Chapter Six

I didn’t care about the hallway carpet becoming ruined. I didn’t care that the rain was hitting the walls, soaking the pictures hanging there. My main concern was there something out there, something both myself and the unconscious woman had seen, and I didn’t know where “it” was. Actually, I didn’t know what ‘it” was, or what “it” was planning to do with me if “it” got the chance to get inside my house.

Deciding that moving the woman inside was better than being bludgeoned to death by an unknown entity, I slipped my hands underneath the woman’s armpits and pulled. Surprisingly, her body moved more easily than I would’ve believed and as soon as her feet were out of the way of the path of the door, I shut the weather out.

Next, I arranged her, as best I could, into the recovery position and checked her airway was clear.

In some bizarre way, she looked peaceful - her cheek resting on the back of her hand as if she’d placed it there herself.

The dog watched, fascinated. He seated himself a couple of feet away from the top of her head as if he was the overseer to everything that was going on. It would have been comical if I wasn’t so fraught and terrified of things I couldn’t even begin to understand.

I stood, meaning to move away and get warm blankets, but I couldn’t.  Part of me was transfixed with the figure on the hallway rug, half curled almost foetal, dark hair messed - some of it falling over her face in sodden clumps.

Leaning over, I brushed these locks backwards, exposing the paleness of her face. With the back of my fingers, I touched her cheek. So cold. Unbelievably cold. How could she still be alive?

Doubt flooded me. Was she breathing? Her lips were an unnatural shade and I couldn’t see the rise and fall of her chest from this angle - and with the layers of clothing she was wearing, it was damn near impossible to be sure of anything.

Fumbling, I tried to find the carotid artery in her neck - a task that should’ve been easy to do - but I just couldn’t seem to position my fingers right - they just wouldn’t bend to the task.

I’d seen people in movies place a mirror over the patient’s mouth to see if it would mist over but I didn’t own one small enough to easily move around.

“Spoon!”

I clambered up and into the kitchen, yanking open the cutlery drawer before grabbing a tablespoon and making my way back to where Amelia lay. The dog hadn’t moved; his attention was fixed on the prone female.

I held the domed side of the spoon to Amelia’s mouth and waited. Then moved closer, my face mere inches from hers.

A small mist bloomed, evaporated then misted again. The process repeated in a rhythmic fashion indicative of someone breathing.

Thank fuck.

I closed my eyes and leaned a little back on my haunches.

“What are you doing?”

Her voice was so close, so unexpected. I fell backwards and slammed against the wall; the suddenness, rather than the strain and pain of the action, creating the “oof”.

Amelia was beginning to lift herself, small rushes of pink flowering her cheeks, her lips losing some of the blue at the same time.

Her eyes flicked to the spoon, her brow furrowing.

“What’s that for?”

I ignored her question, suddenly feeling stupid.

“Can you stand?”

I stood, then held my spoon-less hand out to her as if to help her up.

She looked up into my face then back to my proffered hand.

“Well, I…”

I lowered my hand further to her, impatiently wiggling my fingers.

Amelia accepted the gesture, the sensation of this connection seeming to ricochet through me. It must’ve been the chill of her skin; the coldness of her meeting the heat of me.

Except by now I was cold, too.

With a tug, she was on her feet, stumbling forward and nearly into me.

“Come on. Let’s get you sorted.”

I led her into the front room and to the chair near the wood burner. It wasn’t until she was seated that I realised I was still holding her hand and the spoon. Embarrassment made me pull away more sharply than I needed to, dropping the spoon onto the small table at the side of her.

I didn’t look at Amelia as I spoke.

“I’ll just get some blankets. Some warm clothes.  You need to… need to… get out of what you’re wearing.”

She didn’t verbalise an answer. I didn’t wait. I was out of the room and upstairs before I allowed myself to pause.

Considering everything that’d happened throughout the day, the storm, the figure, the dog’s appearance, the lights and doors and every other fucked up thing, it was the feeling of her hand in mine that unnerved me the most.

And the reason?

Simple.

The reason was, the feeling of her hand in my hand had made me realise how much I’d missed human contact, something I’d sworn I would never allow to happen again.

A heaviness gripped the inside of my chest and I released a sigh before moving towards the cupboard with the spare blankets.

***

Chapter Seven

Amelia was still trying to get out of her coat by the time I arrived downstairs with only the blankets, the clothes were still to be sorted.

Wordlessly, I placed my bundle onto the sofa and moved behind her, my hands gripping the collar of her jacket. The wetness of the material made the task difficult and it took the both of us to yank the cloth from her.

After a final tug, the coat released its hold and flapped free, making Amelia stagger slightly with the loss of it. But she re-balanced herself and stood with her back stooped, her face slightly tipped to the ground. Slowly, she turned her head and tentatively met my gaze.

“Thank you.”

The two words were punctuated with a shiver.

“Come. I’ve started to run a bath. We need to get you warm.”

Her mouth opened to utter what I believed would be a negation, an “I don’t want to be too much trouble” or similar. But before the words hit the air, she shut them off with a sigh of resignation.

“Thank you,” she repeated.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

I wanted the words to come out light and positive, but instead they sounded curt and rude.

Amelia didn’t answer, just dipped her head in acknowledgement.

“Here.” I grabbed a blanket from the sofa and draped it around her shoulders. “If you want to slip out of your shoes here and then come up to the bathroom…”

And now I sounded as if I was worried about her walking on my floor in her outside footwear.

I tried to counter my blunder.

“Your shoes can start drying next to the fire. You don’t want to put on wet shoes when you go outside again.”

I was making things worse. Now I was intimating I was focused on her departure.

“Yap!”

The dog was seated about a foot away from where we were standing. His sharp vocal gave me the chance to change the focus from my idiocy and inability to seem normal, to her ownership of the bedraggled and underfed mutt I’d found in my utility room.

“Here’s … Archie?”

Amelia’s mouth dropped open, her eyes widening with disbelief.

“You called your dog Archie?”

“My dog?” I looked at the small terrier. “That isn’t my dog.” The small terrier looked back at me before turning to Amelia. I followed his lead to find she was looking at me, confusion definitely apparent.

“That’s your dog.” My voice was firm.

“My dog? My dog’s name is Archie.” Amelia had straightened as she spoke, pulling the blanket more closely to her.

 I shrugged, huffed and agreed with her. “I know your dog’s name’s Archie. You told me as you fell into my hallway.”

The dog was looking from me to her, her to me, me to her.

“And this” I pointed at the dog, “is Archie. Your dog Archie. I found him in my utility room earlier today.”

The Patterdale gave a small whine and nodded his head and I was unsure whether it was to support my story or to get attention.

“But my dog is staying with my mother.”

The statement was simple, but, apparently, I couldn’t understand it.

I opened my mouth to speak but closed it, my own building confusion blocking any response.

“He’s called Archie. He’s a Patterdale.” Amelia knelt to the dog. “And he looks a lot like you.” Her hand travelled along his back; her fingers splayed over his tiny spine. “Bloody hell!”

Amelia’s head shot round; her eyes wide in shock before the shock rapidly morphed into disgust. “This dog is half starved!”

“I… Arch… he turned up like that.”

She wasn’t looking at me now. Her attention was on the dog, her hands caressing him, gently examining his malnutritioned body.

“Do you think he belongs to the person I saw in the road?”

“Person? Road?”

Amelia turned her face to meet mine. ‘Yes. I’m unsure whether it was male or female. Just appeared in the road. That’s why I swerved.”

Her hand stilled; her gaze was intense, brown eyes seeming darker than ever. 

I should’ve been worried about the figure, asked question after question about what it looked like, how it seemed, even if it had a proper fucking face, but no. I just continued to stare into those brown orbs, captivated by the depth of them.

A dark, furry head broke the spell. Archie - or not Archie - pushed forward and licked Amelia’s chin. A small laugh-cum-giggle bubbled from her and the spell I’d been under evaporated like air.

“I’d better check your bath. Come up when you’re ready.”

With that, I almost ran from the room, my face flushing wildly as I struggled to temper the embarrassment welling up within.

***

Chapter Eight

The bath was fine. No lake of water pooling over the tiles.  No mass of bubbles pouring for the doorway. The scent of the perfumed water invited comfort, calmness, warmth. I should’ve climbed into it, submerged my head and let the fluid cocoon and hide me from what I was trying to run from.

Instead, I found myself standing staring into the fogged mirror hanging on the bathroom wall and wondering what I was trying to escape from. However, I’d an inkling that my urge to flee was more connected to the continuing feelings I’d experienced upon looking at Amelia’s driving licence than worrying about the bath. Although, to be honest, I’d never liked taking a bath in this house but, for the life of me, couldn’t remember why.

The mirror showed the shape of me, my features seeming pixelated by droplets of moisture.

I sensed the presence even before the figure stood behind me, the face, like mine, also blurred.

“I’ll get you something to wear,” my voice was light, inviting, just as I’d planned it to be.

Turning, I was greeted by nothing. An empty space. I twisted my head to look back into the mirror but only saw my own featureless shape.

“Shall I come in?” Amelia’s voice seemed tentative, indicating she possibly didn’t know if she was intruding or not.

Why was she asking? Hadn’t she just been in?

The door, which had been slightly ajar, pushed open further, a key indicator that no one had entered the room since I’d come in a few minutes previously. Amelia’s head appeared, her expression reflecting the same uncertainty I’d heard in her voice.

A chill raced down my spine and I shuddered it away. I so wanted to believe I’d imagined the figure standing behind me, imagined the sensation of someone standing close to me, but it was becoming too difficult. Too many things had happened in the space of a few hours. Too many unexplainable events and sightings to pass off as mere coincidence or confusion.

“Sorry. I should…” Amelia began to back out of the room.

“No! No.” I lurched forward, my hand grasping the handle and pulling the door open wide. “I was just… just…”

Just what? Losing my mind?

“Just about to call you.”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed slightly, her face a mix of pink and white. She still looked chilled but also unwell and drawn. Enough to distract me from what I didn’t want to focus upon. Namely, what the fuck was happening.

“How’re you feeling? How’s your head?”

Without thinking, I reached out to touch the spot hidden in her hairline where earlier I’d seen blood, my fingers flexing as if magnetised by her.

She didn’t move - didn’t dodge my misplaced administrations - just allowed my fingertips to glance gently over the spot where she’d been injured. Her eyelids fluttered and she released a soft sigh of sorts as I stroked along the hairline.

“At least the cut has stopped bleeding.”

My voice was low, soft, so different to how I thought I would sound at that moment considering I’d run from any kind of connection from her up until this point. Amelia closed her eyes, long, dark lashes seeming darker against the paleness of her skin.

It took a moment to realise she hadn’t answered my questions.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Great.” A soft smile played around her mouth. “I feel…”

Amelia’s eyes shot open and she stepped back and out of my touch, the loss of contact between us immediate, my hand hovering slightly, emptily, before dropping impotently to my side. Her soft smile was replaced by one of shock.

Amelia’s hand shot to the cut on her head, cupping it, almost shielding it from my touch. Her eyes focused everywhere apart from on me, an action that could’ve made me feel rejected but actually worked to create the complete opposite reaction.

“My head still hurts. Headache, I think.” She shivered, the action of it rather too theatrical. “And I’m…”

“Cold. Yes.” I smiled at her, this time a true smile.

Tentatively, she smiled in return.

“Come. Your bath is ready. I’ll just get you some warm clothes.” I turned back to the bathroom, my hand pushing the door fully open. “You’ll find towels on the radiator, toiletries at the side of the bath.”

Amelia moved next to me and I sidestepped so she could walk past and into the room.

“Just put your clothes outside the door when you get undressed. I’ll stick them in the wash.”

She turned to look at me, tears welling.

“How can I ever thank you?”

Embarrassed, I shook my head.

“Honestly, don’t worry.”

I stepped back, my face beginning to burn as the blush took hold. “I’ll sort out some clothes for you and leave them to warm in that room over there.” I pointed to the guest room, the same one that had looked ready to receive guests earlier that evening.

A frown formed upon this realisation. I hadn’t drawn the curtains or put the lamps on but they had been on, almost in readiness for this moment.

Amelia shivered, the noise of it halting my inner mental meanderings.

Giving myself a slight shake, I smiled widely, unsure which one of us I was trying to convince everything was okay.

“Go on. Get warm.” I gestured past her to where the hot water was running into the bath.  “And don’t forget to give me your clothes.”

I didn’t wait for a response. Just turned and headed down the stairs even though I was supposed to sort out warm clothes for Amelia to wear.

 Therefore, it was a surprise to find myself standing at the living room window, my face close to the glass, trying to make out shapes in the darkness.

I have no idea what I would’ve done if I’d have seen anyone staring back.

***

Chapter Nine

Ten minutes later, I tore myself from the window and made my way back up the stairs only to scoop up the neatly folded pile of wet clothes outside the bathroom and make my way back down to the utility room.

After setting the washing machine to a quick wash cycle, I turned and noted the mass of leaves still piled in the corner. Sighing, I moved toward the cupboard where I stored my dustpan and brush but changed direction as I remembered I still had to bolt the back door.

 I lifted my hand to shoot the bolt home but didn’t even touch the metal. I didn’t have to as the shaft was already shot in place. I frowned then stooped to shoot the bottom bolt home. But, once again, that too was already secured.

“What the …”

Instead of stopping my hand, I reached outwards and glanced my fingertips over the cool metal of the bottom bolt almost as if I’d be able to visualise what had happened if I made physical contact.

“What the fuck is happening?” My voice was low, scared to speak louder in case someone or something answered.

Standing, I stepped backwards, my fingertips divulging nothing about who, or what, had touched the bolts beforehand. Psychometry, obviously, was not my forte.

With this thought, I inspected my fingertips as if they would have the answers imprinted onto them before glancing worriedly back at the bolts.

“What the fuckity fuck is happening?”

Thump!

The noise came from directly above me, the suddenness making me duck and flinch. Above where I was standing was just a roof, not a room, just tile. The sound could’ve been debris flung by the storm, there was enough of it flying around outside after all.

THUMP!

I ducked again, my hands moving as if to cover my ears.

“Ka-tie?”

It wasn’t the fact that the voice couldn’t have been Amelia’s that bothered me; it was the fact that it had spoken my name that had made my blood run cold.

The voice hadn’t been loud, hadn’t been shouted or appeared to sound threatening. The unnerving thing was that it’d been spoken inside my house, a house that held myself and one other woman, one other woman who did not know my name as I had not proffered it, and who was also in the bath - upstairs, in the bathroom with the door closed. Upstairs and too far away to make that level of volume I heard as the voice had been only spoken, not hollered, and would not have travelled down the stairs. Even if I'd told Amelia my name, even if she was standing in the hallway right at that moment, the voice sounded different, huskier.

How I could tell this by only hearing one word, I don’t know. I just felt it would be different.

“Ka-tie?”

My mouth was devoid of moisture as it’d all raced to my bladder in readiness for me to pee my pants in fear.

