Damaged Memories

Part 1

It was the fierce tightening in Grace's chest, the tiny crystal beads of sweat breaking out over her entire body and the sudden drop in her gut that suggested to Grace the late-night knock on the door was bringing with it bad news.

In the solitary darkness and in her haste, she stumbled over the furniture, before regaining her footing and tentatively peeling open the front door. Her heart immediately faltered, missing two, perhaps three beats as she stared in disbelief at the two police officers who stood on the doorstep, sheltering from the pelting rain under the veranda. She'd grown to know both Detective Mark Willett and Sergeant Jim Dickinson well in the days prior, two men whose looks and demeanours were at opposite ends of the spectrum, but who had shared one common goal – to find her husband. That night there was also one other glaringly obvious thing they shared. A sombre expression, with no hint of a smile to be found on either of their solemn faces.

"I'm so sorry Grace," Detective Mark Willett began, "I wish we were here under better circumstances, but we have some news about Michael. Can we come in?"

They were the alarming words that Grace had been dreading but expecting for days, so much so, that she'd rehearsed the moment repeatedly, preparing herself for the worst possible outcome. She'd promised herself that she wouldn't crumble into a million pieces like a crushed cookie, yet when she opened her mouth to invite them inside, all that escaped was a strangled whimper. She was paralysed, unable to move her legs that were being sucked down by quicksand and she felt herself perilously rocking back and forth like a three-foot tower of wooden Jenga blocks, on the verge of crumbling. Her vision started to blur, the contours smudging into an exquisite piece of artwork, and as her fingers lost their grip on the doorframe, she felt herself falling in slow motion, swallowed up by the darkness.

This was not how her perfect life was supposed to turn out.