Becoming Anne Again

Chapter Seventy-Nine

Trigger Warning: Suicide attempt.

When you're young and dumb, there's an air of invincibility—you are untouchable.

Anne couldn't remember the last time she felt invincible.

No, death had reached out its spiny fingers and clutched her heart from a very early age. It had become just as much apart of her life as life itself, a matter of fact that sometimes she found to be more true than anything else. Everyone died, and the end was inevitable. Some went out in a burst of flame and others slowly fizzled out. But even great bonfires became nothing more than a passing memory, and then not at all.

In her heart of hearts, Anne knew she wanted to be remembered. It was some mix of stubborn pride that had clung onto her despite all of the heartache and humiliation, and some soulful longing of a little girl who just wanted to be loved. But, the problem with the latter was that fairy tales lied. Love didn't break all curses.

That was her last cognitive thought before she jumped. The next series of ponderings grew incoherent, until they were nothing more than emotions that couldn't be properly placed into words, fear and relief flooding her in equal measure.

The jetty itself was not nearly high enough up to prove fatal on its own. While there might be a slight sting should a jumper be fortunate enough to land safely (or at least relatively so) in the water, they would be bodily safe. It was the other dangers that lurked beneath the depth, a toxic combination that brewed disaster. One was the sharp rocks that jutted like fearsome teeth through the water. They would easily cause serious injury, and then, when the injured party plunged into the depths, they would be struggling against a riptide and swells of waves that threatened to suck them under. For Anne, there was another danger, although she didn't think of it as a danger given her desired ends. She didn't know how to swim.

For a brief second, perhaps less, she could parse apart the senses. The way the sharpness of a rock pierced into her leg, the tearing of skin as gravity pulled her down further, her head bashing against something hard and unforgiving, the water smacking against her back as blackness surrounded her.

And there, under her eyelids, were Sadie and Hannah.

Always Sadie and Hannah. The girls who couldn't be put back together again.

Rachel Lynde had been out for most of the day doing various visitations, which she did at least once a month. Most everyone recognized that it was just another opportunity for the elderly woman to be nosy, despite the fact that she was always laden with homemade breads and cookies. It really was quite amazing how much she could embroil herself in other people's business when she was doing what she called her "duties as a member of the church and of the community, that's what."

She was at the Field's house when the first set of ambulance sirens echoed down the street. For most, such an occurrence was something that one might pause for, and then continue the work. It was not, after all, an uncommon affair, and if everyone stopped their lives daily for every set of sirens, nothing would get done.

But for Rachel Lynde, who could always make time for other people's businesses, it was in fact an occurrence that ought to be paid attention to. For every siren spun a new upheaval of the community, even if it was just some mischievous child who wanted to know what happened when they dialed "911." Thus, it was to no one's surprise when she sat upright, her eyes immediately drawn to the floral curtained windows in the Field's living room. "Oh, there goes an ambulance," she said, leaning her portly body forward. "I sure do hope nothing catastrophous has happened," she added, the word rolling off her tongue in such a manner that one could only accept that it was a part of some dialect that was reserved for the Rachel Lyndes of the world.