Was the perpetrator of the word the same person who’d bolted my back door? Was he or she or they making sure I couldn’t get out quickly? Were they waiting for me to turn around now and try to wiggle the bolts free before attacking me? Or would they wait for me to get out of the house so they could hunt me down in the storm?

Scanning the utility room, I looked for anything I could use as a weapon, my eyes resting on the steam iron, moving away quickly to search for something else before returning to the iron again.

“What the hell?” I shrugged. “It is better than hairspray.”

It wasn’t the most ideal weapon of defence but it would certainly pack a thwack if I got the swing of it right. And if I didn’t quite pull it off at least I’d been inventive.

Picking up the iron with my right hand, I began to twine the cord around my left, the plug swinging wildly like a domestic flail or solitary nunchuck.

Whomever was fucking about inside my home was about to get either a beating or a laugh and I was hoping it was the former.

Armed, I shot through the doorway, the iron held aloft, the plug swinging wildly and nearly smacking me in the face.

Thankfully, there was no one in the kitchen. The hallway was also empty, the front door closed, everything appearing normal apart from a woman in her thirties, dressed in her pyjamas and slippers, brandishing a Russell Hobbs Powersteam UItra iron.

I moved down the hallway, as I believed, silently, entering the living room on stealth mode. Archie-not-Archie was back on the makeshift dog bed in front of the wood burner. He lifted his head and looked in my direction, wagged his tail, yawned, then snuggled back onto the bed once more.

I lowered the iron, the flex holding the plug slackening.

I just didn’t get it. The voice had been close to where I’d been. It’d said my name - I’d definitely heard it say my name.

“Ka-tie?”

I spun around to face the open doorway, raising the iron once more.

“Where are you?”

My voice was firm, controlled, completely the opposite of how I was feeling. I wanted to know where the other voice was coming from, who was saying my name, but I also didn’t. An aural hallucination was okay with me. I wanted to blame the weather, the whistle of the wind finding its way through gaps in windows and underneath doors - the movement of mere air impersonating the dulcet tones of a woman’s husky voice.

Back into the hallway, I was greeted by nothing but an empty space - not that I’d expected anything different considering I’d looked everywhere downstairs only minutes before. The only place I hadn’t looked recently was upstairs.

Nausea bubbled upwards and I swallowed forcefully to rid myself of the sensation. The stairs appeared daunting, like how stairs usually appeared in low budget horror films, and as I began to climb them, they seemed to expand almost as if they were becoming my only focus, the only thing missing was the dramatic music desperately building to a crescendo.

The bathroom door was closed and I’d no idea if Amelia was still in the bath.  It wasn’t as if I would hear the playful splashing of water as she bathed even if I placed my head next to the wood. She was a woman and not a six-year-old child.

So, I moved on.

I checked the first room with no luck, the steam iron jabbing forwards at each stage of my journey, the thrust of it, and the movement of my body mimicking a bad impression of an out of practice, ancient Charlie’s Angel.

Next, I entered the proper guest room, the one where I’d told Amelia she’d be sleeping.

The scene looked almost the same. The lamps enabled the room to appear still expectant, still inviting. However, alongside the drawn curtains from earlier, the bedspread had now been pulled back as if the bed was waiting for someone to slip underneath the covers.

Had Amelia come into the room after I’d gone downstairs? And if so, why? What purpose would pulling the covers back have? Was she checking to see if the sheets were clean?

A seed of anger sprouted but before it had the chance to root, a noise sounded behind me.

Whirling around, iron raised in attack, I met the startled expression of Amelia.

“Holy fuck!”

Those two words she uttered stopped me in my tracks, my eyes widening, paradoxically, in both shock and relief, the iron dangling precariously from above my head.

Amelia must’ve ducked when she’d seen me raise the iron into the air as she was part cowered in the doorway, her head pulled in, one hand partially raised in defence. Her other hand gripped hold of the bath towel she had wrapped around herself, her knuckles whitening.

To an observer, the scene would have looked humorous, especially because both Amelia and I seemed rooted to the spot. Then, like a fucked-up seesaw, we regulated our stance. As my arm lowered, the iron taking on a less of a threatening pose, Amelia began to straighten, to stand more erect.

Her dark hair was wet, the tendrils of locks cascaded around her shoulders, her skin flushed and alive. Her slender neck was also pink, probably from the heat of the water, and this beautiful neck supported a firm jawbone, straight edged, and almost chiselled. My attention lifted to take in the absolute beauty of her face, plump full lips slightly parted, her perfectly straight nose, those expressive brown eyes, the same expressive brown eyes that were half closed in question.

“Is everything okay?” She dipped her face slightly, her voice low and light.

Why did this woman fascinate me so? Why was I drawn to her mouth, her eyes, the presence of her?

“You don’t have to worry about ironing my stuff.”

“Huh?”

She gestured to the iron. “Don’t bother on account of me.”

“No. No no no.” I lifted the iron between us and shook it wildly almost as if my primitive speech and gesturing would tell her that ironing was the last thing on my mind at that precise moment. And, if I’m honest, finding who spoke my name wasn’t a priority either.

“I’ll take that as a no, then.”

Was that a smile playing on her lips?

“I…”

What? Heard someone say what I believed to be my name and thought I’d flatten them with my Russell Hobbs Powersteam Ultra? Press the intruder against the wall, stream roll them into submission whilst squirting jets of tepid tap water into their eyes?

Amelia was more likely to crease up laughing at my ludicrous plan and not at my attempt at humour with my misplaced extended metaphor and an even worse attempt at trying to break the tension I’d created all by myself.

She shivered, a burring noise accompanying her movement.

I snapped out of my stupidity, well nearly, and ushered her inside the room.

“Come, come. You must be freezing.”

Amelia moved past me, the scent of her clean and fresh and womanly. And then, like a moron, I stood and stared at her again whilst she stood and shivered, her hand still gripping the bath towel.

Then I realised I was supposed to get her a change of clothes, something warm to wear.

“Clothes!”

I didn’t wait for her response, just left her in the room and went over to my bedroom opposite.

Moments later, I returned with a pair of flannelette pyjamas that I hoped would fit her.

“Here you go.”

She laughed as she took the clothes, a small light laugh, a laugh that I’d no idea why it was needed, but a laugh that just felt right at that moment.

“I’ll leave you to get ready.” I walked backwards towards the door. “If you want to dry your hair, just use my hairdryer. It’s in my room.” I jabbed my thumb in the direction of my bedroom.

Amelia smiled, lifted the clothes, “Thank you so much for this.”

“My pleasure.” I returned her smile. “I’ll go and put the kettle on.” And as an afterthought “You hungry?”

Her smile, wide and winning, was enough to tell me that food wouldn’t go amiss.

“Just come down when you’re ready.”

I stepped away but her “Hey” brought me back.

“Yes?”

She’d moved towards the doorway, her head tilted as if she’d tried to peer around the door.

“I don’t even know your name?”

I grinned and held out my hand. The feel of her fingers slipping across my palm was nearly my undoing. Small jolts of expectation sparked into my hand and up inside my forearm.

“Oh.” Amelia was looking at our hands, her expression questioning.

“Probably the storm. Electrical currents in the air.”

Or me talking bollocks, which was more like it.

“Katherine Hammond. Katie. Call me Katie.”

Amelia smiled before caressing my name with her mouth. “Ka-tie. Suits you.”

It wasn’t the brown of her eyes that held me fast and made my heart pound madly; it wasn’t the way her lips framed each syllable, or her tongue hitting the roof of her mouth with the sound of the t; it wasn’t even the delectable smile she gave me as she spoke these words; and also not even the spark of attraction racing from her palm to mine.

It was partly when I remembered the reason why I was standing in this room, this room with the lit lamps, drawn curtains and pulled down bedspread. This room where I’d brandished an iron believing an intruder to have infiltrated my home and was playing silly buggers with me. This same room where I’d come when I’d heard a woman speak my name exactly the same way as Amelia Griffiths just had.

It was also the impossibility of the situation. Even though the voice had sounded like hers, the nuances behind those two syllables exact, and even though I’d dismissed them as too husky, her to be too far away, the fact remained.

However she has done it, Amelia Griffiths was not who she pretended to be and I had to be on my guard.

***

Chapter Ten

Thankfully, I didn’t stand gawping at Amelia, nor did I tell her what I’d worked out. I released her hand, smiled, albeit awkwardly, turned and left her to get changed.

It wasn’t until I reached the top of the stairs and spotted the cold hard floor of the hallway below that I remembered I’d not given Amelia anything to wear on her feet.

Making my way back to my room, I dug around in my dresser and pulled free a pair of thick bed socks. Why I was concerned about how bloody cold her feet would be when I was half convinced the woman was out to do me some kind of harm was beyond me.

Shoving the drawer shut, I made my way back to the guest room.

Her bedroom door was ajar and I raised my hand to knock but stopped stock still. Amelia was drying herself, the plump bath towel vigorously working over her skin, the muscles in her shoulders and arms toned and defined and straining with the movement. She had her back to me but I could see part of her front reflected in the mirror on the wardrobe door. Her right breast, delectably curved, the erect nipple indicative of the chill in the air, the bobbing movement almost hypnotic.

Heat blushed over me, embarrassment and arousal vying for dominance. I knew I should either make myself known or leave but I could do neither. I stood transfixed, rooted at the threshold of the doorway, neither in one place nor another.

Amelia leaned forward, her back arching, her buttocks firm and round, her thighs taut and muscular.  She began to towel dry her hair before curling the towel around her head and sweeping it up and over to make a turban of sorts.

I hadn’t realised she was standing. Hadn’t realised she’d slightly turned so she was fully facing the mirror. Hadn’t realised she was staring straight at me through the reflection of the mirrored glass.

Not until she spoke, that is.

“Did you forget something?”

Her voice was low, the question she asked hiding the more obvious question of why I was peeping at her through the gap between the door and the frame.

Amelia didn’t cover herself. Didn’t pull the towel from her head and hug it against her breasts. She turned her face to look directly at me before her body turned, too, the full glory of her nakedness exposed, almost gifted to me.

I knew my mouth was opening, knew that it wasn’t words that wanted to escape. It was the sheer wonder of her, the absolute glory of the woman in front of me that’d triggered the reaction. Full, rounded breasts darkened erect nipples, sleek skin that must’ve been like silk to touch; a flat defined belly moved the journey of my eyes to roam lower, dipping to the dark patch that held promise.

“Can I… help you with… anything?”

To me, her voice was more alluring, enticing, erotically provocative, so much so, I felt drawn to her even though I knew she was not who she seemed.

With a gentle push, the door opened more fully, allowing me to step inside the room.

Amelia smiled, one side of her mouth lifting slightly.

I made another step forward.

And stopped.

This kind of behaviour wasn’t me. I wasn’t the kind of woman who would make a move on a total stranger - whether it was in bar, a club, or in the middle of a storm whilst she was naked and standing in my spare room. Not to mention that I wasn’t one hundred per cent sure whether Amelia Griffiths wasn’t out for more than a quick fuck. And by that, I didn’t mean that she wanted a long-term relationship.

“I brought you some socks.”

Not the best chat up/line ever delivered but that was all I was willing to part with. I didn’t want to chat her up or lead her on. I didn’t really know what I wanted.

Amelia frowned slightly, her eyes squinting momentarily before she asserted herself and stepped forward and took the proffered item.

Being attracted to women who were not how they presented themselves to be was beginning to be my weakness. Shelly had been the master when it came to hiding who she really was. And just like Shelly, Amelia was beginning to make me doubt myself, start to second guess my decisions, distrust my own instincts and I’d only known her for less than a couple of hours.

A stab of anger shot through me and I clamped my teeth together before nodding and gesturing over my shoulder once again.

“I’ll get the kettle on.”

With that, I left the room.

I wanted, as always, to be alone. That is why I stayed in this house, stayed in the middle of nowhere. No one should be coming around and disturbing my solitude, disturbing my self-inflicted isolation. And I would be buggered if I would allow anyone to wreak havoc on everything I’d achieved since Shelly had gone.

Well, if ignoring my family and friends, especially in the last few months, and giving up my previous job could be classed as an achievement.

Still. As I kept telling everyone, mainly myself.  “My life, my decisions.”

***

Chapter Eleven

Amelia joined me in the kitchen just over half an hour later. I’d occupied myself by putting her freshly washed clothes into the dryer and starting to prepare something for her to eat and drink. All the while I was doing these mundane chores, I’d tried to work out what was going on but found everything too confusing. Eventually, I decided it would be for the best if I just asked Amelia why she had ended up at my door.

“Take a seat.” 

I glanced over my shoulder at her, my focus returning swiftly to slicing the loaf of bread. “Food won’t be long. Help yourself to tea.”

I heard the kitchen chair scrape across the floor as she pulled it free from the table. The chink of the lid of the teapot, a stir, a tap, and the lid re-homed before she rattled the cup on the saucer.

Lifting the plate of bread, I moved to the table, my attention valiantly fighting between my chore and Amelia.

“Soup and bread okay?”

“Yes. Yes. Great. Thank you. Great.” Her voice appeared higher than before. Strained.

I moved to the stove, grabbing the wooden spoon and swirling the soup inside the pan.

“Want me to pour you a cup?”

I sensed the hesitation in her voice like she was worried about speaking to me, anxious about gaining my attention.

I couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t as if I’d infiltrated her home, tried to make her feel intimidated and insecure. Even though I wasn’t a hundred per cent sure that she was out to do me harm, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that’s something was not quite right.

Slam!

I didn’t really know why I decided to pick up the saucepan and slam it back onto the gas ring, the contents splashing onto the cooker surface.

To say this made the air taut with anticipation would be an understatement.

“That would be lovely, thank you.” My voice was light, bordering friendly.

“Milk?”

I grimaced at the soup.

“Wonderful. Thanks.”

The exchange was strained, almost like the tea leaves being poured behind me.

A moment of awkward silence.

“Have I done something to offend you?”

I knew even before I turned to face her that she was staring at me, the teapot raised expectantly.

“What makes you ask that?”

Amelia shrugged. “Is it because of what happened upstairs?”

She placed the teapot back onto the table, fiddling around trying to align the spout to whatever the fuck direction she’d envisioned as she placed it. Brown eyes lifted to meet mine, easily capturing my gaze.

I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t break contact.

But she could. Her eyes shifted to the left before her attention was once more absorbed with her teacup, the contents apparently fascinating.

“I’m sorry.”

She lifted the teaspoon, paused, then slowly and deliberately stirred the beige liquid.

“I… I don’t really know what came over me. I… just turned and…”

“No need to apologise.” I interrupted. Unless the apology was for crashing into my life, making me doubt myself, for making me believe that there was something almost supernatural about the events of the evening, then I wasn’t interested.

However, I knew that was not the reason she attempted to apologise. The reason she was apologising was about the show she had made in the bedroom.

The heat of the blush spread from my chest, up my throat and over my face. The embarrassment I was experiencing was mainly due to my recollection of what had transpired in the spare room. Amelia had attempted to apologise for turning and showing me what I so obviously wanted to see. And here I was, treating her so dreadfully, treating her as someone who had been the instigator of my growing desire. Yes, something was not quite right. I’d heard someone call my name and the voice had sounded like Amelia’s.

