Hidden in the sand dunes, like camouflaged soldiers, two boys lay waiting. They silently acknowledged their well conceived plan. Their stomachs rumbled in anticipation of hot buttered toast and bacon, but breakfast must wait. All they needed now was patience, something neither had in abundance, but at this time of day they were content to wait.
The beach stretched forever in the early morning light, a long stretch of sand, like no-mans- land between the sea and the dunes. The stories of yesterday’s people had washed away overnight, leaving an untouched surface where the day’s new stories were yet to be created. A gentle breeze caressed the morning, more playful than threatening, a perfect start for the hot day to come. Two gulls glided down to inspect the sea’s overnight deposit of treasures. Their light footprints, along with the two sets of barefoot prints heading to the dunes, were all that showed a new day was waking.
The boys up in the sand dunes had watched TV wide-eyed the previous night as the news unfolded, the horrific details capturing their imaginations.
“Wow!” the smallest one said, “Things like that really happen?” and he thumped the floor with his fists. His brother grinned. Under the bed, away from prying eyes, a recent purchase lay hidden in a bag of hoarded treasures. The boys crept away to their bedroom. 
“This will be so awesome” the smallest one said as he jiggled about like a pot of shellfish coming to the boil. “I told you it would come in useful. You’re the artistic one -get the red pen, make it look more realistic.”
Nodding, the elder brother carried out his brother’s wishes. He always did. The smallest one was the ideas man, and he was the practical one. Together they’d made a great team as they plotted and planned into the night. Now, in the early morning light, they watched patiently, waiting for their first victims.
A middle-aged couple appeared on the beach first, newcomers, not among yesterday’s crowd. They walked side by side, not touching, not speaking, each lost in their own private world. They sauntered along, their footprints like first explorers spoiling the rippled sand. Only the man noticed the footprints leading towards the dunes, the scattered sand of a hasty departure. Boyhood memories wafted through his tired head, boyhood summers of laughter and mischief, but most of all, freedom.
He tucked a neatly folded newspaper under his arm, folded as if to keep the news warm until later, like a bundle of fish and chips on its journey home. The bold headlines had tugged at their hearts. Neither wanted to read the full report, the first paragraph had sent their thoughts racing. How could such a thing happen here in their paradise, so close to home?
“It could have been our daughter”, she said into the morning, and he nodded, even before she finished speaking. It could have been, indeed.
A small grey and wiry dog trotted onto the beach, almost unnoticed, blending with the sand. With nose to the ground, it sniffed and scampered around in circles, investigating the treasures left by the tide – upturned seashells glimmering white, deposits of green slimy seaweed entangled in twigs, a rubber jandal with broken thong. His methodical sniffing sent the sand mites scurrying, away from his prying. Regular beach visitors knew the dog, but not who owned him. He was the beach’s self appointed guardian.
“Look at the dog,” the woman said, “look at the way he’s searching for something.”
“Dogs will be dogs,” the man said, looking straight ahead. It was too early to spoil the morning with talk.
‘What a terrible thing to happen,” the woman said, ‘the girl, the girl in the paper. How could anyone do such a thing?”
“She found herself somewhere she shouldn’t have been, no doubt,” the man said, “there’s a lot of danger out there for girls.”
“What about Angie, our Angie? Do you think she’s safe?”
 “Only she knows,” the man replied.
Why won’t she be quiet the man thought, enjoy this fresh new morning. Why bring Angie into it now? What could he say – that he hadn’t stopped worrying since their strong-willed daughter stepped onto the plane? He tucked the newspaper more tightly under his arm, wanting this dreadful new business to leave him alone.
The woman shook her head, the newspaper headlines had spoiled her morning, her whole holiday in fact. What a terrible, terrible way to die.
GIRL MURDERED – HACKED INTO PIECES
According to the paper the police had taken a man into custody, but not all the body parts had yet been found. The man refused to co-operate, who would, that would be an admission of guilt.
The man thought of Angie, their energetic daughter, secretly dreaming and saving, confiding in  no one, until the opportunity came to announce her plans.
“But why so suddenly?” her mother asked, not having recognized the signs. The explanation had been simple. There was so much to see, so much to do, the time was right.
Use my computer she’d suggested, and taught them how to send and receive e-mails. At first the computer had been a real flurry of activity as e-mails arrived from different destinations. It was all as she’d planned – fun and adventure, exploring new boundaries, they wouldn’t believe what she’d been doing she said. The man had his wife had embraced this new instant technology, e-mailed snippets of news from their own predictable lives – the garden’s doing nicely dear, your father is busy, the lemon tree is producing its very first fruit. Your mother keeps going he’d written, keeps herself busy, looks forward to your e-mails.
But then communication came less regularly, containing less news each time. A silence now stared from the computer, day in, day out, the silence that had driven them to take this holiday, away from the blank computer screen.
 And now the couple, their empty hearts stabbed by the newspaper headlines walked together but separately, like strangers, in the early morning stillness. The gentle breeze tugged at wisps of their hair, the sea ran whispering towards them, fingers stretching to grab their ankles. They both knew the girl wasn’t Angie, their Angie – she was far away on the other side of the world. But it could have been.
“Look at the dog,” the woman said to her husband. “It’s found something.”
 The dog scratched furiously at a small mound of sand, perhaps the work of yesterday’s children. Its two front paws sent sand and shells flying into the morning air, its tail wagged with determination as it freed the newfound treasure from its sandy grave.
The couple walked on in companionable silence, the dog already forgotten, their thoughts soothed by the gentle swishing of the waves on the sand. The man reached for his wife’s hand and her fingers clenched his gently.
The dog came chasing back to them, teeth firmly sunk into its treasure, something pink and flesh-like protruding from each side of its mouth. Eager to show off, the dog circled them then ran on again, its tail wagging with pride.
Up in the sand dunes the two conspirators grinned.
“Wait for it,” the smallest one said, as the dog deposited its prize on the sand, in front of the couple.
“What do you think it’s got?” the woman asked, kneeling down to inspect the offering. The dog reminded her of another, Pedro, the neighbours’ straggly mutt that Angie had befriended so long ago.
“Probably just an old shoe,” the man said, “or leftovers from somebody’s lunch”.
“What on earth…….” The man’s voice was drowned by the ear- piercing scream, a scream that went on and on and on…………… shattering the still air more loudly than any frenzied flock of seagulls ever could.
“A hand,” the woman screamed as she sunk onto the sand, “a hand, severed at the wrist. Call the police!” Sobs finally escaped, little short ones at first, then convulsive sobs. All the last few months tension escaped, released her held back fears for Angie.
Up in the marram grass, close enough to hear, but not be seen, the boys held their sides, almost rolling down the dunes with laughter.
“Keep down,” the big one sputtered, “don’t let them see you.”
They didn’t see the man pick up the hand, didn’t hear the laughter escaping from his mouth, nor did they see his eyes trace their footsteps up into the dunes. He sat with the woman, arms around each other, each feeling a new understanding growing between them.
“Told you it would work,” the smallest one said.
“You can buy anything at the $2 shop,” his brother agreed.
Back in the city, in a polished, sterile home, a message flashed onto the computer screen, calling from across the world.  You have e-mail! You have email! One new message had arrived.