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He knew before he had even opened his eyes. The cold wind that caressed his skin brought with it all those fragrances, the ones which drew forward all of the memories which he had tried to bury deeper and deeper for each time that they reared their ugly heads. The smell of earth and mouldering leaves all came together, painting his surroundings before he had even opened his eyes. Keeping them closed was nothing but a childish attempt at denial. If he could not see it, it would not exist for but a few more seconds.
But there was no point in prolonging his rejection of the unavoidable. Filling his lungs with air so cold that it stung, David opened his eyes. Thought it was but a faint memory he could recall how the sight used to send his mind into a frenzy. It now all seemed so long ago and dulled by the repetition of it all. Such was the curse he carried, for each pocket of time and its repetition of events, it all grew duller. Things that had once sent shivers down his spine were now no more than an occasional annoyance. Only when there were gaps in between, those blissful days which existed outside of all of this nonsense, could it pull a reaction out of him. This, he confessed, a weight falling ever harsher in his belly, was one of those times.
Paradise. God damn Paradise laid behind him. For now he was standing on the small dock, eyes fixated across the lake. Like a vast black mirror it laid before his feet, reflecting the pale moon and all of the stars. A sparkling canvas, so deep that one would doubt there was a bottom to it at all. Not one ripple went across it, its surface so still despite the wind that seemed to pick up for each second. If there were living creatures within it, they were all laying dormant. Waiting for what was about to transpire. The events which were etched in stone, an unavoidable pillar in the structure that was Rusty Lake and its surroundings. This forsaken place which never could decide when it was done with a happening: always allowing it to play out but stubbornly refusing to ever let it go.
For but a fleeting moment he let his eyes wander. There was no boat. Not that it would have served any purpose. Though it was but hazy memories, more like dreams than anything else, he was certain he had attempted to just escape the island at least once. To not follow the script. A pathetic act of defiance, a sport which he had mastered so long ago and of which crown he refused to let go. No matter what, he was never beyond trying, if only to create yet another little thread of time in which something didn't go exactly as it had been decided by forces far beyond what he himself wanted to dwell on.
Forcing himself to turn around, he was overcome by the notion of how dark the woods were. Different. It was so small and insignificant yet he could feel how his blood almost froze to ice. Why were there such shadows clinging to the tree trunks? Had it always been that way? Was this a memory, an event which had played out before and would again, or was it something else? A dream perhaps? Why was it always near to impossible to tell the difference? With what mental fortitude he could muster, he forced back the instinct to close his own arms around himself. It was a pathetic display, an attempt to feel safety which had not been present for as long as he could remember.
Taking but a few steps his eyes soon trailed off towards the ground. Before his feet, it laid. The mask. One which his brother had once put onto his face and one which had followed through it all. Something to hide behind, to shield everything on the inside from seeping out. A sentiment which had only come to follow him in later years. No, it had once just been another step in what he was told to do. Put it on, grab the torch, follow along with what father says, get it over with. For each time that this repeated, he had been under the assumption that the damned thing weighed heavier and heavier on his face. Almost as if threatening to slip off at any moment. To reflect all the turmoil which was bubbling underneath.
With a sigh, much closer to a hiss than anything else, he bent down to snap it off the ground. Dark beady eyes staring right back at him. Why was it different tonight? The thought kept gnawing away in the back of his mind, refusing to let go. All of these things were supposed to be routine. There was no will to fight it anymore but something was off. Like the frame of a mirror which was tilted by a millimetre too much to one side, reflecting back a world now off its hinges. It took more fortitude than he would ever like to admit to put it on. A gesture which brought with it the sensation that it was eating away at his very soul, dragging it out of him and etching it into the darkness within it.
Stepping onto the path, the silence was deafening. Far back, in memories of his childhood, he recalled there being so much more noise. Birds, bugs, frogs, woodland critters. All of it had soothed the feelings of isolation. But all that was gone now. The trees' branches stretched into the air, naked, their leaves laid on the ground, rustling in the wind and whenever his feet brushed up against them. Shrubs that once hung heavy with the berries of summer and autumn were now much closer to overgrown weeds than anything else. Paradise was dying. No, it was dead.
On all sides laid nothing but a blackness, only broken up by a fog which slithered between the tree trunks, obscuring his vision even further. The only two things which this island could ever grow. Gloom and obstruction. For what purpose anyone would ever settle onto it, he would never know. Nor would he care. To try and decipher the minds of his father and his forefathers, that was a task on which his meagre energy resources would be truly wasted. With a grimace he could not help but to ponder if whatever it was had truly been worth it.