However, I also knew that Amelia had been in the bathroom when I’d heard my name spoken. But why on earth had Amelia pointed out that she didn’t know my name? Actually made a point of asking what it was? Could this, too, be another way of making me doubt my sanity?

Or was I reading everything completely wrong?

A voice inside my head - this time sounding very much like my own - muttered, “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

My shoulders slumped and I suddenly felt deflated.

Inhaling deeply, I spoke. “Let me get this soup. You must be starving.”

With that, I turned back to the stove to find the soup bubbling madly. I snatched the pan off the flame and stirred the contents hoping the soup hadn’t stuck to the base.

Closing my eyes, I attempted to get my thoughts in order.

I needed to find out more before I started to accuse the woman seated at my kitchen table of conspiracy, robbery, fraud, and anything else I could add to my ever-growing list of allegations. 

I needed evidence. I needed to know her story, needed to understand why she would turn up in the middle of a storm in the middle of nowhere.

“You okay?”

Opening my eyes, I saw the saucepan still held aloft.

I pushed out a small laugh. 

“Yes. Everything is great. Just checking the base of my pan. Thought I may have caught it.”

I smiled at her over my shoulder.

“But no. I caught it just in time.”

I was hoping that was not the only thing I had caught just in time either.

***

Chapter Twelve

We didn’t speak whilst she was eating. The sounds within the kitchen were half homely and pleasant and half expectant and strained. Although I hadn’t dished myself any soup, I stayed with her as she ate, my teacup encased within my hands, partly raised to my mouth, the heat of the liquid calming.

The dog padded through, his attention wavering from me to Amelia, Amelia to me, before finally deciding to seat himself halfway between us.

“You hungry little boy?” Amelia held out a small piece of bread.

He sniffed the offering before gently accepting the proffered morsel.

“Poor little man. Who could let him get into such a state?” Amelia was offering him another piece of her bread, the dog eagerly accepting it this time.

“He just turned up that way.”

I leaned down and scratched the top of his head and I was unsure whether the dog’s satisfied smack of lips was due to the bread or the caress. Amelia broke off another piece of bread, the piece that soon disappeared inside a very receptive mouth.

Putting my cup back onto the saucer, I stood, pushing my chair back in the process.  The growl of the wood on the floor made me grimace slightly and the dog flinch. Amelia, however, didn’t bat an eyelid.

“I should get him something else to eat.”

I moved to the fridge and pulled out the chicken and rice I’d made earlier, scooping some into a small bowl. I didn’t want to overfeed him, but I didn’t want the dog to be hungry either. Little and often. That should do it.

Bending, I placed the bowl onto the floor, the dog sniffing as he walked over.

As I the dog ate, I explained, “I went outside earlier and left the back door open. When I came back in, he was hiding under a pile of leaves.”

Amelia looked down at the dog before returning her attention to me.

“Could he belong to a neighbour?”

I shrugged.

“No idea. Don’t really know the people around here.”

A small frown appeared on Amelia’s brow before disappearing just as quickly as it had come.

“How far away are your…”

“Why are you here?”

I interrupted her questioning, my attention fully on her. I wasn’t the one roaming the landscape in the middle of a storm. I didn’t have to explain why I was in my own home. But she did.

Amelia appeared a little taken aback with what could be perceived as rudeness.

“Sorry. That came out wrong.” I tried to add a small light laugh, but that sounded just as fake as the apology I’d just made.

“I meant to say why were you driving near here? I’m quite out of the way - off the beaten track.”

Amelia’s expression showed her unease as my behaviour was mercurial to say the least - one minute friendly, the next in-role as Grand Inquisitor. Well, not quite the leader of the Spanish Inquisition. More like good cop bad cop combined but inadequate within either role.

“I was going to my mother’s… She lives in Rothbury.” Amelia put her spoon to the side of her dish, her index finger running along the shaft of the handle.

“Rothbury?” My voice was a little croaky for some reason so I coughed gently and repeated the place name. “Rothbury? Why would you be driving this way if you were heading to Rothbury?”

I’d attempted to make the question seem more “interested” than invasive but I knew I hadn’t succeeded. So, I resumed my seat opposite her, picking up my lukewarm tea in the hopes it would invite social chit-chat and not an aggressive pummelling for information.

Taking a sip and grimacing, I nodded to the teapot, the silent question of would she like a refill mimed.

“I’d love another, thanks.” Amelia lifted her cup over the table and I topped up both of our cups.

I sipped again. “Better.” I smiled at her before taking another sip. “So… you were saying?”

Even though Amelia hadn’t actually been saying anything, it didn’t hurt to move the conversation along.

She frowned slightly. Frowning seemed to be a characteristic of hers.

“Why this route?” I prompted her, wanting to get to the bottom of why she would be near my house if she was heading to Rothbury.

“Oh, ha! Right.”

She laughed, the sound so light, so musical, I nearly forgot why I was interrogating her. Her laugh was delightfully womanly, comfortably warm, positively addictive. I wanted to just accept that everything was as it should be, that she had been caught out in a storm and needed my help.  Therefore, with this want, my next want was to forget all that’d happened in the last few hours. Alas, that wasn’t to be. I could not unforget the weird events that had plagued, or haunted, me for God knows how long.

“So…”  The sound of her voice startled me. I’d been so absorbed in my own little fucked up world that to come hurtling back into reality was a shock.

“I’ve been in Edinburgh for work. Three days away and I was dying to get back. Thought I could out-drive the storm.” Amelia shrugged, sipped her tea. “Not a chance.”

“But wouldn’t you get to Rothbury on the A697? I’m just outside of Yetlington - that’s way off.”

“Accident.” She gave a slight pause. “I think.”

Brown eyes flicked to mine and I didn’t have the chance to read them. She seemed more interested in her tea, the spoon, the dog, even the half-eaten slice of bread than she had in making eye contact with me.

“Saw the blue lights ahead, police cars parked over both sides of the carriageway. Turned off just before Thrunton. The back way isn’t so bad if you know the route.”

I opened my mouth to challenge her once again but she laughed, held her hand up to shush me.

“I took the wrong turn. Right instead of left. Should’ve been heading to Callaly but ended up through Whittingham and heading for Netherton. Thought I’d cut through Yetlington to shave off a few miles and come out just after Netherton Burnfoot.”

I nodded as if I’d a fucking clue what she was talking about. I’d heard of a couple of the places, but she’d lost me at Callaly. When I went to Rothbury, I mainly just followed the Sat Nav - I didn’t pay attention to anything around me.

“But the storm stopped you?”

Amelia tilted her head and looked straight at me, the sensation of being under her gaze making me feel exposed.

“I told you about the person. The person that seemed to leap into the road.” Disbelief coated her words alongside her expression. “That’s why I swerved.”

Amelia shifted back in her chair before leaning forward once more, her whole being suddenly becoming animated, the change in her obvious.

“The storm was bad, yes. Rain was heavy but nothing I hadn’t seen or driven through before.” Brown eyes sparked alive, her hands irrepressible, her body leaning forward and closer to me. “I wasn’t driving quickly even though I wanted to get home. The roads were too dicey. You know what I mean?”

She waited for me to nod before continuing.

“Out of nowhere, this…this…thing…this man or woman… is in the road. Just standing there. Standing there in the rain.”

I remembered she’d mentioned something earlier and at the time I’d meant to ask her to elaborate, but Archie-not-Archie had decided to climb over her and stopped our conversation.

Amelia shivered, leaned back into her chair and closed her eyes for a moment before snapping them open to centre straight on me. “I don’t know if it was panic, the weather, the dark, but you know what the worst thing was?”

“Swerving?” I honestly didn’t know why I added that and then had to stop myself from adding “Crashing?”

Amelia paused, thought about what I’d said for a moment then shook her head.

“The worst part was I couldn’t make out the person’s face. Just white, white with dark…” she gestured in a circular motion around her eye sockets, “parts.”

A chill coated me. Nausea bubbled inside. She’d just described the figure I’d seen earlier, the one I’d gone looking for, the one who’d tried to get into my home.

“I came off the road and hit the banking. That is when I hit my head.” Amelia lifted her fingers and tentatively touched the spot that’d been bleeding when she turned up. “I’m unsure whether I blacked out for a moment.”

She squeezed her eyes closed and I didn’t know whether she was trying to remember what happened or if she was in pain.

“Everything okay?” My question was gentle, encouraging.

Amelia opened her eyes again, the brown seeming almost black, the shine from the kitchen light glinting from them.

“No. Not really.”

Was she just now showing concussion?

“Is it your head?”

I stood up, moved around the table, cupped her jaw and lifted her face to meet mine, my fingers grazing through her hairline as if I would be able to read her like braille.

“No one was there.”

My fingers momentarily stilled and I stared down into her face, a face that was so open, so honest, so goddamn beautiful that I found it difficult to stop myself from kissing her.

“No one was there?”

Amelia pursed her lips but didn’t speak; a slight shake of her head was her response.

“Could you see properly? It is dark out there.” My voice was low, attempting to calm.

She gave that slight shake of her head once again then added, “No one was there. No figure, no person, no anything.”

Each syllable she spoke vibrated through her jaw and moved inside my fingertips, the sensation weirdly wonderful.

Amelia licked her lips and I mimicked the action before realising I was still cupping her jaw in my hand, still moving my fingers through her hair. An air of expectancy hung between us. By her compliance, I gathered I’d her permission to kiss her.

Kiss a woman I barely knew. Kiss a woman who supposedly didn’t know me from Adam. Kiss a woman who told a tale of swerving to miss a disappearing figure before scrambling in the dark and wild weather to fall on her knees at my door.

There were many instances of the word “kiss” inside my head but none of them would come to fruition.

I let go of her jaw, her head bobbing with the loss of support.

Without looking at her, I scooped up her empty dishes and placed them inside the dishwasher, bending to collect the dog’s empty dish, too.

Still with my back to her, I asked, “So. No person about? Why didn’t you just drive on?”

I moved to the sink, grabbing the dishcloth and rinsing it underneath the hot tap. Amelia didn’t respond. So, I asked the question again, this time looking over my shoulder as I did so.

“Why didn’t you just drive on?”

Amelia continued to glare at me. Waves of anger permeated the air.

I turned the tap off and placed the cloth on the side before turning to face her. I leaned my back onto the counter, crossing my arms as a final punctuation.

She continued to glare. I glared back. A small yap sounded from between us but I ignored it.

“What? I only asked why you didn’t drive on.”

Amelia released a dramatic and overly loud huff.

“A simple answer would do.”

Amelia slammed both her hands onto the table, the sound making both me and Archie-not-Archie jump. Then she raised her arms above her head in supplication before shaking them and releasing an “arrrrrgh!” that could only be interpreted as a noise of her frustration.

“What’s the matter?”

If anyone should’ve been making frustrated arghing noises it should’ve been me.

“I’m sorry. I know I should be thankful for your hospitality but, man! You’re so bloody infuriating!”

“Me? I’m infuriating?” I pointed at my chest, my face more than adequately indicating my indignation. “You can’t even answer a bloody simple question.”

“If it is that important to you, my front tyre was completely buckled and there was no way I’d be able to drive the car. Satisfied?”

No. I wasn’t.

Amelia stood, the chair flipping backwards and slamming onto the floor. The dog skittered to me, pressing his body against my calf.

“And furthermore…” she lifted her hand and started ticking off on her fingers as she listed everything else, “my phone had no signal, I didn’t have a torch, I saw your light, I saw you…”

I tried to interrupt but she glared at me, and strangely, she looked even more attractive when angry.

“As I said, I saw you,” she jabbed her finger at me, “I could only make it to the front door, I’d my purse, phone and keys on me and before you say it, my driving licence was in my purse.”

I shrugged, unsure what to say or do at this precise moment.

“And ever since I’ve been inside this house you’ve been either hospitable, charming or damn right rude. Yes. I made a big, big, fucking huge mistake by turning around when you were looking through the door. I thought…What the hell. I misread it, okay? Call it shock.”

The dog was shaking, so I bent and scooped him into my arms, holding him close to me.

“You’re scaring him.”

“And you’re scaring me.”

That was something I wasn’t expecting.

I hugged the dog closer.

“I’m… scaring you?” Each word was laced with disbelief.

Amelia sighed, her body deflating, her hands dropping impotently to her sides.

“Not like that.” She bent to lift the chair, pushing it back into its place at the table. “I’m sorry, Katie. Tonight has been rather trying.” She rubbed her eyes before changing the movement to her whole hands vigorously rubbing her face.

When she stopped, she dropped her hands to perch onto the back of the chair.

“You seem to think I’m out to harm you in some way. Like I’m deceiving you.” Brown eyes fixed on mine, almost as if they were trying to read me. I said nothing, and I was sure my eyes gave nothing away either.

Pushing back from the chair, she stepped around the table and closer to me.

“Tell me. What are you so worried I’ll do?” Her voice was gentler now, inquisitive.

Slowly, she moved forward, her hand gradually lifting upwards. Was she going to touch me? Caress my face? Cup the back of my head and pull me in and kiss me?

Panic mixed with anticipation, and I wasn’t sure if it was relief or disappointment that held first place when her fingers landed behind the dog’s head.

“Hey little fella.” her tone was almost cooing. “I’m sorry for scaring you.” She leaned closer and nuzzled against him, the dog reciprocating by licking her face.

There was that delightful laugh once more and I couldn’t stop myself from becoming fascinated by her.

She moved slightly back and out of the dog’s reach, her attention now fixed on me.

“You know what we need to do?” Her voice was soft, enticing, alluring. I was having difficulty swallowing, the moisture within my mouth had all but disappeared.

“No.”

One syllable was all I could muster, but that one syllable was not a negation to finding out what Amelia and I needed to do.

“We need to give this young man a name.”

The dog turned to face me, his tongue hanging comically, the pants he was panting giving the impression he was laughing.

I couldn’t help but smile.

“Yes. A name to match him.”

Amelia beamed in return.

“Come. Let’s go into the room with the fire. I don’t know about you, but I’m freezing.”

It was only when she uttered those words did I notice the coolness seep inside me forcing a shiver to ripple through me.

“Seems as if you are, too. Get in there,” she gestured to the living room, “and stick some more wood in the burner. I’ll make another pot of tea.”

I nodded and moved forward; the dog safely ensconced in my arms.

“Then we can discuss what is happening, okay?”

Her words momentarily halted me. What did she mean about “happening”? And why was I always trying to second guess everything she said?

I glanced at her but she was focused on filling the kettle.

Without looking my way she added, “And get thinking about a name for the lad.”

A small lick tickled my chin making me smile. I hugged the dog closer and made my way into the living room leaving my guest to make tea.

It was a weird feeling having someone else in the house. Not just in the house but staying in the house. So strange having someone else make me a cup of tea, make conversation, hearing a voice that wasn’t just my own.

Since Shelly had gone, since everyone had finally left me alone to just get on with living a life with just me in it, the only voice apart from mine was the ones on the radio or TV - maybe the postman or assistant in the supermarket when I ventured out now and again.

