Cimmerian Sunrise

Chapter 17 - ***REVISED***

"Breanne!"

Breanne blinked – Alla's frantic voice was muffled and for the briefest of moments, it appeared as though there were two of her. Breanne blinked again, a succession of rapid flutters, then slowly lifted her hand to her cheek, retracted her hand and stared at her wet fingertips.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I had to douse you with water because I'm almost positive you came close to fainting on me and you cannot do it – not under any circumstance! We have to leave now!"

Breanne blinked again, looking up into Alla's face, for a split second, only watching as Alla tugged at her hands. "Come, Breanne! You must help me!"

Using the floor and seat of a chair as leverage, Breanne registered her words and worked with Alla – rising to her feet, then braced a hand on the desk to steady herself.

"I don't feel well, Alla."

"No, no. You cannot faint, Breanne. We don't have time for that, especially since I do not carry smelling salts," Alla replied, nearly out of breath as she moved around the office in a flurry. "We need to get out of here."

Breanne stared at the floor, trying to breathe steadily, to calm her racing heart. A clatter, thump, and light cursing from Alla had Breanne looking at her. "What are you doing?"

Alla retrieved the candle she'd accidentally knocked onto the floor in her haste, and rushed to the solicitor's desk, replacing the folder. "Everything has to go exactly as it was. Exactly. Not one paper should be out of place – though since a few slipped from your folder..." she trailed off at seeing Breanne's expression, then took Breanne's hand within her own – meeting her eyes with steady determination. "Now, we must take the contract and that condemning note with us. He may look for them endlessly, but as long as everything else is neat and orderly, and we leave no trace of our presence, he'll not be able to name us as intruders. Now, I am almost finished straightening up, and then we are going to leave this place as quickly as possible. You should sit while you can. We have a long ride ahead of us."  

Following her suggestion, Breanne watched as Alla hurriedly turned the key in it's lock, placed it carefully in it's rightful spot in a compartment of the bookcase, and filed away the remaining folders that had been left out in her search, stuffing the contract and letter within the bodice of her gown. Once finished, the women left the building, locking it behind them, and approached the horses, Breanne doing so more slowly and unevenly.

"Breanne?"

Slowly, she turned her glassy, blue eyes on Alla. A dazed expression dominating her features.

"You understand that you cannot speak of this to anyone? That for now, this must remain a secret?"

Breanne swallowed, blinked again. "But...the authorities—"

"Cannot know of this – not yet. We don't have enough proof."

"The letter was proof!" Breanne snapped, tears glittering upon her cheeks in the sunlight. "Murder! We both saw it plain as day! They killed him!"

Tears ran down Alla's face as she approached her friend, embraced her. "Listen. I cannot fathom how difficult this must be for you. But the facts are this: We don't have the name of the murderer – and Mr. Strider did not sign that letter."

Breanne stiffened under Alla's embrace – Alla pulled back, searching her eyes. "All we know is that a MacIntosh was involved. And the letter did not say the victim was Torrington."

"It was in the damned file, Alla," Breanne harshly retorted.

This time Alla blinked – Breanne's tone and language making her pause a moment. Slowly, she nodded. "Yes, it was in the file. It still wouldn't be enough evidence."