attacking Anna and...
Shit. Can’t finish that thought .
So if that is my future, is it worth living for ? I tried to think of a good reason not to eat my gun, right there, right then, with the nightmare running feverishly round my head, I couldn’t think of a single damn one.
I picked my gun up, ran my fingers over the barrel, and even slid it past my lips. I wondered if I’d feel it. I wondered if blowing your brains out killed the nerves instantly, or if I’d have a few seconds of blistering agony before I actually died. I bit the barrel, tasting the metal. I fingered the trigger. It felt like the world held its breath, waiting for me to check out.
Then Mutt stuck his nose in my vomit and started eating. I flung the gun aside with a yell and chased him out of the living room. No way I’ll kill myself and leave Mutt behind to survive on my bodily fluids .
Chapter Nine
At about four-thirty, I realized I had an hour to get my shit together before Anna showed up for the meeting with Baxter. I gave Mutt a quick hug to apologize for not letting him eat my vomit, and then cleaned up the mess. I felt numb, like I’d gone into shock, and had to work hard to drag myself upstairs to the shower.
Everything looked like a chance to kill myself. I could throw myself down the stairs and try for a broken neck. I could slit my wrists with my razor. Maybe empty the medicine cabinet on the bathroom wall and see what a packet of painkillers and a bunch of out-of-date hay fever tablets did mixed with a bottle of whiskey. Probably not much, but I might have fun finding out.
I gritted my teeth and forced myself to shave without attempting suicide. It wasn’t like I wanted to die. I just couldn’t think of any other way to get rid of the Voice. God hadn’t helped, and as much as I appreciated Crane’s efforts, no way I was going back to the Overture Church any time soon.
I thought about Stoker’s advice about witches as I showered, and wondered if there was any merit in that. I’d never met a witch. I had this picture in my head of some old crone cackling over a cauldron full of bat wings and newt toes, and felt pretty sure I was way off base.
Okay, well, before I write my suicide note, I’ll try and find a witch. Can’t hurt, right ?
“ Nothing you do will change the inevitable.”
“ Fuck you,” I said loudly. My voice bounced off the shower tiles. God, I wanted to hurt that fucker.
I finished my shower, feeling a little better for being clean. On the outside, anyway. Inside I felt filthy. The sound of Anna’s screams and the sensation of Rhian’s dead flesh crawled inside me like parasites. I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat. It was a dream. Just a dream, doesn’t have to have any bearing on real life, right ?
Right. Of course .
Except I dreaded actually seeing Anna when she arrived in thirty minutes or so. How the hell am I supposed to make eye-contact with her after that ? It would have been hard enough if it had just been a regular wet dream, but after that...I was so screwed.
I dressed, still feeling slightly numb at the edges, like pieces of me were peeling away. I couldn’t help staring at my unmade bed, trying to figure out if this was the bed from the dream. I’d have to burn it if it was. Chop it up and burn it in the garden. Mutt and I could make s’mores or something.
The bed offered no answers, so I left it alone and went downstairs to feed Mutt. That done, I still had a good twenty minutes before Anna arrived. I contemplated getting drunk to make seeing her easier and then changed my mind. Lowered inhibitions were the last thing I needed right now.
Instead, I went over my case notes for Rhian for about the millionth time, still looking for something new, something I’d missed. That Baxter had no contact details for Tamsin irritated me, and I half-hoped I’d find a phone number or email address in my notes, somehow overlooked until now.
There was nothing, of course. I’m just not
Shit. Can’t finish that thought .
So if that is my future, is it worth living for ? I tried to think of a good reason not to eat my gun, right there, right then, with the nightmare running feverishly round my head, I couldn’t think of a single damn one.
I picked my gun up, ran my fingers over the barrel, and even slid it past my lips. I wondered if I’d feel it. I wondered if blowing your brains out killed the nerves instantly, or if I’d have a few seconds of blistering agony before I actually died. I bit the barrel, tasting the metal. I fingered the trigger. It felt like the world held its breath, waiting for me to check out.
Then Mutt stuck his nose in my vomit and started eating. I flung the gun aside with a yell and chased him out of the living room. No way I’ll kill myself and leave Mutt behind to survive on my bodily fluids .
Chapter Nine
At about four-thirty, I realized I had an hour to get my shit together before Anna showed up for the meeting with Baxter. I gave Mutt a quick hug to apologize for not letting him eat my vomit, and then cleaned up the mess. I felt numb, like I’d gone into shock, and had to work hard to drag myself upstairs to the shower.
Everything looked like a chance to kill myself. I could throw myself down the stairs and try for a broken neck. I could slit my wrists with my razor. Maybe empty the medicine cabinet on the bathroom wall and see what a packet of painkillers and a bunch of out-of-date hay fever tablets did mixed with a bottle of whiskey. Probably not much, but I might have fun finding out.
I gritted my teeth and forced myself to shave without attempting suicide. It wasn’t like I wanted to die. I just couldn’t think of any other way to get rid of the Voice. God hadn’t helped, and as much as I appreciated Crane’s efforts, no way I was going back to the Overture Church any time soon.
I thought about Stoker’s advice about witches as I showered, and wondered if there was any merit in that. I’d never met a witch. I had this picture in my head of some old crone cackling over a cauldron full of bat wings and newt toes, and felt pretty sure I was way off base.
Okay, well, before I write my suicide note, I’ll try and find a witch. Can’t hurt, right ?
“ Nothing you do will change the inevitable.”
“ Fuck you,” I said loudly. My voice bounced off the shower tiles. God, I wanted to hurt that fucker.
I finished my shower, feeling a little better for being clean. On the outside, anyway. Inside I felt filthy. The sound of Anna’s screams and the sensation of Rhian’s dead flesh crawled inside me like parasites. I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat. It was a dream. Just a dream, doesn’t have to have any bearing on real life, right ?
Right. Of course .
Except I dreaded actually seeing Anna when she arrived in thirty minutes or so. How the hell am I supposed to make eye-contact with her after that ? It would have been hard enough if it had just been a regular wet dream, but after that...I was so screwed.
I dressed, still feeling slightly numb at the edges, like pieces of me were peeling away. I couldn’t help staring at my unmade bed, trying to figure out if this was the bed from the dream. I’d have to burn it if it was. Chop it up and burn it in the garden. Mutt and I could make s’mores or something.
The bed offered no answers, so I left it alone and went downstairs to feed Mutt. That done, I still had a good twenty minutes before Anna arrived. I contemplated getting drunk to make seeing her easier and then changed my mind. Lowered inhibitions were the last thing I needed right now.
Instead, I went over my case notes for Rhian for about the millionth time, still looking for something new, something I’d missed. That Baxter had no contact details for Tamsin irritated me, and I half-hoped I’d find a phone number or email address in my notes, somehow overlooked until now.
There was nothing, of course. I’m just not
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