Chasing Memories

[46] Breathing

     Arms folded over the dark leather jacket in her lap, Cadence tipped her head back. "You don't need to push me, killer," she said, shaking her head.

     "And you don't need to fight me all the way, rock chick," Elise quipped with a quick flick to the top of Cadence's beanie. She drummed her fingers against the rubber-bound handles of her friend's wheelchair, the flicker of warmth in her core holding firm against the cool sea air. "You've driven us all over the place. Let me take the wheel for once."

     "Fine, but next time, bring a cooler ride." Slumped in her seat, Cadence threw her jacket on and rapped her fingers over her thighs. She cast her eye over the sea, studied the trees that spread along the far end of the beach, then looked up at Elise's focused face above. "So, did you nab the papers?"

     Her friend's casual manner failed to reflect the anxiety that wound around Elise's chest, the pressure tightening as they crossed the slipping sands. Fluid and translucent, the image of the paperclipped parcel of Florence's notes tucked inside her bag hovered at the front of her mind. "Yeah, I have them all. I'm still not sure this is a good idea, though."

     "Beats me. Only one way to find out, right?"

     There were definitely more ways to visualise the consequences of their actions, but none of them came to mind. After everything, Cadence's unrelenting confidence was what Elise sorely needed.

     Calm, foam-speckled tides ebbed and flowed to the beat of the swaying trees while clumped seaweed and stray ocean litter foundered on the muddied shore. Gravel shards and wood scraps popped from the sand, yet the obstacles made little impact on Elise's thoughts. For now, she was at a form of peace, quietly strolling the coast with the only person who could rope her into facing the dizzying, terrifying future.

     Their walk took them beyond the promenade to an open, undisturbed section of beach outside the town's environs. Polished by glugging waves, a row of scarred, shining black rocks spanned from the base of the shore into the sea, flanked by scattered outcroppings that peeked through the water's surface. While the small rocks were skewed and jagged, the main stretch was made up of flat, broad slabs that sat closely packed together. They were easy enough to step across, or so Elise had concluded on one lonely evening walk before the need to push a wheelchair had pinched at her palms.

     That need quickly became little more than a fleeting memory. Cadence spilled out of the chair and clambered up the side of the rocks, groaning under the strain that racked her body. As she looked down at Elise, however, her usual swagger winked out from the margins of her movements. "Ready when you are."

     "Cade! What did I just say about looking after yourself?" Though shock compelled her to shout over the calm winds, any anger Elise felt fell away as she stared up at her friend. There was a mutual understanding reflected in Cadence's eyes, a silent harmony that tied them together. "Just be careful, okay? I swear, you're going to be the death of me."

     Cadence dusted Elise's shoulder off as her friend joined her on top of the rock. "Maybe if we're lucky."

     Pearls of bubbling sea foam dotted the smooth slabs underfoot, robbing all but the last vestiges of grip from every step. As she crossed the boundary between shore and sea, the wind howled around Elise's ears, determined to sweep her into the deceptively calm waters below. She spread her arms, took her course step by step, and passed through the shower of spray to the pointed end of the stone path.

     Staring out across the water, Elise removed the papers from her bag. The stack was thick with bound documents, scrappy sheets, and laminated dividers, yet it pushed down on her fingertips with a density beyond its matter. Page after page flicked between her fingertips with scrawled, looping annotations drawn in every colour of ink, the hallmarks of an endeavour to turn rough drafts into refined gems. These were not just notes, but the relics of Florence's livelihood. Stolen or not, this was art.