Chapter Two: A Midwinter's Ghost
He drove home silently, inhaling and exhaling deeply.
He groaned inwardly as the light turned red - he was trying to get home as soon as possible, not for himself, but for her. She needed him.
Finally the light turned green. He sped toward his home (though to him, it was an eternity), staying just on the speed limit so that he wouldn't be stopped by the police.
He pulled into the driveway, sighing as he saw a light flicker in the large, round, attic window. Turning off the engine, he stepped out into the icy blast of wind, though his body didn't even bother shivering.
Coughing slightly, he unlocked the front door and walked into the house, setting his jacket on the couch and making his way up the large staircase.
His expression saddened as he saw the door at the end of the hallway; the attic door.
He walked up to the large, heavy door, slowly swinging it open. His hopes of it being silent were shattered as the rusty hinges let out a loud groan, as if they didn't want to be opened.
Letting out a "hmph" of disappointment, he stepped into the doorway, frowning as icy cold air met him.
He began walking up the stairs, blessing the heavy layer of dust that silenced his footsteps.
Reaching the top of the staircase, he put his hands in his pockets, just watching hre as she sat, her knees pulled up to her chest.
The picture was of her fifteenth birthday party, just a short six months before.
When her mother was alive.
Her mother stood on her right, grinning broadly, happy for her daughter. Her father stood at her left, looking slightly exhausted, but also happy - he'd been work on a huge Capsule Corps. projet at the time.
She held the picture in her hands and stared at it, as though in hopes that if she watched it long enough, her mother would come back to life and step out of it, ready to embrace her.
But that wasn't going to happen.
She wasn't coming back.
Ever.
A tear rolled down her cheek and landed on the picture, just below her mother's face. It rolled down and met her thumb as she held the picture more tightly, as though afraid of letting it go.
She was only barely aware of her father's presence in the cold, dusty attic - part of her wanted him to come and comfort her, to make her feel better - but the other part of her was angry at him. It was his fault that she was gone.
She sat on the splintered wooden floor, only in a pair of old sweatpants and a t-shirt that was so big that it'd probably never fit her well. Her skin probably felt the cold; goosebumps would show up from time to time when her body failed to warm itself up. But she didn't fell a thing.
She finally dared to take her eyes off of the picture to look out of the large, circular window. It was about six feet in diameter and it easily touched both the floor and the ceiling. She looked down at the front lawn, at the thin layer of snow that covered the green/brown grass. She suddenly inhaled sharply through her nose and put her hand on the old window as she saw the movement down below.
Climbing onto her knees and getting as close to the window as she could, she peered down and suddenly smiled as the woman looked up at her. The woman waved happily at her, a loving smile on her face.
"Hi, mommy," she whispred, waving back at the woman, wishing that she could go down and meet her.
The woman waved at her, then trotted off, her long, black hair whipping about behind her.
Pan sat there for a moment, not knowing whether she was happy for the visit or if she wanted to cry. She sat back and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on one knee.
She raised one hand to look at the picture again, looking at the woman who had stood beside her.
'I miss you, mommy.'