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No defensive wounds, no bruises, and Turner was a big guy. You think he just stood there and let somebody shoot him? You have been chosen, comes a voice: an icicle melting in the centre of her skull. You will be reborn…. 4 The light from the hallway illuminated the interior. Curtains were blowing in the wind, and a huge rock lay in the center of the room. A note was wrapped around it. Gabriel removed it and passed it to me.We dont need fingerprints to know who its from. Yes, agreed Brenda and pointed to the label under the inside collar. This ones Nike. Dale threw the sketchpad onto the table. He remained transfixed to the closed cover.Yeah…well…its not new. Second hand. But yeah. Parked it round the back. Except that she was alone. She missed the snow. It made her think of him. Gabriel lifted my veil and captured my lips in a passionate kiss that left me breathless. The small crowd present cheered him on. Everything had happened so fast that time had passed in a blur of dresses, paperwork, and Karen fussing over my hair and makeup. Max and Don had both been best men, and Karen had served as my maid of honor. I made sure to toss the bouquet to her. Winter is on its way. Theres no snow on the fells but theres a sawtoothed sharpness to the air. The russets and golds; the honeys and caramels of a few days ago are yielding to the bleached bone and pure velvet blackness of the years end. Jerens head reeled as she tried to stand. She sat back down in defeat. Well, thats something, at least. How long have we been here? The Enchassa chuckled, like someone whose pet dog just showed his teeth.If you would have it so. Come back to me, Shan, and anything is possible. Rowan glances towards the lake.Three girls missing, two found. What does it say about that? What did the girls say when it all calmed down? Rowan doesnt give in to the laughter until the door has closed and he hears her footsteps fade away down the path. Then he drags himself upright, and winces himself into dark trousers, round-neck T-shirt and a baggy black cardigan. He pops two of his painkillers from the dimple packet and knocks them back with the last dregs of a whisky he cant actually remember pouring them when they arrived back at the little cottage. He checks the clock on the mantle. 1.24am. He could sleep, hes no doubt about that, but it feels like wasted time. Clumsily, he fills the kettle and sets about trying to make himself a cafetiere with the posh coffee. As the kettle boils, he listens back to the voice recordings. His thoughts start to speed up: an athlete finding their rhythm on a treadmill. He pours the coffee and moves to his favoured position, on sentry duty in the entryway, door half closed behind him..