April 20th, 2014
I got the text from Bronwyn before it got dark out to drive to her house.
I’d never been to Winter’s before—it felt like it didn’t exist, or that it was separate from our universe. I imagined it tucked away behind a blanket of trees, far from city life, where she could breathe.
I told my mother and father that I was headed to Andrew’s, and they seemed to buy it with an ignorant nod, telling me to be “back before midnight.” Hattie, however, stopped me in the foyer while I was tying my shoes.
She leaned against the front door, “Where’re you headed?”
“Andrew’s,” I lied, looking down to tie my shoes.
“Okay, but where are you really going?”
I dropped my laces, looking up at her in astonishment. How could she have known? “Just…Andrew’s,” I stammered.
“You’re an awful liar,” Hattie chuckled, falling to the floor beside me. Her bright eyes met mine, and she smiled, “Well, wherever you’re going, mind if I join?”
I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”
“So it’s not just Andrew’s,” she deduced smugly, crossing her arms.
I sigh, “Look, I don’t have time for this,” I told her, standing up, rummaging in my pockets for my keys before I made my way for the door. “I’m almost eighteen; I can do what I want.”
“But you’re not eighteen yet, and I’ll tell mom and dad,” Hattie said, stopping me abruptly in my tracks. I turned around to look at her—she smiled.
“I don’t want to give you an ultimatum, but I will,” Hattie said, standing back up. She put her hands on her hips, “I want to help you, Henry.”
I frowned, deep in thought. I scratched my head.
“Look,” she sighed. “I know this is about Winter. So, you’re probably off to do something stupid to find her, and I don’t want you to wind up in danger.”
I looked up at her—her eyes wide and determined, standing up straight, chin held high. She wasn’t going to move backwards unless I pushed her, and I was done with feeling angry. Instead, I sighed and opened the door, revealing the front lawn and my car, parked right ahead.
“Then come on.”
❄
I had to check the directions Bronwyn had sent me to see if I was at the correct house or not.
It turned out that I was, and that I simply had anticipated something a tad bit different. Winter’s house was a fair size, a townhouse styled home centered in the middle of a row on a main road. It was bright red with white trim, paneled with wood, with a pointed roof. I must’ve passed by it a thousand times and not ever noticed it.
I parked my car on the side of the road, and Hattie and I exited and paid the meter. We walked up to Winter’s home, my hands shaking. Hattie knocked for me.
Moments passed, and Bronwyn eventually came to the door, all smiles. Her bright hair was pulled back, and she wore all black, as she’d instructed. She held the door open for me, “You’re right on time,” she told me. Her eyes wandered to Hattie at my right, and she grinned wider, “This your sister?”
I nodded.
“Hattie,” she said, eyes wide, perhaps blown away by the resemblance between the two.
“Bronwyn—come in, both of you.”
I nodded at her, and carefully, I took my first steps in and looked around. It looked almost impossibly normal—the foyer was painted a warm beige color with pretty paintings and vintage decorations hanging from place to place; an antique clock, an old floral couch, a few paintings of vases and fruit—it looked like anyone else’s home, except that it wasn’t. It was Winter’s, but I was having a bit of trouble realizing that.
“I texted my friends the directions. We should have two others joining us,” I told her once I found my head again, trying to distract myself from the thought of Winter’s smell still lingering in the air.
Bronwyn smiled, “Well, that’s odd. Because there are three already waiting in the kitchen.”
My eyes widened, speechless. Bronwyn smiled and began to walk off, and I followed her like a lost puppy, curious. She took me to the kitchen, a spacious, old-style, white model where around the island sat three familiar faces.
Noelle, Andrew, and Tyrone looked up from their meals—macaroni and cheese—and smiled wide. Tyrone clapped his hands together, “Woo!” He hollered, “Let’s get this show moving.”
My mouth dropped, still stupefied as Andrew stood up from his chair and found his way at my side. Noelle joined him, and both put their hands on my shoulder.
“I think we should be able to find her—you know,” Andrew said slyly, “Between the six of us.”
“Thank you, guys—all of you,” I said shakily.
Tyrone stood from his meal, wiping his hands off on his jeans before he sauntered over to slap me affectionately on the back. “It’s cool, Henry. I know you’re a party animal, so this should be interesting,” he snorted.
