By Michael Fetter

Under the cover of darkness smaller creatures felt secure to move about the dying underbrush, which offered little protection during the day. Predators were always about, peering into the night for a morsel worth snacking on. It was no wonder these small animals burrowed holes deep within the earth to wait out the days and moved like jackrabbits even in the night.

A heightened sense of smell and near perfect sight in the dark were the only devices these creatures possessed to warn them of danger. Scurrying between bushes, crawling up the side of trees, or crossing open prairies, treacherous with the death of winter already upon them, they often paused, standing stock-still, observing the slightest changes in the area.

There was another five minutes of shadow left to blanket the plateau of an old farmhouse. It was a dreary and dilapidated, beige, two-story building. Frost had accumulated over the windowpanes, drawing intricate circular patterns like silken spider webs. The shingled roof and wood paneling had begun to warp and wear through the many harsh seasons the home had endured.

Skeletal limbs reached out across the front lawn, tickling the walls of the building and brushing fingers through the still morning air. Heavy branches, barren of the leaves they spawned in warmer seasons, creaked like old bones as they swayed in the periodic gust of wind.

A good five minute walk separated this house from its nearest neighbor, a stretch in most modern cities, but barely noticeable in this rural town. The road between the homes was roughly paved, cracked from the freezing water that seeped beneath the surface.

Wind, so singly focused that it missed the dead leaves upon the ground, sifted by the house and trees once again, catching a limb in its wake. The silence broke suddenly with a snap and a thud of great force upon the ground. Twigs and smaller branches splintered like glass, lying shattered about the epicenter of the disturbance.

A moment passed with little movement until the door of the house opened, flooding light briefly upon the yard. Sam stood there catching his breath and staring at the fallen branch that rested across the path from the front door. He sighed and shook his head to banish the worry he’d felt upon hearing the snap of the old wood. The cool morning caught his breath in a new mist, which lingered in the air before him as he struggled to zip up his jacket with shaking hands.

Leaning back into the house, Sam found his backpack resting by the doorway and lifted it onto his shoulders, slouching a bit to bare the weight of his books more comfortably. He stopped again as he caught sight of a pair of red eyes watching him from the yard.

A field mouse stood upon hind legs, nose twitching in the direction of the open door, studying Sam’s movements. It stood a few inches tall, a brown color that would match the summer grain. The eyes gleamed with the house’s light, menacing and hungry as if the small creature held ties with darker forces.

The door slammed shut of its own volition causing Sam to jump slightly and catch his breath. The mouse scrambled off to other parts of the yard, disrupting the silent leaves in its wake.

Watching his breath mist over for a second, Sam swallowed the brief panic and adjusted the straps on his shoulders. He stepped lightly off of the porch, avoiding the fallen branch as he left the house and yard behind. The beating of his heart, echoing through his ears, began to abate with the numbness of the cold settling upon him.

On the horizon, a dull light broke into the valley, catching the darkness and its creatures unaware. The small animals skittered about less cautiously as they sought refuge within their burrows. Leaves rustled in the sudden rush of wind, a twisting breeze from beating wings.

A high squeak was cut short as razor sharp claws pierced deeply within the small life. Standing once again upon a high limb overlooking the valley, a fresh kill within its grasp, the brown owl turned its head to the sound of the boy’s footsteps down the road. It blinked, swiveling its head back around to the meal lying limply in its hold.

~

The walks to school were long and peaceful. Sam often had time to look around sparsely covered landscape and consider what his future was going to be like. Some of the kids were born and raised in this farm community to work the land after their parents passed on; it was their destiny. Sam saw other things when he looked out over the horizon. He looked to the west most of the time because the sun was too bright. Somewhere in the west, he decided, was his life waiting for him.

After school, the many years of study abroad in the major thoughts of philosophy and psychology, graduating with a couple degrees in business and language, Sam would sit in his hand-crafted, brown leather chair that could hide his body when it faced away from his mahogany desk and to the diplomas strung up along the back wall of his office. Everything would be set up to give his employees a sense of awe and gratitude to be working for such worldly man. Large, expensive paintings of impressionist work cooled the room with soothing colors of the ocean. A few potted plants with wide green leaves would stand in the corners that his secretary would water before work every day.

