“What the fuck was that?”
Fenrir is on his feet, gun drawn, with the only light coming from a small gap in the curtains.
I’ve no idea how long I’ve been asleep.
Two seconds?
Two minutes?
Two hours?
I also have no idea what that fucking noise was.
“I don’t know.”His voice doesn’t betray him.He’s the pillar of composure, poised, gun aimed at the door.“Stay here,” he says.
“Fuck no.”I flip the covers back and fling my legs out of the bed.“I’ve seen those films where the murderer distracts the guy by luring him out of the room, leaving the defenceless woman on her own, ready to be slaughtered.No, thanks.”
He fires me a warning look, then seems to be having some internal wrangling until he says, “Stay behind me.Stay quiet.”
Carefully, I tiptoe across the room and position myself behind him.He signals for me to press myself against the wall.We edge along the plaster like searchlights until we reach the door.
Fenrir flattens himself and pulls his gun up so it’s pointing at the ceiling.
“You wait until I tell you it’s clear, do you understand?”he whispers.
I nod, not wanting to disobey his rule of keeping quiet.
He looks like he’s counting in his head.
One.Two.
On three, he opens the door slowly, pointing the gun out before him.
Like I’ve seen the police do on so many TV shows and films, Fenrir checks the landing by aiming his gun at all areas before signalling for me to follow.
We make our way down the stairs, me staying behind him, Fenrir holding the gun out in front of us.
He checks the library first, but all we find are empty chairs, resting books, and a darkness that feels settled.
The sitting room and large living room are just as we left them, not a few hours ago.
It’s when we reach the kitchen that I feel it—the charge in the atmosphere, as if someone has just been here and disturbed the air.
As Fenrir steps further into the room, the moonlight illuminates the table, glinting off the surface.
Flipping on the light, we stare.
All the drawers are open, pulled right out until they’ve reached the end of their runners, and all the utensils have been placed on the table in a neat line.
No, notallthe utensils.
Knives.Cleavers.Scissors.
All the sharp things.
“What the fuck?”I hiss through my teeth.
Fenrir is still checking the room, pointing his gun at the walls, the window, the lights.
