Page 24 of From Hell
And no answers, but all in good time. Now I have to work.
I exit through the back of the house into the thick wood of the abbey gardens, joining the pathway to the main road. It’s late, so no one is watching, peeking through curtains as I stroll to where I parked my car a few roads over.
The drive to Berners House doesn’t take long. There’s a prickling energy as I step through the heavy wooden doors, to be greeted by the porter who takes my keys, and I head to the rec rooms, with showers and lockers for members. I wasn’t looking forward to returning to Whitechapel, but now I know the one who got away is back and that she’s my sweet psycho...
I can’t fucking wait.
After a shower and a change of clothes, I retreat to my office to fire up my laptop, running her name through the search engines, intrigued by my girl and her enticing grit.
It’s her…after all this time. After she disappeared, I’d almost given up looking. She changed her identity and her appearance and moved away, hoping to hide from me. It worked.Why, then, did she come back?I click on a social post of her with two other friends and admire how she shines like a goddamn beacon between them—her pretty, generous mouth curving into a subtle smirk, her dark, silky tresses cascading down, fanning out over a glorious figure. Only her eyes seem lost, as though tragedy has embraced her soul.
Now I’ve found her again, she won’t escape. My little fox may be in the henhouse amongst the wolves.
But she’s always belonged to me.
* * *
LAINE
Rain falls like cold drops of reality, bringing me back with every wet kiss on my burning skin.
Leaving Nola’s house in the late evening is a wake-up call. I left Sage at the station because I wanted to walk, and she can’t have company when she exits on the other side. She won’t tell me why, but it’s easier to go on foot along the main road and up the hill where the houses sit on a crest overlooking the common.
Thoughts scatter in my mind, and I let them. The wind howls down the avenue, chasing me all the way back home to my cottage, tucked away in the middle of a low terrace.
Ever since I very nearly died, I’ve felt like I’m not all there—half a person. I said Sage was a ghost earlier, but I wonder how close it is to the truth for me, too.
But life goes on.
As I get to the door, my cat runs out of the dark bushes. It jams, so I kick the base to shove it open. There’s a shiver of regret that I didn’t leave the light on. I hate coming home to a pitch-black house. But then the lamps are lit, and the wet clothes are off, and the oven is heating my dinner for one. I go around scaring shadows away, lighting every candle I can find. By the time I’m done, the place is like a damn church, and every corner has a soft glow that melts the horrors around my heart just a tiny bit.
Cozy as can be.
As long as I don’t fall asleep reading my book, burning down the entire mews….
A noise, like something falling, has me sitting up, my heart pounding.
What was that?
Tigger, my adopted Siberian cat, gives me the evil eye from the top of the dresser. Whatever he was sitting on—a stack of library books—is now in a messy pile on the floor. A few of the candles around me have burned out or are guttering. After telling myself not to, I dozed off. Great. My mum would kill me if she knew I nearly burned down one of the student residential homes I begged her to let me rent.
Hefting out of my comfy armchair, I pad into the minuscule kitchen to pop my cold cup of hot chocolate into the dishwasher. A lone knife clangs as I pull out the sliding rack and gets stuck underneath it. I have to yank the rack out to get to it, but I don’t pick it up. I just stare at it, my heart beating wildly.
It’s the murder weapon I used on Henry.
Everything freezes as danger reaches out from every corner, hidden in shadows to scare me into snatching the first thing I see, a pair of kitchen scissors on the drainer. I back into a wall, fumbling to use my phone.
“Laine?” Sage’s voice whispers down the line with a slight urgency, like she’s been crying.
Shit. “Is now a bad time?” I gasp, squashing my fears deep down where they can’t make me run out of the house screaming.
“Sort of. I’m locked in the closet,” my friend sniffs, her voice muffled.
I glance around the familiar outline of my cottage, spearing the darkened edges with my sharpened gaze, trying to see if there’s anyone there. Concern about Sage taking over enough for me to move. I can’t stay trapped in a corner all night.
“You’re what?” I hiss, walking from room to room, checking alcoves and my own closets, brandishing the scissors, anger swirling like a storm in my gut. “What did that fucker do? Do you want me to come over there?” I’m not as mean-looking as Nola, being a petite Asian, but I’ve put down three murdering rapists already, whereas Sage has yet to hurt anyone.
“No. I’m fine. I mean, I locked myself in.”