Rest In Peace -=O P E N =-

[corliss]

The sleepless night did nothing to amuse her, neither did the hours of being on hold with a crappy cell phone signal as her appointments did everything to avoid her. Why did they even bother setting them if they didn't want the story told? It was nothing but a irritating situation. She could never understand why people would agree to tell the tale of a ghost or even worse, a vampire encounter and then back out. What was there to be scared of? Nothing. It was all just stories. Looking out the window, she had a better idea. Anything to break away and clear her head. What could be better then a rainstorm and a gray day? The rain would wash away any thoughts and disappointment, and the gray sky would keep her grounded, in the moment. Clipping her wings, Corliss threw on a pair of jeans, jumping around the wicker room as she pulled them on and dug through her duffel bag for a thermal top, sweatshirt, and her bright yellow vest. She knew she was going to get wet, but wasn't that what the rain was for? A black baseball cap was pulled down upon her head, her hair pulled back into a messy pony tail as she slipped her yellow rain boots on and out the door.

Her digital camera was in hand, protected by a plastic hard case for days like this. Corliss wasn't obsessed with taking pictures, but with over ten memory cards filled with images one could say differently. Some things she didn't want to forget, other things she did. Looking through some of the newest images, the faces of her 'friends' back home appeared on the screen. Scott and Diego. Two fellow 'ghost hunter' friends making the stupidest face in the camera possible. Corliss felt a slight tug within her chest looking at the image, memories good, and bad washing to the surface as her sea-foam eyes focused on Scott's face. "Idiot.."She muttered. Feeling rather stupid, and pathetic Corliss tried to cheer herself up by walking from the inn.

The rain wasn't heavily pouring down, just enough to annoy most people. She could warm easily, and clothes dried, so it wasn't so bad. In fact she preferred the rain, it kept most others away and let her with the world as it should be. Quiet, peaceful. The woods seemed to be a obstacle course of death to navigate, but she climbed over the nearest stone wall and decided to get lost for a afternoon. Her phone had a GPS on it if she got -really- lost, but she had a good head on her shoulders and the uncanny ability to get herself out of trouble. Lifting her camera, she clicked away a few pictures of the rain soaked woods, taking notice of the small beams of light that cut across the growing darkness of the forest around her. The flash caught the raindrops, making it seem like the forest was attacked by a teeny bopper with a fetish for glitter.

Holding the camera down, she scrolled through the images, deleting the ones that didn't tickle her fancy, and keeping the ones that seemed to capture this moment best of all. Grey, with just a streak of hope for brighter things. Sighing the tourist muttered to herself.
"Things keep up this way..its going to be a short stay...." Yes the forest was beautiful and breathtaking, but how many times could she tromp around the woods and wait for her appointments to get cleared? If she wasn't so stubborn, she would have turned around and headed home by now.

Walking a bit further into the thickened woods, the sight of a moss covered stone wall caught her attention. Sure a stone wall was common in New England, the land used to be divided by them. But she wasn't too certain of the history of Forks, so it was worth a look. Careful to avoid the slippery rocks, the girl walked closer to the stone wall, soon seeing the rusted iron gate that shielded those unwanted out. It looked to be a old stone pen, common place for keeping wild livestock that was loose until the owner picked them up. But this held something different. Within the stone walls were graves, older then most she had ever seen before.

Her breath caught within her throat, soft green eyes roaming over the forgotten cemetery in awe. The hair upon the back of her neck stood, just as her hands wrapped around the old rusted metal gate. It was easy enough to move, but the screaming of protest from the metal rang in her ears loudly. A small sliver of rusted metal sliced her palm as she drew it away, ignoring the dull stinging pain as she slipped within the small cemetery. Once within, she looked down at her hand, seeing mostly the garish orange and copper flakes of rust upon it, and the smallest little paper-cut like wound from the gate. Dragging the flat of her palm across her hip to clean it, she moved to the nearest grave, placing her hand upon it. The stone was cold, worn with weather and age, the dates and name nearly impossible to read. Corliss knew she found her reason for that day....

[dyami]

Dyami had been almost all over the state looking for some parts needed for the old car he was restoring. He had been working on it for years and years but parts for anything this old was rare so it one of his long range goals. Once it was fixed up it would be beautiful. Everyone told him they thought it would be worth allot of money if he got it done but Dyami didn't do anything for money. He did it to honor the history, and his own memories.

