Page 25 of Death Kiss

Sam pushes harder, and I lose my footing. He laughs as he holds me up only by my throat. Sharp pain ekes into my chest as Sam carves into me with my curved knife, drawing bloody patterns in my skin.

‘Stop,’ I cry.

Sam tilts his rotting face and shrugs. ‘Okay.’

And I’m falling.

F

A

L

L

I

N

G

Until I wake, slamming my head into the bedside table.

‘Fuck,’ I say under my breath. I’m dripping with sweat and tangled in the sheets, panicking until I get myself free.

My first instinct is to seek out Liam, my heart still racing and my need for comfort rising. He’s there. Sleeping soundly in my bed. His beautiful face the most relaxed I’ve seen it in a long time.

Waking him would be cruel.

So I grab my phone and head to the sofa, wrapping myself in one of my insanely thick, cosy blankets. It doesn’t quite compare to Liam’s touch, but it’s pretty sweet.

My pulse still feels like it’s trying to escape from my throat, so I put on the TV and cuddle down into the squishiness of the fabric, hoping it will lull me into a less intense sleep.

The nightmares are getting worse. More visceral. Laden with guilt night after night.

Reggie appears in a ball of orange floof as some late-night comedy show from forty years ago comes on. He takes one look at me, and I can almost feel his judgment as he decides I need some TLC. Still, he climbs into my lap and flops onto his side, presenting his stomach for me to rub.

‘Well, look at you, little Sir. Taking pity on me by letting me stroke your majestic belly.’ Reggie gives a grumble of allowance and twists to give me full access to that belly of his. He’s still a big boy, but far healthier than when we catnapped him.

‘Oh Reggie,’ I whisper, ‘what are we going to do?’

Reginald, of course, doesn’t give a flying fuck as long as we’re bringing home his food. Fill the cat's belly, and his world is good.

The news comes on, covering the day’s highlights. I’m not really paying attention, too busy smooshing Reggie’s adorably grumpy face. The TV is background noise. Something to drown out Sam’s creepy voice, which still bounces around in my skull.

Until a snippet of a story tickles my ear.

‘Police continue to appeal for information regarding recent disappearances in the area. Three local men have disappeared without a trace in the past few months. While police continue to deny any links between the men…’

Oh fuck.

It’s no surprise they are investigating, but I can only hope they haven’t found any links between the men. Liam and I couldn’t find any social links between them, nor anything professional. Hopefully the police won’t either, though their search powers will extend far beyond ours.

The footage cuts to a press conference: a tired-looking officer with sharp, beady eyes stares out at the viewer, and his gaze feels as keen on me as Sam's did in my dream.

‘Retired detective Richard Ashworth has been brought into the investigation to bring his years of expertise to the individual cases on a consulting basis.’

That name.