did, a flash, something vibrant and green, hit her eye.
Her fingers froze in mid-motion.
After a long, long moment, during which the entire forest
seemed poised in waiting – hardly daring to pierce the silence with the merest
rustle -the zip, now trembling, continued on its downward journey.
Tears fell on the green material as something of the same
colour, but an altogether more dazzling shade, was pulled out to rest against
it. Raegan would have recognised the object anywhere. It was one of a kind and
had meant so much to the one it was made for.
It was Marie’s necklace.
A strangled sob broke its way free from her throat.
Disbelieving, her mind whirled. How could this be? This was an old woman – had
she stolen the necklace from her? Marie would never have given this up without
a fight...
But there was something about the shape of the woman’s head,
the tilt of her brow, the curve of her lip... hardly daring to breathe, and
feeling totally morbid, Raegan slid the zipper down a little further. The
bruises were more extreme the lower she went. Violet now mingled with an
unpleasant, painful yellowish brown. Gently, she pushed the edge of the coat to
the side, not wanting to glimpse more than was strictly necessary.
It was as she had known it would be, deep down. The tiny
blue butterfly was there, dancing across the chest that would never again move
with breath.
***
By the time she struggled to her feet again, night had
fallen. The only light shone dimly from the houses in front of the forest,
separated from the trees by a concrete alley, looming solidly but offering
little comfort; like a squat, impenetrable line of backs turned away in
disinterest from the young girl weeping over her friend. She knew it was Marie;
every fibre of her body told her so. And yet she was racked with confusion. It
was impossible.
More importantly, if she could not quite reconcile herself
to Marie’s fate, how on earth could she tell anyone? She imagined herself
striding up to the police station and declaring, ‘I’ve found Marie! Yes, that
girl, you know, the one who hadn’t even been reported missing? She’s in the
woods, except it looks nothing like her because she’s not wearing the same
clothes, her hair is a different colour, and she’s very pale. Oh yeah, and
she’s about seventy years older – should I have mentioned that before?’
The truth was unlikely to set her free. Instead, it had
isolated her in a prison of awful realisation: the reality of what Marie had
suffered was hers to bear. No one would believe her. She was completely alone.
The unfamiliar crunching sound slowly piercing her
consciousness quickly disproved that assumption.
There was something about this sound that set it apart from
the frequent rustles of creatures in their nests. Raegan’s voice rang out, high
and terrified, on the cold air. ‘Hello? Is somebody there?’
The wind tossed her words back to her and she wished
straight away that she’d kept her mouth shut. Why was she standing here like
this, waiting for the noise to get closer? Then her eyes fell on the prone body
of her friend and she remembered. She could not just scurry off down the path
beside the houses. She could not leave her.
So she stood, eyes straining, as a pair of feet picked their
way across the leaves. The unmistakeable shape of a man bloomed in the darkness,
his fine-boned features and wide, pale blue eyes strangely discernible in the
absence of light. Raegan inhaled quickly. It was Christian.
And as Christian glided toward her, with the loping, easy
grace of a leopard about to crush some unsuspecting warthog, her pendant began
to throb. Usually cool and light against her chest, it now burned her skin with
a furious intensity.
It wasn’t logic that told her what to do. It was her blood
screaming through her veins and her gut clenching like a fist. Instinct alone
commanded her to turn on her heel. And run.
Her feet pounded on the spring carpet of the forest and
Her fingers froze in mid-motion.
After a long, long moment, during which the entire forest
seemed poised in waiting – hardly daring to pierce the silence with the merest
rustle -the zip, now trembling, continued on its downward journey.
Tears fell on the green material as something of the same
colour, but an altogether more dazzling shade, was pulled out to rest against
it. Raegan would have recognised the object anywhere. It was one of a kind and
had meant so much to the one it was made for.
It was Marie’s necklace.
A strangled sob broke its way free from her throat.
Disbelieving, her mind whirled. How could this be? This was an old woman – had
she stolen the necklace from her? Marie would never have given this up without
a fight...
But there was something about the shape of the woman’s head,
the tilt of her brow, the curve of her lip... hardly daring to breathe, and
feeling totally morbid, Raegan slid the zipper down a little further. The
bruises were more extreme the lower she went. Violet now mingled with an
unpleasant, painful yellowish brown. Gently, she pushed the edge of the coat to
the side, not wanting to glimpse more than was strictly necessary.
It was as she had known it would be, deep down. The tiny
blue butterfly was there, dancing across the chest that would never again move
with breath.
***
By the time she struggled to her feet again, night had
fallen. The only light shone dimly from the houses in front of the forest,
separated from the trees by a concrete alley, looming solidly but offering
little comfort; like a squat, impenetrable line of backs turned away in
disinterest from the young girl weeping over her friend. She knew it was Marie;
every fibre of her body told her so. And yet she was racked with confusion. It
was impossible.
More importantly, if she could not quite reconcile herself
to Marie’s fate, how on earth could she tell anyone? She imagined herself
striding up to the police station and declaring, ‘I’ve found Marie! Yes, that
girl, you know, the one who hadn’t even been reported missing? She’s in the
woods, except it looks nothing like her because she’s not wearing the same
clothes, her hair is a different colour, and she’s very pale. Oh yeah, and
she’s about seventy years older – should I have mentioned that before?’
The truth was unlikely to set her free. Instead, it had
isolated her in a prison of awful realisation: the reality of what Marie had
suffered was hers to bear. No one would believe her. She was completely alone.
The unfamiliar crunching sound slowly piercing her
consciousness quickly disproved that assumption.
There was something about this sound that set it apart from
the frequent rustles of creatures in their nests. Raegan’s voice rang out, high
and terrified, on the cold air. ‘Hello? Is somebody there?’
The wind tossed her words back to her and she wished
straight away that she’d kept her mouth shut. Why was she standing here like
this, waiting for the noise to get closer? Then her eyes fell on the prone body
of her friend and she remembered. She could not just scurry off down the path
beside the houses. She could not leave her.
So she stood, eyes straining, as a pair of feet picked their
way across the leaves. The unmistakeable shape of a man bloomed in the darkness,
his fine-boned features and wide, pale blue eyes strangely discernible in the
absence of light. Raegan inhaled quickly. It was Christian.
And as Christian glided toward her, with the loping, easy
grace of a leopard about to crush some unsuspecting warthog, her pendant began
to throb. Usually cool and light against her chest, it now burned her skin with
a furious intensity.
It wasn’t logic that told her what to do. It was her blood
screaming through her veins and her gut clenching like a fist. Instinct alone
commanded her to turn on her heel. And run.
Her feet pounded on the spring carpet of the forest and
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