Evil, Unintended

Chapter 1

"Lovely." He broke into a grin and I frowned, absently tracing a finger across the cool window pane to seem preoccupied.

"My name is Darren by the way." An expectant smile followed that.

I didn't look at him as I replied.

"Essie."

We shared a moment of quiet, once again falling into the lull produced by the sloshing of water against the undercarriage of the old beast as we continued along our journey down neglected roads.

The hills rolled past, large lumps that seemed to go on forever in different shades of brown from the dead heather and mud created by the sheep and cows. My head ached, pain drumming against my temples and I wished desperately I was anywhere else.

Darren was oblivious to the discomfort of his passenger.

"Doesn't seem like the kind of place someone like you would come for a holiday, especially not at your age." He commented. "It's not even the kind of place I would come for a holiday. I'm only here because of you and this place already seems..." he leaned forwards to peer at the sky through the windscreen, "drab."

I snorted.

There was a slight pause in his movements and he straightened his back as he looked in the wing mirror.

I began to turn to see what he saw when we hit a pothole head on. The seatbelt snapped at my neck, jerking my spine until my forehead met with the plastic corner of the seat in front.

Blue flashed through my mind and something that sounded like the scream of sirens sounded in the back of my head for a split second until it was gone.

A jagged cough dragged itself from my lungs as another swerve wrenched me back to sitting, bringing up both of my hands to cradle my neck.

I dropped my head back onto the rest, swearing quietly before closing my eyes again. Pretty shoddy driver for a taxi man.

The stillness came again and I found my fingers tracing the polished wooden door handle frame, drifting across the coloured age rings behind the chipping varnish. There were seven deep scratches spelling out the initials B.L. with jagged scrapes. I spent the rest of the journey pondering on the initials and trying my very best to forget that I was alive.

>>>>>>>

My pal Darren spent the next three hours finding his way through the mist and barely dodging the bumps in the road.

What an unpleasant man.

By the time we had reached the roughly cottage-shaped building that sat behind a thick curtain of mist, I had almost thrown up twelve times.

I got out, slamming the car shut and heaving out my suitcase, not bothering to hang around and watch the pre-paid taxi disappear into the fog.

The cool, damp air of the Scottish countryside that I was destined to get to know better in the coming time washed over me and small beads of cool condensation clung to my clothes in tiny drops of fresh. There was oddly no wind, but it was cold enough to make me shiver and wet enough for my next step to land me in a large puddle, God forbid I actually have a reasonable time anywhere I go.

"Esmerelda!" Cried out the woman on the doorstep who was approaching rapidly, seeming to be moving almost too gracefully to be real.

I was too stunned to push the barrel of floaty material and lipstick that was most definitely not my aunt away, too shocked by the fact anyone other than myself had remembered my name. It was remarkable really. There was a startling second of having no idea what to do as the woman continued her descent upon me with a flurry of tasteless scarves pulling me in and hugging me, uncomfortable warmth radiating off her curving frame into me through layers of clothing. She rubbed my back in a more than scary way.