The Girl Underground

Chapter 18: Masks of Pain and Rage

Chapter 18: Masks of Pain and Rage

Malia thought to follow her usual path home, but decided against it. Without Brandon covering her, she would have to get back home as soon as she could to avoid calamity. If she cut through the market, she was sure to get home sooner. Something in her gut told her that this was not a good idea, but she didn't think on it. Her only thought was to get home; all other worries could wait until another time.

While she hurried down the path towards the market, Malia shot one more look behind her towards the Quincy home, and smiled. To finally be with John in such a way, after so many long nights of anticipation and temptation, was magical, to say the least. She felt his love for her, through words and touch. She was not too sure if she had pleased him, though. She had not done such a thing before. And if word got out that she was no longer pure, she would never be allowed into any home in India, should she ever be sent away. Having such relations with any man other than your husband branded you for life in that world, no matter what class you came from. It was the string, one of many, that connected every woman there.

All things aside, however, John did love her. The question was if she felt the same for him and, if so, what did she mean to do about it?

Malia tried to think of life as John's wife, and felt herself seize with envy at Abigail once more. She had no right to envy the woman, she knew, and Abigail had every right to hate her, but the woman was foul. She didn't deserve John. But then Malia let her thoughts wander once more, and she realized that she herself wasn't very deserving of him either. Her heart sank almost too deep into her gut.

But she wasn't destined to squander in self-pity for long. As Malia entered the empty and quiet market, the sense that something was about to go horribly wrong hit her square in the chest. She felt her breath catch as she skidded to a halt, her eyes roaming around the area, searching. It was too quiet here; there was no one that stirred in sight. It was a heavy sort of silence, the kind that one wanted to desperately fill by screaming until their lungs gave out.

Malia dared to take a few hurried steps forward and, in her haste, her foot got caught in something on the ground, and she cried out with shock as she fell over, barely managing to catch herself in time to stop her face from being smashed into the pavement. Malia felt the palms of her hand scrape against the hard ground and she yelped in pain, but turned over quickly and pushed herself up to a sitting position to see what had tripped her.

The sight turned her blood cold.

It was a man's body lying spread out on the ground behind a cart, his foot protruding out, eyes still wide open with shock and mouth agape, with blood leaking from the corner. It was dark, so Malia wasn't sure if she recognized him. That and her judgment was clouded by fear and shock; she had never seen a dead man before. She didn't know what to do. Did she scream, cry out? Run back to John's home and pound on the door? He was the Magistrate; he needed to know about this! Yes, that was what she had to do; she needed to get him over here.

By a glance over the man's attire, he looked like an officer of the law. She recognized the uniform, having seen them about sometimes in the market. He must have been a deputy. She needed to report his death.

Malia crawled over to his body in the hopes of trying to figure out who he was. His body looked like it had to be dragged, with the way it was awkwardly placed. She searched his face, but didn't recognize it. She had seen him before. He used to be about the market, asking questions, always alert. She saw him once with John, so he must have been working on the Denning case.

So who shot him?

A shuffling behind her caused Malia to turn and she gasped when she saw another man standing there. He was tall, lanky and scrawny, but had a undeniably handsome face. He looked like he had spent at least a month or more squandering through muck and dirt.