Hundreds of feet up, a West-facing window would give Sam a perfect view of the grand city he was a part of. The buildings reflected the sun’s dying rays like a valley of diamonds, orange sweeping the streets as if they were lined with gold.

Most of the time he would attend big important meetings that often called for the attention of a few diplomats and heads of state. At the head of the table, Sam could accept the praise and contracts set forward by gracious customers, making the news on a daily basis.

At the end of the day, as he finished his meetings, Sam could reflect upon his life in a reclining chair. The picture of his family stood glowing upon his desk. Sam had trouble making out the faces, but there would be two children, one boy and one girl, and his wife. She was the hardest to see; a blonde woman, maybe, which he met while studying in Europe.

The daydreaming halted as off in the distance he heard sounds of other students. They were more hushed than usual. A snapping sound caught his attention and twigs clattered to the ground at his feet. Sam stopped, holding a hand over his eyes, and peered through the morning sun up at a black bird looking back down at him.

It was still early as he passed through the rot iron fence surrounding the only school in town. It was a small, soggy-looking group of buildings that resembled large adobe bricks set parallel to each other.

A crowd was gathering in the schoolyard. Flashing red lights swept over student’s faces, lighting up their dumb looks and dull eyes. They seemed to be transformed with the light into crimson hecklers and bullies, the shadows growing over their eyes like a blindfold on the Lady Justice statues.

Years ago in little school when they found a dead bird on the ground kids had gathered in the same quiet. It was a sparrow, the seasonal kind with bright red spots on their chests. Ants had found access through the bird’s eyes, which had been eaten out. A group of kids had run in to take a look, milling about like the cattle in high school did now.

The seasonal chill seemed cooler the further he ambled through the crowd. Sam imagined his face was turning blue, the island on the sea of red. Numbness touched at his cheeks and he rubbed them with his sweaty palms. He mumbled apologies as he worked himself further into the congregation. Closer to the center, people parted without his asking.

"Why do you suppose she did it?" Someone whispered the question.

They were looking at a tetherball pole with the rope cut a foot and half short. There was red on its tip and it took Sam a moment to realize it wasn’t a result of the light.

An unfamiliar girl with brown hair to his right whispered back to her friend. "You saw who Samantha was hanging out with. I might kill myself too if I were with him."

The other girl, a redhead with pigtails, giggled as he walked up to the front just in time to see the ambulance doors closing. Mrs. Norton, an English teacher in her sixties, was talking to the paramedics. Her face was old and wrinkled, which matched well with her stringy gray hair. When she frowned her face scrunched up into a valley of rolling flesh.

"What was her full name, Mrs. Norton?" Sam heard one of the paramedics ask.

"Samantha Brighter." Mrs. Norton had to pick her brain for a moment to recall the name. Sam had liked Samantha for her general anonymity. Something they shared equally, or used to until the nickname.

It was a colder day than usual Sam came to realize as his body began to shake. He stuffed his hands deeper into the pockets and tried to move himself into the school, but his feet were rooted to the ground. The red light swept over the faces of the gathered students again and he couldn’t help but follow its path. Some of the people had noticed him and were eyeing him strangely. Others, like those two girls he’d passed, were talking amongst themselves.

The light passed over the pole again, holding his gaze like a siren in the raging waters.

"Sammy?" Mrs. Norton was in his face, gripping his shoulders with shaking hands. It was too close, Sam thought. He had to escape before the people smothered him.

Sam brought his arms up to disentangle himself from the old woman’s hold. Mrs. Norton tried again to keep his arm, but he protested, shaking her off and jumping back into the mass of students.

"I told you." The brown-haired girl seemed to sneer as he passed. She continued to talk, but Sam was already too far to hear anymore. As he passed the main building’s doors someone called out ‘Fight!’ and the crowd became an uproar of noise.

~

The auditorium was at the end of the hall of the main building. Sam had run, pushing past students and teachers until he crashed through the closed doors, barely registering the fact his hands had hit against the metal push bar.

Often left unused, Sam stumbled through the darkness for a while, accidentally kicking a chair or hand railing. The stairs leading to the balcony were easy to find once his eyes had adjusted. Sam half-stumbled up the steps, crashing down into the last row of seats, the darkest spot the room had to offer.