The make and model of the car he was restoring would be the same make and model of the first car he had ever gotten to drive. It had been a milestone both in his life and in the histories. However, today was not his day. He had been to the store which claimed over the phone to have the part in the back room, when he got their they claimed they had it int he warehouse and he could drive there to pick it up, when he got their they claimed to have shipped it to the store, and it would get there the following day.

Dyami had lost his temper and had never made it to the other place they told him he could check out. He had just gotten his pants and shirt off before phasing, and leaving his car there, running home. He would go back for it later. Upon picking up an human scent, Dyami moved silently to watch. He watched as she seemed in awe over the old grave site. Moving silently back, he unphased and slipped on his jeans and shirt, which were sightly dirty now from the run, but they were in the woods she maybe blame that. His lack of shoes however would be odd.

Dyami moved silently back to watch her, wondering what she was doing here, and at this old resting place for the dead. He didn't cross the stone walls, Dyami was superstitious, but he moved up to stand about a foot from them. He said nothing.

[corliss]

The graveyard was old, she could tell that even without the daylight. Just the smell of it, old earth, forgotten from time. As her hand smoothed over the gravestone, leaving a small smudge upon the tomb. She couldn’t tell what the stone was yet. In RI most of them were made of granite, seeing the rock was plentiful and very cheap. The richer foke could afford the marble stones, that seemed to hold up to the elements better over time. But something about the granite ones just drew her to them. Maybe it was because all of the hard work, carving each letting with tools instead of today’s lasers. The time and effort, and the sadness that they must have felt. Even though it was a job, it wasn’t a pretty one to have.

The stone almost seemed to be made of slate, smooth and layered in its texture. The rain had smoothed down the frame to a soft curving edge. Even in the dim light she could see the wet mark caused by the sweat and blood upon her hand. Sea-foam eyes lifted from the grave, looking over to the others that fell behind it. It was a small burial yard, only a handful of stones within it. She didn’t see a name upon the gate, so it wasn’t a family plot. And those tended to stay behind a homestead , not within the middle of the woods. It certainly wasn’t a Native burial yard, they tended not to mark the graves. And if she remembered, the tribe from this area didn’t even bury the dead.

Lost within her own world, the rain sputtering through the gaps within the canopy down upon her. The cold water trailed down her cheeks, her breath veiled within the cool air as a sound broke her thoughts. Corliss’s breath caught within her throat for a moment. Her mind raced over everything she could possibly think of. Was he a ghost? A vision? Or was he really just standing there in the woods, addressing her? It seemed impossible, but reality slowly dawned upon her, and instead of the supernatural, it was just natural. Her throat suddenly felt as if it were stuffed with cotton as she tried to find anything to say besides ‘Hi’.

[dyami]

Dyami stood there silently watching her wondering what she was doing here. He wasn't the type to talk allot but he couldn't walk away until he knew she was safe, so he was here until she went back to town at lest. "Are you lost?" He asked trying to see why she was here, hoping she wouldn't do what so many modern day women did and take that question as an invitation to tell him all about her life.

It was raining but with his hot skin he wasn't cold. Over the years he had even grown to enjoy the rain, patrolling when everything was fresh and clean smelling. Made the job easier, and he often let other pack members get sleep so he could patrol in silence on a rainy day. Most humans stayed inside on rainy days so there was less to do. "Do you need help?" His voice was deep and calm, as it always was.

[corliss]

“I tend to keep a different schedule from most people…” Her New England accent tore through her words like a knife, slaughtering any grace and charm that may have been within them. She hated her accent, it made her stand out like a sore thumb whenever she traveled. Then people would ask questions about where she lived, comment on how bad Massachusetts drivers were, and then simply leave her alone. She loved to talk, but when a conversation was brewed over her accent, it irritated her.

Slowly Corliss lifted herself from the damp earth, dead leaves clinging to the knees of her jeans. Her yellow vest was slick with rainwater, looking bloated like a life preserver. The black cap she wore upon her head clung tightly to her scalp, and the few strands of chestnut locks that crossed her pale creatures didn’t seem to bother her. No, she certainly wasn’t the typical girl.

[dyami]

So, not lost? Dyami looked around his eyes scanning subtly for danger before coming back to her. He wondered if she was safe here, he knew of the local treaty but just because he honored the treaty did not mean he trusted the cold ones. They were a danger, and a risk. He spoke to her in a low tone, his voice deep. "Most people would rather be warm and safe then visiting the dead." His head bowed slightly as if to point to the grave she was standing over.

"Are they your family?" He knew it wouldn't be anyone she knew personally . . . unless she was less then human. She smelled human. Maybe it was her forefathers? She didn't sound like she was from around here, but roots traveled for great distances from the trees. You could be something, but had history of something else.

