Southern Gothic

    Her fingers traced the the intertwined fibers of the soft, creamy gossamer-covered gown. The top was overlain with the delicate white lace that her mother had brought out from the heavy cedar chest. The faint smell of the rich, red wood clung lightly to the gradeful dress. It was such a fragile thing, all silk and lace and gossamer. It made Lara’s stomach lurch, as tears beagn to sting her bright blue eyes. It’ll be yours one day. The words played over and over again inside her head, like one of those show records on repeat. So much was changed now. Things could never as they once were; simple, innocent. Her fingers absent-mindedly traced the floral spiderwebs of the old, lace pattern. She looked around the small, wood paneled room.

     Everything sat the same. Everywhere she looked, her memories stood, as if frozen in time. It was as if all of the horror had not been able to touch this room; it was the room that time forgot. The little white vanity still sat daintily in one corner, its surface covered with all the trimming and trappings of a respectable, southern lady. The glint of a silver comb caught her eye, and she moved slowly towards the little table.

     There was thin layer of dust that covered the entire surface of the vanity like a blanket. All the little boxes still sat, just as she had left them. This one was full of rouge, that one full of the thick black pins that held back her blonde curls. Her little perfume bottle still perched proudly on top of a hand-carved silver box topped in a shining blue stonework. The little rubber pump that jutted from the curving glass bottle was covered in the remnants of a broken spider web. She reached for the bottle, dusting away the only signs of trauma. She pressed the bottle to her nose and breathed deeply, inhaling the delicate floral scents. It smelled of hope, of promise. It smelled of all the naivety and innocence of her youth.

     A sudden step behind her broke her from her reverie.

     “We’ll need to move on soon.” He said.

     She kept her back to him, her hand still clutching the little dust-covered bottle. She dipped her head and took a breath. “I know. I was just…” her words trailed off. Skip looked at her sadly.

     “I know this hurts," he responded quietly. She could feel his eyes as they crawled over her back-turned figure. That stupid, southern pride welled up in her again. She didn’t want his pity. Pity didn’t matter now, none of it did. She sat the little bottle back on the silver box and turned to face him, gathering her thoughts and her pretended indignation as she went. She drew herself up tall.

    “This is nothing to me now. Nothing. What could this possibly mean now?”

     His eyes never moved from her face as she spoke, their incessant green taking in every movement of her lips as they formed the words she spoke. It was like he was looking through her, seeing the painful memories that filled her head now. The rage swelled up in her again, but her face remained numb and icy. Her voice was already fading away into the deafening silence of the grim little room. The dust was suddenly a suffocating, dampening cloud, that shrouded her words and forced them down and back into the deadly memories.

    “It is nothing…and it’s everything,” he said to her, looking down at the floor.

     He always spoke to her this way, prophetically, shortly and full of riddles. He was like her eternal sphinx, the shadow of the past that haunted every second of her living, waking nightmare. He was always watching her with those green eyes of his, never missing anything. He presumed always to know her innermost thoughts, her innermost feelings. She would not let him have this. Not here. Not these memories; not these feelings.

     “Don’t presume to know my feelings, dammit,” Lara snapped at him sharply, “this is nothing to me now. How could it it be? Just a little human sentiment. Nothing more. Remnants of a dying breed.” He smiled, but his eyes never left her own. It was unsettling He finally chuckled lightly and looked down, holding the weathered felt hat between his hands.

     “All the same. We’ll have to leave soon. We can’t stay here.”

     “I know,” she answered coldly, “I’m ready. I didn't find what I was looking for.”

     His smile dropped and he continued to study her for only a moment more before turning his back to her and walking slowly out of the room. His boots made a heavy noise on the rough-hewn wooden floors, and a trail suddenly appeared in the heavy layer of dust that covered the floor. His steps now masked her own, she noticed. One set of footprints in a sea of memories.

     She looked around the room once more, taking in the dirty, floral curtains and the thick, moth-eaten comforter that covered the bed. She had been so happy here once. But that had been in another time, in another life. There was nothing but the fire now, the hunger. She turned back to the vanity and traced her hand along the surface, a shining line of parted through the dust and grime. She looked up into the speckled dirty, silver mirror, grimacing as her reflection looked back faintly at her. The face was the same as that happy, hopeful girl that had once sat here. This was the same girl that had used these combs and trappings, that had once worn that dress. But the eyes. It was the eyes that told he truth. This girl was dead. Buried somewhere in a motel room outside of some forgotten town.

