The Locket

The woman’s pace quickened as the rain began to fall. It fell from the grey stained sky in beads, catching the dim lights of the streets as it poured. She scowled and pulled her crimson hood further over her head, casting her face in shadow. The snow had begun to melt, pooling in miniature lakes at her feet. The woman had always hated this part of spring, the rushing water filling the rivers, flooding the roads and paths and compromising the basements of a few unlucky homes, namely hers.

She stopped to check her phone under the overhang of a nearby store. The rain fell softly on the wood panels, drumming a constant rhythm. The woman retrieved the small device from her coat pocket, frowning as she searched for her GPS. She found it promptly and typed in her destination, her hands fumbling in the chilled air. She nodded in satisfaction as she slipped the phone back in her pocket and continued to walk.

The woman was tired after a long day at work and wished to be curled up by the fire with a large cup of coffee and a good book. She sighed as she walked, her tall, black boots splashing through puddles, protecting her feet from the frightening chill of the water.

The woman thought back on the decade prior when she had fallen into the small river behind her childhood house. She had been nine at the time, playing by the water with James, her brother. She recalled how she had slipped and fallen into those black waters, clawing frantically at the sloped shore, desperate for air as the current carried her away. Her brother had run back to the house to fetch their parents and she had drifted. The woman shivered, but not from the cold as she thought about that frigid water as it had entered her lungs, forcing the air to flee as it invaded her body.

She had been on the verge of death when two firm hands had reached under her arms, pulling her limp body from the dreaded waters. She had turned her head to thank her savoir but the man had turned, walking away into the tree line. She caught a glimpse of metal on his left breast as he turned but the girl had been too weak to call out and soon after was claimed by darkness.

She awoke ten hours later in a hospital bed, unable to move. Her mother had been crying at her side and her father had been holding her hand tight enough to hurt. She had asked about the man who had saved her but no one had seen him, she had been unconscious when they had arrived and rushed to hospital. The family had searched for the man but to no avail. It had been as if he had never existed. The girl had since become petrified of large bodies of water, especially at this time of the year when the melted snow caused the water in the rivers to surge with unimaginable force.

The woman closed her eyes and breathed through her nose. The scent of spring was faint over the smell of the rain but the woman didn’t particularly mind, all that mattered was that it was there. The more she thought about it, the more she realised that spring was already transforming the world around her. She glanced at the melting snow in the snow banks and smiled, spring was simply there to clear the path for summer, as autumn for winter. 

The woman looked back at the melting snow banks and stopped. A hand flew to her mouth as she averted her eyes and looked from side to side. No one was out on the streets in this weather, choosing instead to drive home. She glanced at her watch, the hands reading 5:28pm. The woman turned back to the snow bank, taking step after step towards it. She felt as though in a trance, moving forward, scared that stealing even a glance to the side might change the scene before her. She stopped at the edge of the path and stared at the snow in wonder, unaware or uncaring of the rain that fell around her. Time stopped as she fell on one knee unsure if this was all a dream. For nestled in the dissipating snow was a small gold locket.

The locket was truly a work of art, shaped as a heart with a stunning red rose on the front encrusted with a small diamond. The leftmost part, embroidered in a delicate black trim, was the name, Alva. Her family name. The woman reached for the slim chain, slightly rusted with age, and held it gently, as one might hold a baby bird. She could not fathom how it had wound up in the snow bank after she had lost it in the river that fateful night.

The waves of shock that had moved through her body now started to stop and she began to feel calmer. The rain had drenched her completely and she was only a five minute walk back to her bungalow. The woman pocketed the gold locket and started the miserable trek back to her house, asking herself thousands of questions, every one left unanswered.

That night the locket lay on the nightstand on the right of the queen sized bed. The room was rather small, with dark blue walls and oak floors. Shelves lined the walls, spilling with books of all colours and sizes. The woman lay on her back, staring at the ceiling in the dark. She thought back on the walk home, how she had found the locket after so many years and the initial shock at seeing it again. She barely realised she had drifted off to sleep.

