Page 11 of Dead Serious Halloween Special

Viv spent nearly her whole life isolated and afraid, with no one to turn to, no one that would understand or even be able to help. It started me thinking: How many others like her are out there? Scared and alone.

Not that I can do anything about it. I don’t have any special gifts. I can’t see dead people, and from some of the things Tristan has told me, I’m actually quite glad about that. I guess I just feel… lost, like I told Tris. I’ve come to a crossroads in my life and I’m not sure where any of the roads lead. Right now, he’s the one thing keeping me grounded.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I almost walk past the address I’m supposed to be visiting. I pull the scrap of paper from my pocket and check the name and address.

Ms G Locks.

I look up at the small house tucked along a side street in Whitechapel. It’s only down the road from the bookshop where I know Tris will be by now, and I have an overwhelming urge to just say fuck it and go find him. This job is so pointless.

I’m supposed to double-check a witness statement for a crime that’s already been solved and prosecuted. Random fact checking, Butler had called it.

What a wanker.

Still. I blow out a slow breath and reach for the latch on the small metal gate. It swings open with a groan of protesting hinges, andI stroll up the path to the cheerful yellow front door. Knocking on the door, I take a step back and wait patiently, but no one answers. After a few moments, I lean in and knock a bit louder.

Still nothing.

A brief movement catches the corner of my eye, and I turn to see the net curtain in the bay window twitch. Leaving the doorstep, I press my face to the window, and I could swear I see a shadow move somewhere inside.

I shift back to the door and knock again very loudly.

“Ms G Locks?” I call out. “Golda?”

Dropping to one knee on the doorstep, I stick my fingers into the letterbox and open the little metal flap to call through the gap.

“I’m Detective Inspector Hayes with Scotland Yard. There’s no need to be alarmed, you’re not in any trouble. I’ve just been asked to clarify a few details on the witness statement you made late last year… Hello?”

I climb to my feet with a sigh of frustration and dust off the knees of my trousers. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I check the time. I’m about to call it a day and head over to the bookshop when the door opens, creaking slowly inwards.

I freeze with my phone gripped in my hand. “Hello?” I say tentatively into the dim hallway. “Ms Locks?”

A sudden gust of wind comes up behind me, almost knocking me off my feet. I stumble forward into the hallway and the door slams behind me. I’m about to reach for the handle when a wave of dizziness washes over me. It feels like the floor is undulating under my feet, and my knees are wobbly.

Something’s not right, I think to myself as my eyes roll and everything around me goes dark.

Slowly I open my eyes,my head filled with confusion. I blink a few times but everything around me remains blurred.

I inhale a deep breath and take stock. I think I’m still in the hallway where I fell. The air is cool, and I feel the tiny hairs on my legs rise. That’s weird. My legs feel like they’re bare, but I’m definitely not naked. Slowly, the place comes into focus.

Iamstill in the hallway, I ascertain once my vision stops wavering and my surroundings solidify. What the hell knocked me out? I roll onto my front and shakily push myself onto my hands and knees. After another breath to calm my nauseous stomach, I stumble to my feet and sway slightly.

Glancing around, I notice I’m alone. I stagger forward, further into the house, but as I pass a full-length mirror, I freeze, then turn to face my reflection in wide-eyed horror.

“What. The. Actual. Fuck?” I breathe into the stillness.

I’m no longer wearing my suit, that’s for goddamn sure; no wonder my legs felt bare. I don’t know whose idea of a joke this is, but when I get back to the station, someone’s head is going to roll for this setup.

I’m wearing a yellow and white gingham dress with a white collar, frilly sleeves, and a full, puffy skirt which sits just above my knees. White, neatly folded ankle socks cover my feet, along with shiny patent Mary Janes, and if all of that isn’t bad enough, my hair is no longer the short, neat style I usually wear.Instead, my head is covered with long, golden-blonde ringlets topped with a big yellow bow.

With a growl, I reach up to pull off what is obviously a wig, only to find, to my dismay, that it won’t budge. Oh yeah, someone is definitely going to pay for this. What the fuck did they use? Glue? If I have to shave my head after this, I’m going to be majorly pissed.

I stalk further into the house, fully expecting to see some of DCI Butler’s cronies with their cameras out, but as I enter what is obviously a dining room, I pause. The house is immaculate, with swept floors and vases of flowers. In front of me is a polished table and three seats of varying sizes.

Those seats do look comfortable.

The errant thought pops into my head and I wonder where it came from. My feet are moving before I know it, and I’m dropping down into the first chair with a wince.

Fuck.