Refraction

A slender girl walks into a bedroom. Her short, dyed hair is pulled back off of her face into a ponytail. Her eyes are puffy, red and a large amount of black makeup is streaked down her cheeks. She had put on even more of the normally thick stuff than usual, a vain attempt to hide the ever-growing bags beneath the sad, gray-green eyes. Her stocking feet halt in the middle of the room. She stares around, unsure of what exactly she will do here. She turns around and absently reaches for the stereo that sits on a bookshelf by the door. Her fish netted hand hesitates, and she decides it would be more suitable to cope with the room’s silence. She turns to go to the tall wooden dresser. Her toe hits the wicker hamper and she swears, reaching down to put the thing in its correct place.
She hears the door open and a man’s voice say, “Sorry, I was just returning this.” She sees a tall man in a suit. He is brandishing a notebook. She takes it and looks at the cover. It is green and very worn.
She notices the man is still in the doorway.
“Did you find anything?” Her voice is carefully neutral.
“Uh, no ma’am, nothing new. Are you sure you don’t know…?”
Her stare silences him. He raises his eyebrows and leaves.
She quickly closes the door behind him. Stupid pigs, she thinks. She puts the notebook onto the large desk, on top of the piles of partially finished drawings, writings, and relics of another’s life that the pigs had rifled through. It had been a desperate search for evidence. She had seen why on that first day, the afternoon of the morning her sister had disappeared.
A tear runs down the side of her face. Frustrated with herself, she wipes it away. She’d been here when the bloodhound had arrived from the City. She remembered thinking how much her sister would have liked to see him in action.
She’d had to hold onto the family’s furious terrier while her mother retrieved a pillowcase for them to use. The hound had glanced up at the frantically barking little dog in her arms with a quizzical expression. He was more interested in smelling everything within reach of his gifted nose. He knew work was coming because he’d been dressed in his shiny black leather uniform. His great tail had swept the air behind him in anticipation.
Her mother came back and gave the handler the pillowcase. He gave the mother a hopeful smile and held the scent article down to his dog. The dog’s tail whipped about as he sucked in the vital information. Then the handler gave the command, “Search!” The dog quickly followed an invisible trail down the stoop and along the sidewalk to the east. The girl’s father held her mother close, hope and anxiety showing as the same emotion. Their eyes eagerly followed the hound.
A county sheriff followed behind the handler while a deputy looked with the family from the front stoop. The dog was moving steadily into a field of dead brown grasses. They were tall, most coming to the dog’s shoulder and a good number surpassing it. At about the middle of the field, he made an abrupt stop. He gave a loud snort as he jumped backwards. The handler, puzzled, quickened his pace; the slack in the long leash grew. The dog tentatively started sniffing the ground again. His body was trembling. When the handler had reached his dog, the canine had stopped his sniffing and was looking back at him. The dog then looked back at the spot on the ground and began a low, melodious bay that soon turned into an awkward howl. The handler, obviously worried, tried commanding him to silence as he scanned for any sort of injury. Suddenly, the little terrier on the stoop also began to howl. It sent shivers down everyone’s back as the terrier’s piercing soprano clashed directly with the hound’s baritone.
The girl eventually had to take her dog inside the house to end the strange duet. She held him tight in her arms, quieting his whimpers while she stood watching from the living room window. The handler, frustrated and embarrassed by his hound’s strange behavior, eventually had to heft the hound over to his kennel in the back of his old Jeep Wrangler. He’d had a hushed conversation with the sheriff and left. The sheriff came back up to the stoop, where the parents invited the sheriff and the deputy in again. The girl heard the sheriff as he came in, saying that the handler was going to take his dog to a local veterinary clinic, as something was clearly wrong with the animal. When her parents, the sheriff, and his deputy had sat down around the table, she overheard them suggest getting the FBI involved.
The girl is seated on the edge of the bed. She’s been letting the tears just flow down her face, but she still refuses to make a sound. She looks down to the bedspread at her side. She runs her hand over the store-bought quilt. It is cool to the touch. It depicts scenes of wolves: howling beneath full moons, sitting together in nightly forest meadows, trekking through pine forests under star filled skies. The quilt had been on the bed that morning, too.
She had woken up, surprised to find the terrier sleeping beside her. He slept with her sister. Ordinarily, she would have gone back to sleep; it was a Saturday and still dark. She didn’t like getting up until she absolutely had to, which was usually when her mom would come in and tell her to get her lazy butt out of bed. She’d assumed her sister just felt sick, and had had Remy go to her room. But she still decided to get up and check on her sister. The dog woke up, gave a large, audible yawn, stretched his scruffy self like a cat and shoved his nose under her palm. She petted him and rolled her eyes—Remy could be such a ham.
