SEVENTEEN
S E V E N T E E N
Kate screamed loudly enough to wake the dead - or in this case Scott Jackson who had been fighting a losing battle against restlessness for most of the night on his lounge settee.
He grabbed the nearest weapon, a glass from the coffee table, and rushed into the bedroom expecting to find a deranged killer, Gardner or otherwise, waiting for him.
Instead he just found a frightened girl, writhing around somewhat frantically in his bed.
Breathing a huge sigh of relief he put down his improvised armoury, turned on the main light and sat on the side of the mattress to lean over her.
Checking that she was decent beneath those covers (she was because she was wearing a set of pyjamas she had brought along with countless other things hurried into two bags and a suitcase, when he had taken her on the eight-mile journey to her home the previous afternoon) and making sure his own boxer-shorts weren’t revealing anything they shouldn’t, he gently shook her.
“Kate. Kate. Are you okay?” he whispered, strangely feeling a need to be quiet due to lateness of the hour, even though he was in his own flat. She relaxed her convulsions and opened her terrified eyes.
“You’ve been having a nightmare,” he said stating the obvious. “It’s alright now though. Welcome to reality where you’re safe here with me.”
She looked up at him, her dazed expression beginning to show signs of registering his words and concern.
“Scott,” she whispered without sitting up, “please hold me.”
The words took him unaware. For a moment he was at a loss what to do. Suddenly he had the opportunity to hold her, touch her, feel her held close to him. He wanted that more than anything in the world but it was because of the strength of this feeling of protection towards her that he was a little overwhelmed and hesitant.
He’d known this girl just over a day and certainly not in the most ideal of circumstances. He couldn’t help but feel that it would be wrong to capitalise on her vulnerability and to satisfy any personal feelings he may have of attraction towards her.
She pulled back the quilt a little to allow him to get underneath it with her.
“Please Scott,” she insisted.
The sight was too inviting to ignore and he found himself sliding in. He felt like he was doing the right thing but his logic seemed to suggest otherwise.
To hell with logic, he thought, surrendering to his emotions. It would have been far more illogical to leave her there in that state anyway!
She had already wrapped herself around him before he could push an arm around the back of her. She placed her head against his chest and although he didn’t want to, he couldn’t help but feel all his Christmas’s had come at once. He just wanted to hold her like that for eternity. It felt so good; too damn good!
A slight shuddering against him combined with the sounds of exaggerated breaths told him that she had begun to cry.
He gently ran his fingers through her hair, taking great care not to pinch, pull or get them caught in a knot. He carefully massaged every strand in an effort to project some comfort, protection, some signal to this girl that everything was going to be alright. She would never be hurt as long as she was in his loving embrace. Loving? No, that was too strong a word. Try protective or secure.
A delicate squeeze with his other arm reinforced his thoughts.
Again he started questioning why he should feel this way. He had not exactly lived the life of a monk and to cuddle a woman in the midst of night was far from a new experience. Each time he had enjoyed it (just as he’d enjoyed the sex that normally accompanied such expressions of affection) but somehow this seemed different. Why did he genuinely feel like he would die before he would allow anyone or anything to get through him and harm her? Again, he forced himself to dissolve such self-analysis. Reason had no place in moments like this. Feelings just had to be accepted. Feel and live the moment Scott, he thought.
He had to admit that while he felt deep sympathy for his female companion, he personally felt good; good that she could call on him to comfort her; good that despite hardly knowing him she trusted him to be with her; good that she was there in his arms at that moment.
She had stopped her shaking now and he could feel her warm breath against his chest. He also felt the bulge embarrassingly appear beneath his boxers. Without letting go of her, he turned himself slightly, transferring his weight to his side, in the hope that she would not feel the growing erection press against her, of which he was becoming quite ashamed.
He was content to hold her, reassure her. His carnal instincts were getting other ideas, ideas that he would control; his conscience deeming it completely inappropriate to even suggest sexual encounters when Kate was in such an emotional state.
He could not help but think however, that if he was to try and fondle her and pet her, his advances would not be rejected. Was that wishful thinking, or pure bloody arrogance? Or was there really something in the way she clung so tightly to him?