His head dropped into his hands and remained there. Sam didn’t cry; he had never been very good at large displays of emotion, but his heart felt like it was being torn to pieces.

It was all over. Sam could see it now. The picture on his mahogany desk, as he sat in the large business chair, was cracked. The sun no longer disguised what had been hiding behind it’s golden reflection; no children smiled back at Sam, only a dull gaze from the familiar brown-haired girl that caught his attention for a while when he attended high school.

How long had they been seeing each other? Sam never thought about it before. It never seemed as important as where they might be in the years to come. Samantha had captured a piece of his heart, as surely a shadow would follow in Sam’s footsteps. Sam had sought her out and Samantha had fit so comfortably in his life.

The last date they had gone on was barely a week ago. Sam had walked to school with an extra change of clothing rather than return home and walk all the way back because his parents would be working too late to drive. It had taken some persistence for Samantha to agree to the first date, but it had gotten easier the longer they continued to see each other. Sam thought it strange that Samantha was afraid of getting intimate, often cringing at his touch in the dark theater.

Rain had come down in buckets as they ran into the downtown area. Like all high school students, Sam didn’t have the funds to take Samantha to a fancy restaurant, but she seemed content just to be out. Despite the trouble of convincing Samantha to the date, it was harder to end the night. Samantha seemed to have huge reserves of energy later at night, pleading occasionally to go to his house. Sam could just imagine the reactions of his parents if that were to happen.

Soaked through to the bone, Samantha refused to run on the return home. Sam couldn’t figure her out. Why had she become so resigned? It was like watching a death march.

Sam had been lost for an explanation at times like these. "I’m sorry it rained and ruined our date."

Looking up at the sky like she hadn’t noticed the weather, Samantha nodded and drew Sam into a fierce embrace. Anyone could see she didn’t want to let go, but there was nothing Sam could do. They were too young for Samantha to stay with him. And he still wanted to see California.

Samantha had smiled at the idea of running off to California, but it probably could have been anywhere as far as she was concerned. Sometimes they spent hours talking about the things they wanted to do, where they wanted to go, and what it would all look like.

After a few minutes Sam attempted to push Samantha away. She still clung to his shirt, but had taken a step back. "It’s getting late, Samantha. I should be going."

Swallowing, Samantha had nodded reluctantly. "Sam."

He stepped out into the rain before she grabbed him again. Sam had been surprised to feel her lips pressed desperately against his. All track of time had been lost while Sam tried to keep up with the longing in Samantha’s kiss.

The front door opened silently, the lights were left off. "Break it up, Sammy." Amber hissed.

Samantha’s hold of his neck became tighter.

Whispering to her sister. "Come on. He’s still asleep."

When they parted, Sam was breathing like he’d run a mile. Samantha pursed her lips, staring for a moment then dashing off into the house. Amber stayed behind and stared at Sam. "Take off unless you want to get hurt."

He’d been ready to take a shot at the fact Amber had been fighting. There was a fresh shiner beneath her left eye, visible even in the low light. But Amber had already shut the door and he was left standing alone in the rain. As he left, thinking of how odd the night had been, Sam noted the shifting Venetian blinds on the second story.

Bells rang through the school. Sam picked his head out of his hands and looked about the auditorium. It was still dark in the large room and he had no idea how late it was. The soreness in his joints made him consider he’d been here long enough.

The backpack was still on his shoulders when he stood up. He’d forgotten to remove it the whole time he’d sat there in silence. Another weight he’d hoped to banish still pressed down on his chest. With resignation, Sam set off to find out the time and head to his class. He needed something normal just then and zoning out in class was as good as anything else.

~

As he entered the classroom, Sam was feeling a great deal more tired than he had been earlier that morning. He shambled through the small confusion of students still talking with their friends. The backpack on his shoulders was dumped to the floor as Sam rubbed his eyes to relieve some of the weariness.

"Hey, you okay Sammy?"

Sam frowned and dropped himself into his seat. Amber was a pest as far as he was concerned. She was the jock chick type that did well in sports and hung out with jock guys. He’d helped her study once for a math test and she’d been bugging him ever since. The nickname was her creation and it had somehow spread around the school. Everyone, teachers and students, called him Sammy and he hated it.

