“Why are you doing this?” He ran a hand over his face. “Why are you living this way, Sara? You can’t keep doing this; you can’t keep living like this. You need to stop. If you can’t talk to me, talk to someone. Talk to Lincoln.”
Sara looked at him then, flinching at the sound of her brother-in-law’s name. “Don’t you think I know that? That’s why I was there, to stop living this way! Your stupid friend ruined it!” She suddenly let out a weary breath. “And Lincoln can’t help me. No one can help me. I’d be better off—better off dead.” She swallowed thickly.
Spencer jerked his head back as though he’d been slapped. “You can’t be serious.”
Her chin notched up.
“You think the answer is to kill yourself?” Spencer asked in a low voice, looking incredulous and furious at the same time.
Sara closed her eyes and sank to the floor. She was tired, so tired. She rested her head on her knees and closed her eyes. “Then I don’t have to hurt, then I don’t have to wonder, then I don’t have to worry about any of it.”
“You think this is what he’d want?”
She opened her eyes to find Spencer kneeling beside her. “Maybe.”
“Why? You can’t possibly blame yourself for what happened.”
Sara didn’t answer, just looked at him.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said slowly.
Sara blinked her eyes, but the wetness continued to come forth. “Wasn’t it?”
***
There were times, split seconds of a minute, when Sara forgot that he was no longer there, times when she could stare out at the night, like tonight, and simply take in the beauty of the moment without the constant ache. The peace was fleeting, almost to the point where she barely acknowledged it and then the pain was back. But for just a moment, she breathed easier as she closed her eyes against the star-strewn night. In those rare and brief moments, Sara was almost normal.
She opened her eyes and huddled under the fleece blanket, her feet sliding against the porch floor where they hung down from the swing. It was cold out, the breeze causing a chill through her. The scent of winter was in the air. It was late October and they were lucky it wasn’t colder than it was by now. She should go inside, but she couldn’t seem to find the energy to move.
There was a void, a hole within her only he could fill. She felt like half a person; bereft, lost. Nothing was as bright as it used to be, nothing smelled as good. Everything was dimmed, even Sara.
You’re losing yourself, Spencer had said.
It was true. She didn’t recognize herself from the person she’d once been; the person he’d met that fall day.
Sara gazed at the changing colors of the trees; the many shades of reds and oranges and yellows breathtaking to behold. She loved it here, so thankful she’d decided to relocate after finishing college in Iowa. She inhaled the crisp air, held her arms out at her sides, and twirled in a circle. It was autumn in southwest Wisconsin and it was beautiful, more beautiful than any fall she‘d witnessed in her home state of Iowa. The fallen leaves crunched under her boots as she spun and spun. She laughed; dizzy and happy.
“You know you’re trespassing.” The voice was soft and deep and spoke in a slow drawl.
She gasped and whirled around, almost falling in her unbalanced state. She lurched to a stop, mouth open. Before her stood a man; he was a tall, lanky man. He wore faded jeans that hugged his muscular thighs, boots, and a brown sweatshirt. A baseball cap was low over his eyes and she had to squint to make out his features. In his hands he held an ax.
“I, uh, I didn’t know that. Actually,” she stuttered, eyeing his possible weapon.
He nodded. “You are.”
Sara self-consciously pushed her hair out of her eyes and mouth and looked around the countryside. She’d decided to go for a mid-morning walk and hadn’t realized how far she’d gone from town until nothing but woods surrounded her. Not exactly a reassuring setup with a strange man holding an ax and informing her she was where she wasn’t wanted.
She turned back to the stranger. “Can you, uh, put down the ax?”
He looked down, as though surprised to find himself holding it, and dropped it. The man pulled the hat from his head, revealing a finely chiseled face, piercing blue eyes, and light brown hair. He rubbed his head and resituated the hat. “Shit, I’m sorry. You’re probably wondering if I’m some ax murderer or something, ain’t you?”
“Well, I did hear Ed Gein and Jeffrey Dahmer were from Wisconsin. If that says anything about the state.” Just the names passing her lips caused a shiver through her.
He threw back his head and laughed; the sound deep and booming and a little scary, given the situation. Because didn’t crazy people laugh at things that weren’t funny? Like her mentioning serial killers. Who on earth would find that humorous?
“You’re not from around here, are you?” His eyes flashed with humor.
Sara inched back a step, preparing to run if she had to. “No. But my family visits me often, like, every day. Plus they know I go for walks, around here, right here, actually. And if anything happened to me, this is the first place they’d look,” she babbled.
“You better get going then, before you have to find out if there are any more serial killers here in Wisconsin,” he told her, nodding beyond her to the endless forest, still chuckling.
She just about peed herself at that response. Instead Sara spun around, intent on taking flight. She’d run track in high school, and though it had been a while since she’d tested her long ago skill, she was thinking she’d give him a run for his money in a mad dash, especially if it meant her survival.
“Hey,” he commanded.
Sara stopped, her stomach dipping, and looked over her shoulder.
He smiled at her, a beatific transformation of the lips and face that caught her breath. That smile turned his average features into something extraordinary. It was in that instant that Sara knew she was in trouble. And not the kind of trouble she’d been prepared to sprint from moments ago. That smile, those eyes; they did something to her.
Laughter on his lips and in his eyes, he asked, “What’s your name?”
Sara dashed a hand at her leaky eyes, abruptly brought back to the present by the sounds of neighborhood children playing in the leaves. She turned her head to watch them under the blanket of twilight. They were the Niles children; George at age 6 and Ramona at age 9. Their peals of laughter were bittersweet to her; a reminder of something she had wanted, almost had, and now would never have again.
Isn’t it a little dark for them to be playing outside?
Just as she thought this, the mother; a slim, attractive lady named Tracie, opened the front door and called them inside. She paused, her eyes on Sara, and gave a little wave. Sara raised her hand in greeting. The door closed; shutting the warmth and joy of the kids inside with their parents.
Sara sighed, rubbing her face. It was time to go inside for the night.
3
Sara grew up going to Sunday school and church. She said her nightly prayers. Her family gave thanks at mealtime. She spoke to God in her mind on an almost daily basis. If she was scared at night in the dark, she asked Him to watch over her and only then could she sleep.
She’d believed so steadfastly in Him; all in His wonder and omnipotence; in her belief that He would always look out for her and keep her safe. She had been so unfailingly devoted. She’d felt sorry for people who didn’t have faith, for those who chose not to believe, for those who doubted.