As if to read his mind and do the opposite, she softly pushed away and released her grip. He did the same, angry with himself and embarrassed - wondering if she had detected his arousal.
Whether she really had or hadn’t, he couldn’t tell (and wasn’t going to ask!) as she abruptly sat up, propping her back against the headboard. He followed suit propping himself up along side her, making sure that the duvet still covered his lower half until he could be satisfied that his manhood had settled back down.
She gave him one of the warmest smiles he thought he had ever seen.
“Thanks. I needed that,” she said with moist eyes.
“No problem.” He smiled back trying to disguise the foolishness he felt. She had just wanted a hug from him, nothing more. It had been a simple act of friendship.
She had noticed his smile was a little forced and intuitively guessed the reason why. She was thoughtful for a moment which then produced a decision to whisper in his ear.
“Just because we’re sat up doesn’t mean you can stop playing with my hair,” she teased.
“Yes ma’am,” came the reply in a pathetic attempt at an American accent.
Scott even managed a mock salute before placing a hand gently round her face. He used his thumb to brush dry the dampness beneath her eyes.
“You know Kate, you really are very beautiful.” The words just came out! His thoughts had literally voiced themselves without his brain’s permission.
She smiled and looked down, avoiding his gaze. He withdrew his hands.
“Sorry,” he said rather weakly. He felt a right idiot! She looked back at him with the kind of look a puppy gives out when you’ve caught it chewing your carpet.
“Don’t be.” She took hold of his arms and squeezed them tightly. So tightly in fact, already bruised, they began to hurt. This was, however, one minor discomfort he was more than prepared to tolerate.
She pulled him towards a second embrace but this time her face remained level with his. Scott would have, at that point, said something, but she placed a finger over his mouth. With eyes that he could happily fall into, he felt her lips meet with his.
The kiss lasted ten minutes, complemented by actions such as stroking hair and running hands along backs. Surprisingly, neither person allowed themselves to get carried away with the passion. Indeed the kiss was more a gentle action than a passionate one, more sensual than wild.
Scott had honestly hardly ever kissed this way and although passion could be a strong voice to silence, it was to his own astonishment that he found he liked it.
When they finally withdrew, they were both beaming all over the place like floodlights on a football pitch. For a few crucial seconds that seemed to last longer than they should, neither person spoke; both unsure of what should be said, if anything at all.
It was Kate who broke the ice, although her conversation couldn’t have been further from the moment.
“You couldn’t make me a cuppa could you?” she asked, once again deviously using her eyes in a manner of such vulnerability to increase the chances of things going her way.
Scott laughed.
“I bet you say that to all the fellas. Such incurable romanticism!”
“Well I’m thirsty,” she protested, playfully hitting him with the side of her pillow.
“Women!” Scott grumbled as he climbed from the bed, relieved that his proud warrior had returned to an ‘at ease’ condition.
The pillow hit the wall near the doorway as he was stepping out.
“Couldn’t hit the sea from a dinghy could you?” he mocked, before disappearing off to the kitchen.
Kate just laughed as she summoned the effort to retrieve the projected item.
In the kitchen, Scott filled up the kettle. It was not a task he relished - it reminded him of work - the sad fact was he never really drank the stuff himself. He didn’t particularly dislike tea - it was just that he could never be bothered to hang around long enough for it to cool down to a tolerable, drinkable temperature. Life was too short to have to wait to consume things he had often argued, purely to justify the fact that he was, by nature, impatient.
Still, he always kept tea in for guests, which was just as well considering the usual British obsession with this particular herb.
As the kettle boiled he decided to break the habit of a lifetime and make one for himself too. Right now, the need to be sociable was absolute!
Before long he was carrying a tray into his bedroom, containing two mini pots of tea (they had been gifts for a past birthday!), two cups, a container of milk, some teaspoons and some sugar.
He took a good look at the smiling female who was looking very inviting in her purple pyjamas, awake and sat upright on the bed. He placed the tray on a little table to her side, ignoring her remark about high standards of room service.
“So how’s your mother?” he asked as he stirred in some sugar. “I didn’t really get a chance to ask you at the police station yesterday, and when we got back here you went straight to bed.”
“Sorry about that. I was pretty exhausted.”
