Read Online The Well by Peter Labrow - Free Book Online

Their hands were still together, though hers were so numb that she couldn’t feel anything properly. She moved her fingers. They felt stiff, bloated and unfeeling; Matt’s hands were cold and unyielding.
    She turned to look at him, a warning sounding inside her. His head hung down, unmoving, but he looked peaceful. Even though her vision was improved, his face was still little more than a series of shadows. She looked more carefully, reaching over with her other hand to brush the hair from his eyes. Then she realised what was missing: the gross watery dragging sound of his laboured breathing.
    She squeezed his hand, fear rising within her. “Matt?” Nothing: although her own fingers were almost without sensation, she could sense that the way his flesh yielded against her squeeze somehow wasn’t right.
    In one quick movement she squatted beside him and, with difficulty, untangled her fingers from his. They were uncooperative in a way that was somehow different from the response of a sleeping hand. She shook him. “Matt!” His head flopped to one side. She put a hand to his cheek, but her own skin was so cold it was hard to discern whether his face was warm or cold.
    The panic within her was like a physical pain that took away her breath. Tears were flowing from her eyes. Instinctively, she brushed them away, but her hands, dirty and soaked, made her face wetter than ever.
    Her voice was desperate, somewhere between a scream and a gasp. “Matt!” She shook him again, hard. It was like shaking a doll. His reluctant, wobbly movements were just the offbeat echoes of her own frantic shaking.
    Her screams descended into broken sobs, repeating his name over and over. An overwhelming mixture of emotions hit her. Loss, grief, love and especially guilt: guilt for being asleep when he died; guilt for pulling him down into the well; guilt for stepping up onto the well wall for a kiss. Just a kiss: that was all she’d intended.
    Becca curled up next to Matt and cried as she had never cried before.

3
     
    Outside, the tiny town of Bankside stirred into life. It was still early, but the noise of the occasional passing car reminded Abby that, before long, she’d need to open her shop. Saturday was usually busier than a weekday and it was trade that Abby couldn’t afford to miss.
    The sunlight, streaming in between the protective steel bars of the shop’s back room window, promised a warm day ahead. She’d had the bars installed after a break-in six years ago. Nothing had been taken; why would it be? Abby’s shop, No Stone Unturned, sold only homeopathic medicines, natural remedies and new-age stuff such as rocks, crystals and folklore books. Whoever broke in was probably expecting to find some kind of drugs, but they’d have been better off burgling the chemist down the road. They’d left the place a mess, yet hadn’t woken Abby, who had been sleeping upstairs with Sammy. Just two at the time, Sammy had still been sharing Abby’s bed. Crime was almost unheard of in the small town, and it shook up Abby enough to have the bars and an alarm installed. Hers was still probably one of the few businesses to have done so.
    “More coffee?” asked Helen.
    Abby nodded. “Yeah, please.”
    They’d be more comfortable in the flat upstairs, but they didn’t want to wake Sammy. Hopefully, when Sammy woke, her dream would have faded. But Abby doubted it.
    Abby had slowly retold the dream, visibly shaking, while Helen listened intently. Then she’d described how Sammy had woken, petrified, from the same dream.
    Helen was a good listener; it was one of the things that Abby loved about her. She had held Abby’s hand gently, her rich, black skin starkly contrasted against Abby’s pale hand. Helen let Abby speak without interruption and only occasionally questioned her.
    The kettle boiled and Helen poured the hot water into two cups. It was their third cup of the night.
    The silence between them was as comforting as any hug. They’d