Murderflat 9.53AM February 15, 1982 @msdorcasmeadowes
As the sun had risen it had brought with it a rare sense of calm, the nightmare of the day before — a misfired curse, a discovery he still didn’t know how to fathom, Alice in the hospital — silenced in favour of this. Sunlight. It beat through the windowpanes onto the bare floor, unseasonably warm and bringing it with it a momentary reprieve, cat sprawled next to him on the floor purring. It had been rising steadily as the hours past, the shadows crawling closer to his bare toes, a sign perhaps that this moment, this temporary warmth, wasn’t here to stay.
Bad news was always just one step away.
With a sharp knock and a familiar voice, that feeling was confirmed.
Dorcas had been here before, knew better than to touch the doorhandle or to push her way inside, but Gideon lumbered to his feet regardless, leaving behind the fading warmth from the sun to drag open his front door. It occurred to him, the heat of the sun fading from his bones, that it never lasted. The sight of the uncertainty on Dorcas’s face, trepidation in her eyes, was a sure sign that whatever had inspired this visit it wouldn’t be a good one.
He stepped back from the doorway, holding it open with that impending sense of dread. Why was he always so tired? “What happened?”
