Evelyn

      Waves crashing against the shore is the only sound keeping me company as I walk along the pavement. No birds singing. No lovers laughing with each other as the night takes over. Simply waves hitting the shore, demanding to be heard. I put my hands in my pockets to conserve warmth and face the ground so that the air can avoid attacking it.

           Many nights I have walked this street alone and I know it as a God knows the hairs on every person’s head. If I were to look up, I would see the buildings, battered and ashen, all closed indefinitely. If I looked up, I would see the street sign that is clinging onto a pole for dear life. If I looked up, I would see an empty bench just by the barricade that blocks people from falling onto the beach before the stairs begin.

           The bench is always empty, but today as I look up, it is not.

I slow my steps, blinking to focus my eyesight on the bench as the cold wind blows. A woman is sitting, as still as death, watching the waves ahead with hands folded in her lap. I must assume she is watching the waves as a veil covers her face. Not just any veil, however, but the veil that is worn by brides on their wedding day. That is when I notice the wedding dress she is wearing the closer I get.

           There were no weddings in town today, at least none that I know of. Westport is a small town, and everybody quite literally knows everybody. If a wedding had taken place or was to take place, I would know.

           The cold air hisses before attacking me with another gust of wind and I wonder how the woman is not shaking. Even I, wrapped in a scarf and jacket am freezing yet this woman, with only sleeves of lace and the skirt of a dress, does not seem to be cold.

           She will catch hypothermia; I think to myself. Whoever she is, whatever she is doing here, I cannot simply pass her by and leave her to die at the hands of the cold.

           I walk a little faster towards her, already unbuttoning my jacket to put around her when I notice something eerie. Her dress is not completely white. There is another colour mixed with it, a dark colour that stands out against the white of her dress. It is all over her skirt, forming a pool at the bottom of it. Part of it is on her sleeve and part of it may even be on her veil.

           “Are you alright miss?” I ask once I reach the edge of the bench. I can see her dress clearly now and realize what the colour that is not white is. It is red.

It is blood.

           “Are you hurt?” I walk a little closer towards her.

           She does not respond to either question I ask though I hear faint whispers leaving her lips. Against better judgement, I sit on the bench making sure to keep a good distance between us.

           “Are you hurt?” I ask again, this time a little louder. She still does not look at me and her faint whispers never cease. I shift a little closer to her, maybe she cannot hear. As soft as I can, I brush my palm on her shoulder. Still, she does not move. Her veil hides most of her face, but I can make out her features. Eyes, ears, a mouth, a nose, all things common for humans to have.

           “I’m going to lift your veil,” I say. “Is that alright?”

           There is no change in her stance. Still, no answer though her whispers continue. I slowly hold the bottom of her veil and bring it over her head. What I see makes me jump a little bit. There is blood splattered all over her face as if it were the canvas for a painting.

           I lean a little closer towards her, straining my ear to hear what she is saying.

           “To have and to hold, until death do us part. I do,” she whispers. That is all she whispers. Repeatedly. I prepare to stand, to pull off the rest of my jacket to cover her when her hand suddenly grabs my own.

           “Did you see him?” she turns her head to look at me. The expression on her face, I find hard to recognize. Her eyes seem frightened, but the rest of her face seems frozen. A sick feeling forms in the pit of my stomach and I am suddenly aware again of the fact that we are the only ones on this street. That I have no idea who this woman covered in blood is.

           “He is coming for me,” she whispers, holding my hand tighter.

           “Who is coming for you?” I ask. I hold her hand in both of mine, her small hands vanishing in my own. I hope they feel some sort of warmth.

           “Until death do us part,” she whispers. She lifts her hand slowly towards my face. Her fingertips graze my cheeks before her palm rests against it.

           “Do not let him take me,” she whispers again. Her eyes glisten as she swallows, and a tear falls against the dried blood on her face.

           I do not know who this woman is or why she is here, but she needs help, and I will offer her that help. Another gust of wind from the cold air pulls me back to the present moment, withdrawing me back from wherever it was I went whilst I looked into her eyes.

           “Come,” I removed the rest of my jacket and throw it over her shoulders. “I will take you home.”

           I hold her shoulders as she rises from the bench, and she clings to my tall figure as I guide her to my home. I thought the cold air was icy but the touch of her body rivals that belief.

