The Magpies A Psychological Thriller - By Mark Edwards Page 0,39
quiet: obsessed enough to make recordings of your neighbours to prove your point.’ She sighed. ‘Let’s wait and see what reaction we get to our letter. Maybe we can sort this thing out.’
‘Because otherwise we’re going to have to soundproof the bedroom.’
They kissed goodnight and turned over to face their separate ways. Jamie kept his eyes open for a few minutes. His heart was beating fast. He wasn’t able to sleep until his anger had subsided.
Beside him, Kirsty entered REM sleep and began to dream. She had the dream about the gingerbread house again. She ran through the woods, saw the beautiful, tempting house and went inside. This time, the witch was absent, and Kirsty saw that the door handles were actually the most delicious-looking toffee apples. She took one and bit into it.
Like Snow White, a piece of the poisoned apple caught in her throat and she fell to the floor. As her eyes closed she saw a figure standing over her. The figure was wearing a black cloak and hood and she couldn’t make out if they were male or female. All she could see was a pair of eyes, glowing in the shadow cast by the hood.
She woke up sweating, turned over and put her arm around Jamie. With her hand on his chest, she could feel the rapid, angry beat of his heart. Both of them lay awake for a long time, not speaking. They were both thinking about Lucy and Chris. Kirsty felt as if the poison from the dreamt-of apple had stayed in her body, and was seeping into her bloodstream. It was the last thing she thought of before she finally got back to sleep: herself poisoned, in a coma, lying beside Paul.
‘Right, I’ll pop up and feed that cat.’ Jamie picked up Mary’s keys.
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘It’ll only take one of us.’
‘I know. But I want to have a look at Mary’s flat. I haven’t been in there yet, unlike you, you tart. Always visiting strange women’s flats while your poor, long-suffering girlfriend sobs alone at home.’
‘Yes, I suppose I could show you the spot where she jumped on me and forced me to shag her.’
‘Oh yes. That would be a treat.’
They were both a little shaky after a night of bad dreams, but neither of them wanted to show it, over-compensating with humour. Jamie had half-expected to find a letter from the Newtons on the doormat, but so far there was nothing. He couldn’t decide if he was relieved or disappointed.
They went up to Mary’s flat hand-in-hand, noting the rain that pattered against the window in the stairwell. Jamie unlocked the door, pushing it open cautiously. They went inside.
‘Nice place,’ said Kirsty. She looked around, scanning the bookshelves, inspecting the Pre-Raphaelite prints on the walls. There were numerous bottles of oils and essences laid out on the table, and she picked up a few and sniffed them. Joss stick holders and incense burners lined the mantelpiece. An Indian throw hung on one wall. There were carved figurines from Africa and Asia all over the place. ‘It’s bigger than our flat, isn’t it?’
‘It’s exactly the same.’
Kirsty returned to the bookshelves. ‘Look at these. Enchanted. A Practical Guide to Magick. The Wiccan Arts. Loads of books about black magic. Hey, maybe Lucy was right about her.’
Jamie crouched beside her and looked at one of the books. ‘These are about white magic,’ he said. ‘But look, here’s a truly Satanic tome: The Reader’s Digest Guide to Alternative Medicine. Now where’s that cat?’
His question was answered immediately as Lennon came padding into the room.
‘Hi cat,’ said Kirsty.
They went into the kitchen, found the supply of cat food and Jamie forked some of the meat onto a plastic dish. Lennon ate away happily.
‘So,’ Jamie said. ‘Have you had a good enough nose around?’
‘Yes thanks.’ She looked at the floor. ‘Actually, while we’re up here, I want to try something. I want to see how sound carries between these flats. We hardly ever hear Mary moving around, do we? You go downstairs into our flat and I’ll run around a bit.’
‘OK.’
He went downstairs and stood in the living room, knowing that Kirsty was standing right above him. It was silent in the flat, and he cocked an ear to the ceiling. He heard a light padding sound; he thought he could hear someone talking, but very faintly. He went back upstairs.
‘So what could you hear?’ Kirsty asked.
‘Hardly anything. Very light footsteps, some muffled talking – but I