The acidic sting of bile in my mouth intensifies and, lurching madly away from the corpse, I make it only a few steps before half of my stomach contents are regurgitated onto the cold forest floor. My muscles spasm as my mind whirls in staggered thoughts. Her name. What was her name? Emily? No. It started with an 'L'. Lilly? Layla? Lexi! Her name was Lexi.

I can hear the others behind me. Zoe's voice is high and raised with the same edge of panic that my own thoughts have adopted. More thoughts soon spiral through my conscious. When did this happen? Why? Who? Where is that who? Is it a recent kill? Is the murderer still out here now, watching us through their perverse eyes?  

Gulping back a second wave a nausea, I stumble back towards my peers. As much as I'd like to be far, far away from the vacant stare of Lexi's once-vibrant eyes, the thought of a psychotic, axe-wielding murderer lurking in the bushes is enough motive to return to the others. Safety in numbers, right?

Roberto has both his arms on Zoe's shoulders and has turned her away from the girl. Zach is crouching down next to Lexi with a lump of concern wedged between his eyebrows. He's always had a strong stomach for the gross things. Gorey movies, school dissections and now, apparently, dead bodies. I watch as he, unaware of my presence, pulls down Lexi's eyelids in the gentlest of movements. Movies have taught me she should look like she's sleeping now. I wish that were true but it isn't. Still half-submerged in the ground and rotting away, she looks vacant. She's an empty shell. She's a discarded set of skin and bones. She looks dead.

"You alright?" Zach's looking at me now, the same wedge of concern written between his eyebrows now intended for me.

I don't respond. Maybe it's the shock that's still coursing through my system? I don't say anything. For while we stay like that, looking at each other over Lexi with more communication happening between our eyes than our voices could ever attempt of doing. They say in times of crisis bonds between people are tested. Either the bonds will be strengthened or the bonds will snap. Maybe there's some truth to that. I want him to hug me. I want to press my face into the corner between his shoulder and his neck until the only thing I can see is him. Most of all the thing I crave is the feeling of safety - a feeling that had once been strongly associated with his arms. 

Eventually, my voice worms its way onto my tongue, "Her name was Lexi."

Zach blinks, surprised, "You knew her?"

"No, not really." I tell him a short summation of the beach. Of the tennis ball. Of her politeness. Of the same hot pink ribbons that had been interwoven through her hair that day too. Then it dawns on me: they're the same ribbons. Could she have been killed that same day I saw her on the beach and then sloppily discarded here like a piece of trash? Or was the kill enacted later and she just happened to be wearing the same hair accessories? Gulping back the idea, I push the thought to the furthest hollow of my mind. I don't want to think of her being killed. I just want to get out of here and find the police so they can think about it instead. 

The police. My head whips back in the general direction we had come in. Would they still be at the bonfire? "We should go back," I announce, "See if there are still cops around who we can tell about her." 

The three of them pause, all looking at me. I know what they're thinking. Instinct has been screaming at us to hide from them for so long now that the idea of intentionally seeking them out suddenly seems wrong. However, instinct only works a few steps in front of common sense. 

Roberto is the first to start nodding his head, "Yeah. Yeah, okay. You're right. We should go back . . . should we cover her or something?" His voice is timid, unsure and iced in vulnerability. I don't know Roberto but any character profile I had begun to create for him is foreign compared to the boy who stands in front of me now.

"No," Zach shakes his head, "We shouldn't disturb the scene of the crime. But we should take pictures."

"Pictures?" Roberto's voice is incredulous, filled with disbelief, "You want to take photos of this? What are you going to do, print them out and frame them? Stick them onto your bedroom wall so can prove you saw a body to the next chick that comes over?"

Roberto's words were created to hurt Zach but judging off facial expressions, I'm the only one to feel any pain. 'The next chick that comes over'? As if to imply there have been multiple chicks that have visited Zach's room in recent times? The idea shouldn't phase me. We're not dating. I don't want to be dating him. That ship not only sailed long ago, but sank to an undisclosed and completely unreachable place on the sea floor just like the lost city of Atlantis. 

Barely fazed from Roberto's comment, Zach replies, "What? No. We should take photos of the scene for the cops in case we can't find it - her - again." 

"That's actually a good idea," Zoe joins the conversation. Before Zach gets the chance to, she pulls out her phone and photographs everything from the body to the surrounding scenery. 

I stand to the side of the scene while Zoe does this, making sure I won't be in any of the photos. A boy joins me soon. He's not looking at me, instead choosing to look over the scene with one hand running through his hair - its a nervous tick I have always secretly swooned over. 

