Inside Out. Amy Lee Burgess

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      I’d been under Pack house arrest for less than a week, so I couldn’t understand the serious sense of liberation and outright joy I felt as Paddy and I walked the sidewalks of downtown Hartford.

      At first we stayed near the river, but then we ventured away, lured by the promising scents of coffee and food at lunchtime as workers escaped their urban office buildings and filled the streets with their small talk, cologne and jostling elbows.

      Paddy and I bought corned beef sandwiches on rye at a small deli. He took one bite of his dill pickle and grimaced, so I snatched it away and ate it before he could toss it into the trash. We sat at a small, rickety table set out on the sidewalk. The table even boasted an umbrella with most of the fringe still intact.

      We ate quickly, mindful of the lunch crowd which turned tables into highly desired objects, and continued our stroll.

      When we found ourselves outside a small, upscale shoe store with a wicked pair of Jimmy Choo pumps in the window, I couldn’t resist.

      Paddy stoically endured the half hour it took me to try on six different pairs of shoes. He checked for messages on his cellphone and grew increasingly impatient each time he saw the sales clerk head for the store room for yet another pair of shoes.

      I admit the more agitated he became, the more interest I suddenly developed in a new pair. I had fun. Not as much fun as I had when I shoe shopped with Murphy because he liked it and gave me honest opinions when I paraded around the store in a pair of potential new shoes, but I enjoyed myself.

      I had narrowed down my choices between a pair of Stuart Weitzman ivory crochet espadrilles and a pair of Vera Wang Lavender leopard print ballet flats when Paddy’s phone rang. He’d been in the middle of another hopeless search for new text messages, and the noise startled him so he nearly dropped the damn thing. He caught it before it escaped and, with a grateful smile, pressed talk.

      I didn’t pay attention to the call because I had a serious decision to make. Just as I was about to definitely settle on the espadrilles—perfect for summer even if they were twice as expensive as the ballet flats—Paddy snapped his phone shut.

      “Stanzie, we need to go.” Something in his voice was off and all thoughts of shoes fled my mind.

      With a mumbled apology to the sales clerk, I hastily retied my Chucks and followed Paddy out to the sidewalk.

      A cab idled at the curb and Paddy hailed it. Some people have taxi magic, others, like me, don’t.

      “What’s wrong?” I asked as the cab pulled into midday traffic and headed for the river.

      Beside me, Paddy looked extremely tense. “I’d rather wait and explain at the hotel. Liam needs to hear this too and I don’t want to do it twice.”

      That made sense, but it also made for an uncomfortably silent ride. Luckily, it was a short one.

      * * * *

      Murphy was still in bed when Paddy and I entered the hotel room, but he was awake. He turned his face toward the door as we walked in. He’d obviously heard us in the hall. Although he didn’t bother to hide his tired expression, he appeared a lot more rested than he had the day before.

      One look at Paddy’s grim face and Murphy knew something was wrong. He sat up in bed, the covers pooled around his waist. He was naked—Murphy preferred to sleep naked unless it was freezing cold outside—but he was completely unselfconscious about it.

      So was Paddy. He moved to the edge of the bed and had me sit by Murphy. I’d had some time to think about it in the cab ride and figured I knew what Paddy had to say.

      Councilor Jason Allerton’s bond mate had died. Allerton had left her on her deathbed to come to the last day of the tribunal and he’d told me it was simply a matter of days, maybe hours, before she passed away.

      “I’ve afraid I’ve got some bad news.” Paddy’s voice was hushed as he prepared us for the blow. I braced myself and felt Murphy’s breath on the back of my neck. It was unexpectedly comforting.

      “Bethany Dillon died this morning,” Paddy told us and even though I was prepared to hear about death, it was not hers I’d expected.

      * * * *

       Reflexively, I spit out a mouthful of something foul. For a moment I am dazed, not knowing what I look at but then it comes to me. Shredded skin. I am staring at shredded skin.

       Vomit chokes my throat then sprays in liquid chunks against the dirt wall. It smells of blood and bacon and I puke again. When I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, it comes away bloody but I am not hurt. It is not my blood.

       Bethany is very quiet—I recall she is there and after that I remember where we are. I can hear her hammering heart almost as loudly as I can hear my own.

       The stink of blood and terror is overpowering, but underneath it all lurks something worse. Death.

       I am in a corner behind the metal hospital gurney. I use it as a support so I can stand because my legs are weak and unresponsive.

       A figure sprawls in the dirt by the ladder. A man’s body dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that is now more red than white. Face up with throat torn away in ragged chunks. Sightless eyes stare up at СКАЧАТЬ