“That’s okay, it didn’t take me long to nod off either I can assure you. So how is she?”
“She’s okay. She was a little dazed but conscious yesterday afternoon. The doctors say that they don’t take any chances with head injuries and while they’ve stitched up the gash in her crown, they still want to keep her there a few days under observation to make sure it heals properly. But if all is well she should be out by Boxing Day.” Her expression turned serious. “Are you sure you don’t mind me imposing on you until then? It’s just that I can’t go home. Not...”
“Don’t be daft,” he scorned. “Besides, after the way you kiss do you think I’m gonna let you go that easy?”
She actually turned a little red. He grinned triumphantly. So she could feel self-conscious too?
“How was work?” she asked, changing the subject rapidly.
“Well I’ve still got some, that’s the main thing. That reminds me, I don’t suppose you fancy coming in with me tomorrow…,” he glanced at the alarm clock, “later today,” he corrected, “so you can help me and Carol piece together the story?”
“Carol?” Was that jealousy he detected or curiosity?
“My senior.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m still just a humble trainee at the moment.”
“Humble?”
Scott knew sarcasm when he heard it.
“Not that humble,” he grinned.
She grinned back.
“I’m just teasing. I’d love to. I’ve never been in a newspaper office before, it’ll be quite exciting.”
“Don’t count on it. It’s Monmouthshire Gazette remember, not The Times.”
“Either way.”
“Kate.”
Her name was said in a manner that suggested a very deep and meaningful question was about to follow.
“Yes,” she replied, a little cautiously; caught off-guard by the sudden change of tact.
“Why were you crying just now? Was it the nightmare?”
“Yes and...no.” She could see the concern in his eyes and she found she liked it. “I mean it wasn’t just the one nightmare, it’s the fact I keep getting them you know? And now I know that they mean something, that they’re more than mere dreams, that I’m somehow sharing a very sick and twisted mind, it makes it all the more frightening.” She turned her head as if to face someone else. “I’m beginning to think this gift, as my mother calls it, is a curse.”
He placed an arm around her shoulder.
“Hey, c’mon don’t get all upset again. You yourself said to me yesterday, that through your faith you’ll be able to control it one day and then think of the good you could achieve.”
“By being able to see inside sick heads?”
“By being able to help police catch these whackos. Gardner will be caught thanks to you and people will be safe again.”
She looked back at him as if he had just told her the cure for cancer and it had been obvious all along.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s just when you mentioned Gardner I had a flash then, a memory of some kind, something to do with the nightmare I just had.”
“Well that’s hardly surprising, you’ve probably been in his mind again.” Scott was amazing himself at how much his statements were indicating that he actually believed in her claims of psychic ability.
“I suppose so.” She was clearly unconvinced. Something was playing on her mind, something lurking in the shadows, refusing to come out properly and reveal itself.
“I take it you can’t remember this nightmare then?”
“No, it’s really weird. Sometimes, when I’m witnessing something through his eyes, I can wake up and remember the terrible images quite clearly, but sometimes all I get is a barrage of emotions and images all thrown confusingly together.”
“Well I’m no expert but I think you should concentrate on trying to remember what you’ve dreamt. It might tell us where Gardner is and could lead the authorities to him.”
She shook her head.
“It doesn’t work like that. It comes to me when it wants to and usually when I least want it to.” Her eyes were looking pained again.
He stroked some hair back from her face.
“It can’t be easy. But don’t worry, I won’t let him hurt you.”
His words and gestures had already begun to brighten her up.
“Well you did a pretty good job the first time.”
Now he was avoiding her eyes and feeling bashful.
“Thanks,” he said.
Scott thought about the events of the previous night, it seemed such a very long time ago. He hadn’t even laid eyes on Kate Hedges before then, and now he was sat there in his bedroom, comforting, kissing and having deep and meaningful conversations with her.
He was glad she hadn’t turned out to be the child-like, disturbed creature that she had appeared to be when he’d first introduced himself. She had no recollection of any of this and he dared say she wouldn’t recognise Anne, the landlady of The Angel, if she jumped out and bit her.
Then he remembered the crash again, and the mystery surrounding it.
“Do you have any other strange abilities?” he asked.
