He Followed Me Home

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen 

Wyatt lay on the grass covered hill and stared up at the late summer sun. The breeze was blowing through the long grasses and the surrounding trees. If he closed his eyes and thought hard enough he could faintly remember what the heat of the sun felt like. He could faintly recall the feel of the wind against his skin.

But he didn't dare close his eyes because every time he dared to all he could see was Francine. Six long days it had been since he'd seen her. Six long days since he had held her in his arms and felt her body against him. When he closed his eyes he would see her soft lips, her pale skin, her freckles, her wide brown eyes. He would see the crinkles around her nose when she smiled and the way she rolled her eyes whenever anything irritated or annoyed her.

He would hear her sweet, soft voice telling him she loved him or scolding him over one thing or another. God, how he missed her. Nothing held any meaning for him anymore. Not without Francine.

After leaving her he had transported himself back to the only other place he knew; Vicksburg. He had tried to fall back into his old routine of terrorizing the tourists and guides but now instead of finding it funny when no one could see him and would run off scared, he just found it depressing. He had liked being seen. He had also liked not being seen by Janice and having her not be afraid of him. He missed their back and forth banter, his written and hers verbal.

He heard a bus pull up to the visitor center and he quickly rose to his feet. The sound of children talking excitedly came to his ears and the faintest of smiles came to his face. Maybe being around some kids was just what he needed. They'd always been able to make him smile before.

He walked down the hill and saw the children all lining up beside their yellow bus as one of the guides walked out to meet them. The kids appeared to be around ten years old. Probably another group of fourth or fifth graders. Their excitement was thick in the air and Wyatt knew it was probably because today there were a bunch of men dressed up in uniform. Wyatt had wondered what they were doing since it wasn't the time of year for a reenactment but apparently they were here to entertain the children and give them a view of what soldiers looked like during the war.

Wyatt followed the children, their teacher, chaperones and guide around the park. When they stepped into the barracks, Wyatt sat down on his bed and watched them as they listened to the guide speak. Wyatt didn't listen to the guides words, instead he focused on the kids. There was one little girl there that made his heart hurt.

She had dark curls, brown eyes and freckles. She looked so much like Francine had looked when she had first come to his park that he had done a double take when he had first seen her. He craved some form of contact with someone. He stared straight at the little girl as she listened to her teacher and slowly her head turned toward him. Wyatt felt his heart jump and then she continued turning her head and he realized she was just turning to look out the window at a 'soldier' that was walking by.

Wyatt roared with a mixture of pain, sadness, rage, frustration and loneliness. He grabbed a ceramic lamp off of one of the tables and threw it with all his might. It shattered against the far wall and everyone in the tiny barracks screamed and ran out the door, leaving him alone.

Wyatt could hear the guide trying to calm the frightened children. He didn't feel any guilt for scaring them all. They needed to stay out of his home. He curled up on the bed and hugged his pillow close, imagining that he could smell the scent of cinnamon spice on the fabric.

***

Several hours later yet another bus pulled up outside. Wyatt rose from the bed, angered that even more people were going to be here. The reenactment soldiers were pissing him off. How dare those fakes and frauds pretend and act as if they had any idea what being a civil war soldier was like! They hadn't walked hundreds of miles in the freezing cold with holes in their boots, just to get in a bloody battle and watch their friends fall, knowing they would never get back up. They hadn't heard the pain filled screams of men as doctors were forced to strap them down and saw off their arms and legs. What did these soft men know about the hardships that had been faced?