Homecoming (Short Story)

Homecoming

I wonder if things could have been different, had I chosen another path the day the man with the dead eyes took my daughter.

Summer had crept up on us that year. From the new-born buds they had been just a few days ago, fresh leaves formed a dense canopy above our heads, while the flowers erupted with bursts of riotous colours, tree sap sticky with the scent of decay. My daughter was enthralled by the scene before her, even though we walked along this route almost every day. Not for the first time, I felt a pang of an emotion that is hard to describe. A sense of nostalgia for the many ways she had changed already as she grew, combined with a fierce desire to protect her.

We continued our walk along the deserted path, cast in shadow; I pointed out different species of plants and bugs, told her what they were called. She laughed, playing along and making up her own names, but ultimately she was more interested in arriving at the highlight of our route: the bridge. For reasons that eluded me, as with many young children, her fascination with the river was beyond limits. She often leaned over the edge, standing on her toes, captivated by the movements of the fish, their silvery scales glinting in the sunlight like the edge of a knife.

Something was in the air that day; I realise that now. Even then I knew, instinctively, that we were being watched. I shook my head with a wry smile, took my daughter's hand, held it even tighter. Otherwise, I dismissed the feeling as nonsensical paranoia. It would not have cost me anything to turn around, to run home with her safe in my arms. But I did nothing.

Catching sight of the bridge at last, she immediately took off towards it, her red scarf unravelling as she collided with the cold cement, lacing her fingers through the bars. I caught up with her, drawing her attention to the ripples and the strange creatures moving through the murky water. Around this time, I became aware of a barely audible noise, emanating from the dimly lit spaces between the trees. As it grew louder and louder, it began to take on a human quality. A woman, I guessed, in a significant amount of pain. I called out to her, asking if she needed help, but I heard no response.

I crouched down to face my daughter. 'Stay here. Don't move until I get back.' She nodded, fear in her brown eyes. I kissed her on her forehead, and, moving cautiously towards the woods, I began to see the outline of a humanoid figure, crawling through the dirt. I moved closer, and saw a wild tangle of blonde hair, a close-set pair of eyes that had an uninhabited look to them, as if her mind were somewhere else. She cried out to me, and I rushed towards her, looking for any injuries. There was no sign of blood.

'I – I've fallen and twisted my ankle. Could you help me up, please?'

I took her cold hand and lifted her shakily to her feet, eyeing her warily. There was something distinctly odd about her, something nefarious in the way her gaze darted about the woods, as if searching for someone. 'If you're in that much pain, I think we should get you to a hospital.'

I reached for my phone, only for her fingers to close tightly around my wrist.

Then I saw it. Just beyond the trees. A white van, a man running towards it, my daughter struggling in his arms. His blank eyes turned towards me with an inhuman stare.

Punching, kicking, screaming, I did everything I could to escape the woman's clutches. Ice water coursed through my veins as wild panic took over my entire body. She aimed a kick towards my stomach, winding me, before sprinting towards the van. The edges of my vision blurred as I gasped, crawling towards the retreating vehicle, stumbling to my feet. It seemed to drive away in slow motion, yet it easily outpaced me as I ran using all the strength my body could muster. I could do nothing but watch it go.

The policemen found me slumped by the bridge, inconsolable, barely able to make myself understood.

For the first few weeks after she was taken, I didn't really sleep. I paced around the house, or else lay numbly in a dark corner and let the waves of grief wash over me. When my body succumbed to exhaustion, all I saw was the red scarf. Drifting, falling, like an autumn leaf from a maple tree. A drop of blood into a pale ocean.