Offer

Spring came. And then summer. But where the camp once had been beautiful and bright, it looked all bleak to Mairi. She would go to work and around her daily routine. But she could not smile nor feel anything but numbness. And a dull pain in her chest. She would not speak until spoken too. And every day she went to the grave, and put a single white lily on the grave. First the caretaker had tried to shoo her away, until he had seen the look in her eyes. After that he would leave her alone. Alone with her pain.

As autumn returned Michael began to get restless. He would pace through the cabin, his hands curled into tight fists. But she didn't care. She would just sit and stare out of the window.

Mairi, I need to talk to you.

Michael directed his thoughts to her one day in early October. She didn't react. Didn't even look at him. Michael frowned and stepped closer to her.

Mairi?

Again no reaction. He sighed and reached for her shoulder careful not to startle her. She turned her gaze towards him and Michael felt a painful stab in his chest. Those eyes, who had once been so bright and so full of life and joy, now seemed dull and dead. It almost seemed as if she had died and this was only her animated shell.

Mairi. I need to go. My time is coming.

He conveyed his thoughts to her. She just started at him for a long moment, not showing any signs of a reaction at all. Michael's frown deepened. After all that had happened she had always talked to him. Short emotionless answers, but answers nevertheless. This now was disquieting to say the least. By the time he thought she would not react at all, her eyes widened a bit and sadness washed over them.

“Michael.”

She finally spoke, her voice low and flat.

“I can't understand you any more. I'm sorry.”

Michael was taken aback. This could not be happening. She always understood. But then he sighed again. What was he supposed to do now? He could not leave her as well. He felt strangely responsible for her. And guilty. He. The boogeyman who killed without regards of anybody, felt guilty for the one time he came home too late. He shook his head and then did something, he hadn't done in nearly 20 years. He spoke.

“Mairi. Pack up!”

he said, swallowing hard. His voice was barely a whisper. A raspy whisper that burned in his throat. She looked up at him, blinking her lifeless eyes.

“What? Why?”

He looked down at his hands and was surprised to see them being clutched to tight fists. He forced them open and traced the tattoo on his left wrist.

“I need to go home. And I don't want you to stay here alone.”

For a long moment she just stared at him with these unnerving dead eyes.

Then she smiled. A smile that was nothing more that the movement of muscle.

“Bring me home Michael, please. This place has nothing left for me.”

She paused.

“He is not coming back.”

Michael nodded. Few hours later, they had the car packed and ready.