A Brush with Death: A Penny Brannigan Mystery - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,14

of movement out of the corner of her eye and then was caught in the blinding glare of headlights. She felt, rather than saw, the car speeding toward her, and before she could react, it was upon her.

She caught a shadowy glimpse of the driver, hunched over the steering wheel, a dark cap pulled down over staring eyes.

Suspended in horrified disbelief at what was happening to her, she felt herself being lifted into the air and carried along on top of the car. It drove on for a few metres, for a few terrifying seconds, as it slowed and then came to a stop. She heard the sound of a car door opening and then felt rough, invisible hands pulling her off the bonnet and throwing her to the ground. Through the unreality she tried to see who was doing this to her, but it was too dark and happening too quickly. As suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The car door slammed shut as the vehicle sped off, leaving her in a crumpled heap by the side of the road.

She lay on her side, shaken and stunned, trying to remain calm. I’ve been hit, she told herself. Can I stand up?

She tried to pull her legs up toward her chest, but through the excruciating pain she realized that they wouldn’t move.

As a rising sense of fear enveloped her, she became aware of the sharp prick of tiny stones on her face. She placed her hand under her cheek and felt a sob escape her.

Oh God, she thought. Is this how I die? Alone, here, in the dark? I can’t. I can’t. If I can hang on until it’s light, someone will come by. It’s going to be fine. It will be all right. It’s almost morning. Someone will come. Someone will find me.

Emma stirred in her sleep. She swept her hand across the cool sheets where Alys had lain and moved over into the space. Waking slowly and remembering, she turned on the bedside lamp. She held Alys’s gift, feeling the weight and coolness of it. She looked at the clock. She’ll be well on her way by now, she thought. I’ll see her at the weekend. I’ll keep busy and the time will go quickly. It won’t be long.

Alys saw the light in the upstairs window and cried out. How long? How long have I been here? Is she getting up? Emma, come to the window. Oh, why doesn’t somebody help me? And then a welcome warmth surged through her as the crushing pain gave way to merciful darkness.

Five

Remember what I told you—no matter what happens, I will always love you.

A

Penny sighed, blew her nose, and added the tissue to the little pile on the sofa beside her. Then she scrunched them all up into a little ball, placed the soggy mess on the end table, and lay down on the sofa, the last letter in her hand.

So, Emma and Alys had been much more than friends. They’d been lovers and deeply in love.

She felt a wild and wide range of emotions. Immense sadness that Emma should have lost the one she loved, and great compassion that she should have had to live out the rest of her life alone, carrying what must have been an enormous, intense emotional burden.

But most of all Penny felt hurt and confused. She had known Emma for more than twenty years and had never heard of this Alys Jones. Not once had Emma mentioned her. Not one time. You think you know someone, she thought, but you don’t. You can’t, not really, not completely, because you can never know what went before—who she was before you tumbled into her life, with all your own emotional baggage and youthful dreams. And what of Emma? What must it have been like for her living with that enormous sexual secret all those years, unable to share it. And having to live day by day, never knowing who had robbed her of the one person she loved.

Penny picked up the bunch of tissues, along with the cup of cold tea and took them to the kitchen. As she set the cup in the sink, she was grateful to Victoria for leaving everything so clean and tidy. The dishes had been washed and set out on the counter to dry. Her gaze wandered to the Welsh dresser, and she walked over and stood in front of it looking at the tea set. She picked up