Cold, black water. Those familiar hands. Panic. The little girl coughed as she lay on the dead grass at the edge of the river. She turned her head, wondering who had saved her, wishing so badly to thank them. She caught a glimpse once more of that medal. The light causes it to shine. She opened her mouth to call out to the man but she made no sound. She could see what looked to be an epaulette with two gold chevrons on his shoulder but before she could react, he had seemingly vanished.

The woman awoke with a jolt. She rubbed her temples with her fore fingers and tried desperately to remember something amiss from that night. She fumbled for her lamp switch and the brilliant light filled the room. She grasped the locket in one hand, opening it with the other.

The woman smiled sadly at the photo inside. It was of a lady, no older than 30. She stood ridged, unsmiling as she stared at the camera. Her long, blonde hair was piled delicately upon her head, no doubt the latest trend at the time. She looked positively regal in the black and white picture, her bright eyes betraying her poised features. They were full of life, telling a story known only to them, one of bravery, sadness and pure joy.

The woman paused, contemplating what she should do now. She picked up her phone once more and dialled the number she had called thousands of times. On the second ring a woman’s voice answered.

“ Do you know what time it is!” the voice said, laced with fatigue, “ It's practically three in the morning.”

“ I know and I’m so sorry for waking you up but I need to ask something of you.”

The woman on the other end sighed, “ What is it?”

“ Can i come over tomorrow, I need to discuss something with you,” she said, “ It's important.”

The voice paused, “ Alright but next time wait until morning, Aelin.”

“ I will, bye mom.”

The woman on the other end hung up and Aelin returned to bed.

The next day there was a knock on ms. Alva’s door. Her daughter stood on the porch dressed in a light spring coat. It was a beautiful day, the glorious rays of light streaming down from a cloudless sky. The two women sat in the dining room, making conversation over tea.

“ Alright, now what brings you by that is so important I was required to wake up early,” ms. Alva asked, intrigued.

In response Aelin reached into her pocket and produced the locket. She handed it to her mother and watched as her eyes grew wide in surprise. Tears formed in her eyes as she beheld the necklace.

“ Wherever did you find it,” the woman whispered.

Her daughter explained how she had seen it in the snow bank on her way home and asked who the woman in the photo was. Her mother’s eyes grew sad as she gently opened the locket.

“ She was my mother,” ms. Alva choked, “ my father had died in the war and she had been left as a single mother, raising me and my two sisters all by herself. She was a wonderful woman, strong, smart and beautiful. I loved her and was heartbroken when she died as well.”

Tears fell from the woman’s face, falling softly on her lap as she cried silently. Aelin hugged her and held her hand, letting her mother calm down before proceeding.

“ Mom, Who was your father?”

Ms. Alva dried her tears and spoke softly, “ From the way my mother spoke of him so fondly, he was a wonderful man. He died before I yet turned six but I still remember his voice, he had this air about him, you know? He made you feel calm and excited at the same time when he was near. He had enrolled in the military during the second world war and died saving his friend after they were ambushed, I still remember my mother’s face when they told her,” she grew quiet, “ I might still have some photographs of them, I’ll be right back.”

Ms. Alva stood and walked downstairs, returning minutes later with a large box. She set it gingerly on the table, dust falling from it’s lid. The woman opened it and removed an old photo of a man and a woman. The man was dressed from head to toe in what appeared to be a uniform, a small medal clamped over his left breast. Aelin examined his uniform more closely, taking more care as she memorised his features. He resembled her mother in so many ways it was incredible. They shared the same mouth, nose and stunning blue eyes. The woman beside his was the same as the woman in the locket. She had her hair cut shorter and curled, revealing the flawless face underneath.

Aelin had seen those faces before but could not quite place it. She turned to her mother, thanking her for helping her and donned the necklace. She left her childhood house in a daze, only some of her questions answered.

That night was the same dream. The murky waters, the strong hands under her arms, and the panic. She lay on the shore, trying desperately to catch her breath. She rolled over to thank the man but as she turned, her heart dropped. She could see the medal and his epaulette, but this time as he turned she had seen it. In that moment Aelin knew instantly who had saved her that night. Just as she knew what the medal represented and what those two gold chevrons meant. She had seen the twin blue orbs, telling their own story of the sacrifice the man had made for his country in a time of war. She had seen his eyes. Her mother’s eyes.