I rolled my eyes and laughed, nodding my head in mock agreement. But before I could say anything else, I felt Bronwyn join us from the corner of the kitchen. She crossed her arms, smiling, a glint of mischief flickering in her dusty green eyes. “Okay—now let’s find my sister.”
❄
By the time we arrived at the Whittaker estate, night had started to fall.
The house was as enormous as I’d anticipated. Bronwyn knew the route from years passed, while I had never laid eyes on this part of town. It felt reserved, like only a certain breed of human could encroach upon the territory without feeling unwelcomed. Hunter was obviously of this variety and loved to make a show of it. On such a night, his houses was the brightest on the street. It had seemed that the party had already started without us; music could be heard from down the street, but I was sure the neighbors wouldn’t mind. They were probably all in attendance.
We drove in Bronwyn’s car, and we found ourselves rounding around the back until we could locate the caterer’s vans. Hattie had noticed them behind a locked gate, where we parked in the shadows. The six of us ducked behind a row of bushes, watching as the caterers flooded in and out of the house through the back door. They didn’t seem to be wearing any uniform, but rather were dressed in all black, just as Bronwyn had said.
“Wow,” Hattie sighed, relieved. “It’s a good thing I wore black today.”
Bronwyn nodded in agreement, but had little time to respond before she got back to business. “Okay, so the fence looks pretty secure,” she said, pointing towards the heavy locks hanging from the bars.
“Anyone have any ideas?” Andrew asked, shrugging his shoulders.
Suddenly grinning wide, Bronwyn pointed to a section of the fence in which the ground ducked a bit, allowing for a small space to crawl under. “Look, over there—we can work ourselves through there.”
“Uh-uh, no way,” Tyrone protested with an aggressive shake of his head. “There’s no way I’m fitting through that. Maybe you, Noelle, and the froshie over there, but Andrew, Henry and I have no chance—well, actually, maybe Henry.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
“No sweat, bro.”
“Okay, okay,” Bronwyn sighed, quickly trying to devise a separate solution.
Noelle peeked her head between the two, smiling, “I’ve got an idea!” She exploded, eyes wide. She looked up at Tyrone. “Ty, you’re nearly as tall as that fence. You’re definitely strong enough to lift the guys—minus Henry—over while we weasel through the bottom.”
“But what about after I lift Andrew?” Tyrone protested. “I’ll have no way of getting in!”
“Use your wits, Tyrone!” Andrew exclaimed. “You can—I don’t know—climb it, or something.”
He raised an accusatory brow, “Do I look like the fence-climbing type to you?”
“No,” Andrew huffed, “but I don’t really see any other way in, do you?”
“Hey—guys?”
We all turned our direction to the sound of Hattie’s voice, lingering from several feet away. She was already on the other side of the fence, holding the unlocked chain in her hands. She grinned, “We’re in.”
Everyone’s eyes went wide, and I found my mouth nearly dropping to the floor. We rushed over, and I nearly punctured a lung giving her a hug. “How did you do that?!” I exclaimed, shocked.
She smirked, “I learned a few things through dating Jake,” she said, examining the lock with pride. “For example, I can become a very gifted felon—should the need arise, of course.”
“I won’t ask,” I told her, “but thank you all the same.”
Before I could give her another hug, I felt Andrew pulling on my arm, dragging us towards the van. “It’s open now and no one’s around!” He alerted us.
“Everyone grab a dish and go through that back door,” I instructed. And with that instruction, dutifully, everyone retrieved a covered platter from the back of the van as quickly as possible before heading towards the open entrance. Ducking our way through the rest of the caterers, we went unnoticed as we blended into the rest of the party guests.
Immediately upon entering, I found myself struck by the pounding sound of music in my ears. It felt like a heartbeat of its own, but after a few seconds, it seemed to dull to a slight throbbing. It was surely unlike any other party I’d attended at Andrew’s house or anyone else’s, but it was to be expected—Hunter was unlike anyone I’d ever met, after all.
The back door lead straight to what looked like the living room, where teenagers sat on lavished couches and danced to ten thousand dollar stereo systems. His house was breathtakingly modern, like it’d come straight from a catalog, and all the people inside it looked prepped and fresh out of the factory.
