Dwellers of the Night: The Complete Collection (52 page)

Adrian shook his head. “No… Please don’t do this… Please… It’s okay… Please don’t-”

“God has a wonderful girl for you,” she said, lifting a foot. “A wonderful girl.”

Brian reached forward. “Kristen! Don’t do this!”

Her foot dangled over the precipice.

To Adrian: “I’m so sorry for hurting you. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want another girl!” he hollered. “I don’t want another girl! I don’t want another girl!”

She turned her head, stared forward, and in a moment, stepped off.

∑Ω∑

Two burning candles are set up behind Harker; between the two candles is a taller unlit candle. He approaches them, turns to those gathered, says, “The two outside candles have been lit to represent your lives at this moment. They are two distinct lights, each capable of going its separate way. To bring joy and radiance into your home, there must be the merging of these two flames into one.” A sound comes from behind them; Adrian looks over his shoulder to see a figure heading out through the parlor doors, disappearing. The man who had rescued them. Adrian turns his attention back to Harker, who is saying, “From this time onward, may your thoughts be for each other rather than for your individual selves; may your plans be mutual, your joys and sorrows shared. As you each take a candle and together light the center one…”

At those words, Adrian and Rachel move forward, each taking one of the unlit candles. Harker’s voice resonates in the sanctuary: “…you will extinguish your own candles, thus having the center candle represent the union of your two lives into one flesh. As the center light cannot be divided, let not your lives be divided.”

Adrian and Rachel take their candles and, in rhythm, touch the flames to the wick of the center candle. It gently lights, flaming bright, and—with soft breaths—they gently extinguish their own candles. They set them upon the table, and their eyes fall upon the center candle. Harker closes the book and prays: “Our Father, we come today asking Your blessing upon these two lives and this home being established. You have made us so that we are incomplete without the other, so that we yearn for someone whom we can love and whose love we can receive. We are thankful for the love we see here, and even more, for the love we feel from You.” Those words catch in his throat, but no one minds. “May we never take… Your love… for granted… We pray that Your love will be the shield and stay for Adrian Ryan and Rachel Huntsmen. When joy comes, may they share it together. When sorrow threatens, may they bare it together. In gladness or in tears, in sunshine or shadow, may they ever draw closer to each other and nearer to You. Grant them patience, gentleness, forbearance, and understanding. Oh Father, protect their home from those forces that would break it apart.” These words carry new meaning. “We ask for health, for long life, for the fulfillment of every good dream. May their love continue through life and finally blend into the life eternal. Through Christ we pray, Amen.”

∑Ω∑

He sat sobbing along the shoreline, sitting in the wet sand, feeling the breeze off the river. The bulrushes crackled in the wind, and the coldness cut through him, but not as deep as the pain that riddled his heart. He was bathed in the light of police cruisers, and several patrol boats scouted the river, divers sliding into the water and searchlights scanning the shoreline. A throng of onlookers had gathered on the bridge, even in the twilight. He heard footsteps coming from behind him, and Brian Anthony Barnhart

Dwellers of the Night

241

knelt down in the sand. He asked how Adrian was doing, but Adrian didn’t respond: he kept seeing Kristen, leaping off of the bridge; he had ran to the rail in a white shock, his blood drained from his face, bloodshot eyes, swollen with tears, bulging from his sockets. He had watched, icy fingers wrapped around the railing, as her body hit the water with incredible force… And he had called out her name, but she had not responded, and soon her body had sunk beneath the waves. A whistle blew out, and Adrian looked up. Figures had emerged beside one of the boats, divers, and they were struggling with something heavy in their hands. Adrian leapt to his feet, began running towards the water; Brian grabbed him and spun him around. His friend had clutched him tightly, whispered,

“You don’t need to see this, Adrian. You don’t need to see this.” His words shattered the callousness of Adrian’s heart, and the tear-strewn boy crumpled like a wet sack into Brian’s arms, weeping loudly, his cries carrying to the crowds of people standing upon the bridge.

