I Will Always Remember You

       I awake when it is still dark. Listening to the pitter-patter of rain outside, I glance shakily upon the features of the still cabin, moonlight reaching out from the windows and enveloping the meager room in an eerie, spectral haze. What was it that caused me to feel so frightened just now? Glancing down underneath the bed, I stretch out my arm, letting my hair fall across the front of my face in a rather sluggish attempt to check if Rocky is still asleep.

       “Oh baby. There, there,” my voice seems out of place in a one-room cabin without anyone, without emotions or energy, but just thousands of miles from any form of real settlement, away from the bustle of the city, from people, from Tye. An uncomfortable feeling of goosebumps sends shivers down my spine.

       A flash of purple illuminates the room for a split-second. I gasp. Why am I in such panic? After all, I’ve been through plenty of thunderstorms throughout these years spent on my own isolated in the woods with only Rocky by my side, and this one isn’t even the worst. My hand quivers involuntarily, startling Rocky.

       “It’s okay, it’s okay,” I coax him gently, touching the soft, elegant fur of my four-legged companion, then resting my head back down. I lay there for what feels like hours but are really minutes, with one hand placed delicately on Rocky’s head and the other against my side while I desperately try clearing my mind in a futile attempt to fall asleep. I close my eyes then quickly reopen them in a hopeless cycle of endless insomnia. I sigh.

       How long has it been since I’ve been cooped up in this cabin, hidden away from the world and deprived of any real human interaction? Three years? Four? How long was it since I last saw Tye? I shudder at the thought of it, brutally suffering the remorse of the thoughts in my mind. How is Tye doing? Is he still at the asylum - or had he managed to escape? I shiver once more, reliving every moment I’d had with him.

       When the kids died, it all fell apart. My marriage, my career, but for Tye - the loss of our children carried him to a different level. He grew worse as the years progressed, and it was almost like I had done something to him, that somehow I had played a role in the accident that had taken our precious angels away. He never smiled. He couldn’t bear to look at me anymore, not with the grief and sorrow lurking in his eyes. Every second, he spent drifting away from reality by drinking, smoking, and looking helplessly off into space while I futilely tried to comfort him - only to be brushed off with a mutter of words or a deep, horrible groan.

       Then, he went insane.

       One night, I came home from work to find him with an axe trying to break and destroy everything in the house. I stood there in the doorway, watching glass shards fly in all directions through the air and barely missing the dog, staring as Tye cracked open our vanity table, gasping as he went lunging after everything in his path like a monster. A monster. Stop Tye, I had frantically screamed. Stop, you aren’t you. Please, Tye. Look at what you’ve done. He had stared at me for the first time in years, but I couldn’t bear the act of peering into those eyes. His eyes were the only part of him that seemed human; the blueness reminded me of Samuel and Caroline, but there was nothing about him that could be considered a father, or even yet a human being. You’re a monster, I’d shouted. You are nothing but a monster. I ran then to the neighbor’s house and quickly dialed 9-1-1, crying as the kind couple hugged and failed to soothe me with their amiable yet empty words. The cops came, handcuffed Tye, and took him away from me to an institution where he was surrounded daily by men and women of his type. After Tye was gone, I soon fell into the trap of depression. The house, or what was left of it, lamentably served as a constant reminder of my dead kids, my lunatic husband, and my own brokenness. The memories followed me closely day after day, attacking me from anywhere at any moment and leaving me more shattered and hurt than I already was. Every single object in the house was attached to an invisible memory. A plastic fork, Sam had used to cut his birthday cake right before the accident. This picture frame, it once showed what a convivial and content family we used to be. So, I trashed them all. But I couldn’t take away everything from life. All around me, the picture of a joyful couple or a newborn baby forced me into the grasps of despair, tangling me further within the ropes of my own denial until I was soon completely lost in the wreckage of my life. Not unlike a leaf floating aimlessly in the wind, I was a tragic, fragmented individual without a family or a job.

       So, I escaped. I fled as far from town as I could, off the border of America and to the freezing, treacherous woods of Canada where in solitude, I would be and in solitude, I would die. I took Rocky as well. I needed him as a comfort but mainly as a motivation to survive. If I was killed, who would take care of him?

       Ker-CHUNK. Ker-CHUNK.

