The Collectors - II

Isoline Findale sat in her bedroom. Her homework lay abandoned atop a desk in the corner. She sat on her bed, which faced the dark window. Her limbs moved with the needle in her finger, sewing intricately at some pale green silk.

     Isoline didn’t like to go out much. But then, there weren’t many people her age in that town to go out with. And even so, she never spoke to them.

     She did however, have one friend. But Evander lived just outside of Pattersby. She only ever saw him at school.

There had once been a time when they would meet up at The Trout’s Tail every Saturday. They’d sit and talk for hours, and Isoline had never felt so alive. She’d never really had anyone to talk to before. 

But The Trout’s Tail had been shut down for two months.

     Now she’d stay in her room and sew. It was the only thing she enjoyed doing, and the only thing that took her away from her thoughts. She didn’t like to think too much. When she’d begin to think, she’d dwell on her old home, her father, her old friends. She’d feel suffocated, and then she’d sew. She’d sew until her head was empty.

     Isoline made a hissing noise as her needle pierced her finger. She put it to her mouth to stop the blood, tasting the salty tang.

     She and her mother, the dress-maker, had moved to Pattersby for some peace after the city. Isoline had hated the city. Too many people, too much occupied space.

     Pattersby wasn’t all that great, either. The townspeople were always prying. At least city people had been too selfish to notice her. These Pattersby people didn’t just look at your life, they took it in their hands, examined it with great precision, and then discussed it with all the people closest to them like a little group of gossip surgeons.

     Isoline hated them all with their cheerful little smiles and waves. None of their gestures were genuine, she knew.

     Then her phone rang.

     Isoline dropped her material, which now appeared to be taking the form of a dress, and grabbed her phone.

     “Hello?” She said, hastily putting it to her ear.

     “Ice?”

     “Ev?”

     Evander’s voice sounded cracked. Broken. Shattered, throaty breaths floated from the phone’s speakers.

     “Are you okay?”

     Ev breaths increased in pace.

     “Ev? Ev, just tell me what’s happened.”

     “It’s… It’s Mandy…”

Mandy was Evander’s little sister. She was a quiet girl, with short dark curls and green-apple eyes. At only six years old, she believed she had already beaten Evander at everything. She could play piano better than him, her singing was better than his, her grades were definitely better than his. It was all true.

     “What is it? Is she okay?”

     “She’s gone missing, Ice. She’s not here.” His voice became a glass in an aggressive hand. It squeezed harder and harder as he spoke, with the last few words shattering into pieces.