Well, that and the disembodied voice I’d heard earlier.

With that thought, another shiver rippled through me. And this one had nothing to do with the cold.

***

Chapter Thirteen

The storm had calmed slightly but was no way from finishing its tirade over the countryside. Although the wind didn’t sound as aggressive as it had earlier, the rain was still heavy, hitting the window as if begging entry. Each splodge slamming against the glass made me jump slightly, not that it would take much to shred my nerves even more than they were already.   

I’d loaded the wood burner with a couple more logs as soon as I’d come through from the kitchen and the warmth was beginning to spread through the room once more. Archie-not-Archie was back on his makeshift dog bed and I was back to peering out into the night. Everything was a mass of indistinguishable shapes, and these shapes were masses of differing shades of darkness. No light helped my eyes. Even if the figure from earlier was standing a few feet away from my window I’d be none the wiser.

The thought unnerved me. A lot of things that had transpired throughout the day had unnerved me and I wasn’t any closer to understanding what the hell was going on.

“Here we go.”

Amelia’s voice came from behind me. I broke my attention from the darkness and turned to see her halfway into the room, the tray of tea things in her hands.

I moved over to help her but she stressed that she was okay carrying everything.

I stepped away, the feeling of shyness enveloping me. It was strange to stand and watch someone else take charge over something as simple as sorting out a cup of tea.

“Can you just move the glasses so I can put this tray down?”

Hurriedly, I stepped forward, my hand closing around the spectacles on the coffee table nearest the wood burner.

Amelia placed the tray down and began to organise cups onto saucers whilst I stood and watched.

“Go and sit. I’ll bring your cuppa over.”

I did as she bid, seating myself on the wing backed chair, my attention flicking from her, the dog, the ceiling, back to her again.

“Here you are. I hope it’s strong enough for you.” Amelia held the cup and saucer out for me to take. “Nothing worse than hot water passing as tea.”

I raised my hands to take the proffered beverage before realising I was still holding her glasses.

“Where shall I put these?”

Amelia glanced at what I was holding.

“On your face?” She grinned at me as she answered then deliberated with the cup and saucer before returning it back to the tray.

“Did you want me to take them?” She gestured at the glasses I was holding out to her.

I shrugged before responding with, “Well, they are yours.”

“Mine? What makes you think they’re mine?”

A frown formed. I sensed it crinkle my forehead before turning my attention to the object in my hand. If I didn’t know for a fact that my glasses were in two pieces somewhere near the window seat, I would have sworn the ones in my hand belong to me.

“I don’t wear glasses.”

Amelia’s expression reflected my own confusion.

I’d looked for my glasses. Even scrambled around on the floor in search of them. There could be no way they could’ve ended up on the coffee table near the wood burner. No. Fucking. Way.

A ridiculous surge of annoyance rose within me. I knew it was stupid, knew I needed to compose myself, knew I needed to be rational, but I couldn’t.

Lifting my focus from the glasses, I met Amelia’s curious gaze with my own expression of unchecked anger.

Slowly, purposefully, I stood, one hand pushing against the arm of the chair almost as if it was trying to temper this irrepressible feeling of rage.

No luck there.

“What the fuck is your game?” I could barely squeeze the words out, as my jaw was attempting to clamp my mouth shut before I made an idiot out of myself. Again.

Instead of her shying away, or still looking confused, her expression hardened.

“No. Katie. What the fuck is your game?”

She didn’t give me the opportunity to say anything more before launching into her own tirade.

“I’ve no idea what the fuck is going on here, but I’m sick to the back teeth of being accused of doing something I haven’t done.” She turned away from me and slammed the cup and saucer onto the table before marching to the door.

“Obviously I’ve no dry clothes so will need to borrow these.” She gestured to the pyjamas she was wearing.

“I’d rather take my chances out there in the middle of a storm than in here where the climate keeps changing.”

I held the glasses up and attempted to speak again.

“Not mine. Goodbye.”

I stood there. Glasses held aloft, now wearing an expression more of surprise than anger.

What was I doing? Amelia hadn’t had the chance to do anything with my glasses. She’d barely been in this room before she’d gone to have a bath.

The voice inside my head muttered, “But she was in here alone. She could’ve done that, could’ve found the glasses, fixed them, left them on the table hoping that you would find them.”

“Why?” I answered the voice inside my head audibly, the word loud and demanding.

Amelia came back into the room and marched over to where I was standing.

She ducked to the side of me and I flinched, expecting something but unsure of what.

Amelia stood once more, her body straight in front of me, dark eyes blazing. “I’m sorry if I’ve unnerved you, or you believe I’m out to ‘get you’. For the record, I’m not. Thanks for everything.” She held her shoes up in front of me. “I forgot these were in here.”

Then, once again, she left.

A small yap came from the side of me and I knew if I looked down I’d see Archie-not-Archie looking up at me reproachfully, attempting to trigger my conscience into action.

I heard keys jangle from the area where the front door was situated and knew it was the matter of moments before Amelia stepped out into the storm and out of my life. She wasn’t dressed for the elements, was injured, her car was damaged, there was someone knocking about outside, her phone had no signal, and the list went on.

But if truth be known, most of the list was redundant. I just didn’t want her to leave.

“Wait!” The word ejaculated from deep within, the velocity momentarily surprising.

I heard the door open, the chill of the outside once again invade my home.

“Yap!” Another order from my canine conscience.

I stepped forward, stopped, stepped and stopped again, the glasses a reminder of why I was finding it so difficult to just run after her.

A growl sounded and I was startled to realise it came from me rather than the wanna be Jiminy Cricket who was now sat bolt upright on the dog bed and glaring at me.

SLAM!

“For fuck’s sake!”

I sprinted forward, stopped, threw the glasses back onto the small table, and went after Amelia Griffiths.

I didn’t have time to put on a coat, or even change from my slippers. If I didn’t get outside now I’d never find her. The night was dark, the inclement weather making it even more difficult to navigate within its thrusts and throws.

Once outside, I called out “Amelia!” but knew my voice had no chance against the wind.

Charging down the path, the rain pelted me, the coldness of each drop seeming to bleed through my nightwear and pierce the skin. My slippers were soaked within seconds, the material gathering mud, water, leaves, all of which tried valiantly to hold me back.

But I kept on going in what I hoped was the direction of the road.

A figure was ahead of me, hunched over as an attempt to protect against the elements. I shouted Amelia’s name again but the figure continued to move off.

I increased my speed, pushing against the ice-cold wind laced with icy cold rain in my quest to stop this woman from …from …

There was no time to think this through. No time to start dissecting why it was imperative for me to stop Amelia Griffiths from leaving. I just knew it was the right thing to do.

Another surge, and I was gaining on her even though my slippers were useless in this environment and were hindering my movement; my hand was outstretched and close to grabbing the material of her coat.

Another thrust forward, my fingers straining with the effort to capture …

“Amelia, wait!”

I honestly believed I’d caught hold of her. I would swear this in a courtroom, my hand on the bible, my oath strong and true. There could’ve been no way I could’ve missed her.

But then again, my fingers hadn’t only missed, they’d grabbed at nothing but air. The hunched figure had evaporated right in front of my eyes. I’d seen it. One minute in front of me, the next …

I’d stumbled, my body launching forward and through the space where the figure had just been. I landed hard, my knees taking the brunt of the fall, my hands unsuccessfully trying to delay the inevitable sprawl of a body off balance.

Before I toppled forward and sprawled flat, something grabbed my shoulder and halted my tumble into mud. The scream burst from me and I half turned to hit out at whatever or whomever had grabbed me.

“Hey! Katie!”

Amelia was bending over me but released her hold of my shoulder and held her hands up in surrender.

I released a sob as I grabbed her and pulled her close. Even though I was numb with the wet and cold, the sensation of holding her to me was still something I could feel.

Maybe I was relieved about finding her, or her finding me, or knowing there was someone else here that was physically solid and real, but I kissed her neck, kissed it and held my mouth there for more than a moment before burying my face into her soaked clothes and crying.

“I’m so sorry. So deeply sorry. So so so …”

“Shush, hey, shush,” Her mouth was next to my ear so I could hear, her voice low, sultry, like nectar. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Katie.”

Amelia didn’t rush me. Just allowed me to cry into her shoulder as the wind and the rain bombarded us. Just accepted that I needed to do that, needed to just let go, just let it all come pouring out. My tears and fears exposed against the elements. My own personal storm. My own personal demons at war with the world around them.

“I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure if these words were aimed at Amelia or not but I knew it was time to get back inside. I was exhausted - physically, mentally, emotionally and definitely spiritually, too.

“Let me get you back in the warm.” Her voice was soothing, calming, persuasively guiding me back to safety.

Amelia lifted me to my feet, her arms still enveloping me, her body close. She placed her hand at the back of my head and held me against her chest. Slowly, she moved us back towards my home, my slippered feet dragging through the debris and wet.

Words weren’t needed. Nothing was needed apart from the contact of one woman with another. In Amelia’s embrace, I knew I’d be okay. Knew that things would be better, things could get better.

Even with the memory of a disappearing hunched figure lurking on the outskirts of my mind, I didn’t care. Just wanted to continue being protected, continue being held, continue to heal in the arms of Amelia Griffiths.

The dog was seated at the threshold to my house, his ears pinned back, his focus directed at our arrival. He stood in welcome, his tail beginning to wag, a yap escaping.

And as the door closed behind us, shutting out the storm, the night, the figure, I experienced something I’d not experienced since well before Shelly.

Hope. Just a smidgen, a nugget, a glimpse. But it was there.

Hope. That elusive four-letter word that I’d believed would never grace my door again. But eleven months later, it was here. Knocking. Begging entrance in from the dark.

And I let it in. I let her in.

***

Chapter Fourteen

Amelia led me upstairs and into the bathroom. The coldness from being outside had seeped into my bones and I began to shiver uncontrollably, my teeth clacking together like dental castanets.

“I need to get you … get us warmed up.”

I just stood in the centre of the room, my body too cold to do anything, my brain seemingly a zombified frozen lump.

“Not a… not a… bath.”

Each word was like it had come from someone other than me.

The click of the shower was followed by the gush of water. Somewhere inside my head, I knew having a hot shower would be a good idea and I should move.

I tried to lift my hands, my objective was to unbutton my soaked pyjamas and step underneath the heat of the cascading hot water, but the action was too difficult. My mobility had worsened since coming inside the bathroom, the warmth and the cold battling for dominance and leaving me frigidly paralysed.

“Here. Let me.”

Amelia’s fingers worked each button through the buttonhole, a wet squeak following the action.

Once all the buttons were undone, Amelia peeled the soaked flannelette from my skin and tugged the cloth down and off my arms. For a moment, I was even colder, something I hadn’t thought possible.

Then she knelt in front of me, her face lifting upwards, brown eyes capturing mine, before she hooked her fingers over the waist band of my pyjama bottoms and pulled them from my frozen legs, her attention following the movement of the soaked cloth. The sodden mass tangled and gathered at my feet.

Amelia cupped her hand around the back of my right knee and lifted, liberating one leg from my pyjamas before repeating the process with the other leg.

She stood and took my hand in hers and led me to the shower, her free hand tentatively touching my waist. Considering I was so cold and I couldn’t see her actually touch my skin, I sensed every single flutter of her hand on my back - and not in a bad way.

Initially, the heat of the water stung and a small noise of discomfort escaped my lips, but as the spray of heat covered me, the tenderness of frozen skin defrosting eased.

“I hope … hope you don’t mind.”

I didn’t have time to acknowledge what Amelia meant before she climbed into the shower with me. She was naked, freezing cold and naked. A tremor convulsed through her, the quiver of her body accompanying the juddering clack of her mouth.

“I’m so … so cold.”

With those words, she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me close, our naked bodies pressed against each other.

It wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t just a warming through either. The water did its job to break through the chill of my body but it was the proximity of Amelia that went beyond just the physical coldness. Having her hold me, her body fitting perfectly with mine, triggered an inner thaw, a definite dissolving of ice I’d fashioned around my heart almost as a protective layer. This cardiac glacier was showing signs of melting and, weirdly enough, I didn’t fight it.

Slowly, I raised my arms and returned the embrace, the heat of us connecting, the picture complete.

We stayed under the spray for only a few minutes, just enough to get the blood circulating around our bodies once more.

Without a word, Amelia pulled backwards and stepped away. Cool air breezed over my skin but I didn’t think that was the reason for the goosebumps covering me. It was so much more. This feeling was just so much more than warming up after being outside. It was so much more than taking a platonic shower with another person.

It was the knowledge that I was ready to move on from what had happened in the past. And not move on just for this evening either.

The water stopped, the clunk of it shutting down breaking through my inner thoughts.

“Come.” Amelia’s voice was soft, inviting, and I couldn’t hold back the hint of a smile.

“Let’s get dry and dressed before we get cold again.”

A fluffy beige bath towel was open and ready for me to step inside. Amelia was holding the towel wide, the image inviting. She was already wrapped in one of a matching size and colour, her hair swept back from her face, the glow from the hot water mixing with the blush of the blood that had surfaced through the heat too.

One step, two, three, and the towel cocooned me, swaddling and strapping my arms to my sides protectively. Amelia rubbed her hands over the towel, the action making the warmth of the shower turn to heat. However, I wasn’t one hundred per cent sure the increase in heat was anything to do with the friction of Amelia’s hands on the towel; the ignition of the heat was more primitive than that.

“Feel warmer?” Her face was close to mine, her hands stilling then resting on my shoulders.

“Yes.” I paused before adding, “Wonderfully so.”

And I did. I was warm from the inside out, the first time that’d happened in a long time.

Amelia smiled, her eyes sparkling as if they reflected the light from the ones around us in the bathroom. Such beautiful eyes. Dark, rich, like swirling melted milk chocolate.

“Sorry to say this but …” she looked at the half-scattered pile of wet pyjamas on the floor before turning back to me, her face scrunching slightly. “Looks as if we may need some dry pjs.”

I laughed, the sound light and free, just like I was beginning to feel inside.

“I’ll go and get some dry clothes.”

As I moved to my bedroom, a deeper sense of lightness meshed with how my voice had sounded. My step appeared quicker, smoother, barely touching the carpet. Considering my usual mood bordered on depressed, this sensation was a welcome change from the darkness of the last few months.

Pyjamas in hand, I made my way back to the bathroom where Amelia was gathering the wet clothes into a heap in readiness to be scooped up and carried downstairs to the utility room. She was bending over, the bath towel she’d wrapped around herself not really covering more than the tops of her thighs and part way up her back. The view of her halted my movement and I just stood in the doorway clinging onto fleece night wear that at this moment I was in two minds whether I wanted to put on at all.

Her thighs were strong, slender yet strong; the curve of her buttocks was divinely shaped, firm and moulded, I was sure, to fit the cup of my hands.

“Cheers.” Her voice came from between her legs, and then she stood and turned to face me, her hands held out. Amelia’s face appeared flushed, probably because of bending over or maybe the heat from the shower.