     She could still hear Skip behind her, somewhere in the house, wondering through the other rooms filled with the trappings and trinkets of that former life. She heard a loud snap as the lid to something heavy fell, heard him as he continued to roam quietly further into the fathomless darkness. She looked into the pulsating blue eyes of her reflection. They were much sharper now, much bluer.

     Her fingers bumped against something, and she looked down to see her hand resting on the shining silver of a little cigarette case. The top was covered in a thousand tiny colored stones, each one fixed closely to the other, to form the picture of the holy virgin, holding in her lap the plump little figure of the Christ child. She wanted to laugh suddenly, seeing the romantic picture of that holy family in the middle of all this death. If not for the thought of Skip’s return, she would have laughed.

     It was too funny to think of those things now, after everything that had happened. Her hand closed around the case, and she pulled it from the dust and the grime of the vanity. Her eyes studied the calm face of the virgin. She turned it over in her hands, the cool metal sending a shiver through the warmth of her skin. She pressed the tiny clasp and case opened slowly in her hands.

     Inside was the pretty, antique necklace her mother had given her the day of her wedding. It was as if time hadn’t touched it. It still sat, pristinely, amongst the soft red velvet of the cigarette case, the large ruby that hung from it throbbing in the delicate moonlight of the abandoned room. She pulled the necklace out, setting the quickly forgotten case back among the trappings and trimmings of her former life.

     The necklace was set on a long, thin silver chain, and was clasped tightly in four silver bands. According to her mother, this necklace had once belonged to a great lady in England. Her mother had always liked to tell her stories. All the ones about how great their family had once been, all the great things they had done. Perhaps none had ever swayed Lara quite like the story of this necklace.

     All the other stories her mother told her always seemed to be about the greatness of the men in their family, but this had been the first and only story her mother had ever told her that had been about the women. The story went that once, a long, long time ago, before their family had ever come over on the great, stinking wooden ships of the Old World, the Shipton family had enjoyed great wealth and prestige. They had been known as the epitome of culture and grace, and people had come far and wide to court their favor.

     Where this family had lived had always seemed to change with her mother, and what they had done to achieve such status seemed to change with each telling of her mother’s long and laborious tales as well. But the story of Lady Claude had been different. Any time her mother had told this story, each telling had been the same. Lady Claude had been the most beautiful woman in all the land. At the age of eighteen, men had come from far and wide to court her. She was the sparkling jewel of all the realm, being able to speak seven languages, play several musical instruments, dance and hunt, and even paint and draw as well as the masters of her time.

     On her eighteenth birthday, her father, a famous Duke, had hosted a great ball, inviting all of the greatest and most noble men from across the kingdom to join them. He had hoped, and indeed expected, that his beautiful Claude would meet a handsome suitor there, who would ask for her hand, and unite their families in wealth, power and splendor. But that night, something had gone wrong.

     The suitors had all shown up to the ball, just has the Duke had planned, and Claude had dazzled them all, showing up sparkling and resplendent in her gown of ivory. She had danced with them, toasted them, listened to their every joke and story with rapt attention and timely giggles. They had all been charmed with her, some swearing they would give their very lives for just the opportunity for one dance more. Everything was going according to plan, but when the clock struck twelve o’clock, and all the suitors had left, Claude had remained behind, alone. When the Duke had asked her who she would take as a husband, she had declared that none of the suitors was worthy of her hand, and that she would not wed.

     Her father, suddenly forced to accept the failure of his plan, became enraged. He railed at Claude angrily, telling her that she would choose one of the suitors and would make a match suitable for the family. He had told Claude that if she did not heed him in this, she would be cast out, into the cold and the wilds of the kingdom, and that he would never set sights on her again. She would be poor, broken and penniless. She would be laughed at and mocked from every corner of the kingdom. No more would she be the daughter of the Duke, but a beggar on the roadside.

