Temere Mortis

Chapter Forty-three

The force of the first memory hit Isla like a rock and she dropped to the floor with a soft thud.

It was Isla's ninth birthday and her parents were throwing her a party. It wasn't large, because Isla didn't have many friends but her best friend, Alex, was there and so was the rest of the Isaacs family. Her parents had set up a bouncy castle in their pokey little garden and the children laughed, attempting to throw each other off whilst falling over their own feet as they bounced.

They were playing crack the egg, and thus Alex was curled into a ball at the centre of the castle. The rest of the children were attempting to break her from her position by the force of their merciless attack. Suddenly, Jacob and Danny caught each other's attention and grinned mischievously.

"CANNON BALL!" Jacob screamed, tucking his knees to his chin and dropping like a stone onto the inflated floor.

"AHHH!" Alex cried, as she was forced to release her legs from her arms' tight embrace. She flailed ridiculously on the floor as her friends laughed around her. "Your turn," she pouted, pointing at Isla who groaned.

"I already went," Isla whined, looking to her brother for support.

He laughed in response, pointing at the floor and giggling. He and Danny were a year older than the rest of them, but no more mature. With a childish pout, Isla let herself fall to the floor, coiling her legs to her chin whilst glaring at her best friend.

Her friends and brother bounced around her, getting closer and closer with each jump until eventually, Isobel slipped and fell, accidentally kicking Isla in the jaw.

Isla felt the tears stinging at her eyes but simply stood and left the castle without a word. The rest of them called after her loudly. She saw her mother roll her eyes, but she didn't bother coming to help. She was a firm believer in making her children fight their own battles.

Isla ran from the garden and into the house. Her feet carried her to her bedroom where she flopped onto the bed. In there, she could cry in private and she let the treacherous tears dribble down her flushed cheeks. She refused to cry in front of the boys; they'd call her a baby. Isla was nine now, and in her mind basically an adult.

Stirred from her thoughts, she heard a light tapping at the door.

"Go away!" Isla insisted between sniffles, assuming it was one of the girls who had come to check on her. The door opened quietly, and Jack crept inside with a guilty look on his face.

"My sister's really sorry," he apologized for her, "she didn't mean it." Isla glared at him.

"I'm not upset," she insisted between sobs causing Jack to look confused.

"Then why are you crying?" he asked, his face adorably pinched in concern. He came forward to sit beside her on the bed, looking worriedly at the tears that adorned her cheeks.

"I'm not," Isla lied, placing a fake smile upon her lips. Jack giggled.

"You look funny," he told her between bursts of laughter.

He surprised her then, using his sleeve to wipe some of the moisture from her face. Looking shocked at his own actions he leaned forward further, placing a delicate kiss to where he had just grazed her cheek.

"That's better," he commented with a shy smile.

Isla had difficulty comparing the boy that she had just witnessed to the man who had held a gun, pointed at his cousin's chest. He had been cute, Isla thought with disgust. The boy she knew now was calculating and cold. What had happened to twist him into the aberrant creation that he was now?