TWENTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
October 2016
The face is familiar. I’m sure I’ve seen her before. Lying flat on the ground, a n***d girl in the woods. My eyes are drawn to her shapely curves, the carefully shaven mound between her legs, then back to her face. She appears to be sleeping, her arms are resting on the ground extended to the side, her long, raven coloured hair fanned behind her head. But there’s no movement, no rise and fall of her chest. No sign of a pulse. The realisation comes. She’s dead. I know she’s dead and there’s nothing I can do. A tingle of panic runs down my spine. A trickle of sweat spreads over my brow.
My eyes spring open; I leap to my feet. It’s the image which has haunted me for eight years. There are slight variations each time, but the same night terror has plagued
