Temere Mortis

Chapter Twenty-nine

Isla's cold had reached a level of brutality by the time they returned to the cottage a few hours later. Her skin was searing hot to touch and she could feel her sweat seeping through her clothes. It was disgusting, and she hoped that Max hadn't noticed.

"After you," he smiled charmingly as he opened the front door. There was no concern on his face as he appraised her, and she was thankful. Either he was blissfully unaware of her current state, or he thought she was merely unfit and struggling after their walk.

Just as Isla was about to step over the threshold a loud call of her name startled her. She knew that voice, but she daren't turn around.

"Isla!" the same voice called again but Isla's feet stayed firmly planted to the ground keeping her facing the opposite direction. Max's stance had grown rigid and he clamped a hand around her wrist.

"Isla keep moving," he instructed her, hurriedly. "Don't look back. It's them. You need to go inside so I can protect you."

Isla couldn't find the strength to take a single step, but she couldn't turn around either.

"That isn't a male voice," she said instead, watching Max's face morph into an expression of outright fear. His grip tightened.

"Go inside the house, Isla," he begged, attempting to force her to move but she resisted. She took a deep, steadying breath, watching the look of horror on Max's face as she turned her head and saw her; her best friend. Isla's breathing grew laboured and she struggled to force her mouth to form words.

"Alex?" she breathed, absorbing every detail.

Alex stood before her, feet shoulder's width apart and back straight, regarding Isla with a look that was overflowing with regret. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail and she wore a plain t-shirt and jeans. It was the same outfit Isla had seen her in at the building where Isaac and Henry had held her captive. This time Isla saw her however, Alex wasn't trying to force feed her bread and cheese. She looked at Isla with a fierce determination and a look of pity in her eyes. Alex had never looked at Isla this way before, Isla had never had need to be pitied so thoroughly.

"I'm hallucinating again," Isla whispered, turning to Max for reassurance. "Can you see her? Is she really there?" Max's face was set in a grim line as he refused to answer.

"I'm real, Isla," Alex assured her gently, from behind her. "I'm really, here." Isla shook her head frantically.

"But you can't be," she denied. "You're dead."

Henry stepped forward.

"I can see her too, Isla," he appraised her with a heart broken gaze. "How can you be imagining her if I can see her too?"

"Don't talk to me!" Isla screamed, stepping backwards and further towards the threshold of the cottage, closer to safety. "You were drugging me, you did this to me!" Alex shook her head, holding her hand in front of Henry to dissuade him from taking another step forward.

"How are you feeling right now, Isla?" she asked her. "Sick? Are you trembling?" Isla looked down towards her sweaty hands and clamped them shut. She shook her head, but Alex observed her actions, knowingly. Alex always knew when she was lying.

"Think back to school, Lila. Remember when we learned about the effects of drugs on the body?" Not knowing what Alex was getting at, Isla nodded reluctantly. "Do you remember when they taught us about heroine, about how users have to be slowly weened off it otherwise they get sick, really sick? They can die, Isla."

Isla's breathing continued in a rapid pace, her hand clutched her own throat as if it would allow the air in more easily. Max moved behind her to catch her as she sagged. As he did this, Henry and Isaac glared, anger flowing off them and into the air in crashing waves.