Cold Encounters (Short Story)
Cold Encounters Anna didn't notice it when snow started to fall until a single white flake landed on her bare cheek like a kiss. She was deep in her thoughts. She was always absent-minded these days; always distracted from the world. When she looked up, she saw white patches and clumps all over the dark street. She was sitting beneath a gnarled tree of age, its branches shooting haphazardly everywhere, its leaves absent for the season's weather. Cold and alone, Anna got up from her place and moved towards the lone lamppost, looking for any source of heat that she could find. Her clacking stilettos sounded like gunshots in the silence. As she neared it, the lamppost bathed Anna in straw light; strained and flat, it provided her with no warmth whatsoever. All else was darkness, even the stars and the moon were hidden, only peeking through fleeting breaks in the thick clouds on occasion. It got colder with each passing minute as snow continued to saunter down. She sat next to the lamppost, resting her head on it's cold, metal body. Her fishnet stockings dug deep on her skin as she hugged her knees closer. Only a cheap fur lined coat was all that separated her near naked body from the biting chill. She started to shiver and, eventually, she rocked. From the darkness came soft footfalls. ...tap ...tap ...tap The steps echoed everywhere, resounding all throughout the street like it would in a bare mausoleum, growing louder with each passing step. A shape started to appear from the darkness. The shape took the form of a person, looming out from the blackness at the edges and coming slowly into the light. The person walked like it was a summer day in the park instead of a chilly night in the dark, his long camel coat drifting listlessly through the air. As with the snow, she didn't notice the person approaching until he was upon her. "Hello," the person said. Anna looked. Seeing the stranger, a curious thought overwhelmed her mind for a fraction of an infinite time. It was the thought of Light. The face was pale as the moon; the locks of hair hanging down the persons face were like curlicues of trapped sunlight; and the eyes-the person's eyes were the gray of an overcast day, somber and brooding. She could not quite tell if the person was a man or a woman, only that there was a brilliance to the him and also an air of immensity. "May I sit beside you, miss?" It took her a moment but she nodded her ascent and made room for the stranger to sit on. He looked awkward, as if his height didn't permit lessening. They sat in silence. She continued to study the person as he eyed the gloom. They were so still, one could have confused them for statues until she started to shivering again. "You seem cold", the person pointed out. She nodded. Looking closer, she noticed that the snow never fell on the person's clothes, subtly skirting aside to fall off on the cold ground instead. "Well, I'll see what I can do", he said. "Do you mind if I light a cigarette?" "No", she said. The person took a cigarette from inside his coat and placed it on his lips. Taking a drag from it, the cigarette tip glowed with sudden embers and then he released smoke. She never did see when the person lit the cigarette. The person took another long, deep drag, on the cigarette, letting the smoke out in a slow stream. She noticed that she, in fact, had been cold but, more suddenly, no longer was. It started to feel warmer as the person blew more smoke rings out, making them circle around until they dissipated into the frigid air. "There. Now isn't that a little better?" She didn't answer. Instead she said, "Who are you?" The person told her. The name sounded like that of a forgotten friend, familiar yet half remembered. Anna forgot it as soon as it was said, leaving a confused smudge in her mind. "Have you been here long, Anna?" He asked. "Only a few hours" she said. Anna wondered when she had told the person her name. "Well, it's getting a little bit late, isn't it?", he said. "Aren't you going to head home yet?" "I'm still waiting for some...people", Anna said. The person was looking at Anna intently now. "At this hour? Are they friends?" "No. They're more like customers", she said. "What business can you have at an hour like this?" the person asked, seeming to be genuinely innocent. "It's- I really don't see how any of this concerns you", Anna said. "I guess you're right. Although I don't think your parents would approve of the 'Business' you have with your so called customers." "I wouldn't know. They're dead, so they can no longer have opinions, now, can they?" "Perhaps not". "Why do you care, anyway? I don't even know you and you don't know me either". "That is partially true. I may be a complete stranger to you but I definitely know a great deal about you. I have known you for a very long time, Anna." "You