Out of Sight

by Rebecca Duval

  Ryder humphed. “Fine. I’ll get her a hot drink, you try rousing her, but then I want to see your hand.”

  “Tea,” Ethan blurted. “She likes tea.”

  Ryder didn’t answer, but Ethan could feel him standing there.

  “Tea it is,” Ryder said, but his voice sounded strange.

  Ethan waited for Ryder’s footsteps to fade away before reaching his good hand out. He found one of Isla’s and squeezed it gently. “Isla? You have to wake up.”

  She didn’t react in any way he could detect. It was pointless. He was no use to her whatsoever. What did he know about taking care of people? All he knew was how to hurt and destroy, and Isla lying there, her skin cool, and breathing shallow, was only further evidence, as if he needed more. He couldn’t do this. Ethan slid his hand from hers and got to his feet.

  “Ethan?”

  His heart leapt into his throat, and he dropped to his knees. “Isla?”

  “What happened?” She sounded groggy, and a little spaced-out, her accent thicker.

  Ethan clasped her hand in his, reassured by the warmth of it. She was going to be okay. He repeated it over and over in his mind, like a prayer.

  “You caught your foot in a snare. We didnae ken where you were. Your car was still here, but there wasnae sign of you. Ryder noticed your coat was missing, so we thought you must have gone for a walk, but when we found you-” Ethan stopped abruptly.

  The relief he’d felt had been staggering, but it was swiftly engulfed by guilt. It was his fault.

  Ethan swallowed. “You were barely conscious. I’m sorry about your clothes, but they were soaked...I...we had to get you warm. Are you warm now? How’s your ankle?”

  “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just tired.”

  Ethan exhaled, his shoulders sagging.

  “You know, it’s funny,” Isla murmured. “I swear, I was having the strangest dream about you, but it was so real.”

  Ethan’s heart slowed to a crawl, then began racing. “Oh?” He tried to sound casual.

  “You were playing the piano, out in the woods. I followed the sound but the ground was littered with roses, and the thorns cut my feet. By the time I got to you my footprints were bloody, and then-” Isla cut off.

  “And then, what?” Ethan prompted.

  The fire crackled in the silence that followed until finally, Isla spoke. “And then you kissed me.”

  Ethan squeezed his eyes shut and turned away. “Definitely a dream.”

  Isla sighed, her breath huffing against the back of his hand. “I know.”

  Nineteen

  The television was on, but Isla wasn’t watching it. She was replaying the events of the night before over and over in her head, trying to separate dream from reality. She’d been sitting there for hours now, and she still wasn’t sure which was which.

  She’d been out of it, that much she did know. Her cheeks warmed at the memory of asking Ethan why he hadn’t kissed her. She prayed that part was fictional, but a nagging in her gut told her it wasn’t. There were other parts that were surely figments of her imagination however, like Ethan kneeling beside her, his hand gripping hers. What about the sound of him hissing in pain, and Ryder apologising, before saying it was his own fault? The terror she’d felt in the woods when she’d been sure someone else was there? Warm hands moving slowly across her goosebumped skin? How was she supposed to tell fact from fiction when none of it seemed real?

  The bell above the shop door chimed, breaking into her thoughts.

  It was her Saturday to work, but Len had insisted she take the day off, and wouldn’t hear a word otherwise. Isla hadn’t planned to tell him but unfortunately, he’d been there when Ryder had dropped her off, looking bedraggled, deathly pale and missing one shoe. Len had warned that if he saw her in the shop - or trying to leave for Rosehill today - he’d confiscate her favourite French Oak dressing table, and deduct her pay. She was fairly sure the latter was illegal, but she loved her dressing table, and besides, she was exhausted. Isla wasn’t sure how much of that was from the mild hypothermia, and how much was because she’d spent most of the night having vivid dreams about Ethan MacRae.

  There was a gentle knock on the door from the shop stairwell. Probably Zoe, fussing.

  “It’s open,” Isla called, muting the TV.

  “Uh...hi.”

  “Tim?” Isla pulled her dressing gown tighter.