Caterers were dispersed among the crowd, and the six of us quickly took the lids off of our platters and turned to each other, preparing ourselves.
“Okay, everyone, we’re in,” Bronwyn said confidently.
Noelle narrowed her eyes, “That seemed…remarkably simple.”
Andrew shrugged, “I guess we got to send a letter to the Whittakers about upping their security.”
“Anyway,” Bronwyn sighed, steering us back on track. “We’ll each get thirty minutes at first—then we’ll meet back here. Hopefully, someone will have found her by then. If not, we’ll split up and try again.”
I nodded in agreement, “We won’t leave until we find her.”
“We’ll each get a different section of the house—Noelle and Andrew, you guys take this room; Hattie, you’ll stake out the den; Tyrone, you get the kitchen—”
Tyrone clenched his teeth and closed his eyes in excitement. “Sweet.”
“—I’ll get the dining room, and Henry, you’ll get the foyer.”
“Don’t worry, guys,” Tyrone said with a relaxed grin. “We got this. How hard can it be to find one tiny, curly blonde haired girl in all of this?”
❄
It turned out that finding one tiny, curly blonde haired girl would, in fact, be much more difficult than Tyrone had thought.
Over twenty minutes had passed where I stood in the foyer, offering pigs in a blanket to intoxicated seventeen-year-olds. They could have been my classmates, only they looked more well groomed and much, much more well-bred; still, when they drank, they stumbled and fell all the same.
I began to grow restless, constantly trying to peer over a sea of people in a hapless effort to find Winter, the girl who refused to be found. Was she even at the party? Perhaps Bronwyn’s predictions had been wrong, and she abandoned Hunter long ago. Or, perhaps she was right, and she was simply lost amongst a sea of souls. I hadn’t even seen Hunter yet; it seemed that everyone was getting lost in the crowd, regardless of how much they stood out.
Eventually, I felt someone tap on my shoulder. I turned around, hopeful, only to see that it was a stranger. She was about my age, clutching her stomach, most likely drunk. She looked at my half empty platter and asked me, “Hey, do you have cocktail shrimp? And like, that little dipping sauce? I could totally go for that right now.”
“Well, I don’t have any,” I informed her, watching her face go sour. I quickly remembered, however, the appetizer sitting in Bronwyn’s hands when she took the lid off her platter. “Although, I think there’s some in the dining room. I’ll go check.”
She thanked me and reverted to sitting down on the steps, her hand covering her mouth, queasy. I tried to squeeze my way through the crowd of people, headed towards what I could only assume was the dining area. An archway in the wall took me to where Bronwyn stood, in a wide spacious area with a window overlooking a cliff that led to miles and miles of forest in the distance. She stood impatiently as several people crowded around her, snatching appetizers off of her plate. Once she saw me, lingering in the entrance, her eyes went wide and she marched to me.
“Henry, what are you doing here? Did you see her?—”
"No—but some girl wanted some shrimp. I remembered that you had some, and I thought I’d—”
“—Henry, you have to remember, you’re not a real caterer. It’s sweet and everything, but you have to focus,” she reminded strictly.
“I am focused,” I insisted. “I’ve been focused, but there’s no sign of her.”
“It’s only been twenty-two minutes, Henry. Maybe one of the others have found her, and we just don’t know yet.”
“Yeah,” I sighed quietly. “Maybe…”
“Just go back to the foyer, and maybe she’ll show up.”
I nodded, knowing that she was right. “Yeah. I mean, I should probably bring some shrimp anyway…I mean, the girl was just sitting there on the stairs…”
And suddenly, I felt something hit me. The stairs.
Immediately, I turned to Bronwyn, realizing. “We don’t have anyone patrolling the upstairs, do we?”
“No…but, I don’t think the upstairs is really open to party guests, so I don’t know if she’d even be up there—”
“—But there is a chance?”
She chewed her lip curiously, deep in thought. She looked up at me, nodding. “There’s a chance—a small one, but there’s a chance.”
The moment she finished speaking, I put my tray down on the table and turned off, bolting back into the foyer. I heard Bronwyn yell something back at me, but I’d already made my way back towards the stairs, where the girl sat, leaning her head against the banister. She blinked at me, “Hey—did you get the shrimp?”
“It’s upstairs,” I fibbed.
