Wigston stared out into the darkness of the Van, the only thing keeping him shackled to reality was the metal cuffs digging into his wrists and ankles. He couldn't believe he, an innocent man, just lost his whole life in the course of a few days. Maybe it had been a few months, he didn't know. The Van rumbled down what he believed was a road, heading towards whatever his fate was. It bounced whenever Wigston’s heart beat. When it slowed, so did his heart. It was a constant ebb and flow, the kind of give and take that only comes with a game of cat and mouse. Wigston had clearly stepped right into the trap. As he sat there, waiting in the dark, he tried to think back, but he couldn't remember anything. At least, he didn't until he heard her voice from across the endless darkness. A forbidden fruit forever out of his reach.
Wigston’s daughter Lilly, who was only thirteen, was rambling on and on about the soccer game she had won the night before. She had the biggest smile, full of teeth and happiness as she went on and on. He remembered that the best. Mostly because it always brightened his day, but also because she had been the best surprise that he had ever received. His wife, Rebecca, just sat silently. Though she was listening, it was clear she was preoccupied with another subject entirely. Having just sat down for the chicken dinner, when the phone rang Wigston groaned and pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes. Rebecca got up, started to say something, but Wigston’s demeanor stopped her. As he looked into her eyes, Wigston saw how exhausted she was. “I got the phone. You worked all day. Please sit and enjoy the hot meal you’ve made for all of us.” He said as soft as he could while getting up.
“Don't take too long,” she said quietly, already becoming enveloped in her food.
Wigston picked up the phone to his boss screaming about him being late again, even though he had arrived precisely ten minutes early. Deep inside, in his heart, Wigston felt he should just hang up and stay with his family today. He told his boss, “Don’t worry, it will never happen again. I’m even coming in right now to make up for it.” Maybe this will prevent his job from being put on the line over some fantasy.
“I.. have to go into work,” Wigston watched his family’s faces fall, “I know, I know. And I’m sorry for leaving, especially so suddenly. Have a nice meal and rest of the night, loves.” He kissed his reserved wife and hugged his talkative little girl before slinking out the door. As if hit by a wall, Wigston stopped in the doorway. His heart screamed at him not to go. Forcing through whatever mental block he had set up over going to work late again, Wigston ignored how he felt. Something as stupid as his feelings wouldn’t stop him from supporting HIS family. Wigston stepped out onto the porch, the feeling still not ceasing. Wigston hurried down the cement walkway, now fighting a panic attack. Finally, Wigston got into his Toyota Prius. Then he relaxed and leaned back into the leather seat. Whatever had just come up inside him was now gone, left to wallow in the deep pit of despair that it rose from. Though the drive was a long one, as he had to travel 6 towns over, he didn’t mind. Often, he thought about his life as he drove, usually about Rebecca and Lilly. It almost never bothered him when he realized how small and insignificant he really was since he had everything he needed. A family. Love. Absolute perfection. Wigston was lucky not to get into an accident every day; especially since he always slipped into this trance of memories and love. Part highway hypnosis and part yearning.
Today, however, he was nervous. Even without that horrible feeling, he knew that his boss was more pissed than normal. Wigston was on full alert and hit every light when normally he never even hit one. The day’s end was almost here, Wigston could see the setting sun ahead of him, and he had run out of things that he wanted to think about. At least, thoughts pertaining to Wigston. So instead, as he drove to work he thought about how little he had legitimately seen his family over the course of the past few weeks. It was minimal.
Only once he saw them. At Lilly’s last soccer game. Even though Rebecca and Wigston had gone to see his daughter play, that's not what he remembers. The field had been almost empty when they had pulled up, enough for Wigston to question if it was the right place. They had arrived an hour earlier to help set up, yet only some teenagers were nearby. And a woman underneath a nearby tree. He remembers the woman the best, but Lilly’s excitement managed to stay in his mind. The icy woman with a low hanging black dress and who looked like an angel, yet was also cold like a killer winter. She was striking. Beautiful, even. Her blonde hair billowing back in the crispy wind was the last thing he saw before she was gone. She hadn’t moved. Nor blinked. One second she was there, the next Wigston was staring at a solitary tree in the middle of a park.
They had been in the right place and aided in getting the seating for the other parents ready. On top of that, Lilly scored the winning goal of the game, which seemed to make the darkness flee. Afterward, the entire team had gone out for ice cream at the nearby shop. Lilly had the biggest smile Wigston had ever seen and his normally reserved wife was the most talkative she had been in years. Rebecca had gotten excited enough to converse with all of the other soccer parents. She even managed to set up a session for the book club they had put together some months ago and never followed through with. Lilly ran around, excitedly chittering with all of her friends and teammates. There wasn’t a moment of that memory Wigston would change. That night, he had slept well for the first time in his adult life. Ever since he had seen that odd woman, life seemed to get just a little bit better.