I looked at her outstretched hands and smiled at them - I don’t know why, I just did. Amelia laughed and gestured with her hands at me and I just laughed with her unsure what she was laughing at but joining in anyway.

“Well?” Just with that one word she seemed happy.

“Well?” and just with my one repeated word I reflected my own happiness, too, or my idiocy, or my complete moronic forgetfulness of why I was standing in the doorway to my bathroom grinning at a half-naked woman I’d only known the matter of hours.

“Pyjamas?” Amelia laughed as she spoke. Then, because I’m not the brightest spark, she pointed at the pyjamas in my hands. “Maybe we could get dressed before we catch a chill again…”

Another laugh to soften the blow she knew I’d feel after I realised we were not having an intimate moment after all.

My laugh was loud, fake and loud, the heat burning through me blazing a trail of blushing embarrassment, the kind that triggers the tears to come from the lacrimal glands and moisten the eye.

I shoved the night clothes in her direction.

Amelia’s face scrunched slightly, her smile appearing a little dazed, before she reached out and took one set of pyjamas from my hands. Why I’d brought both sets to her instead of just the one was beyond me.

I laughed again and wondered if she was as freaked out by my behaviour as I was before turning to leave the bathroom.

“Hey!” Amelia placed her hand on my upper arm stopping my escape. “You might as well just get changed here. It’s not as if we haven’t seen each other naked is it.”

Part of me wondered why she had said that. Why stop me leaving to get changed in my room? Was it because she misread my embarrassment and hysterical spurts of laughter as something other than me trying to cover up the I’d forgotten I was holding the pyjamas?

And what the fuck was going on with me? Why was I acting like a knob? And why was I asking so many bloody questions?

I turned back to Amelia; her face was unreadable.

“Sure.” I added a laugh, this time more sedate, controlled, before placing my pjs onto the small cabinet in the bathroom and beginning to dry myself.

And all the time we were getting ready, I’d the distinct impression that the woman I was trying desperately not to watch as she dried and readied herself was having the same difficulty averting her eyes as I was.

That was another reason for me to smile.

***

The wood burner was still emitting a fair amount of heat but I put another sizeable log inside, nestling it into the glowing embers to make sure the wood would catch. The dog was propped onto the makeshift dog bed, his attention fixed solely on my actions.

Amelia came into the room, the tea tray in her hands. We hadn’t had the chance to drink the one she’d made before so she had made another pot whilst I’d put the wet clothes into the washing machine and then stoked the log burner.

She poured the tea and handed me a cup holding onto the saucer just a little bit longer as I tried to take the hot beverage from her.

“Let’s hope we get to drink this one this time.” Dark eyes met mine, then she softened her words with a smile.

I didn’t respond. Just moved over to the seat next to the fire.

The wind from outside was trying to move into the flue, the dulled whistle and tap of it showed how it had partly succeeded. The storm gave the impression it was receding, the anger of it slightly dissipating.

I knew she was staring at me, staring and waiting for me to either strike up a conversation or divulge a secret or confess to something I didn’t know I should confess to. I squared my shoulders, exuding a confidence I didn’t really possess.

The chair where she was seated gave a small groan as she shifted as if preparing herself for what was to follow.

“I have no idea what is going on.”

The sound of my own voice surprised me.

Amelia said nothing. Just lifted her tea and took a sip, then another, before replacing the cup onto the saucer.

“I’ve had a very weird day.”

Amelia nodded but remained silent.

It was my turn to shift in my seat, propping the cup and saucer onto the arm of the chair. A crackle from the wood burner brought my attention back to the stove only to note the slight adjustment of the log as the flames caressed the wood.

“The day started fine, but …” I glanced at Amelia long enough to notice her attention seemed solely focused on me.

“But?” Her voice was smooth, silken, seductive. Just the one word held so many interpretations. However, she was just trying to get me to continue with what I’d started to say.

I shrugged. What could I say? That I was seeing things? Hearing voices? Clutching at disappearing figures as well as straws?

“Katie.”

I turned to face her completely. Amelia was sitting forward, her forearms resting on her knees, her body language trying to show she was relaxed, receptive, but there was a tension emanating from her, too.

“Tell me what’s going on.” She tilted her head and looked straight inside me. “Trust me.”

But could I trust her? Would she think me mad if I admitted what had been going on?

A ball of anxiety formed inside my chest. Slowly, I liberated this ball in the form of a thin flow of air through my slightly parted lips, the release measured in the hope it would relieve the panic I knew could come if I allowed it to take hold.

Amelia waited, patiently waited. Her whole being exuded acceptance and a calmness I envied.

“I saw a figure out in the rain today.”

Amelia’s brow furrowed slightly but she didn’t say anything.

“I was … I was reading … well, not reading, but I had been reading.” I leaned forward, the cup and saucer clinking dangerously together. I placed the crockery at my feet before looking directly at Amelia.

“I was watching the storm start up and… and…” I lifted my hands, palms up, a shrug finishing the movement, “and there was something, someone, something out there.”

The image of the person out in the storm materialised in my head, the shape disguising gender. I remembered Amelia explaining why she’d swerved.

“You know the figure you saw, the one in the road?”

Amelia nodded and shuddered at the same time.

I deliberated before saying the next part even though Amelia had already said as much when she’d told me earlier. But to admit it to someone else? To agree with something so bloody weird and freakish?

“I couldn’t make out the gender, either.”

That bit wasn’t the weird part. She paused, leaned back slightly, her back stiffening. “Or the face. Couldn’t see the face. Just white, white with dark…”

“Sockets. White with dark eye sockets.”

Amelia nodded. That was the weird part.

The air stilled between us, and even though the log had caught beautifully in the wood burner, there was a definite chill hanging between us.

A silence ensued. An expectant silence. A silence broken by my next announcement.

“That’s not all.”

Amelia quickly lifted her head in a short upwards nod.

“I saw it again when I was outside looking for you.”

“Fuck!” The expletive wasn’t loud, just there.

“It was ahead of me. I thought it was you and tried to catch it…catch you. But…but my hand…” I lifted my hand and examined it almost as if it held the answer to why it had passed straight through something that should’ve been solid.

“Did - could you see the face?” Amelia’s voice was low, reverent.

I hadn’t thought of that. I’d just assumed it was the same figure, the same faceless thing that had been haunting us both.

“Now that you mention it, no. As soon as I touched it, the thing just vanished.” I attempted to click my fingers to illustrate the speed in which the person had disappeared but it just made a muffled sound.

“It may not have been …”

“I didn’t imagine it.” I moved as if to stand but didn’t. I had to stay seated and get out everything I’d gone through.

“It was as real as… as you are now.”

Even as I said it, I knew I sounded defensive. I also knew it wasn’t as real as Amelia at that moment but that was the only way I could press home I wasn’t totally crazy.

“I’ve seen the figure twice before.”

As I said it, the details felt wrong. There was something familiar about it all, familiar and wrong, but I continued.

“Both times today and both times through that window.”

I pointed to the window seat; the blanket was still half hanging off as if I’d just left it. “The second time I saw it, it seemed to have come closer.”

“Closer?”

I nodded. “After I saw it first, I thought something may have happened as it suddenly disappeared. Remember I told you I went outside earlier? Well, I went out to check, or help, or something, but found nothing. Just…” I nodded at the dog, “him in my utility room.”

“Later, I spotted the figure again. Even the dog reacted. But this time I thought it was closer to the house.”

“Did you go out and check?”

At least she was asking questions and not just dismissing my story as fantasy. A start, at least.

“Nope. You came along and banged on my door.”

“After I thought I’d seen you.”

“But …”

“I know. It wasn’t you.” She paused before adding. “I also swerved to miss something that wasn’t there.”

Silence. Thick and expectant. We just stared at each other almost as if we were trying to read each other’s minds as well as each other’s reactions.

Time seemed to either stop or carry on regardless. Neither of us cared enough to note it.

Then the dog began to bark. And bark. And bark.

***

Chapter Fifteen

I made my way over to the dog, kneeling next to him to try and soothe him. Previously, he’d been settled on his makeshift bed but now he was standing at the side of it, his thin body rigid, his attention fixed on the window above the window seat.

At least he’d stopped barking; I just wished he would wag his tail, stop whining and shaking, break his focus from the spot as if he was staring at someone.

Nausea welled. I did not want to look out into the blackness, especially if I looked outside and found something looking back at me again. Or gave the impression it was looking back at me - both scenarios were just as daunting.

“Let me.” Amelia moved to the window, and however much she tried not to show her fear, it was still there, soundlessly permeating the air.

I couldn’t let her do this alone.

“Wait!”

She turned.

“We’ll do it together.”

I stroked the dog’s head and stood again, stretching my spine as I did so.

In three paces, I was next to Amelia, taking her hand in mine. I don’t know why I did that; it just seemed the right thing to do. She didn’t pull her hand away but held onto mine more tightly, her fingertips pressing onto my skin. It was the sensation of holding her hand in mine that ignited my courage, propelling me forward to tackle whatever was waiting for me.

The darkness was overwhelming. The storm wasn’t as vibrant, wasn’t as vicious, but the darkness was all-consuming and nature was definitely unsettled. Amelia and I were at a total disadvantage. We couldn’t see anything outside but whoever was out there could see in. Could see us. Vulnerable and scared and exposed.

However, we needed to know if there was someone out there. Someone who was trying to frighten the crap out of us - whether unintentionally or on purpose.

I leaned forward, my forehead touching the cold glass, my breath misting, dispersing, misting.

Amelia leaned forward, too, her cheek close to mine, the heat of her juxtaposing the chill of the outside.

“I can’t see anything.” Even though she’d spoken quietly, the sound of her voice seemed louder than it should’ve been.

Turning my head, I took in her profile. Long, dark lashes almost touched the glass. Her nose was beautifully crafted, straight, as if sculptured from marble, her nostrils flaring slightly with each exhalation. Red lips, plump, soft, slightly parted, moved slightly with the rhythm of her breathing. High cheekbones gave her face an air of nobility without the arrogance.

I was mesmerised. Totally mesmerised and completely absorbed by her.

“Can you see anything?”

Perfection?

“Huh?”

“Outside?”

‘Outside what?”

Brown eyes met mine. So brown, so very deliciously brown.

“Can you see anything outside?” She paused before adding, “Anyone?”

Thankfully, I realised what she meant just before I parroted her words back to her, or, worse still, declared my adoration for the colour of her eyes.

I didn’t want to admit that I’d been more engaged with her profile than trying to make out creepy figures in the darkness.

“No … I …” I turned again to look out of the window but the dark was still as impenetrable as before. “No.”

Amelia released a sigh and moved backwards and away from the window, her hand tugging me to follow her.

“Maybe whoever it was has gone.”

She squeezed my hand before letting it go, the absence of her touch immediate.

“And he seems settled.” Amelia indicated to where the dog was now curled on his bed, not asleep but not fretting either.

Amelia moved back her seat and flumped down; the puff of the cushion sounding resigned to her weight. I followed, my own chair more creak than rush of air.

I waited. She waited. We both waited. Silence was interrupted by the whistle of the wind in the flue and the sounds of the room.

I wanted to tell her I thought I was going mad, but I stared at the log in the wood burner instead.

We’d both seen something, a figure, whether it was real or imagined. However, I’d heard a voice, experienced events in my own home that I couldn’t explain away. Visual and auditory hallucinations. That’s what the doctors would say. Nothing that stress and loneliness couldn’t come up with if left to their own devices. Had I shut the doors, clicked on the lights, pulled down the covers and turned on the lamps in the guest room as a cry for company?

“Have you thought of a name for him yet?”

Amelia’s voice dragged my attention from the flames and back to the woman seated on the other side of the burner. She’d leaned forward, her focus fully on my face. I’d have thought by her question she may have been more focused on the dog, but no. Those beautiful brown eyes were fixed on me.

I hoped once again that I wasn’t going mad.

“Erm. Well, I did think of a name earlier but now it just sounds stupid.”

Her eyebrow lifted, the shape of it refined and elegant.

“Go on. Tell me.”

An encouraging smile lifted her lips and I knew this woman would not judge me, and not just about the name choice either.

I released a small chuckle, mainly as a pressure valve of building emotions.

“Jiminy.”

The dog lifted his head and whined.

‘Jiminy?”

The dog sat up, whined and panted.

“Why Jiminy?”

The dog stood, wagged his tail and yapped once.

Amelia laughed before saying, “He likes it. Go on. Call him.”

“Jiminy.” I didn’t have time to add more before the dog shot over to me, his paws up and resting on my knees.

Amelia laughed, the sound of it musically perfect. It penetrated my chest, blossoming outwards to embrace me from the inside out. My heart ached, but instead of with the pain of despair, this time the ache was wonderful.

Scooping the dog into my arms, I hugged him close, laughing at the wild licks he bestowed upon me. He was a wriggling mass of fur and excitement, a delightful combination. My fingers found purchase behind his ears and scratched, the dog emitting a low whine of pleasure, his head cocked to the side, his eyes half closed.

“Why Jiminy?”

I looked over the dog’s head at Amelia. The smile was still in place, her expression open. Everything about her seemed right, seemed perfectly right, even the fact that she was seated in my living room on a stormy evening. Part of me wondered why I’d ever doubted her in the first place. As for the other part of me, the one that was still unsure of her and her motives, I was pushing that thought away as if it had no place invading this domestic set up we had going on.

“Jiminy Cricket. Like in Pinocchio.” I kissed Jiminy on the top of his head, inhaled him before kissing him again. “My conscience.”

I looked at Amelia again fully expecting to see confusion but she was still smiling, as if I admitting I’d named the dog after a cartoon character who symbolised “doing the right thing” was the most natural thing in the world. But then again, maybe it was. She didn’t ask me to explain why I’d chosen Jiminy and I didn’t volunteer a reason.

“Maybe I should see if this little lad would like to have a wee. He’s been in for hours and …”

“Outside? You taking him outside?” Amelia’s tone of voice changed suddenly. Gone was the light inquisitive tone of before; now the words pelted out in what sounded like panic.

“I can’t expect him to …”

“If you’re going out, I’m coming with you.”

She stood. The action swift and determined.

The shift in mood in the room was overwhelmingly rapid and fuelled with something that left me feeling unsure.

Amelia seemed to be waiting for me to get up and do what I’d suggested. When I’d mentioned taking him outside, I hadn’t really meant right at that moment. It’d just been a thought spoken aloud.

“I can just take him if you want to wait here.” Amelia stretched her hands out, the gesture offering to lift the dog from my hold. Fleetingly, I wanted to hug him closer to me, protect him from her for some fucked up reason. However, as soon as the feeling had appeared, it disappeared leaving a wave of confusion in its wake.

I tried to laugh but it sounded strange to my ears.

“Come on. We’ll both take him.”

I stood, Jiminy hugged close to my chest.

“He has no collar or lead, so …”

I really didn’t know how to end that sentence.

“We’ll just have to hope he doesn’t decide to run off.” Amelia scratched the top of Jiminy’s head as she spoke, his eyes fluttering with contentment. “Although I doubt he’ll want to give up being in your arms very easily.”

