Memory Scents by Gayle Eileen Curtis Page A

her neck. He tied the pony tail in the middle with the hair bobble she’d been wearing.
                  He sat on the soft ground next to Jacqueline’s twitching, cold body and buried his face in her hair and sniffed hard. He was so astounded by its beauty that it brought a tear to his eye. It glistened golden against the rays of light that were shining through the trees in the small wood where he had dragged its owner.
                  A blackbird landed on one of the branches near Tim, startling him at first. The bird cocked its head at the sight laid in the clearing as if it had seen it all before. Life and death. A dead girl, lying awkwardly over some tree roots, half naked. With a man sat next to her holding a long piece of golden hair as if he’d discovered the most precious thing in the whole world. To Tim, the line between life and death was flimsy and fickle, all part of the game he was playing.
     
     
    *
     
     
    NORFOLK 1998
     
                  For the first time since Chrissie had been in her new home, she’d had a completely incident free day. Sarah was arriving in the morning and she wanted to make sure it was as homely as possible.
                  She didn’t know what the cease in activity was about, but she wasn’t going to complain about it. For some reason the cottage had taken on an air of calm within its walls and the peace inside was tangible. Chrissie had spent the day soaking up the calm atmosphere, albeit slightly apprehensively. She had got used to it changing so dramatically, but today it all felt different somehow.
                  She’d felt safe enough to have the doors open and allow some fresh sea air to weave its way around the stagnant old cottage. Perhaps that was what had made the difference, she’d thought to herself as she put flowers in vases, lit oil burners, and unpacked the rest of her books.
                  She’d not seen a soul that day and had thoroughly enjoyed having some fairly nerve free time to herself.
                  Opening a bottle of wine and sitting down at her kitchen table with a steaming plate of pasta and fresh shellfish from the local shop, Chrissie let her new home envelope her. She’d even felt comfortable enough to play some music on her stereo, something she hadn’t done since she’d arrived, having found comfort and company in the television. She had felt the noise from it had drowned out the spirits that haunted her.
                  The only thing that made her jump out of her chair that evening was the sudden rush of cats through her open kitchen door, as they made chase with one another in the slightly breezy late summer evening.
     
    *
                  After a shockingly peaceful night’s sleep, Chrissie, having finished making the cottage as homely as possible, sat outside with a cup of coffee and watched her garden.
    She loved the transitional stage between summer and autumn where bo th seasons amicably merged, celebrating the end of one and the beginning of the other.
                  As she sipped her coffee, Chrissie glanced down towards the bottom of the garden and debated whether or not to venture into the shady area to the old brick shed. The fresh atmosphere of the house had encouraged her to explore her surroundings and wholeheartedly embrace her property without fear.
                  It all appeared to be peaceful and silent and the only way to conquer it all was to face it and alter the atmosphere herself. After all, this was her house now, and whatever had happened before was in the past and that was where she wanted it to stay.
                  Feeling a bit more assertive, Chrissie began to wander across the grass, making a mental note of the plants and flowers as she went by, as if by acknowledging them she would be sweeping a new ownership over the entire house and