When he pulled into the office building’s parking lot, he snapped out of his daze. As he rushed towards where he was pushing papers for a meaningless company, Wigston’s feelings of dread returned. His palms then became sweaty, making it impossible to grip the railing as he began to charge up the stairs, and his heart sped up. When he arrived on the top floor, his boss, Edward, called him into the biggest office in the building. Wigston, once he entered, saw Edward sitting in his suit. The black fabric that Wigston had worn earlier that day was very unkempt at the moment. It was stained with sweat, mostly from Wigston’s lack of exercise in general prior to running up the stairs, as Edward watched him silently. When Edward opened his mouth, Wigston’s heart screamed. Get out of there! Run! Before it's too late! The thoughts moved so quickly he could barely comprehend them. Once more, Wigston pushed the rogue feeling aside and sat through his boss’s whole speech. Silently, he got demoted. Wigston was to go to the loading bay and move boxes of paper and other materials around to be prepared for shipping. Effective immediately.
The entire warehouse and bay was dark and quiet. The blue-collar workers had a union that allowed them to go home hours ago. Wigston moved boxes, still in his tight suit, well into the night. Wigston’s suit had been soaked through with sweat before the physical labor, but now there was a squishing sound whenever he walked and droplets of liquid on everything he touched. Before starting he had undone his tie and unbuttoned his top buttons, but about halfway through he just took off his dress shirt and shoes. After he moved the last box of the day, the room grew cold as winter and bit at his exposed skin. Of course, the box had to be put in the darkest and farthest corner from the door. Moving faster, hoping to get to his family before they were asleep, Wigston ignored the cold. Even as his heart yearned for the warmth of the outside, Wigston stopped. The hairs on the back of his neck had stood up straight. Wigston had proceeded to slowly turn around, only to see that woman. That deadly winter beauty.
“Hello Wigston,” she said as she moved closer slowly. She let her hand fall behind her, allowing it to drag along the shelves. Her legs were clearly smooth and soft, her eyes warm yet oh so cold, and a nose that fit perfectly on her face. Wigston’s mouth watered. “I have an offer for you, darling,” The woman purred, “My name is Chamuel. I can grant you anything you want. I'm not giving you a choice, my dear. Not this time. You so desperately need what I’m offering you. A chance to get out of this dead-end job and be with your family. Just like you have strived for. Money, especially money, and a comfortable, flexible job. It’s the life you always wanted, love,” Chamuel’s smile sent a pang through Wigston’s heart, like an icicle piercing its victim below, “All you have to do is kiss me, darling. Once is all it takes, you know. It’s just to seal the deal. Nothing serious...” Wigston's heart screeched as it had urged him to run again. Yet, her promises were everything he had ever dreamt of in his entire lifetime. So he had kissed the winter. Felt it spread through his body. From his lips to his eyes, then to his heart, and brain. Wigston leaned into her kiss and had run his hands down her sides. Arms wrapped around him, the kiss lasted longer than any with his wife. Then everything had gone black.
Wigston only remembers this now, shackled within a van. Within the darkness that had been his prison since the day he was born.
He had gone home after he woke up at around one in the morning. Before that, however, he had stopped at his father’s to break into the shed. The only thing there was his father’s prized pistol, which he had then promptly stolen. It was fully loaded with 12 shots. After another half an hour, Wigston arrived at his house on Riley Avenue in the small town of Bleak Point. There, he went upstairs to where his wife slept. Rebecca, he believed, never talked enough for him. She always just went with whatever was thrown at her and never tried to change the situation she was in. Never complained, always content. It had been maddening. All at once, Wigston was unable to stand how much she could possibly use against him if they ever fought. He put the pistol to her head. The little bitch was about to have what was coming to her. For all the things she never said. For every single thing that was never enough, yet too much as well. For every damn day when he wasn't home on time and she didn't seem to care. Even for every last message that wasn't sent because it was ‘too mean’. She didn't love him as he had loved her. Wigston remembered that at that point, it was easy for him to pull the trigger.
Lilly got home from a party an hour later. Aware that she would be a little more difficult, Wigston poured himself a drink. A heavy bourbon, whose name slipped his mind even upon reflection. After he had downed his liquid courage, Wigston walked downstairs and waited for his daughter’s arrival. It had not been long before he heard her shoes on the wooden porch. Once the door had swung open, Wigston had immediately fired and brought her to the ground in the foyer. Still, he had seen her smile. The darkness that had a hold over him wavered ever so slightly but it had quickly batted down the slight rebellion. That first shot had been for each time she interrupted the football game he was trying to watch with some stupid shit like homework. Wigston then proceeded to kick her as hard as he could in her stomach as she struggled to get up. The bitch was still squirming underneath him, screaming words that he had not been able to understand. He fired again. The second shot was for when she wouldn't shut the fuck up. Like, right that second. Bullet now buried into her shoulder, she fell entirely onto the floor still gasping and screaming. Emotionless, Wigston fired one last time. That final shot had been for every moment taken away from his life to add to her pathetic one. The games, the time spent raising her. All of that a waste. Fuck her. Maybe in the beginning he had really loved her, but in the end, she was just as useless as everyone else. Once more, he blacked out.
Wigston had woken in a holding cell. Bleak Point’s holding cell to be exact. Once he looked around and realized he was alone besides the cop standing guard, Wigston had felt the darkness begin to take control.