He ignored her. It never did anything to drive Amber off, but it was better than arguing. It also didn’t help that she was Samantha’s tomboy of an older sister.

"Hey." Amber put her hand on his shoulder; she was being gentle today. "Are you all right, Sam?"

Sam blinked and pulled his head out from his arms. He could see the red knuckles from a fight on her left hand. There was also some bruising around her jaw and throat. Amber stood beside his desk, smiling softly down at him, her hand still holding his shoulder. Hazel eyes and tough features stared back at him. Amber had thinner lips than her sister did and short cropped brown hair, not ugly just a little masculine. She was wearing her usual beige sweat pants and sweatshirt. It hid what he assumed to be a fairly lean and muscular figure. One time during the summer Amber had worn a tank top over a sports bra, but something had happened and she wore too big, long-sleeve shirts and the like from then on.

"Don’t just stare at me doofus." Amber shifted on her feet and played with her sweatshirt until it bunched up around her neck to connect directly with her chin.

"What do you want?" Sam asked, turning back to the head of the class to see if the teacher had stepped in yet.

"I . . I just thought that . . y’know."

"What?" He asked with a bit of exasperation. From experience Sam could say that Amber was like ever other jock in the school, built like a brick and about as smart. Her stuttered speech did nothing to dispute this observation.

"I just thought you’d want to talk or something, you insensitive jerk." Amber growled, which did sound menacing, and glared at him.

Sam looked back up at Amber and saw a bit of pain and anger over her sister’s suicide. He sympathized, of course, but Sam wasn’t over his own loss yet. Samantha was the first girl he’d ever connected with and now she was gone. Why did she have to do that to him?

"What are you still doing in school, Amber?" Surely the administrators would have given her the day off at least.

"It’s safer here." She visibly calmed as the classroom door closed and the teacher made her way to the front. "Just let me know if you want to talk or something."

Shrugging, Sam watched her sit back down at her desk in the back. Girls could be so weird, flip-flopping with their moods. Sam notched it up to that time of the month and pushed Amber out of his mind. But what did she mean about it being safer here? Was Amber afraid of what grief may lead her too if she were alone?

History class was taught by one of the younger teachers in the school. Miss Johnson was five years out of college and was easily the prettiest woman the boys in this small rural town had seen. Sam himself liked the class better because of the teacher. She was a tall blonde with hazel eyes and smooth, lightly tanned skin. Miss Johnson had this way of looking at you over her little reading glasses that made you burn with desire.

Heels clicked against the floor as Miss Johnson walked up to her desk and set down her papers. A moment passed in silence while the students waited for class to begin. Miss Johnson sighed in relief as she spotted Sam sitting at his desk. "Sammy, the counselor wants to speak with you."

Sighing in distaste, Sam packed his supplies back up, leaving the backpack on his chair, and made his way to the door.

"I’ll see you later, Sammy."

Sam stopped at the door to look back at Amber, shrugging he continued to walk out.

~

Mr. Taylor’s door opened and an old man in a stained shirt and red tie stepped out. "Oh, come on in, Sammy."

Sam nodded and stepped passed Mr. Taylor into the cramped office. The door closed and they were both standing on opposite sides of a plywood desk, bare except for a picture, a pencil jar, and a clipboard. There was a gray-green computer monitor set on a second smaller desk with a low filing cabinet beside that. The potted plant, water boiler, and wall bookshelf made the old counselor look like he was wedged into the spot.

"Hello, Sammy." Mr. Taylor greeted him, gesturing to a chair for Sam to take.

Sam hated that nickname. "Sam." He muttered, lounging back in the squeaky imitation leather recliner. It didn’t have armrests so he had to rest his arms on his thighs or crossed over his chest.

"What?" Mr. Taylor looked up from his clipboard, critiquing whatever Sam was doing and comparing it to some known psychology model. The counselor went right back to his clipboard when Sam didn’t answer, scribbling a few things down before he placed it on a back desk where Sam couldn’t read it. "So," Mr. Taylor began again, "how are you feeling, Sammy? Would you like something to drink?"

