Magic & Memory

Copyright 2012 by A.L.Larsen. All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission in whole or in part of this publication is permitted without express written consent from the author.

To my “Scrapbook Sisters”

Thanks, girlfriends, for all the support and encouragement!

He was burning.

          The pain jolted him awake, and the boy cried out as he leapt to his feet. Flames spread steadily from his left hand to his sleeve as he staggered a few steps, his mind reeling with panic and fear.

A wide, grey creek churned past nearby and he fought his way down its embankment, blackberry vines tearing at his clothes and his skin as he struggled to reach the water. The fire was extinguished as he plunged into the icy stream, the bitter cold shocking him almost as violently as the burning had.

He’d flung his entire body into the water, and the current was surprisingly strong. Getting back to land was a struggle, and he was knocked to his knees more than once as he tried to drag himself to safety.

Finally he collapsed amid the brambles on the muddy shore, gasping for breath as he blinked at the pale grey sky. But after only a few moments like this, an inexplicable wave of panic propelled him to his feet and he once again pushed through the blackberry thicket, clutching his burned hand to his chest. He needed to get to the sheltering trees, some feral instinct sending him for cover.

The boy crawled under the thick canopy of a pine tree and curled himself around his injury, shivering violently in his wet clothes. He peered out at his surroundings, trying to make sense of where he was. But nothing looked familiar in the barren winter landscape.

And he was totally alone.

Lu Harper contemplated the pale grey sky. There was a strong chill and the promise of snow in the air, which wasn’t unusual for mid-December.

She stalled for time, tightening her long brown ponytail by pulling two handfuls of hair in opposite directions. Next she tugged the zipper of her fleece jacket all the way to her chin as she considered retreating back into her warm, comfortable home.

But she felt restless today. And the pending snowstorm could mean being stuck inside for days, which would bring cabin fever by the bucket load. So she made up her mind and stepped off the porch.

Her house was on the side of a mountain, and running was tough enough without subjecting herself to the steep incline. So she slid behind the wheel of her ancient Ford Bronco and cranked the engine, which heaved and sputtered and failed to start.

The rusty SUV was twenty-seven years old, a full ten years older than Lu, and she wondered if maybe this time it had died for good. “Come on baby, you can do it,” she told the Bronco, offering it some encouragement as she turned the key again and again. Eventually the engine roared to life.

In a few minutes she was skirting downtown Ashland, Oregon. It was relentlessly cheerful this time of year as holiday shoppers swarmed past colorful window displays, hauling armloads of presents. Several middle school kids belted out Christmas carols as they charged down the sidewalk. A mom-powered stroller rolled past at the intersection, the toddler blinking at Lu from beneath a ridiculously pointy Santa hat.

Ok,
Lu sighed
, I get it. It’s almost Christmas
. She wished the holidays would just end already.

She knew she was acting like a Grinch, and normally she loved Christmas. But the past few months had seen far too much heartbreak, too much loss, for her to even consider celebrating this year.

Not that she wanted to think about that now.

The Bronco finally came to a stop beside the greenbelt at the north end of town, her favorite place to run. Lu slammed the car door and took off across the parking lot, heading for the jogging path along Bear Creek.

The greenbelt was fairly desolate this time of year, the trees stark and spindly, the bushes bare. There were no holiday reminders to be found out here, and that suited Lu just fine.

She ran with focused determination, concentrating on nothing but maintaining her pace. Eventually she noticed that the light was fading, which meant she’d been out longer than she’d intended. Southern Oregon was generally perfectly safe, but there was no point in pressing her luck by jogging alone on the isolated greenbelt after dark. So Lu cut through the trees and emerged onto the main road, running in the bike lane facing oncoming traffic as she headed back to her car.

She got to within a couple miles of the parking lot before her body finally insisted she walk the rest of the way. A few snowflakes began to drift around her as she walked, prompting her to pick up the pace.

It was completely dark and incredibly cold by the time Lu got back to the old SUV. She slid behind the wheel just as the snow began coming down in earnest and cranked the engine, which mercifully started on the second try. The heater blasted cool air against her damp skin. And the wipers smeared the snow and dirt on the windshield, so she had to concentrate as she navigated through the haze.

Now that it was dark, thousands of cheery Christmas lights greeted her as she headed back into town. They illuminated the plaza, the trees, and all the shops and restaurants, a great big glaring reminder of the approaching holiday. Lu tried and failed to ignore them as she kept driving.

She cut through a residential neighborhood, climbing steadily as big wet snowflakes burst against her windshield. It was the first snow of the season to reach Ashland, though it had been falling in the mountains south of town for several days. It was kind of pretty, she thought, though she’d enjoy it a lot more when she wasn’t trying to drive in it.

The paved road ended after a while, but Lu kept going. A few homes were nestled in the woods past the end of the pavement, but where she lived was higher still. It took several more minutes of steady climbing and winding her way up a forest service maintenance road before reaching the private dirt road to her house. The snow was falling hard now, and at this rate the steep, rutted road would soon become treacherous. Lu was glad she was almost home.