∑Ω∑

The bride and groom face those who are gathered, and Harker speaks to them. “You have come before us and before God and have expressed your desire to be husband and wife. You have shown your love and affection by joining hands, have made promises of faith and devotion, each to the other, and have sealed these promises by the giving and receiving of rings.” The words he speaks now chill Adrian’s bones: “I therefore pronounce that you are husband and wife. May God bless you and keep you and you His peace. Amen.” He takes their joined hands into his own and says, “What God has joined together, let man not separate.” He speaks to Adrian, voice riddled with excitement:

“You may kiss your bride.”

∑Ω∑

He stood alone in the placid coolness, staring at the white sheet lying over her body. The mortician stood close by, having given in to Adrian’s demands to see the girl. The mortician’s only rule was that Adrian could not lift the sheet: the plummet’s impact in the water had broken and shattered her bones, and she had been a mangled mess when they dragged her from the water. Adrian stood beside the sheet, lost in a sea of thoughts, remembered her smile, the way she laughed, her teasing. He remembered how everything had been so perfect, and he wondered if there was such a thing as Fate, and if so, pondered how it could be so cruel. He unraveled a sheet in his shaking hands. A poem he had written for her a few days before they left for Amish country. He had written it for her birthday, which, at the time of her death, was just a few weeks away. He had planned to have it engraved into a plaque, and now his scribbled words blurred with the tears forming behind his eyes, and he read it quietly, as if she could comprehend.

Ever since I met you, life has not been the same;

I know no longer the sorrows, tears, and shame.

You have redeemed me from my darkest fears,

Set me free from the chains that held me from love.

But here I stand in your arms, feeling the warmth of your quaint

Embrace, wondering how in the world I ever missed you

In all those dark hours of searching for love.

All this time you were right in front of me,

And somehow I was blinded from the beauty you offered.

Anthony Barnhart

Dwellers of the Night

242

What gift in the world is as precious as your affection,

Your devotion, your splendor, your love?

I trekked every ravine and climbed every canyon

To find someone like you, and the moment I had given up

On finding someone as wonderful as you,

I learned that sometimes our dreams
do
come true.

He folded the paper and slid it into his pocket. He stared at the sheet, holding back tears. He wished that he could see her breathing, a flutter of life. But she lied completely still, nothing left but an empty shell of what had once been the most beautiful and loving girl he had ever known.

∑Ω∑

Adrian’s hands rise to her shoulders, feeling the soft satin of her wedding dress. He pulls her close. They stare into one another’s eyes, lost in the rolling thunder outside, the rain beginning to pat against the walls and roof of the church. He leans close, and their lips touch—for just a brief moment, a simple kiss—but it is better than any kiss either of them had ever shared. As their lips touch, they connect, and they become one: he can feel his own soul enveloping hers, hers enveloping his, and he can feel all of her hopes and dreams, all of her fears and anxieties, all her afflictions and terrors, all of her joys and laughter, all of her swarming into him and becoming one with him. When he pulls away, he sees her face before him, but he feels
different
, a difference that feels altogether like
completion
in its purest, most supreme and primal form.

∑Ω∑

A calm and steady rain had fallen all day, a mist rising from the ground and wrapping among the boughs of the trees. Umbrellas were sprouted, and the minister’s solemn voice carried with the sound of the monotonous drizzle. The crowd was massive, students from the school gathering with the friends and family of the girl. A knot formed in his throat, and the umbrella in his hands quivered as the crews began to lower the casket into the muddy earth. He watched for the last time as her body vanished, and they began shoveling dirt into the rest of the hole. The crowd had quietly dispersed, but Adrian stood alone, hearing the rain tapping on the umbrella, the wetness crawling through his shoes and inching up his legs. He stared at the pile of dirt, rivulets of muddy water coursing down the sides, and for the first time, he did not cry.

∑Ω∑

Harker speaks, quoting Numbers 6.24-26: “The LORD bless you and keep you; The LORD make His face shine on you, And be gracious to you; The LORD lift up His countenance on you, And give you peace.” Harker guides Adrian and Rachel to turn and face those gathered. “Dear friends,” he says, a tear tracing down his cheek, “may I present to you Mister and Misses Adrian Ryan.”

