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Standing at the edge of the treeline Ezekiel was as still and as quiet as a stone.
The fire had grown over the past few hours as they walked back and forth gathering brush and tossing it into the inferno. He could feel the heat from where he stood; a wall of warmth on his torso and face.
They sat within the glow of the fire, some with their hands outstretched to ward off the night's chill while others were concealed by the shadows of trees cast by the light-- their bodies moving like a writhing mass of snakes.
Bright shards of orange leaped in Ezekiel's eyes as they moved from one face to the next.
He counted at three of them.
Some partially naked or clothed with remnants of pieces eaten away by moths.
Those that sat by the fire were chewing on something and he was not blind to the dark stains around their mouths dripping down their chins like slobber. One of them had a bone of meat and tore at it, lips smacking, teeth chewing down viciously.
Another straightened and ran a bloodied hand through his sparse hair slicking it back.
Above the fire was a spit that stood still. Something formless and shapeless dripping fat onto the sizzling fire.
Marrows were sucked and bones cast off into outer darkness.
Ezekiel stood easily, the weights of bear traps long divested in the woods around specific parameters.
He was due to return home soon. His eyes lifted to the moon, where it stood in the firmament and lowered back to his bare wrist.
It was almost dinner time.
The girl would be hungry.
But then an image leaped to the forefront of his mind; one with the loaf tucked securely beneath her arm and a swollen cheek stuffed with the bread.
She would be fine until he arrived home. If she was still awake that is.
The men in the shadows arose and wandered back towards the rim of light. Three of them untangling from amongst each other; one was zipping up his pants while another wiping at his mouth corner with his wrist.
The third remained in the shadows moaning.
"Don't be so damn greedy." One of them snatched a piece from another's hand and began to ravage it.
"... damn fools near finished the meal..."
The one zipping up his pants turned and spat into the fire while hiking up his pants only for them to drop down to the line of his hips. He nonchalantly reached through the fire at the spit and came away with a fistful of flesh.
When he lifted his head, Ezekiel caught sight of the hole in one eye.
The eyeless man.
A wind stirred through the trees and he stepped into the shadows, angling his body - and scent - upward away from the fire.
It would be a while until they broke away each to their own spots for the night. And so he got comfortable; sitting down on his haunches watching the fire and the men in-between.
They talked, they laughed- loud guffaws with heads thrown back braying like donkeys. They hustled their balls and spat out bones until the fire sizzled to a reddened heap of ash.
By then only the eyeless man remained squatting by the fire. The other's moans in the woods had quited down to a rustle of movement every now and then.
Ezekiel picked a pebble and tossed it just close enough to catch the eyeless man's attention.
"You back jem?" The man uttered scratching at his pit and tilting his head up.
Ezekiel rose from his hunched position.
A perplexed look came upon the man. "Zee?" He smiled wide, the lid of his eyeless hole twitching. "How long you been there?"
His growing smile widened, then wavered as Ezekiel stepped out of the shadow and into the light of the moon.
The hunter was walking back with the body slung over his shoulder when he smelled it.
Something faint.
Different.
Like sweat and crushed almonds so subtle it dissolved in the wind the instant he caught it.
Ezekiel's steps slowed as the dark shape of his home formed in the distance. His eyes lifted to the rooftop, down the slanting sides and darkened windows.
His nostrils flared again, searching for that scent, but it was gone.
Receding into the redolent musk of the woods.
For a drawn moment he stood in the still darkness. Waiting. Watching.
Leyla.
He took another step forward, and then another. Soon all around him was the familiar smell of the woods of him and nothing more.
The shed was the first stop. He dropped the body inside and carefully shut it then took a path that circumvented the house rather than approaching from the front.
His senses were inclined to what he expected; blood, fear, a body...
her body.
Perhaps even the sound of muffled screaming and muted struggles. Yet all that greeted him was the mournful sound of wind like a foghorn moving through the hollow roof.
He looked through the kitchen window at the interior. Dark. Untouched.
Ezekiel's shoulder's loosened as he rounded to the front and climbed the patio steps. There a window stood that looked into the living room. He bent low at the waist and peered in.
She had fallen asleep on the couch.
Ezekiel could see the faint outline of her crown resting on the couch's arm rest at an awkward angle. A horrible one really, and he was sure she would wake pained.
He stared at her for a moment. The smell of blood thick on him, his mouth red as a tomato and his belly swollen from the meal.
He turned his head and spat onto the board and rose from his crouched position.
Standing before the door, he raised his fist and waited a breath, then knocked loud enough to wake her.
Knock knock.
Pause.
Knock knock knock
There was a silence. A brief exhale of confusion that broke when he repeated again, this time louder.
"Hmm... Ezekiel?"
Her head lifted from the couch swivelling in the door's direction and paused as a small hiss escaped her. "Ow-" She was cupping the side of her neck now, rubbing the sore spot tenderly.