"Sam." He replied then looked over the packets Mr. Taylor held up. Coffee tasted like dirt as far as Sam was concerned and Cocoa seemed rather childish. Sam chose the cocoa anyway and sat quietly, sipping at it when it was handed over until Mr. Taylor decided to ask another question.

"Is it warm enough in here for you?"

Like a day at the beach, he thought. "Fine."

"I’ve excused you from the rest of the week if you need the time, Sammy." He said with a strange little smile that could be considered kind if it wasn’t attached to the face of a guy who looked like he was always scowling. Mr. Taylor reminded Sam of his grandfather who felt kids today have everything too easy.

"Sam. Thanks." He mumbled between sips of his drink. Weren’t these things supposed to be about the student’s mental health? Next thing Mr. Taylor asks will probably be about the weather.

"I know I’d rather stay in my warm bed than drag myself through this cold weather to an unheated office."

Who was he kidding, Sam thought dryly. Mr. Taylor probably drove to school with the heater on and sat all day in this office with the AC blasting the bald spot on his head from the vent above his chair.

"I can understand that this can be a very traumatic thing, Sammy, but I want to help you in any way I can." Mr. Taylor’s cheeks flapped as he talked, it was like seeing a swine eating swill. "We can call your folks and have them pick you up if you like."

"No." His parents would be off in another district already and it would be a waste of gas to have them come pick him up when he could walk home.

Leaning back in his chair, which creaked like a barn on the verge of collapse, he steadied a new clipboard over his knee. "Tell me about your relationship with Samantha Brighter, Sammy."

Sam was feeling indignant. This guy refused to use his real name, pulled him out of class, and wanted him to discuss Samantha when he didn’t want to. "Sam and why should I?"

"It helps the healing process to talk about these things." Mr. Taylor replied calmly, unfazed.

Screwing up his face in a scowl, Sam gave the counselor his best ‘don’t-mess-with-me’ look. "No, you want me to talk about it so you can figure out why Samantha did it. You don’t care about me."

"That’s not true. I care about all the-"

"Stuff it." Sam shot off quickly. "You want me to give you some quick cure to keep others from committing suicide. Well, look somewhere else because I haven’t a clue why she did it." He tried crossing his arms to look resolute, but the mug got in his way.

In a show of understanding, Mr. Taylor set his clipboard and pen down so he could talk plainly. "Calm down, Sammy. I’m not looking to fix blame on you. We just want to know if maybe you and Samantha had a fight recently."

"What?" Sam actually stopped cold as he considered what the counselor was saying.

"I was told by her sister, Amber, that you and Samantha had been dating."

Sam stared in shock silence as a new realization swept over his mind. His body froze on the spot and the mug of cocoa slipped through his fingers.

The counselor continued, trying not to eye the growing stain on his carpet. "Have there been problems, Sammy?"

"No."

"Not even the smallest spat? A raised voice on either of your parts? It’s okay, Sammy. No relationship is perfect." Mr. Taylor pressed as lightly as he could.

"I just left her." It couldn’t have been just that, but at the moment that was all Sam’s mind had to focus on. His last date with Samantha he had just left her after she begged him not to, to take her anywhere else. What had he done? "What have I done?"

"Sammy?"

Sam didn’t correct the counselor this time. He stared off into space, reviewing all the times Samantha had asked to stay out longer and not return home. All of their dates had ended like that. "She didn’t want to go home."

"What do you mean?" The counselor looked perplexed.

"She even asked if Amber could come along with us sometimes." Sam continued to ramble on.

A frown creased Mr. Taylor’s already wrinkled face. He leaned forward and paid very close attention to Sam’s words. "Did Samantha talk about her family a lot, Sammy?"

Sam shook his head. "I think her mom died a long time ago cause she’s never around. Amber told me that after one of her fights. Someone said something about their mother and Amber had gotten angry. Her eye was puffy for a week."

"Fights?" Mr. Taylor blinked and began to review Amber’s file. "There’s no mention of fights in here. Did this happen at school?"

Sam shook his head. "She’s always getting into fights though. Haven’t you seen the bruises after giving her suspension?" Amber was absent for short periods at a time after each of her fights. Sam wondered why she hadn’t been expelled yet, but it didn’t really matter right now.

