‘And you died.’ Despite myself, my voice hitched.
Once again, the orange rolled, but slower this time, regretful. I was now reading emotions into the speed of a fruit roll. This was utter madness.
I swayed on my feet. Robbie’s arm slid around me, his presence anchoring me. He was so warm, his body a furnace against mine. I let myself lean into it, savouring it.
There was a knock at the door. Robbie drew me backward to sit me down on the sofa, depositing me safely as if I couldn’t be trusted to stand on my own.
It seemed a fair observation. I wasn’t sure Icouldstand on my own.
I was shaking, I realised with surprise. I hardly ever shook.
Robbie answered the door and Hanlon stood there with a Ouija board wrapped in cellophane.
I hoped that meant it had been legally bought, but frankly that was the least of my worries.
My brain circled the same series of thoughts over and over as they blurred together. Dad. Jingo. Domini. Wraithmore. Broadlake. Even the poison vials on my counter. Would they be my saviour or my damnation?
Eventually, the adrenaline drained away, leaving me hollow. Exhaustion settled into my bones like wet cement.
I rubbed my eyes. They felt gritty. My head ached. Everything ached. It’d been a long-ass day.
The kettle switched on, and I laughed involuntarily. ‘God yes. You’re right. I need a brew.’ I looked towards the kitchen and thought of all the things that ‘Bob’ had done for me over the years.
‘You made me eat breakfast,’ I murmured. ‘Made me shower. Switched the heating on.’ Hot tears stung the back of my eyes. ‘You’ve always been looking after me …’ My voice broke. ‘You’ve been here all this time.’
Sitting where I was, I couldn’t see the fruit bowl; our fruit communication system had a flaw. He seemed to realise it too, because the light switch went on and off,flickering the light in the room once. Not dramatic or violent. There were no poltergeist vibes. Just a soft pulse like a heartbeat.
Like a yes.
‘I’ll make you that tea,’ Robbie said. ‘Your dad is right. You need it. You’re ashen, Stacy.’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, but I wasn’t.
Robbie didn’t argue. Instead he blatantly ignored my weak protestations. He retrieved some Dairy Milk chocolate and Pringles from my cupboard, handed them to me, then continued making the much-needed brew.
When I touched neither, my dad pushed the Dairy Milk towards me.
My dad. Bloody hell.
‘He’s right,’ Robbie called from the kitchen. ‘You’re in shock, Stacy. You need the sugar.’
I opened the wrapper and nibbled half-heartedly on the chocolate bar.
‘This has been one hell of a day,’ I said aloud.
‘Yeah,’ he agreed, but he was assessing me to decide if I was about to fall apart.
‘I’m fine,’ I reassured him again, even as I downed the all-but-scalding tea in several large gulps.
‘Stacy,’ Robbie said, ‘you’re dead on your feet, love.’
‘Nope,’ Ishot back. ‘That’s my dad.’ I winced as the words left my mouth. ‘Sorry, Dad.’
The light flickered once.Apology accepted,I assumed.
‘Sleep,’ Robbie repeated.
‘I don’t think I can,’ I admitted. ‘My mind is reeling, and my thoughts are loud in my skull. I don’t think they’ll stop long enough to let me rest. Honestly, I’m afraid that even though I feel okay … I’ll dream. Of Broadlake. Of Jingo.’