The girl and Remy had gone into the hallway. She’d crept to the next door, her sister’s, and slowly opened it. She’d left the light off—she didn’t want to wake her if she was sick—and crept in. She couldn’t see much of anything because the window blinds over the bed had been shut tight. She went closer, and Remy jumped onto the bed before she could catch him. She held her breath and expected to hear her sister’s voice reprimand her carelessness. She didn’t. She did hear the dog as he sniffed around on the bed. After a moment, he jumped down and trotted out the door. The girl went to the bed and patted it with ginger fingers. She felt nothing but the smooth, cool surface of the wolf quilt. She went back to the door and flipped the light switch. It stung her eyes, so she held her arm over them until her pupils adjusted. She looked at the bed—it was empty and neatly made. She stared at it for a bit, then fast-walked out, slamming the switch off on the way.
She looked in the bathroom just across the hallway. It was dark and empty. She went out into the living room. The couch was empty. She went to the second bathroom off of the kitchen. Empty. She went downstairs. Her sister was probably just down on the computer. But the only thing she found was cold air and their two hungry cats. She turned on the light and absently filled the two dishes. She walked around the basement, finding nothing, no sign of her sister. She heard Remy bark at the patio door, went back upstairs, unlocked it, and let him out. She walked around all the outside doors; they were shut and locked.
She went back to her sister’s room. She moved the pillows aside and saw no nightclothes. Was her sister out somewhere in her pajamas? She went to her sister’s door and checked the hooks on its back. Her sister’s jacket was still there.
The girl wandered out into the kitchen to find light coming in the windows. Her dad was sitting at the table dressed and eating toast.
“Good morning,” he’d said. She glanced by the front door; her sister’s shoes were still in their accustomed spot.
“Is your sister still sleeping?” he asked.
“Um, she didn’t go to a friend’s house this morning, did she?”
He looked up at her face, “no…”
“Well, she’s not in the house, Dad.”
“You’re sure?”
“Uh-huh.”
He stood up and walked down the hallway. The girl followed. He looked into the empty bedroom. He went to the end of the hall, to his and his wife’s room. He motioned for his daughter to wait in the hall. He conversed with his wife briefly and came back out.
“You call her friends’ houses; see if they know where she is. I’ll look around outside,” he said.
“Dad?”
“Huh?” he grunted, pulling on his shoes.
“She’s still in her pajamas and her shoes and jacket are still here.”
He gave her a rather stunned look. “Call them,” he said and went outside.
The girl had called her sister’s friends, all two of them. Neither had any clue as to her sister’s whereabouts. When her dad had come back in, they each looked expectantly at the other. She shook her head. He stared at her and grabbed the phone. Her mom came out, dressed, and looked at her daughter. Again, the girl could just shake her head. They could hear her dad talking to the police.
“Go and get dressed,” said her mom.
The girl looks at the calendar hung at the head of the bed.
“It was over a month ago,” she whispers.
Since then, there had been searches. An Amber Alert had gone out, for all the good it had done. Media people from all over the country had come to the story. She was sick of cameras and two-faced reporters, but they weren’t the worst. No, the worst were the weirdos that kept sneaking onto their property, looking for signs of alien abduction. Once, a few of her friends had had to hold her back, to keep her from pounding one of the bastard’s faces out through the back of his skull.
Her sister was gone. She’d left in her pajamas, taking nothing with her, locking the door again on the way out. She’d gone into the field and literally disappeared. There were no signs of any sort of vehicle. She’d just gone away. In her head, the girl screamed.
Remy walks into the room a few minutes later. He hears the girl’s muffled sobs and jumps on to the bed. He nestles tightly against her shaking body and finds a part of her face not hidden by the pillow. He licks it feverishly, until her face is slobbery and her body has stopped its shaking. Soon, they both fall asleep.

The girl sits on a hard chair in a narrow rectangular room. The walls have a tall strip of black marble at the floor, followed by one of thin, red marble and topped by white marble at the ceiling. She looks down. The floors are of black and white marble tiles, alternating like a chessboard. She notices her feet. They are in black, chunky leather boots. A red skirt, made to look like layered rags, sweeps the top of her boots. A black leather bodice and trench coat cover the rest of her. She can feel heavy chain necklaces and a large dog collar around her neck.
