Fiona said, "How did you know he had head injuries?"
This woman has Donovan's eyes. How dare she have his eyes!
"Did he die in pain?" Angie asked.
"He died in horrific agony," Fiona stated spitefully.
"If I was there I could've done something..."
"What could you have done against a pack of wild dogs?"
It even sounded preposterous coming out of her own mouth.
A pack of wild dogs. Hah!
Angie smiled ruefully. "You never know."
Fiona crossed her arms, waiting for the woman to leave. She wanted to grieve on her own terms, in the home she'd shared with her husband. Angie was just a reminder of the vile past that Donovan had tried to shake off, a past that gave him such pain she'd find him weeping about it.
He always wanted to know why his parents didn't love him.
"You hurt him more than you could ever know," said Fiona. "You treated him like he was worthless. You told him you didn't love him. You said vile, hurtful things. You should be ashamed of yourselves."
"I know it wasn't his fault," Angie admitted. "It's his blood. He couldn't help it."
Fiona was confused. "What are you talking about?"
"If I'd known he would've been born like that I would've had an abortion."
"Get the fuck out of my site. If I see you at the funeral I will kill you."
She stood up suddenly, wiping imaginary dust from her sweater. Angie looked ahead, head held up, as if she'd finished grieving.
"Herb is ordering a pizza," said Angie. Her tone was unemotional robotic. "I can't be late."
"You and your husband are vile, selfish bastards and I wish you'd died instead," Fiona stated.
Angie turned away. "Maybe if he had the right blood he might still be alive now."
The small Indian woman smiled and said, "What can I do for you?"
Fiona had opened the door of her home, packed some essentials, and left quickly. She couldn't stand to be in there all on her own, memories crowding her, forcing her to relive Donovan's gruesome death over and over. This was how she'd ended up in Chapel Green's only bed and breakfast. It was a quaint place hosted by a lovely couple called Adrian and Chanda. Fiona remembered them from school. They'd been together since they were children too.
But they're happy and I'm a widow.
"I need a room," said Fiona. She felt exposed, as if being out and about would show the world what she'd lost. "I'm not sure for how long."
"I totally understand," said Chanda. She smiled sympathetically, and Fiona groaned inwardly, expecting the platitudes. "I'm sorry about what happened. My Adrian and Donovan knew each other from the volunteer fire service."
Fiona nodded. She'd forgotten about that. It was so rare that Chapel Green needed the service it had slipped from her mind. She recalled that Chanda made a wonderful Chicken Tikka for a benefit dinner they hosted once.
"How is Adrian?" Fiona asked.
Chanda shrugged. "Same old."
Fiona smiled sadly, wishing she could say the same.
Fiona pulled the curtains back, filling the space with light. The room was cozy, charming. There was a home made quilt folded up on the bed and a rocking chair. There were prints on the wall of local landmarks such as the town hall and the harbor. It was perfect, just the place she and Donovan could spend a lazy weekend away.
She watched the sheriff's car pull up outside the bed and breakfast. Sheriff Trent got out and walked up to the door. He talked with Chanda for a while before driving away again. The woman seemed irritated. Fiona couldn't blame her. There was something false and insincere about the sheriff's voice, even when voicing concern about tragic events. It was almost as if he had little experience with human emotions and just pretending to care.
Maybe he's just seen it all and is immune to it.
Fiona walked away from the window and began to unpack. She only had clothes for three days. She didn't plan to stay any longer than that.
"Shit," she said. "I've forgotten my toothpaste."
She opened the door of her room, looking up and down the carpeted corridor. The door opposite her opened, revealing a man standing there, naked except for a light blue towel wrapped around his waist. Fiona couldn't help but stare. Adrian Green was perhaps the most attractive man she'd ever set eyes on. She even remembered Donovan jokingly saying he thought Adrian was sexy.
"Hi," she said, blushing. "Sorry."
Adrian grinned. "Fiona."