Rachel bursts into tears of utmost joy, swinging around and leaping into Adrian’s arms. He lifts her off her feet, her sweet scent overwhelming him.

Those in the pews stand and begin to clap. One of them is crying. The moment is surreal. An echo of a forgotten world.

For a moment, everything is as it is, as it should be, as it will never be again. Anthony Barnhart

Dwellers of the Night

243

Chapter Sixteen

The Wedding Night

(or “Rachel’s Story”)

“Come live with me and be my love, and we will some new pleasures prove, of golden sands, and crystal beaches, with silken lines and silver hooks…”

- anonymous

Evening is beginning to set. A large storage closet has been turned into a bedroom, with a mattress and several containers that serve as a dresser. An oil-lamp sits upon the sill of the boarded-up window, casting its warm glow over their anxious faces. They stand there in the closed room, looking at one another, hearts racing. Adrian bites his lip, and Rachel’s face blushes in unhidden anticipation.

“What now?” Adrian asks, his nervousness flaming like a Roman torch.

“I don’t know,” Rachel teases, wedding veil falling before her eyes. “You tell me.”

The boy moves forward, and he takes her hand, pulls her towards him. And it begins: their tongues entwine, their bodies fold against one another, and the howling of the dark-walkers is lost outside the covered window.

∑Ω∑

The firelight from the campfire inched its way across the freshly-manicured grass, reaching its way into the dark recesses of the woods. The sounds of laughter and singing and the strumming of a guitar danced through the night. She parked her car in the parking lot, ascended the stone steps with peach trees lining either side, and made her way through the covered pavilion, the stone floor littered with cigarette butts and empty bottles of beer. She smiled and nodded at some of those gathered, most underage, some older, around 26 or 27. She grabbed a bottle of Woodchuck Beer from a cooler and twisted off the cap. She leaned against the stone hearth at the far side of the pavilion and drank a few sips. A shadow emerged beside her. She turned her head and smiled. The boy joined her with his own beer, and they sat on the stone hearth’s ledge and drank and smoked cigarettes. Eventually he tugged on her arm, whispered sweet-nothings into her ear. A moment later they were making their way towards a lone cluster of oaks and pines between the pavilion and the dense woods. They sat down and put their beer bottles in the grass. She faced him, and they started making out. She didn’t like the taste of beer in his mouth, the way it swooped its way into her own by way of his tongue; but then again, she had been drinking, too, so she didn’t complain.

She felt his fingers dancing around the hem of her skirt, probing, searching. She shrugged her shoulders, took one hand, pushed his away.

The boy seemed distraught, but he hid it and continued to kiss.

He tried again, and she responded in the same way.

He pulled away, shook his head. “Rachel, Darling, what’s wrong?”

“I’m not ready for that,” she told him.

“Not ready?”

Anthony Barnhart

Dwellers of the Night

244

“I’m a virgin.”

“It’s not like we’re having sex. I just want… to feel you. You know?”

“I’m not ready, Jason.”

“Okay,” he said.

They continued kissing. Some time passed. The sounds of the pavilion were distant, and they bathed in the songs of the crickets. It was peaceful, and she just wanted to lay in his arms. She told him this. He changed position, leaned his back up against the tree, and she scurried up into him, laying her back down against his legs. She could feel his breathing against the back of her head, which laid upon his chest. She closed her eyes, everything felt perfect… And then she felt his fingers again, tiptoeing along her exposed tummy towards the hem of her skirt. She swiped his hand away. “Jason. Stop.”

He cursed under his breath. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

Rage flowed through her. She writhed away from him and stood, brushing grass off her bare legs. “I’m tired. I want to go home.”

His eyes swam with anger. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Now. Take me home.”

“Fuck that,” he said, getting to his feet. He swooned against the tree, dizzy. Drunk. He kicked his beer over into the grass, and its pale contents chugged into the dirt. He glared at her. “You want to go home? Then go home. But I’m not the one who’s going to be driving you. Go find another ride.”

Under his breath, “Fucking bitches. Always the same.”