studio. “Keep adding to the pile if you think more are involved. In fact, better widen the search.”
“So you do think there is something wrong here?” Brandt said in relief. “I knew it.”
“Well, I don’t know it. But I’m willing to keep that door open with both Sam and I triggering to hearts today.”
He hung up and stared at the picture he’d had sitting in his studio for several weeks now. It was one that had been causing him a lot of problems and he didn’t know why – except it was unfinished. The violent scene of a car accident was painted on the same day that one of the victim’s in Brandt’s file perished in a horrific accident of his own.
Stefan’s painting was an exact match to the photo in the file.
Yet for some reason he hadn’t been ready to share that eerie fact with Brandt.
In Stefan’s world timing was everything. And there was no such thing as coincidence.
*
Clarity. He needed more clarity. Each time he managed a step in the right direction he slid – not as much as before – but still too much. He needed to focus. He didn’t know how much time he had. How much effort would be required to complete his plan. And he couldn’t help but feel like he was running out of time.
Out of energy.
Maybe each step was cutting off a piece of deadwood and allowing the rest of him to regroup, but maybe it was also diminishing his energy.
That couldn’t happen.
He was supposed to grow stronger by doing this.
He needed to be stronger. More powerful. He needed to do more – just so he could do one thing.
Revenge – at all costs.
He had to hang on to that anger.
It was all he had left.
Chapter 6
S ome mornings sucked. Celina woke to a gloomy heart and an achy soul. Her head hurt, her eyes burned, and every time she shifted under the duvet her body screamed. She’d forgotten to take something to relax her muscles and now they’d locked down. She hadn’t been badly injured in last night’s accident, but her body was still crying in protest of any movement this morning. She’d love a hot bath, but likely only had time for a shower.
Then she remembered that the concert was no longer happening tonight. That meant all the practice and preparation and rehearsals weren’t happening today either. Damn. A wave of grief for her friends washed over her.
Maybe that bath was the answer after all. She slipped out from under the covers and reached for the clock. She pushed the button and listened to it read out the time. It was past nine in the morning already. She never slept in, always careful to go to bed well before midnight. She hated the hour between midnight and one. That’s when the weirder things in her life had happened. Or at least it was when more of the uninvited ghostly visitors decided to stop by. She stood slowly and winced as her back protested. She’d start the bath running and do a few stretches while waiting.
She walked to the bathroom and as she reached the open doorway a horrible stench hit her. Her hand went to her chest. She couldn’t breathe. She barely managed to stop herself from gagging. Didn’t want to take another breath – she choked on that smell. She knew that smell.
She knew it deep inside. It was the smell of blood. Lots of blood.
She stared down at her hands, fingers splayed wide in front of her. And could see nothing. Of course. She shuddered at what could be in front of her. Something someone else had done. Something someone had left for her to find. Only she’d never be able to see it.
Let me see. Anticipation licked along his nasty voice.
Never , she whispered in horror. What have you done?
Nothing much. Nothing that didn’t need doing. And nothing here – maybe.
She shuddered, in fear, in revulsion, at what she’d find in her so-private space. Her invaded space. This was her home. She needed it to be exactly as she left it, day in and day out. She knew how many paces from her bedroom to the bathroom, from her bathroom to her
“So you do think there is something wrong here?” Brandt said in relief. “I knew it.”
“Well, I don’t know it. But I’m willing to keep that door open with both Sam and I triggering to hearts today.”
He hung up and stared at the picture he’d had sitting in his studio for several weeks now. It was one that had been causing him a lot of problems and he didn’t know why – except it was unfinished. The violent scene of a car accident was painted on the same day that one of the victim’s in Brandt’s file perished in a horrific accident of his own.
Stefan’s painting was an exact match to the photo in the file.
Yet for some reason he hadn’t been ready to share that eerie fact with Brandt.
In Stefan’s world timing was everything. And there was no such thing as coincidence.
*
Clarity. He needed more clarity. Each time he managed a step in the right direction he slid – not as much as before – but still too much. He needed to focus. He didn’t know how much time he had. How much effort would be required to complete his plan. And he couldn’t help but feel like he was running out of time.
Out of energy.
Maybe each step was cutting off a piece of deadwood and allowing the rest of him to regroup, but maybe it was also diminishing his energy.
That couldn’t happen.
He was supposed to grow stronger by doing this.
He needed to be stronger. More powerful. He needed to do more – just so he could do one thing.
Revenge – at all costs.
He had to hang on to that anger.
It was all he had left.
Chapter 6
S ome mornings sucked. Celina woke to a gloomy heart and an achy soul. Her head hurt, her eyes burned, and every time she shifted under the duvet her body screamed. She’d forgotten to take something to relax her muscles and now they’d locked down. She hadn’t been badly injured in last night’s accident, but her body was still crying in protest of any movement this morning. She’d love a hot bath, but likely only had time for a shower.
Then she remembered that the concert was no longer happening tonight. That meant all the practice and preparation and rehearsals weren’t happening today either. Damn. A wave of grief for her friends washed over her.
Maybe that bath was the answer after all. She slipped out from under the covers and reached for the clock. She pushed the button and listened to it read out the time. It was past nine in the morning already. She never slept in, always careful to go to bed well before midnight. She hated the hour between midnight and one. That’s when the weirder things in her life had happened. Or at least it was when more of the uninvited ghostly visitors decided to stop by. She stood slowly and winced as her back protested. She’d start the bath running and do a few stretches while waiting.
She walked to the bathroom and as she reached the open doorway a horrible stench hit her. Her hand went to her chest. She couldn’t breathe. She barely managed to stop herself from gagging. Didn’t want to take another breath – she choked on that smell. She knew that smell.
She knew it deep inside. It was the smell of blood. Lots of blood.
She stared down at her hands, fingers splayed wide in front of her. And could see nothing. Of course. She shuddered at what could be in front of her. Something someone else had done. Something someone had left for her to find. Only she’d never be able to see it.
Let me see. Anticipation licked along his nasty voice.
Never , she whispered in horror. What have you done?
Nothing much. Nothing that didn’t need doing. And nothing here – maybe.
She shuddered, in fear, in revulsion, at what she’d find in her so-private space. Her invaded space. This was her home. She needed it to be exactly as she left it, day in and day out. She knew how many paces from her bedroom to the bathroom, from her bathroom to her
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