     According to the tale Lara's mother told, Claude had wept at her father’s sudden wrath. She had been the much loved daughter of a gentle and loving Duke. Never before had she seen this dark and angry side of him. In tears, Claude had fled to her room in the East Wing of the home. The Duke had retired to his rooms in sullen silence, sure that, in the morning, all would be set to rights and Claude would see the error of her ways.

     In the morning, the Duke’s favorite servant had shown up at the usual time, his face looking stricken and pale. Without delay, with the lord still in his bed, he had disclosed all to the Duke. Claude was gone. Runaway with one of the handsome groomsmen that had tended the horses of their stables. His name was Renaud. She had left a letter behind describing all. She was in love with Renaud, and had been for a lifetime. Had they now grown up together? She could not marry any of her father’s choice suitors, because her heart belonged to another.

     It broke her heart, she wrote, to leave him in such a manner, but she could not be the regal daughter of a Duke if her heart could not be free, if she could not be truly happy. The Duke had wept as the valet told him of the account, his tears soaking the front of his dressing gown. When the servant was done reading the letter, he had stepped forward slowly, presenting the Duke with the delicate ruby necklace Claude had left beside her detailed letter. It was the necklace she had worn to the ball.

     Claude was never seen again. The Duke had died penniless and alone, spending the last of his wealth trying to find his dear little daughter, trying to apologise to her for the wrong he had done her. He had searched all across the kingdom and the world for his daughter, even sending ships to chase rumors in the New World, but she was never seen or heard from again.

     Lara stood, clutching the little silver and ruby necklace. Her mother’s voice was ringing in her head, recounting the tales over and over again. It had only ever been a story to Lara, her favorite story, but the day her mother had placed this necklace in her hand, it had become a reality. Follow your heart, she had whispered into her daughter’s ear that day. Follow your heart and watch all of your dreams come true. No one can touch you when you are on the road of the heart.

     She let the heavy ruby pendant fall from her hand, dangling on the silver chain. She looked in the mirror as she lifted the necklace and fastened it around her own neck. It was cold against the creamy white skin of her chest. A ray of moonlight caught the ruby and it glinted violently in the grime of the speckled mirror. She heard Skip’s footsteps behind her once again.

     “We have to go now, there’s no more time, lovely.” His husky voice seemed to desecrate the silence of her memories. His voice seemed almost sacrilegious here, among all these off-cast and abandoned pieces of her former life. It was as if he, the centerpiece of her new existence in this terrifying new world, had been hurled headlong into the past, his very presence an affront to the sacredness of her mother, and the life that had once been. The sudden revulsion made her skin crawl. She turned and faced him, the anger gone out of her now.

     “Yes, it’s time to go.” She moved towards him and felt his eyes move to the ruby pendant around her neck. “That’s nice,” he smiled, “family heirloom?”

     Her stomach fell, and she suddenly felt ashamed.

     “Yes,” she whispered, “it was my mother’s.”

     “Ah,” Skip responded quietly, “well…we all need something to get us through, right?” His smile was still there. She had the sudden urge to smack it off of his face. He had no business here. He had no right to her memories, no right to judge her. This was more than he would ever be able to understand.

     “Can we just go?” She could feel the rage contained just below her question, and knew that he could too. The muscles in his neck tensed, and she thought he was about to respond, when he suddenly turned and walked out of the room, not making a sound.

     She breathed an audible sigh of relief when they emerged from the dark doom and gloom of the house onto the wide, covered front porch. The scent of magnolias and dogwoods was overwhelming, though their shape could just be made out of the gloom on the distant edge of the yard. Swarms of lightening bugs danced and flashed all around the porch, the gentle chirp of crickets and cicadas accompanying their wild dance. As they descended the creaking front steps into the cool night air, he stopped and looked at her again.

     “You know, there is nothing to be ashamed of. I was serious, what I said back there. We all need something to get us through. Especially now. It’s okay to be sentimental every now and then.” His green eyes studied her, glowing in the darkness. Her bright blue eyes looked back at him, blinking, but revealing nothing of the tumulting emotions that battled inside of her.

     “Thank you for your astute observations, Skip. Let’s just leave this as what it is, a necklace. It’s a nice necklace. My mother gave it to me. Can we just get back into town?”