“Play your cards right and you might find a few,” she said with a sultry look on her face.
“No seriously.”
“I am being serious,” she smiled. His stern look told her that he wasn’t going to give up on the subject.
“None that I know of. Don’t you think telepathy’s enough?”
“I don’t mean it like that. It’s just...” Should he tell her about the car? He decided not to; she might think he was crazy or jumping to conclusions, or worse, it may upset her. He decided it was best to test the water a little more first. “Do any witches possess telekinetic ability?”
“Witches now is it? I told you, I don’t think my faith has much to do with it. Some people are just born with different abilities whether they’re a Pagan, Christian, Hindu, Muslim or Jew.”
“You missed out Jedi?” he said attempting to lighten her tone. She seemed a little ratty all of a sudden and he preferred her humorous side.
“That too,” she added, trying to suppress any amusement with her anger.
“What did I say?”
“I’m just a little sick of the broomstick jokes?”
Scott looked like he was about to be hit by a brick.
“What are you on about? Who mentioned broomsticks?”
“You didn’t mention it, but you implied it. I know what telekinesis means; moving objects without direct physical influence, objects like broomsticks. I know what you’re getting at. I’ve heard it all before when so many so-called comedians at college have found out about my beliefs.” She was getting angrier by the second. She had already pushed him away.
Scott realised if he was to get anywhere he’d have to go on the defensive.
“Now hold it right there,” he said sternly. “I don’t know what bee just got into your bonnet but for goodness sake let it go. I wasn’t taking the piss out of your religion. Quite the opposite in fact, I find the whole subject of paganism fascinating. I’m not one of those ignoramus’s who think you’re a bunch of bloody devil worshippers who go around performing black magic, holding orgies, drinking goat’s blood and sacrificing babies and the like.”
She was about to interrupt but he wouldn’t let her.
“And frankly I’m offended that you should take me for such a bigot. Now I asked you a perfectly innocent question for perfectly innocent reasons, and no bloody mention anywhere of these broomsticks you seem so obsessed with, but if you think I’m having some kind of dig at you then fine, there’s not a lot I can do about it is there? But I’m buggered if I’m gonna just sit here and take it.”
She reclaimed one of his hands, in an attempt to diffuse his anger.
“I’m sorry,” she conceded. “I guess with everything that’s been going on I’m a bit touchy about my faith right now.”
“That’s okay,” he replied perfectly calmly, betraying the fact that he had just pretended to get all worked up, in order to snap her out of it. It had worked!
“To answer your question, you fraud,” she smiled realising how easily he’d manipulated her. “Spells, as I mentioned before, are generally more spiritual and as far as I know there are little or none that involve telekinesis.” She chose not to mention what had happened to various items of furniture at her home a few days previous. “I know that I would love to be able to do stuff like that - it would be better than these bloody visions - but I also know that I can’t.”
Scott decided not to press any further. Maybe it had been his imagination. In truth, he suddenly felt a little foolish. She pulled him back towards her, indicating that she fancied another cuddle. He obliged.
“I’m not normally that touchy you know. I’m sorry about earlier. But if you’re that interested,” she continued, “I’ve brought some books with me you can read if you like. I mean if you’re really that interested?”
Scott could tell straight away that this was an attempt to convert him. He didn’t know why he felt so flattered. It wasn’t as if she was about to let him in on some ancient family secret. He was about as likely to become a Pagan as he was to become a Buddhist but like many agnostics he was more than open to persuasion, especially from one who felt so warm in his arms.
“Thanks, I will,” he replied, putting down his emptied mug. She released him from her grip and gazed firmly and assertively into his eyes.
“I suppose we’d better get some sleep,” she said.
“I suppose so.”
“Don’t go.”
Those words filled him with delight.
He walked across to a switch, turned off the light and crawled back into bed with her. She pulled her body against his, and his groin began to stir once more. Sod trying to hide it, he thought. She wasn’t crying this time.
The compromising morale code became an irrelevance as within minutes she was fast asleep once more.
Mildly disappointed but a little relieved at the same time, he tried not to dwell on how good he was feeling in the hope he could fall back into the peaceful abyss. It wasn’t easy with her encased within his arms but one thing was for sure, it was a bloody sight comfier than the settee!
