by T L Swan
I narrow my eyes. “What’s going on with you two?”
She shrugs. “Nothing. He’s on the reserves bench.”
I smile broadly as I watch her, my chin resting on my hand.
“What?” She smirks.
“Will you listen to us? You have a guy—an old, hot guy wanking off with your foot. You have a gorgeous, young, hilarious Irish guy on the bench. You have a masturbation movie night coming up on the weekend. I went to a magical weekend in Ireland to meet the parents of my boyfriend, and then Alastar whisked me away to a medieval castle and asked me to marry him.”
He eyes widen. “What the fuck?” she whispers. “He asked you to marry him?” Her eyes are nearly pop from their sockets. “You didn’t say yes did you?” She gasps, horrified.
Oh, my heart drops. That wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for. “Of course not,” I lie. “I told him that we will have to wait and see for a few months.”
The waiter brings us our main meals of Fettuccini.
“Thank you,” we both reply.
She puts her hand on her heart. “Thank fucking God. I thought you had totally lost your mind.”
I smile because, quite frankly, it’s the most wonderful mind fuck in history. “I am moving in with him, though,” I reply casually.
She frowns as she wraps her pasta round her fork. “Emerson, you have known him for, like, twelve weeks, and he was a fucking twat for eight of those. Don’t you think you are rushing it?” She shovels her food into her mouth.
I watch her as I hold my cutlery in my hand. She’s right, to the outside world this does seem ridiculous. I’m not telling her about this weekend, she will totally freak out and try to change my mind. I will tell her when I am already his wife.
“I did have a weird thing happen to me at this castle we went to,” I mutter on my food, changing the subject.
“What was the castle?” she asks.
“Ashford Castle.”
“I’ve never been to a castle.” She smiles.
I shake my head. “Oh, it’s so beautiful there, Brell. You would not believe it. You should ask the foot wanker to take you.”
“Huh. What a joke. He doesn’t talk to me unless it’s with his dick through clothes.” She shakes her head in disgust at herself as she wraps her fettuccine around her fork. “God, I’m a loser,” she mutters around her fork.
I smile sympathetically as I watch her. “What was the weird thing?” she asks.
“Me and Twinkle had dinner and he asked me to marry him.”
She smiles as she watches me. “You’re right, Em. Look at us. We are killing it in London. You have the man of your dreams taking you to castles and proposing.” She shakes her head to herself. “I can’t believe this is happening.” She grabs my hand over the table. “How did you know that this trip was exactly what we needed?” I smile, relieved that everything is turning out so well. “I didn’t. I was just hoping.”
“Well, I’m glad you made us do this.” She takes a mouthful of her pasta. “What was the weird thing that happened?” She frowns as she remembers what we were talking about.
“Oh, yes, okay.” I swallow. “We were going back to our room, which was strangely familiar to me, and then I pulled Alastar down a corridor that was roped off and I went over to this door.”
She frowns as she listens.
I shrug feeling uncomfortable at the memory. “I felt around under the stones on the wall and found a key for the door.”
She frowns as she listens. “How did you know the key was there?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I just did.”
“What did you do?”
“I opened the door.”
“What was in there?” She frowns.
“A small room with another doorway.”
“Was Alastar with you?”
“Yes.”
“What was he doing?”
I shrug. “Asking me how I knew where I was going.”
“Fucking hell,” she whispers. “Where did the doorway go to?”
“A stone spiral staircase.”
“And there were no signs.”
I shake my head. “No. But I knew it was there. Somehow I knew the staircase was there. I knew where the key was.”
She puts her thumbnail in her mouth as she thinks. “What does this mean? I don’t understand.”
I shrug. “Me either. It’s freaking me out. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
She sits back and takes a sip of her wine. “That is weird, I have to admit.”
I watch her as I think.
“What did Alastar say?” She frowns.
I throw my hands up. “Oh, he was all high on the love drug and didn’t pay much attention. Said he is happy to have a psychic wife.”
She smiles broadly. “He’s not very conventional is he?”
I smirk. “Not in the least.”
“Can you ever imagine Liam saying that? Being so open minded.”
“Liam would have had me in a mental institution having shock treatment by now.” I sigh.
She takes out her phone and starts typing into Google.
“What are you writing?” I frown as I eat.
“Let’s just see what it says about psychics.”
I sit back in my chair. “I don’t want to be fucking psychic. I don’t want to see people’s shit. I got enough of my own shit going on over here.” I frown as I tap my temple.
“I wouldn’t mind you being psychic,” she mutters as she reads.
“Why?”
“So I could know what Mr. Masters is doing.”
I look at her, deadpan. “I can already tell you what’s going to happen. I don’t need to be psychic to see that.”
“Do tell.” She smirks as she reads.
“You are going to fuck his brains out.”
“Excellent,” she replies without looking up. “Then what.”
“He’s going to be shit in bed.”
She looks up on a frown. “I doubt that.”
I laugh out loud. “Feel ups with feet don’t count?”
She shrugs, unimpressed with my joke.
“And he will probably fall in love with you and you will break his heart.”
Her face drops and she looks up at me. “Do you really think that’s what’s going to happen?”
