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G L I M P S E
Renee Wakefield
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
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join Renee’s Readers
have you read Black Hotel?
1
It’s one of those days when everything appears grey. The sky, the buildings, all the people on their way to work. Not a great day to find a body suspended on the ceiling. But then, when is?
The train rocks Andrew back and forth gently on its way to the city. Same train every day. One good thing about the grey. It makes it easy to hide, easy to look like everyone else. He waits on the platform in the same place each morning and gets on the train via the same door. He would sit in the same seat if he could but that isn’t always a possibility. It could be the same people on the train with him every day. Same people, different people. It doesn’t matter. The people are all interchangeable. It is the routine. Routine helps. Routine is important.
As he walks the short distance from the train to his office, Andrew can feel something in the air. Lurking in the shadows. A brooding menace. Experience has taught him to ignore it.
Andrew’s workplace is a hive of activity. Worker drones hurry about their business. The original 1940s office building has endured a modern makeover, creating an uncomfortable mix of old and new that the building can’t quite pull off. Lots of glass and open space and ramps on top of old rooms with heavy doors and no windows.
Andrew is fortunate enough to have his own personal office. A room with a door rather than being exposed in a cubicle. The out of the way office is ideal for him. Hidden away, right up the back, behind the labyrinth of desks and computers. The modern styling never made it quite this deep.
The space is deceptively large and oddly shaped. It contains no photos or personal effects. Just a heavy wooden desk and a couple of chairs, struggling for room between the boxes and boxes of company reports. Whether it is Andrew or the office itself, people are hesitant to enter unless they absolutely have to, which suits Andrew just fine. He enjoys the quiet and solitude.
Andrew leans forward on his desk, running through the latest report. He has printed the report and is marking the necessary changes by hand. His boss has repeatedly suggested he might be faster editing straight on the computer, but Andrew continues to print the physical copies. He prefers the tactile feel of pen on paper and process of making his notes directly on the reports. Things tend to get missed if he tries to work straight from a screen. So the computer sits idly in front of him. He’ll get to it later, he just needs to complete this step first.
Something draws Andrew away from the report, capturing his attention. The room… The atmosphere is wrong. Odd. Same thing as he sensed this morning. Something isn’t quite right. He’s alone, but still…
He chides himself. After all these years he should know better. The most important rule, don’t engage. He doubles down on his focus, determined not to be drawn in. Not to allow himself to become distracted.
An unexpected knock at the door gives Andrew a start.
Cathy breezes in with that stupid smile on her face. “Hey, Andrew.”
Her perky, confident attitude tends to go into overdrive on Fridays. Cathy is a flirty, touchy-feely charmer, well practiced at using her smile and other physical assets to get what she wants from her mostly male colleagues. In that way, she and Andrew are a strangely even match. If pressed, he would consider Cathy only somewhat pretty at best and has no idea how she manages to leverage that limited prettiness of hers to get whatever she wants. While for her part Cathy is completely at a loss as to why Andrew is averse to her charms.
“TGI Friday. Am I right? Up to much for the weekend?”
There’s no point answering, it is not really a question. Seeing Cathy has long since given up trying to charm Andrew, her presence in his office suggests she wants something and as she is nursing a large stack of paper, it’s not all that difficult to guess what that might be.
“So… This file you want me to enter… It’s gonna take me another couple of hours. At least.”
He glances at the stack of paper, waiting. The file is barely contained by the manila folder that surrounds it. The stack of paper was considerably neater when he handed it to her a few days ago. He surmises the sum total of work she has done to the file is to carry it to her desk, then back here, messing it up in the process. He has little doubt some of it will have gone missing along the way.
Andrew puts his head down and pretends to get back to work. “I don’t want you to enter the file, Cathy.”
A ray of hope lights up her face. “You don’t?”
“It’s your job.”
Her eyes narrow. “Okay…” She doesn’t have the slightest clue what he means. “Well, I’d really like to get out of here on time. For once.”
Here we go. Andrew never wanted Cathy to work for him in the first place. He is Cathy’s boss. Superior, technically. The powers that be deemed that he would get more done with somebody to help him out and so Cathy was foisted upon him. However, her presence in his office right now is precisely why Andrew would prefer just to do her job himself. The process might take a bit longer but it would get done and done properly and he wouldn’t have to put up with the constant insinuation he is ruining Cathy’s life by merely insisting she does the job she was employed for.