“You are seriously sick, man,” the cop stated through a breakfast bar, a repulsed look on his face, “What kind of man goes home and murders his family, then walks across the street to brag about it to your neighbor before stringing her and her animals up in the backyard?”
The cop, whose badge read Branch, leaned back and spat his chewed up bar onto the floor of the cell. Wigston then looked up at the man with a cool disposition and saw his flaws. Branch was fat. Looked like a perv. He had probably beat his wife and molested his child before he had come into work that day. Branch watched as Wigston judged. Wigston knew the cop didn’t want to admit that everything about this situation creeped him out. Even more than any other case he had been a part of. Something about the way Wigston had looked at him threw Branch out of his comfort zone. Wigston didn’t lose consciousness at that time. It had taken less than a second for Wigston to cross the room and wrap his arms around Branch’s throat. The cop never even had a chance to make a sound before his air pipe was crushed by one of Wigston’s hands. Wigston had never broken eye contact with the silent Branch as he leaned down and took the keys, which took a good minute. Branch’s bright blue eyes had reminded him of his daughter’s smile and her recent death. Wigston remembered leaning down and whispering, “Useless,” into Branch’s ear. The cop was gone shortly after.
Unbeknownst to Winston, the cop did have a family. He didn’t beat his wife or anything that Wigston had thought but rather supported them in any way he could have. Branch was supposedly a very loving father to two sons and his wife was one of the soccer moms that were in Rebecca’s book club. Unlike the majority of police in Bleak Point, he had saved more than one person in Bleak Point from more than one problem without discrimination. Wigston only saved him from being fired from the racists in charge. Unlike what Wigston had believed, Branch was the local hero. The loss of this kind man was probably the greatest loss at that moment of time. The residents of Bleak Point would have a statue erected in his honor in the town square as a beacon of hope to those he saved.
Wigston had been found stabbing Branch with the keys instead of exiting the cell and building. With unnatural strength, he had managed to bury the small metal fragments an inch with each strike. It was a wonder the police hadn’t shot him then and there. Maybe something had restrained them.
Wigston almost threw up. This Van was transporting him to some FBI facility for a study. That was what the cops had told him before tossing him inside this dark pit. The pale woman’s chilling voice froze him until he was warm. It was only now that he couldn’t see that everything was clear. “Didn't your mother teach you to follow your heart, love?” Wigston met the dark green eyes that he could be just made out in the void, “I know she did, darling. I was there. Watching. You didn't listen, though I’m not surprised. You did abandon her when she became too much of a burden. Alzheimer’s a bitch, isn’t it?” Wigston just stared at her.
She continued, “I'm not exactly an angel if you haven’t put that together. My name isn't Chamuel, either. She died not too long ago. That is how I found out about you, Wigston, my dear. In reality, I'm Death.” Wigston remained silent. What had he done? He looked at Death and closed his eyes. “I have to say Wigston, you really were an okay guy... besides this whole killing thing you just did,” Her smile was genuine as if she was attempting to console him, “I almost didn’t do anything, hon. You really didn’t deserve this. I had to though. I really did. I would have died, along with many others, if I didn’t. My lord of darkness, the Reaper of Worlds they call him, would have reaped your entire planet. So I had to let him take you.” The Van rumbled, bouncing again. Death seemed to move with the Van, not with the bounce. It was as if she wasn’t actually there. The cuffs dug into Wigston’s wrists and ankles, causing him to become more aware.
Death’s hand sat on his knee, her thumb stroking him softly. Oddly, it was almost comforting. He felt that she truly held no malice. She was only doing this as a way to survive. Just like he had lived his entire life. Go to work, eat, sleep, then repeat. Survival was all he cared about and now he sat in the back of a one-way ticket to hell. He only then realized how young she looked. Sixteen, maybe. Eighteen at most. Death felt much older, but he knew he was right. A child, not a woman. She only looked as if she were one. Maybe this was his fault. How could he be so blind? In the end, Wigston couldn’t come to terms with that. The wool was pulled over his eyes by this she-devil. What made him important? He was a Christian, loved his family, and sacrificed much. Yet he was just like any of his neighbors. Especially the one he had slain. Wigston lived in a simple, moderately sized town and never truly amounted to anything. But he still sat in a metal coffin.
“Why did you do this to me?”
“You would have gotten in his.. my.. way. You couldn't stay, hon. You were the next prophet and only you are strong enough to hold such a powerful spirit… goodbye Wigston.”
He didn't respond. He wanted to disappear but when he opened his eyes and found that Death was still there he knew he wouldn’t be able to.
“I'm sorry, love.” She whispered. Death had meant it, but she was gone. Wigston understood that. Could he blame her? He could tell she was only a puppet. Taken advantage of as he had been. Like he still was. Wigston never grasped the correct words to describe the heavy feeling that urged him to reach out and hug her. To let her know that this wasn’t the only way. Instead, Wigston leaned back into the cold metal that rooted him to this earth until he could no longer feel it.
The Van stopped.
