Bound: A Supernatural Story ✔️

THREE

The next morning, Holly drifted in and out of a foggy consciousness. She flew through breakfast, reading the Saturday paper which she had delivered each week, and threw on some clothes, a simple black dress and jean jacket. The day was nice, from the look outside the large glass window that filled her living room with light.

On the cobblestone streets below, a few people were milling about. Across from her building lay a tiny deli which she liked to drop in and grab a bite to eat if she was feeling a good sandwich. There was also a great coffee shop down the block a bit. Not that Holly liked coffee much, but she liked the atmosphere. No one ever seemed to object her bringing in her sketchbook, sitting in the corner and sipping on a latte.

Today, though, she was going to the cemetery.

Holly passed through down the stairs and out the front door, waving to the janitor who was sweeping the foyer. She shrugged her beat-up leather purse over her shoulder, and took off down the street, towards the place where her parents were buried.

She clearly remembered the day she saw them laid to rest. She hadn't been able to stop the tears running down her cheeks, as she stood at the edge of the grave, long after the coffin had been buried. There had been so many people at that funeral; people who had loved her and her family.

She hadn't seen them since.

The old iron gate swung open under the slightest brush of her fingers. It was rusting. That's what she loved about this place, the ancient peace. The headstones were rotting and falling over, with vines creeping slowly up the sides, erasing the names of people who had once had a life to call their own.

Holly made her way to the back of the property, where her parent's graves stood side by side. The black marble was still smooth and untouched by age.

She stared at those letters: JACK AND DIANA GAINES. Her parents — or what was left of them. Just a few words scribbled on a headstone, in a lonely cemetery with only a daughter to weep for their loss.

Holly sighed deeply, for an instant forgetting the problems she faced. Right then she only wanted to curl up and lie in the soft dirt, and waste the day.

But she couldn't. She had to know what to do about the Hunters.

Kneeling down, she placed a hand on both of her parent's headstones. Brushing away a stray curl from her eyes, Holly was suddenly at a loss for words. Every Saturday she visited her parents to say a few things, but she didn't know how to explain her burden.

"Mom, dad," she whispered. "I don't know what to do."

The image of the two men floated into her thoughts. She clenched her jaw.

"Some Hunters are here, dad. I don't know what to do about it." A tear threatened to slip down her face. She blinked it away.

"Mom, I've been drawing them." She bit her lip. "And I can tell they are searching for something. I know I've never told you that before. That I... can do that." 

Another moment passed.

"I just wish I knew what to do," she said softly.

Holly dug in her bag and pulled out a sprig of rosemary, laying it out next to the headstones. Digging a small hole, she placed the plant in it and covered it lightly with soil. "For protection," Holly whispered, pressing her palms to the marble. "I promise to make a protection wreath tonight, to hang above my door." She knew this would please her mother's spirit, if she was listening. Diana had been the herbal friendly kind of witch—she used herbs for every little problem that arose within their household.

She remembered, in their old house before they moved to Savannah, the cupboards were filled with sweet smelling plants, and Holly would find them randomly all over, in pillowcases and planted in the garden. Her mother always had a great time explaining the uses of each and every one to her.

She closed her eyes, and hoped no one saw her, in her private moment of mourning. But she sensed no one else around the perimeter, and she let the sounds of the cars and the birds fill her ears.

Then she sensed it; a flicker within her range. Someone was watching her.

Opening her eyes, Holly scanned the area. All she saw was crumbling headstones and the hanging branches of the trees, slightly swaying in the wind. At the far end of the cemetery there was a small movement; a dark figure made its way along the gate.

Holly's skin tingled with goose bumps, and she slowly lifted her hands from the rosemary she had planted, brushing the dirt off on her jacket. Rising, she kept her eyes on the dark figure.

The man seemed to be heading away from the cemetery now, off in the opposite direction from her apartment. Holly let out her breath and gathered her bag in her arms. That was a close call.

If it was one of the Hunters out looking for something, she hoped they didn't find her instead.

Quickly, she headed back to the gate, and slipped out into the street, glad for once to be back among people.

Her stomach rumbled. The deli down the street was calling her name.

With one quick look over her shoulder, she knew the man was gone, but she couldn't ease the anxiety creeping its way up her chest.

Don't get in the way of a Hunter. That's the most important rule.

Holly made sure she wasn't being followed, and slid into the deli doors, making the bell clang. The sound of people's voices filled the air and soothed her.

She decided to stay clear of the cemetery for the next little while.