Nicky, wild and free.
As inmates at Danfield, they had spun outlandish dreams of running away together the moment they were out. Nicky had gone home first. Two months later, she was dead. Blood swirling in the bathtub, her wrists sliced to ribbons. Erin’s unrelenting grief from her failure to save her friend had carved a hollow space in her chest. She looked at the photo for another minute, before turning off the light.
Padding through the flat in her socks, she checked once more that the curtains were closed and switched on the radio to a classical station, before pouring a generous slug of brandy into a glass. With two candles flickering on the table, the stage was set for romance. But Erin was alone, and no one was coming.
Me, myself, and I. Just the three of us. A silly joke amongst shrinks with a certain type of humour.
‘We’re fine, thanks. How are you?’ She spoke the words aloud, wondering if the shroud of madness, ever threatening, was preparing to descend.
A light flicked on in the flat across the alley. The tenant returning home. His shadow crossed the window, and she ducked from view. Was he watching her, watching him? From her crouch on the floor, she waited to catch a glimpse of her mystery neighbour, but there was nothing to see but shadows. The light snapped off, the blind was drawn.
Flakes of snow drifted through the narrow opening to the sky. Tomorrow was the first day of spring, though there was little sign of winter’s end. To celebrate, she planned to get up early and drive over to the old community centre by the river. A former hotel in its glory days, and later a care home, it was now largely abandoned, except for the rooms on the ground floor that catered to AA meetings and church socials. But the gem of the place, and Erin’s greatest find in the city, was the Art Deco swimming pool in the basement.
Built in the 1920s, the pool had the feel of a subterranean grotto. Glazed tiles of turquoise and pink, a midnight-blue ceiling studded with fairy lights. The caretaker, an old man with a limp from a long-ago gunshot wound, allowed Erin to use the pool for free. Gliding through the warm water under the celestial lights, alone with her thoughts, was the closest she’d ever come to paradise on earth. Having learned to swim late in life, she’d taken to it like the proverbial fish to water.
In her bathroom, she slipped off her clothes and into the tub, sinking down until the water reached her neck. Reflexively, her fingers sought the scar on her chest and traced its length from collarbone to sternum. So much blood was lost, she’d nearly died. A warning carved in her skin by a dangerously mad girl who wanted her dead. No one gets out alive. It was impossible to put Danfield behind her. Not when she’d been marked for life.
Eyes closed, she sipped the brandy and tried to calm the anxious beat of her pulse. But tonight, the bath and brandy weren’t working their magic. The house was still and no sounds came from the street or her neighbours below. As her breathing slowed, her fevered mind loosened its grip on her churning thoughts and slid into the cool waters of a placid lake. So still, she almost missed it. A shift in the atmosphere. Subtle as dust motes on a current of air.
At the sound of a creak on the stairs, her eyes snapped open. She held her breath and listened. Definitely a creak. Could someone have gotten in? Did she forget to lock the door?
A scrape was followed by a thud. Rigid with terror, she could scarcely move. Trapped in the bathroom, the window was too small and high off the ground to escape through. Knees shaking, she scrambled out of the water and into her robe. With her ear pressed to the door, she strained to listen, until the beat of blood in her ears mirrored the sound of footsteps. Breathe in, breathe out. Cowering in the bathroom like a trapped rabbit was not a viable option. She eased open the door and sprinted to the fireplace to grab the iron poker. It was the only decent weapon in the house. No knives, no scissors. Never anything sharp.
She scurried to the entry hall, snapping on lights as she went. At the front door, she pressed her ear against the heavy oak, her heart loud as a drumbeat. Above her head, a scrabbling sound made her jump. It took a moment for her brain to process what it was. A high-pitched squeak and chatter, followed by a thump.
Squirrels. Her knees buckled, and she slid down the wall. No one was there. Just harmless creatures in the crawl space, seeking shelter from the cold. She closed her eyes and hugged her knees. Would she always be this frightened? Too wired and alert to every creak and rustle, she’d never sleep now.
She pulled the plug in the bathtub and watched the water drain away. In the bedroom, she pulled on a tracksuit and a pair of old plimsolls. Using cushions and a blanket from the sofa, she made a nest in the front hall and settled down with a book and a flashlight, the iron poker by her side. With her nerves a mess and her knees like jelly, it was the safest place to wait for dawn.
*
Hunched behind his desk, Niels looked up from a stack of patient records, his face washed out with fatigue. Dark smudges had appeared under his eyes. Apparently, he hadn’t slept last night either. He pointed to the coffees in Erin’s hands. ‘Is one of those for me?’
She handed him the cup with milk and two sugars and raised the other to her lips.
He rubbed his eyes. ‘We had two transfers late yesterday. I don’t think I got more than a couple
