Chapter Three: 10:04

VIXEN'S POV

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

It sounds like the leak of a broken faucet that keeps you up on a sleepless night, but I don't know where it's coming from. Nobody does.

As stunning as Bree is, and as much as we have to peel our focus off of her like a rough bandage, we can't help ourselves but to look for the source. It perks our ears and wins the battle, pulling our gaze for its cause, rudely and impatiently.

I don't think we should be blamed for that. When everything we're caved beneath is this magnificent, and put in place, and it's granting us permission to lean back, relax and have a good time, something off, that might only amount to the drop of a pin, draws in our attention. We don't have to want to give it our attention, but it just happens beyond our control -- at least subconsciously.

Maybe we didn't hear anything at all, but it felt like we did. Something out there was eery and spooky, though I couldn't put my finger on it. Something changed, but even so, majority of our soul was gripping the thought that for today --at least for today-- nothing out there could possibly harm us. It was a good day, a day to celebrate especially since the arguing had subsided, and we told ourselves that the bad would seep back in tomorrow.

All we wanted was a chance to be lighthearted.

But that's the thing about badness. It doesn't sleep, not even for the slightest wink, and at times, it decides to strike at the worst time it possibly could. We try to dismiss it --whatever this spookiness in the atmosphere is doing to us, but we can't. We're putting an illusion on ourselves. As with all illusions, the moment comes where we have to realize and accept that it's false expectation and non-existent.

This time it was Bree, a couple sentences into her vow before she started to scream a loud petrified scream. Not a squeal of joy or enthusiasm, but a real scream.

One that echoed throughout the arena, which lengthened it for three times as long as it was, making it three times as scary, and that made my bones tremble beneath my skin. My lungs felt hollow, and now were filling with her fear like a poison, but out of shock and surprise I was on my feet, peering into the podium, heading nearer and nearer to it without thinking.

"Shay, you know better than anyone that we've had some crazy days," she had began, and then she stopped just as soon, her sentence dangling in mid-air as she looked up above her. She must've saw nothing, and went on.

"We had our first texts, our first calls--," and then she paused again, dabbing gently at her face. "First I-love-you, and first in person meet--," she took a look at her fingers. Red.

Her gasp was contagious.

Blood? Why the hell was blood falling from the sky? From the ceiling? More importantly, is it real? Whose blood is it? Whose blood is dripping across her skin and staining the lace of her dress? Who here was out to destroy her wedding day?

So many questions. Too many, it made me dizzy, exhausted, numb. I didn't know how to feel. If this was real or fake, life or a nightmare, I couldn't tell. I couldn't accept, but I did know that my breath was caught in my throat.

Everyone was up and out of their seats, murmuring some form of the question as they scattered the room, some in detest, some in disgust, some in complaints, and others in an emotion that can't be described. Somehow, I think I was all of the above.

Bree was still screaming. As it carried on, it held everything about her. It was her identity in the mean time, so much that off and on I would forget her name, my name and what we were here for. All that could resonate on us was that terror and the horror, because it played the strings in our body like a violin or a harp.

There was no one to hold responsible for the scarlet drip dropping its way in where it wasn't invited. No clues, no nothing. It came and then the source was gone without a trace, that is, besides the traces they wanted to leave behind.

Traces we were better off not knowing about.

I watched the bride closely. It felt terrible to do such a thing, but I relied on her and the man to tell us how serious this was, or if I was rightful to panic. I'm new here and I wanted to follow the pathways of the others as one I assumed I could trust, and I wanted them to give me an excuse to run far from the sight of blood being outside of the body, but nobody left. They stayed, awaiting the same thing that I was.

It's not a typical decision you make on your wedding day, is it?

She backed away from the center of the podium. It was her first instinct after shouting, which I don't know how to make out, but it wasn't very noticable. Upon that step backward, came two steps forward, and she hurled herself into Shay's arms. He held her like he expected it, like he knew how she would react, and like it were overdue, the top of her head under his chin and his hand at her back, while the other stroke through her hair.

"Shay, darling," she was muzzled up against his chest. Only then did I realize I had inched close enough to the stage to hear them. Her skin was cleaned of the crimson, wiped in a small smear across his white tux, but he didn't seem to mind. He didn't complain one bit. He stood and listened to her, being who she needed. "What are we gonna do, Shay? What just happened? I can't even process it fully yet. What--?"

"I-I don't know, Bree. I don't know, but it's over now and you're safe. We'll all be okay," his voice wavered in response, but he was quick to get over it if it meant her care and her well-being. And even so, just as quick everything wasn't okay. Everything calmed, yes, for the tiniest half-second it was over and then everything escalated again, worse than it was already.