Kate screamed loudly enough to wake the dead - or in this case Scott Jackson who had been fighting a losing battle against restlessness for most of the night on his lounge settee.
He grabbed the nearest weapon, a glass from the coffee table, and rushed into the bedroom expecting to find a deranged killer, Gardner or otherwise, waiting for him.
Instead he just found a frightened girl, writhing around somewhat frantically in his bed.
Breathing a huge sigh of relief he put down his improvised armoury, turned on the main light and sat on the side of the mattress to lean over her.
Checking that she was decent beneath those covers (she was because she was wearing a set of pyjamas she had brought along with countless other things hurried into two bags and a suitcase, when he had taken her on the eight-mile journey to her home the previous afternoon) and making sure his own boxer-shorts weren’t revealing anything they shouldn’t, he gently shook her.
“Kate. Kate. Are you okay?” he whispered, strangely feeling a need to be quiet due to lateness of the hour, even though he was in his own flat. She relaxed her convulsions and opened her terrified eyes.
“You’ve been having a nightmare,” he said stating the obvious. “It’s alright now though. Welcome to reality where you’re safe here with me.”
She looked up at him, her dazed expression beginning to show signs of registering his words and concern.
“Scott,” she whispered without sitting up, “please hold me.”
The words took him unaware. For a moment he was at a loss what to do. Suddenly he had the opportunity to hold her, touch her, feel her held close to him. He wanted that more than anything in the world but it was because of the strength of this feeling of protection towards her that he was a little overwhelmed and hesitant.
He’d known this girl just over a day and certainly not in the most ideal of circumstances. He couldn’t help but feel that it would be wrong to capitalise on her vulnerability and to satisfy any personal feelings he may have of attraction towards her.
She pulled back the quilt a little to allow him to get underneath it with her.
“Please Scott,” she insisted.
The sight was too inviting to ignore and he found himself sliding in. He felt like he was doing the right thing but his logic seemed to suggest otherwise.
To hell with logic, he thought, surrendering to his emotions. It would have been far more illogical to leave her there in that state anyway!
She had already wrapped herself around him before he could push an arm around the back of her. She placed her head against his chest and although he didn’t want to, he couldn’t help but feel all his Christmas’s had come at once. He just wanted to hold her like that for eternity. It felt so good; too damn good!
A slight shuddering against him combined with the sounds of exaggerated breaths told him that she had begun to cry.
He gently ran his fingers through her hair, taking great care not to pinch, pull or get them caught in a knot. He carefully massaged every strand in an effort to project some comfort, protection, some signal to this girl that everything was going to be alright. She would never be hurt as long as she was in his loving embrace. Loving? No, that was too strong a word. Try protective or secure.
A delicate squeeze with his other arm reinforced his thoughts.
Again he started questioning why he should feel this way. He had not exactly lived the life of a monk and to cuddle a woman in the midst of night was far from a new experience. Each time he had enjoyed it (just as he’d enjoyed the sex that normally accompanied such expressions of affection) but somehow this seemed different. Why did he genuinely feel like he would die before he would allow anyone or anything to get through him and harm her? Again, he forced himself to dissolve such self-analysis. Reason had no place in moments like this. Feelings just had to be accepted. Feel and live the moment Scott, he thought.
He had to admit that while he felt deep sympathy for his female companion, he personally felt good; good that she could call on him to comfort her; good that despite hardly knowing him she trusted him to be with her; good that she was there in his arms at that moment.
She had stopped her shaking now and he could feel her warm breath against his chest. He also felt the bulge embarrassingly appear beneath his boxers. Without letting go of her, he turned himself slightly, transferring his weight to his side, in the hope that she would not feel the growing erection press against her, of which he was becoming quite ashamed.
He was content to hold her, reassure her. His carnal instincts were getting other ideas, ideas that he would control; his conscience deeming it completely inappropriate to even suggest sexual encounters when Kate was in such an emotional state.
He could not help but think however, that if he was to try and fondle her and pet her, his advances would not be rejected. Was that wishful thinking, or pure bloody arrogance? Or was there really something in the way she clung so tightly to him?