Andrew remains focused on the report in his hand. She can continue to stand there, watching him and waiting as long as she wants. He has no intention of giving in to her.
“Any chance I can finish it Monday?”
Andrew shakes his head without bothering to look up. “They need at first thing. You know that.”
More silence.
“What if I come in early Monday?”
Andrew scoffs. “You said you had another couple of hours. What, are you going to get in at six?”
They share a knowing smile. Cathy never arrives early on a Monday. She never arrives early on any days, but Mondays are by far the worst. She is lucky if she makes it to work at all most Mondays. And when she does, it is with bags under her eyes and a desire to spend all morning searching Instagram for clues as to what she actually got up to over the weekend.
She continues to watch him, determined to get something from this little exchange. Some way out of doing this small amount of work she is contractually obligated to do.
“Maybe someone else…”
Does she mean Andrew or the magical office fairies?
“Who? Cathy, this is your job. It’s why you were employed.”
Her smil
e fades fast when she thinks he isn’t watching her. She is situationally polite. Polite to Andrew’s face. He can only imagine the sort of things she says behind his back. Has she got a big night planned? Or just a general desire to be out of the office as quickly as possible?
Cathy sighs, a very pointed sigh to indicate she is making a real effort. Doing her utmost to come up with a compromise. “What if I take it home, do it on the weekend?” She chews her bottom lip. This is a big ask.
Andrew raises his eyes, unimpressed. Cathy jumps in first, pre-empting any chance he has to say no. “I’ll be very careful with it.”
He studies her for a moment, partly weighing it up, partially letting her stew. There is no chance she’ll be careful with the file. She has no idea what careful is. And when she comes in Monday with the work not completed and half the pages missing it will be him that is in trouble.
Despite all of this he gives her an acquiescing nod.
“Okay.” A victorious, self-satisfied smile squirms across her lips. “Have a good one.”
Cathy struts out of the office.
He shouldn’t have let her get away with it. He should have insisted she stay until the entire file was completely finished tonight. Sometimes though, you have to be practical. He had to get her out of his office today and experience has taught him only too well that she wasn't going anywhere without a victory. Cathy is quite happy to stay late to argue her way out of work, not so much to stay and actually do the work.
Distraction over, Andrew takes a drink of water from the large round glass on his desk and returns to editing the report.
The sense of relief she provides Andrew by leaving is the only benefit Cathy gives him. Things return to calm and peaceful.
Drip.
Something falls, splashing quietly into his glass. Something red. It dilutes as it seeps out in the water. Andrew is too caught up to notice.
Drip.
More. It’s coming from directly above him.
Drip.
A drop hits his shoulder, creating a small red stain on his shirt.
Drip.
Another drop splatters onto the white paper of the report is working on. Impossible to miss. Andrew stops what he is doing and stares at the circular mark. Cautiously he dips the tips of his fingers in the drop of red and examines them.
Blood.
Another small drop splatters his work. Something above his head is dripping blood. Something or someone.
Andrew should know better. He is aware of precisely what he should do. A lifetime of experience screams at him to ignore the blood and keep working. Pretend he never saw it. But knowing what you should do and actually doing it are two very different things. Reluctantly, Andrew gazes up.
There is a body on the office ceiling. Defying gravity, as though it is stuck to his roof. Directly above him. A contorted, broken corpse. Mangled and bloodied. The body has been in some sort of accident A terrible life ending accident.
The corpse’s head jerks around. Lifeless pupils stare down at Andrew. Dead eyes filled with blood.
It’s Cathy.
She has a bewildered expression on her face, mouth half open. Confused.
The expression of the dead.
Blood drips down her face, falling towards Andrew. She tries to speak but no sound comes out.
“Oh, no,” Andrew mutters under his breath, more annoyed than surprised. He steps out from behind his desk.
He runs out and through the main office, negating the maze of cubicles.
Cathy’s computer is off and her chair tucked in.
A fellow worker leans over from his desk. “You after Cathy? You just missed her.”
How quickly did she get out of here? Usually he can count on her to get caught up gossiping or flirting for at least a few minutes. Not today of course.
Andrew hurries to the lifts, more urgent now. No one there. He briefly considers waiting for the lift or running down the stairs. There’s no point. She’s left the building by now. He won’t find her. She has gone. He mutters under his breath.
Andrew stomps back into his office. He deliberately doesn’t look up as he takes his seat. A few more drops of blood splatter his work. Andrew shuffles the sheets of paper with frustration.
