“You should have
let her come with us,” says Kris.
Jared flashes Kris an impatient look. It has always chafed at him that Kris is nearer Lynesse’s age than he is. Kris knows full well why Jared had left Lynesse behind. He’d even liked that it had made Lynesse mad.
She’d called him several times a day while he’d been away. On her call three days ago she’d been in a bad mood and ranted about firing the housekeeper. It had been the last thing he had wanted to think about. They’d ended up arguing. That’s what he got for wanting to marry a hot-blooded succubus. No doubt she’s been stewing since then. Jared expects she will have cooled off by now though.
Kris opens the trunk of the car and hauls out two large suitcases and a couple of holdalls. He lugs them up the stairs towards the front entrance, followed lazily by Jared who is tossing his keys in the air and catching them.
“Listen,” says Jared. “Can you check the usual websites? Make sure there’s nothing on them to make Lynesse mad?”
“Already done,” says Kris.
“Do it again.”
Kris scowls.
“Just do it,” says Jared.
Kris nods, but he has no intention of doing it. There is no point. And Jared is stupid for treating Lynesse like a fool. He deserves what is coming to him. Kris neatly lines up all the bags outside the front entrance and holds up his hand to catch the car keys Jared tosses at him. Kris busies himself parking the Maserati in the garage, letting Jared head into the house first.
Jared bounces in, whistling. He notes that Lynesse has already changed his furniture around and added a whole bunch of her gaudy art that he’s going to have to tell her to take down. But not yet. He wants to keep her sweet tonight. From the ground floor lounge he shouts for her, calling out her name.
“Honey, I’m home!” he says, laughing at the phrase. Lynesse will lap up the picture of domestic bliss it paints.
He tosses his jacket onto the sofa, and lazily makes his way towards the stairs. A first he thinks the lump at the base of the stairs is one of his holdalls. Then he remembers Kris hasn’t brought them in yet. Jared switches on a lamp. What the thing is becomes clear. It is a man. A god-damned man is lying at the foot of his stairs!
Jared can tell in an instant that the guy is dead, even before he fully registers the red ruined hole at the back of the guy’s head.
“Fuck,” Jared says.
He leaps over the guy and races up the stairs. He throws open the master bedroom door. Lynesse is on the bed, lying among the rumpled blood-sodden sheets. His Lynesse.
Jared screams a high pitched sound that he never knew he was capable of making. On the wall behind him is a massive red Devil Claw pawprint, the dripping blood now dry.
Chapter 6
DIANA
I wake up at dawn with the edges of the nightmare still clawing at my mind. The poor guy dying at the foot of the stairs. The woman screaming as she watched. The repulsive taint of how it made me feel to see it through the eyes of the killer is still in my body. It felt more real than ever. I throw open my door of my studio apartment and race down a flight of stairs to the shared toilets to throw up.
I have been having dreams like this for as long as I can remember. You would think I would be used to it by now. But today is different. Today I am going to do something about it. In a few hours I will have gone to visit that house and stop it from happening. Tomorrow I should wake up nightmare free.
I go back up to my room to shower, and find Beastie prowling just inside my door. I pour some food into her bowl before stepping into my cubicle and lathering up. I am immensely grateful to have a shower in my room. There are shared ones near the toilets that other residents use, but the doors locks are flimsy. The thought of anyone accidentally barging in as I was changing and seeing my navelstone would keep me up at night.
Plus showering in my room minimizes my chances of bumping into my neighbors. Like the young guy across the hall who looks like he is working up the courage to ask me out every time I accidentally make eye contact. Or the two girls my age from downstairs who came knocking on my door really late last night, asking me if I wanted to go out for a drink. It is the third time I have said no, despite the little voice’s urgings for me to live a little. I have a feeling they won’t ask again.
I fix myself some bargain tinned chick peas in my room, milk and cereal now being well out of my budget. AngelBeastie sniffs snobbishly at her dry kibbles. She glowers at me as she nibbles. I know how she feels.
I munch my flavorless mouthful and open my wardrobe to contemplate my clothes. Once upon a time all of this had felt like a luxury. Being able to eat breakfast, being able to choose what to wear from my own selection of clothes that I was given at the Royal Engagement Gala. But for so long now I have been unable to take any joy in life’s small pleasures.
I nudge AngelBeastie with my toe. “What should I wear to visit a couple of rich happy strangers to deliver the terrible news that someone will attempt to murder them in the near future?” I ask her.
She sniffs my toe as if she is considering eating it.
My selection of clothes is more suited to extravagant parties than to everyday life, given where they came from. I have not touched most of them in years. I find a smart pair of tailored pants and a lace-edged cream blouse. They are far too pretty for normal work wear, but perfect for today’s purposes. Thank goodness for Xander’s generosity. I could never have afforded these otherwise.
Before I leave, I pack a bag of nuts I had snitched from work that had been destined for the garbage. I might be in for a long wait. If the couple are not home I intend to hang around. It is better to speak to them in person no matter how much I dislike this thought. I should avoid leaving a note. They might not even see it.