The Secrets of Strangers

Prologue Alexa

Alexa Clarke didn’t feel her skull splinter at first.

Even the shudder-inducing crack of the initial impact took a few seconds to register with her.

Alexa’s momentary ignorance could suggest how unexpected an act of violence was in her life. Maybe the hostile beauty of the late November morning had captured her attention. Maybe she suddenly remembered something – an appointment she had to attend or that she hadn’t turned the iron off.

But the truth was, Alexa took a moment to acknowledge her attack because her mind was tangled in the thick forest of her darkest memories. Recalling them hurt more than a strike to the back of the head ever could.

In the moments before the hooded figure followed Alexa onto the field and inflicted their definitive blow, Alexa was in a trance. Barely one hundred metres from her home, but mentally a million miles away. Soaking in the silence that lulled her into believing everything would be okay.

Alexa was so absorbed that she didn’t notice the grass rustling behind her.

She didn’t hear the figure’s anticipatory breathing as they drew closer or feel the atmosphere shift as their hands raised a heavy, blunt object above her head.

But then the impact came, and everything changed.

The shock was so stunning that Alexa carried on walking for one, two, three steps before the scream of agony reverberated through her skull.

Then, Alexa stopped.

Then, she realised something was wrong.

By the time the second hit came, a shrill ringing vibrated through Alexa’s skull. Warm, sticky blood trickled down her forehead. Slowly at first, then faster, running past her eyebrows and mingling with her eyelashes until her vision turned red.

The last thing Alexa thought of as she crumpled to her knees was her husband handing her a pink polka dot mug. The first gift he’d ever bought her. So happy, so naive.

So blissfully unaware of what was to become of their story.