Page 47
Story: The Gloaming
Something dark flickered behind his eyes. “I just miss it. The three of us, staying late, just… hanging out.” The empty chair between us seemed to mock us both.
I nodded. “I’ll admit, this place feels weird without him,” I said. The silence was a stark contrast to the old days: staying late after closing, Jonathan trying to get Tom to listen to something other than classic rock music, and the three of us playing cards until I could barely count.
“I’ve been worried about you,” he half-mumbled, retrieving a bottle of knock-off Jägermeister and three green shot glasses from under the sink. His hand lingered on the third glass, fingers tracing its rim before carefully placing it back on the shelf. “You’re being…” He searched for a word as he poured two shots. “Sneaky? Secretive?”
I took the glass he handed me but didn’t drink it. “It’s not intentional. I’m trying to figure things out,” I said eventually. “There’s a lot to consider, and you’re hardly the picture of togetherness lately.”
Tom clenched his jaw as he took the shot in one go and sat back down across from me. His almost black hair needed a trim, and the shadows it cast over his face hid his expression.
“This is all still about Maggie and Jonathan?”
“Of course.” My answer came a moment too late, and I knew he didn’t believe me. I kept my eyes on him as he thought it through.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been a tit,” he said, eyes fixed on his glass. “We’ve both lost people, and I know you wouldn’t keep things from me. But when I saw that Locke guy…” He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.
I nodded, keeping my face carefully blank. Yes, he had been a tit. But Iwaskeeping things from him. That needed to stop.
“So… no more weirdness?” he asked, dark eyes worried.
I wondered what it was he was really asking and weighed my words before replying.
“No more weirdness,” I confirmed. “I still want to know what happened to Jon and Maggs, I do. But we’ve got two big bad vamps in town, and no matter what they say, they’re still vampires.” I stared into my glass, voice dropping. “And I can’t let them live for that reason.”
I took the shot, shuddering at the taste but relishing the warmth of it as it spread through my body. Tom just watched me.
“Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll forget the idea that you ever considerednotdoing something about them, because I think we’ve both been… you know, out of sorts.” He grabbed the bottle and looked as though he might pour another shot, but didn’t. “What I won’t forget is how much older and stronger they are – this is going to take some thinking through.”
I bit my lip to stop myself from replying and topped up my glass. I knocked it back in one, but waited before answering.
No time like the present. Just get on with it.
I sighed and began. Tom sat in silence as I recounted leaving the café to find Isabel Wyatt on the doorstep, everything she’d told me and the casual ease with which she’d stood there before night had even fallen. But when I got to the part about luring out Murray – just as I’d predicted – he was pissed.
“Are you fuckinginsane? Erin, he could have killed you without breaking a sweat. And you went out into the middle of nowhere with him – have you got a death wish or something?”
“No,” I swallowed. “I know. I’m sorry. But I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.”
Tom snorted. “You rely way too much on your instincts. Just because you’re usually on the mark doesn’t mean youalwaysare.”
I nodded, taking a deep breath, and continued. I explained who Murray really was, some – but not all – of his history. Overall, Tom reacted better than expected. I could tell he was still trying to hold in his temper, though. The rich brown of his complexion darkened along his cheekbones – a telltale sign he was angry with me.
“So… do you believe them?” he asked when I eventually paused long enough to let him speak.
I put my head in my hands. The truth was, I did – but it wasn’t enough.
“I don’t think it matters. Or it shouldn’t matter. Whether or not they killed Jon and Maggie, they’ve both been getting away with murder for fuck knows how long.” I hadn’t mentioned those last few moments, where we’d almost—
Well, thankfully he didn’t question my motivations for ignoring their avowals of innocence.
“And you said Adam isn’t a vampire,” he pointed out. “What about him?”
I loved Tom like a brother, but he had a particularly annoying knack for finding the weak spots in my arguments. Honestly, I had no clue how Adam would react when his friends were dead by my hand – and I didn’t want to think about it.
“He’s biased,” I answered with a shrug, trying to convince myself. “Intuition tells me he’s a decent person, fundamentally. But he’s too involved with both of them to be objective.”
Tom said nothing, but raised an eyebrow and poured another measure into my glass and his own. I stared at the table, fixating on the dust motes caught within the white paint.
Eventually, I looked up. He was still scrutinising me.
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