Zoe Thanatos(3)
She knew there were places in the world where the sky was painted with more than one shade of blue, where sunsets created rainbows, and the dusk looked magical. Far off places that carried stories and mythologies dating back thousands of years, with monuments erected in their honor, some crumbling under the weight of time. She’d never even seen snow. A year ago she would have planned to go somewhere. Santa Cruz Island was the only plan she’d made.
Not much planning had been required. There were no living relatives, no friends or pets, only acquaintances and neighbors. She wouldn’t leave anyone behind. Before leaving for the harbor that morning she’d remembered to turn off the circuit box and leave a simple note, a quick goodbye to whomever found what was left of her belongings. The note was an afterthought, a courtesy so that the authorities would not suspect foul play. No, it would be a simple open-and-shut case with a clear message left behind: ‘I’m gone, and I’m not coming back.’
The trail leveled and stretched out before her to the view she so vividly remembered. Hikers she hadn’t noticed were spread out far away from her, taking pictures or stopping for lunch. A few steps forward and she was at edge of the cliff some few hundred feet above the blue-green water. Down below a few orange kayaks the size of dots circled around a water-lodged monolith. Straight out ahead an ocean liner was the only blemish on an otherwise pristine horizon. She could picture her home on the other side where millions of people were going about their lives, unaware that she watched from a great distance.
She pulled hair from the binding of her ponytail and set the backpack on the ground at her feet. Unencumbered, she stood at the edge of her world and closed her eyes. She breathed in the scent of salt water, a breeze flowing through the goose bumps on her skin and around tendrils of hair at her neck. The sun warmed the crown of her head, her neck, and the tops of her shoulders.
One foot at a time she inched backwards from the cliff, opening her eyes for one final look as determination set. Her final plan had come to fruition. She told herself that someone new would come along to occupy her place in the world. It was a thought that tempered her calm, her resolve as still as the endless horizon itself. With a ready strength, her right foot planted into the dirt trail, muscle and tendon stretching as she launched from the stillness. The ground a makeshift runway, she gained speed, one leg after the next, until she reached the end and her legs propelled her chest first over the edge. Arms stretched out behind, her back arched, and she was catapulted into the sky, flying free of all restraint. In a moment everything was still, weightless with the sky around her, and to her delighted surprise it was the best she ever felt. She was resigned to her fate and for the first time in a long time she smiled, the motion reaching up through her cheeks and to the corners of her eyes. It was the feeling she had been searching for.
Chapter 2: An Observer
She moved with the graceful precision of an athlete, determination in every step she took towards the edge. It hadn’t taken long for him to realize that her resolve had more to do with finality than with sight-seeing. There was a melancholy to her cadence, as though she knew the fate before her and with each step she came to accept it. It was not in his nature to understand why someone would have any reason to die.
She first caught his eye at the harbor, the way she watched people with a curiosity similar to his own. He observed. She studied. What was she looking for? He spent a great deal of time observing people, a practice he became quite skilled at, and found that for the most part people were easy to read. Many of those he observed over time kept their insecurities plainly visible, their faces and body language betraying their innermost thoughts. Perhaps that was why he noticed her more than anyone else.
She carried herself with self-possession unlike anyone he’d ever observed. She gave little away. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes seemed almost too big for her face while her mouth, pink with sharp lines, puckered imperceptibly as she observed those around her. It hadn’t been until he sat unnoticed next to her on the boat that he realized she looked like she didn’t belong. Her face had the seemingly rare quality of being both stunning and unassuming, and he figured she was unaware of the effect it had on others. He often observed how men were affected by beautiful women. Many were intimidated and merely watched from afar while few others had the nerve to approach the object of their desire. Not him. He had sat next to her easily, wanting to do nothing more than be a part of her existence.
It was the way she sat, with her hands clasped peacefully in her lap, perfectly still with her too-big brown eyes burning into the horizon of the Pacific, that prompted him to speak to her. Her initial irritation surprised him, and though she quickly recovered and was as polite as any stranger could be, it was that first response that intrigued him the most. She was in her own world and he had interrupted, brought her out of her thoughts and placing himself into a small pocket of her existence. When she touched him it was firm and resolute without being tough. Everything about her, from the way she spoke to the strained smiles she pushed into her cheeks, intrigued him. Everyone else was so plain and regular it was no wonder they couldn’t see her; he could see what the others clearly could not.