Everything is pitch black, not a single source of light radiating across the path. I can't see where I'm going, but my feet keep moving, telling me where to go, so not once do I fall. I'm looking for something, anything that will tell me this isn't my future. Anything... just a single speck of hope shining like a star. I'm about to give up when I twinkle catches my eye. Could it be...?
"Isabel! Hurry up!" a voice breaks through my meditative trance. With a growl I open my eyes to see my father's smiling face looking down on me, cold ice eyes holding the playful smirk they always do. "You're coming with me and not even God can stop that!"
"I wasn't praying." I mutter, uncrossing my legs and pushing myself from the floor.
I go as slow as possible, brushing the dust from my beige yoga pants and straighten my halter top before rummaging through my closet to find the camouflage pants and jacket I don't normally touch unless I have too.
As I stalk out of my room I slip my camera into my pocket. I just watch him and take pictures. I think he prefers it that way.
I glide out of my room, meeting my dad at the front entrance. He has his gun case slung across his back, a mask of leaves covering his face and smile showing through the mesh that conceals his eyes. I smile in response.
"Shall we?" he asks, taking my arm and opening the door.
I curtsy. "We shall."
Together we spin out the door, probably looking absolutely insane to our neighbours, and climb into the large black jeep that rumbles in our driveway. It's these days that I get to spend entirely with my father that I enjoy the most.
The sunlight filters through the trees, spreading out in a beautiful mosaic across the snow-covered ground. It reflects into our eyes, making us squint to see into the darkness ahead. I slowly take out my camera, taking a quick memento to show my older sister when we get home.
He turns to me, plopping down on the snow. With a sigh he pulls back the mask, looking up at me. "I have some man business to take care of, so go scope out some pictures for mom, okay?"
I nod, skipping off with a grin on my face. The crisp air feels so nice against my face, turning my cheeks a rosy red and whipping the hair from my face. With all this snow, the only sounds are my footsteps breaking through the crisp layer of frost on the top. The noise must be startling in the silence, as a raven flutters up, knocking snow off its perch and screeching.
I stumble backwards at the sudden interruption, landing on my backside and watching its outline against the crystalline sky. How odd, ravens don't fly around here at this time of year.
With a grin, I stand, stumbling after the large ebony bird, quickly pulling out the silver picture-taker and holding it up. Of course, I'm running, so the photographs will be blurry, but it adds mystery, as my sister has said many times before.
The bird lands in a tree that has been dead for many years, turning its crimson eyes to glare at me. I turn off the flash, trying my best not to disturb the magnificent creature. The eyes unnerve me, but I don't care. I never care, not really.
It lets out a blood-curdling screech and turns to look inward on a meadow, eyes seeming to soften when alighting on a small figure slumped against a tree. It turns back to me, warning me not to go forward, even though it seems to have led me here.
I ignore the subtle warning, walking slowly out into the field. I imagine it's beautiful here in the summer, with long blades of golden grass stretching towards the sky and the dark woods beckoning with endless treasures, but with the snow muting every noise and covering the available surfaces with white, the overall effect is sinister.
I stop in front of the figure, finding myself before a young boy, his skin pale and his hair a dark contrasting black, almost blue colour. My eyes travel down his chest, taking in the milky skin that doesn't seem to be frostbitten at all, though a fresh layer of snow lies scattered across his body. I stop at his waist, a blush flooding across my face as I realize that beyond that point there is also un-clothed milky skin.
I turn my eyes away, removing my jacket and placing it over the unconscious figure. Why is there a little boy lying in the field with absolutely no clothing whatsoever? And why does the raven care? Most importantly, why isn't he frozen?
I kneel next to him, my gloved hand brushing over something hard but not quite ice. I look down to see a black revolver that looks like it came straight out of the 1800's. His hand is clutching onto it for dear life, as though right before he was striped and placed here, he was in a death battle and this was his lifeline.
I pull the hair from his face and tuck it behind his ears, shuddering at the feel of his ice-cold body. I stop, looking down at the young boy. His chest isn't moving. He's not breathing. Oh God, he's so cold!
"Hey, hey!" I shout, gripping his shoulders and shaking him like a ragdoll. The jacket falls to his waist and the snow flutters away from his eyelashes like fairy dust. "You're not dead, you can't be dead. Oh God, oh God, oh God..."
With no prevail in getting him to away; I raise my hand, not even thinking as the sound of flesh-on-flesh echoes around the forest. He gasps, face suddenly flushing and his eyelids flying open to reveal dark blue orbs. His hand raises and I feel the cool barrel of a gun pressing into my forehead.
"Who are you?" he demands.
"Um, Isabel. Isabel Nightling," I say, crawling backwards. He doesn't move, his hand trembling from cold or fear, I don't know. "Can you put the gun down?"
His eyes are cold and frightened, like a deer caught in headlights. "Not until you answer my questions! Where am I?"
"Smalllake." His eyes now cloud with a new emotion; confusion. "Canada."
"Who am I?" he asks, wildly searching my eyes.
I comprehend the question, listening to the silence stretch out. Finally, a single word finds its way onto my tongue. "What??
"You heard me, who am I?" he tries to shout, trying desperately to be assertive, but fear and anxiety showing through his eyes and shining on his voice.
I hear the light footsteps of my father crashing through the underbrush and the raven letting out a caw before fluttering away. Without a second thought, I snatch the gun while he's distracted, pushing it under the waistband on my pants and pulling my shirt down to hide its faint outline. I turn to see my father, now standing in the clearing, eyes bright with that protective fatherly nature.
"Bell, what's going on?" he asks, eyes narrowing at the sight of the boy. "Who's he?"
"Um…" I look to him, emotions softening. He seems so fragile without his weapon. "I don't know, he doesn't remember."
"Amnesia?" An instant assumption from my father the doctor.
"I would figure." I roll my eyes. Turning back to the boy I smile, placing my hands on my knees and placing my hand where the gun is, almost as a warning. "Do you remember anything?"
"I… I remember a name." he looks down at his quivering hands, eyes flicking up to my hand every so often.
"Oh?" my dad and I say at the same time.
"Sebastian." He murmurs.
My dad reaches out a hand and the boy looks up in shock. "Good morning, Sebastian. How about we get you some clothes?"
I pull him to his feet, arranging the jacket so there's no chance it'll fall away. We trudge back to our vehicle, helping the boy into the back seat where he collapses and instantly falls asleep.
"You better call mom," my father says, walking to the driver's side and slipping in. With a sigh, i pull out my phone, scrolling through the list of names and dialling.
"Hello?" she answers after the second ring.
I lean against the jeep, smiling as it rumbles to life and begins to unintentionally massage my back. "It's me, Bell. I just called to say we're coming home."
"Oh?" she sounds surprised, even though I can hear her computer mouse shopping in the background. "That was short."
"Well, I suppose finding a nude kid with amnesia in the middle of the woods wouldn't help that." I sigh, inspecting my nails.
"What?" she gasps.
"Yah, we're taking him to the hospital." I state, opening the door and climbing in next to my father. "Do you think you could get some of Jack's clothes ready for him?"
"What's his name?" she asks and I look back at the young boy. He's fallen asleep, hugging my jacket and snoring slightly, his hair falling to one side and covering an eye.
Hey, Kalipso here~ I've decided to re-write this story because the style I was using just doesn't suit what I use now. So, expect the next chapter to be updated... I don't really know, eventually.
Just a side note here, this was all writen in my free class time, so if the quality isn't that good, it's due to the fact that boys were throwing things against the wall directly beside me, so I didn't really have the patiance to edit.