The Tens Vanessa Jones (historical books to read TXT) 📖

beast's hair looked like a wobbly flame with tight spiralled curls dwarfing its head, which arched all over to one side, like a wave about to break. The figure was clad in a second skin of the blackest material, that shone purple when it— when she— arched her back. The material clung to her body and dripped and draped from her limbs, back and shoulders. The only bit of skin exposed her hands, neck and face, bore a sheen so delicate, so frighteningly reflective that it set her hair alight even more.

The Wild Woman curved until Sophie thought she might break in two and clutched at her throat, swathes of material flapping at her fingers, her nails pointy and long and the colour of menses blood. Arching the way she was made her look like a tree. A bent plane tree, blackened out at sunset, abandoned by its leaves, the only colour a brush of remaining flame-red leaves curled over at the top.

This creature was partly petrifying and mostly mesmerising. Compelled, Sophie strode towards her, ready to undo the hallucination. To confront her and all that she stood for.

'Come to me, come to me, come to me,' her beckons swirled in the air, wrapping around Sophie's waist and pulling her towards her. The closer she got, the more she could see her face with every flicker of light and movement, alternating between the smooth skin of youth and the crinkly and drawn face of a crone. The Wild Woman's limbs were so spindly they looked as if they were twigs and she watched her fingers with their spider-like movements with fascination. Trying to catch the woman's invisible gaze, Sophie splayed her open hands towards the woman. 'Do you... need something?' Unsure whether she should be asking or offering.

'Stand still.' The woman screeched in time with a piercing thunder crack. Sophie obeyed, enjoying the uncanny feeling of a thunderstorm that she unwittingly yearned for. One that would break all the pressure that her body and soul contained. The sky cracked again and shards of lightning broke up the indigo dusk; white-hot snakes of light streamed downwards behind her, illuminating her silhouette so all Sophie could see was darkness and a bush of scarlet hair.

With the next flash, she had disappeared and the storm dropped instantly. And in swooped a sticky euphoria. Behind where the woman had been standing was a pale white reflection, glowing through the grim night. Sophie no longer cared if it was the Wild Woman entrapping her or a torchlight of one of The Tens. If they caught her there would be no mercy, she was certain. And she was so drained from everything she had been told and everything that she had seen that she had nothing left to fight with. There was no barometer for reality or insanity anymore, so she ambled towards the echo of light.

The closer she got to the wide light figure, the more she slowed down. For as she stood two metres away from it, she knew exactly what it was. An object she had been familiar with her whole life. Something that had terrorised her so acutely that to come upon it at a time like now, confused her. Her body hurtled forward as she rested her forehead on the big white rock from her nightmares, its coolness a balm that took away some of the burning pain and the horror of what Abigail had done to herself.

The rock could not save her, she knew that and it wouldn't be long before one of the campers would discover her but she could not ignore that she had foretold the sighting of the rock and it had transpired into her life.

And just like in her nightmares those many times when she jolted away in a damp film, came the laughter. It rolled around her, chasing itself with an echo. But the laughter was different than in her dreams, it was less tinny, less menacing. It wasn't exactly comical either.

The laughter flew around her head and she held her breath, fearing that Carla had caught up to her. Amid the laughter, she heard a familiar sound: flapping. The tap of a wing on a feathered body made her sag to her knees with relief and she looked up, her eyes scouring the treetops. There were birds laughing at her. Their raucous caws were almost mirthful to her now. Pressing her forehead and ravaged palms to the rock, as she knelt before it, her shoulders shrugged in laughter at the fancy of these voyeuristic characters that had been with her every step of the way. Not quite helpful and not quite harmful but nevertheless, they had been tracking her all along.

Her stomach softened as she relaxed to catch her breath, listening to the gentler whistling wind and the boisterous birds. Just as Sophie was deciding her next move, whether to hide or keep walking through the cold night, a concrete hand clamped on her shoulder and she tensed back up. A bony thumb pressed into her flesh. They had finally caught up with her.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

'Sophie?' A mellifluous voice questioned.

Turning her head to face the soft voice in amazement, Sophie saw her beloved friend Bree standing over her. 'Bree?'

Bree took three steps back and lifted a black box to her mouth and mouthed words into it. Bree had lost her suburban mum look and sported more urban attire, with black utility pants and boots and a khaki zipped-up bomber jacket. 'It's okay honey, you're okay,' she crouched down to Sophie's height and looked at her reassuringly as several men swam in from behind trees.

Sophie noticed the glint of her decorated badge clipped to the top of her waistband and looked back up to her eyes. 'What are you doing here?' Was all Sophie could get out in between raspy breaths.

'I'm a detective, Sophie. I've been part of