As if to read his mind and do the opposite, she softly pushed away and released her grip. He did the same, angry with himself and embarrassed - wondering if she had detected his arousal.
Whether she really had or hadn’t, he couldn’t tell (and wasn’t going to ask!) as she abruptly sat up, propping her back against the headboard. He followed suit propping himself up along side her, making sure that the duvet still covered his lower half until he could be satisfied that his manhood had settled back down.
She gave him one of the warmest smiles he thought he had ever seen.
“Thanks. I needed that,” she said with moist eyes.
“No problem.” He smiled back trying to disguise the foolishness he felt. She had just wanted a hug from him, nothing more. It had been a simple act of friendship.
She had noticed his smile was a little forced and intuitively guessed the reason why. She was thoughtful for a moment which then produced a decision to whisper in his ear.
“Just because we’re sat up doesn’t mean you can stop playing with my hair,” she teased.
“Yes ma’am,” came the reply in a pathetic attempt at an American accent.
Scott even managed a mock salute before placing a hand gently round her face. He used his thumb to brush dry the dampness beneath her eyes.
“You know Kate, you really are very beautiful.” The words just came out! His thoughts had literally voiced themselves without his brain’s permission.
She smiled and looked down, avoiding his gaze. He withdrew his hands.
“Sorry,” he said rather weakly. He felt a right idiot! She looked back at him with the kind of look a puppy gives out when you’ve caught it chewing your carpet.
“Don’t be.” She took hold of his arms and squeezed them tightly. So tightly in fact, already bruised, they began to hurt. This was, however, one minor discomfort he was more than prepared to tolerate.
She pulled him towards a second embrace but this time her face remained level with his. Scott would have, at that point, said something, but she placed a finger over his mouth. With eyes that he could happily fall into, he felt her lips meet with his.
The kiss lasted ten minutes, complemented by actions such as stroking hair and running hands along backs. Surprisingly, neither person allowed themselves to get carried away with the passion. Indeed the kiss was more a gentle action than a passionate one, more sensual than wild.
Scott had honestly hardly ever kissed this way and although passion could be a strong voice to silence, it was to his own astonishment that he found he liked it.
When they finally withdrew, they were both beaming all over the place like floodlights on a football pitch. For a few crucial seconds that seemed to last longer than they should, neither person spoke; both unsure of what should be said, if anything at all.
It was Kate who broke the ice, although her conversation couldn’t have been further from the moment.
“You couldn’t make me a cuppa could you?” she asked, once again deviously using her eyes in a manner of such vulnerability to increase the chances of things going her way.
Scott laughed.
“I bet you say that to all the fellas. Such incurable romanticism!”
“Well I’m thirsty,” she protested, playfully hitting him with the side of her pillow.
“Women!” Scott grumbled as he climbed from the bed, relieved that his proud warrior had returned to an ‘at ease’ condition.
The pillow hit the wall near the doorway as he was stepping out.
“Couldn’t hit the sea from a dinghy could you?” he mocked, before disappearing off to the kitchen.
Kate just laughed as she summoned the effort to retrieve the projected item.
In the kitchen, Scott filled up the kettle. It was not a task he relished - it reminded him of work - the sad fact was he never really drank the stuff himself. He didn’t particularly dislike tea - it was just that he could never be bothered to hang around long enough for it to cool down to a tolerable, drinkable temperature. Life was too short to have to wait to consume things he had often argued, purely to justify the fact that he was, by nature, impatient.
Still, he always kept tea in for guests, which was just as well considering the usual British obsession with this particular herb.
As the kettle boiled he decided to break the habit of a lifetime and make one for himself too. Right now, the need to be sociable was absolute!
Before long he was carrying a tray into his bedroom, containing two mini pots of tea (they had been gifts for a past birthday!), two cups, a container of milk, some teaspoons and some sugar.
He took a good look at the smiling female who was looking very inviting in her purple pyjamas, awake and sat upright on the bed. He placed the tray on a little table to her side, ignoring her remark about high standards of room service.
“So how’s your mother?” he asked as he stirred in some sugar. “I didn’t really get a chance to ask you at the police station yesterday, and when we got back here you went straight to bed.”
“Sorry about that. I was pretty exhausted.”
