58

His Ella flashed before Calum’s eyes. Not now! He begged the demon to drown her, and thankfully, she did. The valkyrie he’d spent the last two days with grabbed the girl he loved and rammed her head down into the river. Her body twitched, and she looked ready to run fast. He watched her turn back towards the stairs, reaching out right first to the nearest kitchen drawer. It had once been for cutlery, but now it was - like much of the rest of the house - a post office. She rifled through old bills and notices and drew a steak knife. He watched her hands wrap around it. She took her own out, clicked the buckle and withdrew it from its leather case, reaching back to hand Conor the serrated edge of the steak knife, mimed a thrust, bad joke. His Ella lay lifeless in the river once more. Conor laid his thumb across the top of the handle and pressed his index finger against the first jagged ridge of the blade. He was tense and quickly drew blood. Neither of them were thinking at all of their companion, who was standing, running his finger across the top row of the bookshelf in the lounge behind them. He seemed like a man in the waiting room of a dentist. The three of them turned back to the stairs when they heard the creak of a mattress and two feet knock over something before landing on solid ground.