What I had deemed to be a mere seasonal change and a bad reaction, was actually a grave infection caused by a vicious beetle sting, and it was a matter of life and death. While Michael and I had been chatting away, forgetting my original intent of the call completely, Holly had been fighting for her life with a very much capable doctor by her side and the barn-supervisor leaving the EU champs for what they were for a minute. The latter called me not ten minutes later, curtly informing of the situation with a sorrowful tone — which convinced me of the gravity of the situation more then his words did, for the scruffy man I had deemed impossible for emotion.

"Just wanted to see if you, eh, wanted to come here and say, eh, goodbye, maybe. Don't feel pressured, it's late already."

My first reaction was one of complete numbness, and if anything, it was shock, that drove me to ask my already sleeping father if I could borrow the truck, because there was a horse dying and I needed to make my farewells. It was surreal. He agreed, thankfully, and even offered to give me a ride, but by then I had completely sobered up and wanted the ten-minute solitary drive to gather my thoughts, but it was in vain — I arrived there as if by teleportation, handling by autopilot completely. The only time I let the emotions get the better of me was when pressing the claxon, sounding eerie and cross in the night air, to wake up the guard to let me through the gates. The stables could be seen from far away, dim lights alerting human activity, but it was a paradox: the one place where Neverland was lit, was because there was a death taking place — how could there be, in this sanctuary of life and youngness? A paradise for childlike innocence, and here I was, trying to swallow the growing lump in my throat, eyes wide open so as not to let tears fall. Arriving at the uncomfortable scene, I could see the doctor checking up on Holly, a young but calm man, stroking the horse in a seemingly useless attempt to ease her sufferings. Michael was there, too, hunching over the stables' doors in a distressed manner, his chin leaning on his hands as if he were tired. Ronald stood slightly back, his hands in his pockets and lowly conversing with the veterinarian. They fell quite when I stepped in, their looks softening at the sight of me, which must have been one rather chaotic. I wore no makeup whatsoever, my hair was pulled back in a quick and messy ponytail, with un-attended to curls framing my face. I felt my cheeks burning of the adrenaline, and I couldn't greet them, for I was afraid my voice would tremble or even break. I had eyes only for Holly, anyways, who was still standing, but her head low, her ears pulled back and her eyes shutting tight every once in a while. When I attempted to comfort her, she shook wildly, as if scared I might hurt her any more then she already did, and my chin trembled. This sweet, loving, and gentle horse, now paralysed in pain and fear, standing on the verge of her death. Seeing me incapable of asking any questions, the doctor himself informed me.

"Most likely, the hay has been contaminated with blister beetles," he calmly explained, "and we've already taken care to remove the hay. It's impossible to detect, so no-one could've known, especially here in the west where blister beetles aren't abundant."

He handed me a bucket of water which stood in the corner of the stable, so I could help Holly drink. Her thirst was impossible to quench, it seemed, and the vet confirmed this.

"Yes, it's one of the signs. Earlier, she made frequents attempts to urinate, but she was in severe pain doing so. Right now, she's in shock— you see all that perspiration?"

I did, and it was an awful sight. I took a cloth and wet it, stroking her stomach and back to try and at least cool her down a little bit.

"How long until she..?"

It was the first time Michael spoke, and he asked the question no-one had dared ask yet. The vet inhaled softly, preparing to give the unfortunate tiding. I focused sharply on Holly, my embodiment stiffening as if preparing for the impact.

"If we let her go on suffering like this, maybe five to eight hours, but..."

"It would be better if we put her down ourselves," I stated matter-of-factly. The doctor let out a breath and turned toward me.

"Yes. Now, I know, it seems impossible to do, but to let her go on like this would be even more cruel, trust me. We'll first give her an injection for her to go to sleep, so she won't feel any pain. Then we'll gently try and get her to lay down, and after about five to ten minutes, so we're sure she's sleeping, we'll give her the medication."

I nodded, jaw clenched in anger and sorrow. It was quiet, aside from the wind softly sweeping through the roof-cracks, and the shuffling of hooves on straw. Feeling the tenseness of the situation, the doctor exited with a quick excuse, and Ronald followed him to discuss the upcoming proceedings. There was no other path to take, it was clear, but it didn't ease things: I felt guilty, as if I myself had put a dagger in Holly's tender heart. If only I had checked in earlier, if only I had already called the doctor this afternoon, if only...

"Hey, don't blame yourself, Bethel." Michael interrupted my thoughts, as if able to read them. He had entered the stable, and softly now caressed the horse's head, and as they were medication, or maybe just because she was tired of the pain, she leaned her head against his chest, the big snout stuffing into his lower abdomen. He laughed a little, but it felt as if she personally rejected me. My trembling did not subside, and when I spoke, it was high-pitched and as quiet as crickets singing in the night.

"I feel like I've let her down." It was merely a sigh.

He shook his head slightly, but seeing the sudden tears on my cheeks, walked over to me, put his arm around and pulled me to him. Stroking my hair, he gently sushed me, as if I were Holly herself. His consolation made me well up even more, and I was sobbing into the crook of his shoulder, trying as hard as I could to choke them up. Once I calmed, he pulled back instantly, because, as I had noticed before, he would never initiate unnecessary physical contact — especially not in light of our earlier conversation that same evening. It wasn't like that, now. It was more like a father consoling his daughter, and I felt it: a parental wave of solace, flooding me and clothing me in a bubble of protection. It was all right, whatever would happen. It was life and death and the naturalness of things. Nearly at once, the vet returned, Ronald in his wake and both now accompanied by an assistant I had not noticed before. I felt relieved to see a woman at this manly sight, and felt comforted all the more.