     His hands were on his hips now, and she knew she was about to receive another lecture. The smell of the heady night air was becoming almost overwhelming, but a sudden noise on the edge of the darkness snapped them both from their confrontational reverie. Skip turned from her suddenly in the darkness, turning towards the noise. A shape shuffled out slowly from the gloom.

     Skip turned back, grabbing her arm. “We have to go. Now.”

     He didn’t need to tell her twice. They were running wildly through the darkness now, back towards the car that was parked in the heavy shadow of the woods to the back of the house. Lara’s heart was racing as she willed her body to stay close to Skip. She could feel his hand digging into her flesh like the grip of a steel jaw. Branches and twigs grabbed at their faces and their hair, gnarled roots rising up to grab them and pull them down to their doom. Her lungs were screaming for breath, her pulse racing faster than it ever had before. Every cell in her body was screaming, danger, danger. It was just behind them. They had to make it to the car. They must.

     Suddenly, they could see the glinting, hulking shape of the old Plymouth just beyond the tree line in the dark. Lara nearly screamed in happiness at the sight of the old, beat up hunk of metal. Her elation was suddenly ripped from her as her brain reminded her of what moved just behind them. Her eyes flew to Skip, whose own eyes looked ahead in utter fear and concentration on the car. She knew he could feel it too, the presence behind them, the emanating hatred. The stink. If it caught them, all would be lost. Everything would be over for them both. The most horrible death imaginable was within reach of them now.

    Suddenly, they were next to the old, beat-up Plymouth, and Skip was wrenching open the door, throwing her inside. There was a slam, then the snarls, growls as the creature fought ferociously to get in. They were flying away from the edge of the treeline now, the darkness fading all around them as they pulled into the brilliant white light of the moon-soaked fields that surrounded the house. There was one last sound of shattering glass, and screaming as something was ripped away from the rear window, then nothing but the loud, excited roar of the old Plymouth’s engine. Lara could not bring herself to look back, but she could smell the blood and corruption.

     She looked over at Skip, his face focused forwards, his white knuckles clutching the worn leather steering wheel. She could hear his heart racing from here, she could hear his blood pumping frantically through the tiny veins and arteries that laced and traced their way across and under his skin. She suddenly felt guilty for the way she had spoken to him, for the way she had acted back in the house. This was all her fault. She should never have asked him to bring her all the way out here. She had known the risks. What if they had been captured? Or worse? She placed her hand on his arm.

     Skip looked over at her, a sudden and visible look of relief spreading across his face. He smiled that wide, dazzling smile. He felt suddenly ashamed too, she knew. Her mind flew to the tales he had told her. She knew the memories that must be tracing through his mind, the horrors he must be reliving even now. Her stomach dropped, and she scooted across the wide leather seat and nestled her body against him.

     The soft leather of his jacket cool against her face. She put her arms around his shoulders and heard the engine swoon as he lowered the gear. He brought an arm up and wrapped it around her, one arm still on the steering wheel, the telling white of the knuckles still there. Skip leaned his head to the side, the weight coming down gently on her own. She felt a wave of peace wash through her.

     They kept driving into the night that way, neither one of them willing to look back at the busted rear window. Nothing needed to be said right now. This was a broken time for broken people. They continued to drive on through the darkness, eventually finding their way back to the long, abandoned stretch of highway that divided the valley. They drove on and on through the night, back towards the tiny, derelict town they had passed on the way in. Every now and then, they saw a car on the side of the road. Most of them were old and busted up, having long ago been foraged for whatever working parts they had. No one really had cars now. The survivors didn’t really need them.

     Lara could feel the dawn approaching as their Plymouth rounded a corner and the little town splayed out in front of them, blooming up from the dark bark of the forest that surrounded it like some magical and forgotten kingdom. Her arms were no longer around Skip, but her head still rested on his shoulder. He had both arms back on the steering wheel now, and was looking forward at the town with some kind of grim determination that she could not make-out.

     It was these moments that made her love him the most. These moments when he rose like the heroic savior, and she knew that, as long as they stayed together, everything would be okay; they would make it out of this somehow.

     It was this love that had brought her here, that had let her through that final temptation.

