Page 65 of Girl, Deceived

She sat in an ornate, antique chair, her frail form almost swallowed by its grandeur. Her eyes were milky white, and she clutched a tattered photograph in her trembling hands. She mumbled incessantly to herself, lost in her own world.

‘Ma’am?’ Ella called.

The woman cried something inaudible. Not words that resonated with Ella’s experience of the English language. The white orbs she had for eyes flickered but registered nothing.

‘Miss, we’re looking for Harry Faulkner. Is he here?’ Ripley this time.

The woman's mumbling grew louder, the cadence of her speech indicating distress. They sounded like a chant or a prayer, repeated over and over, Ella thought.

‘She’s blind,’ Ripley finished.

A different kind of victim? An old woman, perhaps one reminiscent of a witch?

‘Ma'am, can you hear me? We're police officers. We're here to help,’ Ella said.

‘Harry… gone,’ the woman hissed.

‘Gone? Where?’ Ripley asked.

The woman's voice grew rougher, summoning the use of a second set of vocal cords. Hey, pallid eyes flickered like broken TV screens. 'He's gone... taken by the shadows,' she growled. She clutched the photograph – which Ella now saw was completely blank – to her tattered white gown.

‘Shadows? What shadows?’

‘The ones in his mind. The ones from his films. They became too real for him... and for me.’

Ella had to take a step back and take in the whole scene at a glance. Who was this woman? Harry's mother? She scrutinized the woman's façade: dead eyes, clothes straight out of the past, grey strings of hair caressing her emaciated frame. She was otherworldly, like a character ripped from a horror reel.

‘When was he last here?’

‘A long time ago.’

Ella's analytical mind raced. The room was full of incongruities. An ancient chair more suited to a grand parlor than this derelict room. An old woman who seemed more phantom than flesh. A blank photograph clutched with an intensity that suggested it held profound significance.

It was almost a little unbelievable.

‘Ripley,’ said Ella. ‘I think we might have got this all wrong.’

Her partner stepped back. The old woman stared off into the distance, inhabiting her imaginary world again.

‘No,’ the woman snapped. ‘Harry… left. No more.’

Behind the woman’s shabby clothes, Ella assessed her body type. Gaunt, wrinkly. She would have made the perfect witch if not for the stumpy fingers.

‘Wrong?’ Ripley asked.

Ella turned her attention to the witch and asked, ‘Ma’am, are you blind? Is that why your eyes are like that?’

‘Blind,’ the woman groaned.

‘Completely?’

‘Yesss.’

‘Sorry to have bothered you,’ Ella said. She spun around, made a beeline for the laptop, picked it up and stuffed it under her arm. Next, she picked up an ornament off the dresser – a tiny crystal skull – and pocketed it. Ripley regarded her with confusion, a hint of disbelief hiding in there too.

And the woman hissed again. ‘Put that back.’

‘Put what back?’ Ella said. She gestured to Ripley to get going.

---