“But…no one’s allowed upstairs. That’s like, the only rule at Hunter’s parties. Like, ever. Like one time, Marnie Johnson went upstairs, and Hunter, like, flipped, and he—”
“—Well, he authorized the caterers to go upstairs, so don’t worry,” I lied, shrugging.
She looked up at me, gray eyes glassy and dazed. She yawned, “Say, do you have any chicken wings up there too?”
“I’ll go check,” I said, quickly leaving to run up the stairs, hopeful to be discreet. Once I found myself on the second floor, it was almost a maze. There was a long hallway, leading down to many different sections of the house, but I figured that I should start by surveying the closed doors.
I began to walk down the hall as quietly as I could manage. As I walked further down, I saw a childishly decorated sign hanging on one of the doors reading: “Nick.” Probably a younger brother, I figured. I kept walking down the hallway, and with every step, my heart beat a little faster and my palms grew a little sweatier. My eyes darted back and forth, wondering if at any moment, someone would stumble out of one of the rooms and throw me out.
At the end of the hallway—the very last door—I noticed a door with a soccer decal stuck to the front. I could only imagine one thing lying on the other side. Suddenly, I felt my blood pump through my veins like a metronome, growing louder and louder inside my ears. Breathless, my hand began to gravitate towards the doorknob, twisting it slightly before I could manage the smallest of pushes to see it open.
The lights were off—no one was inside.
Immediately, I could feel myself breathe again. But curiosity overcame me, and with hesitation, I flicked the lights on and closed the door behind me. It was, surprisingly, a fairly average room. The walls were painted blue, covered with posters of unfamiliar bands and soccer players. Sports paraphernalia was scattered across the carpet, as well as food wrappers and clothing. His school uniform was laid out across his bed, and laying framed on his nightstand was the photo I found online of him and his soccer team, all smiles and inflated egos.
It was then that I began to feel nauseous again—I had no real reason to be here other than my own curiosity. I should have left, made a run for it, regrouped with the rest of them…
But suddenly, a voice rang out, louder and closer even than the music.
“I am so sick of your complaining all the time—you know that, Winter?”
Winter. Winter. Winter. Her name sounded a million miles away; coming from traitorous lips, it sounded almost foreign. But the voice was coming closer, and immediately I shut the lights and opened the doors of his closet, hiding inside, between rows and rows of ironed dress shirts and prep school slacks. Blood pounded against my head like a hammer, and my whole body grew hot to the touch. I would have fainted if it weren’t for the thought that she really was here—and that she was safe.
Through the slits of the door, I watched the door slam open, the room fill with light again. The voice belonged to Hunter, and I watched him storm in, falling back on his bed. He looked taller and bulkier than I remembered, and up close, he looked much less approachable. His face was set in a scowl, and when he spoke, it came from a place in the back of his throat.
“You should be grateful that I’m letting you stay here,” Hunter shouted again, loud enough that everyone could hear.
“I am grateful, Hunt, but I could just deal without the noise,” a familiar voice lamented. In the doorway, dressed in an oversized shirt that read in bold “ST. SEBASTIAN’S” and night shorts stood Winter, as she always was.
I felt my knees grow weak, and I wanted to instantly bolt out of the room, grab her hand, and never look back. But I knew quite well that in reality, Hunter would never let such a thing happen.
Hunter sighed, sitting back up and opening his arms, “Come here,” he said.
Winter frowned, “Hunter, no.”
“Come here,” he said again, his voice growing louder.
Clenching her teeth, she did as he said, crossing the room to sit beside him. He placed a sloppy kiss on her, and she quickly pulled away, reeling.
“You’re drunk,” she insisted.
“No I’m not,” he said, trying to pull her in closer again. My hand tightened on the doorknob, ready to bust out at any moment.
Winter frowned, pushing him off of her in a burst of anger. He stared at her, shocked, and she stood up, “I h-have to go to the bathroom,” she stammered, eyes wide with amazement as well.
Hunter grunted and laid back down, “Whatever. But come back when you’re done.”
She crossed her arms, hugging her frame as she walked out the door again, shutting the door closed behind her. I watched her as she left, feeling the last ounce of hope trickle out of me. Instinctively, I cursed under my breath—and immediately shut my mouth. But it was too late, because Hunter had already noticed. He stood up, eyes wide as he turned around, eyes facing the closet.
