That lapse of concentration was all that Blake needed. He flung himself across the table, catapulted as if from some gigantic rubber band. He crashed into Vernon, knocking the walking stick from his hand, rolling to one side as the older man lashed out at him. Vernon managed to scramble to his feet, bolting from the room but Blake was younger and quicker and he rugby-tackled the doctor, bringing him down in the hallway. They grappled in the gloom and Vernon found that his fear gave him added strength. He gripped Blake’s wrists
and succeeded in throwing him to one side. The younger man crashed against a nearby wall but the impact seemed only to slow him up for a moment. He scrambled to his feet and set off after the older man again, following him into the kitchen this time.
Vernon tugged open a drawer, the contents spilling across the tiled floor.
Knives, forks, spoons, a ladle — all rained down around his feet with a series of high pitched clangs. He snatched up a long carving knife and brandished it before him.
Blake hesitated as he saw the vicious blade winking at him and, for what seemed like an eternity, the two men faced one another, eyes locked. Like two gladiators, they both waited for the other to move first.
‘What do you want?’ asked Vernon, the knife quivering in his grip.
The younger man didn’t answer, he merely edged forward slightly.
Til kill you, Blake, I swear to God I will,’ Vernon assured him, making a sharp stabbing movement with the blade.
Blake was undeterred. He took another step forward, something on the worktop to his right catching his eye.
It was a sugar bowl.
With lightning speed, he picked it up and hurled the contents into Vernon’s face. The tiny grains showered him, some finding their way into his eyes, and he yelped in pain, momentarily blinded by the stinging shower of particles.
Blake took his chance. Dropping to one knee, he grabbed a corkscrew and hurled himself at Vernon who somehow managed one last despairing lunge before Blake reached him.
The blade sliced through the younger man’s jacket and laid open his left forearm just above the wrist. Blood spurted from the cut and plashed on to the tiles. But Blake slammed into Vernon with the force of a pile-driver, knocking him back against the sink. He snaked one arm around the older man’s neck and held him firmly, bringing the corkscrew forward with devastating power.
The sharp point pierced Vernon’s skull at the crown and he screamed in agony as Blake twisted it, driving the curling metal prong deeper until it began to churn into the older man’s brain. White hot pain seared through him and he felt himself blacking out but, just before he did, Blake tore the corkscrew free, ripping a sizeable lump of bone with it. Greyish red brain matter welled up through the hole and Vernon fell forward on to the tiles as Blake struck again. This time driving the corkscrew into the hollow at the base of his skull, ramming hard until it erupted from Vernon’s throat. There was an explosion of crimson as blood spouted from both wounds and his body began to quiver uncontrollably as Blake tore the twisted weapon free once more He stood there for a moment, gazing down at the lifeless body before him, now surrounded by a spreading pool of red liquid. Then, almost contemptuously, he tossed the corkscrew to one side, stepped over the body and headed back towards the study.
Kelly let out a strangled cry as she sat up, the last vestiges of the nightmare still clinging to her consciousness like graveyard mist.
She closed her eyes tightly for a moment, aware that her heart was thundering against her ribs. But, gradually, she slowed her breathing, aware that the dream was fading.
Blake was sleeping peacefully beside her. Apparently he had not heard her frightened outburst. She thought about waking him, telling him what she had dreamt but she thought better of it. Kelly could hear his gentle, rhythmic breathing beside her and she looked down at his still form.
The breath caught in her throat.
There was a small dark stain on the sheet.
She prodded it with her finger and found that it was still damp. Kelly noticed that whatever the substance was, it also coloured her finger. In the darkness of the bedroom it looked black but, as she sniffed it, she caught the unmistakable odour of blood.
Blake moved slightly, turning on to his side.
Kelly pulled the sheet back further and ran her gaze over his body.
On his left forearm, just above the wrist, there was a cut.
She stood in the bedroom doorway for a full five minutes, her eyes riveted to Blake’s sleeping form then, certain that she had not disturbed him, she crept downstairs to the sitting room.
Kelly did not turn on the light, not even one of the table lamps. She found the phone and selected the appropriate number, waiting for the receiver to be picked up, hoping that she had remembered Dr Vernon’s number correctly.
She didn’t have to wait long for an answer.
‘Yes.’ The voice sounded harsh and she realized that it wasn’t the doctor.
‘Can I speak to Dr Vernon, please?’ she whispered, casting a furtive glance towards the door behind her.
‘Who is this?’ the voice asked.
Tm a friend of his,’ she persisted. ‘Could I speak to him please?’
‘That isn’t possible. Dr Vernon was murdered earlier tonight.’
Kelly hung up, banging the phone down with a little too much force. She wondered if Blake had heard her but the thought swiftly vanished. There was no sound of movement from upstairs. She stood alone in the dark sitting room, perspiration forming droplets on her face and forehead.
Vernon murdered.
She sat down on the edge of the sofa, her head cradled in her hands, still not fully comprehending what she had heard.
She thought of the blood on the sheet. Of her nightmare. The cut on Blake’s wrist.
And of what she had read earlier in the day; ‘An injury sustained in the Astral state will manifest itself on the host body.’
Kelly suddenly felt more frightened than she could ever remember.
Kelly brought the Mini to a halt and sat behind the wheel for a moment, scanning the area in front of Dr Vernon’s house. In addition to the doctor’s Audi, there was a dark brown Sierra in the driveway and, by the kerbside itself, a Granada. She could see two men seated in that particular, car. One was eating a sandwich while the other, the driver, was busy cleaning his ears out with one index finger. Both men wore suits despite the warmth of the early morning sunshine.
She wound down the window a little further, allowing what little breeze there was to circulate inside the car. She was perspiring, but not all of it was due to the heat of the day.
The drive from London had taken over two hours. She’d told Blake that she wanted to pick up some more clothes from her flat. He’d seen her off like the dutiful lover he’d become, then retired to his workroom for the day. She had not mentioned anything to him about either her nightmare or the phone call to Vernon’s house. She had not slept much the previous night, not after returning to bed. What was more, she’d been mildly disturbed to find that the bloodstains on the sheet had all but disappeared and, that morning, Blake’s wrist appeared to be uninjured but for a minute red mark which looked like little more than a cat-scratch.
Now Kelly sat in the car staring across the road at the Granada and the house beyond it, realizing that, sooner or later she was going to be forced to make her move. Her palms felt sticky as she reached for the door handle and eased herself out of the Mini. She sucked in a deep breath then headed across the road towards the driveway.
She was a foot or two beyond the Granada when a voice called her back and she turned to see one of the men getting out, his cheeks bulging, hamster-like, with the last remnants
of his sandwich.
‘Excuse me, Miss,’ he said, trying hurriedly to swallow what he was chewing.
Kelly turned to face him, noticing as she did that he was reaching inside his jacket. He produced a slim leather wallet and flipped it open to reveal an ID