I’ve no idea why I blushed but I did, and instead of adding my own comment to what she’d said, I made a noise that couldn’t decide whether it was a harrumph or a laugh before moving away toward the utility room. Even though I’d only be staying close to the door, I didn’t want to venture out again without wearing something a little more protective.

After placing Jiminy onto the floor, I pulled on my Wellington boots and Barbour jacket. Amelia watched me from the doorway, her expression contemplative.

“I haven’t anything to wear.”

I smiled, moved to the back door and drew back the bolts before turning the key.

“I’m only stepping just outside the door. If you’re that worried, you can stand in the doorway and keep guard.”

The guarding from what was left unspoken.

She nodded and moved closer to me.

The storm had eased but still wasn’t finished battering the landscape. The rain had slowed to a constant stream, the velocity of impact significantly lessened but still substantial. Covering my head with my hood, I stepped outside. Jiminy hovered in the doorway, his nose sniffing the air, his eyes blinking away the wind.

“Come on fella. Time to be a good boy.” I’ve no idea why having a wee could be classed as being a good boy, but it seemed to fit.

Jiminy deliberated before stepping out. It was obvious that he didn’t want to be in the rain but he scuttled over to stand next to me, his body quivering in what I presumed to be cold.

Before I’d chance to encourage him once more, he squatted his belly downwards, the action of a young dog passing water.

I looked back to the doorway. Amelia was moving her attention from me, to the dog, and then what was behind me in cycles of three. It was obvious by her body language that she was getting wet but she continued to keep watch.

Jiminy straightened, sniffed my Wellington boot, then raced back inside, shortly followed by me.

It was only when I’d re-bolted the door, and turned the key to lock it, that the sensation of some semblance of safety came back. I hadn’t even realised I’d been in danger, although in retrospect maybe I should’ve been more on my guard.

In more ways than one.

***

Chapter Sixteen

I was exhausted. And by the yawning coming from Amelia, so was she. I’d cleared the teacups to the dishwasher, then refilled the dog bowl with water to take to my bedroom. I’d sent Amelia upstairs with a new toothbrush I’d found in the kitchen drawer, the packet sealed. I’d not bought it. It wasn’t my brand. It’d been one of Shelly’s. Something else left behind to remind me of her.

As I reached the top of the stairs, Jiminy just ahead of me, Amelia was coming out of the bathroom.

“I see you’ve a bed mate tonight.”

She crouched and patted him on the head before looking upwards to me, her expression open and honest.

I just smiled, and even though I’d forced it, Amelia didn’t give the impression of noticing.

“Thank you so much for all you’ve done.”

She stood, her focus still on my face.

“Not a problem.”

Though my actions from earlier had stated otherwise.

An awkwardness mixed with expectancy hovered between us.

‘Well, I …” I began to speak but Amelia leaned forward and kissed my cheek. The bowl of water I was carrying shook slightly, even though it was my hand that shook.

“Goodnight, Katie.”

Her voice was close, intimate.

And she was gone. And I was left stunned but not numb. Definitely not numb. Just that one kiss, that one little smidgen of contact, had opened Pandora’s Box within me, the same box I believed would stay sealed shut.

By the time I spluttered a goodnight, her door had closed. Maybe that was for the best after all.

Or maybe I was just trying to convince myself it was.

***

Dreams were wild. Images bled into images and created the surreal. Faceless figures appearing out of the black were dominant. My soul stood on the abyss of something larger than life but I couldn’t place it. Dark met light in swirling masses, voices layered over voices, the words coded, hidden. Settings shifted, changed. Outdoor scenes of a wild landscape beaten into submission by the weather moved into the clinical whiteness of a ward - the air shifting effortlessly from earthiness to disinfectant.

Footsteps echoed off tiled floor, the distinct clip clop clipping of a heel, the staccato rhythm of it hurried, panicked.

White doors lined the left side of the corridor - door upon door upon door upon door - the gleam of the white woodwork blending seamlessly within the alcoves fitted in white walls, standing on the white floor; the light streaming through the windows lining the right side appeared celestial. All the doors were shut. Chrome levered handles added to the light, the keyhole in each being the only darkness.

I looked downwards and saw feet moving, stepping forward, the clip clop clipping emanating from the heels of a woman’s shoe. My shoes, my feet, my panicked and hurried steps.

I stopped.

Turned.

Grabbed a door handle and pushed it downwards.

Locked.

I depressed the handle again believing as if by magic the door would now give under my pressured insistence.

Nothing. No movement other than the genuflection of the handle.

Footsteps moving, more clipping, more clopping, more panic and haste and anxiety. More door levers depressed, more doors stoically staying shut. The corridor appeared never ending, the line of doors vanishing into a point in the distance, the light becoming brighter and brighter and brighter and …

Outside. Dark. Contrasting images. No footsteps - just the thud of a racing heartbeat, just the gasp of a breath. It wasn’t hot or cold or wet or dry. It just was. I staggered through long grass, the twine of it catching my legs and pulling me down, the slurp of thick mud grabbing my feet and trying to halt my movement.

Someone was just ahead of me, just out of shot. The hunch of the body unfamiliarly familiar almost as if it was trying to protect itself from the night, the weather, the something. I shouted what could’ve been a name but the figure continued to move away from me. I shouted again.

Nothing.

I increased my speed, disentangling myself from mud only to push against the invisible presence in the air that now attempted to slow me down.

Another thrust forward and my fingers strained with the effort of attempting to capture the flapping black coat. The dream was so like what had happened earlier in the evening that I fully expected for my hand to pass straight through the material, for me to grab nothing but air.

But it didn’t.

I caught hold of cloth and held fast, the figure halting in his or her tracks. And as “it” halted, so did I, the expectation of looking at what was wrapped up inside a huge black cape both intriguing and petrifying and I couldn’t let go.

With agonising slowness, the shape turned. I half expected the figure from earlier to be facing me, white-faced and black eye sockets, but no. The eyes were present, hauntingly present. Wide, startled and sorrowful. The skin was more ashen and greyer than white giving the appearance of illness rather than death. Hair was matted, thin and matted, the natural wave of it struggling to form its curl. Reaching out, I placed my fingertips onto ice cold skin, skin that I knew in my heart had once been full of life, of colour, of warmth.

The agony of touch. The despair of knowing what I was facing was more than a figment of a nightmare. It was a woman. A woman who was running from the inevitable. The ache of her, the grief of this was all-consuming for both of us. My fingers stroked along a sharp cheekbone, the skin flaking under my touch.

Panic climbed within me; the need to save her overwhelming.

I cupped her face, stroked her mouth with my thumb, the action eradicating her lips to expose gums and teeth. The horror of the scene didn’t stop me trying to make things right, make things better, make her well again. I gripped a little tighter, the skin turning to powder under my touch.

A sob tore free. From me or her, I was unsure. I tried to comfort her by stroking her hair only to find clumps of it clinging to my fingertips. Whatever I did to try and make her better made things worse. The situation was beyond my control but it didn’t stop me trying to save her. Maybe it would have been better for the both of us if I had walked away but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

My chest hurt so much. The pain of losing her was agonising. Words tumbled from my mouth, words promising I’d save her, I’d take care of her, she’d be better soon whilst knowing that nothing could stop the inevitable.

Pulling her to me, I hugged her close, held her so very close, needing to feel her heartbeat against mine. 

The crack, the crumble, and then the disintegration of her body as it folded into itself, turning to ash to dust to death and leaving me holding nothing but air.

The howl of despair I released tore from my soul, the fracturing of my heart accompanying the doleful cry of the abandoned.

A voice. A voice saying my name. A voice attempting to ease my panic, attempting to ease the agony of the situation. A voice I recognised.

And again. My name and an attempt to soothe. Hands on my arms, my face, my shoulders. Warmth and concern in both sound and contact.

“Katie?” A female voice. “Katie. Come on, love.”

Love? Come where?

A sobbing, continuous sobbing. Heartbreak in a sound; devastation obvious in every discorded note, the peaks and troughs of absolute despair.

Fingers tentatively touched my face, probing, prodding, trying to get me to focus.

“Come on. Let it out. Let it all out.”

It was then I realised the sobbing was coming from me.

It was an auditory indicator of my absolute devastation. The knowledge of this made me cry harder, cry with complete abandon. Arms wrapped around me, squeezed, pulled me forward and into a solid wall of what could only be another person. The warmth of a living creature was alien to me, coldness being my only companion for far too long.

My face met hair, met skin, the scent overwhelmingly wonderful. Hands softly stroked my head, the side of my face. Fingers brushed tears away, collecting them as if they were as precious as diamonds. Lips touched my forehead, my eyelids, my nose. Shushing sounds meant to calm were swallowed into the moment.

I could feel the agony begin to lessen, allowing itself to be calmed.

More soft kisses along my cheeks, nestling against my ear, my throat. Fingers separated strands of hair; the sensation so vastly different from moments before. My breathing was ragged, broken, expectant. I lifted my hands and slipped them over the top of arms, my fingertips reading the material like Braille.

Intermittent sobs peppered the air, the fear receding. I felt able to open my eyes, ready to see who was gently caressing my hair, my face, my throat.

The room was dark but I could see her face thanks to the light coming from the open doorway. Amelia was perched on the side of my bed; her body close against mine. She lifted her hand and stroked along my cheekbone, my skin tingling under her touch.

In return, I cupped her face, stroked her mouth with my thumb, the action not eradicating her lips obvious plumpness, the caress not wiping away how alive this woman was.

Leaning forward, I replaced my thumb with my mouth, capturing those full lips with my own and held myself against her, glorifying in the heat coming from her to me. She didn’t rush me - just allowed me to hold my mouth on hers.

A slight movement, a parting of lips, a gentle meeting of tongues, and a groan of arousal moved between us anonymously, the kiss deepening, becoming fervid in an instant.

I pressed forward and into her, her breasts soft and firm against my own. Her mouth tasted like nectar, sweet and addictive, and I wanted to drink all of her in one delicious swallow.

Amelia broke away, gulping air before trying to move away.

“Are you sure? I mean …”

I pulled her forward, my mouth taking hers once again and stopping her continuing to question what was happening. I didn’t want to question it. If I did, I would stop this kiss, this wonderful, delicious kiss. Stop this contact of one human being connecting with another human being. And I didn’t want it to stop. I needed to feel … needed to feel … just needed to feel.

Amelia broke our kiss and moved her mouth to my throat. Each movement of her lips on my skin sent shocks sparking inside me. Soft nibbles, caresses of tongue and mouth and teeth added fuel to the clawing desire building inside me.

“I want you.”

Amelia’s voice was thick. Her fingers were at the hem of my pyjama top, toying with slipping inside.

She moved forward, the action making me move backwards and indicate how receptive I was to what was to come. Amelia’s hand boldly moved inside my top, the heat of her achingly wonderful on the base of my back.

But I wanted more. I wanted so much more.

I kissed her again, my hunger for her seeking satisfaction. And as I continued kissing her, I searched for the buttons to her pyjama top, my hands shaking with anticipation, shaking with fear of messing this up, shaking, just shaking. The small plastic discs proved difficult to work through the even smaller holes of the flannelette and I’d the urge to rip them free.

Amelia pulled away, her hands slipping away from my top, the loss of contact agonising. For an awful moment, I thought she was going to stop.

“Here.”

She pulled the top over her head, the bounce of her breasts silhouetted in the half light. I didn’t hesitate to reach forward and touch the swell of her, my palm cupping the curve, my thumb dragging over an erect nipple.

Her gasp filled me, the erotic sound of her pleasure hitting my burgeoning desire.

I cupped her other breast, repeated my adoration, revelled in the delectable weight of her as I held her in my hands.

Amelia pushed into my touch, another gasp leaving her mouth only to be caught in mine. I pressed closer, ultimately trapping my hands between us, the kiss ardent, unrestrained.

I pulled my left hand free and pushed it downwards, pulling back slightly to enable the movement. I didn’t hesitate at the waistband of her pyjama bottoms. I entered, pushing downwards, searching for more. I curled and stroked past soft, pubic hair to meet heat, wet, delicious heat.

“God, Katie!”

She was swollen, her bud quivering under my touch. Amelia thrust against my fingers, pressing more firmly against them. I separated them and captured her clit, the swell of it perfect. I tugged, tugged again, her hips spasmed, the control of her movement leaving her for a moment.

Amelia cupped my face, brought me to her and covered my mouth with hers, the ragged passion and desire ricocheting from her to me, from me to her.

My fingers collected the wetness pooling between her legs; her kiss became harder, more desperate, more aroused. She interspersed each thrust of her hips with sounds of pleasure. Amelia’s fingers were in my hair, on my face, holding me against her.

Then she released one hand, moved it quickly between my thighs and cupped the apex, her thumb pressing against me. For a split second, I paused, the surprise of such an intimate contact stilling me.

“Please.”

The word entered my mouth and she punctuated it with a kiss.

Amelia’s hand moved from outside of my pyjamas to push below my waistband and, once again, I stilled, my fingers pressing against the heat of her. No one had touched me there since ... since...

“Please, Katie.” Amelia’s voice was thick with want, the words dripping inside my ear. “Let me touch you, too.”

I pulled back, my hand staying between her legs. I wanted to look at her face. I needed to see her eyes.

Even in the half-light, her eyes glinted, the spark of them exposing her desire. Plump lips appeared even more so after our kisses.

“If you don’t want to, I ...”

I didn’t let her finish. My lips covered hers again and stopped her words. I pressed downwards and relished the bucking of her hips, joining this with a parting of my legs, the invitation clear.

To feel her fingers touching me, to allow the sensations to ripple from my core throughout my body was delectable and I couldn’t help the rhythm building.

As I moved, she moved, our fingertips and palms leading the dance. Amelia tried not to cover me with her body, tried to keep sitting erect, but with each thrust she came closer, and I came closer to cumming.

The connection between us was primal, the need for release evident.

But there was also a deeper connection beginning to build. Something solid, something I hadn’t realised I’d wanted until this moment.

Amelia’s moans were increasing in depth and volume; the thrusts of her hips, her hand, her body indicated her approaching orgasm, and, in turn, mine also. My hips met each of her thrusts; my hand pushed and thrust and took hold of her; my body was losing rhythm but not pace.

“Yes. So close. So ...” a strangled groan left her mouth and tangled itself into my hair, her lips dragging downwards to meet my mouth. Her cries of climax entered me, her firm body pressing hard against mine as her fingers slipped partly inside me.

A light. A brightness. A freeing sensation. The world disappeared and stayed present simultaneously. My orgasm sped through me, the channels of desire rippling with the lust of it. My fingers cupped her mound more firmly, holding her in place, and she mimicked the action, her fingers still just inside. A fullness, a welling of emotion so strong enveloped the whole of me.

A sob broke free, the sensation seeming as if it had been ripped from my soul. However, the sob I released now was so very different from the sob I’d released when I’d woken. That one was full of heartbreak, devastation, despair. However, this time my sob was full only of guilt.

Immediately, Amelia pulled her hand free, lifted away slightly to relieve my hand of its task also.

