Snowfall

All he could do lately was stare. He would stare at walls, chairs, desks, basically anything inanimate. The past few days, however, consisted of him looking out the window. There had been snow, for quite a while now, and it was falling heavily. He watched it with an entranced gaze that he had only reserved for the objects in the room. This snow brought back something to him; some feelings that he thought had gone.

The man went by the name Cal Davies, and he had had the worst six weeks of his life. He had cut all contact with family and friends and moved out to a cabin in the woods that once belonged to a mentor of his. The woods provided further isolation for Cal, isolation that had already begun to settle in his mind. It had been exactly 42 days to the date that he drove his car off the road and into a deep ditch. His wife Jane had been in the passenger seat and suffered major head trauma, lapsing into a coma that she never came out of. Needless to say, Cal was devastated by this loss, as any loving husband would be. But he seemed to take it extremely hard, so much so that his family couldn't console him, he even stopped playing hockey at the local ice rink, and that's when he packed to move into the cabin.

For three weeks he had been living in the cabin, going out only for food at the supermarket. Other than that, he continued to stare. Nothing brought joy to him, and yet nothing brought tears either. He was a shell of his former self, wishing he could go back and feel whole again. It wasn't enough to say that Jane was the love of his life, for she was everything in his life. Cal worked at an industrial plant, a job he hated, but because it provided for them and he was skilled at welding, he held on to it. Jane, with her raven-black hair and endlessly blue eyes, made the world a brighter place than what Cal usually saw it as. But that light had flickered out, and Cal was left to live in darkness.

There was one small feat that Cal managed to accomplish in his days at the cabin. It was to write. On the computer, freehand, in his mind, he wrote and visualized stories and ideas. He wrote them for no one in particular and never planned for them to be seen by anyone anyway. But while his face remained stoic, his hands dispelled everything he felt into written words. Sometimes he would write all day, and over the course of the three weeks he must have accumulated 500 pages of stories, spanning every genre. What he took notice to was that he was a heavy user of metaphors, symbols, and foreshadowing, concepts that his mentor had stressed upon him to help his writing reach a higher level. Never had he written like this before. Never had he the time or resources. He had taken an indefinite time off work, leaving him to hold up in the cabin and write.

But the writings were a curse to him as well. While they brought a sort of relief, they brought back the memories also, especially the night of the accident. He regretted going out that night, especially in that weather. Freezing rain had started to pour as he and Jane left the Christmas party of a mutual friend. Neither had been drinking, merely enjoying themselves and talking it up with those they hadn't seen in some time. When the time came to go, the rain had begun and their friend, who was throwing the party, Jason, invited them to stay the night. Ever the polite-non-burdensome-people, Cal and Jane risked the roads and crossed their fingers.

They were 5 minutes in when the wipers stopped wiping, and that's when both their hearts started pounding. Furiously, and louder than the engine, their heartbeats raced. Jane pleading with Cal to at least stop for a while, but he refused, reminding her they were only going 25 miles per hour and the roads were familiar. Nevertheless, such slow speeds can still cause problems, no matter how often the roads have been safely traveled. A patch of ice can never be seen in time, even for those with working wipers. Cal's car hit it, and from there it never had a chance at recovery. They knew where they were going; the ditches were everywhere and absolutely unavoidable. In they went, passenger side first, and with that, Jane's head it the glass window and her neck underwent tremendous whiplash. Her seat belt didn't save her, and neither could Cal. She slipped in and never came out again. The doctors pronounced her dead three days later, the same day Cal was cleared to leave for his fractured hip and jaw.

The snow he was watching filled him with feeling, a sense of wonder, the first sense he had honestly felt in such a long time. It almost made him smile, but he still couldn't bring himself to that, he wouldn't allow himself to. So he took it upon himself to somehow preserve this, and so he went and slept, hoping that he could accumulate these feelings in him over time like the snow on the ground.