Ezekiel sighed quietly. She should have closed the curtains. He could see her every movement from where he stood.
There was a shuffling noise as she rose and ambled towards the door.
"Ezekiel?" Her voice, muffled with sleep, asked again. But her fingers were already working the locks open.
There was some relief in knowing that she did not know how to work a lamp. And with the moon hidden behind the clouds he was sure she could hardly make out his body, dim as a ghost before her.
The door opened a crack.
Just enough for her sleep glazed eye to peer up at him.
"What time is it." She muttered, still standing with the door pressed against her.
"Somewhere close to midnight." A pause, "will you open the door?"
Leyla blinked and nodded while stepping back. The door swung open and a gust of cold wind followed him in. She shivered, rubbing her eyes while turning towards the couch where a thin worn blanket lay.
"I was waiting for-" Her voice trailed as the smell of him pervaded the room.
He saw her reaction arrive slow as molasses.
The way her mouth opened in a small o as she breathed him in. "... you."
"Are you alright?" She was standing still now, no longer in need of the blanket but focused on him.
"I am." He turned, shut the door and toed one boot off then the other while speaking; "are you hungry?"
"I... no... the bread..."
Good.
"Did someone come to the door?" He asked stepping around her and heading for the kitchen.
"No. Not that I heard anyone."
"Lights off the whole time?"
"Yessir."
Ezekiel paused at the kitchen with his hand on the cold lamp. He considered turning it on and rummaging for a quick bite, but the cold stain on his shirt told him otherwise. He pivoted towards the staircase.
"It's late, go to bed."
As he crossed the hallway at the top of the staircase, he watched her still form from his periphery; silhouetted in the dark standing small and unsure with the half consumed loaf of bread nestled on the couch.
Her head was tilted back slightly, watching him.
He turned into his bedroom and shut the door.
Ezekiel removed his shirt and pants, tossing them into the corner of his room and lay on his back gazing up at the ceiling listening to the cadence of his breathing.
It was a while before the shadow of her footsteps followed his own. She walked the hallway quietly and paused just outside his door.
For some unbeknownst reason, he expected a knock.
Her blanket rustled as she continued on and gently shut the bedroom door behind her.
The floorboards creaked under her socked feet. The bed groaned in its loose hinges as she entered and a quiet fragile silence settled. Ezekiel was unsure why it felt so fragile -delicate - and it wasn't until he turned over onto his side, that he realized he was focused on her movement, wondering what she was doing.
Morning came on silent feet and found him lying on his back with the sheets drawn to his hips.
His face was turned towards the open window, and as the sun began to crest the distant hills, so did its warm rays rising along the bed and up his torso until it fell bright across his eyes.
Ezekiel turned away from the light and slung an arm over his eyes.
His other hand rested loosely over his belly.
He considered sleeping in but the moment had dissolved with first light.
Exhaling a long breath he rose and swung his legs over the bed's edge, sitting there with his wrists resting over each knee. All was quiet around the house except for a few birds landing by the window.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, raking back unruly hair and rose to his feet.
The hallway was dim and he shut his eyes briefly, waiting for them to adjust beyond human threshold, and opened them once more.
Her bedroom door was still shut as he approached on the way to the bathroom. Unconsciously, his neck canted to the left, listening to the dull sound of her breathing through the walls.
Sleeping.
His hand rested on the doorknob considering. And then he turned it and gently pushed it open. The room was darker than the hallway yet he found her figure within an instant, curled beneath the blanket in the corner.
The blanket had been drawn up to her nose as she hunkered low.
Ezekiel paused as bright bird eyes snagged his.
Leyla lay awake and still, watching.
A moment passed between them and it was the gentle breath of wind from somewhere in the house brushing along his bare back that made him aware of his own partial nudity. Dressed in only cotton boxers and his hair flattened on one side from sleep.
"You're awake." He said.
Leyla's feet shifted under the covers. He suddenly wondered why he had opened the door, and why he wasn't leaving.
What the hell are you doing?
"... I couldn't sleep." Her voice came tired yet clear in the dark.
He nodded, eyes lifting around the room as if searching for whatever might have kept her up at night.
Probably the smell of blood on you.
"Hungry?"
This time she nodded almost eagerly, then paused and spoke as if in dreadful suspicion. "Oatmeal?"
He turned then and left the door open. "Whatever you find on the table."
It wasn't oatmeal that she found though he had not thought of anything outside of oats for breakfast.
But the girl made it clear in odd ways how she didn't like oatmeal.
Or his oatmeal.
Walking down the staircase while drawing on a shirt, Ezekiel made a beeline for the couch and found the loaf of bread. Half of it would be enough.
He opened the fridge and took out some eggs and milk. Set a pan on the stove top and cut out a small slice of butter, tilting the pan around as the fat melted on the top.
