0002

My sneakers crunched across the narrow gravel path. The hill rose like a black curtain, blocking the orange glow of the city. The Moon filled the darkness with a silvery sketch of the apple trees laid in lines across the grass behind the house. The blossoms seemed to cup every drop of moonlight and amplify it. I walked through the glow towards the dark cabin where my sister and her boyfriend lived. 

I noticed Luke's motorbike was missing. I hissed her name. "Aoife. Aoife!" 

Nothing stirred. I stood back from the door and tried to peer through the windows but I could see nothing. Maybe they weren't here. They were probably out at some rave or some Beltane celebration. That was almost exactly where they were. I smiled. What the fuck was I doing out here? I came here on auto-pilot. 

I should go, before they return or I wake up Nancy, my father's nurse. She slept at the back of the house and could hear a mouse twitch. 

But I reached up around the bark of the nearest apple tree; I knew where she kept her spare key. I fumbled in the darkness and closed my eyes. It was easier to find with no light at all. There. Nestled in a narrow crook of two branches, in between three knotted burls, I found the key. It shone in the light, winking brightly in my fingers. 

I would just have a quick look inside. Then I would go back to bed. 

I turned the key in the door and pulled it open, stepping up into the cabin. 

There was an odd, musty smell. Dozens of candles filled the table and counter top. Otherwise the place looked neat and tidy, even in the dim moonlight. My eyes adjusted to the dark as I whispered. "Guys. Are you here?"

The only other space was the bedroom on the right. There was nobody here. I pushed back the curtain separating the two spaces and froze. I am sure my chest made a sound, like a wounded animal. It's her. 

She was lying under a sheet on one of the single beds. Her narrow chin was raised slightly towards the candles lined up on the window still. Her cheekbones, long and high, looked pale and cold, even in the golden, flickering light. Her long, black hair was tied in a braid which curled loosely across her neck like a scarf. Her eyes were closed and her hands were folded over her chest. She was wearing the white linen night gown, the one I had bought her for Christmas. 

And she was dead. I knew it. I could tell without another look. My twin sister had been torn away from me.