Читать книгу DEAD GONE - Luca Veste, Luca Veste - Страница 13

Early evening. Late spring turning into a summer which would see more rain than sun. Night was drawing in, the fading light turning the world outside grey.

The text message that had been sent to him, drawing him here had been simple, yet effective.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CHECKED ON YOUR LOVED ONES DAVID?

He’d opened the door using the key usually kept under the fake rock in the front garden.

The rock had been moved. The key tossed to one side. A red smear on the fob. He’d held the key carefully, trying not to disturb the mark. Knowing what it was, refusing to believe it meant anything.

He entered the house, his movements slow and methodical, an overbearing silence greeting him. A smell in the air that was familiar, yet his conscious wouldn’t place what it was. He moved through the hallway, the living room door to his left, closed. Something drew him towards the door at the end of the hallway which led to the kitchen. He moved slowly along, his senses heightened. He could almost track the progress of every hair as it began to creep up on the back of his neck, his heart hammering against his chest.

He reached out to push the kitchen door open, noticing his hand was shaking.

It was empty. No one there. Nothing out of place. The sun, low in the sky, was shining through the window which overlooked the garden, creating an orange tinge to the light inside. He turned and left the kitchen, going back down the hallway towards the closed living room door, knowing that was where he was supposed to have gone first. Being drawn to the kitchen was his mind trying to keep him from entering, drawing him to the safe place.

He stood at the closed door, somehow knowing what lay behind it. Not wanting to see, knowing he had to. His hand moved of its own accord – in his head he was screaming at himself to stop, not to see, not to feel.

The door opened, and all was red.