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t cry. Please. Don’t cry.” Her arms wrapped around me and pulled me close. “I’m so sorry. So sorry. I...”

“No. No.”

The tears continued to fall and I wanted to tell Amelia it wasn’t her fault but couldn’t. Emotion jammed most of the words, only allowing “No” to hit air.

“My god. Oh my god! I didn’t ... I haven’t...I...” she pulled back, made to stand, but I held on to her, bringing her back to the bed, back to my arms.

“No.”

Cupping her face, I stared into her eyes willing her to understand the tears I was shedding were for what I’d allowed to happen and not what she thought she’d done.

Amelia began to shake her head but I kept my hand on the side of her face, stroking her cheek with my thumb.

“I didn’t ...did I?” Her voice was rough, thick, full.

It was my turn to shake my head, leaning towards her as I did so, the tears beginning to ease slightly. I pressed my lips against hers, trying valiantly to mask the shuddering from me to her. I wanted to allay her worry and tell her it wasn't the fact we’d just had sex, or that I’d moved from waking up and crying from a dream to having sex with her. Mainly because that would only make her believe she had taken advantage after all, something I knew was not true. I’d been more than a willing partner, eventually anyway.

I pulled back, slightly, my eyes staring deeply into hers, the shadows attempting to hide her magnificent vibrant eyes behind a curtain of darkness.

I stroked her face, luxuriating in the smoothness of her skin, the high cheekbone, the warmth of her.

“No.”

The word was soft, tender. I was surprised by how soft considering how upset I’d been.

Leaning forward, I kissed her again, this time more gently, her lips moving against mine this time before we both pulled away.

“Come here.” I patted the space beside me. “Come. Get in.”

Amelia searched my face as if she was trying to read my thoughts. Having a woman crying after you’d had sex is not the ego boost of the century and I think she was wary about sharing my bed.

“Come on. Get in.”

I tugged her hand.

Amelia stood, deliberated for a moment, then climbed over me, her body underneath the covers in an instant.

Without thought, I lay down next to her, placing my head on her chest, comforted by the beating of her heartbeat. Long fingers pushed through my hair, the tips of them massaging my scalp. The tears had stopped now and I just wanted to take comfort from the presence of another living, breathing person.

Her naked skin was warm, the scent of it wonderfully addictive. I inhaled her, then inhaled again, her aroma filling my head with positive memories of this moment. Amelia’s fingers continued to play with strands of my hair, the action calming. Although I’d many reasons why I should stay awake and think through what had just happened, the rhythmic movement of her fingers on my hair and cheek, mixed with the steady rise and fall of her chest, lulled me into a state of relaxation. I’d experienced so many emotions in a short space of time that now my body craved sleep. I could think about what had happened between us and its significance, if any, in the morning. Maybe then I would be able to think more clearly.

“Who’s Shelly?”

My eyes flew open, my body stiffening.

“What?”

My voice sounded distant, echoey.

Amelia shifted, my face moving on her chest, her skin now feeling too hot.

“Shelly? You called out the name. Earlier. That’s why I came in.”

The relaxed state I’d been on the verge of totally embracing moments before evaporated like air. At no time had I’d said Shelly’s name. Not in front of Amelia. No. That would not happen.

But then again, why had Amelia mentioned it? How had she known about Shelly?

I shifted, moved my face from her breast, lifted myself up and lay flat on my back, my head now using a pillow as a resting place instead of her.

“Are you sure that’s what you heard?” I knew the tone of my voice was detached, clipped and decidedly cold, but that’s how I felt. It was as if a metaphorical bucket of ice water had been thrown over me.

Amelia turned, the bed squeaking slightly. I sensed her eyes on me but I continued staring at the ceiling.

“Now you mention it, I’d just woken up.” She sighed, the noise loud in the room. “But I could swear you said the name.”

My dream replayed, the part with me chasing the figure, shouting what could’ve been a name. Twice.

I didn’t answer her. Just turned over onto my side, my back to her.

I sensed her moving behind me, her body heat warming my back. She didn’t wrap her arm around me, just stayed slightly away as if she was on her guard from the lash of my mercurial mood swings. Not that I blamed her.

A scrabbling sound came from the foot of the bed and it took a moment to remember that Jiminy was in my room too. It sounded as if he was rearranging the blanket and cushion I’d given him to sleep on.

Then silence hit again, the sounds of a room expectantly waiting to be filled.

I’ve no idea how long I lay there, no idea of the time that’d elapsed.  It could’ve been a minute or ten, time was of no consequence.

Amelia’s resigned sigh broke the wait - the noise and feel of it spreading over my skin. I so wanted to turn to her and pull her to me, kiss her again, hold her tightly, whisper how much l needed her now, how I thought I would always need her.

But I didn’t. I stayed stoic. Stayed stupidly still and frigid.

“Maybe I misheard.”

I knew she hadn’t. She knew she hadn’t. But with the words she’d said, I also knew Amelia Griffiths could be a woman I could easily fall in love with, something I never believed I would ever do again. The realisation should’ve terrified me but, weirdly, it didn’t.

Without turning, I searched out her hand and caught it with my own. With a small pull, I wrapped her arm around my waist, her body spooning up the back of me, the contact reassuring.

I placed my other hand on her arm and held her in place. It was so natural, so comfortable, so alien yet familiar.

Amelia gently kissed the back of my head, the spark of it blossoming through me.

“Let’s get some rest.” Her words were muffled in my hair, the breath warm.

I nodded and held her arm more firmly.

Amelia settled against me once more, another small kiss landing on my shoulder.

After a few minutes, only the sounds of breathing were heard. Most people would believe both Amelia and I were asleep. However, that was not the case.

How could I sleep after what had transpired?

And how could Amelia sleep when she believed I was hiding something?

The only living creature getting any sleep was a small Patterdale terrier curled up in a ball at the end of my bed.

But, as it turned out, even that was short lived.

***

Chapter Seventeen

My eyes were closed but I wasn’t sleeping. And because I wasn’t sleeping, I was very aware of everything around me. The mattress, the sheets, the duvet, the woman curled up behind me breathing gently onto my neck. Even the soft snores from the foot of the bed acted almost as a reassurance that all could be well, all could be normal.

They could, but they were not.

A growl sounded, the sudden change from contented snore to guard duty almost seamless.

And now my eyes were open and staring at the doorway. The light was still on and creeping along the carpet of my room to stop about a foot from the edge of the bed.

Jiminy growled again but from where I was situated, I couldn’t see what he was growling at.

I moved slightly, trying to see if I could see him, but I’d no chance in my position as the angle from the top of the bed to the base was a little out of normal visual trajectory.

However, in the time it took me to almost shuffle sideways in an unbelievably bad attempt to look at the dog, something else happened.

I can’t say it was a flash because it wasn’t. A flash constitutes a bright, sudden light and this didn’t qualify. It was a movement, a blur, a something passing the door at speed yet silently. I blinked, pressing my eyelids together before stretching them wide, then repeating the process.

Something moved. Again. The strip of light I’d noted from the open doorway had been momentarily blocked out as if something or someone had moved across the threshold.

I shifted, half sitting, my elbow taking the brunt of my weight.

“Did you see it, too?”

Amelia’s voice sounded from behind me, the suddenness rather than the volume of it making my body jerk and my heart thump erratically against my rib cage.

I half turned. She, too, had half sat up, her attention fluctuating between me and the doorway.

“Something moved across the doorway.”

The words came out hushed as if she was scared someone else would overhear us.

“Is there someone else here with us?” I knew she was deliberating her thought before adding, “Shelly.”

Angrily, I turned to face her, fighting to control the deluge of words racing up my throat ready to spit out and over her.

“There is no fucking Shelly. Okay? No. Fucking. Shelly. Here.” 

The words hissed out in an angry broken stream.

Even with the lack of light, Amelia’s shocked expression was clear. Shocked and maybe a little bit frightened. The speed in which I’d turned from unnerved to aggressive unsettled me so heaven only knew how she would feel. The events of the last few hours were enough to make me act out of character but...

“There it is again.”

Amelia leaned past me, the shock she had been displaying moments before disappearing.

Amelia grabbed the cover and threw it back, her breasts bobbing as she did so.

“I need my top.” Her whisper was insistent. “I’m not facing whatever the fuck it is out there half naked.”

I looked over the covers, then to the side of the bed. Amelia’s pyjama top lay on the floor in the place where she must’ve dropped it, and standing on top of it was Jiminy, his thin little body shaking.

In one swift movement I was out of the bed and lifting Jiminy into my arms. I bent down again and scooped up Amelia’s top and gently tossed it over to her.

As she slipped the material over her head, she whispered, “We need to both go and have a look what’s going on.”

I agreed with her, also whispering. We did need to check the house. I wasn’t happy about it but there was no way I wanted to lie in bed and wonder if someone had broken in and was out to hurt us. However, the thought of searching around again, of entering each and every room and rummaging in all the nooks and crannies left me both nervous and fucked off. There should be no one in the house. No one. The doors were locked and bolted. The windows were shut tightly. I’d investigated the whole of the house from top to bottom more than once in the last twelve hours and found nothing. Well, apart from a dog in my utility room and a woman on my doorstep.

As if he could read my mind, and knew I’d been thinking about him, Jiminy growled, his whole-body trembling, his attention fully over my shoulder and back to the open door. I sensed a presence, someone watching me from behind. Someone close enough to make the hairs on my skin lift with anticipation.

“Is there ... is there...”

I couldn’t say it. Couldn’t speak the words in case the answer was yes.

“Is there what?” Amelia looked genuinely confused.

Jiminy growled again, his lips peeling back, his teeth clamped together only allowing a furtive tongue to snake through making his growl sound weird.

Amelia shuffled off the bed and stood next to me, her fingers scratching behind Jiminy’s ears in a bid to calm him but he continued to growl.

Even though she was inches from me, I could still feel someone behind me. Why hadn’t she said anything? Why did the dog growl and I sense a presence but Amelia not notice?

I spun around, the action surprising us all.

There was nothing there. Nothing and no one.

Jiminy emitted a small whine, and if I’m being honest, I did too.

“Was there someone behind me?”

 “When?”

The urge to say, “Last week, for fuck’s sake!” caught behind my teeth.

“Just now.”

“Now?”

“Then. Just then!” I pointed towards the door, my arm thrusting out, my finger dangerously and rapidly pointing at the doorway.

“Then?”

My teeth clamped together. Top set thumping onto my bottom set.

Instead of continuing the merry-go-round of banal and inane banter, I moved purposefully to the door only slightly hesitating as I stepped over the threshold and onto the landing.

Jiminy stiffened, his ears erect, whole being on red alert. Amelia was right behind me.

“That’s strange.”

I wanted to ask her what part of the evening, the day, the whole experience since we’d met did she not find strange because I was struggling with making sense of most of it.

She didn’t wait for me to ask.

“I didn’t shut my door.”

She stepped around me and moved quickly towards the guest room. However, even though she had raised her hand to grab the door handle, her momentum seemed to fizzle and fade before completing the action.

Instead, she turned to face me, her face quizzical.

“What’s going on here?”

I was unsure whether she was accusing me of foul play or generally asking if I could make sense of things.

“I didn’t close it. You were right behind me. You’d have seen me close it.”

Amelia half closed her eyes and studied me.

I didn’t wait for her to formulate her next point; I just moved past her and opened the bedroom door.

Inside, the room seemed the same as earlier. The lamps were still on, the room inviting, the curtains were still closed, and the bedspread was still pulled back to show how Amelia had climbed from the bed when she had heard me shouting.

Amelia clicked the light switch behind me, the main light in the room flashing on then off.

“Doesn’t this work the lamps, too?”

She flicked the switch once again with the same results.

Jiminy released a small woof.

“Did you leave the lamps on?”

I peered at her over my shoulder, my attention following her as she moved around me and over to the bed.

She bent down, stroked her hand over the curl of the bedspread, placed the tips of her fingers onto the pillow and tapped it gently before she turned her attention to me once again.

“No. I didn’t leave the lamps on. I didn’t fluff the pillows either.” She stood straight. “And when I left the room, the bedspread was on the floor.”

I just stared at her.

“I think it is about time you told me what the hell is going on, don’t you?”

If only I knew myself.

But instead of saying that, I answered with “Let’s check around first and then I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Hopefully, by the time we had searched my home I may have thought of something to say. Better still, by the time we had looked about, the answer to her request may have already been sorted.

However, I was unsure what exactly I was going to tell her. I’d already told her almost everything that had happened already that day. Not everything but, as I thought, enough to satisfy her curiosity.

“Let’s stick together, okay?”

I nodded. Words had escaped me by now although I couldn’t pinpoint if it was because I was scared to find the faceless figure inside my home or scared I wouldn’t.

After all I had been through, I didn’t want to add mentally ill to my ever-growing list of complaints.

I didn’t want to go down that path again.

***

Chapter Eighteen

“So, we’ve both seen a faceless figure, yes?”

I nodded and leaned back against the wall next to the doorframe in the living room.

“The figure disappeared, right?”

I nodded once again, my attention moving to Jiminy who was circling over the cushion making himself a comfortable spot.

“Have you seen anyone inside the house?”

I could’ve answered honestly with a no at this point, but instead, I paused, my attention moving from Jiminy to her.

Amelia leaned forward from her position on the chair, her attention fixed on me.

“Either the…the thing with the white face or… anyone else?”

She tilted her head, her expression seeming to examine my reaction. I stared back, lifting my eyebrows in question.

She released a sigh and leaned back into the seat.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” She pursed her lips and examined me once more.

“I’ll ask you again. Have you seen anyone inside the house?”

“Apart from us two? No. Not today.” I could’ve added “and not for months actually” but I left it.

“What do you mean ‘not today’? Have you seen …”

“I didn’t mean like that. I meant … Oh, forget it.”

I fully expected her to demand I elaborate my “forget it” but she didn’t. She just kept on examining, those brown eyes seeming to penetrate, almost as if she could read what I was trying to hide.

And as she examined, the images of our sexual encounter replayed in brief snapshots, the memory creating a blush to creep up my throat.

“Are you okay? You seem rather flushed.”

“Yes. Yes. I. Yes.”

Amelia leaned forward, her head tilted still, her eyes meeting mine.

“I didn’t set out to make love to you, you know.”

Her voice was low, seemingly confessional.

My eyes widened.

“Why are, but we were … I thought we were talking about the …”

I stopped; my answer unable to form.

“You were upset. I just wanted to calm you down.”

Amelia leaned back into the chair.

The punch of the words hit my solar plexus; the audible gasp I emitted was louder than I expected.

“Don’t get me wrong. I wanted to.”

The burn of anger ripped through me, the tumult of words I wanted to fire at her lined up in my throat agitating to escape.

“You just wanted to… calm me down?”

The words, surprisingly, came out slow, low, and, to the trained ear, menacing. However, I don’t think Amelia’s ears were trained to listen out for the onslaught of words I had waiting for her.

“Calm me down?”

She nodded, seemingly unfazed by my reaction, her attention moving to her hands as if these held the answer to life itself.