Just like that he awoke again and was watching the snow continue to fall, this time with a cup of coffee in hand. Cal reckoned he had been out for at least 5 hours, which was the usual for him these days. The snow was still falling at a steady pace and Cal could tell that this was the kind of snow he would have loved as a kid. The kind you could pack together so tightly that when you threw it, the kid it hit would not have been able to tell whether it was a snowball or a baseball. And how beautiful it fell, each flake being the size of a half-dollar, but each one being priceless to Cal. They seemed to heal him, an alternative medicine that simply needed to be looked upon to cure its patients. The outside lights from the cabin made the ground light up, and the falling snow seemed like little lit bulbs being slowly pulled down to Earth.

This inspired him to write again. He took a deep breath and almost smiled as his fountain pen touched the paper. It flowed forth the words he still couldn't say, this time in the form of a poem. He was trying to connect his wife's radiant white skin to that of the snow he watched. He saw the branches collecting snow and was reminded of how every flake would cling to his wife's hair, as if it were magnetically attracted. Cal wrote all this and more, working through the ache that began in his wrist and spread to his elbow. This poem was grand, consisting of seven pages and 23 stanzas, all of which were necessary and fully expressive. It took everything out of Cal to write it, leaving him drained and collapsed on the couch, falling asleep once again.

His acute hearing interrupted his sleep. A car had pulled up, an old one, or at least one in poor quality judging by the brakes. He shot out of the couch and put on his boots and jacket, whoever was here, Cal wanted to beat them to the door. This was still his isolated world, and he was going to keep it that way. No one knew he was here, Cal realized as his left boot finally slipped on. And it wasn't until his jacket was fully zipped did he recall that many horror movies went like this. The emotions of slight fear and certain paranoia had apparently come back to Cal.

He opened the door without bothering to look out the peephole and began walking to the car, which had it's windows bouncing the morning sun into Cal's eyes. All he could hear was a greeting, at once familiar and curious. It was one he had heard before, or something like it, but who's it was was still being blinded by the light. Cal shielded his eyes and saw a man of average height looking up at him, as Cal was six-foot-four-inches. This man was dressed quite out-of-date, yet very fashionable, with a fedora atop his head and a personally crafted suit fitting snugly to his body. A traditional gray overcoat draped over him like it was made in Heaven. The man was stunningly dressed and tailored to the stitch; he was a sight to behold in these lonely woods. The man greeted Cal once more, noticing that he had now gotten a good look at him.

"Good morning. Hope I didn't wake you."

Cal didn't bother returning the pleasantry, "Who are you?"

"Just a man in the woods. You?"

"Same. What's your business in the woods, mister?"

"I'm just here to see you, Cal."

Cal's posture and tone became more defensive by the second. He didn't know this man but the man knew him, that much was sure. Cal began scanning through his mind who this might be, and with his mental database coming up with nothing, he decided to take a crack at guessing.

"Did my family send you here? A friend maybe?"

"No, no, no. They don't have the slightest clue if you're even really alive at the moment."

"Well, it's been six weeks."

"It has, Cal. Mind if we talk inside?"

"Not until you tell me exactly who you are and what your business is here."

"I think that's best left to be discussed inside. I'd hate to ruin my suit out here in the snow telling you why I drove here today."

Cal stared long and hard at the man, having mastered the art over the weeks. He looked into the stranger's eyes, which were hazel and reassuring, and saw that no harm was going to be brought about by this man. His defensive posture broke down and his voice fell as well, leaving Cal to motion the man inside. Both walked in, with the stranger in the lead, observing every facet of the cabin. He slowly took off his overcoat as his eyes continued to sweep over the area. Cal closed the door behind them at the same time the man's eyes fell upon Cal's large mass of writings on his work desk. He didn't say anything about them, no comment made, he simply watched them with a hawk's glare as he removed his coat and threw it over his arm. Cal hadn't been paying attention, rather he went toward the kitchen area of the cabin and opened the refrigerator.

"Milk? Water?"

"Ah, no thanks, but thank you. Do you write a lot, Cal?" The man had finally taken his eyes off the papers and was staring at the floor.

Cal took his time before he answered this, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and considering why he was going to even talk to this man about his writings. Yet, he answered the man's questions without an air of sarcasm in his voice.

"Not much else to do out here."

"It is pretty lonely out here, yeah. A man can sure get a lot of thinking done."

"It's all I do. Think and write. Please take a seat..." Cal left the sentence open for the man to finish.

