PORTRAIT OF PENITENCE ,
It mattered not where Holly Hepburn's vagrant feet took her, the past's haunting vice grip and the tragic haze that loomed over her would never leave her in peace. She found herself back in the town of her old miseries...
portrait of penitence. chapter II , midsummer nights. ( season 1. )
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( HOLLY ! )
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THE NIGHT WASHED OVER THEM; the streets were quiet and the only sound in earshot, the chirping of crickets and the seldom hoot of one of the native owls.
If Holly did not step a foot onto these darkwood floors again, it would still be too soon. Every surface was coated with a blanket of dust, old children's books piled on top of ancient Cosmopolitan magazines and a torn-up bible. Oddly enough, a faint smell of smoke hung in the air and there was cigar soot in the ashtray on the family room coffee table.
"Jeremy," she groaned, figuring out his new hide-out.
She didn't want to be a hypocrite, but that would be denying her essence; she was a hypocrite who came back in a muddy pick-up truck to muddy up their lives. She could not even recall the reason why she showed up at their doorstep, greasy-haired and dark-eyed, on a numbingly hot night 6 months ago.
But she did, much to the chagrin of some and delight of others.
One step after another, she told herself as she climbed the tweak staircase. Not long ago, they were stained with her blood, or what seemed to her not long ago. Years had passed and everyone moved on, but she stayed exactly where her father left her bleeding and unconscious.
She clutched her stomach in pain and her eyes glazed over. That fear was nothing compared to the goosebumps that covered her whole body when she left a soft, nimble hand on her shoulder.
She jumped, huffed, and tried to push the assailant away, but it was no assailant.
"JESUS CHRIST," she screamed, a tear almost rolling down her streaked foundation.
"Hey, it's okay!" a soft voice reassured her, "it's just me, it's just me."
She knew the voice well; she'd listen to her screeching like a banshee, sprinting to the playground swings. What she wouldn't give to go back to that time. Elena's eyes were glazed in concern and regret for leaving the car or not leaving sooner. She stroked the arm of Holly's worn-out maroon jacket, but Holly jerked away like a fire torch was pressed to her skin and glared at her.