The winding path before him was the only thing which seemed to hold some illumination. As if each pebble was shining on its own, breaking through the darkness which surrounded him on all sides. Leading him, beckoning him forward, like the call of a shepherd's flute to sheep. Dulling his senses. Promising that it would all soon be over. Such a sweet lie and one which he had grown too bitter to believe. There was no end, not one that would satisfy them all. There had been no enlightenment, not for him or his sister at least. Perhaps their father, the vile serpent he had always been, had greedily accepted it all but he doubted it. All that it had brought with it was a curse, one filled with the wrath of the first born. And no amount of self-flagellation could still its rage.
Stopping in his track, his eyes could just about make out the contour of the homestead. This place which had housed him for a good 15 years of his life. A hovel, that was what it was. Barely fit for livestock, even less for human beings. He had hated it back then as well. Despising the enclosure and its suffocating atmosphere. How many hours had he spent wasting away outdoors just to avoid coming back there for as long as possible. All stories would describe the hearth of a house as the place where a family's warmth resides. A notion which he could not stop himself from scoffing at. If there had ever been such a thing in his home, it had burnt to nothing but smoke and cinders together with his mother.
Feeling the burning in his chest worse than before, he tore his eyes from the building, forcing his feet to continue moving. He was almost there. It was so close to be over, for this time. And still there it was, that gnawing notion in his heart. The one which made his chest tighten up and the air squeeze out of his lungs. What was this sensation that clung to the air, like thick spiderwebs? Had he not struggled through this enough times to be blessed with numbness? How could something still be ravaging his insides, like a spreading infection which purpose or cause eluded him? The mask weighed ever more heavy on his face, causing him to instinctively raise his fingers to try and push it closer. A sense of terror haunted his mind that if he allowed it to slip, all of these thoughts and feelings would explode out of him, leaving his body a husk.
For each step, his legs grew heavier, sinking into the path as if wishing to grow heavy roots. To never again play out this cursed event. To just stand back and wash his hands off this sin. The thought haunted his mind, not only now but in the many sleepless nights he had spent tossing and turning in his bed. If he had chosen to stand down, to turn his back and refuse to participate, would it have changed anything? Could his brother then maybe have found it in his heart to give him a lesser punishment? Or would it all have been just the same? To turn a blind eye to suffering was perhaps just as evil as participating in it. After all a sin had been etched into their family in a time that he himself could barely recall and yet these were also actions for which he was now paying.
Finally the trees cleared up, parting ways to instead let him take in the all too familiar sight. The giant owl structure, stretching high above his head, clutching its way towards the night sky. A shiver crawled its way over his body and with it a few drops of cold sweat slithered down his neck. The end was now within his grasp and yet there he stood, as if this was the first time he took it all in, with a ball of anxiety growing heavier for each second resting within his belly. What was it about this time that was so different? Why could he not shake from his mind this notion that something even more terrifying was about to happen?
A shove onto his shoulder caused him to take a few steps forward. Soon there was the torch pushed into his hand and figures pressed by him, approaching the gigantic wooden structure. Even in the darkness he could tell them all apart just by their backs. All of them moving without hesitation except for one. This time his own steps were matched to that of Elizabeth's, stumbling, hesitating, weighing on every second, torch trembling. It had crossed him so many times before but this time more than ever, that in this very moment his sister could be right here, experiencing this inner anguish alongside him. Separated by their own consciousness. Suffering in silence, together.
With a lump in his throat, growing so large he felt a panic he would no longer be able to swallow or breath, he forced himself forward. It needed to end. He could no longer take this sensation, this horrible ever present sensation of dread. Though it took almost all the energy which was left within him, he managed to step forward towards the spot which was designated to him. An open space which held no marking but to which he could slip into, as if it had been specially carved out for his presence. While everything within his mind begged him to avert his eyes, as he had done so many times before when this had all played out, this time he found himself unable to do so. Instead he peered into the wooden frame, this man made prison only for his heart to drop.
Many things he had expected to see there. Most of the time it was Jakob. Sometimes he was screaming, crying, begging for his life. Other times he was just staring, eyes more aflame than the wood around him. Precious few times, he had thought he saw a mirage of his mother, arms locked around his brother's shoulders, as if to assure him that everything was going to be fine. Comforting her child as he slowly burnt to a crisp. Sometimes there were silhouettes hurled in darkness, impossible to make out yet with eyes large as pin-wheels, staring right into his soul. But no, this time it was different.
It was Dale, clad in the same white robes, eyes so vacant one would almost mistake him for someone sleepwalking. Chest heaving in small yet steady breaths. Painted against the dark skies like a beckoning light. A bright butterfly caught in the net of a spider, too exhausted to struggle or perhaps ignorant of the fate that was rapidly approaching it. An end he knew too well. A beast which already had its jaws halfway closed around the other man's throat.