“You looking for me?” Cathy stands in the doorway. Coat on. Bag in hand. Very much alive. Much less bloodied and battered than her doppelgänger watching from above them.
Andrew lets out a loud sigh. Relief floods through him.“Thought I missed you.”
She hadn’t gone at all. That was a close one.
He extends out a hand towards her. It takes Cathy a moment to twig as to what his gesture means.
“The file?” She reaches into her bag. “Don’t you want me to finish it over the weekend?”
Andrew shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
She beams at him. “Great. Thanks.”
Cathy fishes the massive pile of paper from her bag and plonks it on his desk.
She hesitates, expecting more. Andrew goes back to editing his report.
Dead Cathy eyes the situation from the ceiling above them.
“Anything else?”
“Nope.” Andrew doesn’t bother to meet her eye.
“No worries.” Cathy is all smiles as she heads for the door. He has made her day.
Something occurs to Andrew. However she thinks this weekend will pan out, the reality will be very different. It’s just a passing thought, floating through his consciousness. Not something he acknowledges.
“See you Monday,” she says on her way out.
“No, you won’t,” Andrew mutters. There’s no chance she will hear him. She has already gone.
The door closes behind her. Andrew returns to work.
Dead Cathy watches him, still attached to the roof above.
2
Sharon’s beady eyes watch me from her side of the desk without saying anything. She does this sometimes, making me wonder if I am supposed to be talking. If I am, I don’t know what it is I am supposed to say, so I wait. I try to guess Sharon’s age. 60s maybe, I think. A kind, old lady, without the kind. I always thought counsellors were supposed to be nice. Finally, she asks me a question.
“What’s the first thing you remember?”
“In my life? Or about the accident?”
Sharon gives me that smile again. I am not sure how she thinks she is smiling, but to me, the smile tells me that I’m not really trying. I need to try harder. Stop wasting both of our time.
“I couldn’t swallow. I couldn’t swallow and I found that worrying. I remember thinking that I need to be able to swallow. That swallowing is something important.”
Sharon nods, giving nothing.
“I could taste blood. My mouth was full of blood. My face was all smashed in by the airbag. I managed to open my eyes and realised I was upside down. I was still in my seat, hanging by my seatbelt. That’s why I couldn’t swallow. Hard to swallow when you are upside down.”
I look down at my hands. I’m absentmindedly fiddling with my fingers. That’ll probably mean something to Sharon.
Her stern expression tells me to keep going.
“The emergency services must have been there already because I remember voices telling me to stay calm. Not to worry. Easy for them to say, they weren’t the ones who couldn’t swallow.”
“Were you disoriented? Confused?”
“I don’t think so… Except I remember thinking I couldn’t spit out the blood. I didn’t want to spit in my car. It’s not something you do, spit inside your car. Wouldn’t have made a much of a difference. There wasn’t a whole lot of my car left to worry about at that point.”
Sharon says nothing. She nods again when she realises I have nothing more and types a few notes in her computer.
I always get the impression that I am disappointing her. Like all my recollections are wrong.
I sit on the edge of an examination bed, gnawing at my thumbnail like some sort of escaped mental pati
ent. The traffic noise from the busy street out front invades the room.
Another doctor’s office. I don’t want to be here. Then again I don’t want to be anywhere right at this moment. I hope the doctor gets here soon before the walls start closing in. At least if he is examining me, it’ll give me something to think about. Concentrate on.
The doctor shines a light in my eyes. “Good. There is a lot of progress, Ellie.”
His hair is greying and he has the vague whiff of cologne. Probably a necessity when you’re in close contact with people all day. We reposition ourselves to our respective sides of his desk.
“Are you taking the Vikadil?” he enquires in his usual gruff tone.
I attempt to nod. My lie withers under his rigid glare. “Not as much as I should.”
“You need to take it.” Firm, businesslike. Probably tired of dealing with idiots like me all day who don’t want to do what’s best for them.
“I don’t like how it makes me feel.”
He treats me to an expression that leaves me in no doubt this is not good enough, but he moves on, consulting his notes.
“Apart from that, how are things?”
I have to resist the urge to laugh out loud. How are things? Everything could barely be worse. My life is unaccountably slipping through my fingers. At best I am losing my mind. Thanks for asking though. I appreciated it. All I manage is a shake of my head. Surely I look as bad as I feel. Every inch of me screams not coping.
Glimpse Page 1
