DISHONOUR. Jacqui Rose

across at the open parlour door. It was only a few feet away, but for some reason Arnold couldn’t move.

       All he needed to do was to stand up and run; run out the door and go to help Izzy. But he couldn’t. Something he couldn’t see but could feel was holding him back. Fear was pinning him to the chair. Fear was stopping him going to save his sister.

       Arnold went to get up but found instead he sank ever deeper into the chair. His head became filled with a high-pitched scream unheard by the rest of the world. ‘Izzy, I’m sorry. Izzy please forgive me.’

       Arnie stood next to his father; as still and as silent as Izzy who lay on the mortuary table. It’d taken a group of locals several days to recover the body – decapitated by the steel mechanisms of the weir – from the turbulent waters of the River Coquet. The rescue team had stopped the search for her head, hoping it’d eventually be washed up on the mud flats further down the river.

       Nausea swept over Arnold and the overpowering smell made him think he was going to pass out. The remorse and the guilt; Arnold could almost taste it. As they stood alone in the room looking, his father spoke to him. ‘Your sister broke the rules Arnold; you see what happens when you break rules.’

       His father had told him not to, but he couldn’t stop the tears running down his face. The loud voice made him jump.

       ‘Stop those tears. Tears won’t bring her back Arnold. You made your choice. I gave you the opportunity to go and help your sister, but you decided to sit in the parlour and do nothing. In my books at best you’re a coward and at worst … at worst you killed your own sister. Now I want you to look at her Arnold. See for yourself what happens to people who break the rules.’

       Arnold span round to his father, who stared at him with a mocking sneer.

       ‘I can’t Papa. I can’t.’

       ‘Do it.’

       ‘Please Papa.’

       ‘Do it.’

       Trembling with fear, Arnold walked up to the sheet covered body whispering under his breath to himself. ‘6, 8, 10, 12 …’

       ‘Stop muttering boy.’

       Arnold’s fingers reaching for the sheet were almost rigid with fear. He felt the bile rise up in his mouth as he took hold of the starched cotton sheet. Pulling it back, Arnold froze, as his eyes rested on the headless torso of his sister. He screamed, then turned to run out of the morgue with the image and the echoing of his father’s laughter following him.

       Outside the mortuary the local priest came up to give his commiserations to Arnold’s father, turning to Arnie afterwards. ‘As for you young man; all you have to remember is it’s only the body of your sister that’s been taken. Her spirit is still with us. The body you saw in the morgue is no longer Isobel’s. She’s left that one now. She no longer needs it. As long as a person’s spirit lives on; so do they. Isobel is all around you. She’s here, and you’ll find once your grief eases, you’ll see and feel her everywhere.’

       ‘But where … where will she be?’

       The priest smiled at the peculiar little boy in front of him. ‘In all that is beautiful Arnold, you’ll find Izzy. In all that is perfect, she’s there. You just have to look.’

       Arnold nodded his head but his mind was elsewhere. Izzy was still here. She was still alive. She hadn’t left him after all. She loved him. And now all he had to do was find her.

      The horn being blown startled Arnold, stopping the flood of memories. He drove into the hospital car park and could see her standing by the entrance of accident and emergency.

      Opening the passenger seat door Arnold smiled, speaking warmly. ‘I’m sorry I’m late, it seems to be a thirty mile per hour zone everywhere; I didn’t want to get caught speeding.’

      Tasha smiled, looking at his handsome face. ‘It’s all right babe. I’m just grateful you came.’ She leaned over and gave Arnold a kiss on his cheek.

      He’d been right, she was perfect. Just perfect. His perfect little Izzy.