Page 14 of Fury

The mobile rang and rang. And rang. I tried another number, waiting for someone to answer. Eventually the line clicked, and a woman’s voice answered.

“Great North Taxis.”

It would take a few minutes, enough time to pack up. I was going to put the folder back in the filing cabinet, but something stopped me, and instead I slotted it into my bag, sliding it on top of the laptop. Then I paused. I held my breath. Strained my ears. Had I just heard footsteps? Or was I imagining things?

The lights went out. Darkness engulfing me. And this time, they didn’t come straight back on. Down the corridor, I could hear them. Footsteps. Thick-soled boots. A long stride. Not trying to hide their approach. But there should be no one here tonight. Unless someone had been on call? That would explain the footsteps. Someone’s poor loved one must have died.

I listened for the squeak of wheels, the whine of the trolley along the corridor. But nothing. Not even footsteps now. They’d stopped. And instead, I stood, staring into the pitch black, listening for something that may or may not be happening.

I’d wait out on the street. Where there would at least be a streetlight. Not here in the dark with the power off. My fingers scrabbled around the desk, feeling for my mobile, feeling something cool and slim, the display springing to life and casting a sickly green glow around the office, shadows suddenly scattering up the walls. I needed to get out of here.

Stepping into the corridor, I shone the torch from my phone left and right before quickly ramming the key into the lock of the office door, sliding the locking mechanism into place. My heart thundered, my chest tightening with each breath, panic creeping into every part of me. The invisible eyes I’d imagined for the last half hour bore into me, and I didn’t dare turn back towards the darkened hallway. One half of me knew that if I shone my torch light in that direction, there’d be someone or something there.

I hurried away, the little light from my torch wobbling in front of me as I scurried towards the doors. Doors that were locked. And the key was sitting on my desk. Shit.

For a moment, I stared at the double glass doors, blocking my freedom. Even outside was gloomy. A dull orange streetlight three metres away barely lighting the gravelled square in front of the building, and beyond the light was heavy darkness. I rattled the doors, as if that might dislodge the lock, but they stuck fast.

And then from somewhere behind me a noise. I held my breath, staring at the floor, listening for the sound again. Footsteps. Heavy, slow footsteps in the corridors behind me. I needed to be out. Now. But the only way was back towards those footsteps.

Slowly, my hands trembling so much that the prick of white light from the mobile bounced and vibrated everywhere, I turned back round. The torchlight illuminated the dark, empty space between the main doors and my office. Just a few quick steps and I’d be at the door.

Gripping the key in one hand, the torch in the other, I jolted forward on shaky steps, crossing the floor as quickly as the stilettos would allow. The key missed the lock, glancing off the side, a noisy clatter of metal on metal filling the space, bringing attention to me. The second attempt was a success. The lock sliding back. Bolting forwards, I shone the light over the desk. Nothing. No keys. Shit.

I yanked open a drawer in the desk, shoving my hand in and patting about. My fingers bumped over metal, paperclips, drawing pins, a sharp edge catching the tip of my middle finger and making me recoil. The second drawer was deeper, a mass of paper, post-it notes, and then a jangle of metal. The keys. I pushed the scraps of paper aside until the coolness of metal touched my skin. The little crop of keys jangled loudly.

Diving from the office, I pulled the door into place, fumbling once again for the lock. The footsteps in the building grew louder, walking towards me from the cooler room at the back of the building. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The lock of the office door stuck, not quite closing. Fuck.

I could leave it. Deal with it in the morning. But there were personal records in that office. Fuck. Dropping my mobile on the floor, I grasped the handle, pulling the door into the frame, turning the lock again, willing the mechanism to work. And this time, it did. The footsteps moved closer.

Scooping the mobile from my feet, I ran the last few steps to the main doors, my stilettos hammering loudly. The ring of keys dangled from my fingers. Four keys. Which one was for the doors? Footsteps. Fuck. The first key did nothing. Neither did the second. Come on. Come on. Fuck. The third key. The lock turned, the doors pulling open. I didn’t look back. I grabbed the bags I left at the door, running out into the darkness, and into the hard shadow in front of me, my ankle bent, pain shooting up my leg.

Hands gripped my shoulders. The scream rang out into the night like an animal caught in a trap.

Chapter Seven

The night was unusually quiet. No wind. No rain. Just an eerie stillness amidst a cloud free sky. Stars twinkled overhead; my breath was visible in the air in front of me. I’d been sitting outside the funeral home for a while, plans running through my head. I had to get this woman on side. She had shown no signs of falling for the usual Fury charm, and I didn’t think my bike was going to do much to convince her either.

I’d been staring at the glass doors since I got here. Beyond them were darkness and shadows, but now, suddenly, something moved. A prick of white light. Tiny at first and then growing, until it illuminated the woman I’d seen earlier today. Even from this distance, the light cast shadows over that figure. The beautiful bulge of hips I could dig my fingers into, the slim waist I could wrap my arms around and hold still, and those shapely legs that could wrap round my head. Fuck.

Tearing my eyes away, I slunk a little lower in my seat, making sure I wasn’t noticed. For tonight, I needed to watch. Get an idea of her routine. She stood at the door, hesitating, not moving out into the vacant parking space in front of the building. Then she turned away again, the light fading with her. Something didn’t feel right. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but over the years I’d come to pay attention to the heavy feeling in the bottom of my stomach and had learned the hard way to ignore it.

I pushed the truck door open, straining my ears in the thick silence, listening for anything that would give me a hint why my senses tingled like someone had rubbed me with a balloon and why there was a pang of nausea creeping into my gullet. Outside I could hear nothing, not even the roar of passing traffic. Everything seemed to have been swallowed in the stillness. For once, there was real quiet. Glancing up, the stars watched on in the dark abyss, a sudden shiver rolling over me, the chill as winter crept amongst us.

Inside the Fischer Funeral Home, a light grew again. Quickly this time. Bobbing as she walked back towards the front doors. But now I realised she wasn’t walking. Running, Heidi was running. My stomach dropped, a sense of danger flooding my veins, deep, heavy as lead. She fumbled with something, snatching glances over her shoulder, her movements jerking, urgent. Something was wrong. Really wrong.

I crossed the gravelled car park. Urgent long strides, making the doors just as she burst out of them. Her head turned as she dashed through, watching over her shoulder, not seeing me. She barrelled into me, falling backwards, teetering on high heels much too big. I grabbed her shoulders, stopping her from falling flat onto her back. And that was the first time she had seen me. Her scream pierced my ears, desperate.

“It’s ok.”

But she couldn’t hear. Her panic consumed her, and I was a dark shape in dark clothes.

“Heidi. It’s ok,” I said again, pulling her towards me, towards the glow from the singular shit street light a few metres further back. “It’s Fury. From the Northern Kings,” I added when she didn’t stop struggling.

“Get off me. Get off me.”

“Heidi. You’re ok. What’s going on?”

I relaxed my grip, not fully letting go, not sure whether she would swing for me the moment I gave her the space to do that. Because that’s what I would do.