I Died Too, But They Haven't Buried Me Yet by Ross Jeffery

Author:Ross Jeffery [Jeffery, Ross]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CLASH Books

The place looked like a bomb site.

The curtains were in shreds, what remained was hanging from their poles, billowing in the breeze that blew unimpeded through the open windows, but they weren’t open, they were shattered. Josh remembered that the crystal which had hung from the ceiling had smashed at least one, but as he took in the twinkling glass across the floor and felt the frigid fingers of the breeze tickle his skin, he noticed that every damned window in the flat had been smashed.

Henry bustled past him. He had the look of a home invader, Josh mused that maybe they were. They had a key, they hadn’t broken in, but they were uninvited guests however you looked at it.

Josh watched on as Henry went about his task like a man possessed.

Henry’s boots crunched down through a pile of wood and glass, what it had been before was anyone’s guess but his friend wasn’t standing on ceremony, he was ploughing through the detritus with a steely determination.

Henry flung a variety of broken pieces of furniture out of the way, desperate to get to the floor beneath it all. In his bullish burrowing, Josh heard glass shattering under Henry’s feet; wood snapped, things were dislodged and other rubble tumbled into the spaces vacated of broken things.

Henry reached down suddenly and began heaving something heavy and large from the floor. He eventually flipped it over and pushed it away, not giving it a second thought; but Josh had. It was the table where they’d been sitting last night, minus the legs.

“It’s gotta be here man,” Henry’s voice was panicked and threaded with anger. Josh thought Henry sounded like an addict who’d lost a bag of Charlie in a blizzard.

“Where is it?” Henry roared, throwing one of the chair legs from the table across the room which smashed into something unseen before he started digging through the rubble again with a renewed urgency.

With Henry as busy as a cat burying its shit in a sandbox, Josh moved slowly across the room, towards the table. He’d seen something which wasn’t there last night. As he stumbled over a few broken bookcases and plasterboard, the scarred surface of the table came into view. The gouged letters were still there, the alphabet, the numbers, the yes and the no, but there were letters which appeared burned into the table; letters that made up words, words which made a sentence, a sentence that would have repercussions if Henry were to chance a look in its direction.

I KILLED HER, YOU CAN NEVER HAVE HER BACK

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