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Voice Of Hope free porn video
The plane touched down at sunset, skidding hum-bump on the black-streaked runway. Helen looked out with total disinterest at the grey and black, where only the rooftops and control tower still held color, washed in a beacon of red.
The man beside her finally relaxed and loosed his grip on the armrest. Now that he felt sure he would survive the trip, he broke his five hours of pained silence in an attempt to play it cool. Helen was having none of it. She gave him a non-committal sound within the bounds of propriety then went back to staring out the window. Taking the hint, the man turned to the woman across the aisle.
Helen bit back a sigh as she forced herself to loosen her muscles, one by one. So far, Montana remained everything she remembered. Everything she had left behind a decade past.
A voice came over the speakers to announce something about the time and temperature, some unintelligible codes that included the words ‘connecting flight’, followed supposedly by the proper carousel for luggage. Helen closed her eyes and leaned against her headrest before turning her face away from the milling people impatient to debark. Dark brown hair fell to obscure her oval face and slightly olive complexion, serving as a veil between the woman and the surrounding, nervous conversation.
At last, the walkway was connected, and the passengers began to spill out of the plane. With each departing body, Helen relaxed a little more. It wasn’t that she disliked flying, exactly, she was on a plane at least one week of every month, for one reason or another. She just had not wanted to take this particular flight.
It was not so much the area itself, but that Helen had once decided to leave for good. Returning however briefly felt like failure of some sort, and failure had never sat well with the woman, no matter her age.
That same niggling suspicion of failure batted around in the back of her mind as she grabbed her briefcase and began the precarious act of standing from the cramped seat. As she maneuvered into the aisle and down the halting progress toward the door, the sensation gradually grew until the moment she stepped off the plane. A wave of nostalgia hit with the familiar scent of the plains, and the arid, chilly feeling of the air as October prepared to give way to November. Helen paused, looking out through the Plexiglas windows without seeing the rain-washed walls of the terminal, or the airport personnel splashing through puddles left by the recent shower. A man behind her coughed rudely, faintly stirring the back of her hair. It was enough. She continued on her way.
The rain pelted down again as Helen crawled through the Friday evening traffic of Billings. A vehicle crash had made things worse than usual, though it was still better than her normal commute. To pass the time, she gunned the engine of the new Corolla at unnecessary moments, thrilling at the low rumble. At last, the traffic cleared, freeing a path onto the interstate. By the time she had reached her exit, the rain had slowed to a gentle drizzle, and the traffic had all but disappeared.
Even in the dark of evening and the muted weather, Highway 212 looked exactly as she remembered. It meandered through the Crow Indian Reservation, passing the same landmarks and the same buildings, though some of these had aged while she was away. Crow gave way to Cheyenne and even more familiar territory.
A couple hours into the drive, Helen pulled into Lame Deer. A gnawing rumble in her stomach combined with a fuzzy, drowsy feeling jumped up ten notches as she spotted an old haunting ground in the form of a local diner.
As she climbed out of the car and walked wearily towards the door, Helen was overcome by a suspicious urge to turn around. Had she locked the car? Surely. She looked anyway, glancing over her shoulder, then she suddenly stopped where she was and spun on her heel. There had been someone in the car. A face. Hadn’t there?
Helen’s heart thumped erratically against her chest as she stared at the car. No, it was her imagination. Or perhaps her weariness and hunger. She pushed the lock button on the car’s remote key, satisfied when nothing happened aside from a brief flash of the headlights. The car had been locked. She was simply tired. Again, she turned towards the door to the diner and soon stepped into the cheerful light with the happy tingling of a bell overhead.
A quick scan of the diner revealed a lack of familiar faces, which illogically created in Helen a rather deflated emotion, raw around the edges. Helen took a seat at one of a handful of empty booths and picked up the dog-eared menu. Settling on a quick side dish, she leaned back, slouched down, and rested her head on the hard border between her booth and the next, her eyes closing.
Helen’s mind began to slowly wander. The day’s travels, the month’s events… everything swarmed in a hazy muck of distraction. Then a flash of something across her retina. The face again. A young woman with dark hair like her own.
‘Can I help you?’ asked a man’s voice, old and gravelly.