"Jack, and thank you very much."

The two men each took a seat, with Jack very calm in his seat on the couch and Cal leaning forward trying to get a read on the guy. Silence sat in the room with them for awhile, eventually leaving when Cal began to speak.

"I don't know how you found me, Jack, and I don't know how you know me, but I'll be honest with you, I'm getting a little edgy about you asking me such a question when I know next to nothing about you. So if you could please clear some of this up, I would much appreciate it."

Cal's words did not make Jack move any which way, the man still sat in that seat in a relaxed fashion, with the slightest smile since Mona Lisa on his face. When he answered, he didn't move anything but his mouth, his eyes stayed fixed and his body in place.

"Do you believe in God, Cal?"

"I used to," Cal answered quickly despite his surprise.

Jack's smile finally widened and showed some teeth, "It's a good thing he still believes in you then."

Cal didn't know what to make of this. He wanted to ask another question but he actually feared it being countered with another question such as that one. He tread carefully before he decided to question Jack from a different angle.

"Who are you? Beyond your name, who are you?"

"Truthfully?"

"I would hope so."

"I'm someone you won't believe at first, Cal, until I prove my claims. But before I prove anything, I suppose I must try and tell you."

"Please, do tell."

"You can see me in different ways, Cal. I'm your guardian angel, your regular angel, you're conscious, your subconscious, your inner voice, your voice of reason, I'm all of those, Cal, personified as the man sitting before you."

Cal was dumbfounded, but his face didn't show it. This man was crazy. Clearly, if nothing else, this man was insane. Still trying to figure out what the man was talking about, Cal spoke without thinking.

"Prove it."

"Cal, the last thing you thought before you're wife passed away was, and I quote, "God, you let this happen. You were stupid enough not to take me. You'd rather kill an innocent woman and let the man who caused her so much pain continue to live. I hate you. I hate for everything you've done." End quote."

Cal's eyes sparked, wide-eyed and beginning to sweat, Cal jumped out of his seat and began pacing around the room. This was something that was beyond his realm of comprehension, something that just didn't happen to people. He wanted to yell at the man. He wanted to scream for the man to get the hell out and stay away, but he couldn't bring himself to it. Every last one of his words was on hold as he cupped his mouth and began to have trouble breathing. All the while Jack sat calmly in his seat with a look of sincerity in his brown eyes. The man had leaned forward and looked down at the floor once more. Cal continued his labored breathing and stood frozen in his place, staring with absolute disbelief at this man who had come out of the woods and read his mind.

"I'm sorry, Cal. I shouldn't have, ahem; I should have started with something lighter, a happier memory. I apologize."

"Who are you?"

"I'm your guardi-"

"No! Don't you say that again. You are not...you can't be anything...no, no, no."

"Cal, please listen to me. What do you remember after the crash?"

"What?"

"Details, specifics, exact things. What cab did you take up here, what was the day when you arrived here, what brand of coffee did you drink last night?"

"What does it matter?"

"Try and just answer it as a normal question."

"I don't know."

"Anything? Not even the coffee?"

"No. Nothing."

Jack stood up and took a calculated step toward Cal, who was being struck with the thought that he couldn't recall any dates or names of anything at the moment. His mind was going through its database again, but everything was coming up empty, even the coffee. Jack lowered his tone and spoke each word with precision.

"Doesn't that strike you as odd? That in three weeks up here you can't recall the names or dates of one single thing?" Jack paused and took a breath before he continued on, "Can you even remember the name of the hospital your wife passed away in?"

This was like a dagger to Cal. He kept asking himself why he couldn't remember anything specific. Blanks were drawn on every fact, making it feel like a weight had crashed on his chest. Cal wanted this man out of his cabin immediately. Three weeks of solitude were starting to have positive effects on Cal; he was steadily recovering like the snow that continued to gradually fall. This man had come out of nowhere and was undoing everything in just minutes. Before Cal could yell out at Jack to leave his premises, the man asked another calm but pressing question.

"It's been snowing a lot, Cal. Haven't you been concerned in the least? Three days, now four, of this snow. You're looking at five feet soon enough. Without a shovel on you, I don't see how you're going to make you're way out either.