She becomes distracted by a scent. Burned meat and an acrid stench akin to cigarettes pervade her nostrils, sting her eyes, and obstruct her breathing. A large thing comes into her sight. It walks upright, but has hocks instead of heels. Its head nearly touches the ceiling. Its body is bulging with muscles, but those muscles are covered by skin that has been turned to charcoal. It even sheds fragments of burned skin as it moves. The lips have been burned away, exposing pitted and jagged teeth in a burnt mouth. It is breathing heavily, rasping in the chest as charred bits of skin fly from its mouth.
She looks into its eyes. They are a deep red, a blood-red and burn with searing pain and hatred; smoke furls away from its singed eyelids. She can’t look away. She feels her arm reaching for a coat pocket, where it finds a cold metal box. The creature looms over her, anticipating. She pulls the object out—it’s an old Altoid’s tin. The creatures’ breathing becomes rapid. It reaches for her left arm with crispy fingers that end in jagged claws. They grasp the end of her sleeve and roll it up, exposing her pale arm.
The shadows by the far wall coalesce and there stands a third figure. It wears a cloak made with the shades of green found in an evening forest. A deep hood keeps the figure’s face from the light. It remains still, watching the sickly scene before it.
The creature stands before the girl, intent on her right hand. The tin lays hinged open on her thigh, and she holds a small glittering blade in her fingers, poised above her bare arm. The creature convulses and a horrid grin grows on its face as the girl’s hand slowly comes down towards her pale flesh.
The figure leaps to the girl’s side, grabbing her right wrist in a gloved hand. The figure glares at the creature, its eyes glowing a deep green from beneath the hood. The creature’s own eyes widen and it takes a step back. But, it begins a deep raspy laugh and makes to reach to the girl again. The figure forces the girl’s hand to fling the metal away. It grabs the tin and sends hundreds of metal shards into the creature’s flesh. The figure snatches the astonished girl just above the elbow. As the creature’s screams reverberate in the room and ring in their ears, the figure runs with the girl straight through a wall.
A breeze cools the girls’ skin and she vaguely recognizes that she standing in a darkening forest.
The girl pulls away and asks, “Is it dead?”
“No, it is merely maimed.”
“Why didn’t you kill it?”
“I am not meant to,” it answers.
The girl sighs. “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”
“Mhm.”
The girl looks around and rolls her sleeve back down. They are standing in a deciduous forest. Leaves crunch under her boots at every step, and she almost falls when they slide in fresh deer shit. Where trees don’t take up the ground space, ferns of all shapes and sizes grow in abundance. It is night, but the air is still warm, and she is able to see by the light of a full moon. She can hear the soft trickling of running water and realizes that a creek must be nearby. Her brow furrows, and she turns back to the figure.
“I know this place,” she says.
“Yes,” the figure’s voice is amused.
“Where is it?”
The figure pauses. “It is a sanctuary,” it says finally.
The girl gives the figure a clearly unsatisfied look. The figure turns to walk away.
“Wait! Do I know you?” she asks.
The figure stops and looks back at the girl. She runs up to it and tries to peer into the darkness of its hood. The figure’s eyes blaze again, reflecting the light and turning it green. The hood turns away. A hand reaches into a concealed pocket and holds out a fist. The girl reaches her own hand beneath, and the figure drops a small trinket. It turns to face the girl. A dark cloud glides over the moon.
The eyes glow again as it speaks, “Yes. You knew me. Perhaps better than anyone else.”
It blinks and the girl notices that the moon’s light is now completely gone; she is thrown into the dark while the figure’s eyes remain closed. She hears a sigh.
It speaks again, “Please, defeat that thing. Do not allow it to take control again.” It indicates her hand where she holds the trinket, “Do not lose that.”
“And,” it hesitates, “good bye.”
It closes its eyes once more, and the girl hears it walk away. She is left in the complete darkness of a clouded night. She clutches the trinket in her hand and waves her other hand before her face. She sees nothing. Her mind slowly fades to the deep sleep where no thoughts pass through consciousness.

The girl lies sleeping in her sister’s bed. The sheet and quilt have been tucked in around her. Remy lays curled up next to her stomach. One of her hands lays open on the mattress, fingers loosely curled about the palm. On it lays a thick stone ring. It seems dull and bland. Then moonlight from between the window blinds hits it. Inside it glows with a translucent sheen, like blue light held in ice.