What happened next, went by as quickly as the snapping of two fingers, but also felt like a long, strenuous nightmare, of which all elements seem to have been mixed or are taking place all at once. It was suddenly that I found myself kneeling next to Holly, her weight heaving down upon my lap, releasing what in fact was: life. It was one of the most bizarre experiences of my life, to see the animalistic strength slipping away between my very fingers, like one trying to grasp water and failing. I was too shocked to cry, and just stared at the Holly's meek countenance, flailing slightly as if trying to get up still. I felt Michaels hand on my shoulder, but didn't at the same time, and even now I can't exactly remember where everyone was, when it happened or how late it was. It may have well been early in the morning, day-time already, or the middle of the night still: I couldn't tell if the soft glow that fell through the high-placed windows were that of sun-rays or bright stars. All that mattered was Holly and the fact that she was dying now, in my arms, having finally been reconciled with me upon recognition of who I was. I remembered the times we rode together, through the majestic landscapes of the ranch, where she and I were happy as if one. Truly, she was one of the kindest and gentle souls I had ever encountered and will in my lifetime, and I can easily say that that night in the stables on an early Saturday-morning was the first time I broke my heart.

She was dead within ten minutes, and was picked by a mortuarium not half an hour later, during which I cradled her in between my arms, like I had just lost a daughter. Robert asked me if we wanted her ashes back, and I shrugged, staring at the now empty stable which spoke more then anything that happened before did. I didn't care for grey dust, it meant nothing to me, and so Robert shook his head to the mortician as an indication. Quietness overtook the stables again, the doctor and his assistant had left with compassionate farewells, Holly was gone and the barn supervisor took on checking up on the other horses, as if he had to tell them that one of them had passed on. I stood in the her stable still, my eyes wide from fatigue and numbness, until I felt myself taken away gently with a hand on my upper-back. The chilly air I felt outside was definitely one of an early morning, the blueness in the sky indicating the hour of the day. I was still being guided, but now simply by someone preceding me, signalling I was to follow him. And I did. Somehow, we ended up in one of Neverland's smaller living rooms, which housed a TV as well (most of them did not), and it was only then that I regained some consciousness. The space was not often used, for it was not messy and had been cleaned up, and the only indicator of the room's intentions were the amount of camera's and tapes near the screen, and occasional scribbles on post it notes framing the bookshelves behind it. Michael rummaged through the tapes, mumbling something inaudible between his lips.

"Ah, yes! Here it is."

And he definitively put the tape in, the images still messy and uncoordinated, and I squinted my weary eyes. It was chilly, there was barely any light, and Michael handed me a blanket when he sat down next to me on the sofa. I didn't ask any questions, for the footage spoke for itself. It was that of the Sunday afternoon, and it was Michael filming me and Holly, and I shuddered, not realising I had started crying at the sudden realisation of her death. Seeing her alive suddenly made me stumble upon the inevitable fact of her death, and Michael once again embraced me. I fell against his shoulder, watching how Holly's soft nose wetted the camera lens, and how we then proceeded to run away together, disappearing into the mist. My eye glanced over the tape-holder, 'Bethel and Holly', undeniably in Michaels hand-writing, and my heart softened. The footage ended quickly, but I didn't yet move, it felt nice the closeness I had to Michael and having a reason for it, so I stayed, and he didn't make a move. I felt his calm breathing, which was becoming slower and slower, I felt the itchy fabric of his blue sweater against my cheek, the weight of his hand on my waist, his long curls tingling the back of my head, and I felt a surge of emotion overwhelming me, drowning me underneath a blanket, where soft and welcoming darkness prevailed.

We woke up what seemed hours later. The room was vertical now, and in our sleep we had completely adjusted our position. We had lain down, embracing still, my back against his chest. His hand was on my shoulder that was on the couch, and his arm had locked me in, as if he were afraid I might I have escaped. I wouldn't have. Our shoes were half on the sofa and half on the floor — I had heard in my sleep, somewhere, bangs of them dropping on the floor, before drifting into that warm drowsiness again. My clothes had become entangled and I felt some fabric against the nakedness of my back. I didn't want to wake up just yet, no matter the time, I wanted to stay locked here like we were lovers finding sanctuary in one another. Yes, I even wondered what it would be like if he would make love to me, lying like this still, with his hand underneath my sweater instead of over it. It was as if the blanket, still draped around us, hid everything and made everything okay, suddenly. I remained lying like this, only pressing myself harder against him, if that were even possible, and I knew he had woken up, maybe even before me. His breathing was deep, but it was less regular now, and I felt him raising his head slightly, only slightly, coming nearer over me, and I knew he was looking at me. My eyes were still closed, but my lips open, and he knew he was thinking the same as I — his hand followed the curve of my waist, leaving a deep, aching sensation like a blaze of fire on my skin. There was the hardness of his body against mine, and the warmth of it too, and I raised my head as an invite. His breath came closer until I felt it softly against my cheek, and I knew he would kiss me. I knew he would, and I also knew it would never happen, not yet anyways, even though I knew now we both wanted it, and we wanted it badly. When his hand reached lower towards the softness of my stomach, I let out a small noise, from satisfaction, fear or love. It was what woke both of us up, and we immediately left the sofa, my hand nearly clutching my mouth in shock. I looked around for something I had not lost, as did he... I did not dare look at him, but I knew he was blushing as badly as I was, ashamed of what our bodies had done when our ratio had not yet awaken enough. But now that I was, I left quick like lightning to run towards the safeness of the car — away from here, for I knew I could never see him again, not in a million years, and I prayed to God to give me the strength not to falter ever again.