"Sammy, I’m going to have to cut this meeting short, but I’ll talk to you some more soon. Alright?" Mr. Taylor stood up and opened the door.

"S-Sure."

~

"Hey there, Sammy boy." Amber smirked at him as he exited the counselor’s office. Her eyes were a little red, but it was obvious she had kept herself from crying. Sam wondered if he looked much the same. Putting his emotions up on display was not his thing.

With some strength, Amber swung the heavy backpack into his arms as if it weighed less than a feather. Sam gasped for breath as the pack collided with his stomach, but held on and walked off before Amber noticed the pained expression.

"Thanks." He muttered when his breath came back to him.

They walked down the hall in silence, Amber had her head pointed out the window. It was turning dark and the wind was beginning to pick up. "How did it go?" she finally asked.

Sam was quiet a moment. "He threw me out." He actually could’ve cared less what the counselor had done, but the realization Sam had had pained him to the core. He must be a truly disturbed individual to push Samantha to suicide. "I’m disgusting."

"You don’t need to tell me that." Amber snorted with a smile. She glanced in Sam’s direction briefly then turned down a hall to the row of lockers.

Sam hadn’t heard Amber, too lost in his own misery. "Mr. Taylor knew it was my fault."

Frowning, Amber noticed Sam’s slumped shoulders and distant gaze. "What are you talking about?"

"I must’ve done something wrong, something to upset her. Samantha would never have done this otherwise." He stopped in front of his locker, staring at the number dial for confirmation. He couldn’t help but feel like scum. There must have been something he’d done, neglecting Samantha in some way, broken some silent pledge. And what about her sister? Amber must know as well as Mr. Taylor had. The fights she had up to now have just been practice for the beating he deserved; it was fate. "Just go away. You can beat me up for this later."

There was a long moment of silence as Sam hit his head against the locker and left it there.

"Stupid."

"What?" Sam broke from his thoughts to realize Amber was still with him.

"I said you’re stupid!" Amber threw her arms about angrily, clawing at her hair and hitting the occasional locker. "Samantha didn’t kill herself because of you, you jerk! If anyone is to blame it’s me. I didn’t watch her closely enough. I should’ve taken her to California like she wanted. This was my fault."

"I told her about California." Sam spoke softly and moved the combination lock on autopilot. It opened as Amber went into her next tirade of screaming. Sam tried to block it out while he stuffed the backpack inside.

A fold of paper drifted to the ground at Sam’s feet with his name on it. Staring at it in confusion, he soon squatted down to read it.

"Little shit! Don’t trivialize my sister’s death! What do you know! You’re just the oblivious little boy that spent a little time with Samantha! You don’t know anything! How could you! Samantha never told you anything because you’d wet your pants!" Amber finished with a glare to where she expected Sam to be then looked down.

"Samantha." Sam folded the note back over, clenching his jaw to help ignore the feelings in his gut.

Silently, Amber watched Sam stand back up and close his locker carefully. "Why didn’t you tell me?" He croaked softly to the image of Samantha still running through his mind.

Seeing the note stuffed into Sam’s pocket, Amber sighed and let Sam walk out of the school building alone. She’d needed time alone after finding her own letter. If she had to take a guess, it was an apology for how things turned out and how happy she’d been to be with Sam. Gone, Samantha was still holding on to Sam, though she may not have realized it.

~

The weather was cooler now. Darkness was settling over the area though it was only mid-afternoon. Wind had swept through the courtyard dragging the bits of garbage, twigs, and leaves to the corners of the buildings. A sharp cry broke the silence again as a blackbird protested Sam’s presence. It sat atop the tetherball pole, pecking the metal occasionally with hard taps of its beak. Feathers were ruffled back into place as the wind died down once again. Staring bleakly into the darkening clouds, Sam waited beneath a tree across the courtyard from the blacktop, expecting some decisive fate to seize him in due course.