know, you sound like a creep." Anna said. She tried to cover herself more and make herself look decent but failing miserably. Her clothes were made to be indecent. The person made a low, throaty laugh. He shook his head, amused. He took another drag at his cigarette, letting the ash tip tumble down. "Did...did you know my parents?", Anna asked, hesitant. "I did", he said. "But not personally. I've been, for the lack of a better word, observing your family for a very long time". "How long?" She asked. "Let's not get into details." "Are you some kind of spy, like CIA or something?" "If you want." He dropped his empty cigarette butt on the snow and lit another, this time smoking it slowly, relishing its chemical flavor. He offered her one. She shook her head. "How did you start with this?" He asked. "With what?" "Doing what you're doing." "I really don't feel like talking about it," she said, ducking her head. She started twirling a dark lock of loose from her ponytail. They sat in silence, waiting as the night grew deeper. Then finally, "My father," Anna half whispered. "Hmmm?" "I started around the time my father died. I was an only child although I don't think it was for the lack of trying. I was real close to my father even if I wasn't the son he wanted. I was a classic daddy's girl. I did most everything with my dad; watching movies, listening to his Billie Holiday records, even with fishing. We were a class act that way, with our inside jokes and habitual escapades. I guess mom was a bit jealous with how close we were. But she let us be. It was what made us happy. We used to go on these long walks around town, my dad and I. We'd explore hidden places. We'd raid cemeteries and trudge forests nearby and we'd go back home, laughing and telling stories and planning our next adventure for the following weekend or something. I grew up like that. My dad, the adventurer, with me by his side as his trusted sidekick. My mother and him, they were a happy and content couple. And all was well. Until he had to die. It happened on one of our trips to the forest. We were having a scavenger hunt through junk scattered all over the forest floor. My father was bending over a pile of bottles when he suddenly clutched at his chest. He looked at me and, almost apologetically, said 'Tell you mom I won't make it to dinner tonight.' And crumpled on the ground like a marionette with cut strings. My mother was devastated. She would look at me and I knew she loathed me. I knew she blamed me for what happened to my dad and she hated me because of it. She killed herself the night my father was buried. She cooked me my favorite meal and she even tucked me in, kissing me goodnight before she went out of my room. She didn't usually do that, but I didn't notice the difference. I was so stricken with grief, I took any form of love I could find. I found her the next morning in her room before I went to school. She was swinging lightly from the breeze coming in through her open window, her head lolling on the side from the noose digging into her neck. She looked cold and dead. And she was. I was 16. What little money my dad left us went to my mother's funeral. The few known relatives I had didn't want anything to do with me, even my dad's own sister. My mom was an only child so there wasn't much option. I was alone and I felt broken. I continued to do my walks, though. I'd slip out of the house at night so no one would see me, so no one would gawk and feel sorry for the little orphan girl. And I'd walk around town. It's the only time I'd feel any sense of peace. Everything is different at night, you see. It has its own hidden life. I never got scared walking down those empty streets or through winding paths in the forest. It never really occurred to me it could be dangerous, but I rarely saw anyone, anyway. I met my first on one of my usual nocturnal walks. I was sitting here, like now, resting my feet a little after going around through, Mary Elizabeth's, a small graveyard on the town's east end. I noticed him lingering far off. He was cautious, sidling towards me slowly as if I were something nasty and dangerous. He sat next to me, he looked just a few years older than I was. He looked awkward and out of place. A few adolescent acne marks were still visible on his face. 'What's your rate?', he asked me. I was clueless to what he meant. 