“Who’s there?” He demanded.
I felt my heart beat nearly through my chest, my mind screaming, hoping, praying for a way out of this. But he’d already begun to walk closer and closer to the closet, and before I could even notice, he’d ripped the doors open and grabbed me by the collar of my shirt.
“Who the fuck are you?” He snapped, gritting his teeth. He looked up and down at my outfit in shock, “Are you the caterer?”
“N-No, not really…”
“You’re a party crasher then, huh?” He hissed in speculation. “Then you don’t know that my room is off limits?”
I shook my head, “Look, I’m sorry, I was just—”
“—Just what? Snooping around in my room?”
“No, I was—”
“—You’re lucky I don’t knock your fucking teeth out,” he snapped angrily, his fist tightening around my collar.
Something then, at that moment, seemed to set me off like a spark plug. I looked up at him, eyes narrowed as I looked directly at the face I’d been dreading for the past year. I was right there—right in front of him. I could say anything, do anything, accuse him of anything, and I’d never get the chance again—even if he knocked my teeth out.
Suddenly, a burst of confidence surged through my nervous veins and I grimaced at him. “Why don’t you, then?” I spat. “Beat me up? Have you ever beat up a guy before, or do you just stick to girls?”
His eyes widened, and then narrowed, all within that moment. “What are you getting at?”
“Go ahead. Throw the first punch,” I hissed. “Just envision my face as Winter’s. That should make things simpler for you.”
Unexpectedly, Hunter smirked, his blue eyes piercing. His voice was low and gravelly, “How do you know Winter?”
I cleared my throat, standing proud and tall. “She’s my best friend,” I told him.
He laughed.
He laughed so hard, he almost fell. He looked at me and shook his head, wiping fake tears from his eyes, “That’s a joke,” he told me, still laughing. “Winter doesn’t have friends.”
“She has me.”
“And who are you exactly?”
“My name is Henry Carson,” I told him, mouth dry and tongue heavy. “And I love her.”
“Well, Henry Carson, that’s a shame for you, then,” he said, his voice taunting. “Because Winter doesn’t love anybody.”
At the sound of those words, a trigger in my mind went off and Bronwyn’s airy voice rang through my head like a bell, echoing inside my brain like an old record.
Winter doesn’t love anybody.
Winter can’t love anybody.
. . .
Winter doesn’t love you.
I gritted my teeth together, taking a deep breath through my nostrils as I looked back up at him. “But I love her,” I told him, my voice shaking. I narrowed my eyes, almost spitting. “And you—you broke her.”
Hunter almost fell back with laughter again, shaking his head, holding his free hand over his stomach to keep it all inside.
“Oh, please,” he scoffed, condescending. His eyes looked black. “She was broken when I found her.”
And then, his fist met my cheek—and the world went black.
❄
My head was throbbing—when I tried to sit up, I was greeted by a thump of pain, pounding incessantly against the inside of my head. Through glassy vision, I saw flecks of white and the muffled sounds of screaming. Horrible, horrible screaming.
A girl’s voice. Then, a boy’s voice. They were both mad, but I couldn’t make out the words. A loud crashing noise.
My head fell back against the carpet. And suddenly, there was nothing at all.
❄
I had to get back up. I had to meet up with the others.
I had to get that girl her chicken wings.
❄
I faded back into consciousness briefly after—I couldn’t tell how soon it was; regardless, my head felt just as heavy and the bruise on my skin just as livid. My skin burned with all the sensation that Hunter’s knuckles had left me with, and I saw the world through stained glass.
There was more shouting, followed by a door, slammed. The lights shut off.
Crying.
❄
My head felt cushioned on something. Not pillows, but something soft. Something sturdy. Something brushed my hair back, wiping the sweat from my brow. I breathed in, cold air trapped inside my throat.
A sweet, familiar voice. Words that sounded like they’d come from underwater: “It’s going to be all right.”
A cool breeze against my face. Strands of hair, so close, they tickled my skin. Soft hands on the swelling bruise. Two, soft lips against my forehead. No air in my lungs, but it’s okay. It’s all okay.
--
EDIT: dedicated to beforewar for being so kind and such a sweet reader!