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The forest was thick, unending pine and maple trees. Even light fell lost in the matrix of the wood. Maple leaves absorbed the sunlight the ground so desperately craved, selfishly allowing none to pass through their loose coverage.
The body was found after what they could only assume had been weeks, decomposition claiming its place authoritatively over the corpse. Coated in bruises, leaves, twigs, and dirt; someone made a careless effort to hide it. At least they had some humanity, enough to attempt a burial. Even though they were unsuccessful. Although it was plausible to guess that the elements had buried the body, considering the state in which it was found. Authorities could only estimate the time in which they had been dead; it was never truly declared.
- The scene was cordoned off shortly after the discovery and the body was sent for autopsies and identification. The body was confirmed to be Arcadia Mylonas after thorough investigation. Following these processes, detectives overruled their earlier ‘unknown’ statement from the case file with the nightmarish ‘homicide’ that has caused the community and her family to stress. Arcadia’s parents have told authorities that she could not have disappeared under their vigilant gaze, saying “It is completely unlike her. She never seemed off and returned home every night before curfew. There was nothing wrong.” -
No one knew where to start; Arcadia Mylonas was a compliant fourteen-year-old, compassionate, selfless. Her family had moved to the town mere months before her disappearance. Before tragedy struck them mercilessly. She had been reported missing an estimated week and a half before her parents filed any report, claiming that she often indulged in long walks in the forests that surrounded their secluded home. She enjoyed being one with nature. The case was so peculiar that any leads could not be pursued due to some restriction, so it was closed after two weeks. Her body was found just days later, forcing the case to reopen.
~ Two months earlier ~
Arcadia and her two parents became the inhabitants of a formerly abandoned bungalow. Unloved and ever desperate for connection once again. After the earlier owners disappeared over a decade, the house stood solus. The natural world had overtaken completely, broadleaf plantain and wood sorrel grew eagerly through the wooded floorboards, moss emerged through cracks in the walls. The derelict staircase led to what once would have been bedrooms; natural light dispelled any unwanted shadows. Pine needles crept through the ceiling. Connection with the earth was something Arcadia craved so deeply; to recharge through the natural elements.
When exploring the thicket surrounding their house, she walked far enough to reach another property. In the upstairs window she admired a man, whose gaze reflected hers. His silhouette vanished suddenly, before appearing at his doorstep and heading towards her. His smile warm, the edges of his eyes creased with age and returning elation that was once lost. Richard Bryant was forty-eight years of age; a widowed academic, whose pursuits never ceased to puzzle people. He was a photography enthusiast; his muse often represented the beauty of innocence. His most famous piece captured a northern parula amidst the darkest of winter, nestled against an upright tree branch, only then finding comfort and warmth within the stretching dark.
Richard and Arcadia acquainted, and their relationship deepened. Though their coincidental meetings felt calculated, there was a sense of belonging for Arcadia, being around Richard. She felt as though she had known him for years. Arcadia was captivating to Richard; she apotheosised him. He felt a sense of belonging around her, she felt mature around him. She indulged in him, his lifestyle, his everything. He was her everything, as she was his. When separated, he would take photos for her, writing small messages on the back, dedicated to her, only her. Mixed into each message he would leave small Greek messages, a testament to her culture. They read,
‘πολυαγαπημένος (darling)
I saw you today, in the trees.
I see you everywhere.
Σ'αγαπώ (I love you)’
He adored her beauty, the radiance of her innocence. He adored her so hopelessly that his heart refused to beat for anyone but her, leading him to dedicate his work to an anonymous ‘A.M.’ after their meeting. Arcadia had never truly felt loved in such a sense. Every photo he dedicated to her hid beneath her bed, so she could always be close to him, regardless of the distance between them.
~ ~
- Following Arcadia Mylonas’ death, the remnants of the controversial relationship were recovered from beneath her bed; having collected dust, confusing it for returning affection. Detectives uncovered photographs which were both dedicated to Arcadia, and of her. These have been laid out as evidence. The conspicuous and perfectionistic handwriting has painted an unfavourable case for Richard Bryant.