           My home is only a short distance from the beach, so I refrain from volunteering to carry her the way there. As we enter the home, warm air greets us, and I hear the woman release a breath. I suppose it is from relief.

           I turn on the light and remove my jacket from her shoulders. She wraps her arms around herself and does not look around to see the space. There is not much to see. The living room and kitchen share one room. There is a door that leads to my bedroom and inside, another door leads to the bathroom.

           “I will run you a bath,” I say, awkwardly standing in front of her. Her eyes meet mine and I offer a small smile to help her feel more comfortable. How comfortable can she feel in a stranger’s home? How comfortable should I feel with a stranger in my home?

           As I run the bath, she stands by the door, arms wrapped around herself still wearing her bloodstained wedding dress. Once the bath has been run, I close the tap and look at her.

           “I can take you to the station in the morning,” I say. She nods her head slowly before crossing the threshold into the bathroom.

           “What is your name?” I ask her.

           Her cold eyes meet mine. “Evelyn.”

           I smile at her. “That is a very nice name, Evelyn. Mine is Daniel.”

           She offers me the barest of smiles.

           I close the bathroom door behind me when I leave and lay out clothes for her to sleep in for the night. I leave her the bed and resign myself to the couch in the living room and fall asleep to the echo of rainfall against the windows.

***

           When I wake in the morning, everywhere is silent. The rainfall that begun at night has stopped and the only sound filling the room is the creak from the couch as I rise. I knock on the door to my room.

           “Evelyn?” I call. There is no answer. I knock once more and still, there is no answer.

           When I open the door to my room, it is empty of any human presence. The bed is unslept in and the only trace of Evelyn in the room is the bloodstained wedding dress by the bathroom door. I pick up the dress and investigate the bathroom, but Evelyn is not there either.

           “Evelyn?” I call. There is no answer.

As I walk back into the living room, thunderous banging from the front door startles me. Still holding the dress in my hands, I open the door and am greeted by Officer Yvonne from the Westport Police Station.

           “Yvonne,” I say in shock. Maybe Evelyn found her way to the station and that explains Yvonne’s presence. I do hope she is alright.

           Yvonne’s face is grave, and she slowly looks at the bloody dress in my hands.

           “Step outside of the house, Daniel,” she says sternly. I have never known Yvonne to be stern. She is always cheery and smiling but today she looks as if she wants to be sick. I open the door further and see two more officers from the station on my doorstep.

           “Yvonne,” I breathe. “What is happening?”

           She inhales a deep breath. “A woman was seen wandering around town last night in a wedding dress. She told some civilians that she was visiting but her helpless wandering frightened them.”

Yvonne shifts on her feet. “We tried tracking her down, but we could not find her.” She does not meet my eyes as she says the next part. “But someone says they saw her go home with you last night.”

           “Yes. Evelyn,” I step outside of my house. “Did she make it to the station? Is she alright?”

           Yvonne takes a slight step back when I exit the house as if in fear that I will harm her. I am taken aback. What would my friend have to fear from me?

           “Daniel,” Yvonne takes a shaky breath. “Her body was found on the beach this morning. She is dead.”

           “She was murdered,” another officer says. Officer Thomas.

           “An eyewitness says it was you,” the other officer, Rhiannon states. Her hand is resting on her holster.

           I can only stare at them in disbelief. Me? A murderer?

           “I have slept all night,” I stammer. “She must have left in the night. Yvonne, I am no murderer.”

           Yvonne looks away as Rhiannon takes the dress from my hands and Thomas places cuffs on my wrists. I plead and protest as I am dragged away from my home, but my efforts are futile. As I am escorted towards the car, I see a man I have never seen before standing off in the distance. He is standing by the steps that lead to the beach with a cigarette in his hand and is dressed in a suit. A suit fine enough for a groom to wear.

           He watches the scene intently, watches me intently as I am put in the backseat of the police car. As I look at him through the window, he drops his cigarette to the ground, crushes it with his foot and begins to walk down the steps.

           He is coming for me. Evelyn’s whispers of last night fill my head. Did you see him?

           Did you see him?

           Every hair on my body stands still and the air in my lungs begins to abandon me. I thought Evelyn’s whispers were that of a madwoman, but as the car begins to move and the mysterious man disappears from my sight, I fear whoever Evelyn was running from is now after me.