Her sad face makes me regret saying that out loud. “I don’t know, Brell. Just think about this. He is a widow and has kids, so he can’t move to Australia. You live with him and this is not a one-night stand where you never have to see him again. It’s complicated.”
“Says the woman who is thinking of marrying someone she doesn’t know.” She tuts. “Here.” She puts her phone on the table for us to read.
* * *
Ten signs that you are Psychic:
Spider web sensation.
Corner of Eye vision.
Dreams.
Erratic Temperatures.
Sensing Emotions.
Random thoughts.
Tricks of Light.
Heightened smell.
Who said that?
Telepathy from loved ones.
Being psychic is not a scary matter and you shouldn't feel fearful of your abilities. Treasure these tools and skills as unique gifts and try to learn more about each ability so you can use these to their full potential.
Many psychics are extremely valuable to those who have not yet discovered their own psychic abilities. People turn to psychic individuals for a variety of reasons, whether it is for guidance and support, or revealing mysteries and solving crimes. Embrace your psychic qualities as one of nature's most powerful gifts and use it to help others in a positive manner.
* * *
She starts to read them out. “Spider web sensation.” She looks up at me. “Do you feel spider webs on your face?”
I frown. “No.” I continue eating.
She continues to read through the list. “Do you see things from the corner of your eye,” she asks.
&nb
sp; I roll my eyes. “No.”
“Dreams. We all dream,” she mutters to herself with a shake of her head.
“Erratic temperatures.” She looks up. “Do you feel erratic temperatures?”
“No,” I reply as I sip my wine.
“Sensing emotions?” She raises her eyebrows.
“I am sensing you are horny as hell, if that’s anything?”
“Booya. You got that right,” she mutters as she raises her eyebrows. “Random thoughts?”
“Of course,” I mutter.
“Me, too.” She smirks. “Tricks of light?”
I frown. “Shit, I do get that flashing light sensation thing,” I whisper.
“Oh shit, you do, too,” she replies in thought. “Heightened smell?”
“Nope.”
“Who said that?” she asks.
“Nope. I don’t hear voices.”
“Telepathy from dead people?”
I frown. “No.”
She puts the phone down. “Hmm. I don’t think having one from the checklists means anything.”
I shrug. “I guess.”
She sits back and smiles broadly. “You are not psychic. Stop worrying. It was just a coincidence.”
I watch her face. “Do you really think so?” I ask hopefully.
“Yes.” She smirks. “You’re not weird enough to be psychic.”
I shrug. “Hope so. It’s not really a part of my life plan, you know.”
Brielle laughs out loud. “I think we left our life plans in Australia. Wanking my boss with my foot wasn’t on my agenda, either.”
I shake my head and begin to chuckle at the disturbing chain of events. “This is true.”
* * *
I type the last of my email before lunch and my thoughts go to Brielle. I’m not being completely honest with her and it’s really bugging me. Last night at dinner I told her I have moved in with Alastar and that he has asked me to marry him. She was shocked and appalled but did admit that she has never seen me so happy. What I didn’t tell her is that the wedding is booked for three days’ time, and that, this afternoon, after work, I am going to buy myself something to wear to it. The lift opens and I see the two detectives from the other day walk out and go to Mark’s office. Oh. I wonder what’s going on now. I sit up in my chair and crane my neck to see what they are doing. Mark opens the door to his office and invites them in then the door closes. I quickly look around and get out my phone and type into Google.
What to wear for a casual wedding?
Pictures come up with all sorts of pretty little dresses. Long straight ones, frilly ones, different colors. What color do I want to wear?
White. I want to wear white.
I smile broadly as I imagine Twinkle’s face when he sees me wearing it.
I scroll through the pictures and spot the short, cute styles. I think I want to wear a white short dress with long sleeves—a quirky, trendy, yet sexy little number. Yes. I smile to myself as my eyes flicker out the window. God knows Alastar will look trendy and gorgeous.
I will just leave my hair down and I will need to get shoes, too. What kind of shoes do I want to wear? Hmm, I search for shoes, too, and start to flick through the images of them all. My phone rings and I pick up. It’s Mark.
“Hello, Emerson.”
I smile. “Hi, Mark.”
“Can you come into my office for a minute?”
“Sure.” I reply. I put my phone into my bottom drawer and make my way to his office. The detectives stand on my arrival and shake my hand. “Hello.” I smile nervously. Gosh, police make me nervous.
“Please take a seat.”
I fall into the seat.
“There has been a development in the case.” The taller detective smiles.
“Oh, really. Good.”
“Well, it’s not good,” Mark interrupts as he watches something on the detective’s laptop. “There was another robbery last night.”
My face falls. “Oh… Oh no.” I stammer.
“But the good news is we have security footage.” The detective nods as he gestures to his computer.
My eyes widen. “Oh good.”
Mark continues to watch the footage as he sits back and swings on his chair deep in thought.
“Anyone familiar?” The detective asks him.
Mark shakes his head. “No, unfortunately not. Have a look, Emerson, and see if you see anything familiar.”
I sit forward and concentrate. He turns the computer to face me and hits play.