  Tim flushed. “There’s someone asking to see you.”

  Isla’s pulse leapt. She yanked the bobble from her messy ponytail, and fluffed her hair around her face frantically, knowing even as she did that it wouldn’t matter if it was him.

  “Who?”

  But before Tim could answer, an unmistakable, bulky frame filled the living room doorway behind him.

  “Ryder?” Isla couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed. Her heart slowed back to its normal rhythm, and she sank back against the sofa.

  “Hi. How are you feeling?” Ryder looked as uncomfortable as she suddenly felt. Until then, the scrambled events whirling around in her mind were just that, now with Ryder standing there shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, the mumbled exchanges between her and Ethan took on a new life. Ryder knew, she realised, looking up at him. He knew more than she did, about all of it.

  A blush crept up Isla’s neck, and over her face. “I’m okay, thanks. Did...did Ethan send you?”

  “No. I mean yes, he did, but I wanted to check in with you myself anyway, to see how you were doing.”

  “How thoughtful of you,” Tim muttered.

  Isla hadn’t realised he was still standing there. “Tim, this is Ryder. You remember me telling you-”

  “Yes,” Tim cut her off. “I remember.” He glowered up at Ryder. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

  “What’s his problem?” Ryder asked when Tim’s footsteps on the staircase had receded.

  Isla sighed. “I wish I knew. Sit down, please. Can I get you anything?” She moved to get up.

  “Isla.” Ryder’s voice was stern. “I didn’t come here for you to wait on me.”

  “It’s no trouble.”

  “No. Thank you.”

  Isla narrowed her eyes at him. “Fine, but I’m making a pot of tea anyway.”

  She was fed-up of being treated like an invalid when all she’d done was get caught up in a bit of wire and get rained on.

  But it wasn’t just that, was it? A voice in her head whispered. She’d been stuck out there like prey. What if someone other than Ethan and Ryder had found her first?

  The teapot clattered from her hands onto the side, and Ryder stood up, his expression full of alarm.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, yes, fine.” Isla busied herself making the tea, aware that Ryder was watching her the entire time.

  Isla put the tea tray on the table and looked up at Ryder. “So what was it that Ethan sent you for, exactly?” She tried to sound casual, but her pulse quickened even saying his name.

  “He wanted me to give you these…” Ryder produced a large paper bag from the side of the sofa, that she hadn’t noticed him carrying. Isla prepared herself to receive a bunch of flowers or a box of chocolates, no doubt bought by Ryder himself on the way over. Instead, Ryder held out a box. Not just any box, a shoe-box. A very specific shoe box, that Isla recognised instantly because she had the exact same one in her wardrobe.

  Isla took it from Ryder, her eyes wide. “Is this what I think it is?”

  “I hope so,” Ryder said with a shy smile. “Ethan gave me very specific instructions, and the shop assistant was really helpful, so…” he trailed off.

  She lifted the lid and used it to hide her grin. It was her boots. Or rather, not her boots, because they’d been trashed- although not without saving her ankle from serious injury first. This was a brand new pair, wrapped in tissue paper. She checked the size- five, perfect.

  “Wow. I don’t know what to say. Thank you, and tell Ethan thank you, too.”

  �
��You’re welcome,” Ryder said. “I will. He also told me to tell you not to rush back. Take as much time as you need.”

  Isla frowned. “I’m sure I’ll be fine by Monday.” Unless that was Ethan’s way of saying he didn’t want her there?

  Ryder shrugged. “I’m just repeating what he said. Oh, I almost forgot. I got you these-” he reached back into the paper bag, and this time he pulled out a bunch of flowers, purple and burgundy peonies, and dotted between them delicate pink roses…

  Isla choked on her tea and felt it scald her windpipe as she spluttered for air.

  Ryder lay the bunch of flowers on the table between them. “Is something wrong?”

  Isla stared through watering eyes at the roses, and they seemed to transform before her, their petals shrivelling and stalks fading…

  “No. No. It’s just…” Isla trailed off. She put her teacup down into its saucer with a clatter. “Ryder. Did someone die at Rosehill?”