Footsteps hovered on the staircase as he cracked and beat the eggs onto a plate. They drew nearer as he placed the bread on the batter and let it soak briefly.
By the time he had set the first dripping slice onto the pan, Leyla's presence was hovering at his elbow close enough for him to feel her warm misty breath on his tricep.
Contrary to his assumptions, she was silent and watchful. Moving aside only when he had to do something else and returning like a magnet back to him when he returned to the stove.
"Plate." He said and she nodded, already turning away and reaching for one of the dining chairs.
From his periphery he watched her drag it towards the high reaching cabinets and step on it. The shirt she wore rose just enough to reveal the pale skin of her hip. She stretched and it rode higher allowing him a glimpse of her lower back where a dimple rested on the base. Shallow enough for his thumb to press into if he tried.
He looked back down.
She placed the plate reverently by his side and stood back as he put three slices on it. Steaming and warm enough to melt the cube of butter balanced on top.
"I'd like some of that as well."
Ezekiel looked up from the cup of coffee he had made for himself. "Coffee?"
Leyla nodded.
"It's instant."
"That's okay."
He put out a second cup and filled it with the boiled tap water.
"You won't like it."
"How would you know." She shot back not unkindly as he set the mug beside her plate and lowered himself onto the opposite chair.
But he knew. And he didn't have to look up at her first tentative sip to notice the wretched look of disgust twisting her face. He ate and drank his coffee, the silence broken by scraping forks or her occasional lifting of the cup to her mouth and dipping her tongue in it to feign drinking.
"This is better than oatmeal." She said as he finished his plate and rose to rinse it. There was a small contended smile on her sleepy face and her eyes seemed to sparkle... or was it the sun spilling from the kitchen blinds. "Thank you."
It ain't no skin off my ass.
"Get your clothes from the shop." He said instead.
"Why?"
"Laundry."
The statement should have been enough, but he assumed wrong.
By the time she was bounding out of the house with the bag of clothes and her pyjamas switched for a t-shirt and old pair of jeans he had cut and adjusted, Ezekiel had set out two wooden pails with water and a small cup of powdered laundry soap.
He didn't look up her steps slowed.
But he could tell her expression.
"What are you doing?"
He dumped the soap into the bucket and gestured her forward with a curl of his fingers. She edged closer, her wide eyes peering at him from over the bundle of clothes in her arms.
"Back in the-" a pause. Harvest farm? Your master's home? "estate." He concluded, "who washed your clothes?"
Leyla gave him a funny smile unawares of the direction this conversation was heading. "There was servants, I think."
Ezekiel nodded in understanding and gestured vaguely around them. "Do we have servants here?"
To his wonder, she looked around.
"... no."
A patient nod. "Who do you think will wash your clothes?"
Her mouth did a funny dance- struggling between a smile and frown. Ezekiel watched as she squinted at the buckets then him and finally her bundle of clothes.
"Me?"
A nod.
"But I don't know how."
"I expected as much." Taking a shirt from the bundle he dropped it into the bucket, then added another all while instructing. "All your clothes should be turned inside out, focus on the parts that stink the most..." he gestured at the pits, collar and decidedly not to for the pants.
He had crouched beside the bucket to wash the first clothing for her. And she did as well, sitting on her heels close enough for her arm to brush against his.
"Separate the coloured from the whites."
Leyla had been leaning forward in an attempt to witness the washing. She tilted her head towards him. "Why?"
"They'll stain."
He finished washing her shirt, wrung it of soap and dumped it into the bucket side.
"Wash, wring, rinse, hang up to dry." He pointed as she nodded and when he was done, he rose and left her to it.
Her eyes were on his back. "Where are you going?"
"Shed."
Ezekiel unlocked the latch and opened the doors. Immediately a rancid cloud of rot stung his nostrils. He stood at the entrance waiting for the sunlight to filter through the cracks.
A chain dragged in the corner weakly.
He glanced over his shoulder at the girl who was now kneeling with her arms up to her elbows in the bucket. Her hair was falling unruly about her concentrated face and she pushed it back with a wet wrist, smudging soap along her forehead.
A hairband. He began to note then took captive that thought before it rooted itself. She can use a shoe lace.
"...ewekiellll..."
Ezekiel reached for the doors and carefully shut them behind him, allowing the darkness to conceal the room once more.
He turned towards the first shelf and picked a cloth and the ax set on top. He began to clean it slowly, turning the blade over in his hand as the body in the corner writhed and moaned.
"... kialll.... kiallll..." the absence of a tongue made his words incoherent. Blood bubbled in his throat. "... eaeee"
Ezekiel set the axe on its hook and picked a hatchet next, wiping that down as well. He had left the tools bloodied over night and some of them had dried down to a crust that needed extra rubbing.
"Someone came here last night." He said, setting the blade on the top shelf.