There; a house on this hill.
Come and see.
Sitting completely still, surrounded by trees, swaying in the wind.
Come and see.
Rocking steadily in the wind, dancing around this tiny structure.
Come and see.
The house is locked, the curtains shut. The light from inside peeks through the single window.
Do you see?
The light blue sky darkens until the canvas behind this house is a deep purple, dotted with stars. The moon brightly glowing up so high above.
Won't you come and see?

There are forces at work, in this world.
Forces that cannot be controlled.
Unknown forces that cannot be seen, felt, touched, or tasted.
You won't know it, but these forces are working against you.

**************************

You were dropped off at the gate.
On your way up the long, winding driveway, you begin to notice a hanging sense of dread in the air.
A bad taste in your mouth.
Sinking suspicion that there's more to this than meets the eye.
There is.

The gate closes behind you, the noise quite startling.
The cool air sending chills up your spine.

Compose yourself.

Front and center.
Keep your eye on the door.
It gets closer as you drag yourself up the hill.

You've arrived at the door, finally.
The floodlight catching your presence, illuminating the stoop.
Casting your shadow behind you.
Timidly stand there.
Can you not follow through?

Finally, after a moment's pause, you finally fumble for the button.
Shaking finger pushes it in, causing a muffled ring on the other side of the door.

For a moment, you wait. But only for a moment.

The door opens, and there he is.
But he's different.
Where once he was full of color and life, now he is pale and looks as if he's hollow. Empty. Dead.

Neither of you can say a word.
Silently just staring at one another, hardly believing what's before your eyes.
It's been so long.
You aren't sure what to say.
How to feel.
What to think.

It's been so long.
So long...

The last time you saw this man, it ended on a bad note.
But should that even matter?
Do you feel the same way you felt then?

No...

The past melts away, and you offer your hand.
Shocked, he takes it, and reels you in.

You wordlessly cross the threshold into his arms.

"I can't believe you came back," he says, pressing your body against his. His voice is strained, as if something is wrong with him. "I missed you so much, Alice."

"I missed you, too," you say, but that's a lie.
You haven't thought about him in years.
So, why even come back?

There are forces at work, in this world.

The door closes behind you, and the house is still once again.
After a moment, the porch light turns back off, and it's like nothing ever happened.
Like you never left to begin with.
Things are complete, once again.

We've been waiting for you.

*****************************

"Why have you come here?"

"You know why I've come," you state factually. "I'd rather not play games, this time."

"I don't want to play games, either." He coughs into a bloody handkerchief, which he folds and stuffs into his black robe pocket. This is a bit more than off-putting. "It's obvious that you've gotten my letter. You know I'm dying. I know why I asked you here. My question is why have you come here? You could have just as easily not responded."

"And ignore a dying man's last wish?" Sometimes, it's hard to tell when you're being sarcastic. "That's a bit cruel, even for me."

"And here I thought you were heartless," he says, a weak smile stretching across his pale face. He begins coughing violently, hacking into his forearm, while digging out his handkerchief to wipe his mouth. He snorts and looks up at you. Eyes red and watering. "Sorry," he says, looking truly pathetic. "I'm sorry I brought you here, but I just had to see you again."

"You don't have to be sorry, Vernon."

After a moment of awkward silence, you ask him if he requires anything.

"No, I'm okay. I don't want to put you out."

"It's fine. I'll fix you a drink. White Russian?"

"Heh. You remembered."

"My mind is a trap," you say smugly, making your way to the kitchen.
This place is the same as it always was. Small, musty and old. Home.

Walking through the kitchen is bathing in dèja vu.
Memories of another life, washing over you in an instant.
Hitting you like a ton of bricks and leaving you in a daze.

So many good times in this place.
So many bad times in this place.

Your hand wraps around the old freezer door and stops.
Before you can open it, something catches your eye.
It's a picture of you.
You and him.
Sitting in the exact same place it sat all those years ago.
It is only now you notice how much this place really hasn't changed.
Almost like he hasn't touched a thing since your departure.
You feel.... hollow. Empty.
He's still living in the same world you once shared with him.
You haven't thought about any of this in years.
This blows your mind in ways you can't exactly describe.

