The Woods (unfinished)

Chapter 18

We left early that day, all of the staff, except Casey, who was looking after Mick. She was great, she had taken care of everything. Everyone else was too shell-shocked to speak, trailing wordlessly out of the store at Casey’s commands. Even though I knew it was coming.

And I think Jack did too.

Outside it was pouring with rain, the usual Irish weather.  The abnormal heat wave seemed to have abated, and the car park glistened as raindrops bounced off the tarmac surface. Everything was grey and slow, so different to the promising sunshine beaming down on us a few hours ago. Typical Ireland.

I shivered and pulled my thin jacket around me, a cheap, zip up thing, yanking my hood up over my escaping blonde waves. My top, a tiny bit small, slid up and exposed my tanned stomach, skin erupting into goose bumps. The rain seeped through my tight blue jeans clinging to my skin. I sighed. I had a boring day ahead of me.

I was walking briskly across the car park and emerging onto the pavement, head bent against the hammering rain, when I remembered Jack. Where had he gone? He usually walked me home, right?

 I stopped, and shielded my eyes from the rain with my hand, as I scanned the street. Cars were still in the road, spilling onto the pavement. The area was unusually busy at the moment. Car horns blared and windscreen wipers thrashed around. The pavement was fairly empty though.

Then I saw his back, a blue shirt and tanned, muscular arms twitching. I caught a glimpse of his face as he turned a corner, and that was enough to prevent me calling out to him from across the street. His features were screwed up in anguish, eyebrows knitted together. I had to know where he was going. Home, probably. But where was home?

Without another thought I skirted across the road, weaving in and out of the still traffic, and headed after him. He was taking the route I usually took to go home, anyway. I had to practically run to keep him in my sights as he furiously pounded the pavement.

His pace slowed down eventually, as if all his emotion and anger had burnt out during his walk, the rain washing away his feelings. He passed my house, and I did the same, glancing in as I discreetly hurried past. Music pulsated through the house, as if it had a heartbeat of its own, and people were milling around the door, in a thick cloud of smoke. I shuddered. Another party. I glanced away and kept my eyes trained on Jack, watching his every move. Since when had I become a stalker? It felt weird.

Soon enough we – I say we, me several meters after – entered the woods, and soon enough my goose bumps faded simultaneously with the rain, the safe, green canopy protecting everything, blocking out the sound, soaking it up.

I hated the sound of the rain, it made me want to cry, tears forcing themselves out and dribbling down my cheeks simultaneously with rain dribbling down my window. Whenever it rained at home, it made me feel so lonely, rain hammering against my thin window pane, and I usually went to the woods. The woods would soothe my fears, comfort me, only a soft thud as rain hit the canopy and was soaked up greedily. I would lie on the damp moss, in the dark, hair spread across the natural green carpet, the occasional star peeking through a miniscule gap in the trees. I always felt special when I saw that, as if a star had heard my silent cries and specially sought me out, and my prayers would be answered. After a few years, nothing had changed, and I stopped believing, stopped searching for a star.

I shook my head to clear away pointless thoughts and continued my route through the trees. The moss soaked up any possible sound my footsteps might be making. Where was he going?

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