“That’s okay, it didn’t take me long to nod off either I can assure you. So how is she?”
“She’s okay. She was a little dazed but conscious yesterday afternoon. The doctors say that they don’t take any chances with head injuries and while they’ve stitched up the gash in her crown, they still want to keep her there a few days under observation to make sure it heals properly. But if all is well she should be out by Boxing Day.” Her expression turned serious. “Are you sure you don’t mind me imposing on you until then? It’s just that I can’t go home. Not...”
“Don’t be daft,” he scorned. “Besides, after the way you kiss do you think I’m gonna let you go that easy?”
She actually turned a little red. He grinned triumphantly. So she could feel self-conscious too?
“How was work?” she asked, changing the subject rapidly.
“Well I’ve still got some, that’s the main thing. That reminds me, I don’t suppose you fancy coming in with me tomorrow…,” he glanced at the alarm clock, “later today,” he corrected, “so you can help me and Carol piece together the story?”
“Carol?” Was that jealousy he detected or curiosity?
“My senior.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m still just a humble trainee at the moment.”
“Humble?”
Scott knew sarcasm when he heard it.
“Not that humble,” he grinned.
She grinned back.
“I’m just teasing. I’d love to. I’ve never been in a newspaper office before, it’ll be quite exciting.”
“Don’t count on it. It’s Monmouthshire Gazette remember, not The Times.”
“Either way.”
“Kate.”
Her name was said in a manner that suggested a very deep and meaningful question was about to follow.
“Yes,” she replied, a little cautiously; caught off-guard by the sudden change of tact.
“Why were you crying just now? Was it the nightmare?”
“Yes and...no.” She could see the concern in his eyes and she found she liked it. “I mean it wasn’t just the one nightmare, it’s the fact I keep getting them you know? And now I know that they mean something, that they’re more than mere dreams, that I’m somehow sharing a very sick and twisted mind, it makes it all the more frightening.” She turned her head as if to face someone else. “I’m beginning to think this gift, as my mother calls it, is a curse.”
He placed an arm around her shoulder.
“Hey, c’mon don’t get all upset again. You yourself said to me yesterday, that through your faith you’ll be able to control it one day and then think of the good you could achieve.”
“By being able to see inside sick heads?”
“By being able to help police catch these whackos. Gardner will be caught thanks to you and people will be safe again.”
She looked back at him as if he had just told her the cure for cancer and it had been obvious all along.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s just when you mentioned Gardner I had a flash then, a memory of some kind, something to do with the nightmare I just had.”
“Well that’s hardly surprising, you’ve probably been in his mind again.” Scott was amazing himself at how much his statements were indicating that he actually believed in her claims of psychic ability.
“I suppose so.” She was clearly unconvinced. Something was playing on her mind, something lurking in the shadows, refusing to come out properly and reveal itself.
“I take it you can’t remember this nightmare then?”
“No, it’s really weird. Sometimes, when I’m witnessing something through his eyes, I can wake up and remember the terrible images quite clearly, but sometimes all I get is a barrage of emotions and images all thrown confusingly together.”
“Well I’m no expert but I think you should concentrate on trying to remember what you’ve dreamt. It might tell us where Gardner is and could lead the authorities to him.”
She shook her head.
“It doesn’t work like that. It comes to me when it wants to and usually when I least want it to.” Her eyes were looking pained again.
He stroked some hair back from her face.
“It can’t be easy. But don’t worry, I won’t let him hurt you.”
His words and gestures had already begun to brighten her up.
“Well you did a pretty good job the first time.”
Now he was avoiding her eyes and feeling bashful.
“Thanks,” he said.
Scott thought about the events of the previous night, it seemed such a very long time ago. He hadn’t even laid eyes on Kate Hedges before then, and now he was sat there in his bedroom, comforting, kissing and having deep and meaningful conversations with her.
He was glad she hadn’t turned out to be the child-like, disturbed creature that she had appeared to be when he’d first introduced himself. She had no recollection of any of this and he dared say she wouldn’t recognise Anne, the landlady of The Angel, if she jumped out and bit her.
Then he remembered the crash again, and the mystery surrounding it.
“Do you have any other strange abilities?” he asked.
“Play your cards right and you might find a few,” she said with a sultry look on her face.