Cal deflected this as much he could, but even as he did, he began to wonder about the snow's accumulation for the first time, yet he gritted his teeth and made himself clear.

"Get out. Get out now."

"What do you hear when you dream, Cal?"

"Get out."

"Do you hear noises? Voices? Any sounds?"

"Get out!"

"Cal! What do you hear when you dream!?"

Jack's sudden intensity made Cal sit down in his seat. For the first time since he saw his wife in that passenger seat, slumped over, just before they both passed out, did he finally cry. Tears fell into his hands and flooded out in between his fingers. He could barely muster out his words as he wiped his nose and coughed.

"What do you want?"

Jack knelt in front of Cal and put his hand on his shoulder. It was warm, strangely warm, like a heat that he had not felt in the longest time. The tears stopped at an instant. Cal looked up with watery eyes at this man of great claims and many questions and waited for an answer.

"I'm here, Cal, to help you come to terms with something. But I can't help you do that unless you answer my questions honestly. Now, let's try this again. What do you hear when you dream?"

"I don't know. I, I, I hear my car running. It's all blurry, but I know, I know it's the night we're driving home from the party. I can't tell myself to slow down even though I'm trying to scream it out, you know? I want to wake up because I know how it's going to end, but I just can't wake up from it, and I'm stuck there watching it all again. And then I hear her. I hear her, Jane, she's, her voice is really quiet, like a whisper or something. This is after the crash. And I can't see anything really anymore, but I can hear her voice. She's probably asking me for help, but I can't do anything, I'm stuck where I am, and I just have to hear her saying my name. Then it all fades away. It's gone. And then I'm up and about again writing or watching snow."

"This is every night you sleep?"

"Every night for six weeks."

"You just hear Jane's voice?"

"Every night for six weeks. Saying my name."

"I need you to close your eyes and think hard, Cal. I need you to really try here. I need you to think of your dream. Are you slumped up against the door or away from it?"

"What do you mean?"

"In the ditch. What side is the car laying on?"

"The passenger side. My wife's dead because I slid into the ditch passenger side first."

"Close your eyes and think. In your dream, what way are you slumped over?"

Cal could do nothing immediately but stare in increased terror at the man. Finally, he slowly shut his eyes and his dream began replaying step-by-step. The broken wipers, the patch of ice, the skid, then Cal began slowing down the process, as if he had a remote control to the event. The car twirled around as if without care on the road, and into the ditch it went. Cal and Jane slammed around inside and both were partially knocked out. Cal's eyes opened and looked left; with full concentration he opened his eyes and saw Jane above him, ensnared in her seat belt, whispering his name through a bloody mouth. He saw long locks of hair streaming down toward him, just a foot from his face. Then with all energy spent, he laid his head back upon the cracked glass window of the driver's side door, through which he could see right in front of him nothing but cold, wet grass.

Cal slowly opened his eyes again to look at Jack. Profound realization was shown on his face. He was about to speak words that he had believed not to be true, that couldn't be true. How could they be true?

"I went in that ditch driver's side first."

"Would you like to know your last thought before going into the ditch? You thought, "It can't be her. I won't let her feel any pain." And then you came to a stop."

Silence returned. Cal stared. Jack looked at the floor once more.

"Where am I?" Cal asked unblinkingly.

Jack continued to look at the floor, not even able to hold his head up for his answer. "You've been in a coma, Cal. For the past six weeks. I'm sorry."

The answer, surprisingly, did not seem to faze Cal the least bit. In his mind, he was still able to piece together what was going on. One by one, they all fell into place.

"I can't remember anything because facts and stuff can never be recalled in dreams. And her voice, Jane's voice, that's her at my hospital bed, right? But what's the snow mean?

"The snow piling up outside means your time is nearing an end. Once you're enclosed, this, all this around you is over. That's why I'm here, Cal. To see you through it, I'll be here with you and take you once it's over."

"I'm not coming out of this."

"I'm sorry."

Cal turned to Jack, who finally looked back up. He felt it, he was full again, of all his emotions. He took a breath and it felt real within him. Most astonishing of all, he smiled. He smiled wide and forced his watery eyes to shed the last tears from him. Jack was honestly curious as to this and couldn't help but comment on it.

