I moulded against his body as though he was carved just for me. His arms were strong yet comforting, as though they belonged to a father. However, they were as caressing as a lovers, with gentle shivers and tender brushes. He stroked my hair and whispered sweet words of comfort in my ears to stop my crying but I could neither hear his words nor fully comprehend them; and I most certainly could not stop crying. Not now, not for a very long time. It felt as though the flood gates were finally open and there was no stopping this tsunami of emotion. I couldn't express these difficult emotions in any other way. I didn't even know what to call them. Everything felt raw. Especially lying there covered in blood, surrounded by the soaked sheets which swaddle my lifeless baby. My little ball of love. My little piece of nirvana.
It was a bundle of pure energy, of innocent laughter and warm hearted touches. A child of light given to death as a gift; a gift I had not wanted to give. A gift I selfishly wanted all for myself, my living haven and chunk of heaven to be mine until my journey to deaths door began. All that was left of this precious gift was a blood stain on an old bed sheet. I had lost everything. That child was my only motivation for survival and now that it was gone, I had no reason not to follow it. Did it really matter whether Mr Wilton was punished for what he had done if I was not around to see his punishment? Justice only matters if those involved see that it is carried out. Surely, no one else would really care.
If I was no more than why did it matter? Would he do this again? Was he even still alive? Did that matter to me at all? Then like a bolt of lightening I was struck with the realisation of a group of people his conviction would matter to. Mr Hudson's family. They would want to see him behind bars.
"Helen..." A gentle and masculine voice slipped in through the noise in my head but didn't quieten what was already there.
"Helen..." It was not whispered any louder this time but it seemed exponentially louder and far more firm; perhaps insistent.
"Helen, please." The noise between my ears continued as vehemently as it dared to, whispering cruel thoughts to my consciousness. Despite which my head lifted from William's shoulder without instruction so that my eyes could stare into his.
Nothing more was said for minutes. We just looked at one another. His searching for the secrets buried deep within mine and my eyes stared back passively; hoping to dissolve in them so I may be rid of this sordid tale. Though in reality it was just so they would have something to look at. The world stopped spinning but my mind rushed around as if it hadn't got the memo that things had come to a standstill. In the back of the room Mr Ellis spoke, his voice was deep and husky. His voice matched his face perfectly with just the right amount of aging and the right amount of youth to make it seem homely yet wise.
"Helen," he took a couple of steps forward and knelt down so that his eyes were level with mine, "we need to know where you've been for the last eight months. There's been a lot of people worried about you. A lot of people have been looking for you and we would all like to know where you went; and why."
Looking at him I immediately knew he was telling the truth and that he was trying to be helpful but I didn't have the same level of instinctual trust that I had with Willie. So doing my best to answer his questions, I turned to William and directed them to him in the hopes of making the words come sooner and with more ease. My mouth opened and shut repeatedly as minutes passed, but nothing quite formed in my head in a way that I could reiterate with words. My plan hadn't worked as well as I had hoped it would. I was still tongue tied, albeit not as much, whilst looking at Willie. The words flowed in my mind easier but they still couldn't find their way out of my mouth.
"Helen?" Mr Ellis asked pointedly, as if to remind me of what he had asked or wonder why I had yet to respond.
After five or so minutes I finally spoke, "it was raining and I was wet... It was so cold."
YOU ARE READING
Buttercup FarmMystery / Thriller
She frequently said such cruel things to me during daylight hours but when the moon danced in the night sky and all were asleep she called to me. Like a siren out at sea. It was during these twilight minutes she felt most alone, it was these seconds...