Read Online The Hollow by Jessica Verday - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jessica Verday
Tags: Art
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somewhere that meant a lot to me.
Climbing down from my seat was easy. I had done it a thousand times before, and it didn't take long for my feet to hit solid sround aaain.
Actually removing the piece of tape was not as easy.
I tried, at first, to reach into the river and simply pull it free from the tree, but it was firmly attached to that branch. Then I grabbed a stick with a sharp, jagged edge and tried to use that to unhook it. But I was too far away. No matter how hard I wiggled it, the tape still hung on. So I tried leaning out farther over the water.
That just resulted in making the stick I held too long. The closer I got, the less it wanted to hook on to that piece of tape. I thought about breaking the stick, but then it might end up too short. I was going to have to come up with some sort of different solution, though. The stick idea wasn't working out.
Surveying my surroundings, I saw a large rock that looked like it just might be able to give me the assistance that I needed. It was close enough to the tree that if I stood on it, I could break my stick and try to reach the tape from there.
The only downside was that the rock was in the water. If I really wanted that piece of tape, I was going to have to get wet. I looked around again, double-checking my options. There weren t any other options. It was this or nothing.
Backing up along the river's edge until I found the driest and least muddy spot, I took off my boots. Then came my socks. I tucked them inside the boots and rolled my jean legs up to my knees. The water looked pretty high out there, and I didn't want to get any more of me wet than was absolutely necessary.
The first step in sent a shiver running through me. Although it barely covered my toes, that water was cold. I waded in a little deeper, gritting my teeth as the cold crept up my ankles. Letting my body get used to the temperature for only a moment longer, I plunged forward, trying not to poke myself with the stick that I was dragging behind.
Three more steps and I made it to the rock.
I climbed on carefully, trying to balance with my stick in one hand. Once I had both feet firmly planted, I lifted the stick up and broke off a small piece from the end to shorten it a bit. Then I aimed it in the direction of the crime scene tape. The tape slid off the tree and down onto the stick. I grabbed for it and held it in my hand. Fingering the cold, wet, crinkly texture, I read the words POLICE LINE: DO NOT CROSS over and over again, thinking about the reason it had been placed here.
And then my foot slipped.
The sudden loss of balance surprised me, and left me struggling wildly to recover my footing. I couldn't fall in. No matter what happened, I couldn't fall in. That couldn't happen to me, too. I dropped the stick, and the tape, and leaned slightly to my left.
A couple of jerky wobbles later, and one brief windmilling motion of my arms, and I was able to regain my balance. I watched as the yellow tape floated down the river, riding along the current until it was out of sight. Now that it was gone, the landscape looked normal again.
Stepping very carefully off the rock, I slowly made my way back to shore. The water didn't feel as cold now, but it swirled around my ankles in a tugging motion. It was a precarious feeling, like I could be swept off my feet and carried away at any second.
As I got closer to the river's edge, I paid close attention to the shoreline. Any number of nasty surprises might be hidden along there. Things I didn't want sticking between my toes.
Then the sun reflected on something shiny and half hidden in the mud.
Fearing that it might be a piece of glass, I bent down for a closer look. All I could see were my bare toes. The clear surface of the water revealed the deep blood red that I had painted the toenails. And I remembered another shade of red, the color of Kristen's casket.
Giving a wide berth to whatever that shiny thing was, I stepped out of the water and onto dry
Climbing down from my seat was easy. I had done it a thousand times before, and it didn't take long for my feet to hit solid sround aaain.
Actually removing the piece of tape was not as easy.
I tried, at first, to reach into the river and simply pull it free from the tree, but it was firmly attached to that branch. Then I grabbed a stick with a sharp, jagged edge and tried to use that to unhook it. But I was too far away. No matter how hard I wiggled it, the tape still hung on. So I tried leaning out farther over the water.
That just resulted in making the stick I held too long. The closer I got, the less it wanted to hook on to that piece of tape. I thought about breaking the stick, but then it might end up too short. I was going to have to come up with some sort of different solution, though. The stick idea wasn't working out.
Surveying my surroundings, I saw a large rock that looked like it just might be able to give me the assistance that I needed. It was close enough to the tree that if I stood on it, I could break my stick and try to reach the tape from there.
The only downside was that the rock was in the water. If I really wanted that piece of tape, I was going to have to get wet. I looked around again, double-checking my options. There weren t any other options. It was this or nothing.
Backing up along the river's edge until I found the driest and least muddy spot, I took off my boots. Then came my socks. I tucked them inside the boots and rolled my jean legs up to my knees. The water looked pretty high out there, and I didn't want to get any more of me wet than was absolutely necessary.
The first step in sent a shiver running through me. Although it barely covered my toes, that water was cold. I waded in a little deeper, gritting my teeth as the cold crept up my ankles. Letting my body get used to the temperature for only a moment longer, I plunged forward, trying not to poke myself with the stick that I was dragging behind.
Three more steps and I made it to the rock.
I climbed on carefully, trying to balance with my stick in one hand. Once I had both feet firmly planted, I lifted the stick up and broke off a small piece from the end to shorten it a bit. Then I aimed it in the direction of the crime scene tape. The tape slid off the tree and down onto the stick. I grabbed for it and held it in my hand. Fingering the cold, wet, crinkly texture, I read the words POLICE LINE: DO NOT CROSS over and over again, thinking about the reason it had been placed here.
And then my foot slipped.
The sudden loss of balance surprised me, and left me struggling wildly to recover my footing. I couldn't fall in. No matter what happened, I couldn't fall in. That couldn't happen to me, too. I dropped the stick, and the tape, and leaned slightly to my left.
A couple of jerky wobbles later, and one brief windmilling motion of my arms, and I was able to regain my balance. I watched as the yellow tape floated down the river, riding along the current until it was out of sight. Now that it was gone, the landscape looked normal again.
Stepping very carefully off the rock, I slowly made my way back to shore. The water didn't feel as cold now, but it swirled around my ankles in a tugging motion. It was a precarious feeling, like I could be swept off my feet and carried away at any second.
As I got closer to the river's edge, I paid close attention to the shoreline. Any number of nasty surprises might be hidden along there. Things I didn't want sticking between my toes.
Then the sun reflected on something shiny and half hidden in the mud.
Fearing that it might be a piece of glass, I bent down for a closer look. All I could see were my bare toes. The clear surface of the water revealed the deep blood red that I had painted the toenails. And I remembered another shade of red, the color of Kristen's casket.
Giving a wide berth to whatever that shiny thing was, I stepped out of the water and onto dry
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