Page 22 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes

I sigh. “Do not finish that sentence, Dusty. No one has a stick in their arse.”

“I feel like I’ve missed the whole point of this conversation.” Chan sips her coffee.

“You and me both.” Danny lifts his mug and clinks it against hers in a toast. “Here’s to being in the don’t-have-a-clue club.”

“We should make badges,” Chan muses. “Maybe membership cards.”

Danny grins at her.

I open my mouth to speak when my attention is drawn to Jacob Marley swaggering into the kitchen like the pampered prince he is. The only thing marring my cat’s haughty expression is the thick layer of melting chocolate ice cream that encircles his face, proof that he shoved his head straight into my left-over tub in the bedroom.

I grimace at the mess he’s probably left for me in there. I can guarantee he hasn’t let a drop of it get on Danny’s side of the bed.

He mewls demurely and heads to Danny, who picks him up and snuggles him into his lap, then snags a dishcloth off the counter closest to him. Jacob Marley purrs contentedly as he allows Danny to clean his face, and I can’t help the look of absolute betrayal I send my cat. If I’d tried to do that, I probably would have lost layers of skin.

With an indignant hiss of disgust, I turn back to our surprise guests and ignore the little shit as he gloats from his spot on my boyfriend’s lap. I glance out the kitchen window and despite the constant patter of rain, I can see it’s dark out now. My eyes flick to the clock as my stomach rumbles.

“Okay, if I might summarise,” I say, pointing to Chan. “You’re here because Dusty left you a message to stop by and check on us.” I turn to Dusty. “By the way, Chan says don’t use her favourite lipstick next time.” I glance at Sam. “You stopped by to draw phallic symbols and write dirty limericks on Danny’s cast.” I turn to Harrison. “And you, Harrison…” I pause and frown. “Did you stop by to say hello or was there something specific?”

“Um, well, I…” he murmurs, his eyes shooting to the others in the room. “Just stopped by, I guess.”

I don’t think that’s the reason; he looks as if there’s something he wants to say, but I’m not going to push him if he’s not comfortable speaking in front of everyone. I make a mental note to try and get him on his own at some point.

“Fine. It’s late and I’m hungry. I really want some chicken noodle soup from The Golden Dragon around the corner,” I tell them. “If you guys are staying, take a seat and we’ll order some food.”

Sam shrugs. “Sounds like a plan.”

“I don’t think–” Harrison begins, but Sam cuts him off with a wink.

“Come on, Prickles. We didn’t get to feed you the other night, so this can be our do-over.”

Harrison scowls. “I don’t need a do-over, and don’t call me Prickles.”

“Don’t get me wrong.” Sam’s voice lowers a fraction. “I like you all prickly.”

“Y-you’re ridiculous,” Harrison stammers.

“Ooooh, entertainment while we eat.” Chan smirks. “This is going to be fun to watch.”

Suddenly, there’s a loud crash of thunder outside and the power cuts out, plunging us into darkness.

“Nobody move,” Chan says. “Tris, honey, do you have any candles?”

“No,” I lament with a sigh. “Apparently, I can’t be trusted with them.”

“It’s true,” Danny says softly, and I can hear the amusement in his voice. “Last time we nearly lost the curtains.”

Chan laughs from somewhere across the kitchen. “A flashlight then?” she amends.

“There should be one in the cupboard under the sink,” Danny says.

I can hear her fumbling in the blackness and suddenly a beam of light clicks on. It swoops over the kitchen as Chan tries to get her bearings, first over Danny and then me, almost blinding me in the process, but as she moves the light over the chair next to me, the beam highlights a face that was not there before the lights went out.

Chan lets out a scream that can only be described as “Cheerleader Number Two Gets Murdered.” Suddenly, the electricity clicks back on and the whole kitchen is once again flooded with light.

Everybody stares in varying stages of shock at the stranger sitting quietly in the chair next to mine. They don’t seem to know who he is, or how he simply materialised in my kitchen, but I do. I’ve seen him before… in my dreams.

It’s the man who calls himself Death.