“When I came into your room, you were so upset. I just …” she lifted her hand and really stared at her index finger.

“Just?”

“Just wanted to help.”

She glanced up for a moment, nodded, and then looked at her finger again.

My lips parted, the words gathering in my mouth and ready to explode.

Amelia sighed, tore her attention from her finger and looked straight at me.

“I’m sorry, Katie. That all came out wrong.”

I sat mute.

Amelia leaned forward, her hand moving to her mouth, her index finger and thumb swiping at the edges of her lips before resting on her chin.

She released another sigh. I just glared at her.

With a shake of her head, it appeared as if she made some sort of decision.

“Look. It is more than that. More than just wanting to calm you down.”

“I know. You wanted to ‘help’.”

She got to her feet, the movement quick and fluid, and moved towards me, her hands reaching out to me.

I physically recoiled.

Amelia raised her hands in supplication.

“Sorry. I ...”

She moved back, a thud announcing her calves had encountered the chair. “Let me explain.”

I couldn’t help myself. The anger inside me needed to come out.

“Explain what, exactly? That I was a charity fuck?”

The colour drained from her face.

“That’s not what…”

“Of course that’s exactly what it is. You said it yourself. You wanted to calm me down, wanted to help.” I moved towards her; I have no idea why but I did.

“I said it came ...”

“NO!” I threw my hands up, exasperated. “Don’t fucking try to talk your way out of it. It is what it is, end of.”

I turned away but was stopped by a hand on my upper arm. I tried to shake it off but Amelia didn’t let go. Just pulled me back and into her. Her mouth met mine, her lips insistent, both firm and soft. I tried to pull away, struggling but not struggling as fiercely as I knew I should’ve struggled. The heat of her lips, the taste of her mouth, her breath on my skin, the full body contact of her against me - I couldn’t help myself. I knew deep within that it was wrong, knew it was lust, knew she was just trying to pacify me.

But I also knew I wanted to kiss her back.

My lips parted, began to move against hers as my body pressed against her, the heat delectable. Her hands moved around my waist, then slipped upwards to cradle my back, an action I soon mimicked.

I was lost in her. Utterly lost. My anger of moments before evaporated into nothingness. The only thing that mattered at this moment was kissing her, was her kissing me back. So, what if she just wanted a fling, a one nighter? It wasn’t as if we had promised each other the world was it?

Freezing air met my face, the sensation of her mouth on mine disappearing.

“I’m sorry. God! I don’t know what’s got into me.”

Amelia stepped away from me, the safety of her embrace dissolving even as my arms momentarily stayed extended as if they were still holding her.

Instead of anger, I was disappointed.

Amelia turned her back to me, her head dipping.

“I honestly don’t know what’s happening. I never do this.”

She moved towards the window, her focus staring out into the blackness. Her face reflected in the glass, slightly distorted but still just as beautiful.

The storm had calmed but not ceased. I couldn’t hear the wind, or even the rain hammering against the window but I sensed the unrest both outside and inside my home.

“I know you may not believe it but I’ve never done this before.” Amelia spoke softly, her attention still fixed on the black void. “I’m not one to act impulsively, act on... on desire.”

She leaned closer to the glass and for a moment I thought she had spotted something lurking outside, but no. Instead of trying to make out whatever it could be, she rested her head against the pane.

“I know you probably think otherwise, especially since I’ve done nothing but hit on you since turning up on your doorstep.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how to.

“Maybe I’ve got concussion.” She lifted her head from the windowpane, tilted it as in thought before turning to face me. “Can concussion make someone do things completely against their nature?”

For a split second, I thought she was going to say she wasn’t gay and I was almost relieved when she continued to explain.

“I’m not the type of woman to act on impulse. I’ve never had a one-night stand in my life. Never come on to a woman. Fuck!’ Amelia pushed her fingers through her hair. “I can’t even flirt!”

This was not the woman who had stood completely naked and looked at me suggestively in the bedroom. This was not the woman who had come into my room and made love to me; not the woman who had kissed me without preamble moments before.

“It’s just. I don’t know. Just something - something making me need to... need to just... to just...”

“Just?”

Amelia shrugged, her face scrunching slightly.

“I don’t know what exactly. Just know that I have a need to just... to just ...”

“Just?”

She opened her arms as if she was opening her soul.

“I just need you. Need to touch you. Need to kiss you. Need… need this.” Amelia gestured between us and I did nothing.

I didn’t even admit that I felt the same. Just let the silence between us extend into something uncomfortable.

I watched her deflate. Watched her shoulders sag. Watched her turn slightly away and fix her attention on Jiminy, who, surprisingly, was asleep on the cushions in front of the now dying fire.

What did she expect me to say? Did she expect me to be thankful? Happy that she felt the need to unburden herself whilst confessing to something that I wasn’t sure was true?                                I’d fallen for that line before and I wasn’t about to fall for the same kind of empty sentiment as I had with Shelly.

“You’re right.”

Amelia turned slightly at my words.

“There is something going on here.”

I think she thought I was going to admit how much I “needed” her just as much as she claimed to “need me”.

I moved to the chair and sat down.

“In this house. Something is wrong.” Amelia turned fully to face me, a frown forming. “Ever since I’ve come inside, there seems to be something here. Something other than you,” she gestured to me then to Jiminy, “More than the dog.”

“What do you mean ‘something’?”

Amelia shrugged, then sighed before returning to the chair in front of the fireplace.

“That’s just it. I don’t have a clue. Just know there’s something not right here.”

“Woof!”

Jiminy had sat up, his attention on Amelia.

“Woof!”

“See? Even the dog agrees.”

Jiminy stood up and trotted over to where Amelia was seated, lifted a paw and tapped on her leg.

Without a word, she leaned forward and scooped him into her arms, kissing the top of his head before lowering him onto her lap. Jiminy began to nestle against her belly, making himself a bed.

Amelia stroked her fingers along his head, paying special attention to behind his ears.

Time slowed. The ache of it resounding in the silence of the room. The storm was quieter now, the fire completely dead.

“I’ve heard a voice.”

Amelia didn’t look at me as she spoke; her attention was completely fixed on the small dog on her lap.

“At first I thought it was you. I’d just laid back in the bath and I heard someone call my name.”

Had I done that? Called to her when she was in the bath? I knew I’d heard my own name called but not hers. Nope. I’d been too busy staring out into the blackness and arsing about with washing and doors and bolts to be shouting out her name.

“I got out of the bath and opened the door slightly. Looked onto the landing but I couldn’t see you. The door to the bedroom you said I’d be staying in was open so I believed you’d said my name as you’d come past.”

“Not that I remember.”

Amelia looked up and into my eyes. “You hadn’t. It wasn’t you.”

An ice cold current raced down my spine and I really didn’t want to ask the next question. But I asked it anyway.

“How did you know it wasn’t me?”

“It wasn’t until I was standing at the door thinking that you would come out of the room any minute, or even say my name again, did I realise something.”

I shook my head slightly, encouraging her to continue.

“The person called me Millie.”

“Millie?”

“Yes. Instead of Amelia.”

I paused before asking.

“Are you sure the voice didn’t say Katie?”

She frowned again, her eyebrows dipping.

“Katie? Why Katie? Had you said your own name?”

“No, I...” I stopped.

“Did you hear someone saying Katie?” I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. “Fuck!” Amelia stood, sharply, her hands holding Jiminy and pulling him to her chest.

“What is going on here? Tell me, Katie. Is there someone else here apart from us?”

I shook my head.

“I’ve heard someone, seen something, felt something... something not right in this house.”

She moved to the window once again and peered out, Jiminy peering with her. If the situation hadn’t been so fucked up it would’ve looked comical.

But neither of us were laughing.

Amelia suddenly turned, her eyes fixing on me.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

I wanted to say there were many things I hadn’t told her. Many many things.

She moved towards me, Jiminy bouncing slightly in her arms, his head seeming slightly floppy, his ears moving with the motion of each step.

Amelia stopped mere inches away from me, her face coming closer to mine.

“Who is Shelly? Better still, where is she?”

“None of your business.”

Amelia leaned even more closely, something I thought would be impossible.

“Oh, it is. That woman has haunted me ever since I arrived.”

The colour drained from my face; a definite sense of anger mixed with nausea building inside me.

“Shelly is not here.”

“Are you sure about that?” Amelia’s voice was low, almost threatening, and I felt something snap inside me.

“She’s fucking gone, okay? Happy now?”

I couldn’t be one hundred percent sure whether I shouted the words, but the effect of them on her was the same. Amelia stepped back, embarrassment surrounding her like a nimbus, Jiminy curling closer to her chest.

“So, she won’t be hanging about trying to scare you.”

Amelia held a hand up to show some sort of surrender but I ignored it.

“There’s one thing I know for sure about Shelly.  She won’t be coming back - especially now, especially after everything.”

“I’m sor-…”

“Don’t even think about apologising!”

Amelia moved further back; I followed her. “Shelly was like that too. Apologising when there was nothing else to say but spout out the old faithfuls. Did she mean it? Did she fuck.”

Amelia opened her mouth as if to speak but then closed it again.

“Do you know what she did? Shelly?” The nausea had evaporated now - anger was the only thing I could feel. “She talked me into buying this place with her.” I waved my arms around me and knew the action just amplified my appearance of being insane.

I turned away from Amelia and walked over to the window.

“There’s nothing here. No one for miles. No shops, no neighbours close enough to get to know. Nothing. Nuh-thing!”

I leaned over the window seat I’d been seated at earlier.

“Look out there. Look!”

Amelia didn’t move. Just continued to stare at me, Jiminy snuggling closer to her, a slight shake of his body alerting me that he was frightened.

It took me a moment to realise that I was the reason he was frightened.

My anger evaporated into the air; the emotion instantly replaced by shame.

“God! I’m so sorry. I’m so ...” I didn’t get the chance to say any more as the tears came, bubbling out and over and down my cheeks. Staggering backwards, I slumped hard into the chair.

I heard her move; sensed her approach; leaned into her hand on my shoulder. Sniffing sounded at the side of my face, a wet nose investigating, a wet, cold tongue swiping rapidly on my cheek.

Turning, brown eyes met mine. Such concern, such love. My heart ached with it all.

Jiminy lurched forward and licked me again, a mewling noise escaping him.

My fingers itched behind his ear, the rough feel of his fur pacifying and solidifying this moment, the shaking had stopped.

The shape of Amelia stood out of focus behind the object of my attention, the composition of the scene allowing me to deflect my need to look at her.

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.”

Amelia’s voice was soft, apologetic. I risked a look at her and was captured by her eyes. The sensation of looking at her mirrored the sensation I’d experienced when looking at Jiminy.

I tried to say it didn’t matter, but all I could muster was a repeated shake of the head and a lot of nervous licking of lips.

“I was insensitive. I went too far.”

“No. You weren’t to know. I...”

Amelia knelt on the floor, Jiminy moving sideways before sitting down and looking up at me.

“I should’ve realised that something was amiss.  I mean...” she shrugged and opened her hands submissively, “I knew there was something that you were uncomfortable with and I just kept bloody pushing for you to tell me.”

“No, I should...”

Amelia leaned closer, her breath touching my skin.

“No.” She was close enough to have to look from one eye to the other. “You didn’t have to tell me anything. You’ve known me for the matter of hours. Even I understand that I’m a stranger to you.”

Amelia didn’t feel like a stranger. Far from it. Just because I didn’t know the ins and outs of her life didn’t mean she was a stranger. It wasn’t just because we’d had sex either.

“Sometimes, we meet someone and for some strange reason feel closer to them then people we’ve known for years.”

I couldn’t believe I’d said it out loud. Couldn’t believe the words that’d formulated and catapulted themselves into the air without any effort from me were now sitting between us. Waiting. Sitting and waiting. Just as Amelia was. I hadn’t even realised this was the way I was thinking. Hadn’t realised that I’d thought of Amelia in this way until these words had met air and become a conscious thought instead of subconscious. And now the truth of the matter; I was expectant. I wanted Amelia to respond, to react, to agree and say she felt the same.

“I know what you mean.”

And it was at that precise moment I realised I’d been holding my breath.

“To be honest... I feel as if I’ve known you for...”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The interruption was loud, sudden, invasive. It was also coming from the front door.

Amelia jumped and fell backwards onto her backside and Jiminy yelped and tried to scramble onto her lap. I stood. The reaction automatic and pointless as I just continued to stand as if rooted to the spot.

BANG!

“Who? What the…?”

Amelia scrambled around, placing Jiminy on the floor before standing next to me. We both stared at the doorway as if we expected whoever, or whatever, was outside thumping on my front door would suddenly burst through and into the room to attack us.

BANGBANGBANG!

“Are you expecting anyone?”

I looked at Amelia as if she had lost her mind.

“At nearly two in the morning?”

BANG!

Jiminy yelped again, scrabbled at Amelia’s leg and then mine.

I scooped him up, kissed his head and settled him on the armchair, placing a cushion close to him as a means of comfort. I would’ve usually picked him up and held him but I needed to have both of my hands free just in case ... Just. In. Case.

Just in case of what, I’d no idea.

“Who is it?” Amelia whispered as if who was hammering on my door would be able to hear her if she spoke louder.

I didn’t answer. Just sighed dramatically and moved towards the hallway.

BANG! BANG!

As I stood facing the front door, the memory of this exact scene from earlier played out in my head. The suddenness, the velocity of the banging on the door, the ideas of 1970s Hammer House films dancing around the edges of the scene.

“Get my mobile. On the table. Try 999.”

Amelia moved to the table to retrieve the phone.

“It’s not here.”

Thud! THUD!

“Of course it’s there. I left it there!”

Didn’t I?

“Kitchen. Try the landline.”

Amelia moved quickly past me and into the kitchen. I listened to her muttering to herself before she shouted out, “No signal. Nothing.”

“Fuck!”

Thud!

Amelia appeared next to me.

“Maybe it is someone else caught out by the storm. They may be hurt.”

“They also maybe serial killers.”

As if to support my statement, another thud sounded.

Amelia moved forward, stood nervously next to the door.

“Who is it?”

Nothing.

I moved to stand next to her and she glimpsed nervously at me before facing the door again and repeating, “Who is it?”

Still nothing.

Tentatively she placed her fingertips of both hands onto the wood of the door and leaned forward, her head closing the gap, her ear making contact.

“What are …?”

“Shush!”

Her expression gave away that she was listening to whatever was supposedly outside in the tail end of a storm. However, it was a solid wood door. It wasn’t as if she would hear our local serial killer breathing as he, or she, waiting patiently impatient on the other side of the wood hoping that we would be foolish enough to let him - or her - inside.

It was all eerily expectant. Amelia glanced at me, her head lifting slightly from the door as she did so but resuming its position with just as much speed.

“Who is it?”

The air stilled. Even the storm ceased. Nothing stirred.

A voice, sure and steady sounded from the other side of the door. A voice announcing a name. A voice I knew as well as I knew my own. A voice I believed I would never hear again.

“Shelly. It’s Shelly.”

It was at this point that I fainted.

***

Continued

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