Midnight Lily(30)
I came out of the trees and was standing before what I recognized as Whittington, the gargantuan, gothic, stone building. My heart began to beat more quickly. It looked like a living, breathing thing and I shivered. Now that I was right in front of it, I couldn't help but imagine all the pain and unfathomable suffering that had gone on behind those walls. All because no one had been willing or brave enough to help. Those people had been invisible to society, deemed throwaways because of something they weren't responsible for. The weakest of the weak. And in that moment I felt the terror and hopelessness of that down to my bones, in my very marrow.
And yet, as I stood staring at it, tilting my head very slightly, it also exuded a strange sort of magnificent beauty, some hidden sorrow that lay just beneath the stone surface, as if the building itself wanted to say, what happened here was not my fault.
My gaze traveled upward until it settled on the highest window, something stirring deep inside, the grandeur of the structure stealing my breath for a moment.
I looked to my right and drew back slightly when I saw what must have been the asylum cemetery. I walked toward it, taking note of the crumbling gravestones, some topped with angels, reaching toward the heavens. This must be the oldest part of the cemetery. The farther I walked, the newer the stones looked, the dates carved into them corroborating my observation. Weeds thrived, almost completely covering some of the smaller markers. I wondered who was buried here—patients who had died with no family? Otherwise, wouldn't they be in family plots or closer to the homes of loved ones? Feeling totally creeped out, I turned around and walked back to where I'd started.
The massive, wrought-iron gate creaked loudly as I pushed it open and walked through. The walk from the gate to the front steps of the asylum was about a quarter of a mile. My feet crunched on the gravel, what had originally been a very long driveway, now overrun with weeds, grass and wildflowers growing in random patches. The sky overhead was a grayish-blue and filled with billowy clouds. Off in the distance, I could see a few approaching rain clouds, but nothing that looked like it would produce much of a storm. Hopefully. I still had to make it back.
When I finally arrived at the front steps, I climbed them slowly, glancing around. Everything seemed very still. I tried to turn the doorknob of the massive, double wooden front door, but it was locked. Looking around, I spotted a broken window on the first floor and it was easy enough to lift myself up to the windowsill and duck through. When I stood and had brushed off my jeans, I was standing in a dirty hallway. It was cluttered with debris, had paint peeling from the walls in large strips, and a rusted wheelchair lay overturned in front of me. I moved it aside with my foot and walked down the hall, craning my neck to see into rooms before I'd walked in front of the doorways. In one, there was an old gurney against the wall and in another there was a standing harp, most of the strings broken and curling wildly in every direction like the hair of some wild shrew. This place was creepy as shit. I expected Freddy Krueger to turn the corner toward me at any moment.
"Lily?" I yelled loudly, not truly believing she'd be inside this deserted place but finding a strange comfort in hearing her name echo through the empty halls. I walked through corridor after corridor calling Lily's name.
As I walked past one of the large windows, I caught movement. Far away, at the edge of the forest, Lily was on her knees doing something on the ground in front of her. Lily! My heart sped up and I turned and walked as quickly as possible through all the debris on the floor toward the front door. I was able to open it from the inside and I took the stairs two at a time, running back down the long driveway and out the front gate toward Lily.
"Lily," I said breathlessly as I finally came up behind her. She jerked slightly and turned, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Hey, what's wrong?" That's when I saw an owl on the ground in front of her and I went down on my knees beside her. "Oh shit, is he okay?"
Lily shook her head. "No, he's . . . dead." She heaved in a shuddery breath and used both hands to wipe at her tears. She shook her head. "I just found him out here, lying on the ground. He must have just . . . died of old age. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with him." She sniffled.
"I'm so sorry."
She nodded and used a sweater that was tied around her waist to scoop him up. "I don't think owls have very long life spans. I have to bury him."
"I'll help. Do you have a shovel?"
She shook her head. "No, I'll have to use a stick or something. The ground is very soft in certain parts of the forest. It should be okay." I walked a little ways into the woods with her, and as she held the owl, I dug the small grave in the soft earth of the forest floor. We didn't speak, which made me aware of all the sounds around me: the birds twittering in the trees, foliage swishing in the breeze, and Lily's occasional sniffles. When I was done, she lowered him into the ground, the sweater wrapped around him, and stood as I covered him up, another tear rolling down her cheek.
"You must think I'm so silly crying over an owl," she said. "It's just that he used to come sit on the fence over there, every day, and I kind of got used to him." She shrugged. "Whenever I passed by and saw him, I came to think of him as good luck, a sort of wise sentry who might show you the way if you were lost and afraid." She tilted her head, looking sad but thoughtful.
"I don't think you're silly." I think you're the most beautiful, tenderhearted girl I've ever known.