"You're quiet," Zach says eventually. "You doing okay?"

I flick my eyes over to his with more attitude than I had intended. Am I doing okay? What does he think? I don't voice my annoyance to him, he was only trying to be nice and I know that. The night is beginning to grow old and building stress is starting to play on everyone's nerves - my own nearing the top of that list. 

"I'm always quiet," I reply, a small smile playing on my lips to soften the words.

A ghost of a smile is mirrored across his own mouth. What is he thinking about? Since my parents' divorce, Mum had frequently reminded me damsels were always capable of saving themselves. Princes were, while sometimes desirable, not strictly needed in times of distress. I don't need Zach to save me but God knows, I want him to be my prince and do just that.

Shifting my eyes from his electric pull, I look out past Zoe, past Lexi and through the mangroves to where the outline of the peaceful sea can still be seen. I wish it was a wild night. I wish there was a universal shift demonstrated by a raging storm. Instead the ocean waves can still be heard gently lapping against the narrow beach in time with the light symphony of cicadas overhead. The world has changed since seeing Lexi and at the same time, nothing has changed at all.

Something warm and soft nudges the back of my hand. I pause, my breath washing from my lungs. The same set of familiar fingers slowly glide around until they are interlaced with my own. Here's a statement I never thought I would be able to say again: Zachary Evans is holding my hand. I don't look at him and through the slice of vision from my peripherals, I don't think he's looking at me either. 

I don't know how much time elapses as we stand there hand-in-hand looking towards the distant ocean. Seconds? Minutes? My eyes want to flutter closed in order to allow the rest of my senses to swarm around our conjoined hands. There was once a time where it would feel strange to be near Zach and not be holding hands or touching in some way. His skin is warm and coarse in all the places someone who regularly handles a football should have. And for a second I wish I could just hop into a time machine and go back. I'd go back to when we worked as a couple and I'd do it all differently. I'd do it right. 

I look at Zach then as the words formulate in my throat. I want to try and tell him what I'm feeling. I want him to know I miss us, the old us. Zach's eyes are misty in the light. Does he know what I'm about to say? Has he thought it too? But when the time is right it is not my voice that pierces the silence, rather a completely oblivious Zoe, "I got them. Let's go."

Just as quickly as it had come, Zach's hand slips from my own and away from me. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't look back at me. He follows Roberto's fading footsteps into the night and I am left alone with an ache in my heart I thought had healed. I wait for Zoe to go next but she insists to take up the rear of our conga line. So I am left following him like a helpless puppy, perpetually watching him walking away from me and further into the restricting darkness. 

Before my mind can analyse and overthink and then re-analyse our strange moment, yet another scream is thrown into the wind. The scream is short and higher than one I'd expect from a boy with such a deep voice. Like dominoes, Zach comes to a jarring stop, sending me colliding into his back and Zoe into my own back.

 In front of Zach the cause of the yelp bounces up and down on one foot and babbles incoherent sentences, "My God . . . body . . . another . . . torch, get a . . . is that . . . ?" 

A stranger could think he was speaking in tongues but we understand enough. Body. Another. Another body. Shards of ice prick my skin and everything I hadn't previously regurgitated threatens to go for round two. My mind is filled with images of a blood-soaked moonscape. In every crater their is a body. A murder. A victim. Is this  the work of a single psychopath or a crazy cult that sacrifices a person every month under the full moon? 

"What was it? Roberto, what was it?!" Zach practically screams at him. His voice is serious but I can detect the rising panic beneath it. Roberto doesn't answer, and quickly losing patience, Zach pulls out his phone to switch his own torch on to look for himself. 

"Ow! What the hell is wrong with you guys?!" Against the sharp rays of Zach's torch, a pair of dark eyes squint angrily at us. The body - distinctly alive, distinctly pissed and distinctly Lucy-looking - rubs her leg where a deep red blotch in the shape of Roberto's shoe is rising to the surface. 

"Lucy?!" I'm surprised by the squeak of disbelief that escapes my mouth. "What are you doing here? Why are you lying on the ground?" 

"Taking photos of the turtles, remember? What are you all doing here?" Lucy looks from me to Zoe to the still pale-looking Roberto, "Who's that?" And then her gazes lands on Zach, "What's he doing here?" She spits it out with so much venom that Zach visibly shuffles on his feet sheepishly and I almost feel sorry for him if I wasn't so relieved to see her here and very much alive. 

"Um," Zoe nervously rubs the back of her neck, "It's a long story."

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A/N:

And then there were five. 

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