     It would be dawn soon. In perhaps just an hour or so. Already, she could see the snaking tendrils of light making their way over the tops of the trees and the tiny town on the horizon. They would have to get into the town and get settled down quickly. Lara knew that Skip could feel it too, but there was no sign from him, as their car moved on at the same speed. She broke their silent reverie suddenly with the obvious.

   “We’re going to have to get underground soon, Skip. The sun is coming up.” Her voice seemed to jolt him, like his soul had been in another place, in another time, and her voice was the electric surge that brought him back to their grim reality. He frowned. “I know,” he responded quietly, “we just need to figure out where.” She looked up at him. She had to say it now. Who knew what tomorrow would bring?

     "Skip," she started, questioningly. He turned his head towards her, taking his eyes off the road for only a few seconds.

     "Yeah?"

     "Skip, I just need to tell you...if we don't make it out of this. If tomorrow..." he cut her off.

     "No, Lara. Not now. We aren't having this talk now. We're going to make it. We'll get out of here. It's almost over."

     She cut him off before he had a chance to take the courage out of her.

     "No, Skip. Just let me say this, I need to say this." He slowed the car down, and pulled one hand off the wheel, placing it calmly in his lap. "Okay, Lara. Spill it."

     She looked at him earnestly, collecting her toughts carefully in her mind.

     "I just want to say thank you," he gave her that smile once again, and rolled his eyes. She sat up as tall as she could.

     "No, Skip. I mean it. Thank you. If you hadn't been there that night, if you hadn't taken me...I, I wouldn't be here. I have my life because of you." It was his turn to cut her off.

     "You have a life because of me, Lara. I don't know that I would call it..." She carried on before she lost the nerve to say it.

     "Skip, if you hadn't taken me that night, if you hadn't shown me what could be, I would dead and gone. Burned up and eaten up with all the others. That night, in your arms, in the heat of it all, I knew I loved you. I knew that you would take care of me, that I could trust you," he made a clucking noise, but she carried on, "If you hadn't pulled that crazy, scared little girl into that hotel room that night, I wouldn't be here. I owe you everything, Skip."

    The engine of the car whirred as he slowed it again, and he turned to look her full in the face.

   "Lara, there's something that you need to know." He pulled the car to the shoulder of the abandoned road, and the engine roiled to a stop. Her mind was a wave of confusion. There was no time.

     "Skip, we don't have time for this, the sun is coming up. We have to go to ground."

     "No, Lara," he cut her off, "I have to tell you this."

     He looked down at the worn denim of his jeans, and took a deep breath. Something inside of Lara plummeted. He took a deep breath, and sighed loudly before he began again.

     "I didn't take you that night because I loved you, or I needed you."

     The world around her suddenly went silent, except for a sudden, over-whelming roaring her brain. Her heart began to thump wildly again in her chest. The fear was coming back, the smell of the blood. She thought she would vomit.

     "I took you because I wanted you. You were scared, alone. I could smell it. I smelled your heart, smelled the blood." He looked at her, his bright green eyes full of regret. "I took you because I was hungry. I was moving on, leaving. I needed it. I was going to leave you. I was going to leave you in that room. To die, to be consumed, to bleed out. I don't know." A rage broke out in he chest like the swarm of a thousand hornets. Hatred began to rise in her stomach now, replacing the fear.

     "I didn't know you then. I was new. I didn't know how to control myself or how to handle the cravings. I...It was a mistake, Lara. I'm so sorry."

     She slapped him, the loud smack reverberating through the endless silence that now stood between them.

     Her world was crashing down on her, again. This new life was a lie, a shambles. He should have left her there, to die in the dirt and the darkness. She wanted his words to stop, she wanted to disappear. She wanted him to disappear. He wouldn't stop.

     "I didn't know then, Lara. I didn't know who or what you were. I had no idea. It was too strong. The urge. You know now. You know how it is," he was searching her face for any sign of forgiveness. He met with her silent, cold obstinancy and rage.

     The worst part of it, was that she did.

     She knew what it was like, the temptation, the constant hunger. And what was worse, was that she knew that this is what their lives were now. For better, or for worse.Lara scooted away from him, across the wide leather seat of the old car, and turned her face to the window. It was getting lighter and lighter out.

    They had to move on.