David felt his mouth hanging open, wishing to scream yet not one word could be forced out. His lips were dry, his thoughts frantic. Why was he there? What paths had crossed over this large network of vein-like threads for this man to end up here. Was this all some sick joke, played at his expense? A way to toy ever further with his mind, already so fragile under the pressure of everything that had transpired over these lifetimes? How deep into his being had something peered to see what his meetings with this detective had awoken? Yes, perhaps it was just a way to dig the knife in ever further, to twist it over and over.
With a curse, he snapped back into the moment. There was no time. He knew what was going to happen. He couldn't go through with it, not like this, not to him. Turning around he managed to toss his own torch, smacking it right into the lake with a sickening sizzling noise. With all the thoughts hammering within his head, he span around once more, throwing himself forward towards Elizabeth, grasping his sister's clothing, shaking her about like a rag doll.
“Don't do this!”
They were the first words which he managed to utter and the tone on which they came out was petrifying. So broken and tiny, pathetic even. Like a child throwing a tantrum, not wishing to do what it was told. Her body felt static under his fingers yet he could see her fingers trembling, as if at least somewhat uncertain of what to do next. And then she took a step back, an action which sent a wave of relief over his own mind. Still it was ever so short lived, as he caught sight in the corner of his eye his father raising his torch.
“Stop!”
Using his entire body, he flung onto the raised arm only to find the body as cold as stone and just as rigid. Pulling or pushing, it mattered little. It was as if he no longer possessed any strength, all of his frantic attempts to stop the inevitable being ignored. Though their faces were both clad in those god forsaken masks, he could almost sense his father's gaze. Disapproving of his actions. Anger at his defiance. And indifferent to any of his pleads. In synch with his own screams of anguish, the torch was lowered and soon came the crackling of fire that spread, faster than humanly possible, across the wooden beams.
“Dale!”
Turning once more, David's hands shot up towards his face, grabbing the mask, tearing it from his face. Maybe it was nothing but panic induced thinking but there was the sensation that it clung onto his face, not wishing to let go of all these sweet emotions. Of the hurt that was now raging just as badly as the flames. With a roaring shout, he threw it onto the ground before dashing forward, eyes darting back and forth to try and find a way to get inside. To free the other man of this prison that he was trapped in. Deep down he knew how foolish it wall was. That there would be no salvation. No, this was one night which kept repeating. And it only ever had one ending.
An unbearable heat lapped at his skin and still he forced his arm through the bar, trying to hook it around one of the beams to pull it out. A sickening smell of burnt flesh and hair was his payment yet he persisted until the white hot pain was far too great. Tears streaming down his cheeks he was forced to pull back, watching how there was not even a dent in the structure, despite how it looked like it would crumble at any second under the pressure. Once more his eyes were forced up onto the figure within the blaze.
Why wasn't he moving? There was not even a shadow of an attempt to escape from the inferno. And the silence. Only the flames could be heard, their screeching grating against his own ears but the man within it all stood mute, eyes still as vacant as before. A silent acceptance of a fate so much worse than anything his own brain could conjure up. With a croaking shout, David once more flung himself forward, just as the beams above finally gave way and came crashing down...
~~~
“David?”
Jolting upwards, feeling how the bed sheet stuck to his back which was dampened with sweat, his eyes snapped open. At first everything was but a blurry tango, induced by his newly awoken state and the tears which were streaming down his cheeks. A taste of iron clung within his mouth, mixing up with that of bile. His heart was like a steam engine in his chest, threatening to crack his ribs and come bursting out of it at any second. His breath still trembling, his vision all so slowly started to become clear.
“Christ, you okay?”
Dale. Seated on the side of the bed and with an eyebrow slightly raised in that manner which he would always do when pondering something. The room laid basked in moonlight, telling of how late an hour it was and how much far away the sunrise was. A cold chill seemed to hang within the air, causing his body to quiver worse than it had done before.
“You must have had one hell of a nightmare” the other man continued, rubbing his fingers over his eyes “I tried shaking you awake but you were sleeping the sleep of the dead.”
Before the sentence was even finished, he had closed the distance between them, flinging his arms open and then closing them around his shoulders into the tightest of embraces. In the moment, he felt certain that if he could not feel his presence, then this would be nothing but another dream from which he would awaken, alone and terrified. Within his arms, he could feel how Dale wiggled about a bit, giving out a little “Hey, don't hold so tight!”, an instruction he could not help but to ignore. Burying his face in towards the other man, he tried to fully take it all in. The warmth of his skin, the fragrance of his cologne, the sensation of his hair as it tickled towards his own neck.
There were questions, those which he could not answer, as the tears swelled in his eyes. All he could do was hold on tight. And to feel gratitude that the dream was over, for now.