Eventually the cheerful red and white cabin appeared amid the towering pines. She pulled into the circular gravel driveway, shutting off the engine just as the heater finally started working.

Lu hurried through the snow, wiping a few errant flakes out of her blue eyes. Once inside, she tossed her keys into a bowl on the mantel before placing a couple logs on the glowing embers in the big stone fireplace. Then she went upstairs, looking forward to a very long, very hot shower.

The boy woke with a start, freezing and disoriented, and sat up in the back seat of a big vehicle. He’d sought refuge there when the cold beside the creek had become unbearable, and he’d fallen asleep beneath an old quilt.

Now all the windows were curtained with snow, a soft light filtering through from one side of the SUV. He shivered, holding his burned left hand gingerly against his stomach, and gritted his teeth as the pain throbbed in time to the beat of his heart.

With his other hand he opened the car door, then pushed his damp hair back from his face and took a look at where he was. The car was parked in front of a small red house, and inside he could see a fire burning brightly in a stone fireplace so large it took up most of one wall. He tugged the quilt around his shoulders as he slid out of the back seat, his bare feet sinking into a few inches of fresh powder as snow swirled around him.

He climbed the three steps to the covered porch, his legs weak and shaky, and peered through the glass panel in the front door, listening carefully, his body tense and alert. The fire crackled, somewhere water ran, and out here the wind was picking up, shaking the trees. A tentative knock got no response, so he tried the handle. The door swung open.

The boy hesitated, but the heat of the fireplace was just too compelling. Stepping inside cautiously, he closed the door behind him and quickly crossed the worn wood floor to the hearth. He sank to his knees on a braided wool rug, clutching the quilt tightly around himself, and tilted his face toward the warmth.

There’s a man in my living room!

Lu froze in mid-step at the bottom of the staircase, fear prickling down her spine. The man hadn’t seen her yet. He was on his knees in front of the fireplace, his eyes closed. A yellow and white quilt was wrapped around him.

She recognized that quilt -- it was the one she kept in the back seat of her Bronco. Another wave of fear swept through her at the idea that this person might have been in her car with her as she drove home.

Lu wanted to yell for help. But there was no one here to help her. The realization hit her hard: it was up to her to defend herself and her home. She took a shaky deep breath and stood up a bit straighter.

Then she remembered the old rusty shotgun in the closet near the front door, and that helped strengthen her resolve. Not that she had any intention of firing it, but maybe the sight of it would scare this person away.

She leapt from the stairs and dashed in a wide arc around the stranger, whose eyes opened as soon as she started to move. She flung open the closet door and grabbed the weapon, aiming it at the man, and struggled to keep her hands and her voice steady as she demanded, “What are you doing in my house?”

He gasped and scrambled to a far corner of the room, staring at her from beneath his wild black hair. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled as he pressed his back against the wall.

Ok, now what?

He hadn’t run for the door like she’d hoped he would. She kept the shotgun level as she pondered her next move, studying him carefully in the firelight, still trying to keep from visibly shaking.

He was actually younger than she’d thought at first, maybe in his late teens, though it was hard to tell. His clothes were wet and torn, his feet bare. His hair was a dark tangle that fell across his mud-streaked face. And he was shivering violently.

After a moment he said, “You really don’t want to fire that rifle.” His voice was soft, his refined British accent totally clashing with his outward appearance.

Lu had no intention of firing, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. She raised her chin and kept up her bravado as she asked, “And why is that?”

He pointed at the tip of the gun. “Because the barrel is jammed with something, and if you shoot it might backfire and hurt you.”

Lu hesitated. Then she grasped the gun barrel and swung it back over her left shoulder, holding it with two hands like a baseball bat. She stretched a fingertip down and felt a soft cloth and a cleaning instrument protruding from the end of the weapon.

Ok, so he’d been telling the truth about that.

She asked because she had to know: “Did you get in my car down by the creek?”

He nodded and a fresh trickle of fear ran through her, but she tried not to let it show as she got a better grip on her makeshift bat and asked why.

“I was so cold,” he said simply, his voice barely a whisper.

The boy shifted a bit then and she noticed his left hand, which he clutched against his chest. It was curled slightly and severely burned. “You’re injured,” she exclaimed, though that was plainly obvious. He gave a single nod.

She contemplated this for a few moments, chewing on her lower lip. He remained motionless aside from shivering, his dark eyes locked on her. Eventually compassion won out over fear and she lowered the weapon, setting it carefully on the coffee table.

“I frightened you,” he was saying quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you say something when we were both in my car?”

“I fell asleep. Or maybe I passed out. I’m not sure which.”

She took another glance at the burn and felt queasy, then met his gaze and asked, “Are you in a lot of pain?” Again he nodded.

Lu hesitated a moment before slowly approaching the boy. She crouched down so that she was eye level with him, and forced herself to look at his injury. Her stomach heaved at the sight of it but she fought back her squeamishness as she told him, “You need to go to the hospital.”