Dead Woman Crossing の小説・ストーリー

Why would I want to keep it? When I arrived at the cemetery to visit my parents' graves, I found Adaline kneeling in front of their gravestones, crying remorsefully. "I'm so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Jamison. I hurt Cece terribly! I once promised you that I would take good care of her, but I broke my promise. I'm sorry…" Mom and Dad had died in a fire while saving her. When she'd felt so guilty that she tried to take her own life to make it up to me, I stopped her.

It was torn between revenge and longing. I found myself staring at my reflection one evening, the same woman who once died crying, betrayed by the two men she trusted most and yet, here she was again, standing at a crossroad between them. My phone buzzed with another message from Alec, sweet and perfect, pretending like nothing was wrong but I didn’t even reply. Instead, I walked to my wardrobe and opened it. My hand brushed over a black dress…it was simple, fitted, the kind that made me feel like myself again and not the broken widow.

His dead body was laid on the floor covered with a white sheet with people surrounding him and a woman over his chest as she wept like a woman who is sincerely in vain at his departure. While me. I sat out of all those people away from the body leaning back to the pillar with my legs cuddled to my chest, my hands around my legs as I looked at her with zero expression as the tear strains on my cheeks itched. I'm outcasted from his people while I'm his wife. I don't understand anything. I was married just yesterday and I became a widow today. And no one came to console me but strangely three women who are his mother, aunt, and sister were consoling that particular woman while I am staring at t

I know you. Shivering, she heads back the way she came, to where her vehicle is parked. Near the cemetery’s edge she starts visibly and sways in her tracks: a visitor is blocking the path. Holding her breath, she stares at the dead boy before her, stares through him, and the others, too. Pale children appearing, their bodies ripped, mottled with insect bites, horrifically disfigured. Waiting for her. A gaunt, eyeless teenage girl comes to the front, bled out, clothing soiled, her white lips pressed together and her throat slashed a wicked bright red. A spider races from one eye socket up into her blood-tangled hair. They move nearer. Finally the woman’s breath releases in a rush. “Go. Do not

Under the bridge, she deposited him on dry ground, her movements swift and precise. Chris's vision began to blur, his head spinning from the crash. He felt himself slipping away, his consciousness fading like a dying ember. When he came to, Mrs. Deli was nowhere to be seen. The only signs of her presence were the faint impressions of her feet in the damp earth, and the echoes of her strength still resonating in the air.

And finally, pierced it though Catty's chest again. But this time, the body got numb. Catty didn't move. One last drop of tear rolled down from the corner of her eyes. She was gone. Catherine Cross is no more. ……………………………………………….

All the girls were trying to grip onto the bars or bury their faces in their knees. Leila came to the large cells and unlocked the heavy timber doors. The girls filed out, leaning on each other for support. Then Leila saw a heartbreaking scene. The crossbred girl, who had been sent to the five golden men, was dead in a corner. Visible bruises were all over her skin, and a big puddle of blood wet the floor where she sat. Her lifeless eyes stared towards the room’s exit. “She just passed away…when you entered the room,” the younger crossbred girl sobbed to Leila, “She couldn’t make it.”

Then she picked it up, folded it along its original crease, and held it in her closed hand. Outside the window, the city moved through its ordinary morning, and Mira Castellan finished dying, and Wren Calloway drew her first breath.

It fell onto the filthy concrete floor, rolled twice, and went still. Roger's eyes remained wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling. Casey stood up and looked at the blood on her hands. Suddenly, she smiled, while tears fell in heavy drops. "Bobby… I've avenged you… Don't hate me anymore… okay?" She walked out of the confinement room, then out of the correctional facility. Outside, heavy snow was falling, pure white and endless. She walked to the bridge where we had once gone on our first date and stood there for a long time. Then she climbed over the railing and jumped.

Jane let out a momentary cry as if some imaginary creature was pinning her down to the ground and pressing the weight of their paws against her head and body as they sniffed her. "I remember now," I said. "You were the one wearing the purple shirt with the symbol of the cross on it. You were standing close to the bridge." "What bridge?" "The bridge of death." Jane laughed as she accepted that my thoughts were getting beyond what she imagined. "We are not going down that lane," she warned. "What lane?" I acted as if I didn't know what she was talking about. *