Читать книгу A Mother’s Sacrifice - Gemma Metcalfe - Страница 9

PROLOGUE

The woman’s nightdress blew against her bare legs as she made her way towards the bridge. The voices inside her head continued to taunt her; an acidic sewer of hate which, over the past four weeks, had eaten away at her sanity, grinding her down to nothing but flesh and bone.

She laughed out loud into the black abyss of the night sky, knowing that soon, their mocking words would die on their cruel lips; like the final smirk of a guilty prisoner on death row.

Outwardly, her body continued to play the game, her top and bottom teeth clamping together, the cold November night stiffening the muscles in her arms and legs. She blew out a knot of fear, watched in awe as it kissed the freezing air in front of her, physically morphing itself into something tangible, before slowly evaporating away to nothing.

The child in her arms began to stir. She responded by gently pushing him into the softness of her chest; his shock of red hair tickling the underbelly of her chin. He began to suckle her neck, hunger morphing his nasally snuffle into a raspy moan.

‘Shhh baby,’ she cooed into his ear. ‘Everything will be all right.’

As she stepped on to the bridge, the storm intensified, the force almost knocking her off her feet. Rain continued to hammer down on top of her, the wind cutting it through the sky at an odd angle. At 3 a.m., the bridge was deserted, the only sound coming from the angry outbursts of the swollen River Dee below, which threatened to burst its banks.

Climbing over the railings was somewhat fiddly, especially while trying to keep hold of the baby. He squirmed beneath her, his podgy fist grasping hold of her soaked auburn hair, yanking it down and almost pulling it from its roots. She held tightly hold of the railing as she leaned over the river, her arm twisted behind her at an uncomfortable angle. Her free hand rested itself on the baby’s back, his warm body heating her palm.

The voices inside her head began to intensify, a choir of heckles rising and falling in response to the conductor’s orders.

‘Death! Where is your sting?’ Lifting her head up to the night sky, she loosened her grip on the railing.

In a matter of seconds, it would all be over…