"You're smiling."

"Because," Cal began, "Because I know she's okay."

MERRY CHRISTMAS

The Home Stretch

The blackness of the Michigan night did not stop Jason Einhorn from starting his car. The sound of the autumn wind did not slow down his speed. The jet lag did not make him weary and it sure would not be stopping him from getting home that night.

Jason Einhorn was a businessman, and a well-respected one at that. A mid-30 gentleman with hair that's color can only be compared to the black ink of a printer. This was hair that had had Jason's hand run through it many times lately, partially out of stress but mostly out of longing. He had been in New York City the past two months hawking his company's newest product, a plastic that is environmentally-safe and biodegradable. Although he was winning over clients left and right, the hotel he stayed in was no comfort to him. Despite it's placement on the 75th floor of one of the most elegant hotels in Manhattan, nothing compared to the sweet, warm feeling of being at home with his fiance, Natalie.

He had proposed to her six months ago, and a week before finding out about the trip. Expecting this news to be met with tears and anger, Jason was surprised to find that his soon-to-be wife was more than understanding.

"I'll be here when you come back," was all Natalie said as she grazed his cheek.

Jason took these words to New York with him, thinking them over as he looked at the skyline. Though they made him smile as well as tear up, he thought of Natalie often. She was his emotional parachute after his father died and he lost his job two years ago. Without her, Jason was certain, he would have fallen to depths he could not fathom. With Natalie's support and caring nature, Jason recovered from his sorrow and self-pity and found a job at H&U Inc., the aforementioned plastics company.

These days, his life was together. He had survived two months without the love of his life, and now all that stood between him and her were 20 miles of empty roads.

The country roads at night would pose an ominous threat to most city drivers, but Jason had taken this route hundreds of times. He knew the way from the airport to the house by heart: A left bank, a right, a straight shot, a hard right turn, then a final straight shot home. It was all a matter of keeping your eyes open for rogue deer, although most were asleep by now, and not becoming hypnotized by the driving.

Jason decided that he would throw the high-beams on, as there didn't appear to be any oncoming traffic as far as he could see. With the flip of the switch, his car emitted a power blast of light that shone on trees well over a mile away. Jason was occupied with his mind again, thinking of Natalie. He began thinking of what to do once they were together again. Whether to hug her tight, or kiss her straight off, or just lie down with her and stare into each other's eyes all night. He couldn't help but want to do all three.

He zoomed past a mile marker at 85 m.p.h., but Jason knew there were no cops patrolling these roads, and if he got caught, it was likely by someone he knew, and he could get away with it without a problem. He eased up as he reached his first mental checkpoint, the left bank. The high rock face on the right side of the road was awe-inspiring during the day, but at night, it proved to be nothing more than a wall that was partially lit up by car lights. With the left bank behind him, Jason kicked it up to 90, but then had to ease up once again as the right bank came along.

Then he hit the danger zone, the 10-mile straight shot. Jason knew many people, including his best buddy, Arnold, who had dozed off behind the wheel due to the sheer lack of will it took to drive. Arnold was lucky enough to hit a soft spot in a ditch and suffered only a cut on the head and a hefty mechanic's bill. Even though this was like a real-life PSA to Jason, he couldn't slow down now, not with Natalie so close. He began thinking about what her reaction would be when he returned. Would she just smile that smile that made him smile back or would she scream with glee at his grand return? Jason knew whatever she did, he would cry at it. He missed her so much he pressed the gas peddle unconsciously, boosting his speed to 95.

The positive aspect of this long stretch was that it gave those with good imaginations a chance to run wild. Jason took advantage of this opportunity and began planning his first outing with Natalie after he got back. He'd take her out to that Italian place they don't go to often enough, Patenero's, and she could get the most expensive wine on the menu. They would go for a stroll along the lake, and if it got cold, he'd have his jacket right there for her, and at a moment's notice, it would be draped over her shoulders along with his arm. They would drive home and smile at each other every five seconds and laugh every time they did it. Then they'd walk in the door of their home and...