Adrian was almost six and a half foot tall, with the muscular build of a quarterback. His skin was lightly tanned, brushed with a light touch of hairs. His hair was framed with a short, dark brown beard and his eyes bore into her like she was the only woman in the world. He was beautiful.
You could grate cheese on that six pack.
"I forgot to pack my toothpaste," she said, looking away, trying not to focus on the water droplets that clung to his chest hair. "Sorry about that."
"I'll tell Chanda to bring you up some," said Adrian. "And I'm sorry about Donovan. He was a good guy."
Fiona nodded, backing away inside her room. When she closed the door she heaved a sigh of relief.
"Sorry to startle you," Adrian shouted. "I don't usually wander around like this. I just didn't think there was anyone staying here at the moment."
"Totally fine!" Fiona shouted back.
When she heard the astonishingly fine man walk away she cried.
"So the council meeting has been set for tonight?" Adrian asked.
"So Sheriff Trent informed me," said Chanda.
"Don't let him rattle you. He gets off on making people nervous."
"That man is so arrogant. He talked to me like I was your secretary or something."
"He's old and set in his ways."
"He's a bastard."
Fiona hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but she'd just found herself in that situation when she came down half an hour later to find something to drink. She had been about to announce herself when Adrian brought up the attack.
"The attack is bad," said Chanda. "It was really bad."
"I know," said Adrian. "I hope we can do something about it."
"What can you do? You may be on the town council but we all know if Sheriff Trent wants this swept under the carpet, then it will be."
"I'm not sure even he can pretend this never happened. Not this time."
"This attack puts us at risk. It puts the whole town under scrutiny. Make sure the person responsible gets what's coming to them." Chanda sighed. "You know I'm not a violent person, but this is for the best."
"I know what you mean."
Fiona almost gasped when Chanda said the word 'person.' She hadn't been imagining things or having false flashbacks. Donovan had been murdered by a human being. The sheriff knew this and he was telling everyone and their brother it had been wild dogs. It had even been reported by the local paper that it was wild dogs!
Even the preliminary findings by the coroner reports that my husband was killed by an animal.
"I had a word with the editor of the paper," said Adrian.
Fiona listened closer. She'd assumed they'd stopped talking.
"I didn't like telling him to print lies, but..." Adrian sighed. "Anyway, it's done."
"It's for the best," said Chanda.
"I know that. It's just...damn it. I don't like doing this. It makes me feel like a monster."
She gritted her teeth, anger, grief and a towering hatred fuelling her. The town council, headed by Sheriff Trent, were involved in some sort of conspiracy. She wouldn't allow them to hide the truth. She'd find out what really happened to Donovan and she would tell the whole world.
FIVE
DURING DINNER that night at the bed and breakfast Fiona noticed an anxious atmosphere between Adrian and his wife. They were obviously keen to talk about their conspiracy but were afraid to do so in front her. Her curiosity was almost at breaking point.
Tell me the truth!
She couldn't ask them, no matter
how much she wanted to. They'd just clam up. The only way she'd ever know the full truth was to be sneaky. Lucky for her she knew how to be quiet and under the radar. When she'd been in college she'd worked for a cleaning firm. A cleaner knew how to do their job by being silent and keeping out of the way. It was good training for a spy.
They had another guest for dinner, a young woman in her mid-twenties who'd arrived just before Chanda put the plates out. She was called Ronnie Campbell, a mysterious blonde who kept giving Adrian the odd glance. Fiona was quite sure she wasn't hitting on him, though she couldn't be sure. Besides, Chanda was acting odd with her too. This newcomer was obviously part of the conspiracy. But why would someone arrive from out of town just to talk about a few murders? The only thing she could think of was that the killer was connected somehow. Maybe he was rich, or had political ties? It wouldn't be the first time a politician's son had killed somebody and had it hushed up. Could the killer be related to the mayor, or Sheriff Trent himself?
