13 Doors by G J Phelps

Author:G J Phelps
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror
Publisher: The Book Guild
Published: 2023-07-28T00:00:00+00:00

Nineteen

Chapter and Verse

The taxi idled on the kerbside as I rang Kate’s doorbell again. I was looking at my watch when her little car bounced up the drive and she jumped out, offering me an apologetic glance as she retrieved her handbag.

The key slid into the front door, and she shook her head. ‘I am so sorry, Joe – such a long day. I will be two minutes, just wait.’

Kate was wearing blue scrubs again, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. As she disappeared up the stairs, she left a fresh bloom of perfume behind. She smelled good.

‘It’s alright, don’t rush,’ I called after her. ‘If you like, I can send the taxi away and we’ll go on in a bit.’

I could hear her moving about upstairs, her feet running from room to room. Somewhere, water splashed briefly into a sink.

‘No, no, I’m nearly done – just wait.’

An awkward wave to the taxi driver.

And then she was coming down the stairs, the scrubs replaced by a simple summer dress, a small clutch bag in her hand and a big smile across her face. ‘See – two minutes!’

She paused at the hallway mirror, producing lipstick, and locking her eyes on me in the reflection. ‘You always were an impatient sod, Joe Baxter.’

Then, Kate swept the band from her ponytail and turned to me as her hair fell across her shoulders. ‘Shall we?’

Déjà vu washed over me. This was going to be fun.

The drive into the city was noisy and exhilarating, as the yellow lights of the expressway rippled across the cab’s windows. Two days had passed since my night at St Cuthbert’s, and I still felt the energy of the experience pulsing through me – fright, confusion, excitement – but also an acceptance that something was happening to me. A line had been crossed. I had talked to the abbot – or he had talked to me. And Wilko’s words hung onto me, his anger, his vitriol. Connected, that’s the word. I still felt connected to what had happened. I had spent the last day locked in my flat feverishly writing about the vigil, getting it onto the page, recording it, making it real, tying it down before it could fly away. I just wanted to tell someone about it, all of it.

Kate applied make-up but looked agitated as she stared into her compact.

‘Tough day?’ I asked.

‘Sorry, yes. I’m a bit pissed off, to tell the truth. There’s a new wing being built at work – which is great, big investment and all that – but it’s such a hassle, the whole place is a building site. Then, to cap it all, management used our rest room to store a load of paperwork while the work is being done and some of it got lost. They had the audacity to question the nursing team about it. If you don’t want confidential files to go missing, don’t leave them in a big pile of boxes in a nurses’ rest room!’

‘I take

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