A chill was sent through Jason. The shock from this sudden cold made his heart beat faster and he zipped up his coat a little bit. The heat was on, the windows were up, there should have been no reason for such a feeling. The thought of this made Jason a little edgy, as his attempts to continue thinking of his perfect date were stifled in trying to figure out where this chill came from. Jason was without an answer, but didn't mind suddenly as he realized the straight shot was coming to an end and the hard right bank was on its way. He quickly began applying pressure to the brake, going as slow as 55 before leveling off. He began prepping for the turn when he caught sight of a deer on the side of the road.

The deer, as the phrase applies here, was caught in his headlights of Jason's car. The eyes of this deer locked with Jason's, and from that point on, they could not be detached. Though well away from Jason, he could see the bright blue surrounding the shrinking pupils of the deer. They were majestic, as if looking into the face of God, Jason couldn't break away. His mind shut off and his breathing was at a standstill. He and the deer stood still in time, it seemed, while the whole world continued to go on. Without even knowing it, Jason's body was still driving the car and had successfully managed the turn and left the deer behind. All at once, Jason blinked rapidly and took in a deep, desperate breath, as if he had just been held underwater for a length of time. That chill from before was nothing to what he felt now. Jason was shivering uncontrollably, as if having taken a December dive in Superior. His hand, shaking with vigor, grabbed hold of the A/C knob and cranked it to its warmest settings. But before it could even kick in, the cold went away, as if a blanket of ice had been lifted from Jason's body.

Jason, for the first time in his life, was genuinely frightened. But even with all this going on in his head, he realized something else was wrong. He should be looking at a sign right now reading, "Welcome to Kulla, Michigan", the sign letting him now he was back home. Jason looked as far off into the distance as his eyes would let him, but all he could see was a straight road. Not the straight road he was accustomed to after making that turn, though. This one featured no signs on the side of the road or late night cafe lights shining in the distance. This road was similar to the one just taken by Jason, identical even. Jason couldn't accept that, it was impossible. He drove faster, as if frustrated by these occurrences. He was hitting 80 when his brights caught the glimpse of an oncoming turn, a hard right.

Jason hit the brakes with a force that jolted him forward a bit. When his speedometer read a steady 60, he let go of the brake. Then he felt the presence of the deer again, as if it were watching him intently from only inches away. His head kept facing forward, but his eyes looked left, searching for the deer. Sure enough, it was there again, caught in the bright lights he shone at it. The connection between their eyes was made again, leaving Jason speechless. He didn't think anymore in sentences when looking into the huge orbs of this creature, merely coming up with words in his mind. "Away", "can't", "turn", "cold", and "Natalie" were just some of the things his brain was able to produce. This animal, with it's gaze, was haunting to Jason. It was as if he were seeing a ghost. Again, his body made the turn while his mind was taken by the deer. And once out of sight of it, Jason gasped for air again, blinking over and over, but the regaining of control of his breathing came later than last time. Then the feeling of that descending chill from his skin to his bones came back, worse than before. It was subarctic in his car, he couldn't even move out of fear that his bones would snap like icicles.

But it all went away, just like before, and Jason regained heat. But as he basked in this momentary warmth, it occurred to him that he was back, back on the straight road. He slammed on the brakes with all his might until it finally came to a dead standstill. Was he going crazy? Hallucinating? Had he died and this was some sick dream of the dead? Jason went through these possibilities and ones even more insane until he couldn't think of any more. Curse words from A-Z flew out of Jason's mouth without any breaks in between. If he was crazy, he was about to make himself sane again, he decided. Jason was becoming frustrated, to the point where he was punching the steering wheel. A range of emotions were flooding Jason, and his predicament was sending him into a flurry. He hit the gas in his moment of rage and went head on. 10...40...80...110...Jason was hitting the breaking point of his car, as evidenced by the excessive rumbling. But he pressed on, the turn was right in sight.

Jason closed his eyes shut, to the point where it actually hurt, but he dared not open them, he didn't want to see that deer. He was legitimately afraid to see it again. There was no plan here, he just drove, fast and forward, into the trees he went. Like an explosion of light, Jason saw a flash of the deer in his mind. It was burned in there, seared in, and Jason felt a pain from it. He grabbed his forehead at the sharp blow to his head he felt from this vision, causing him to open his eyes as wide as possible. All he could see was a white light blinding him, and he prepared for the car to slam into something any second.

