Episode Eleven
First, there was darkness.
It covered her like a shadow, draped across her skin like black velvet. It swallowed her, consumed her, twisted like smoke around her bones. It was everything, and nothing—and it was exquisite. For a time, she lay there languishing in that darkness, reveling in it. She could not remember where she was, or how she got there, but in the end, it didn’t matter.
Slow as a blooming flower, the darkness began to recede. Meadow felt it slip away, her heart aching with each passing moment, until at last she opened her eyes. The white whisper of morning waited for her, the slowly curling mists of dawn rising over the land. She blinked hard, her memories scattered in a thousand directions, and she worked to piece them back together. One by one they knitted with each other to make a patchwork quilt of understanding, and as they did reels of memories returned to her. Cool water against her skin. Running through the jungle. Unending thirst and the feeling of panic burned into her soul.
But what happened after that, she didn’t know. It was an empty space inside of her, a question without an answer. It seemed that the darkness had taken everything else, had kept her to itself long enough that it had eroded what came before it. Still, what she could recall was something, a piece of her put back together, a piece of her she could hold onto.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, golden light fell through the branches above her. Safely nestled in a bed of dried nettles, Meadow gazed up through the trees. She lay inside the arms of a forest, though the song of water called to her from somewhere nearby. The earth around her was damp with dew, the nettles brittle and brown, and the canopy overhead was sparse with leaves.
Rising to her feet, Meadow brushed the needles from her clothes and her hair. Hardly more than a hundred feet ahead stood the treeline, and beyond it lush autumn grass.
Autumn, she thought absently. Had summer faded so fast? Wasn’t it just there, only moments ago? She could still recall with perfect clarity the sizzling heat of July, the laughter between her and friends as they lay beneath the summer sun. But quick as the thought came, it faded away, and she was left with nothing more than the ghost of a memory.
Dead leaves crunched beneath her feet as she made her way onward, slipping easily between the towering pines and oaks that surrounded her. Tall grasses caressed her knees as she left the forest behind, entering the vast plains beyond. The chill of morning was quickly fading, giving way to a bright, clear sky. Already Meadow felt the prickle of sweat on her brow, but she ignored it as she continued walking.
It struck her as odd, that she could not remember how she came to this place. It was odder still, that she was alone. Meadow had a penchant for travel, had loved it ever since she was a young girl. But she’d learned early in her life that safety was only guaranteed in numbers. So, she’d made it a point never to travel alone, never to go new places or explore foreign lands without someone to accompany her.
Yet there she was, walking alone in an open field, with no recollection of how she’d gotten there, or where she was. The knowledge left the whispers of apprehension in its wake, and as she glanced around the sea of grass, an eerie feeling crept up her spine. Hairs rose on the back of her neck, and her insides quivered.
She was not alone.
She stood silent for a moment—watching and waiting. Yet the minutes passed uneventfully, and she was forced to concede that maybe she was wrong.
I’m just scaring myself because I said I’d never travel alone, she thought morosely. But why for the life of me can I not remember coming here? And why did I come alone?
With a dejected sigh, she turned away.
She did not notice the man in black, staring at her from inside the treeline. And she did not notice his footsteps trailing behind her as she walked away.
—
After some time, Meadow came across a narrow dirt path.
“Okay,” she breathed, folding her arms across her chest. “Now we’re getting somewhere. If only I knew where the hell that was.”
Taking the path to the right, she followed it towards the sound of water. Slowly, the flat field transitioned into a rocky outcropping, sloping downward at a gradual pace. Great boulders began to litter and line the path, and Meadow tread carefully, picking her way through the rocks until at last she could see the water.
Sunlight rippled on the sea, waves glittering like row upon row of diamonds. The waters were cerulean and azure, sapphire and turquoise, at once deep and restless and shallow and soft. Meadow stood there, gazing into the water, fighting the growing panic that plagued her.
