Winter Rose

IX. Dear Winter

Her whole body tensed with the prickling feeling that someone was watching her. She was sitting next to her father on the bench in the refuge, playing with the puppies, when the feeling came cascading over her.

As if pulled by some evil-laced magnetic force, she turned her head slowly to wooden framed window, half knowing what she would find there.

The silhouette of a man stood outside the glass about twenty feet away with his legs shoulder width apart, a bat swinging slowly in his right hand. Even though she couldn't see his face, she sensed a smile form on it, as he noticed her stare. Frozen in fear, she found herself unable to look away.

She closed her eyes...

Suddenly she was outside, walking with Barnabas to the animal refuge. Except this time, there were no lights to guide her down the gravel path. Darkness clung around her like thick black slime, oozing into all the empty crevices until there was nothing left but pure, utter blackness.

She fumbled in the dark calling for Barnabas, but he had already disappeared. She stumbled blindly, her hands reaching in front of her, trying to grasp onto something solid to guide her. Her hands landed on something soft—fur. Clammy and cold. She ripped her hand away. Wet. The metallic smell of blood filled her nostrils and she knew instantly it was the dead body of Barnabas. She fell to her knees and tried to scream. Her mouth opened wide, but nothing came out.

A flash from her right side, and the shadow man appeared. His bat was in the air—swinging down towards her head...

Winter shot up out of her covers, gasping for air. Relief flooded her senses as she realized it was just a dream. She was safe in her room. Trembling, her dark hair hanging wildly over her face, she put a hand to her chest, trying to catch her breath. Out of instinct, she reached her other hand down to stroke Barnabas's head. There was nothing but emptiness. She pulled away, a sharp pain forming in her chest. 

Barnabas, her brave, old guardian had watched over her until the very end, and she'd repaid him by running away and locking herself in the house—leaving him to die alone. Hot tears flooded down her cheeks and her throat tightened as she fought to control the tears.

Her insides burned with hatred towards the evil shadow who'd taken Barnabas from her and made her terrified to live in her own home. Her entire life, she'd never harbored so much hate. Not all of it was directed towards the mysterious murderer. Some of it was for herself. Her hands twisted the sheet until her fingers cramped and burned. She wanted to scream, but her father and brother were sure to come running in a panic if she did.

It had been a month since Barnabas was killed. José had completely disappeared, no one could find him. His family swore they had no idea where he was. A few days after Barnabas's death, Jose's mother filed a missing persons report. She'd insisted he would never run off on his own.

Winter had never liked José. The first time they'd met at the refuge, he'd sauntered in with his shirt off, his dark eyes trespassing over her body, and she'd felt an instant repulsion. She'd smiled out of politeness, but her irritation had only increased when he'd started talking about Sheldon, who was supposed to be his best friend. He'd told her that Sheldon was a lazy drunk, who still blamed all his issues on his messed up childhood.  Although it wasn't his intention, his nasty remarks had sparked Winter to offer Sheldon a place to stay. Instead of leading her away, he'd drawn her right to Sheldon. 

Jose was a jerk, but she'd never felt he was dangerous. It was hard to believe he'd brutally murder Barnabas, or try to hurt her. He didn't have anything against her or Barnabas, at least as far as she knew.

Desperate to silence her overworked mind, Winter decided to start the day early.  She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet coming to rest on the ground where Barnabas used to lay. Determined not to cry, she pushed it out of her mind. Her frilly pink nightgown was bunched around her thighs. Pulling it down, she headed towards her dresser for a change of clothes.