Chapter Two #2
I take a step forward, tripping over a loose cobblestone, and Sélie grabs my elbow, her mouth tight, her eyes tired.
“Gettin’ dark,” someone says behind us. I couldn’t pick anyone out of the crowd now—all their faces and voices are blurred together.
Lifting my lantern, I push on. “I don’t care. We can’t leave her out here all night.”
Sélie lets out a little sob, and I shift her hold on me, to squeeze her arm, breathing steadily for the both of us.
She’s shivering, just a shawl thrown over her shoulders.
The unusually cold weather isn’t helping tonight.
But what about Aven? She was dressed only in a nightgown.
I’m too numb to feel the chill, too afraid.
We pass The Red Clover, and I don’t even give it a second glance.
Was it only yesterday that I thought I’d turn inside out on that grand stage?
I feel nothing as I reflect. I just want Aven home.
Our search party doubles back to check the alleyway between the nearest buildings, but it’s empty of all but shadows.
“—can’t see in the dark,” someone mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.
I whirl around to snap at them and come face to face with one of the lawmen stepping toward me, his lamp flickering, making his young face look uncertain. Barely more than a child. His carriage is waiting just past us, the door still open. I didn’t even hear it pull up.
“What?” I breathe, voice low. They were out searching—
“Constable said to call it a night—bad storm comin’ in, and it’s gettin’ dark.”
Frowning, I answer, “I don’t c—”
“People need to eat,” he cuts me off. Then softer, “They need rest. That goes for you too, Miss Bell.” He nods at Sélie. “And Miss Bell.”
I raise my brows in dull surprise—I didn’t expect him to sound so authoritative, lawman or not.
“You’ve found nothing?” I ask. “No sign?”
“Not one,” the man-boy answers gently. “And it was broad daylight then.”
“I…fine.” I frown, glancing again at Sélie.
She looks like she’s about to fall to the ground.
Someone else yawns. How much effort will people put into the search if they’re this drained?
He’s right. I hate that he’s right. “We meet up early, then. Before first light—I don’t care if it’s hard to see. ”
“Yes, Miss,” he says, smiling.
I don’t return the smile, kindly as he means it, but I do allow him to steer Sélie and me into the waiting carriage, and let it carry us away, watching the group of helpers break apart, scattering into the darkening street. Give up. And all the while my heart is crying out for Aven.
Where are you? Where? What did you do?
And it’s so awful that I don’t want to hear the answer, but it echoes back anyway over the sound of rumbling thunder.
You know exactly what.
A knock comes as I am dressing for the day.
I drop one of the stockings I was holding, kick it aside, pull my dressing gown across my body. Who would call this early? Unless—
A horse whinnies, and I hurry down the hall to the front door, beating Sélie there as she fumbles with the tea kettle, the exhaustion written on her face ahead of today’s search.
It’s been three weeks since Aven left the cottage—and the not-knowing is all-consuming, overwhelming, torturous.
Three weeks of searching and screaming and asking—and still, nothing.
We are no closer to finding her than we were on that quiet morning when she first went missing.
There is a saddled horse, just the rump of it visible from the kitchen window.
As I swing open the door, I already know who is waiting on the other side.
Constable Elden enters. I think I must greet him, but my ears ring so shrilly I’m having difficulty hearing a thing, even my own voice.
Time slows. The cottage goes quiet as the lawman steps closer, swallowing anxiously. Even his black-peppered mustache droops.
“Ladies.” The constable tips his chin and removes his hat in greeting; sweat drips off his forehead and into the crease of his eye like a tear. Why is he sweating? Is it the humidity that’s developed these last weeks—or something else?
Why does he look so nervous?
He and the other lawmen haven’t been involved in actively looking for Aven for two whole weeks—unable to spare the time and resources. The townsfolk have dwindled off as well. It’s just Sélie and me at this point, still holding out hope. Still trying to find out what happened to our sister.
Sélie moves to my side, gripping my hand so hard I wonder how my fingers don’t break. He is not here to deliver good news. Something in my soul knows it.
“Aven.” I search his face. My lungs can’t expand enough to get a good breath.
Constable Elden nods. “A body…” he says, his voice heavy with apology, “washed up on shore in Warring’s Cross, matching your sister’s description, very late last night. They wired me just after midnight.”
Sélie’s cry comes out strangled. She buries her face into my neck while I gather her up to me. No. No. No. No.
I shake my head. “No. It must be someone else.” There’ve been other bodies, other deaths.
Three months ago, a young man washed up near the docks; a year earlier, a woman to the south.
It happens. The ocean can be cruel. People drown, and sometimes they’re not identified. Such is life in a seaside town.
Constable Elden squirms as though he really, really would rather be anywhere else than here. “The body was, see, um, being in the water…it was, well, damaged a bit…but it’s a match. I sent them her portrait weeks ago, when she first went—and they confirmed.”
Sélie sobs, clutching me so hard my ribs hurt. Everything hurts.
The man’s voice is tinny, far away. “They had the body buried within the hour—you are aware of their policies. If you want it returned for a proper funeral, it’ll cost. We all know Warring’s Cross is full of greedy bastards, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”
I shake my head. I can’t think of funerals. I can’t think. Words are exchanged. Voices ring in my head. At some point the constable leaves our home.
Time spreads, evaporates into something hazy, Sélie’s tears wetting my dressing gown. Both of us dropping to the cool wood floor. My breath ragged, impossible to catch. As if I’m drowning. Just like Aven. Grief is a wave, grief is salt-thick, grief chokes out my lungs.
I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die of a broken heart. I finally open my mouth, let out a cry that doesn’t even sound human.
One word repeats itself in my head, over and over again, a whisper: Aven.