Lost Lives (Emily Swanson Mystery Thriller Series Book 1) by Malcolm Richards Page B

deeply troubling. Frightening even. Turning the business card over and over in her hands, Emily watched the snow. There were two paths she could take. One would lead her back to the safety and banality of her apartment. The other would take her along a dark corridor of shadows towards the unknown. Only one would lead her to Alina Engel.

CHAPTER TEN
    The snow fell throughout the evening, burying the pavements in heavy drifts. The usual after-work drinkers had forgone their usual tipple in favour of heading home. Those pedestrians who had decided to brave the adverse conditions traversed the frozen pavements with care, testing each foothold.
    London was a city used to rain and smog, and it showed. Salt trucks were only now rolling out in the suburbs, covering the icy roads in sprays of rock salt. In the busiest parts of the city, vehicle pollution was toxic enough to blast the ice from the tarmac, transforming it into a thick, black slush that slithered into the gutters like primordial ooze.
    By the time Emily had finished telling Jerome about her encounter with Rosa, a wind had picked up and whipped the snowfall into a frenzied flurry.
    “I don’t like it,” Jerome said. They were sat in his living room, eating noodles from cartons. “It sounds dangerous, not to mention a little far-fetched.”
    “Why do you think that?” Emily picked at her food. She wasn’t hungry in spite of having had little to eat all day. It was becoming a habit, she noted.
    “Patients disappearing in the middle of the night, mysterious journalists asking questions ... and we don’t even know this girl.”
    “Are you saying Rosa made it all up? Why would she go out of her way to meet with me? Why would she invent such a story?”
    “It just sounds like one of those made-for-TV movies. Besides, I’m still not completely over our little visit to the hospice.” Jerome paused, staring at Emily. “I’m sorry about your mum though. Is that why you moved away? New beginnings and all that.”
    Emily’s eyes stung with tears. Just the mere mention of her mother could bring them on; those tiny droplets containing dangerous fissions of so much grief, so much anger.
    “New beginnings and all that,” she said.
    Jerome shovelled more noodles into his mouth. “I get that. Sometimes you just need to leave everything behind and move on. I did it. Moving here was a big thing. I left behind my family, my friends. It was hard, I got lonely. But I made new friends, and I’m lucky because my family are always there at home, waiting for me to visit or change my mind and come back. To be honest, if my luck doesn’t change soon, they may just get their wish.”
    Emily looked up.
    “Sorry. Actor’s ego—I can’t help making it all about myself.”
    “It’s fine. To be honest, it’s a good distraction. You’re thinking about going home?”
    “Maybe. I don’t know.” Jerome, picked up his beer and drank. When he set the bottle down again his face was taught with worry. “I mean, I certainly don’t want to go home, but look at how I’m living. I barely have furniture to sit on, I can’t afford the rent now that I’m living on my own, even though I’m working every hour the devil sends my way. I don’t go out anymore. I can’t remember the last time I hung out with friends. What’s the point of living somewhere like London if all you’ve become is a worker ant, working to ensure the rest of the colony thrives?”
    Emily shrugged. “Maybe you’ll get an audition soon. Maybe we’ll see your name in lights.”
    “The last time I had an audition was nearly three months ago. The only time I hear from my agent now is when I call him.”
    It was as if his bank of smiles had finally exhausted itself. Emily didn’t like to see him this way, bereft and despairing.
    “You know, if you need money I can give it to you,” she said. “I just sold two houses—my mother’s and my own. It’s just sitting there in the bank collecting dust.”
    Jerome