  Ryder frowned at the sudden change of subject. “A few people over the years. It was all in the file I gave you-”

  Isla shook her head “I was thinking more recently than that.”

  “The house was empty for years before Ethan bought it.”

  “And since then?...”

  Ryder’s eyes widened. “Since then, the only person who’s lived there is Ethan. Where are you going with this, Isla?”

  She shook her head. “Nowhere. It’s...nothing.”

  Ryder narrowed his eyes in obvious disbelief, and Isla sighed.

  “It’s just...don’t you ever get the feeling that there’s something you’re missing? Something obvious, that would explain...well, everything, but you only ever catch a glimpse of it before it slips away into the shadows?”

  Now it was Ryder’s turn to choke on his tea. He coughed into his fist, his face pale. “Isla, are you talking about ghosts?”

  “No! No. Not ghosts. But...something…”

  Ryder frowned. “Like what?”

  “That’s just it,” Isla said. “I don’t know.”

  *

  “Oh good, you’re up,” Zoe said.

  Isla opened the flat door wider to allow her to step inside.

  Zoe was wearing tight, white jeans, and a delicate peach camisole that trod the thin line between party wear and underwear, and complimented her tawny skin. She was clutching a bottle of prosecco, and the smell of sweet perfume wafted into the flat with her.

  Isla, in contrast, was wearing a fluffy bathrobe, and a peel-off face mask. Tired of lounging around with only her own muddled thoughts for company, she’d spent the remainder of the afternoon after Ryder left preening herself in the bathroom, as though she could slough her anxieties away with her dead skin.

  Her head was no clearer, but her skin was soft, her nails painted, and her hair blow-dried.

  “I have to say, you don’t look like somebody who spent an evening out in the wilderness.” Zoe looked her up and down.

  “I had a bath,” Isla said. “And besides, it wasn’t the wilderness, Zo. I fell over in a wood and got mild hypothermia, that’s all.” Maybe if she kept saying it, it would eventually feel like the truth.

  “Well, that’s good, because we can’t have you out on the town looking like something the cat dragged in.” Zoe winked, and Isla noticed she was wearing false lashes.

  “Out on the town?” Isla repeated.

  “Yep. I’m busting you out of here, and I don’t want any excuses. You spend any more time holed up here or in that bloody castle and you’re at risk of becoming a hermit yourself,” Zoe huffed. “We’re long overdue a girl’s night out.”

  Isla opened her mouth to protest but snapped it shut again when she realised that she didn’t want to. Zoe was right. It had been too long. She needed a break from work, from Rosehill, from her own thoughts. A night of drinking and dancing was the perfect solution.

  “So, are you going to come willingly? Or do I have to drag you kicking and screaming?” Zoe arched one neat eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest, as though preparing herself for a battle, but Isla only grinned.

  “Where are we going?”

  Twenty

  Isla had forgotten how busy Grassmarket could get on a Saturday night.

  A light covering of cloud dusted the Edinburgh sky but despite the crisp, clear September night, the outdoor seating at Bar Twenty Two was almost full. Isla and Zoe were lucky to spot an empty table just as a couple were leaving. They quickly snagged it, settling down in the shadow of Edinburgh Castle, a bottle of wine between them.

  Zoe shivered and pulled her trenchcoat closer around her. “God, it’s cold.”

  Isla murmured in agreement as she poured the wine but the truth was, after sitting on the woodland floor in the rain for hours, her concept of cold had altered, and between her coat and the three drinks she’d had back at the flat, she wasn’t yet feeling the chill of the autumn night.

  “We’ll soon warm up when we’re dancing.” Isla held her glass up and clinked it against Zoe’s.

  Zoe smiled. “I’m so glad you agreed to this.”

  “And I’m glad you suggested it.” Isla smiled back. Over Zoe’s shoulder, she could see the grand outline of the Edinburgh Castle towering above them, lit-up with brilliant white light against the black sky. She thought about Rosehill, shrouded in darkness, and Ethan alone inside it, and swiftly turned her face away.

  “You look it,” Zoe drawled.