But the light faded, and he felt the ground moving beneath him. The familiarity of driving returned, but did not comfort him.

Miles and miles and miles of straight road lie ahead of him, and all there was left to do was cry.

Jason stopped the car and put his head on the wheel, defeated. All this had happened so fast, the strangeness of it all, that he was overwhelmed. What was going on? He couldn't even think at this point, he just let loose tear upon tear on the steering wheel, which dripped on his seat. He slammed his fist on the dashboard repeatedly, not stopping to notice he was beginning to bleed from it.

After what he believed to be half an hour, he looked up and out the window. The high beams, ever so brightly lit up the road he could not pass. After so much of it, Jason just stared, without emotion now, down the road. But deep in the recesses of his mind, Jason had a plan. It was primitive in it's scope, but it was all he could conjure up at the moment. So he unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the car, not bothering to even turn it off.

He walked. For the first mile, Jason trudged through the brisk night, with one single thought in his mind. But soon enough, he began to run down the road. Guided by the light he ran with all his remaining energy. His legs began to buckle, and his breath ran short, but he only pushed harder then. Tears ran down Jason's face from the cold, unforgiving wind sweeping across the road. Finally to the point of collapse, he dropped down to his knees, exhausted. And as he took deep breath after deep breath, spitting in between. This is when he finally noticed the blood pouring from his hand. It was then that he heard the clicks of footsteps nearing him as he laid helpless on the icy concrete.

Jason moved his head to get a view of what he already knew was there. The deer, in all its majesty, moved in on Jason, when the eyes met again.

Like ice water flowing through his veins, the eyes of the deer gave him a chilling pain that was absolute torture. Jason had nowhere to go, and yet he been so close to where had wanted to be. Again and again, so close, and having to face the pain of almost being with her, his love, Natalie, was worse than death. He couldn't speak, didn't dare try, and yet Jason was able to mouth the words he longed to scream, "Natalie...please."

At this, the pain left, and Jason could think once more. The presence of the deer was gone, no more eyes were being laid upon him, and best yet, he could breathe normally. But he felt that rumbling, that acceleration, of being back in the car, hitting top speeds. How did he...it was useless to think anymore. Jason hit the brakes and got out of the car again, but didn't bother walking or running, he just screamed. He screamed until his throat felt like it would rip, and he just yelled for her, his one and only love, Natalie. Over and over, he yelled her name. Through the voice cracks and burning tears, he yelled her name. He was trapped, alone, without her. But he couldn't do it forever, and he dropped down on his knees once more, in self defeat. He couldn't get back to her, even though she was so close, so damn close it made him want to throw himself in the woods and die there.

With his face in his hands, and knees on the ground, Jason cried. The thought of never seeing Natalie ever again, the meaning in his life, was too much to bear. He could only wish to hug Natalie and feel her warmth again. He begged to have her arms around him one more time, just one more time...

A soothing lamp light made Jason squint. A feeling of confusion swept over him, wondering where he was and how he got there. He jumped out of bed and threw himself toward the window, and suddenly back when he glimpsed what was outside it. Jason was looking over New York City's Times Square from his hotel room.

It was a dream....just a dream. No. A nightmare, the worst of his life. Jason rushed to the bathroom and ran his head over the cold water of the sink. It felt good, it felt real to him. He breathed a sigh of relief like no other and toweled off.

Natalie!

He grabbed his hotel phone and dialed with pianist-like precision. It rang, and it rang, and it rang. Click.

A smooth, comforting voice answered, "Hello?"

"Natalie?"

"Jason?"

...

"I love you."

"I love you too, honey. What is it?"

"I just needed to call and say that to you. Natalie, could you say what you told me before I left?"

"I'll be here when you come back."

"I love you, Natalie."

"I love you too, Jason. I'll see you tonight?"

"I'll be there. No matter what happens, I'll be there."

Click. Jason grabbed his briefcase and plane ticket, threw on his coat, and rushed out to catch the next plane out of New York to Michigan. He wouldn't be driving at night anytime soon.