But it can't get worse, can it? A situation as disgusting as this can't get worse.

Oh, but it can. Easily, so it seems. It replied to each of us like it were challenged -- like we challenged it. Like it didn't want us to be able to fathom "okay" and "safety" for the rest of our lives. Shay's words of comfort to his fiancee angered this somebody we couldn't see.

First came the trickles of blood. It was heavier this time, like the faucet was turned on halfway to full power, and it fell from the high ceiling like rain showers in mid-spring. The only good thing about it is it missed the bride and her white veil, but it painted the stage where she was once standing in far clearer view to every person in the audience bringing shrieks louder than before.

The puddle widened and widened -- still small, but mighty in effect. Eyes were either wide open, bulging out of their sockets in a silence that caught their tongue, or shut tightly in refusal with yelled 'no, no, no, no, no!'s. I came from the first kind, and that's why I can confidently say the ones of the second were lucky.

Technically, none of us were lucky. The lucky ones were at home fast asleep with no idea about this trauma. The ones who would wake up tomorrow to see this as nothing more than an article in the tiny town newspaper, but lucky for what this was bringing us, it was definitely the second. They didn't have to see. The first was cursed by their ability to.

Down came a bundle of weight to top off the blood like a cherry to the ice cream, that is, for a zombie or a monstrous villain. To a normal person with decency and respect for life, the sight of it would make you regret eating everything you did that day.

It was no ordinary weight. Not at all. It was an array of legs, of little paws, of fur, and a head. A squirrel, with an incision cut into the bottom of its body, still bleeding lightly. Inside we saw all the things that weren't typical to see, but one glance it we all knew nothing was where it was supposed to be.

Lungs where the stomach belonged. Stomach where the lungs belonged. Heart upside down, and eyes scorched out and thrown over top of it, messily. A dark version of a failed card matching game. Evidence that humans are the most violent creatures on this planet to ever exist. We have faith in them, and we are betrayed over and over again by that one person -- whoever this person is.

"Benj?" Shay called out toward the officiator, who turned his head at the name. More than his officiator, he must be a friend that he went to for advice.

He had pulled away from Bree's embrace, but his hand was still wrapped around hers like a gift on Christmas morning and she followed every step he took closer to this Benj-guy. His voice was urgent and eager. "Hey, Benj! What should we do? You're always clear-minded even when crap like this happens. What's your judgment?"

The man straightened his bow-tie. He remained calm and concise through the chaos, which was a mystery to me. He shrugged before he began too, like he knew. People must be taken aback by his nature often.

"I can't tell you what to do. It's your wedding. Not mine. You decide whether or not it goes on or not. If you're asking for my opinion--" Shay and Bree's fast nods interrupted him. They wanted his answer and they wanted it now. He noticed, and the pair braced themselves for a long reply. They knew each other well and they loved the way things were -- the kind of people they were and how they differed.

"Alright, then. Well, personally, I don't think it's a big deal. Nothing bad happens here and it's not gonna change now. Your wedding was advertised in the Goodland Star News. Some teens probably got ahold of their grandparents' newspapers or found the article online and decided they wanted to play a prank on you guys. It might be a small town, but there's still troublemaking teens. The big city doesn't have to raise a child to get those.

"I can name several from teaching history and you-- Shay? With your biology courses, I'm sure you could too. You know that. We're high school teachers. We have a direct connection with kids so it's bound to happen sometime or another. Someone in your class is probably giving you payback for making them dissect frogs or whatever you do in your class.

"The only thing I would be worrying about is whether or not you want to remember your wedding day like this. Tomorrow and ten years from now you can probably look back and laugh at it, but if you want it to be perfect, then maybe you should reschedule. Like I said, it's up to you. I can't make that decision for you."

His listeners had their heads bowed down in respect, or maybe it was because they were too hesitant to look him in the eye. Bree was the first one to snap up her head, but it wasn't to look at Benj, even then. It was to get Shay's attention.

"I think he's right," she said, lips puckered out as she thought about it a little more. "I haven't been here long, but the place is safe. It's small and everyone is close. People care about each other. It'd be a fun story to tell too, once we get over the fright. It's gross, but at least we have something to talk about."

Shay is surprised for a second. His grip on her hand loosens when he is, but he tightens it again, this time around full of conviction instead of fear. "You're certain this is what you want, darling?"

"Of course it's what I want, Shay. Of course."

"Then let's do it. Let's get married."

And just like that, the show must go on.