Night of shades
Her eyes were straining so hard, looking for a sign, and numerous times her overheated imagination interpreted a smashed berry or a bit of mud as a sinister bloodstain.
But this time it was a bloodstain. A very clear splash of blood, not bright red anymore but a rusty brown, on one of the thick poison ivy leaves. It was too high to be a random bit of dirt, and there had been no rain in the last couple of days so it wasn’t mud.
Lauren put her face as close to the stain as she dared. Yes, it’s definitely blood.
She thought she could smell a sharp copper remnant underneath the scent of greenery. And there was something about the stain, too, something . . .
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