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Jennifer glanced at the light in Will’s living room window. It was nice to be looked after, and all the old anxieties about their relationship slowly loosened their grip. Life was too short, and she had decided to allow things to take their natural course, whatever it may be. The smell of chopped onions and garlic met her in the hall as he opened the door. Will looked relaxed and happy in his tracksuit bottoms and a white t-shirt. It complemented his broad shoulders, and she threw him a smile as she handed him a bottle of red wine.
Will squinted at the label, although she knew he hadn’t a clue about wine. ‘Thanks. This … er … looks good. I hope you’re hungry. Don’t worry about the mess, I’ll clean up in a minute.’
‘Don’t be daft, you don’t need to apologise to me,’ Jennifer said, averting her eyes from the dirty saucepans and dishes littering the counter. Will gave her a look that said he knew better, and she gladly took a glass of wine from his outstretched hand.
‘Thanks, it smells delicious,’ she said, sniffing the curry and jasmine rice bubbling on the stove. ‘Do you want to talk about the case, or is this a work-free zone?’
‘Feel free,’ Will said, tasting the curry before washing the spoon and laying it on the side. Jennifer smiled. No doubt he was tempted to plunge it straight back in the pot, and was doing his best to appease her.
‘I tried to make contact but I didn’t get very far. He knew I was on to him.’ Jennifer shuddered at the memory.
Frowning, Will turned off the gas. ‘I can’t even imagine what it’s like trying to communicate like that, but for God’s sake be careful. The person stalking you is a killer.’
‘If he wanted to hurt me he would have made a move by now.’
‘Yes well, keep your distance, and let the MIT get on with the investigation,’ Will said, taking two warmed plates out of the oven.
Jennifer drained her glass. ‘I’m a copper, Will. I’ll do exactly what you would do in my shoes.’ That said, she did not relish the thought of further communication. Memories of the Raven’s scaly neck and fur-lined teeth had made her scrub her skin until it was bright red. It was only after brushing her teeth and slathering her skin in oils and body lotions that she had begun to feel herself again. The Raven’s voice had dark roots, and although human, he was no stranger to the supernatural. Whatever the man was carrying within, there would be no reasoning with it.
‘From what I can see the only hope they have of stopping this guy is finding him in the area or if he slips up the next time he does it.’
‘Mmmm,’ Jennifer said, keeping details of the online group to herself. She breathed in the delicious aroma of spices as Will filled her plate. She owed it to herself to try to enjoy what was left of the evening. Since the advent of Op Moonlight, she felt she had turned a corner, gaining in strength and accepting herself for who she was. She couldn’t allow the Raven to drive her back to the dark, lonely place she once frequented.
She knew she shone like a beacon when it came to psychic energies, and questions came faster than she could answer them. She could have drawn the killer right to Haven. Was he really predicting their futures or just making it happen? And if every incident preceded a reading then surely all people had to do was to keep away from tarot readers.
‘Do me a favour,’ Jennifer said to Will as they finished their desserts. ‘Ring your family and tell them not to accept any card readings, no matter how charming the person offering. I’ve told my sister to do the same.’
Will gave a chuckle, then realised she was serious. ‘I’ll do it but they’ll think I’ve lost my marbles.’
The words stung and Jennifer refilled her wine glass. ‘Best you warn them just the same.’ It was not difficult to see where Will inherited his scepticism.
Jennifer listened as Will spoke to his mother on the phone. She envied their closeness, drawing in a soft breath as a wave of sadness overcame her. What she would give for such warmth, for her mother to hug her and tell her everything would be all right. But her childhood hugs were a faded memory.
She scratched the back of her neck as she recalled her earlier contact. The Raven was still in Haven. Shadows drew in around her and warned caution. But as she recalled the menace in his words, she knew it might already be too late.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bert
The house was steeped in a grief as thick as treacle. His mother became ‘that unfortunate woman’. So unfortunate in fact that her church friends stopped visiting, for fear of catching her grief. The air that once held his mother’s song now returned only muffled wails from the rocking chair in which she reclined. Threads of silvery grey hair bloomed from her centre parting, exacerbated by the deepening lines on her once pretty face. She no longer pottered in the kitchen or made preserves, and the family dynamic changed beyond recognition. Mother did not need Bert to be sick any more, and apart from occasional bouts of eczema, a rapid recovery ensued. Father made half-hearted attempts to take him out, but Bert knew by their dagger glances that both parents blamed him for the death of their golden boy. Bert played the grieving brother for as long as was convincing and waited expectantly for things to improve. He was free to attend school again, but had fallen so far behind, the teasing from his school companions did nothing but fuel the flames of hatred within. His time with the raven was the only thing that eased the frustration gnawing at his insides.
He sat cross-legged under the branches of the large oak tree and fingered the petals of the roses placed under its shadow. The branches were laden with coloured leaves, awaiting the autumn winds to unburden their treasures. It was the first anniversary of Callum’s death, and it felt a lot warmer than last year, when the leaves had been forcefully shed with wind so cold it watered his eyes and reddened his nose. Bert groaned as he opened his fingers, realising he had plucked the flowers bare.
‘Aw shit,’ he said, scattering the petals so an animal could take the blame. It was the first time he’d sworn aloud since Callum died. After all, who was left to swear to? Not his mother or father that was for sure.
Father withered to nothing after the funeral. He didn’t need to speak; the pain was evident from the deep grooves on his face. His eyes sunk deep in his skull, motionless and unthinking. Every night he sat on the porch, staring out at the tree, mumbling to himself about cutting it down. But mother wouldn’t let him, saying it was a memorial of the only child she had ever loved. Mother lost all interest in Bert and he was free to roam the land as he pleased.
Sometimes he caught his parents’ thoughts. If Bert had died in infancy, Callum would still be alive. They infested his brain, hardening his heart and darkening his soul. They didn’t know he could hear them. The darkest thoughts sprang to his attention like poison darts, and there was nothing he could do but allow them inside.