Page 9 of Sweet Silver Bells

CHAPTER SIX.

“ I t’s you,” Hunter said, staring into the darkness, staring at the figure before him that had escaped his memory yet haunted his day, like a siren at sea, calling him back to her. “You’re real. You’re actually real and . . . I found you.”

“Hmmm.” She seemed disappointed.

“I . . . I came back. I think I came back for you,” he breathed.

“You shouldn’t have.”

Hunter was at a loss. He didn’t know what to say or do.

He hadn’t expected to find her.

But she didn't need saving.

How do I help you?

“What do you remember?” she asked him. “From meeting me.”

Maybe I'm the one who needs saving.

“You should come back with me.” Hunter ignored her question. The answer was nothing .

He watched the woman turn her head away.

Her dark hair was long, draped over her nude body like a fur cloak.

Her skin was tinged with purples and blues.

He could see the goosebumps that covered her, the cuts, small crevices of deep red that were not yet scabbed over, proof enough that she was real, existing outside of his imagination.

She was so small, so frail, that Hunter knew that he needed to get her fed, clothed, and warm.

“I can save you,” he whispered, holding onto the belief he’d come there with.

But you couldn’t save Sarah.

“Let me save you.” He held out his hand to her. She turned and looked down at it, his outstretched palm, fingers reaching, pleading. “I can’t just leave you here.”

She cocked her head, face blank at first, but then she flashed a smile.

“I haven’t left this forest in over one hundred years.”

That was a delusion, wasn’t it? It had to be.

Something in his gut, though, told him it was not. He chose to ignore it; he had to.

What do you say now?

“Why did you come here in the first place?” The conversation was good. She wasn’t accepting his hand, but she wasn’t running.

“A boy.” She sneered at him, like he was the boy, like he had done this to her.

Hunter took a step back. He wasn’t sure why, but for the first time, he got the sense that she was more than a lost soul in the woods.

This woman was perhaps not a woman; perhaps a monster hid under that skin-cloak.

An eerie prickle climbed up the back of his neck; the silence around them was too profound, as if they were in a vacuum, where no one could walk up to them, and no one could find them.

“A boy called me a witch in front of my family, at our Christmas ball. I ran, I ran, and I sang, and the greenery rose up to defend me. People screamed, some cried, and if I ever saw that boy again, I would kill him in an instant.”

Hunter was stunned.

Say anything.

“If this happened in 1914, then that boy is already dead now.”

Good. That seemed good.

She studied his face, unmoving, standing with her legs wide, her arms wrapped around her waist. The severity in her eyes softened.

“How dreary,” she said. “Disappointing, really. I only leave my tree looking for him, singing at the edge of the forest, trying to lure him back to me. But then I heard you sing . . . ”

“Does that mean that you’ll come with me then?” Hunter asked. “Or will you go back to your tree forever?”

She was crazy, delusional, just like he thought he was.

You're just as crazy as her, but at least you have clothes on.

She didn’t answer. She just stared, her gaze unapologetic, unfaltering.

Hunter wondered if she would run, like a frightened squirrel, if he moved, if he made a sound.

There was no fear there, though. The way that she looked at him was the way a predator lazily let its prey walk by because it had already eaten that day.

“Every time I leave my tree, my body ages,” she whispered after some time. “My breasts are larger, my hips are more spread. I have urges.”

Hunter's eyes immediately fell to his feet, his stomach jumping.

“What?”

He was confused. Why would she say that here?

“How old were you when you came into the forest?” he asked.

“Fourteen.”

"How old are you now?"

"One hundred and fourteen, maybe older. The urges—they became unbearable only a few years after I sealed myself in the tree."

“So these urges … you’ve never been touched?” He cleared his throat.

Why the fuck are you talking about this?

“Touched?” she asked, her words slithering, snake-like, like he was being lured into a trap.

“I touch myself all the time. I make the branches grow and massage the walls inside of me until I scream and pant until I have no voice left. Then it’s time to go back into my tree.”

Hunter’s eyes widened, his jaw dropped.

You’re not hearing her right.

One thing he knew, though, was that she wasn’t coming with him. She wouldn’t let him help her, save her. He’d found no damsel. There was no distress.

“Do you want to see?” she asked, no smile on her face, a seriousness with no humor, no sarcasm. Hunter's mouth dropped.

“Do I want to see what?”

The woman smiled as she opened her mouth, a song escaping, ethereal notes pouring out. The forest reacted instantly, the trees and bushes around Hunter growing and shifting until a branch grew out to her, smooth with a medium thickness.