“No seriously.”
“I am being serious,” she smiled. His stern look told her that he wasn’t going to give up on the subject.
“None that I know of. Don’t you think telepathy’s enough?”
“I don’t mean it like that. It’s just...” Should he tell her about the car? He decided not to; she might think he was crazy or jumping to conclusions, or worse, it may upset her. He decided it was best to test the water a little more first. “Do any witches possess telekinetic ability?”
“Witches now is it? I told you, I don’t think my faith has much to do with it. Some people are just born with different abilities whether they’re a Pagan, Christian, Hindu, Muslim or Jew.”
“You missed out Jedi?” he said attempting to lighten her tone. She seemed a little ratty all of a sudden and he preferred her humorous side.
“That too,” she added, trying to suppress any amusement with her anger.
“What did I say?”
“I’m just a little sick of the broomstick jokes?”
Scott looked like he was about to be hit by a brick.
“What are you on about? Who mentioned broomsticks?”
“You didn’t mention it, but you implied it. I know what telekinesis means; moving objects without direct physical influence, objects like broomsticks. I know what you’re getting at. I’ve heard it all before when so many so-called comedians at college have found out about my beliefs.” She was getting angrier by the second. She had already pushed him away.
Scott realised if he was to get anywhere he’d have to go on the defensive.
“Now hold it right there,” he said sternly. “I don’t know what bee just got into your bonnet but for goodness sake let it go. I wasn’t taking the piss out of your religion. Quite the opposite in fact, I find the whole subject of paganism fascinating. I’m not one of those ignoramus’s who think you’re a bunch of bloody devil worshippers who go around performing black magic, holding orgies, drinking goat’s blood and sacrificing babies and the like.”
She was about to interrupt but he wouldn’t let her.
“And frankly I’m offended that you should take me for such a bigot. Now I asked you a perfectly innocent question for perfectly innocent reasons, and no bloody mention anywhere of these broomsticks you seem so obsessed with, but if you think I’m having some kind of dig at you then fine, there’s not a lot I can do about it is there? But I’m buggered if I’m gonna just sit here and take it.”
She reclaimed one of his hands, in an attempt to diffuse his anger.
“I’m sorry,” she conceded. “I guess with everything that’s been going on I’m a bit touchy about my faith right now.”
“That’s okay,” he replied perfectly calmly, betraying the fact that he had just pretended to get all worked up, in order to snap her out of it. It had worked!
“To answer your question, you fraud,” she smiled realising how easily he’d manipulated her. “Spells, as I mentioned before, are generally more spiritual and as far as I know there are little or none that involve telekinesis.” She chose not to mention what had happened to various items of furniture at her home a few days previous. “I know that I would love to be able to do stuff like that - it would be better than these bloody visions - but I also know that I can’t.”
Scott decided not to press any further. Maybe it had been his imagination. In truth, he suddenly felt a little foolish. She pulled him back towards her, indicating that she fancied another cuddle. He obliged.
“I’m not normally that touchy you know. I’m sorry about earlier. But if you’re that interested,” she continued, “I’ve brought some books with me you can read if you like. I mean if you’re really that interested?”
Scott could tell straight away that this was an attempt to convert him. He didn’t know why he felt so flattered. It wasn’t as if she was about to let him in on some ancient family secret. He was about as likely to become a Pagan as he was to become a Buddhist but like many agnostics he was more than open to persuasion, especially from one who felt so warm in his arms.
“Thanks, I will,” he replied, putting down his emptied mug. She released him from her grip and gazed firmly and assertively into his eyes.
“I suppose we’d better get some sleep,” she said.
“I suppose so.”
“Don’t go.”
Those words filled him with delight.
He walked across to a switch, turned off the light and crawled back into bed with her. She pulled her body against his, and his groin began to stir once more. Sod trying to hide it, he thought. She wasn’t crying this time.
The compromising morale code became an irrelevance as within minutes she was fast asleep once more.
Mildly disappointed but a little relieved at the same time, he tried not to dwell on how good he was feeling in the hope he could fall back into the peaceful abyss. It wasn’t easy with her encased within his arms but one thing was for sure, it was a bloody sight comfier than the settee!