When she first awoke, she’d been overcome by the strangeness of it all—waking in the woods, finding herself lost in a land she didn’t recognize. But now that she’d had a chance to sit with it, to let that knowledge sink into her marrow, she realized the truth.
She was in trouble.
Now, panic grabbed at her throat, clutching tighter and tighter until she couldn’t breathe. She was confused, and lost, and unsure of what she was meant to do or where she was meant to go. Hot tears prickled behind her eyes, and she fought back the urge to run.
Meadow.
Her name echoed in the wind around her, whispered in the leaves that danced along the grass.
Meadow.
“Hello?” she called back, whirling around. Had she imagined it, in a moment of desperation? Or was something really calling to her?
“Where are you? Who are you?”
Meadow…I don’t know if you can hear me…
“I can hear you!” she bellowed, lifting her face to the sky. Brilliant blue stared back at her, as clear and bright as her father’s eyes. The moment the thought drifted through her mind, a jolt of recognition struck her. The voice that called to her…it wasn’t a stranger. She’d heard that voice millions of times in millions of ways—over breakfast every morning, and as he’d tucked her in every night.
I don’t know if you can hear me… the voice echoed. Her father’s voice.
She swallowed, her throat tight with longing. It felt as if years had passed since she’d last seen his face. But that couldn’t be right. She’d seen him only yesterday…hadn’t she? The more she thought, the more brittle she felt. She was a cracked pane of glass waiting to shatter, waiting to falter and splinter into shards at the lightest breeze. What was happening to her? Where was she?
“Help me,” she whispered, falling to her knees. “Dad, I’m scared…”
I want you to know how much I love you…We will be together again…
As the last of his words died away, Meadow felt the air hiss from her lungs. She croaked a sob, balling blades of grass in her hands. Frustration settled beneath her ribs, spilling over into grief and heartache. She wanted more than anything to wake up from the world she’d found herself in, to open her eyes and find herself in the warmth of her blankets, lost in the embrace of her own bed.
She closed her eyes and counted to ten, cracking a single lid when she reached the end. But the world was as it had been, unchanged by her wanting. Groaning, she rose from the ground. If wishing would not change things, then she would waste no time on it. She would find her own way home. There was nothing else for her to do.
She peered over the edge of the path, her eyes moving along the trail. Before her was a steep cliff, one that looked down upon a village. Whatever awaited her, she knew her journey to understanding would begin there.
Following the path downward, Meadow traced the edges of the rocks, her feet dangling precariously close to the edge of the path as it fell away down the side of the cliff. She flattened herself against the rock, inching her way down, ignoring the trembling in her fingers and the disquieting thrum of her heart. Bit by bit she scrambled down the narrow path, hugging the cliff face at every turn. It was long after she’d stepped away onto solid ground before her heart quieted, and the knocking of her knobbly knees stilled.
The village ahead belonged to fishermen. The docks along the water were swarming with boats, the waters awash with white netting, and the smell of fish lingered in the air like a fog. But even from a distance, things were not quite as she’d expected. It felt to Meadow as if she’d stepped backwards in time. There were no hulking whalers or commercial trawlers, no winches or dredges to scrape the sea bottom. There were only dinghies and skiffs, small vessels that would carry a handful of men—no more—left to foist their nets by hand.
But as she drew closer, Meadow realized just how different the village was from everything she’d ever known. The streets were little more than muddy paths, made wider by the frequent footfalls of the villagers. Puddles of brown water lined the streets, a fetid stench riding the wind. But it was the houses that stopped her at the village edge.
They were small, square things, made of misshapen stone and wooden beam. They were archaic things, centuries old, made for utility rather than grandeur. Gone were the stucco mansions she was used to, buildings three stories high with pools in every back yard. Gone were the bungalows and townhomes she knew, and with them all sense of comfort was lost.
For all that, Meadow knew one thing for sure. Wherever she was, it was far from home.
(Read Episode 12 by clicking the Page 2 Link Below)