Helen opened her eyes and raised her head to stare blearily at a man who had taken a seat across from her. His silver hair was tied back at the nape of the neck, and his brown skin was wrinkled with age, but his smile was timeless, lending a youthful twinkle to brown eyes so dark, they were nearly black. Dressed like many of the local ranch hands, he was certainly not one of the diner’s staff. Helen smiled in spite of herself. ‘Hi. Sorry, I’m just, uh… passing through.’
‘You’ve been doing that a lot the past few years,’ said the old man, his dark eyes shining with amusement.
Helen shifted uncomfortably and began to reach for her bag, yet curiosity prevailed. ‘How do you know that?’ she asked, her soft voice quavering gently. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met you before.’
‘Your heart is troubled,’ the man replied, nodding his head once and closing his eyes briefly before continuing. ‘It is not so hard to see. You miss the land, and the land misses you. The Mother will send you comfort.’ His dark eyes stared intently at Helen’s face, his expression grandfatherly in its wisdom and care.
Helen was starting to feel more and more uneasy. Her ears pricked as she heard the door to the kitchen swing open. Turning toward the sound, she gave the approaching waitress a nervous wave, then glanced back at the man. He was gone.
‘Can I help you?’ asked the waitress kindly, her accent mildly Canadian. The girl took a much-used notebook from her apron pocket and removed a pencil from the dark blonde bun tightly curled on the back of her head.
‘I, uh….’ Helen wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened. She turned in the booth and scanned the small diner, but the man was nowhere to be seen. ‘Sorry, it’s just,’ the woman faltered, turning again to glance up at the waitress. ‘Did you see the old man who was just sitting across from me?’ As soon as she said it, she knew what the reaction would be.
The waitress raised her brows as her eyes shifted toward the empty spot across from Helen. ‘Been on the road a lot?’ The girl rested a hand against her hip as she gave the older woman a brief once-over. ‘Kinda have that… washed-out look to you. If you don’t mind me sayin’.’
Slowly, Helen drew a hand down her face, eyes closed. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry, it’s just been a really long day,’ she finally admitted as she let her gaze fall to the menu in front of her. ‘Probably half dreaming is all. Uh… could I just get the stuffed potato? And coffee. Definitely coffee.’ She smiled apprehensively at the waitress and was relieved to see the excuse had been accepted. The waitress smiled cheerfully, wrote down the order and breezed back towards the kitchen, the swinging door making a muted whuh-whump behind her.
Helen rested her head back once more and stared at the ceiling. Careful to keep her eyes open, she let the few small noises of the diner intrude. Fr
om the kitchen, she could hear the beep of a microwave and the hollow clank of a spoon hitting a bowl. In the corner, a couple old-timer ranchers were discussing their livestock. Near the door, a young man fresh from a second-shift job was settling in with his headphones blaring in his ears. His voice was needlessly loud when he gave his order to the waitress, who soon returned to Helen’s table with a pot of freshly brewed coffee.
Helen raised her head again to take in the aroma and gave the waitress a thankful smile. She started to apologize again for her earlier behavior, but the waitress waved it off and returned to the kitchen, her wide-heeled shoes clopping woodenly against the ancient linoleum.
Half an hour later, Helen stepped out into the night. The feeling of rain was still in the air, joined by a chill wind. She walked quickly towards the rental car, pausing momentarily to check for odd faces before she pushed the remote’s unlock button. Trying to suppress a shiver, she slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, quickly locking the doors again. She sat for a minute to let the idling motor build up some heat before she turned on the vents and eased back out onto the road.
The rainy weather gave way to mist, which dulled the countryside to a bleak wash of grey and black while the lights of the occasional homestead floated bodiless in the distance. At last, a familiar drive came into view. Helen slowed the car to a crawl and turned left into the heavily tree-lined path, careful to miss the worst of the potholes in the gravel road. As the drive curved to the left, a large, rambling ranch house came into view while the light from the car’s headlights bumped along the white vinyl siding, illuminated briefly in the windows.
Helen took a deep breath as the car came to a stop. For a minute, she could do little more than stare. Her brother had obviously put some work into the old house, but it was still the same house. How many years had it been since she’d last seen it? Ten, maybe? ‘Too long,’ she said out loud as she turned the key in the ignition and let the engine rumble quickly to a halt.
