The caller hung up, infuriated by her silence. What else could she have done though? There were no words to mend this, just time, healing all wounds in its own, often ineffectual, way. She would wait, and when her words were shown to be truth, either the caller would call back or they'd turn their back on her.
Her shoulders shook with the effort of holding back the tears. Isobel, the caller, had sounded so angry with her. There had been so much venom in her words, so much fear about the truth. Rebecca bit her upper lip, hoping the pain would push the tears away. It was all true though. Marc, Isobel's fiance would never marry her, and never give her the child she wanted. He was wedded to his work, and there was a shadow in his life that would keep him there.
The words, the images didn't always make sense. In her dreams her sister, little Anneliese always came first, saying hello and making small talk. They would discuss Rebecca's life for what felt like hours, but never Anneliese's, but Anneliese was dead so that made sense. At least, it did in the dreams. Then Anneliese would introduce someone, and they would have a message. Sometimes the message was clear, words that rang like a new-cast bell and stayed with her for hours into the wakeful day. Sometimes there were just images, pictures of what truly was, and what would truly be. They were hard to communicate, hard to explain. Isobel's had been like that.
Rebecca started, her tears momentarily forgotten. The phone was ringing again, and for the first time in months, she had no idea who was calling.