"Uh-huh. But I really really miss my mommy."
“I wish my mom hadn’t died, too,” Britt said, then froze as a flash of memories assaulted her.
She reached for his hand, and his fingers swallowed hers in warmth. The casket lowered into the ground. She looked at the white rose in her hand, then back at the casket.
“You have to toss the rose onto the casket, love.” He said, sadness coating his words.
“But she’s not in there,” she whispered.
“No, she’s not. But that’s our secret. I’ll take you to where we buried her,” he said, lowering his voice to match hers. “But they need to see you toss the rose, okay?”
“They took her from us,” she said, a tear rolling down her cheek.
“Yeah, they did,” he said.
“Are you going to make them pay?” she asked.
“I already did.”
She stared into her father’s face, comforted by the vengeance she saw reflected in his eyes. “Good.” She stepped forward and dropped the rose onto the casket.
Britt clenched her eyes shut, then forced the memories away.
“You lost your mommy, too?” The little girl asked.
“Yes, and I still miss her,” Britt said, knowing the words were true even if she didn’t know how.
“Were you a baby when she died?” The little girl asked.
“I was nine,” Britt said. The audiorecording of Brittany Freeman’s life interjected in her thoughts—Brittany was nine years old when she lost her mother in a horrible accident.She pressed her fingers against her temples. That was all the audio recording included about Brittany’s mother’s death. Where were those other memories coming from? Were they hers? Or were they Brittany’s?
“I can’t wait to be nine,” the little girl said, smiling sweetly at her. “Want to play Barbies with me?”
“Where are your Barbies?” Britt asked, noticing the child wasn’t holding any toys.
“At home,” the girl said, then stood on her tiptoes and pointed to a clearing between a copse of mango trees. Perched on the cliffside was a sprawling one-story house, its white stucco walls gleaming in the morning sun. Wide verandas wrapped around the sides, supported by elegant white columns and adorned with ornate wrought-iron railings in a distinctive French Caribbean pattern. The red clay-tiled roof peaked in multiple places, creating an impressive silhouette against the azure sky.
“I think we should find your dad, instead,” Britt said, standing. She reached a hand toward the little girl.
"First Barbies, then find Daddy. I got the prettiest one to show you!"
Before she could register what was happening, the girl took off running down the trail, headed toward the house in the distance.
“No, stop!” Britt said, chasing after her. “Wait!” Her heart hammered as the child darted toward the cliff's edge, clearly knowing paths Britt couldn't see. One wrong step on this unfamiliar terrain could send either of them plummeting. The girl would appear between the trees, a flash of pink and dark curls, then vanish again into the dense foliage. Britt's muscles burned as she pushed herself faster, fighting the rising panic in her chest. She couldn't lose sight of her—not with unknown threats potentially lurking in these woods.
Britt ducked under low-hanging branches, Spanish moss catching in her hair. The humid air burned in her lungs as she dodged massive tree trunks draped in climbing vines. Her feet slipped on the damp earth, sending her sliding toward a tangle of exposed roots. She caught herself against a rough trunk, bark scraping her palms as the little girl’s giggles echoed somewhere ahead.
Minutes later, she burst through the edge of the rainforest onto a manicured backyard of lush green grass bordered by blooming hibiscus and bougainvillea in warm hues. Tall arched windows lined the facade, their white plantation shutters thrown open to catch the sea breeze, while mature royal palms swayed on either side of the pool. The entire structure seemed to float above the crystalline waters below, perched on the cliff's edge as if claiming dominion over land and sea.
The girl raced to a floor-to-ceiling glass patio door and placed her palm on the access pad. She stared at the small hand on thesecurity scanner, an achingly familiar feeling washing over her. An edge of a memory that was too far away to grasp. The glass doors opened, and she rushed inside, then turned toward Britt and waved at her to follow.
“You shouldn’t take off like that. I’m sure your Daddy is worried about you and wants to know that you’re safe,” Britt said, breathing hard as she entered the garden room. Sunlight streamed through the glass ceiling, giving the space an ethereal glow. Scattered across the floral upholstered couches and chairs were dozens of Barbie dolls.
The girl turned to her with worry in her gaze, then walked to her with purposeful steps. “I’m Paloma! What’s your name?”
Shaking her head at the boisterousness of the child, she said, “I’m Britt. It’s very nice to meet you, Paloma.”
They shook hands.
