Lisa Smith: The Struggle

His face altered, the sensuousness twisting and freezing, becoming cruel and bitterly hard. He laughed, but this laugh went on and on. “Nothing?” he said. “I can do anything to you, and to the ones you love. You have no idea, Elena, of what I can do. But you’ll learn.”

He stepped back, and the wind cut through Elena like a knife. Her vision seemed to be blurring; it was as if flecks of brightness filled the air in front of her eyes.

“Winter is coming, Elena,” he said, and his voice was clear and chilling even over the howl of the wind. “An unforgiving season. Before it comes, you’ll have learned what I can and can’t do. Before winter is here, you’ll have joined me. You’ll be mine.”

The swirling whiteness was blinding her, and she could no longer see the dark bulk of his figure. Now even his voice was fading. She hugged herself with her arms, head bent down, her whole body shaking. She whispered, “Stefan—”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Damon’s voice came back. “You asked earlier about my brother. Don’t bother looking for him, Elena. I killed him last night.”

Her head jerked up, but there was nothing to see, only the dizzying whiteness, which burned her nose and cheeks and clogged her eyelashes. It was only then, as the fine grains settled on her skin, that she realized what they were: snowflakes.

It was snowing on the first of November. Overhead, the sun was gone.

An unnatural twilight hung over the abandoned graveyard. Snow blurred Elena’s eyes, and the wind numbed her body as if she’d stepped into a current of ice water. Nevertheless, stubbornly, she did not turn around toward the modern cemetery and the road beyond it. As best she could judge, Wickery Bridge was straight in front of her. She headed for that.

The police had found Stefan’s abandoned car by Old Creek Road. That meant he’d left it somewhere between Drowning Creek and the woods. Elena stumbled on the overgrown path through the graveyard, but she kept moving, head down, arms hugging her light sweater to her. She had known this graveyard all her life, and she could find her way through it blind.

By the time she crossed the bridge, her shivering had become painful. It wasn’t snowing as hard now, but the wind was even worse. It cut through her clothes as if they were made of tissue paper, and took her breath away.

Stefan, she thought, and turned onto Old Creek Road, trudging northward. She didn’t believe what Damon had said. If Stefan were dead she would know . He was alive, somewhere, and she had to find him. He could be anywhere out in this swirling whiteness; he could be hurt, freezing. Dimly, Elena sensed that she was no longer rational. All her thoughts had narrowed down to one single idea. Stefan. Find Stefan.

It was getting harder to keep to the road. On her right were oak trees, on her left, the swift waters of Drowning Creek. She staggered and slowed. The wind didn’t seem quite so bad any more, but she did feel very tired. She needed to sit down and rest, just for a minute.

As she sank down beside the road, she suddenly realized how silly she had been to go out searching for Stefan. Stefan would come to her. All she needed to do was sit here and wait. He was probably coming right now.

Elena shut her eyes and leaned her head against her drawn-up knees. She felt much warmer now. Her mind drifted and she saw Stefan, saw him smile at her. His arms around her were strong and secure, and she relaxed against him, glad to let go of fear and tension. She was home. She-was where she belonged. Stefan would never let anything hurt her.

But then, instead of holding her, Stefan was shaking her. He was ruining the beautiful tranquility of her rest. She saw his face, pale and urgent, his green eyes dark with pain. She tried to tell him to be still, but he wouldn’t listen. Elena, get up , he said, and she felt the compelling force of those green eyes willing her to do it. Elena, get up now —

“Elena, get up!” The voice was high and thin and frightened. “Come on, Elena! Get up! We can’t carry you!”

Blinking, Elena brought a face into focus. It was small and heart-shaped, with fair, almost translucent skin, framed by masses of soft red curls. Wide brown eyes, with snowflakes caught in the lashes, stared worriedly into hers.

“Bonnie,” she said slowly. “What are you doing here?”

“Helping me look for you,” said a second, lower voice on Elena’s other side. She turned slightly to see elegantly arched eyebrows and an olive complexion. Meredith’s dark eyes, usually so ironic, were worried now, too. “Stand up, Elena, unless you want to become an ice princess for real.”

There was snow all over her, like a white fur coat. Stiffly, Elena stood, leaning heavily on the two other girls. They walked her back to Meredith’s car.

It should have been warmer inside the car, but Elena’s nerve endings were coming back to life, making her shake, telling her how cold she really was. Winter is an unforgiving season, she thought as Meredith drove.

“What’s going on, Elena?” said Bonnie from the back seat. “What did you think you were doing, running away from school like that? And how could you come out here?”

Elena hesitated, then shook her head. She wanted nothing more than to tell Bonnie and Meredith everything. To tell them the whole terrifying story about Stefan and Damon and what had really happened last night to Mr. Tanner—and about after. But she couldn’t.

Even if they would believe her, it wasn’t her secret to tell.

“Everyone’s out looking for you,” Meredith said. “The whole school’s upset, and your aunt was nearly frantic.”

“Sorry,” said Elena dully, trying to stop her violent shivering. They turned onto Maple Street and pulled up to her house.

Aunt Judith was waiting inside with heated blankets. “I knew if they found you, you’d be half-frozen,” she said in a determinedly cheerful voice as she reached for Elena. “Snow on the day after Halloween! I can hardly believe it. Where did you girls find her?”

“On Old Creek Road, past the bridge,” said Meredith.

Aunt Judith’s thin face lost color. “Near the graveyard? Where the attacks were? Elena, how could you?…” Her voice trailed off as she looked at Elena. “We won’t say anything more about it right now,” she said, trying to regain her cheerful manner. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

“I have to go back once I’m dry,” said Elena. Her brain was working again, and one thing was clear: she hadn’t really seen Stefan out there; it had been a dream. Stefan was still missing.

“You have to do nothing of the kind,” said Robert, Aunt Judith’s fiancé. Elena had scarcely noticed him standing off to one side until then. But his tone brooked no argument. “The police are looking for Stefan; you leave them to their job,” he said.

“The police think he killed Mr. Tanner. But he didn’t. You know that, don’t you?” As Aunt Judith pulled her sodden outer sweater off, Elena looked from one face to another for help, but they were all the same. “You know he didn’t do it,” she repeated, almost desperately.

There was a silence. “Elena,” Meredith said at last, “no one wants to think he did. But— well, it looks bad, his running away like this.”

“He didn’t run away. He didn’t! He didn’t—”

“Elena, hush,” said Aunt Judith. “Don’t get yourself worked up. I think you must be getting sick. It was so cold out there, and you got only a few hours of sleep last night…” She laid a hand on Elena’s cheek.

Suddenly it was all too much for Elena. Nobody believed her, not even her friends and family. At that moment, she felt surrounded by enemies.