Another deep breath, then Helen unlocked the doors and stepped out, taking a moment to collect her bags from the back seat. She trudged through the waterlogged grass and stepped up to the front door, reluctant to set her things down on the wet cement. She reached up to the top of the doorframe and felt around on the narrow, dirty and now rain-slicked ledge. Her fingers touched metal, and she took the key, a grim expression on her face.
Moments later, she walked through the front door, set down her bags and waited.
The house was still, quiet, unnervingly so. Slowly, Helen walked through the living room and into the kitchen, where finally the gentle hum of the refrigerator disturbed the silence. So much was the same. Anthony and his wife had kept many of the same decorations and knickknacks that were left when Helen’s parents left the ranch. Yet here and there, something was new or different. Rearranged. Oddly, the differences lessened Helen’s discomfort. The same, yet different. Less past than present. She could deal with this.
A sudden scratching at the back door made Helen jump, her hand going involuntarily to her neck. Eyes wide, she stared at the door and its empty window, half expecting to see that eerie face from earlier. Instead, a second scratching grated metallically, followed by a pitiful mewing.
Relief washed through Helen like a breath of fresh air as she rushed to the door, opening it wide enough to let a sodden tabby cat streak in. The woman took half a second to peer out into the yard and the forest beyond before she shut the door tightly and locked it once more. Turning to the cat, she grabbed a towel off the dish rack and kneeled. ‘I’m so sorry, honey,’ Helen cooed quietly, trying to coax the cat nearer. ‘I got here as quickly as I could. Mostly.’
Shivering strongly and in much need of attention, the skinny cat eventually left her hiding space beneath the credenza in the hallway and padded towards Helen, leaving miniature puddles behind her. Helen gathered the tabby into her arms and wrapped the towel around her to mop up the worst of the water, talking softly about her trip as she walked through the house towards the linen closet and accepting the added benefit that this helped ease the transition of her return. After finding a thick bath towel, the woman returned to the living room and took a seat on the sofa, letting the cat make herself comfortable within the towel. After a minute or two, the tabby was purring quietly, curled up in Helen’s lap.
Helen began petting the young cat with a corner of the towel, flattening the spiky, damp fur momentarily as the cat’s purring grew louder. ‘Poor thing. Tony didn’t expect to leave so quickly,’ she explained, smiling as the cat stretched out across her thigh, obviously growing more relaxed as she grew warmer. ‘Not that they could tell the baby to wait.’ The feline didn’t seem to care as the tip of her little pink tongue appeared in the tiny mouth. Helen laughed softly and draped the dry end of the towel across the furry little body before stretching out herself, leaning back against the sofa with a tired sigh. ‘I wonder what they’ll name it.’
At this point, however, the cat had enough and roused itself to stand, arching its back in a contented stretch before leaping lazily to the floor. She stalked silently back towards the kitchen. A moment later, an obstinate mewl woke Helen from her half-dazed state.
Once she was able to find the cat food and had made sure the tabby had plenty to eat and drink, she stumbled back towards her bags at the front door, made sure everything was locked tightly, and walked wearily towards her old bedroom. She took a bare minute to register just how little had changed before she kicked off her shoes, pulled back the covers on her old bed, and slid down to the mattress. Less than a minute later, she was asleep. The tabby joined her once the woman’s breathing slowed. Amber eyes studied Helen’s face a moment before the cat bounded to the bed and curled up in the corner beneath the gauze-draped window. The blue fabric stirred gently in the draft.
The rhythmic beat of a drum roused Helen from unconsciousness. She sat up slowly, trying to shake the bizarre sensation that she was dreaming. The bedroom was awash in the golden red glow of firelight, which flickered fitfully against the walls. Slowly, the woman turned. This seemed to take forever, it was hard to stay focused. She blinked once at her window and pulled aside the drapes, surprised at the scene in the yard.
Several people stood around a bonfire, moving slowly to the beat of a drum. A few of them were singing, but all were dancing, fenced in by a haze that obscured the forest beyond. Somehow, Helen knew it was a harvest dance. She also knew she should be out there.