Sam stood with his eyes fixed to the swinging tether atop the pole students had gathered about that morning. School had ended an hour ago and he had stood there ever since he found the note in his locker. A gentle yet chilling wind had been steadily beating against his face, nose and eyes aching to be relieved, teeth chattered slightly, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from the stained tether flapping lazily in the wind. In the right light the rope looked green, the frayed end where ambulance paramedics had cut Samantha down were teeth, hissing at him in the breeze.

Sam’s life had moved in ways he hadn’t expected. The bright sunny future was inalterably lost as he looked upon the dead and cracked earth, the foundation everything would be built upon.

So many signs had solidified painfully in his mind, each driven deeply into his consciousness. Each time they had met, Samantha had pleaded for her life and Sam never understood, as if she’d spoken so softly he’d have to bend closer to hear her clearly. He’d never done that, Sam berated himself. If he had been so in love with Samantha, why did keep her at such a distance?

Unworthy, from the first day, and yet Samantha had given her life over to him. A wasted life Sam had barely looked at. All those months together and Sam knew so little about Samantha, some things he should’ve known.

The pole blurred then, the wind becoming colder, stinging his face. Sam wiped away the tears, but more fell from his eyes. A gut clenching sob broke through his body, forcing him to his knees. Bracing both hands against the tree, his stomach spasm, ready to release the disgust he had for life. Sam couldn’t deny the pain of solitude any longer.

Almost mocking his sorrow, snow began to settle onto the ground beside him, white sparkling crystals that melted into the earth. It was the first snow of the season, a sign of great change. It was too late to warn anyone of Samantha’s premature end, but carried with it the weight of Sam’s own decision.

"Sam?"

The sweet, tender voice was so unexpected he had almost believed it was blown through the wind. Sam caught his breath and looked up to the tether, perhaps expecting Samantha’s shadow to peer back. He didn’t believe in spirits, but the fear of Samantha’s angry ghost was too easy to imagine. The wind was dying again, and the snow had to be blinked away as it landed on his face. Swallowing hard, Sam stifled the choked sobs and waited.

"Sam." The gravel at his side was scraped beneath small feet as someone crouched next to him. He didn’t turn to see her, afraid of what death may have done to Samantha’s pretty face. If he turned then and saw the spite and anger certain to be in her eyes, nothing could stop him from throwing himself into the abyss. He’d find another length of rope and string himself up right next to where Samantha had died.

His eyes squeezed shut, resting his head against the tree bark; Sam could only bring himself to whisper back. "I’m sorry."

Icy fingers brushed across his cheek and through the hair over his ear. This was certainly what the dead would feel like; Sam relaxed as the tension began to lift. More tears fell from his eyes as he saw himself being dragged by the collar of his jacket into a frozen wasteland, red moons and black skies. There an ocean of birds flapping wildly at the surface as the ice crystals on their wings anchored half-numb victims to the cold embrace.

"Come on, Sam." The hand was back, a small grip on his shoulder. He shivered involuntarily, a knot of remorse building in the pit of his stomach. Sam was turned slowly by the hand to face its owner. With a dread spawned of his own guilt, he lifted his eyes to stare at the girl.

Samantha’s face dissolved into Amber. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. It was like watching a silent movie and waiting to view the dialogue screen.

"What?" he asked, voice deep and croaking like a toad. Sam rubbed his sleeve over his eyes. Crying in front of Amber was just asking to be teased about being emotional later.

"You’ll catch a cold if you stay out here any longer." Amber said again, the voice slightly deeper now, rougher.

Sam stared at her for long moments, eventually blinking and looking away. "Leave me alone. The cold doesn’t bother me." Amber looked measurably sadder as he spoke harsher than he’d meant to.

"What are you going to do? Sit out here all night and wait for Samantha’s ghost." Amber growled.

"Don’t be stupid." Sam shot back. "I’m just thinking. Now leave me alone."

Folding her arms over her chest, Amber leaned up against the tree beside him and watched. "I’ll wait. This shouldn’t take too long."

"Shut up." He stood and got in Amber’s face, daring her without realizing the danger he was putting himself in.

"Why should I?!"

"Because this isn’t about you!" Sam could feel the veins on his forehead popping out prominently.

"No." Amber’s voice became a low, sarcastic hiss. "This is about you."

Sam snorted and turned away again. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."

