บท 2: Cold
Christopher hated the cold. So, he hated everything, because everything was cold.
Ever since Christopher could remember, it had always been that way. Christopher was an only child, born of grief. Both of his parents had passed away before they could have any more children. He remembered with perfect clarity the night his mother was taken by a looming shadowy figure. His father had died just two days following his mother's death. Perhaps he had died from sorrow, though Christopher doubted it. In life, his father seemed to always be grieving. He had watched his father bury momma in the snow-covered-garden. Christopher replicated this courtesy for his father though it took a great deal more time. The night of his fathers death still haunted him. He could remember distinctly the loud wailing reverberating through the hollow house. His father's hollow, echoing cries had sounded like a hundred people. The wailing had gone on for hours and hours into the night and then, without warning, had stopped. Christopher had found his father lying motionless and cold in his office, wearing an expression of wide eyed grief. There were now three grave stones among the frost covered roses. The third grave was a mystery to Christopher. He hadn't been told much about the grave, only that the person buried there wasn't related to them. If that was true, then why had his father buried momma next to the grave with such sad tenderness? Why also was Christopher mysteriously drawn to the unknown grave?
The house and grounds belonged to Christopher now.
Why the house was so large when they had been only a family of three, he didn't know. The house was just as quiet and lonely upon his parents death as it had been when they were alive. Things had hardly changed at all. He still took care of himself and shouldered more sadness than a nine year old should ever carry.
As was his daily routine, Christopher brushed off the freshly fallen snow from the cold stone graves and read the names engraved in them.
Ormod, Sarah, and Patrick. Christopher doubled over with sudden uncontrollable grief and started crying. All of Christopher's life, he had been having these seizures. For no reason he would start to cry. It would always be very painful and could easily go on for longer than an hour. As of late, his seizures were happening longer and more often than was customary. He violently heaved and sputtered over his tears. He could never see when he did this so he got to his knees to keep himself from falling over. After what seemed like ages, he was able to open his eyes and subdue his tears with quick double intakes of breath. When he opened his eyes, Christopher saw a tall thin man kneeling by the graves with a bouquet of blue irises clutched in his pale hands. He was clean shaven and wore mourning clothes. His hair was as black as raven feathers and closely cropped to his ears. Christopher had an uneasy feeling watching the man kneel so close to the graves. The strange man had sparkling black eyes and an air which was colder than the weather. The man waited patiently for Christopher's breathing pattern to return to normal before engaging in polite conversation.
"Forgive my intrusion young master." He spoke like sickly sweet molasses. "I would like to pay my respects to my dearly departed friends."
"Who are you?" Spoke Christopher in a firm accusing tone."
The man smiled slowly exposing delicate and slightly pointed teeth.
"A friend of the family."
"Is that so?" Said Christopher puffing out his tiny chest and drawing himself up to his full height of three and a half feet. "Well, I'm apart of the family and you'r not my friend."
The flash of white teeth vanished from the strangers face.
"You were not yet born." The stranger patted Christopher's head with condescension. Christopher cringed at the touch and huffily pushed the stranger's arm away. He furiously worked his hands through his hair to rid his head of the lingering feel of the stranger's touch.
The stranger fixed Christopher with a stare that was almost hungry.
"I would like to be your friend, Christopher. You have lost both your parents in less than a week and you haven't got a friend in the world."
"My parents lived like they were dead." Snapped Christopher harshly. "I don't need any friends. How do you know my name?"
"No matter. The question at hand is, what will you do now? You are so very sad. I can see past your pride. You are deeply wounded and wish my malignant would take you as well. Wouldn't it be simpler to follow Ormod's example."
The hairs prickled on the back of Christopher's neck.
"How do you.."
"Get away from the boy!" Boomed a thunderous voice.
The stranger looked truly terrified as a tall scarred man stepped out of the brush.
The tall skinny man forced a look of arrogance and hid his shaking hands behind his back.
