The Flood. Rachel Bennett
she was surprised to find a large, rectangular object, the size of a breeze block, wrapped tightly in plastic, taking up most of the room in the hole. Apparently at least one other family member recalled the hiding place.
Daniela reached past the plastic-wrapped object, flinching away when it brushed her arm. Whatever it was, it wasn’t hers, and she avoided touching it.
Right at the back of the concealed space, wedged behind a wooden support, so far that Daniela had to lie down flat to reach it, should’ve been a small bundle wrapped in cloth. At first, she couldn’t find it, and panicked. Had someone taken it? But then her fingers closed on the bundle. It was tucked further back than she’d thought.
Daniela drew it out gingerly. The cloth had once been a blue striped tea towel, but long years in damp conditions had turned it into a formless grey mush, coated in dust and rot. It smelled of decay.
Perching on her heels, Daniela unwrapped the old bundle. The last seven years concertinaed and suddenly she was a teenager again, sitting on the edge of her bed, folding the towel around a slim metal object. The memory returned with such clarity it made her flinch. She’d pictured returning here so often it was hard to believe this was real.
She knew it wasn’t smart to retrieve the object, but she couldn’t stop herself. For years she’d wondered whether it’d remained unfound, awaiting her return. She had to know.
She pulled away the friable cloth to reveal a flick-knife. Rust decorated the once shiny steel, but couldn’t obscure the shape of a snake, inlaid in black, along the dark red handle.
Along with the knife, concealed in the folds of the cloth, were four gold rings, tarnished and discoloured, with precious stones that no longer glittered.
The rings were what she’d come to the house for. Daniela had a rough idea how much they were worth. Not nearly as much as five thousand, but maybe enough. By now it should be safe to sell them. In her palm, they were cold enough to make her skin tingle. Here was another chunk of her past. She tucked them in the pocket of her jeans.
She started to rewrap the knife, but her gaze fell on the plastic-wrapped package in the hidey-hole.
What was Auryn hiding?
Curiosity won, and she lifted the package out. It hadn’t lain there long enough to collect dust. In the slightly better light, the blue polythene became translucent. Daniela whistled in surprise.
The package contained stacks of twenty-pound notes, bound so tightly they’d become a hard brick. Daniela weighed it in her hand. She couldn’t begin to estimate how much money was there.
What the hell was Auryn doing with this?
She hadn’t for a moment expected to find money in the house. She’d come back for what was hers, that was all. And yet, here it was, like a gift from God, left hidden for her in an empty house. Just when she needed it most.
How long would it be until Auryn came back to the house? How long before she checked the hidey-hole? It’d be days at least. Possibly longer. She might not discover the money was missing for weeks.
Daniela hesitated a moment more as she struggled with her conscience. Absently she pocketed the knife. Then she replaced the loose floorboard.
Cradling the plastic-wrapped money, Daniela went downstairs. She closed the attic door behind her.
Rather than clamber down the tree, she figured she could let herself out through the front door if she moved whatever was blocking it. She took her boots and the money and followed the stairs at the far end of the landing down to the flooded ground floor.
Halfway down, she stopped.
The only light came from the round window at the top of the stairs. It wasn’t really adequate to illuminate the hallway. But Daniela could see the shape that lay blocking the front door. It wasn’t sandbags.
Daniela took another step down the stairs. She’d thought Auryn had left the house days ago. If she’d believed otherwise, even for a moment, she would’ve searched the house properly. She never would’ve wasted time going up to her old room.
A little more light slipped through the upstairs window behind her. It didn’t improve the situation. All it did was let Daniela see her sister’s face.
Auryn had slumped against the door, falling sideways so her head rested against the wall. Her nose and mouth were underwater. It appeared that she’d let her hair grow out past her shoulders, normally worn short as a teenager. Loose strands stuck to her forehead and cheek. Her eyes were open. Auryn had always been the odd one out – a blonde-haired, blue-eyed anomaly among her dark-haired sisters.
Daniela dropped what she was holding and came down the stairs fast. She jumped down the last two steps before remembering she wasn’t wearing her boots. The shock of the cold water barely slowed her. She grabbed Auryn’s shoulders and dragged her upright.
Water flowed from Auryn’s slack mouth. Daniela stifled a cry. She shook Auryn by the shoulders as if the woman might suddenly snap out of this. Auryn’s head flopped forwards. She was a dead weight.
Daniela pressed a hand to Auryn’s neck. She held her breath, willing a pulse to flutter beneath her fingers. There was nothing. The skin was cold and waxy and lifeless. When Daniela moved her hand, the imprint of her fingertips remained indented on Auryn’s throat.
Daniela stumbled away and half fell against the doorway that led to the sitting room. Her feet sent waves bouncing off the walls. The reflections from the water gave the illusion of movement on Auryn’s face. As if at any moment she might blink and sit up. Auryn’s black vest billowed around her stomach. The flesh of her arms and face was the colour of dead fish belly.
Automatically Daniela glanced into the front room, where the phone always sat on the windowsill. It was disconnected, the cable wrapped around the handset.
She managed to get her mobile out of her pocket. With shaking hands, she dialled Stephanie’s number.
The line rang four times then went to voicemail.
‘Steph, I’m at the old house.’ Daniela’s voice sounded loud and panicky in the close confines of the waterlogged house. ‘Something’s happened to Auryn.’
She tried to say more but the words jammed in her throat. Her eyes stung with tears. She shut the phone off and held it gripped tight in her hand.
Turning away, she stared into the front room. It was difficult to tell when the house had flooded. Water lapped the big oak dining table. The table was strewn with papers and magazines, their edges curling. Already the wallpaper was beginning to peel. The threadbare sofa was saturated, and a low coffee table was now an island. Several empty cups sat on the table. Some effort had been made here to move books and magazines to the higher bookcase shelves, and there was a conspicuous empty spot on an entertainment stand where a television and DVD player had been removed. A sodden cushion wallowed in the water like a half-sunk iceberg. The water had an oily sheen.
There was also a lot of rubbish. Cigarette ends and empty beer cans bobbed on the waves. A pair of whisky bottles nestled together in the corner. One was still half-full and rode low in the water.
Auryn … what happened to you?
Looking into the sitting room, Daniela’s gaze flitted from one irrelevant object to the next, searching for something solid. The dusty mirror above the fireplace reflected her pale, shocked face, almost unrecognisable. The semi-opaque glass made her look drowned. Daniela stared at the ornaments on the mantel, at scraps of paper and postcards, at the books on the shelves next to framed photographs that’d belonged to Dad. Some of the items were hers. A carved wooden bear brought back from a school trip. The shell casing from a Second World War mortar that she’d dug up in the woods. Small, meaningless