It’s dark and I see a man with a torch enter a large room. He’s in all black and wearing a balaclava and is shining the torch up onto the walls looking for something.
“Luckily for us there was a hidden camera up above the painting that was stolen.” The detective points to the screen as I watch.
I frown. The person’s silhouette is familiar. The way they walk. I sit forward in concentration. Shit. Do I actually know this person? I sit still with my eyes transfixed on the screen as the offender comes over to the painting under the camera and looks up at it. The eyes are shadowed and you can’t see anything. He then puts the small torch in his mouth and reaches up to take the painting from the wall and my heart stops.
On the black leather glove there is orange paint spilled on the pinky finger.
That is the same glove that I saw Alastar take last night.
Oh dear god, my heart stops.
That’s Alastar.
Chapter 24
My heart starts to hammer and I sit back in my seat guiltily.
“What do you think?” Mark asks.
“Huh?” My eyes flash to him and I frown.
“Any idea who that is?”
I look to the detectives and then to Mark in shock. I know exactly who it is. I swallow the lump in my throat as my heart starts to try and escape from my chest. No. It can’t be him. I rub my hand over my face. “No. No idea,” I lie.
Mark hits play again and I sit and re watch it. The thief enters the room and now that I know it’s Alastar, I can see it as clear as day. The way he walks, his physique. Holy fuck. I have got to get out of here. There must be a mistake.
What’s going on?
I shake my head in a confused fog. “No… I… No. I don’t know who it is,” I stammer as the clip finishes. I need to talk to him. This must be a mistake he wouldn’t do this. He isn’t a criminal… is he?
Dear God.
I smile politely. “I have a lot of work to do.” I stand. “Do you need me for anything else, Mark?” I ask.
The detectives shake their heads. “No, that’s fine. Keep us posted if you think of anything.” He smiles.
I fake a smile back at him. “Thank you.” I stand and leave the office and practically run to my desk. I open the bottom draw in a rush and take out my handbag.
“Where are you going?” Deirdre asks.
Huh. “Oh.” I try to control my panicked breathing as I look around for an excuse to leave. “Oh, um. I just threw up in the bathroom. I was really unwell last night.”
“Oh.” Deirdre screws up her face. “I hope it’s not contagious. I go on holiday on Saturday.”
Huh, funnily enough, I do, too. To a castle to marry a criminal I don’t even know.
I screw up my face. “Me, too,” I whisper as I look around in a panic for my boss.
“Don’t worry, just go. I will tell him you have gone home sick.”
I nod my head nervously. “Yes, yes. You tell him. Thank you.” I start to throw my things in my drawer in double quick time.
“Stay home tomorrow, too. I don’t want to get it,” she replies flatly.
“Sure thing,” I breathe as I stand with my bag over my shoulder. Can anyone tell how panicked I am? Fuck. I leave the office and run to the curb, holding my hand in the air. “Taxi!” I call.
Seemingly one second later I am pulled from my disturbing thoughts by the car coming to a halt.
“Here we are.” The cab driver smiles from his position in the
front seat.
I scramble through my handbag for my purse to pay him and tentatively get out of the car. He drives off and I stand and look at the opulent house in front of me. He didn’t do this.
He’s honest.
He loves me.
He wouldn’t do this.
I rattle around in my bag for my keys to the house, and a strange thought crosses my mind. This is the first time I have ever had to use them. Alastar picks me up and brings me home every single time. His car isn’t out the front, but then it may be in the garage. I open the front door and walk into the house. It’s just after midday. He’s not expecting me for hours. I can hear music on upstairs in his office and I know he’s home. I look all around and I notice the door down to the cellar is open. I walk over and peer down the darkened staircase. I look around the room and then back to the stairs leading down into the basement. I want to know what’s down here.
I hear a creak from above me. Alastar is definitely upstairs.
Shit, what do I do?
If I don’t see what’s down there now, I may never know.
I take the first step down and stop on the step. Do I really want to know? My heart is beating so damn fast, I can hardly breath, but I slowly tip toe down the steps and into the basement. It’s dark and there are a lot of boxes. My breathing is making a funny sound. It’s as if it’s soundproofed or something. I look around in a panic. Over to the far left, a pendant antique light is on and hanging above a long bench that runs along the wall. It’s got an industrial vibe down here. Tools and equipment are everywhere, so disorganized and different from the rest of the house. I frown in confusion. What’s going on? This is weird? I make my way over to the bench and I see it. The rolled canvas is on the workbench. I slowly unroll it and see the beautiful oil canvas before I close my eyes in pain.
It is him.
I look around behind me and I see a garbage bin with the dismantled frame. A large chest sits on the floor, and I open it to be greeted with numerous canvases rolled up. I open one and recognize it as one of the stolen artworks.
Oh my God. I put my hands over my mouth as my eyes tear up.
Oh no. Alastar, no. Please let this be a dreadful mistake. There is another chest along side the other one and when I open it, it’s filled with women’s clothing and a jewel box. Jewelry and old photographs of multiple women. Another small box sits inside it and I open it to find letters and different pieces of paper with scribbled notes on them. Whose things are these? Fear starts to speed through me. This doesn’t make sense.
