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For just a moment I experience a horrified chill that perhaps the face in the water isn't mine... That I'm looking at a body tossed into the stream and looking up at me from three feet beneath the surface. The wet moss of the railing I imagine is saturated with blood...
I quickly pull my hands off the rail and search them for evidence, but find nothing...
I look back over the rail into the stream and watch for signs... I try the Groucho Marx trick of moving quickly and randomly, trying to fool the imposter bellow... But the dark eyes, the pale cheeks, the dead expression... are mine...
Instinctively, I lift my hand to cheek, sunken, almost blue... But it IS cold... I rub my eyes with the back of my hand and turn my attention to the path that the girl run towards. I shouldn't, but I take a step in the direction she made her escape... And I notice something just off the path.