       I’m back inside the one-room cabin when I hear it. It’s the most terrifying sound I’ve ever heard since I entered the peaceful, uncharted woods, but it’s strangely familiar. This isn’t one of the normal noises I hear from nature. It doesn’t sound anything like a woodpecker or hold the distinct qualities of a ferocious bear. I clutch anxiously onto Rocky while listening for the chilling noise once more. 

       Ker-CHUNK!

       There’s no mistaking this revolting yet oddly familiar sound.

       For a few fearful seconds, all I can hear is soft, white noise which blots out the horrendous bedlam outside except, of course, for Rocky’s low, passive growl and the hammer beating down inside my heart. I hear the terrible sound again. And again - until I’m positive that there’s someone else, an actual human, out here with me in the middle of the woods. My head is spinning; I can feel the pounding inside my chest grow in intensity, while my air pipe becomes clogged until I’m literally suffocating myself. I look down at my hand.

       I’m shaking.

       Is this a nightmare?

       Ker-CHUNK.

       And then, I automatically know.

       The commotion just outside my cabin which causes an internal earthquake within me and seems as if someone is chopping wood is -

       The sound of an axe.

       Suddenly, before I can stop him Rocky goes bolting for the door, barking like it’s the end of the world and clawing at the wooden entrance, lashing out towards the sound that he knows too well and hates the most.

       “Rocky!” I scream, lunging for my dog, pulling him towards me. “No, get back here! We have to go! Now!”

       Outside, I hear a cackle. I feel like I’m being hit by a car, by the same car that took Carol and Sam from me. I hear the sound of an axe working and beating against the door, I see the wooden frame of the entrance beginning to show signs of collapsing, and I can feel several wisps of wind pouring in through the entryway. Images are dancing around me, and the walls are slowly caving in. Where am I?

       A sharp dig against my leg arouses my senses. Rocky!

       “Run,” I gasp as I rush to the back door, short of breath, trembling in fear, and ignoring the fleeting pain of Rocky’s claw mark. I feel Rocky following my every move, always one step behind me, and bouncing up and down with the movement of my legs.

       The key, the key. Where is the darn key? Oh no, no, no. I need the key to unlock this stupid modern door, and why did I have it installed in such a way that it’s always locked from the inside?

       Rocky abruptly speeds away from me, but before I can screech at him he retrieves a brown, slightly deteriorated, copper key that I grasp into my hands and twist into the lock. This might not even be the right key, but it’s all I can do but pray as I turn the doorknob. 

       Oh my goodness, it’s not working. I pull it out, fit it into the hole, and try again. Please, please. Oh God, help me.

       Miraculously, the door opens, inviting in rain and wind to the cabin. Rocky and I spill out of the cabin like ants from an anthole just as I hear the crashing of a door against the floor.

       He’s in.

       I swing around, seeing for a split-second that Tye has lit a match in his hand and is about to dip it in gasoline. He’s going to set my cabin on fire. I can’t even look.

       It’s a vortex of wind and rain and terror outside. With the wind slicing across my face, Rocky and I bound together through the muddy terrain towards the cover of the trees, never stopping, never reducing our pace, but only looking forward and traversing the track.

       I know that even though I don’t dare look back, he’s following us. Behind us, the heavy footsteps splashing off the oozing, wet ground inch nearer and nearer. The wind and rain working together are like tiny needles against my exposed skin, every step seeming to bring me deeper into a spasm of new pain. Rocky’s flying ahead, clearing the prickly branches for me and jumping from root to root as I’m trailing behind him, eyes stinging but glued to Rocky as he leads the way. He knows these woods by heart. He turns to the left, then takes a different path to the right. The crunching of leaves and twigs beneath my feet reminds me that the woods are nothing like the quiet peace of a forest preserve in the city. Here in the forest, it’s a fight for survival.

       BANG! BANG!

       I wince, and Rocky’s ears shoot up. Gunshots?

       But, before I’m able to duck, it’s this overgrown root that catches me off-guard. I’m in midair when I scream for help, scream in fear of what’s about to happen, but there’s no use. I brace myself as my knee hits the razor-sharp point of a rock, splintering the flesh in one jagged cut that expands rapidly, reaching the beginnings of my thigh as my leg slides downwards to the ground. I’m numb and left in shock for a few painless seconds until I see the squirts of blood shoot out. Blood begins to gush out from the hideous wound like a fire hydrant left open and unattended. I’m lost in the torment and agony, my scream erased by the searing, the tearing feeling of pain. It’s the most unimaginable pain.

       But, the worst part is, I can’t move. And, I can’t run.