She thought back to that night. She couldn't focus clearly on the crazed man's face, but she knew for a fact he was young, maybe in his late teens, early twenties. Sheriff Trent had a son that age. Could this be a massive cover-up to save the sheriff's son? That could be the reason that Chanda and Adrian were so upset over this. They didn't want to help but had no choice.
The sheriff must be threatening them.
"I'm expecting another arrival soon," said Ronnie. "Can you get a room ready?"
"I do wish you'd phoned to tell us," said Chanda crossly. "It's peak season and we might not have had a room available."
Fiona knew that was a flat out lie. Tourism in Chapel Green had dwindled in recent years. That was the reason this was the only bed and breakfast. All the others had gone out of business.
Ronnie's glare was deadly. "My Aunt Circe will be no bother."
Adrian and Chanda glanced at each other upon hearing the name. They looked surprised, almost awed. Was Circe some sort of local celebrity? Fiona had never heard of her.
"Circe?" Fiona asked, curious. "That's an unusual name."
"She's an unusual person," Ronnie told her.
Fiona thought for a moment. "Wasn't there a witch called Circe in Homer's Odyssey? She turned his men into pigs or something. I used to love Greek myths when I was a child."
Ronnie nodded, eating her vegetable samosas. "My Circe isn't nearly so spiteful, though she can be a bit of a witch sometimes."
They continued to eat in awkward silence for a while longer. Fiona had to hand it to Chanda, she was an excellent cook. She'd never had Indian food this good before.
They really, really want to talk without me here.
"So what do you do?" Fiona asked, eager to keep up the conversation. They had to let something slip sooner or later.
Ronnie paused before saying, "I'm a first to third grade teacher."
"That must be fun," said Fiona genuinely. "All those young minds."
"It sure is magical."
Ronnie stifled a laugh, and Adrian gave her a dirty look. Fiona thought back on what the teacher had said, wondering what it was that had affected the man so. Did he not like teachers, or children?
"What about you?" Ronnie asked.
"I'm an accountant," Fiona answered. "I know it's not exciting but I have a thing for numbers. Adding things up seems so easy to me. My husband calls me a human calculator."
The use of her husband in the present tense caused her to stare down at her plate. For a moment there she'd forgotten he was dead.
Fiona faked a yawn. "I think I might head to bed."
"You do look tired," said Chanda.
Fiona said, "Thank you for the dinner. It was the best chicken korma I've ever had."
She left them to it, making a note to stomp upstairs loudly before creeping back down again straight after. She was lucky the floorboards didn't creak like in most of old buildings in the village.
After what seemed an interminable age Chanda said, "Why is Circe coming?"
"This is an important meeting," said Ronnie. "Why do you think I'm here?"
"I don't know," Adrian admitted. "Who are you in the scheme of things? I've never heard of you."
Ronnie said, "I'm here to assist Circe, and to observe. That's all you need to know. Besides, I wouldn't be here if I didn't have to. I'm...looking for someone, and I don't like having my search interrupted."
"Who are you looking for?" Chanda asked.
"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you," said Ronnie. "Suffice to say...if he isn't found, and he isn't stopped, then what we discuss at tonight's meeting will be pointless."
Fiona couldn't help but note the woman's doom-laden tone. She was certainly melodramatic, talking as if she was saving the world or something. What was wrong with these people?
"Tonight has many focal points," said another voice. "I can feel them all."
Fiona peered around the corner. An ethereally beautiful woman was sitting by the table, seemingly out of nowhere. Where had she come from? She hadn't heard the front door open.
"You're here to observe?" Adrian asked, acting as if this odd happening was an every day occurrence. "Like Ronnie?"
Circe nodded. "And to offer my guidance should it be needed."
"What do you mean by focal points?" Chanda asked. "I'm interested to know."
The newcomer made odd hand gestures, as if she were playing with the wind. "It may seem to be a simple trial, but it's more than that. Tonight is a point in history where events occur that will shape the rest of time."
