Read Online Loss, a paranormal thriller by Glen Krisch - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Glen Krisch
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if you could determine direction by the angle of the moon. She didn't think so.
"That's the sun you're thinking about, idiot," she muttered.
Her energy had gone. With the relentless cold seeping into her core, she felt more lethargic just now than when Bizzy's barking had awoken her. She sat on a felled tree trunk to both rest and try to regain her bearings. She wondered about the predators that might be lurking in the woods around her. Fear for herself wasn't her concern. She had seen for herself the forest-dwelling red-tail foxes and had heard about the occasional coyote sighting. Bizzy would prove to be a defenseless meal.
She rubbed her face and could feel neither her hand nor the skin it touched. As her eyelids hesitated to open, she was overcome with a feeling she hadn't felt in so long: glee.
It'll all soon be over , she thought. If there is a heaven, I'll soon see Paul. And if there isn't... at least this will all be over.
She let her eyelids fall. Her shoulders felt like mounds of granite, out of balance with the rest of her body. She slumped forward, unable to do otherwise, and when she didn't even make an attempt to arrest her descent, she landed limply in the thin layer of snow.
A noise invaded her malaise; footsteps crashing through the underbrush, and raspy breathing, close by. There was more to it than that, much more, but she no longer cared; her mind was shutting down, and she welcomed the emptiness.
With her mind hazy but serene, she inhaled the crisp winter air, finding comfort in the odor of the earthy loam beneath her. Paul used to run through these woods every day. His treads alone had blazed trails that unfurled into the surrounding acres like ribbons draped over Christmas presents. She sighed, her breaths becoming shallow, more erratic. If this was to be her final resting place, she thought, it wasn't such a bad place to be.
Angie rolled over from her back to her left shoulder and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Her legs ached with fatigue and restlessly danced across the soft flannel sheets. She leaned into the pillow and could tell by its firmness and how it smelled that it was Paul's. She inhaled deeply, feeling relaxed, truly relaxed and unworried, for the first time since...
In an instant her eyes opened wide, her heart suddenly galloping like a horse leaving a starting gate. Sunlight beaming through the vertical blinds cast bars of shadow across the bed. She sat up, seeing the bedroom from this vantage point for the first time since she came home from the hospital. Her head throbbed with the worst possible headache and all she wanted to do was sink back beneath the welcoming covers and close her eyes.
"How did I..." she asked, then realized how often she'd been talking to herself lately. "That's a bad habit, Ang. You know what they say about people who talk to themselves."
She eased to the edge of the bed, feeling out-of-sorts. The room spun and her head throbbed even more.
Then she remembered something. "Bizzy?" she called out, not entirely certain but hopeful the Yorkie would bound into the room, bringing along her manic energy to lift Angie's spirits. " Bizzy-girl ?"
The dog never answered her call.
Looking down at herself, her confusion multiplied. The flannel pajamas she wore had been relegated to her washday pile. She couldn't remember the last time she'd worn them.
And sleeping in bed? Not my bed, but our bed?
"Bizzy?" she called out, this time with a desperation in her voice that went far beyond merely missing her dog.
She shuffled from the bedroom and entered the great room. Her hiking boots were lined up by the front door, small puddles spreading from the treads. "What's going on here!" she yelled, as if expecting a response from the walls themselves.
She saw the empties from the night before, most of two wine bottles and a whiskey pint, and the details from the night before
"That's the sun you're thinking about, idiot," she muttered.
Her energy had gone. With the relentless cold seeping into her core, she felt more lethargic just now than when Bizzy's barking had awoken her. She sat on a felled tree trunk to both rest and try to regain her bearings. She wondered about the predators that might be lurking in the woods around her. Fear for herself wasn't her concern. She had seen for herself the forest-dwelling red-tail foxes and had heard about the occasional coyote sighting. Bizzy would prove to be a defenseless meal.
She rubbed her face and could feel neither her hand nor the skin it touched. As her eyelids hesitated to open, she was overcome with a feeling she hadn't felt in so long: glee.
It'll all soon be over , she thought. If there is a heaven, I'll soon see Paul. And if there isn't... at least this will all be over.
She let her eyelids fall. Her shoulders felt like mounds of granite, out of balance with the rest of her body. She slumped forward, unable to do otherwise, and when she didn't even make an attempt to arrest her descent, she landed limply in the thin layer of snow.
A noise invaded her malaise; footsteps crashing through the underbrush, and raspy breathing, close by. There was more to it than that, much more, but she no longer cared; her mind was shutting down, and she welcomed the emptiness.
With her mind hazy but serene, she inhaled the crisp winter air, finding comfort in the odor of the earthy loam beneath her. Paul used to run through these woods every day. His treads alone had blazed trails that unfurled into the surrounding acres like ribbons draped over Christmas presents. She sighed, her breaths becoming shallow, more erratic. If this was to be her final resting place, she thought, it wasn't such a bad place to be.
Angie rolled over from her back to her left shoulder and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Her legs ached with fatigue and restlessly danced across the soft flannel sheets. She leaned into the pillow and could tell by its firmness and how it smelled that it was Paul's. She inhaled deeply, feeling relaxed, truly relaxed and unworried, for the first time since...
In an instant her eyes opened wide, her heart suddenly galloping like a horse leaving a starting gate. Sunlight beaming through the vertical blinds cast bars of shadow across the bed. She sat up, seeing the bedroom from this vantage point for the first time since she came home from the hospital. Her head throbbed with the worst possible headache and all she wanted to do was sink back beneath the welcoming covers and close her eyes.
"How did I..." she asked, then realized how often she'd been talking to herself lately. "That's a bad habit, Ang. You know what they say about people who talk to themselves."
She eased to the edge of the bed, feeling out-of-sorts. The room spun and her head throbbed even more.
Then she remembered something. "Bizzy?" she called out, not entirely certain but hopeful the Yorkie would bound into the room, bringing along her manic energy to lift Angie's spirits. " Bizzy-girl ?"
The dog never answered her call.
Looking down at herself, her confusion multiplied. The flannel pajamas she wore had been relegated to her washday pile. She couldn't remember the last time she'd worn them.
And sleeping in bed? Not my bed, but our bed?
"Bizzy?" she called out, this time with a desperation in her voice that went far beyond merely missing her dog.
She shuffled from the bedroom and entered the great room. Her hiking boots were lined up by the front door, small puddles spreading from the treads. "What's going on here!" she yelled, as if expecting a response from the walls themselves.
She saw the empties from the night before, most of two wine bottles and a whiskey pint, and the details from the night before
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