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“Sounds impressive, darling.”
“First, I start with the sand. I pack it tight, making the walls strong and tall. I found the best sticks, the ones that are strong but not too big, to make the walls and towers. “
“Not even the sea will knock this fort down.”
“The decorating part is my favourite,” Abby continued. “I found shiny shells from all around the beach. Each one is different. Some are as white as my teeth, and others are swirly with colours like the rainbow.” She pushed them into the sand walls, making patterns and designs.
“I need to find some crabs.” Abby stood, brushing the sand from her knees and then her hands.
“What do you need crabs for?” her mother asked.
“To guard the fort from the beach. The dolphins are my lookouts, ready to signal if any pirate ships come near.”
“Oh my goodness, have there been pirates ships sighted in the area?”
“There are always pirates at sea, Mum.” Abby took an extra long stick and brandished it in the air. “But I’m ready for them.”
“Have you got a sword for me?” Rachel got to her feet.
“There’s another one over there. I’ll get it for you.”
Abby grinned. She’d had the best childhood. Full of fun and adventure, love and learning. She’d wanted for nothing and grown up secure in who she was and where she belonged in the world. The kernel of fear she’d not been able to shake since Rachel collapsed pressed against her. Abby couldn’t lose her.
Setting the first folder aside, she opened the next. Her stomach lurched. The pages contained the image of a man who looked to be in his twenties. The same man, over and over. His hair was dark, perhaps a deep brown or black, and appeared thick and slightly wavy. His face had a chiselled appearance, courtesy of a pronounced jawline. His nose was straight and well-proportioned.
His eyes were dark and intense. There was depth and emotion in his gaze, which seemed to penetrate, as if he was looking right through the paper, while in others, his gaze was softer, more introspective. Thick and well-shaped eyebrows added character to his expression and framed his eyes effectively.
The subtle play of shadows and light on his face suggested a complexion that was neither too fair nor too dark. There was a naturalness to his look, devoid of any artificiality, that was both intriguing and captivating.
He was familiar, yet not. Abby studied the pages, trying to make the connection she was sure existed. Who was this man?
His eyes… there was something about them, like she’d seen them before. Abby shuffled through the remaining drawings, her heart stalling as she stared at the same man leaning against a motorcycle. He wore dark jeans and a white t-shirt, combat boots on his feet.
“Oh my God…” She imagined his hair a little longer, and receding at the front; a handlebar moustache. Cold, flat eyes. “It can’t be.”
She spread the pages out on the floor, searching for something, anything, that would confirm or contradict her growing suspicions. Why would her mother have drawings of a biker? How would she even know this man?
Abby sat back against the wall, her arm brushing the folder filled with pictures of her as a child and knocking it to the floor. “Damn it.”
She shuffled forward towards the spilled contents and began separating the drawings. As she looked at her childish face, and that of the man’s, her skin broke into goosebumps. Abby shivered, a sense of déjà vu washing over her.
His hair, though darker, had the same kind of wave that she had struggled to tame all her life. The shape of his face, the curve of his smile—there was an undeniable resemblance to her own features.
With each drawing, the resemblance became more pronounced. The way his eyebrows arched, the depth in his eyes, even the way his lips parted in a half-smile—it was like looking into a mirror of her own soul, yet reflected in a different time and place. The realisation crept over her slowly, tingling at the back of her mind.
“It can’t be,” she repeated. What was going on? Was her mind playing tricks on her, making her see things that weren’t there? That had to be it. She stuffed the drawings into their respective folders and placed them back in the drawer.
Scott had shown her pictures of those bikers, then her mother had collapsed and was taken to hospital. She was in shock. That’s all. Insisting everything was going to be okay had merely masked her anxiety and concern.
A sharp knock at the door made her jump, her heart beating painfully fast in her chest. Bruce came running, growling in protest at the interruption.
“For God’s sake, Scott! Since when do you knock?” she muttered. Walking the short distance to the door, she yanked it open. Only instead of Scott, she came face to face with a stranger. Her heart skipped a beat then leapt into her throat as familiarity dawned. The man from the cafe!
His face twisted into a menacing sneer. “Hello, Abby.”
Chapter 9
Primal instinct took over. Abby tried to close the door; the stranger pushed back. She shoved her shoulder hard against the timber, trying to get her weight to match his strength.