A trial? Who is on trial?
"You're actually scaring me," Chanda admitted.
"Me too," said Ronnie.
"You should be scared," said Circe. "The path to the future is often terrifying."
The topic of conversation wandered over to more mundane topics, like Chanda and Adrian's plans for having a baby. Fiona left them to it, preparing herself for tonight.
Fiona took the Mamma Mia tickets out of her bag. The date on the tickets wasn't for another two months, but she knew she'd never use them. She couldn't imagine going to New York on her own.
She ripped them up.
What am I going to do when I find out the truth, whatever that is?
She'd once gone to a shooting range with some work colleagues. She hadn't expected to enjoy it, not liking weapons much, but she'd been a surprisingly good shot. She could aim and shoot with precision, as if she'd been born with a gun in her hand. She'd later bought herself a small handgun, just to be safe. Donovan hadn't liked it, but he'd been forced to admit even he'd shoot anyone who tried to hurt her. That gun was in a shoebox in the attic, nestled between Christmas decorations and old piles of clothing. It was just waiting to be used.
She made a gun sign with her hand.
"I could kill him so easily," she whispered. "So easily."
She couldn't help but grin, imagining the look on that young man's face as she blasted his head off. It would be poetic justice.
There was a knock at the door. Fiona composed herself and said, "Come in."
It was Circe. She smiled at Fiona, who was sitting on the bed, and came into the room. She seemed like she was lost.
Maybe she's ill?
"I read about your story in the paper," said Circe. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"So are a lot of people," said Fiona.
"People try to be kind. They try to understand. They might even have lost a husband or wife or child. They can never know your specific loss."
Fiona ignored her. When she looked back a few moments later the woman was gone.
SIX
FIONA STARED at herself in the full length mirror. She was wearing black jogging trousers and a black top. Her sneakers were worn out but would do the job. Her long black hair was tied in a tight bun and she'd wiped all trace of make-up from her face. She was ready.
I look like a crazy person.
In the end she had decided to forgo the gun. She wanted the truth, not to go on a killing spr
ee. Committing murder would only make her like them.
"Fiona."
She turned to find the odd woman Circe sitting on the edge of her bed. She was smiling.
"How did you get in?" Fiona demanded. She charged over to the door, finding it locked from the inside. "What's going on?"
Maybe she just hid the closet earlier and never left.
"They will sense you, and you will be caught," said Circe, calm. "Your ill conceived plan won't work."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Fiona sad, realizing her hands were shaking. "Get the hell out of my room!"
Fiona was terrified. Somehow she'd been found out and they were going to kill her. She had to leave before she ended up like Donovan and the others, torn to shreds and ignored.
I won't go down without a fight.
"I will help you," Circe announced. "I owe you a debt."
"We've never met until tonight," said Fiona. "You must be thinking about someone else."
Why did I leave the gun in the attic? If I had it now I could shoot my way out of this!
Circe smirked. "Maybe not on this world, but on a different world you saved my life."
"You're crazy," said Fiona.
Another me? Another her? Is this woman on drugs?
"I want to help you," Circe said again. "You have to trust me."
Fiona was confused, and angry, but knew enough to know she was beaten. This crazy woman had her backed into a corner and there was only one way out.
"Why would you help me?" Fiona asked.
"You heard what I said downstairs," said Circe. "Tonight is a night that shapes what is to come. Would it surprise you to learn that you are part of that?"
"If you mean that my part in this is to expose your sick conspiracy and you all go to jail, then yes, I'm glad to know I'll be a part of it."
Circe mused. "You saved me life on that other world. Quite poetic when you come to think about it."
Was she talking about other planets? Parallel dimensions? Fiona wished she'd make herself clear.
"The only thing I want to do is expose whatever thing murdered my husband and make sure they get what's coming to them," Fiona shouted. "I don't care what you think I did on some other world."
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