'I really don't know how this usually works. Do we go to your place or mine?' And then it dawned on me. I just looked at him, unbelieving. He kept fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable. He stood up. "I don't wanna force you if you don't want to", he said. I stood up and I took his hand. They shook. Surprisingly, mine didn't. We went to his apartment. He kept fumbling his keys by the door. It took him a few tries before he could get the key in the lock. He must have been as nervous as I was. All I remember then was how timid and gentle he was. I must have been his first, too. He kissed me and after that, a blank in my mind. I believed it hurt, I don't really remember. And then we were finished. He picked up his fallen pants and took a few bills from his pocket and placed them on the nightstand beside me. He kissed me on my lips then he went to the bathroom. I hastily put my clothes back. I must've ran. When I got home, my feet were bleeding on a few places and I realized my shirt wad backwards. I didn't take his money; I already felt disgusted with myself without doing so. But I've been coming to this spot every night since then, waiting for guys like. And I never stopped doing it. • • • A scattering of orange cigarette butts had formed beside the person. He was lying down on the pavement, forming a nondescript snow angel. "Anna, do you know the legend of Lucifer?" He asked. She was still twirling her hair. "Yeah, I've heard of him. Isn't he supposed to be the devil?" "So they say. But he wasn't always so. Before the dawn of time, Lucifer was the most beautiful of all creations and so he remains. And part from Father, he was also the most powerful. But then, he rebelled. Before doing so, he came to me and asked me to join him and share his plight. I declined. I was too pure. Or maybe I was too afraid. Father won, of course. I fought against Lucifer and all my other truant brothers in the First War, fought with vehemence but also with regret. We were brothers in light. We were created to be many things, but to be fighters was not among those. The war waged for eons but Father merely spoke a word and it was over and my treacherous brother were defeated. I would hazard a guess that even upon the conception of the idea of a revolution, Lucifer already knew the futility of it. And I wondered why. So before he and the others were cast out, I asked him. And he answered. He said, "Father created everything for a purpose and I believe that to fall is mine." And so he fell." "So you're basically saying that you're a...what are you?", Anna asked. And he told her. "I still don't see what that story has got to do with me." She said. "It may merely be a story but stories are masks, as well. They're a mask for what's real. Things happen for a reason. They may not always be clear but they're there." The person stood up, brushing away the ashes scattered on his coat front. "Come," The person told her, "Walk with me." "Where are we going?", Anna asked "Away." "Where?" "Off to where I'm from," he said and he told her where. "Don't I have a say in this?" She asked quietly. "Of course you do, everyone does." "Well, I guess it can't be worse than where I am now," she said, standing up. The snow started filling the empty spot which she had previously occupied, covering it in the short instant she had abandoned it. It's funny how things can go on with or without you; how real you can be, and yet forgotten so instantly. "What's it like, you know, being there?" "No use explaining. You'll see eventually." They stood there in silence. A small gust of wind blew, making great swirls of white snow all around. "Will it hurt?" She asked, after some time. "It's as gentle as breath" the person said. They continued to stand there, the snow slowly building up around them yet never touching them. "Take my hand", the person said, offering one to her. She took and was mildly surprised that her hand was steady. They walked off towards where the person had come, the darkness enveloped them like a warm embrace. There was silence, then the muffled sound of beating wings. A small gale came from the darkness where the two had disappeared, buffeting some of the snow astray. After a while, the white rain resumed its lazy descent, covering the ground in a cold, pale sheet. *** They found her lying beneath the lamppost on Angeles Street the following morning. She was almost completely covered in snow. Only some portions of her face and knees were visible under the white blanket. It was pronounced by the coroner, after much re-examination and verification, that the cause of her death was neither exposure nor hypothermia but, for no palpable reason, just the complete cessation of her body processes. Her heart simply ceased to pump blood and her lung stopped taking breaths. What baffled most was what they saw after getting most of the snow off her. She was lying there, her knees drawn close to her body and her hands folded tightly to her chest. A single, crystalline tear had frozen on one of her cold alabaster cheeks and on her lips was the gentlest hint of a smile. More curious was what they found on her hand. They saw, as they pried her dead fingers open, that she was clutching a single white feather. At their touch, the feather crumbled into a pile of white snow on the bright morning light.