Cotswolds in the Cold

Cold light snow was drifting down to land on the cobblestones and grey bricks of the city. Evening had begun with the grey lightness of a winter night, one of the rare nights when the night sky does not darken, but appears to hold misty secrets of ether worlds.

A tall man walked alone through the evening, his long dark coat swirling in a dance with the snow. His long strides carried him through the streets, with his head bowed in deep concentration.

He did not look to his left or right to see children cozy in their homes, reading and playing by the firelight and watching the snowflakes dance, as his was a lonelier existence.

At the end of the lane a soft whistle could be heard in the light breeze. The man stopped and cocked his head to the side to listen intently, its cadence appearing to lift him from the seriousness of his thoughts.

He took one step towards the sound, and then another, veering off of his determined path to the icy bridge. The whistle began to sound in kind of rhythm, reminding him of the fairy stories his mother told him when he was a child. The wind appeared to pick up with his pace, as he followed the tendril sounds of his childhood, a last wistful yearning for another time.

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The young woman rounded the corner and stopped to catch her breath, her large wine red dress bunching around her. Her bonnet was dirty and torn, as was her cheek where she had been struck while tearing away. She stood frozen, listening with every fibre of her being for any sound of pursuit. They were all blindfolded under the bridge, all the girls that had been captured. The young women knew that their captors were waiting for a boat with a secret cargo hold to spirit them away to who knows where, for a life of torture.

The quietness of the city unnerved her, and her shaking gradually increased. She had used all of her courage to fight two of the three men holding them captive to escape, and her reserves of strength were waning. She began to question herself, as she had called on all of the other girls to help, but they were already in capacitated by their inferior beliefs. God damn their fathers for not showing them their strength! But was she in the wrong? Was she the one who was misleading herself, that she had only escaped because they let her and she would be recaptured at any time?

She began to shake uncontrollably, with the fear of suspense before the anger surfaced. She was not wrong, who were those puny men to enslave those girls? They would not be stolen while she was around, or she would die trying. She clenched her fists and let out a raw growl to God, demanding he send an angel to assist her in freeing those girls.

With her head down against the wind she turned to stomp around the corner and slammed right into a man.

She screamed and flailed, drawing her right arm back to deliver a solid right hook directly into his nose. The man yelped and grabbed his nose as blood began to pool in his hands. She looked up and saw his eyes shining in laughter directly into hers.

"Whhhat, uh, you're not one of them?" she asked.

Still smiling he shook his head and said "No, I was following a heavenly whistle sound towards the bridge, was that you?"

She suddenly remembered her mission and grabbed both of his arms, surprised to feel muscles of steel.

"We have to leave right now, the boat is coming and it may be too late!"

"What do you mean?" he asked, "what's happening?"

"They have the girls and the boat is coming!"

The man needed no further words and the two of them took off running towards the bridge.

As they got closer they heard the fog horn of a boat passing through the chanel and they ran even faster against time.

The boat seemed to be nearing the bridge faster than they were moving, when the world seemed to shift and the lightness of the evening seemed to slow time. They neared the bridge just ahead of the boat, and heard the whimpering of the blindfolded girls as they ran to the shadows beneath.

There were six men now, not the three she escaped from. The man went to the right and reached out a long arm to seize one of the men by the neck and toss him into the icy waters. The woman raised her dress to take a flying leap kick towards the man closest to the left. She made a solid impact to his head and landed lightly to spin another kick towards the man beside him. This man growled in anger and flexed a rope between his arms, before her first kick to his head. He stumbled, slightly dazed before she followed up with another kick to the opposite side of his head.

She turned to look for the next man, but all was quiet when she saw her companion with two men slumped at his feet. He beamed his smile at her as they finally heard the coppers approaching.

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A few hours later the woman was wrapped in a blanket after having spoken with the police about the kidnapping and abduction of her friend and herself and how they found themselves under the bridge that evening. She was applauded for her efforts in dispatching the five men all on her own, and they asked how she had managed.

She looked in shock at the officers and asked them where her companion was.

A police officer responded and told her there was no one else with her when they arrived. She turned to ask the girls if they had heard or seen him with her, but everyone looked at her as if she was deranged.

Shocked, she stuttered to the police that it was time for her to leave. She began to walk towards her home when an officer ran to catch up with her.

"We can't let you walk home alone after evyerthing you have been though!" he said.

She laughed politely as he fell into step beside her. A few steps later they passed a statue of a tall man that she had never seen before.

"Who is that?" she asked the officer.

"Oh that is Sam McCreary" he said. "Funny you should ask. tonight is the anniversary of his son's death."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Sam McCreary was the greatest police officer we had ever had, up until the night his daughter was kidnapped and drowned under the bridge. After that night, Sam lost everything and became homeless, wandering the streets alone until he eventually ended up in the icy waters himself. When people asked him what he was roaming for, he would tell them he was listening for the fairy whistle that would lead him to his daughter. Apparently he had told her when she was little that if she was in trouble, all she had to do was whistle and the fairies would lead him to her."

She turned to the officer in shock, her lips blue from the cold. As she looked past him a figure bathed in light appeared to glow in the evening, with eyes shining towards her. Her angel mouthed "I am going home now" as he raised his arms and was lifted into the light.