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Description
The man's heart stopped just outside Baltimore, his wife grabbing the wheel to try to keep them out of traffic before they careened into a ditch, hitting a boulder, killing her as well. The accident was tragic to those who slowed to stare, calling the paramedics despite it being too late. The location of the crash played over the radio for a couple of hours as a mere footnote.

Three miles away at John Hopkins Hospital, a woman awoke from her three decade-long coma startling the nurse giving her a sponge bath by asking for a cheeseburger. Between all the doctors coming and going asking her questions, she barely had any time to herself except to sleep up until the time she was released on her own cognizance following months of careful rehabilitation. Two days after her release a nurse found their missing phone in the room the woman had been in, tucked between the bed and its mattress. A single email had been sent with the woman's name, an curiously strange address she didn't recognize, and a date two weeks from then. When the nurse went to see the woman's visitors list, wondering perhaps if a guest had taken it, she found it completely empty. Knowing the woman had been in the coma longer than the internet had existed, the nurse tried to file a report that perhaps the woman had a stalker, but security and hospital administration merely sent her to the police, and the police were unable to find any living relatives or even the address itself in their computers. It took her almost a week of searching to find that the street had once been part of Kempton, an almost four-hour drive.

Another week later, the nurse sat in her car with the engine idling, nibbling on her bottom lip, looking around the ghost town, slowly navigating the directions she had painstakingly double and triple checked with locals after online searches had failed. Finally she arrived at the abandoned coal mine, turning off her engine and staring. There stood the woman, laughing and dancing with a man perhaps only a third her age, an adult, but still only a boy. She was far enough away that her engine hadn't drawn attention, but her slow approach was halted as the man lifted the woman up, bending her with him as he leaned down to kiss her forehead, then pull her back up, laughing and starting to sing. His voice, accented as it was, still sang out words she had never heard spoken before, something hearty and old. A few pebbles crunched under her foot as she started to approach again and both turned, staring at her for a moment. Then slowly the man pulled a bottle out of his back pocket and the woman handed him a handkerchief, both smiling in a way that made the nurse keep looking back and forth between them as they approached.
"What do you say Crina, my love? Think you'd like another pair?" The nurse stared at the man, gawking for a moment. The woman's name was Dorris Johnson and her husband had died shortly before she had fallen into her coma. She looked back to the man, so young, but with eyes that seemed ancient.
"Mmn, yes... Something more in a matching style would do nicely." The nurse's screams went unheard as the two pounced on her, pressing the handkerchief covered in formaldehyde against her face until she stopped struggling.

An hour later the body of Dorris Johnson was burned, the young man with the ancient eyes offering the nurse an extended hand and a charming smile. She smiled back, giving a curtsy and taking hold, starting to dance, laughing and spinning, her eyes empty of fear, and filled with years.

Description
The man's heart stopped just outside Baltimore, his wife grabbing the wheel to try to keep them out of traffic before they careened into a ditch, hitting a boulder, killing her as well. The accident was tragic to those who slowed to stare, calling the paramedics despite it being too late. The location of the crash played over the radio for a couple of hours as a mere footnote.

Three miles away at John Hopkins Hospital, a woman awoke from her three decade-long coma startling the nurse giving her a sponge bath by asking for a cheeseburger. Between all the doctors coming and going asking her questions, she barely had any time to herself except to sleep up until the time she was released on her own cognizance following months of careful rehabilitation. Two days after her release a nurse found their missing phone in the room the woman had been in, tucked between the bed and its mattress. A single email had been sent with the woman's name, an curiously strange address she didn't recognize, and a date two weeks from then. When the nurse went to see the woman's visitors list, wondering perhaps if a guest had taken it, she found it completely empty. Knowing the woman had been in the coma longer than the internet had existed, the nurse tried to file a report that perhaps the woman had a stalker, but security and hospital administration merely sent her to the police, and the police were unable to find any living relatives or even the address itself in their computers. It took her almost a week of searching to find that the street had once been part of Kempton, an almost four-hour drive.

Another week later, the nurse sat in her car with the engine idling, nibbling on her bottom lip, looking around the ghost town, slowly navigating the directions she had painstakingly double and triple checked with locals after online searches had failed. Finally she arrived at the abandoned coal mine, turning off her engine and staring. There stood the woman, laughing and dancing with a man perhaps only a third her age, an adult, but still only a boy. She was far enough away that her engine hadn't drawn attention, but her slow approach was halted as the man lifted the woman up, bending her with him as he leaned down to kiss her forehead, then pull her back up, laughing and starting to sing. His voice, accented as it was, still sang out words she had never heard spoken before, something hearty and old. A few pebbles crunched under her foot as she started to approach again and both turned, staring at her for a moment. Then slowly the man pulled a bottle out of his back pocket and the woman handed him a handkerchief, both smiling in a way that made the nurse keep looking back and forth between them as they approached.
"What do you say Crina, my love? Think you'd like another pair?" The nurse stared at the man, gawking for a moment. The woman's name was Dorris Johnson and her husband had died shortly before she had fallen into her coma. She looked back to the man, so young, but with eyes that seemed ancient.
"Mmn, yes... Something more in a matching style would do nicely." The nurse's screams went unheard as the two pounced on her, pressing the handkerchief covered in formaldehyde against her face until she stopped struggling.

An hour later the body of Dorris Johnson was burned, the young man with the ancient eyes offering the nurse an extended hand and a charming smile. She smiled back, giving a curtsy and taking hold, starting to dance, laughing and spinning, her eyes empty of fear, and filled with years.