[corliss]

]“Its difficult to find ghosts during the day.” No teasing tone behind the sentence, no mockery of the words. She spoke them as clearly and boldly as if they were her wedding vows. And in a way, they were. It wasn’t because she hated the world, that she was about to end her life, or saw no point in it. No, her interests in ghosts and the unknown came from the fact that she loved life, and wanted to know everything about it. The past in particular. She thirsted on knowledge, of the ways back then, customs and simple things. At times she wished she could have existed then, and she had once even had her palm read, the woman with the leathery hands declaring that she indeed, have another life. In the past she was the daughter of a horse farmer. Not something glamorous by any stretch of the mind, but she still had a life in the past.

Her friends would tease her, saying that she wouldn’t find anything in the now if she kept looking in the past. Although she hated to admit it, they were right. Girl friends never seemed keen on breaking into abandoned houses, looking for secret passages or forgotten photo albums. Guy friends didn’t want to drive around for hours looking for that lost dirt road, or that field with the one lone gravestone within the middle. Only one of her friends tolerated her interest, and he was nothing more then that. Yes he made that quite clear. ‘Little sister’ she was labeled. The freakish little sister to his big brother with sometimes roaming hands.

So, always told to never change who she was for others pleasure, she kept with her interests. Sitting in old libraries during the days, looking through microfiche and old papers. Obituaries caught her attention most of the time, seeing the odd ways that people passed on. A lead she would call it. Anything and everything was typed within her laptop, notes for when she finally tucked herself within her bed to write more chapters of her book. Seeing her current life held no mystery, no companionship…she offered her company to the dead, and her commitment to the lost memories.

As for her future, it all depended. Yes she was often found walking within the woods, no flashlight in hand, and majority of the time in the wet and the cold. But it was nothing that a hot shower and dry clothes couldn’t take care of. Her immune system was tempered by the cold winters of the New England shores, so unlike most foke, she didn’t consider it cold unless her spit hit the ground frozen. Admittedly she had lost the feeling of her toes long ago, the canvas sneakers that she wore loosing any hope of being water resistant, and just turned into a pair of sponges, sucking up everything they could.

[dyami]

Dyami's brows bent in slightly as if he was debating her words, and then his eyes glanced around as if looking for the very thing she spoke of. He knew he would find nothing, but he was still edgy around grave sites. Most didn't believe in ghost, but Dyami had learned long ago that he should never discount something just because he was not raised to believe. Most people didn't believe in wolves like him either.

"You are looking for ghost?" He asked, watching her for a moment trying to decide if she was just playing with him or really out here doing this. "May I ask why?" He questioned in his deep and calm voice. He did not watch TV or pay much attention to 'pop culture' so he wasn't sure if this was what was considered 'in' by the humans now days. He really hoped not.

[corliss]

When he didn’t erupt into a riot of laughter, it caught her off guard. She was so used to hearing others get a kick out of her interests and words, that it now just rolled off her back as easily as the water did now. His expression didn’t change, nothing about him seemed moved or effected by her worlds at all. It didn’t frighten her, but intrigued her more. Her arms rested at her side peacefully, her fingertips quickly catching up to her toes in the parting of her body. She wiggled them quickly, making certain that they didn’t fall off when she wasn’t paying attention. Now that she wasn’t engaged in her new find, her mind made her very aware of how cold and wet it was.

“Yes, I’ve seen Ghosts. Why would I look for something if I didn’t ever see one, or had proof that they existed?” Her question was calm, the words laced with her heavy accent. “Off Block Island, three ships crashed along the shores, Steamer Larchmont in 1907 is the most widely seen.” It was clear that the girl knew what she was talking about. “Also upon Thayer Street in downtown Providence, right by the RISD the ghost of Edgar Allen Poe can be seen between the homes of 1811 and 1843.” The dates, everything she had down to a key. This girl ither had no social life and spent all her time on Wiki looking at everything she could, or this was just her passion.

It was more then just a passion, Corliss felt that deep down it was her reason for being on the earth. To find the forgotten, and remember them. Nothing was worse in her mind then the thought of something living, existing and having been on the earth, only to be forgotten due to death and neglect. It pained her. The digital camera tucked away within her pocket held a memory card with over a thousand images of such things. Gravestones, old houses, forgotten playgrounds gone to rust. Things that needed to be remembered.
She didn’t know it, but maybe it was why his path crossed hers within the woods. He needed to not be forgotten.

She could have rambled on much more about everything she had witnessed, seen or felt, but she was certain he had no interest in it.