Except for the eyes, which were hard and cold, Amber seemed almost amused by Sam’s declaration. "I don’t? Do you think Samantha lived in that house alone?"

"She may as well have for all the help you gave her." Sam spat.

Amber didn’t hesitate to knock Sam onto the ground. It was by sheer will alone that she didn’t continue to pummel him. "You can be such a stupid jerk sometimes, Sammy."

Amber rubbed her knuckles in her other palm and leaned back up against the tree, facing the blacktop. "Samantha was too weak, too small to stand up against our dad. So was mom. It was just us three when she ran away and dad got angrier more often than he used to, stopping by bars before he got home. Samantha was still young the first time he came home looking for something to hit." Amber’s lips drew into a line as the memories passed her inner eye.

"After that I did what I could to protect her, but dad was tougher. On the luckier nights he would get tired with me and he would leave Samantha alone. Then she started going through puberty, and dad thought I was a dyke for all the times I stood up to him. He stopped hitting Samantha, but I think it was worse than before." Sam swallowed as his mind went over the note he’d gotten. It didn’t say for how long Samantha was being abused by her father, but this . . .

Sam could see Amber fighting to hold back the tears as she continued. "The last date she went out with you got him really mad."

Looking to the sky for a sun hidden by the gray clouds, Amber seemed on the edge of tears. "Today was supposed to be a good day. All those fights I had with dad . . I’m not so weak anymore.

"I woke up on the kitchen floor. Dad was just coming out of Samantha’s room with an empty bottle of vodka. He wasn’t as ready as I was to fight again."

A feral grin broke out across her face; Amber’s hands balled up into fists reflexively. "It was great. I left his body in the garage and went to sleep with a big grin on my face. I was going to tell Samantha all about it this morning, but she left before I woke up." She sobered quickly as the memory of her fight fell away like the snow.

"It was supposed to be a good day." Amber nodded to herself.

There was nothing he could say. Nothing in his experience could even begin to compare to the things Amber and Samantha had to deal with. He cheered internally as she revealed her father’s final fate. Still, he had to say something; Sam was certain she was expecting it. "Amber . . I don’t see any bruises."

Amber smiled again. She thought the statement cute and trite enough to banish some of the darker feelings running around inside of her. "Yeah. Samantha taught me to use makeup pretty good."

There was silence for a while as they stared off into the thickening snowfall. Sam finally dried his face and looked again at Amber as if for the first time. She was a lot stronger than he’d ever thought. What did it take to put up with an abusive parent for so many years? How many bruises and broken bones did she survive only to lose what she’d sought to protect for so long? "I’m sorry." He finally said.

Amber was slightly startled out of her thoughts and looked at Sam, confused. "What for?"

"I should’ve realized."

Smiling, Amber returned to the scenery, watching him out of the corner of her eye on occasion. "Sam, you’re life hasn’t been that bad. I’m kinda glad you don’t know about these things."

"What are you going to do now?"

"I don’t know." She shrugged and pulled her coat in tighter, feeling the temperature dropping.

Sam thought about it a moment. "Come on. I think Mr. Taylor knew what was going on by what I told him. It makes sense now."

"What will he do?"

"He’ll probably get your dad buried in the biggest pile of manure he can find."

Smirking with appreciation, Amber pushed herself off the tree and started following Sam off the school grounds. "Sammy?"

"Huh?" He turned and found Amber attached to his waist much like Samantha had done on occasion. Strong though she was, Amber held a lot of grief and pain inside that needed comforting. Sam folded his arms around the girl, standing in the lonely courtyard while snow drifted about them.

Amber smiled against his chest and squeezed him tighter, her face pressed against Sam’s jacket. "Thanks."

He nodded and continued to hold her. "Sure."

The brown owl, sitting high in the tree overlooking the school’s courtyard, watched everything. Finding the events to have unfolded as it should, the owl looked to the blackbird atop the pole. The blackbird squawked back once and flew off and out of sight.

As the two teenagers moved off, the veiling snow clouded the owl’s sight until all that was visible was a blur of brown and blue winter coats. Its head bobbed and feathers ruffled, shaking off the earth tone coloring of his feathers. Transformed, all that could be seen within the snow was a pair of little, shining black eyes and soon they were gone as well.

The End