let me go!"
"Only if you walk on your own, and promise not to run."
"No!"
"Okay," Mason shrugged, having no problems with hauling her small figure. As he looked to the Peak, he bit his lip. Was he doing the right thing?
Jude still sat, perched on Mason's shoulder— opposite to the one Melody was carried on. The rare bird only looked at her as she flailed around, struggling in Mason's strong hold.
"Why are you doing this?" She asks, allowing her arms to fall limply to the sides of her head. If she was going to be kidnapped, she at least wanted to know why.
"I've been working on something for a while, and I think that you could be the solution," Mason replies, keeping his treads paced as he marches the mountain.
"The solution to what?"
"You'll see."
Jude chirped again, before taking flight. Although Melody couldn't see him, she could imagine his bold blue wings in the air. Her struggling had finally stopped, as she had given up.
"Will I ever see my family again?" She questions softly, hoping that Mason could hear her. "My friends?"
Mason hesitated, but answered her, nonetheless.
"After all is done, that's your choice. I won't stop you. But first, I need your help."
"Okay," Melody agrees calmly, staring at the snow-covered mountains. "Why did you bring me to the Snow Peaks?"
"I live up here," Mason says flatly, seemingly not interested in a conversation anymore. "Of course no one knows that, though."
"Why don't you just move into town?" Melody presses as Mason finally allows her to stand on her own. She balances herself by grabbing his arm, but let's go as she steadies herself. "It's a lot less . . . lonely."
"It's prefer to be alone," Mason shrugs, trailing off.
The snow begins to deepen as the two keep walking. Mason doesn't seem phased by the harshness of the snow tugging at his blue snowshoes. Melody hassles through with deep clomps, her shoes filling with small clumps of snow that melted into her woolen socks. She glanced down at Mason's feet, surprised to see that once his foot was placed in the snow, his footprint turned to ice.
Curious, she turned her head to look at his recent footprints to see that they, too, had turned into pure ice, with the same detail as the bottom of his boots.
"Wait!" Melody holds out her hand to stop the boy, only to stare into his crisp blue eyes. "What's happening to your footprint? It's ice, Mason!"
"I know," He says in a bored tone. "What about it?"
"It's ice," Melody repeats herself, her tone clearer this time. "That's not normal."
"That's because I'm not normal." Mason states, slightly agitated by her tone. "I thought you'd figured that out by now. Hello— my hair is white as snow, my eyes are blue as the ocean, and I have an affect on the weather. Ring a bell?"
He turns away from the girl with an eye roll, before rubbing his arms in distress. Melody still stood behind him, confused.
"What gives you the impression that you can control the weather?" She questions.
"It's snowing, Melody," the boy informs, keeping his pace. "Why do you think there was a blizzard when we were at the library? If there weren't four feet of snow outside, do you think your parents would come looking for you?"
"Of course they would."
"And that's obvious," he pauses, looking at her again. "With the blizzard, they'd be forced to stay in their homes. That way, no one would notice you were gone; the exception being your parents. And do they trust you?"
"Well, yes."
"So it wouldn't be a problem if you were by yourself." He concludes. "Therefore, you would be able to help me without anyone worrying about your disappearance."
Melody breathes deeply, pulling her coat closer to her body. She takes one last glance at his footprints, before replaying his words over and over in her head.
"But . . . it's not possible," she murmers, her eyes finding those of Mason's. "You'd have to be . . . no, you're lying. You have to be."
"I wouldn't lie to you," Mason says, averting his gaze. "But Mason isn't my real name."
"Your hair, your eyes, you . . . it— that's not real, though." She stutters, running her chilled fingers through her hair. "It's just a story."
"Melody, my last name is Mason," he steps forward, catching her attention. "My mother is Miri Mason, and worked as a seamstress for the town tailor. My father left her before I was born."
Melody covers her ears with her hands, finally coming to realization. She didn't want to hear the lies that played at his lips. He couldn't be telling the truth. Could he?
Mason's ice-cold fingers touched hers, and he removed her hands from her ears. As Melody noticed, his hands were designed with swirls of blue- something of a tattoo.
"My touch is colder than ice, and my touch can freeze anyone and anything; except for the one person that was made to help me."
Melody cuts him off with a gasp of utter discontent, before finishing sentence for him.
"You aren't Mason at all . . . your name is Frost."
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