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‘That’s not what I meant, Rick. What I meant to ask was…Is there something developing there?’
‘I currently have a number of properties in development. Several in London, some in Manchester, and a number in—’
‘That…that wasn’t what I’m talking about either.’ Her hands sped up even more, starting to embroider a….tentacle? Or was it spaghetti? I was not entirely certain. ‘I’m talking about you and Miss Linton.’
Miss Linton. Miss Linton, who was currently sitting upstairs, guarded only by a maid. A strange, cold feeling started to trickle down my spine. Not just any cold trickle—a cold trickle that bothered me. That was new.
I shifted.
Get a hold of yourself. She is perfectly safe. Feelings, whether yours or other people’s, are not relevant in the matter.
‘Rick!’ Abruptly turning to fully face me, my mother gazed up at me. She was wringing her hands, and with them the four-winged, tentacle-armed, spaghetti-wielding birds. Pity. It had been the only mildly interesting piece of embroidery I had ever seen. ‘I…know we’re not particularly close, son. But…I’m your mother. I care about you. And this tendency of yours to shut yourself off from people who care for you, to be as cold and distant as an icy mountain…. Please, try to overcome it for my sake. Whenever I try to open up to you, you turn away and—’
From above, through the ceiling, I heard a sudden thud. My head whipped around.
‘Yes,’ Adaira commented from behind. ‘Just like that.’
I didn’t listen. My ears, my eyes, my entire being was centred on the ceiling. Had I just imagined it?
‘Rikkard?’ Someone took hold of my sleeve. My mother? Sister? The underfootman? The doorknob? Irrelevant! The question right now was: what had that noise been? ‘This is just what I’m talking about! You need some warmth in your life, some emotion. There’s a lovely girl upstairs, who I’m sure would be delighted to spend some time with you. It’s Christmas, the time of love and companionship! This is no time to be rushing off to your next business meeting or some dusty documents that—’
Another thump came from upstairs, this time unmistakable.
‘Excuse me,’ I bit out, and tore my sleeve free of her grip. ‘I have some documents to attend to!’
In three steps, I was at the door. Pushing it open, I rushed out into the corridor.
‘Rick! Where are you going? You can’t run away from things forever!’
If only that was what I was doing. But I wasn’t running away. I was running towards something. Towards the only thing that mattered—besides my safe combination.
‘Karim!’ My command cut through the air like a whip. Moments later, a door somewhere in the distance crashed open, and thunderous footsteps approached. Moments later, a familiar mountainous figure appeared beside me. Never had I been so glad to see him. Or glad to see anyone. Or just glad, for that matter. I was glad. And scared. I was exhibiting emotions. What in Mammon’s name was going on?
‘Upstairs!’ I bit out, taking the first three steps with a leap.
‘The Sahiba?’
‘Yes!’
More words weren’t necessary.
We reached the upstairs landing in three point five seven seconds. Tearing down the corridor, I reached into my pocket for my revolver.
It won’t be necessary. She’ll be fine. She’ll be fine. She must be fine!
If I gave the universe a firm enough order, it had to obey. It had to!
Or at least that’s what I kept telling myself until the smell hit my nose. Leaping forward, I kicked open the door—
Only to find an empty room, filled only by the lingering odour of chloroform.
After Her
Moving fast.
I had always had been moving fast. It was what I was best at. I went on and on and on, no matter if other people or some unfortunate mountain stood in my way. Yet never in my entire life had I moved faster than right in this second. Never had I moved faster than when I ran to her chair.
Her empty chair.