Staring at the picture, your false smile plastered across your face. Pretending to be happy for the picture. It's so obviously fake, but you can see hat this is genuine. This moment, frozen in time forever. Years and years ago, a visual memory buried deep under a lifetime. You wouldn't even remember that moment, were it not for the picture staring you in the face.

If only you knew then what you know now.
Maybe things could have turned out differently.
Perhaps things could have been salvaged between you.
Maybe they still can.
Your hand finally budges, prying open the freezer open.

**************************************

"Here you go," you say, handing him the cup.

"Thanks," he responds into the glass.
He drains it in one drawn out gulp, and sets the glass on the stand beside the dusty old chair he sits in. The white ice sloshing from one side of the cup into the other, then settling at the bottom of the glass.
"I'm glad you came," he says, after a short pause, looking up from the floor and into your eyes.

You aren't sure how to respond. You never were good with people. Hell, neither was he. That's what brought you together, yet set you apart at the same time.

"I'm dying," he says, his voice breaking with the eye contact.

"I know," you say. "What is it you want from me?"

"I don't want to die alone, Alice."

Finally, it comes out.
Your purpose.
What he needs you for.

He wants you to watch him die.
He wants you to spend the rest of his life with him.

You aren't sure whether to feel flattered or angry.
It's so selfish of him to drag you into this, and yet.. how do you say no?

You can't look at him, just as he can't look at you.
Your gaze cast to the lone tacky rug on the hard, dirty wooden floor.

Your bottom lip quivers.
Struggling for words.
You're at a loss.

"I... can't," you stammer. "I can't just sit here and watch you die. I'm sorry."

"Please, Alice." He tries to get up, and falls back to the chair in a coughing fit. Muffled hacking into his bloody rag. You are repulsed, disgusted. There is no way you could see this to the bitter end. "You can't just leave me like this."

"I didn't even have to come, remember?"

He shuts his mouth.
Looking up at you with his bloodshot eyes. You aren't sure if he's crying, or his eyes are watering from the coughing fit.

"I'm leaving," you say. "I wish you the best, Vernon."

"No!" he shouts, awkwardly getting up in a hurry. He stumbles over to you and takes your hand. "Please," he says, out of breath, "don't leave."
You just stare at him, dumbfounded.
He plants a kiss on your lips, catching you off guard.
"I need someone to burn with me."

You back up slowly, breaking his embrace.

"What is it exactly you're dying of?"

"I-"

"Is this some kind of stupid trick to win me back, or something?"

"No!"

"I have a fucking life, Vernon. You expect me to just drop everything to come watch you die?! How fucking selfish are you?!"
These words coming from a place unknown to even you.
The gate is open, and everything comes out.
You couldn't control it if you wanted to.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't play your pathetic guilt trip bullshit on me," you say. "I told you I didn't want to play your fucking games, and I don't."

He doesn't say a thing. He just stares at you speechlessly, avoiding eye contact.

"Goodbye, Vernon."

With that you turn from this house once again.
You turn from this life and you slam the door behind you.

Just like you did, all those years ago.

*************

You set your cup of coffee down at the table when you sit. Opening the paper, you flip to the obituaries. You aren't sure why, but you always check.
Sure enough, the man wasn't lying.
He's finally been pronounced dead, but the time of death is uncertain.

He's finally dead, and still you feel nothing.
You only wish you felt something for this person, but you don't.

Close the paper and sip your coffee.
You reach into the pocket of your housecoat and fish out a metal cigarette case. Open it, and stuff one of the sticks into the corner of your mouth.
Close the case. The lighter snaps as the tobacco wrapped in paper ignites.
Sucking the cloud of ash into your lungs causes you to cough into the sleeve of your white, fuzzy robe.
There are strange forces at work, in this world.
And you aren't even aware that they're working against you.
Your eyes widen at what you see, staining the cloth on your arm.

Blood.