Chapter 4 Elin

4

Elin

Parque Nacional, Portugal, October 2021

‘Okay, so you missed this part of the hike out.' Elin falters as the dirt track ahead peters out to a steep drop. Taking a few steps forwards, she peers over the edge and then pulls back, her stomach lurching.

A river.

In any other circumstance, the frothing white water would be the main attraction, but her gaze is now pulled instead to the bridge on their left, a crooked stone arch that looks like it's seen better days.

‘Never seen anything built quite like that before.' Moving closer, she examines it, disconcerted. ‘Looks like a random pattern.' Stones, rimmed with moss, are haphazardly stacked one on top of another to form the arch. Halfway down, some are bulging, weeds pushing between the cracks.

‘Medieval.' Isaac stops at the entrance to the bridge. ‘Locals call it the Devil's Bridge. Meant to have been built by the big man himself.'

Elin pulls a face. ‘You making this up?'

‘Nope. Legend has it the devil built it after a criminal sold his soul for an escape route over the river. Been used for all kinds of things … witchcraft rituals, fertility rites. '

This is the Isaac of old, Elin thinks, watching the faint smile playing on his lips. The challenger. Someone who liked pushing people to their limits.

‘I'm guessing we need to go across to get to the Airstreams?'

‘It's the only route from this direction, so unless you're planning on jumping …' Raising an eyebrow, his blue eyes flicker with amusement. ‘Scared?'

‘Is that a challenge?'

‘Could be.'

Slipping past him, Elin starts walking, but a few steps in, she hesitates. From this angle, it's clear that the whole structure is leaning to the right. It feels precarious suddenly. A risk.

‘Everything okay?' Isaac calls, concern in his tone.

‘Fine.' She keeps moving. Though part of her wants to rush, get it over with, halfway across, she makes herself stop and turn, looking down the winding length of the river to the hill beyond. It's thick with foliage, the bursts of autumnal rusts and reds a sharp contrast to the vivid green of the trees surrounding them.

Absorb it. Be in the moment.

It's something she's been forcing herself to do these past few months. Appreciate what's in front of her instead of constantly looking back.

But it's been hard. The messages that plagued her last case keep playing on her mind – anonymous posts on social media, deriding her, her ability to do the job. She'd have dismissed it as a crank if it wasn't for the message she'd received in hospital after she'd closed the case.

The words are still eating away at her:

Want to know a story about this detective?

A clue: this one doesn't always tell the truth.

If the message wasn't bad enough, they'd attached a photograph of her on the ward.

Seeing the image of herself was like a punch in the gut. It felt personal. Sinister.

Forcing the thought away, Elin extends her hand to the wall of the bridge. As her fingers touch the rough, worn stone, she feels the weight of history almost like a physical presence.

‘Not as bad as you thought?' Isaac stops beside her.

Shaking her head, she smiles. ‘It's beautiful. Seeing something like this … feels like you're stepping back in time.'

‘Yeah, I was thinking that. In some places, like this, it feels almost untouched by modern life.'

This is what they've missed, she thinks, watching as he takes a photograph. Moments together, memories shared. The past few days, they'd seen things she knew they'd always treasure. Dilapidated castles high in the hills. The Roman Road.

Sights that would bind them, form part of a new chapter.

‘Ready for the last push?' Isaac slips his phone back in his pocket.

‘Ready.'

After crossing the final part of the bridge, they walk for another kilometre or so before reaching an intersection. Here, the path splits – left to follow the path that led up towards the Airstreams, or straight on to another plateau.

Elin takes a few steps forwards. Thinning trees reveal a scrubby patch of ground, patchy with moss, flashes of colour between the branches.

A campsite.

Not Airstreams, but camper vans, two next to one another, and two opposite on either side, forming a makeshift semi-circle. It looks like they've been there a while, dug their heels into the soil. Dust has settled on their surfaces, the bright colours muted and dulled.

‘You see that?' she says to Isaac.

No reply.

He's already striding past her, in the direction of the camp.

‘Hey, I thought we were going up to the Airstreams?'

Isaac abruptly turns, the movement kicking up a sour puff of dust. ‘Not yet.' As he casts a look towards the vans, his expression is grim. ‘There's something I need to do.'