       I hear Tye’s panting and low inhales; he’s too close, too near that I can almost feel his hot breath against my neck.

       Looking ahead, I catch a glimpse of Rocky coming back for me, half of him hidden by the clutter of the leaves and trees, the other half launching towards his owner in distress. He’s trying to save me.

       “No, Rocky, no!” I scream, “Go! Go! Heel! Go, Rocky, heel!”

       Rocky turns around but doesn’t move; he looks back at me, tilting his head from one side to the other as if to say, What’s wrong?

       “Found you.” A malicious laugh ensues.

       The voice behind me completely kills my line of thought. I look towards the monster, peering into those dreadful blue ovals, his tight grimace, and crooked nose. A collection of distaste recoils inside my throat, and I vomit at his feet.

       “Monster.”

       My attention is redirected to the revolver in his left hand, his index finger tightly pressed onto the trigger.

       His voice sounds almost casual, but also bitter and contentious as he utters, “I wouldn’t say that, ‘cause you know whose mercy you’re at?” He kneels down next to me and holds the gun against my temple. “Mine.”

       I suck in a deep breath, closing my eyes and preparing myself for the vociferating pop and then the blackness. There’s no more than I can do, because my fate has already been written for me. I’m going to die by the hand of this maniac of a man that I barely even know anymore.

       BANG!

       The loud pop is followed with an abnormal cry, and I look up, expecting blood to be overflowing out from my gunshot wound, my entire world to be filled with ten times the agony of my injured knee, and my body to be deactivating at any second, but then I realize none of that will occur, because -

       Tye had fired at Rocky.

       “Ow, stupid thing, get off, darn you stupid-”

       He had taken his shot at Rocky instead, who had bolted towards Tye when he saw him press the gun to my head. It was Rocky who had distracted Tye from me. I begin to sob. He shouldn’t be the one protecting me. I should be his guardian; it should be me who comes to his rescue, and at this moment I feel nothing but shame.

       Before Tye is able to gain control of his gun, Rocky sinks his teeth into Tye’s left hand, so hard that the revolver flies out of his grasp, landing a couple of inches away from me. Although I can barely stretch out my leg, I lean forward with all my might and grab it instantaneously.

       Tye is left alone to suffer in the dirt. His face is covered in all sorts of scratches and blood, his eyes lolling to the back of his head. He groans and he shouts, but I don’t pay attention. It’s Rocky who is in urgent need of my help.

       When he comes barely hobbling over to me, I can see just how awful the gunshot wound is. Rocky sniffs my bad leg, tries to sit next to me, but crumples in the dirt, squealing and crying in agony as blood oozes out near his stomach.

       “I’m so sorry, this is all my fault. Oh, Rocky,” I bawl and scream. I scream and scream and scream until everything in the woods has dissolved into silence and is concentrating upon my shrieks. I scream and scream and scream continuously until my mouth has gone dry and my throat, parched. None of this had to happen. None of it.

       Rocky lets out a terrible cry. I take his head and place it gently on my lap as he shifts his position and lies on his side, leaving the terrible hole in his stomach exposed to the world. His eyelids slowly flicker then gradually close but thankfully, I am still able to feel his uneven, shallow breathing against my leg, although I know it won’t last. Looking closely at the wound, I push aside some of the strands of bloody fur and make out the small bullet. I’ll hurt him even more trying to remove it.

       There’s nothing I can do.

       “Please don’t leave me, Rocky,” I whisper, “You can make it, Rocky, I know you can. You’re the strongest dog in the world.”        

       My eyes lead me to the revolver that is beside me. I pick it up. It’s loaded with one last bullet. I glance at Tye, who is lying motionless on the ground several yards away. I could shoot him, couldn’t I? Right here, right now. But, something inside of me tells me to let him be, to let him suffer. He’ll die here anyway, sooner or later. There’s no use wasting a bullet on him; I would just be doing him a favor by putting him out of his misery sooner.

       I stare at Rocky. He can’t go on. There’s no way I would be able to call for medical assistance here in the middle of forest, or even obtain a mere signal. Rocky is not going to make it before then, but perhaps he doesn’t need to suffer anymore?

       He’ll most likely die in the following days, with only suffering and anguish before the inevitable end. Rocky, my best friend and my hero, risked his life to save me. I will never forget that.

       Hands shaking violently and tears streaming down my face, I take the gun and press it against the bridge of his nose between his two eyes, and take a deep breath.

       “Thank you, Rocky.”