Amidst the eerie silence that surrounds the Vaughan household, a letter surfaced just below the door slot.
It had been almost two weeks since the miraculous birth of Emory and the tragic death of Elara.
Leaning in to pick up the letter, Darian's crimson-colored eyes narrowed in on the components. An indescribable atmosphere loomed over the two-story house.
His mouth fell agape. Oh no!
Ice-cold sweat trickled down the sides of his forehead while his eyes dilated. "No..." It was all he could manage. Stumbling back, he fell to the ground and hit his rear with a pang.
The letter, which left his hands moments ago, gracefully whooshed through the air and landed on the ground softly. It read, "Elara Vaughan's body is ready. Please proceed to Northern Trila Cemetery."
The corners of Darian's eyes were tinted with a faint hue of red, the bottoms of his lips quivering. He never wanted to face this. Never wanted to move forward, to move on.
I don't have anyone to invite, and neither does she. When thinking about Elara, Darian never used the past tense. To his mind, a fragment of her continued living.
Clenching his jaw open and shut, he reluctantly stood up and headed towards the walkway. The mirror he passed by reflected his dark blue jeans and white button-up t-shirt. His hair was disheveled and thin, his hands were malnourished, and his cheeks were caved in. Dark bags were located under his eyes as he rubbed them harshly.
I can't believe it. Today. It's today. He stepped over broken kitchen equipment and headed toward the room that housed little Emory Vaughan.
Peeking inside the nursery, Darian tried to cheer himself up before seeing Emory. He didn't want the baby to look at Darian's pained expression.
The nursery's walls were painted light beige, and you could see the edges slowly peel off. To the left of the door, the black-colored crib was positioned in a way that blocked most sunlight that would have hit Emory.
Rubbing his swollen eyelids, Darian walked into the room and presented an enthusiastic smile to Emory, who was silent and observant of his surroundings. The abrupt tension made Darian's eyebrow twitch. He's only two weeks old... Shouldn't he be... His brows furrowed as a conflicted expression plastered itself on his face. More baby-like…?
Now Darian knew he loved Emory with all his heart, but sometimes the question would flash in his mind, is Emory normal? He would think about other kids Emory's age, the cries of laughter and sadness that emanated from their small, energetic mouths.
Snapping back to reality, he reached his hands inside the crib and lifted the baby off the ground. "A-Alright, little Emory, i-it's time for Mama's funeral." The latter half of the sentence felt like a dagger had torn through Darian's heart.
As his hands shook periodically, he slipped on some clothes for little Emory. The silent baby gazed so deep into Darian that he felt like his soul had been spectated.
The stillness bothered Darian, so he sped up his movements and left the home.
Standing in front of 34 Hind Street, their home, Darian was static as he waited for the carriage to arrive. Walking around the city was still not recommended, so with the little money they had, Darian paid for a carriage to take them to Northern Trila Cemetery.
After waiting for 15 minutes, the sound of hooves tapping made it to Darian's ear. Jerking his head, he was met with a blue and black carriage; the driver had a small grey beard and faint silver eyes. His presence was not felt, timid and meek.
Two horses were strapped and pulling the carriage via brown leather ropes.
As Darian took the first step toward the carriage, the driver shuddered. ...? A droplet of sweat ran down the side of Darian's head.
Emory was in his arms; the stroller they previously used had broken. In Emory's little hands, a dead, frozen fish was gripped fervently.
Darian glanced at the fish before continuing the walk toward the carriage. Nodding hello to the timid driver, Darian decided to push the door and let himself in. To his surprise, there were no objections.
The interior was painted white and had two cushioned seats on either side, each big enough for two people.
Taking the right side, he sat down and looked out the window. In a matter of minutes, the view had left and a new one appeared—the carriage had taken off.
The carriage stumbled through the open, deserted streets. Not seeing people is starting to affect me. Hopefully, we'll be able to go back outside.
Despite his optimism, the murders were increasing exponentially.
Almost every other day a new victim emerged in the papers. Darian would try not to read the papers near Emory, due to the fact the child would go crazy if he spotted one.
Why does he like newspapers that much? Heh heh. Darian chuckled to himself, glancing at the boy with the dead fish in his mouth.
Does it soothe his teeth? Wait, he doesn't have any. He tried to come up with reasons as to why the baby favored fish that much. Even though it's a delicacy, I've never understood the craze around it. Oh well… If it makes him happy, it makes me happy.
After looking out the window for 20 minutes, Darian noticed a newly added military stop. As expected, the carriage terminated movement instantly.
He heard the carriage driver meekly curse under his breath. What's wrong with a military stop? He thought to himself as he scooted up to the edge of the seat.
Four men approached the carriage, all wielding swords with their hands gripping the handles. "Any weapons in the carriage?" The first man, with black ruffled hair, asked. He had hazel-colored eyes and a proportionally larger nose.
"No, sir." The carriage driver responded timidly. The military official eyed him warily, and with a motion of his hand, the other men circled the carriage, poking and prodding occasionally.
"Who is inside?" he asked in a commanding tone. "...A father and his son, they are headed to the c-cemetery."
The military official paused in thought for a couple of minutes.
"Hm. Let them out; I'm going to inspect them." He backed up, making space for them. The carriage driver trembled before replying, "Right away, sir."
Darian felt a loud knock on the walls. Looking out the window, he spotted a military official eyeing him. The official raised his hand and motioned for Darian to leave the carriage.
Darian exited the carriage with Emory in his arms. "I-is there a problem, sir?" His eyes darted to his surroundings.
They were on the outskirts of Eastern Trila; this area housed mostly poor people who couldn't afford to live in the center.
The official stayed silent and continued observing Darian and the little boy who rested atop the latter's arms.
Darian parted his lips as he felt his eyes dilate. Is he okay? He looked toward the carriage driver for answers, but the only thing he saw was the driver clutching his knees and rocking his body back and forth.
The wind howled throughout the area and hit the unsuspecting Emory, who had the fish in his hand. The reaction caused his grip to loosen and for the fish to hit the ground with a minor thud.
Looking toward his feet, Darian spotted the fish that fell. "Oop. You dropped it." He knew if the fish did not return in a couple of seconds, the whole pit stop would be subjected to intense cries.
So, Darian took action quickly. Bending down to retrieve the fallen fish, he felt a sharp pain in the top of his hand.
A boot had crushed his hand into the dirt.