“I would sit on this,” she said, breaking it off. “And writhe around until I am filled with stars, it’s the only other time I can see them since I stay under the cover of the trees.”

She moved the branch down her breast, circling it down her navel. Hunter let his eyes linger. His stomach tightened as her hand, her tool, came down to her pelvis, gliding to her upper thigh as she pushed in, ripping her skin.

“No,” he had to yell. Panic overtook him.

“Why?” she asked him.

“It’s not right.” He knew how annoying that sounded. He was irritated with himself that it was the only thing he could think to say. It was how he felt, though.

I can’t stand here and watch. I can’t take advantage.

“I came here to help you,” he said. “But you don’t want help.”

She was silent, her eyes large and sparkling with what he thought was anger and rejection. If what she said was true, then she likely didn’t get told no too often.

You offended her, you idiot.

The bulge in his pants was offended, too.

“I can go,” he said, not knowing now what to do. It seemed the safest thing. She wasn’t frostbitten, she wasn’t crying, she wasn’t asking for help. Hunter knew when to leave; he knew when he wasn’t welcome.

You’re going to lose your job over this.

The light, cheery singing of birds skipping through the treetops helped him refocus, recenter, bringing his heart and breath back to a normal rhythm.

“It was nice to meet you,” he said, turning in the direction of the mansion and estate.

He took a few steps, the sounds of the forest crackling and whooshing around him from his movement, from the life and energy he had sacrificed to the trees.

It felt like little pieces of his soul as he prepared to go back to his car, now knowing he was perfectly sane, but still leaving a woman alone in the forest, so vulnerable, so unprotected.

I’m sorry, Sarah. I did try.

He was sorry for many reasons. Too many to count.

“Olivia.”

Hunter stopped mid-step, his foot hovering. He took her in again; her chin was raised high, and the anger ebbed from her gaze. She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t friendly.

“What was that?”

She took in a breath, her dark hair framing her sharp features. “You asked my name. It is Olivia.”

A tear ran down her cheek.

“Why are you crying?”

She shook her head.

“I understand,” he said. “I cry, too.”

“My father, he was the last one to say my name out loud.”

Over one hundred years ago.

It’s not real, Hunter.

Hunter began stepping back toward her as the strength she presented slowly melted away. He put his hand up to her cheek. She flinched, but let him touch her, lips parted, nearly trembling.

Hunter looked into her dark eyes.

Beautiful. She was devastatingly beautiful.

“Olivia,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Will you come back?” she asked.

Hunter forgot to breathe. It was the way she looked at him, the way her haunting gaze bore into his soul, as if she saw something there, something he didn’t know about, lying dormant, waiting to impress her. There was an expectation.

What do you need?

“Do you want me to come back?” Hunter asked.

“Hmmm.”

Her interest seemed fading; whatever she hoped to pull out of him wasn’t coming forward. Her eyes went vacant, her long lashes brushing her cheeks again while she blinked, unmoving, unshifting, still as an ancient tree.

It suddenly felt so wrong now to walk away. He was planted, rooted there with her. He could stay within her energy all day, even though he wasn’t sure how to handle it, how to act right around her.

Olivia.

Her name wrapped around his mind, a song stuck in his head, one that would never leave him.

“Please,” he whispered one last time. “Come with me.”

Olivia smiled, and as she opened her mouth, a song came out. Hunter only heard the first few words, a magic filling him like a parasite, a love bomb that soothed him into a blank state.

“Hark how the bells,

Sweet silver bells

All seems to say

Throw cares away.”

Hunter blacked out, though he stood firm. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, his fists clenched at his sides. His body responded to her song, to magic that made him move closer to the enchanting voice that brought his body into hers.

Hunter’s mouth opened as he completed her song in a stunned mental paralysis.

“Christmas is here, bringing good cheer.”

Olivia let her tongue slide over her front teeth before smiling at him, her new pet, her spellbound doll, a soon-to-be lover where neither would ever relent.

The forest obeyed her song, her will as well, as it grew up and around him, binding him.

She walked forward, her bare feet in the cold, in the dirt, unbothered.

She was safe there with him. She leaned forward, her lips about to touch the pale, flushed flesh of his cheek, her breasts pressing up against him.

She didn’t kiss him, though; this wasn't their moment.

As she walked away, the forest let him go too, his feet taking him out of the trees, back to the parking lot, where he would once again wake up in the car, forgetting what had happened.