Holidays in Night Vale [Welcome to Night Vale]

Chapter Four

Cecil's POV

I follow the roads snaking around Night Vale, jogging a bit to stay warm. It isn't cold in perspective - it could be much colder, and the only reason it's so cool is because of the snow - but to us desert-dwellers, it's freezing.

As I'm heading to the site, my mind is racing, filling with ideas of who it could be and what happened. Chances are somebody was hurt somehow, and it is more than likely that it was a car accident, but it could have been a large bird or a giant squid that has happened to slip under our noses.

Every time a thought of Carlos comes up, I push it down, trying to drown that sort of negativity. I am faithful in him, and I want to believe that he is okay. I still cannot stop the feeling that something is amiss. This sort of feeling I can only get so strongly from Carlos, blossoming from the pit of my stomach and spreading through my veins, aching with each pounding, trembling step.

The streets seem to be never-ending, one turn after another. The mounting suspense makes my heart pound faster and faster and I try to mask it by jogging, running, sprinting. I am sure that I've passed some of these buildings before.

I round yet another corner and see smoke, slowing down and ultimately stopping to survey the situation. The overturned car on the side of the road is covered with a thin layer of snow and frost, but it is obviously a small, black car.

It looks familiar, and my heart sinks even further when I realize why - it's Carlos's car.

My head is spinning and I sway, nearly falling into the snow. I catch myself, stumbling forward, and shuffle over to the wreckage.

It feels like a dream, like I'm just having monstrous visions. I try to convince myself that it isn't real, it isn't real, but I can't.

The black vehicle is on its side. Most of the windows are cracked, a couple shattered. My vision is fuzzy and black dots dance in my sight, unconsciousness tugging at the edges of my mind.

By now, a small crowd of people has gathered around the crash site. Some are bundled, not an inch of skin showing, while others are wearing just coats and gloves, maybe a scarf. A choice few have on shorts and T-shirts, shivering visibly.

I gasp and make my way around the car, searching for Carlos. I look over and into the driver's side window - or what's left of the shattered pane - and see Carlos. He is slumped to the side with several small cuts on his face and wrists. His hair is ruffled and tangled, his eyes closed tightly. I look to his forehead, covered by black curls. It looks shiny and....

Red.

"Carlos!" I wail, wiggling the car door. It swings open with some effort and I clamber inside, legs flailing. My arms wrap around his shoulders and I tug at him, trying to lift him up and out of the wreckage. I expect him to move at least a little bit, but he doesn't budge. I'm afraid that he is stuck.

"Help!" I'm crying desperately, but none of the bystanders move. They watch on silently, tears welling in a few eyes. My tattoos, normally stationary, are glowing purple, flaring, and flailing around.

I am babbling uncontrollably, raging now and unleashing my fury on the car. I shake Carlos vigorously, trying to wake him up, but his head lulls to the side and his curls shake feebly.

Then I slump down, defeated. My heart is racing, threatening to pound its way out of my chest, and I place my head in my hands. His name is stuck on my lips, and I mumble it over and over again, hoping that it will do something, fix everything.

His name is what fixed me when he came here. When I first heard his name, I was in love instantly. Now he's dying, and we didn't even get to say goodbye to each other. He promised he would see me later.

That's a promise that I'll make sure he keeps.