Deep Water by Mark Ayre (best big ereader TXT) 📕

birth,” Abbie agreed. “It's my taken rather than given name. It's on my driver's license if you'd like to see."

"I would."

Abbie realised their hands were still clasped though they had a while ago stopped shaking. Trying to hold the smile, Abbie eased her hand free and removed her wallet from her bag. From within, she extracted her driver's license and passed it over.

Alice looked at the card, examined the name and then Abbie's photo.

"Could be a fake," she said, staring at it.

"It could," Abbie agreed. "What makes you think I'd need a fake name?"

"What would make me think you wouldn't?" Alice asked. While Abbie tried to decide if this made sense, Alice moved on. "Why Abagail King?"

"Why not?"

"Don't tell me it's random." Alice rolled her eyes. "Consciously or subconsciously, when given a choice, people always pick a name that means something to them."

"If it was subconscious, I wouldn't know what it was, would I?"

"Not off the top of your head. You seem like a smart girl. Self-aware. Why don't you dig into that pretty little head of yours and see if you can uncover the reason?"

"Why?"

Both women were standing. Alice was as tall as Abbie. Her white hair and her face's sharp lines, combined with her bright blue eyes and easy smile, gave her an air of powerful dignity. One look into those eyes made you want to submit to her rule. Luckily for Abbie, she'd had plenty of practice at being obstinate.

Alice waited. And waited. Shook her head when she realised Abbie wasn't going to give.

"Spoilsport," she muttered, but with good humour. "On to business then. My son says you believe I'm in danger but can't explain how you know. You want to save my life but can't explain why you'd care. Well, consider me intrigued."

"I can imagine. But if I implied to Tony that I couldn't explain how I knew you were in danger or why I'd want to save you, I misspoke, and I apologise."

"Apology accepted," said Alice. Her eyes gleamed with expectation. She wanted to hear Abbie's explanation. She was set to be disappointed.

"The truth is I could explain. I just won't."

"Ah, that's a mean bit of misdirection," said Alice, then waved it away. "No matter. I don't require saving."

"Yeah," said Abbie. “I hear that a lot."

Alice examined Abbie. Her smile lingered. It looked to be natural, but who could tell? It struck Abbie that Alice was likely a good actress.

"A lot," Alice mused. "You some kind of hero?"

"Please," said Abbie. "Aren't heroes action-figure looking men who go around saving pretty young ladies? Not bitter, damaged women who save OAPs."

"Excuse me. I'm fifty-nine. Until tomorrow."

Abbie smiled. That was interesting. “Happy birthday for tomorrow, though it'll be a shame if someone murders you before you have the chance to blow out the candles."

Alice raised her eyebrows. For a beat, all was quiet. Then the fifty-nine year old burst out with a laugh of such warmth. Abbie almost decided on the spot to save the woman.

"You've made a good first impression," said Alice. "And for what it's worth, you may not have the right bits to be a conventional hero, but you're good looking enough, and you've got the right attitude."

Turning, Alice crossed the room and looked out the window. She ran her finger across a board game. The laugh had died. Abbie guessed the smile had slipped from Alice's face. The older woman wasn't the kind to allow a stranger to see her pain. Probably wasn't the kind to let her nearest and dearest see it either.

"Gender aside, if you are a hero, I wish you were conventional in saving pretty young things. That was the kind I needed."

Abbie felt her hands tense by her side. "Your daughter?"

A curt nod. Alice didn't turn.

"My little Aurora," she said. "Namesake of Sleeping Beauty, and now that's what she is. Except no true love's first kiss will wake her."

A deep sigh and the veneer slid away. The wound was fresh. Abbie was right about Alice and acting. She was holding it together through pretence, but her pain was right at the surface. Abbie understood. She was amazed the older woman could stay so strong so soon after her daughter's demise. Abbie had been a wreck for weeks after losing her baby and had disappeared into rage and grief for just as long upon losing her sister.

"If you're into saving lives, she was the one," said Alice. "My life means little now. Don't stick around; you'd be wasting your time."

After another heavy breath, Alice swivelled back on her leg and faced Abbie again. The smile was gone, but strength had defeated grief, at least for a moment. There were no tears. Alice looked every bit the matriarch Tony had implied she was.

Sensing Alice was preparing to remove Abbie from the house, she, Abbie, acted on impulse, sliding the drawstring bag from her shoulder and pulling from inside the book wrapped pillowcase.

"What's that?" asked Alice.

Rather than answering directly, Abbie said, "When I was nineteen, someone murdered my sister. By that point, I'd lost my baby. My parents had proven themselves to be despicable humans; my brother was in prison. Violet was all I had. She meant the world to me.

In front of the sofa on which Abbie had sat was a coffee table. Going to her knees, Abbie lay the pillowcase on the table and unfolded it. With the care with which a nun might handle an ancient bible, Abbie removed from the bag The Stand.

"Ten years later, this is the last possession of Violet's I have, and I treasure it. Though it's become battered and bruised over the years, though I should put it in a safe to ensure its survival, I find I have to keep it with me at all times. I feel a little piece of my sister is still with me while it’s at my side. I link it to my memories of her. Stupid, I know. I'll always remember her, but, over the years, I've got it