The scarred man had curly rich brown hair that waved furiously in the wind. His bright hazel eyes flashed like lightning and his face was both marvelous and terrible. The scarred man stood nose to nose with the stranger.
"Do not put evil ideas in this child's mind you beast."
The stranger coughed once into his fist, smiled and said,
"At the risk of sounding childish, I was here first. And what is all this beast business? Esmé, my very old friend, do you not remember my name?" Esmé spoke in a low rumbling voice.
"Do not dare to greet me with friendship. Nor desecrate my name wth your forked tongue. As for me, I will not foul my mouth with the taste of your vile name.
Get thee hence."
"Do not use your thees and thous with me old master. If I didn't know better, I would think you didn't like me."
Esmé narrowed his eyes and his nostrils flared as if he was looking at the scum of the earth. The stranger hastily placed the blue irises on the grave of Christopher's mother.
"For you my dear departed Sarah."
He then made an impressively graceful exit for someone who looked as if he would faint. Esmé and Christopher watched him go.
"Who are you?" Asked Christopher looking at Esmé with fascination.
Esmé calmed the storm in his eyes and gave Christopher more love in one glance than his parents had ever given him the whole nine years he had been alive.
"My name is Esmé." The man seemed to give off a warm glow. The only thing Christopher had ever known was cold. Warmth was strange and wonderful to Christopher and he longed to huddle close to Esmé, just to get away from everything else.
Christopher stood, looked Esmé over and said,
"I like you. You made the bad feeling go away."
Esmé beamed, then his manner grew serious.
"You were wise to turn away that fiend. He is no friend of any who desire company of an honest nature."
Christopher had felt a presence of darkness in the stranger. A presence that, though dark, was frighteningly enticing and curious.
"He said he knew my family. Is that true?"
"He knew them. That doesn't mean they liked him."
"Did you know my family?"
Esmé looked at the cold grave of Christopher's mother, but it was obvious that was not what he saw. Sad, overwhelming love shone from his hazel eyes."
"Did you love my mother?" It was a personal question only the ignorance of youth would bring forth. Esmé was unabashed.
"More than life itself." He stated softly. "I still do." He turned back to Christopher with his heart showing clearly in his face. "I love you too Christopher. If you will permit me to be your friend, I will look after you. Come with me. Let us away from this house of ice and death."
Christopher wanted with all of his heart to say yes, but his walls instinctively went up.
"More than anything I want to believe you." He said with pressing sobs building up in his chest. "In fact, I think I do. But, something is holding me back. I don't.." His voice caught. "I don't need any friends."
Esmé's face fell.
"Very well. If not a friend, than let me leave you a guardian. Should the viper return, I will not leave you defenseless."
An "ouch" was heard followed by muffled giggles. From the brush that Esmé had first revealed himself, came strange noises. Christopher curiously looked behind the hiding spot and saw a girl no older than eight who had fallen in the snow, landing on her rump. She looked perfectly happy about the mistake and jumped up to address Christopher. The young girl had sparkling blue eyes and golden hair that shimmered in the bitter cold like rays of sunlight.
"Hello!" Tittered the happy child. "I'm Joli." Christopher blanched and turned to Esmé with unbelief.
"Who is this?"
"She will protect you." Esmé said smiling from ear to ear.
"She is my guardian? But she's a girl!"
"I'll be going now." Spoke Esmé with regret. "Take care of him Joli. If you need me, I'll always be within shouting distance." Joli gave Esmé a big hug before he disappeared behind the snow covered trees. Joli then turned to Christopher. Her blue eyes twinkled and her face knew nothing but a light hearted smile.
"Can we go inside?" She asked cupping her hands and breathing into them. "It's freezing out here."
"You'll get used to it." Spoke Christopher solemnly. "We can go inside but you'll find it's no warmer in there than it is out here. As they headed for the house, Christopher noticed a fine black powder on his mothers grave where blue irises once rested. The powder was unmistakably the charred remains of a plant burned beyond recognition.
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