Touch of Winter

Chapter 4: Into the Blizzard Blind / Northern

The chilling late autumn wind whipped against my face; I still couldn't feel it. I couldn't feel anything. I was numb. The wailing, screaming banshee that was sorrow had released me, but the pain was still there. A deep dull ache, that seemed like it would never go away. Tears were still frosting over my face.

Cally was dead. 

Those words haunted me. They danced around my mind destroying it like a pair of wreaking balls. She was innocent. She didn't belong in my world. She belonged in the normal world, away from all the violence and pain of mine. She was one of the few who didn't run. The least I could have done was shield her from this, and I couldn't even do that.

I brush some of my stray hairs away from my face, and try to stop another flood of tears. Crying in the rain won't help me now. I couldn't let my emotions take full control, not unless I want to turn this mild rain into a blizzard that would cover half the state. The droplets that were already on my hoodie had become heavy beads of ice. 

I take a deep breath and turn the music I'm listening to up a notch. I close my eyes as "Heaven Was Needing a Hero" by Jo Dee Messina, played. I try to lose myself for a few moments, but when I open my eyes, reality slaps me in the face again.

I look out into the crop field. It had been sleeping since a few months prior, waiting for us to plant in the spring. The fields were now nothing but dark cold soil, covered in the remining skeletons of the last harvest. What was once full of life, was now cold and dead.

I sighed, deciding to return to the house before the rain got worse. I turned on my heel, the muddy ground squished beneath my step. The walk was slow but not long. It's not like I really needed to get back. I physically can't feel the cold, I'm actually colder then my surroundings most of the time, but I can't stand wet clothes.

It wasn't long until I was close to the farm house. The house itself was originally built in a old strawberry farm back in the 1880s, as a small two story house for the owners. Though, it had gone through a number of changes since then, it was nearly twice its original size, half of it now self installed additions. Four stories, with a bunker and storage level. It looked like some kind of Frankenstein's monster, with mix-matching siding and the walls not being perfectly flush with each other. It was weird, but it was home.

My eyes strayed towards the long gravel driveway, it was the small connection to civilization from within the large forest that surrounded our home.  It was rarely used this time of year, the late autumn being too cold for the normal students and campers we'd get in the summer. Though, somehow there was car I didn't recognize parked off to the side of it.

It was black and long, not exactly a limo, but defiantly built to carry more then the normal amount of people and not at all cheap. I didn't really question it though, as sometimes we do get costumers who are on the wealthy side, but I did make mental note to ask Grandpa about it. 

I climb the deck's stairs, my hand on the guard rail. I pull off my headphones and pause my music, allowing me to hear my own footsteps on the deck. I always like that sound, the thumping of my shoes on hollow wood. As I neared the door, I could hear shouting. Something told me it was Aunt Jet. She was probably giving whoever was visiting a taste of reality. My gloves made it difficult to opened the door with my grip constantly slipping from the handle, but I got it work eventually. 

"Grandpa, I'm back!" I step inside and walk down the hall, "There's this weird car parked outside."

I walked into the living room, and froze. We had visitors alright, just not ones I thought my family would ever allow inside our home. I had left for less than an hour and come back to find, four Avengers in my living room. My eyes, travel to each to them. First, to the Captain, he was standing near our couch. Second, to the Falcon, he was standing her our fireplace mantel. Thirdly to the billionaire playboy, who was just wandering. And finally to the man with the metal arm. What the...?