Winter Rose

XXVIII. Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

The basement was cold and wet, all stone floors and packed dirt walls. I took a long, deep breath and steadied myself. Clashes of thunder surrounded us on all sides. The wood in the walls of the house groaned with the force of the beating wind. Canned peaches and corn shook on their metal shelves on the opposite side of us, threatening to fall.

I'd be fooling myself if I said I was shocked it had come to this. The moment I realized who and what I was, I'd known I would be faced with the ultimate sacrifice. The time had come.

With a somewhat twisted sense of irony, it occurred to me that I could be both the hero and the villain of this story. My face halfway lit by the flashlight, I gave Sparky a lopsided grin at the thought of it—I mean, how many times does a person get to do that?

If a sparrow could look disgusted, he did at that moment. Your idiotic thoughts never cease to amaze me. He clucked his beak. Get serious. His dark eyes searched mine. I know you can sense when he's near. Where is he now?

Closing my eyes, I honed in on the evil essence that he carried with him at all times. Strange—the energy of the storm seemed to be messing with my senses. There was definitely something ominous lurking about in the darkness, but I couldn't say for certain it was him. The uncanny spirit connection I'd felt every other time wasn't there—or it was deliberately being masked.

In the corner, something sprang up and the flashlight whipped around wildly. Winter stood, her hair hanging in wet strands around her face. Her wide eyes casting a ghostly glow in the flashlight's beam.

"It was Sheldon!" She wailed out, her voice competing with the clashing outside. "He was there in the woods! He tried to kill me—he tried to kill Winnie. I'm sure he killed Dawson somehow. He's crazy! Insane!" Her eyes widened. "He's coming back here, I know it! He's not going to stop!"

Terrence's grip tightened on the gun, which was now pointed squarely at the basement stairs. Mr. Rose wrapped his arms around his daughter, his mouth moving. The words were lost in the storm.

Where is he? Sparky projected impatiently.

I—I don't know, I admitted, once again feeling useless. I can't tell.

Convenient. The little bird's thoughts were dripping with suspicion.

Then I heard it. A small noise in the raging storm. It was so quiet, there was no way I could have picked it out without the help of something—bigger. Maybe—just maybe—the Creator was lending us a hand.

My ears sprang forward and turned at the soft footsteps above us. As if realizing I'd heard them, they stopped abruptly.

I breathed in deeply and let out a shaky breath. Shit. I think he's here. Upstairs.

The little sparrow leapt up. What? Here? Now? How!? Sparky ruffled and shook his feathers out, pacing the length of my back. Does he have a weapon?

How the hell would I know that? It's not like I can see him.

If he has come here, we can bet he has a weapon, the sparrow reasoned, still pacing. Suddenly he stopped, mid-pace—frozen.

The storm seemed to be letting up outside, the thunder growing more and more distant. I looked over my shoulder at Sparky, questioning his sudden stillness.

His dark eyes were wide. We're sitting ducks. All of us here in the basement. Only one way out.

My chest tightened at the thought and I took a step back looking at the stairs. He's got something waiting for us when we come up. My heart knocked against my ribs. Some kind of trap. A fire? A gun? Something—."