Isle Of Salt

Chapter Two

Anonymous

Slowly locking the rear door to the bar, he tried his best to stall, he knew what he had to do and why he had to do it, but he didn't want too, this wasn't him. Turning to the car which was parked alongside the road, he clambered in, hands sweaty and heart racing. He could barely put the key in the ignition. His fear turning to anger, he slammed his fist into the middle of the steering wheel and yelled, the horn blasting as he did. Sitting back in his seat, he tried to come to terms with what he had to do. There was no way he could get out of it, it was the girl or him. The flash of the phone lit up his top pocket. He reached for it, he knew who it was without looking. The message read: My men have seen her heading for Greenward's beach, just by the pier. Sam will do his job, and you do yours.

Throwing the phone onto the passenger seat, he opened the glove box and pulled out a slim, pale file. Using a single finger to flick it open, he grasps the first and only piece of paper inside, it was an enlarged image of a young woman, a sticky note was attached to the top corner with instructions. Looking over the photo, he couldn't help but notice that the woman's eyes were as dark as the sea, raging with anger yet beautiful, greys and blues as if they reflected this soul. Perhaps it was just the poor quality of the photo that made them appear that way. He needed to stop humanising her and get the job done, and so, swallowing his humanity in one gulp, he turned the key and the engine started.

***

Stopping on the bridge just before the beginning of the long driveway to Greenward Cottage, he turned off the engine and killed the lights before stepping out of the car. Looking out towards the sea, he watched as the water from the river met the open ocean, it was a beautiful sight, the water lapping along the banks of the river. As he surveyed the land, he noticed that, perhaps five hundred meters away, lights glowing from a small house. He knew this to be the Fosters' home or more commonly referred to as the Sheriff's house.

'Fuck me.' He cursed, as he turned to the car and opened the side door behind the driver seat. Inside was a black duffle bag, as he unzipped it he saw what he had placed inside. These things were familiar to him, but they were things he had hoped he had left behind. He slipped a garrotte wire and a knife into his back pocket. Taking out the plastic sheet, he opened his boot and tapped it to the inside, he knew this was going to be a messy job. He hadn't planned well, perhaps it was an unconscious effort in the hope that the girl would escape. Then all he would have to do was beg for mercy from his boss, which would probably come in the form of a single bullet through his skull. Throwing the tape into the back seat, he closed the boot and made his way to the old and unused pier.

Carefully placing one foot in front of the other, he tried to keep his steps as soundless as possible as he made his way through the trees towards the beach. Tightening his grip on the wire, he stopped as he saw a female figure hastily moving across the sand to the pier. Following her from the shadow of the trees he watched as she sat down and fiddled with something. A small flicker of a flame, then a puff of smoke, this has to be her. He then saw another figure, Sam, approach the young woman from behind, he knew it was time. Stepping out of the bush and onto the sand, she turned around to face the boy who engaged her in conversation. Gripping the wire with both hands, he was ready. Only meters away from her, the light of the moon shone upon her blonde hair, and as he was about to raise his arms, Sam shouted,

'No! No, wait!' But he had already brought the wire tight against her throat. She tried to scream but all that was heard was a strangled gasp as the wire cut into her flesh. Sam ran to her side and tried his best to pull him off her, but it was a scrawny eleven-year-old up against a middle-aged man.

'Fuck off!' He struggled with the young woman as the boy clawed at his side. Dragging the kicking woman to the edge of the water, he waded in as blood began to cover his hands. He was almost there. It was almost done. Now waist deep in the sea, he pushed her under the water, anchoring her with one foot he pulled back on her neck. Glancing over his shoulder, the boy still stood on the beach, he dare not follow him into the water, he couldn't swim. Turning back to the woman, his struggle was over as she floated unmoving in the icy sea. The blood cast a dark shadow around them in the water as he tugged her up with the wire and heaved her body out of the ocean so he could peel the embedded weapon from her neck.

Taking a deep breath, he wiped his beard with his free hand and as he licked his lips to clean them of salt water, he tasted blood instead. Groaning, he straightened his back, the adrenaline was wearing off. He grasped the back of the young woman's shirt as he dragged her towards the shore, letting her blood drain into the sea.

At the water's edge, the boy's eyes were wet with tears.

'You knew this was going to happen, you signed up for this so quit your sobbing boy.' He snapped, but the next words from Sam's mouth threatened to empty his stomach.

'That's not the girl,' He murmured,

'What?'

'That's not the woman he wanted dead,' The boy turned and ran, clearly fearing the consequences to come. With his heart beating faster by the second, he dropped to his knees and turned her towards him, clearly seeing her face for the first time. The moonlight revealed the true identity of the victim. Her eyes were as green as the hills in winter, they were not a reflection of the sea at all. He had known her since she was a child, her sweet face had blessed him almost every morning with fresh coffee from across the street. He knew her father, everyone knew her father, he had killed Pearl Foster, the Sheriffs daughter.

Staggering to his feet, he knew he couldn't return to his boss with this mess, he had to get rid of her body. Something he hadn't planned on. He stared out over the ocean, it was as still as glass, nothing to indicate the horror that had taken place there. Glancing down at her lifeless body, he knew what he had to do. Reaching for the blade in his back pocket he dug it deeply into her arm, opening a deep bloody wound from wrist to shoulder. After repeating the process on her other arm and both legs, he dragged her by the ankles back into the ocean. This time he felt the water enter his shoes and soak his socks, funny, he thought, I didn't notice that before.

Now, neck-deep in water, he thought he felt something brush against his leg, perhaps it was just the thing he needed. With a shove, the body drifted further out to sea. Hopefully, by morning, the sharks would've done their work and anything that was left would be unrecognisable.

Stumbling to shore, exhausted and out of breath, he walked back to the old pier and lent against it for a moment. He was oddly calm considering what he had just done, and who he had done it too. Unsure of what would happen next, he let his head hang down in despair, and as he did, he caught a glimpse of silver shining in the moonlight. Bending down, he picked up a lighter, and a few meters away was the pack of cigarettes Pearl must've used earlier. He pulled out a smoke and placed it in his mouth before he flicked the lighter on and brought the small flame to the end of the drag. Inhaling the tobacco, he held his breath for a few seconds, letting it circulate through his already burnt lungs. He had been without a smoke for a hundred and eight days and alcohol for three hundred days, although that would soon change. A lot would change when daylight struck, starting with the disappearance of Pearl Foster. Where did he go wrong? How could he have killed the wrong person? Was the young woman still on the beach somewhere now? He shook his head, those dark ocean eyes would be the death of him. Looking at the cigarette, he knew he was fucked.