It seemed to happen within a breath, she was standing at the backdoor, her hand on the knob. The music called to her, the beat drove her feet forward. Silently, she drifted across the frosty yard, enchanted by the dancing forms. As she drew nearer, the sound dwindled until she was watching the scene in absolute silence. The dancers took no notice of her until a single woman stepped out of the circle and walked slowly towards Helen.
Panic crept over her like suffocation, but she could not move. It was the same woman from before. From the car. From the diner. The same face, the same look on her face. By the time she stopped just a couple paces from Helen, her face was distinct. The face was Helen’s, only older and much more calm.
The dancer opened her mouth to speak, but Helen heard no words. She started to shake her head to the unknown woman and shivered as the panic spread.
The dancer stood perfectly still, and abruptly so did the others. Every face was turned toward Helen. Suddenly, she felt icy hands take her arms, an arm hard as stone wrapped around her waist, and ano
ther slipped over her mouth to halt her scream. She was dragged quickly down towards the cold ground until everything went black.
The first rays of sunrise woke Helen as a beam of light touched her closed eyelids. As she began to stir, the tabby stepped gingerly across the bed to push her cold, wet nose against the woman’s ear. This proved to be much more effective.
‘Nnng. What?’ Helen asked hoarsely as she opened her eyes only to squint again against the morning light. The cat, heartened by this positive outcome, grew more bold and climbed onto the woman’s stomach before barking a couple short mews, followed by one of those large yawns as only a cat can. ‘All right, all right. I’m awake,’ Helen declared, though she sounded just as exhausted as she had the night before. Carefully, she started to climb out of bed. The cat leapt to the floor. Helen looked out her window briefly, but all was as it should be.
She slipped into her shoes and trudged down the hallway towards the kitchen. In the better light, the room took on a much more cozy look that warmed the woman. Her head felt fuzzy, but she did not know why, and any thought process she might have given to the problem was interrupted by an insistent headbutt from the cat.
‘I don’t even know your name,’ said Helen, yawning as the tabby stuck closely to her side. She began rooting for the food again, dumping a bit into the cat’s bowl, then stifled a second yawn before crossing her arms loosely. She stared dully out the window of the back door without really seeing anything. Dreams. Something about a dream. A dance.
This house was getting to her.
This house. She’d been gone ten years, and the only thing to bring her back was housesitting. With a quiet laugh, she put the night behind her and turned away from the window to see to her own breakfast, chatting quietly to the cat as she did so. ‘You’d think Tony and his wife might have thought to leave a list. Maybe… things to do, or your name. Useful things like that,’ she drawled lightly before pressing the button on the coffee grinder. This sent the cat back to the credenza.
‘Oh, come on now,’ Helen continued, laughing softly as she tapped the fresh grounds into the coffee filter. ‘Surely you’ve heard that before.’ It was quite a few minutes later before the feline returned to her breakfast, crunching away at the dry food. It wasn’t until later when the coffee had brewed and Helen was reaching for the handle on the refrigerator that she saw the list. She pulled it from the door, poured some half-and-half into her coffee and walked to the table, reading.
‘Mahpe,’ she said out loud. The cat gave her a lazy look and licked back along her whiskers before bending down to the water bowl to drink. ‘Huh. Well, I’ll give them a call later,’ she continued, pressing a finger to the number of the hospital.
After her meager breakfast and coffee ritual, Helen announced to Mahpe that she was going for a hike, and the cat was welcome to come along. With better boots on her feet and a thicker jacket, Helen slipped a light stocking cap onto her head and stepped out the front door with the tabby close behind. In a flash, the cat was in the woods. The sheer energy of the little furball lightened Helen’s spirits by leaps and bounds.
Half an hour later, Helen climbed out of the trees into a little clearing at the top of a small hill within the national forest. A crude observation deck stood ominously at the hill’s crest, looking ancient and unsafe. Without a thought, Helen began to climb the wooden ladder as if she’d done so a thousand times before, slowly testing each rung before putting her full weight on it. At the top, she sat on the old platform and looked out over the small valley to the west. The climbing sun lit the Tongue River like a golden snake, giving the area an ethereal beauty. Helen began to smile as she rested her head against the handrail.
Kaylin
- 19.11.2022
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