Shikhari Connection by Andrea Drew

Author:Andrea Drew
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Andrea Drew
Published: 2017-11-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Gypsy

Of all the ways of dying, this was not how I imagined I'd leave this earth, shot through the head or the chest by a stranger on his property out in the country. I didn't want to back down though, especially if my appearance meant Will Wilder's father pulled out a gun. The guy had something to hide, and I guessed that his secret had a lot to do with Will's desperate request for me to intervene.

I wondered if my heart had stopped a second time, as I stared down the long barrel. Ice moved through my veins, and I barely dared to breathe.

I put both my hands up in the surrender position.

"Please, don't shoot," I said, hearing the wobble in my own voice.

"Who the hell are you, and why are you here?" the man said.

His stomach dribbled over his belt, and sweat stained the bottle green t-shirt.

"Will sent me, asked for my help," I said, realising now I should have at least called first.

The arrival of an unknown woman, bleating on about how their dead son had sent them to their home to help, didn't exactly scream a standard social call. Maybe I could appeal to his good side.

"I really need your help. My niece, Renee, she's in a coma. I had a vision and William appeared, and told me to visit, and I'm hoping you can tell me what that’s about."

The man's face, already purple and mottled, expanded, eyes bulging, and he took a step closer so that barrel almost touched my chest. "You're taking the piss. I should shoot you right now, you cheeky bitch."

“Don’t shoot” I said.

“Get inside. Now.” He said, taking a step back and moving the barrel back slightly. His eyes never left me.

“Okay” I kept my hands in the surrender position.

I stepped up from the porch inside the home, into a dark, stale-smelling living area stuffed with furniture. An old vinyl yellow couch, a dusty dresser and large cardboard boxes lined up against the wall, edges frayed. Someone had attempted to make it homely, with crocheted blankets thrown across the two couches, but somehow it didn't quite work.

"I don't mean you any harm," I said.

If I thought there was a wavering in my voice earlier, it had magnified now. Surely my life wouldn't end like this?

The barrel hurt when he jammed it into my ribcage.

"Like hell you didn't," he growled.

He had crept so close the foul stench of his breath assaulted me and almost knocked me over.

The farmhouse looked like something from a time warp. The furniture was old, and the couch cushions were thread worn. An old lamp was on in the corner, and an inch of dust was encrusted on the coffee table.

Footsteps echoed behind me, probably the wife. With my hands still in the air, I slowly turned around.

The man’s hair was in the process of changing from dark to grey, giving him the appearance of an overweight blobby mushroom. I lowered my arms.

"Don't you dare lie to me in my own home," he said, digging the rifle in further where it lodged between my ribs.

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