Page 29 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes
“Dusty.” I hold my hands up. “However you feel about him, there’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that you don’t want him to leave.”
She looks away. “I’ve been a selfish person my whole life,” she murmurs, fixing her gaze on something in the distance. “I’ve always done whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and damn the consequences. But not this time.” She turns back to look at me. “I can’t be selfish with him. He deserves his home and his family. He’s given enough. He deserves his peace.”
“What if he doesn’t want to leave?” I ask.
“Why would he stay?” she bursts out, her voice rising as she throws up her hands. “Because of me? I mean my blow job skills are good but notan eternity of being stuck guarding some weird magic doorwaygood.”
My mouth curves. “Not what I’ve heard.”
“You’re sweet,” she snorts. “But the truth is, if he chooses to stay, he’s going to be stuck in that pokey bookshop. Why would he want that?”
“I guess that’s a question only Bruce could answer, but maybe you should try telling him how you feel.”
“I don’t know how I feel,” Dusty says with a sullen pout.
“Oh, I think you do. I don’t think you’re as allergic to commitment as you say. In fact, I’m pretty sure you’ve just been waiting for the right man wearing the tiniest shorts known to humanity to fall in your lap.”
“It’s… it’s too complicated.” She blows out a resigned breath. “This isn’t what they sent me back for.”
“Dusty, they didn’t send you back at all. You told them you were coming back and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“That’s not the point.” She rolls her eyes but a small smile tugs at her lips.
“Pretty sure it is.” I sniff as my nose starts to run again. Fumbling in my pocket, I pull out a half empty packet of tissues and slide one out, only to have it immediately get soaked by the rain. But screw it, I use it to blow my nose anyway. “Look. I don’t have all the answers. I barely know what I’m doing these days, but the afterlife can’t all be about servitude and following rules. You’re allowed to be happy, I’m pretty sure. Otherwise, what the hell is the point of it all?”
“Got me.” Dusty shrugs. “There are days when I feel like I don’t know a damn thing.”
It’s strange seeing Dusty like this. I’ve gotten so used to the glitz and larger-than-life persona that is Dusty Le Frey that I sometimes forget there’s a vulnerable person underneath it all. I suppose it’s because she doesn’t let many people see the real Dusty. In fact, the only other person who probably gets to see this side of her is Chan. I’m really touched that Dusty trusts me enough to let me in, and it makes me even more determined to make sure she finds her happiness, in whatever form that takes.
“Dusty, I–” I’m not entirely sure what I was going to say, but the words are lost anyway when I start coughing again.
“Good god, Tris.” Dusty frowns. “We’d better get you out of the rain. I don’t think Danny will be happy if you end up in hospital with pneumonia.”
“You won’t get any arguments from me,” I reply once I’ve caught my breath. “I know we’re used to good ole British weather, but it’s nearly June. I’m so sick of this rain. My flat is starting to smell like a wet sock.”
“We’ll fix that soon enough.” Dusty starts walking again and I follow alongside. “Trust me, Chan will find you a new place to live before your lease runs out.”
“I hope so.”
We hurry down the cramped alley and reach a familiar-looking building. Opening the door, I step inside, Dusty right behind me. The shop bell tinkles daintily and as I let go of the door, it swings closed behind us.
I step further into the shop and can immediately tell something is off. It’s dimly lit and silent as the grave. The atmosphere even feels different—usually, it crackles with psychic energy, but now it feels like we’re standing in a void, surrounded by nothing but emptiness.
“What the hell?” Dusty whispers from beside me. “It wasn’t like this when I was here yesterday. I mean it was quiet, sure, but this feels…”
“Empty?” I reply, looking at her with one eyebrow arched. She nods.
But I’m not sure empty is the right word because there’s a heaviness to the air, a kind of expectant anticipation. I really can’t describe it very well, but I get a sense of foreboding tickling somewhere at the back of my skull.
Dusty suddenly sniffs loudly. “Can you smell weed?” she exclaims.
“Dusty, I can’t smell anything right now. My sinuses feel like they’re packed with cement.”
I hear a sudden clatter behind the cash desk and as I turn to check it out, Madame Vivienne pops up, rubbing the side of her head.
“Stupid shelf,” she mutters, taking a long drag from what must be the fattest spliff I’ve ever seen.
She catches sight of me and Dusty and looks down at the spliff, then back at us, her eyes widening with each movement of her neck. Quickly hiding it behind her back with one hand, she blows out a stream of smoke and waves her other hand through it as if to make it dissipate quicker.