It took a long time to prise her off the body. The first few times anyone approached her she began to scream. It was only when she'd cried herself hoarse they were able to get close enough to touch her.
The next thing that they had to overcome was getting the body away from her. She was clutching it so desperately close that they were loath to prise it from her, but they were at a loss to do anything else; it was raining and they all wanted to get back inside.
What they were unwilling to admit was how unnerved they were by the girl's grief. She was bare foot and wearing a pale pink dress that left little to the imagination as it clung to her pale skin. Her gold hair was plastered to her face by the rain and her hands and knees were cut and grazed from where she had fallen onto the pavement in her desperation to reach the jail.
But it was her eyes that scared them the most. They were stormy sea blue, filled with what could only be described as agony. They looked at them with such despair that every time they got close they quickly stepped back again. She rocked back and forth, holding the man to her chest, tears streaming silently down her face. They knew enough to understand that the man they had just executed was her husband, but they didn't know why he had been killed when it was she who had been imprisoned only hours before on account of treason.
It was only when the girl became too exhausted to even support her own weight that they were able to take the body away. Even then she had tried to resist. Scrambling to her feet she tried to stop them, only to fall when her legs gave away underneath her. Lächeln, the youngest of the firing squad, had swung her up into arms and carried her into the station, laying her with unusual gentleness on the padded seats lined up along a peeling cream wall. At that point she curled up, tucking her knees into her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Realising that the girl must be freezing Lächeln fetched her a blanket from the store cupboard and draped it carefully over her, fastidiously tucking it under her cold feet. She seemed not to notice but began crying harder. Feeling completely unmanned he began ineffectively patting her head and making what he imagined were soothing noises. When this made no difference he sidled off, leaving it to his superiors to figure out what to do with her; he had no idea of how to treat distraught young women.
When he went to check on her however, there was only the damp blanket hanging half off the chair, and a trail of wet footprints leading back outside into the rain.
She wasn't entirely sure what she was going to do. All she knew was that she needed to get home. Maybe this was just another nightmare and when she woke up he we be beside her, his chest warm against her back, trying to soothe her.
Unthinkingly she headed down the main road, unaware of the stares she was getting from the people who rushed down the street, anxious to stay out of the rain as much as possible. She didn't seem to notice how badly she was shivering either as her body began to shut down as hypothermia set in. She just kept on walking, not caring that it would take her a good hour to walk back to her village. All she wanted was oblivion.
Lächeln drove slowly down the main street, scanning the side streets for the phantom figure of the girl he felt to driven to protect. He had taken the army car that the jail possessed without asking. He had just grabbed the key from the hook and hurried out to it, pulling his collar up against the rain, praying that he reached the girl before she did something she might regret.
He spotted her limping along as she reached the end of the row of houses and quickly drove over, settling the car down at a crawl to stay level to her. He reached across from the wheel and opened the passenger door. "Get in," he told her. She started and turned to him, vaguely aware that she recognised him. "Get in," he repeated.
Not caring who he was or what he wanted she stepped in, pulling the door shut behind her.
Seeing her shivering he turned up the heating, cursing his stupidity at not thinking to bring the blanket.
"Where do you live?" he asked, glancing at her out of the corner of her door after a few minutes. She was hunched over in the leather seat, her hands clenched together in her lap, her wet hair falling in eldritch locks around her face. "Where do you live?" he asked again patiently.
"Neureppin," she whispered, staring out the windscreen, her gaze frighteningly blank.
"Neureppin it is then," Lächeln said in the gentlest tone he could.
hello and welcome to the sequel to The Right Kind of Treason!
It can be read as a stand alone but things will probably make a lot more sence faster if you read The Right Kind of Treason first!
Unlike the first one however, this one isn't going to be entirely from the characters points of view, just half or so. The chapters that are will be mainly from Bianca but there will also be some others chipping in as well.
Let me know what you think!