Though after calling him in for interrogation, the police were puzzled to find his whereabouts untraceable. Records of a booked flight for two to Mykonos have been recovered, but there was no sign that he or his mysterious partner ever made it to boarding. His car remained nestled beside his house, in its usual place, seemingly untouched by humanity for weeks. Though, following further inspection, two well-kept bags were discovered in the boot: one belonging to Richard and the other to what was assumed to be Arcadia. Although unsure what to make of these findings, police concluded that a ‘getaway’ was planned prior to Arcadia Mylonas’ death. -
~ ~
- It has recently been publicized as to what really occurred surrounding Arcadia Mylonas’ death. -
Richard had planned for the two to drive to the airport, then board a flight to Mykonos, where they could live together for the rest of their lives, boundaries non-existent. He had been planning for weeks, passionate about the taste of freedom he would finally receive, having Arcadia all to himself. Where meetings didn’t have to be secret, they could show affection publicly. To him, it was perfect. But Arcadia saw the flaws in his deluded plan. Her parents would realise she was gone, how would she justify her leaving? The rules around legal aged relationships wouldn’t change miraculously in a different country. She couldn’t leave her family. Not now, at least. She was only fourteen.
The day of their planned departure Richard awaited expectantly for Arcadia in the forest between their houses. Seconds, minutes, an hour. When she didn’t meet him, he worried, re-entering his home to grab a knife, and began running to her home, horrified of what or who could have stopped her from meeting him. As he ran through the forest, twigs and leaves crunched beneath each elongated step, he met the familiar eyes that initially awakened him. She reluctantly stepped forward, closing the gap between them as he stopped in front of her, grabbing the sides of her face gently as she looked away.
“I can’t go.” She said, avoiding his eyes.
“I can’t leave my parents.” She added hesitantly.
Those two sentences, eight words, twenty-six letters, caused his perfect world to cascade around him, that idealistic life he had formed seemed just a dream. He shattered. The sky began to implode as Arcadia vanished from existence, leaving Richard standing alone in his own broken reality. He looked down towards the knife seized in his hand, before lifting it and slashing the air around him. Desperate for an escape. Such desperation overtook any sense of reality there was left, as his arbitrary movements became deranged. Flashing back to reality, he saw Arcadia, amidst the madness. Her effortless perfection, her unmoved stature angered him. In a state of love’s rage, he lunged at her. Stabbing viciously in her chest, as she fell backward. He removed the knife from her frail, dying body. Any hope of her survival drowned in the pools of deep crimson that coated her clothes and the surrounding ground that lay her body to rest eternally.
There he stood, his lover dead. It was his fault. He looked over her body, the way her blonde hair stained red at the ends, the way her eyes looked so peaceful closed, as if they hadn’t realised her sealed fate yet, confused with deep slumber. Tears formed in his eyes as he ran away. It wasn’t him; he couldn’t have killed her. Not his Arcadia, his πολυαγαπημένος (darling), his one true love. As he ran further from Arcadia’s corpse, he lost himself to the condescending wood, losing himself further in the realisation of his actions. Guilt overtook him. He would never again see his Arcadia. She was gone, and it was all his fault. Unless…
He looked at the knife gripped violently in his hand as it glistened gently in the sunlight that crept through a gap in the forest’s coverage. Melancholy coated the blade beneath what remained of Arcadia. Strenuous moments passed. He ran his finger across the red, glue-like substance, feeling her once again. Voices echoed in his head, ‘You ruined it.’ ‘You did this.’ Mocking him in unison, reminding him of what he had done. As he rose the knife further into the light, he recollected the events that had just occurred, wondering what would become of him. This way, and only this way, he thought, he could be with her forever. He sent the knife into a swift descent, leading to his chest, piercing his motionless heart. The heart, which only Arcadia could cause to beat willingly. As he bled out desperately, the blood of his lover coated his wounds, healing them, uniting the pair once again. All was well as he finally closed his eyes, succumbing to the darkness that overtook, finally ending the torment.
After his death was finally announced, and his body was recovered from the wood, a total of three weeks following the finding of Arcadia’s body, the public realised that the death of Arcadia Mylonas provided her family with no peace. For her attacker now remained in the afterlife with her. Her pain inherent. But in a similar fashion to Romeo and Juliet, their sacrificial demises provided the world with a story to tell; and selfishly, ensured they remained together forever.