  Isla waved a hand. “Sorry, I was miles away there for a minute.”

  “I noticed.” Zoe sipped her wine. “Care to share?”

  Isla let out a long, deep sigh and placed her glass down in front of her. “Ethan almost kissed me.”

  Zoe looked stunned. “Wait, what? Was this when you were caught in a trap?”

  “Oh my god, no! Before that, Zo. We were in the study, and there was this moment...I swear, we were close enough that I could feel his breath on my face and then...”

  “Then what?”

  Isla shrugged and poured herself more wine. “Then nothing.” She slammed the bottle down on the table. “God, I feel like such an idiot.”

  “Hey,” Zoe frowned at her over the top of her wine glass. “That’s my pal you’re talking about there.”

  Isla gave a half-hearted smile. “The signals were all there. Honestly, Zo, the air between us, it was...something else. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before.” She bit her lip.

  When she looked up, Zoe was staring at her.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You like him,” Zoe said, her voice filled with awe. “I mean, you really like him, don’t you?”

  Isla looked away, but it was no good. Her eyes landed straight on the castle, glowing above them, and she knew that Zoe would be able to see the truth in her face. She looked back at her friend.

  “Yes.”

  Zoe set her glass down, and reached across the table for Isla’s hand, squeezing it in her own. “Just be careful, okay?”

  Isla resisted the urge to snatch her hand away and disregard the advice. This wasn’t her mum talking, with her misplaced bitterness and hidden agenda. This was Zoe. And as much as Isla wanted to reassure her that she was a grown woman who knew what she was doing, the truth was, she didn’t. She’d never felt this way before, and about someone she barely knew. It made no sense.

  She didn’t know Ethan MacRae, but the power of his magnetism and the strength of her feelings made that difficult to remember, especially when she was inside Rosehill. There was something about that place.

  But sitting there, in the heart of the city, with her best friend reflecting her worries back at her, it was different. It was easier to remember all the reasons why getting involved with Ethan MacRae would be a bad idea. No matter how much she might want to.

  Isla lifted the wine bottle from the table and realised it was empty. “More?”

  *

  Bodies crowded the bar that ran the length of the room, and Isla jostled for space among t
hem, waiting her turn to be served. She was still about three rows back and beginning to wonder if it was worth the wait or if they should go elsewhere when she caught sight of a familiar figure in the crowd.

  Isla’s stomach flipped. No, it couldn’t be. It was impossible, it-

  The queue shifted, and the profile became clearer. Connor.

  He turned as if she’d spoken, and at once Isla wondered how she could ever have thought it was Ethan. A trick of the light, and the effects of the wine...or maybe the fact she couldn’t get him out of her head?

  Connor had spotted her, and there was a curious expression on his face as he moved towards her. It wasn’t until they were face-to-face that Isla could identify it. Nerves.

  “Isla, hi. What are you doing here?”

  “The same as you, I expect.” She smiled, but he only looked confused. “Getting a drink.” She gestured to the bar. “Not anytime soon though, by the looks of it.”

  “Aye, right.” Connor laughed but it was forced, and he looked around distractedly.

  “So, who are you here with?” Isla attempted to make conversation.

  Connor rubbed his freshly-shaven chin. “Actually, I’m on a date.”

  Isla’s eyes widened. “Oh, wow, well, congratulations.” She scanned the tables opposite for any sign of a pretty young thing giving her daggers, but every booth was crammed with groups, and no one was looking their way. She turned back to Connor. “Going well, I hope?”

  “Huh?”

  “The date,” she said patiently. Just how drunk was he?

  “Oh, aye, really well.” A flush crept over his face, and Isla thought that was the most genuine answer he’d given her since they started talking.

  An extra bartender had arrived, and there was a surge as people pressed forward to be served. Connor drifted away from her in the scrum.

  “It was nice to see you again,” Isla called over the din of the music and chatter. “Good luck with the date.”

  Connor opened his mouth, as though he was about to say something, but then a frown fell over his features and he nodded. “Thanks. Have a good night.”

  *

  “That took you long enough!” Zoe said when Isla finally made it back to her.