Page 55 of All My Broken Dreams

“He hasn’t said anything to me. He wouldn’t. He’s not the sort to complain about anyone, no matter how badly they treat him. I heard about your behavior from the publican who was sorry to have to eject Deacon when it was as plain as day that Casey Manderville was behind the scuffle. He said it was your tongue-lashing that provoked the fight. They managed torub along alright until you came along. Setting one lad against the other. Shameful, and not what I expected of you, Robbie Listowel.”

Robbie had not bothered to argue with the woman or try to defend herself. What she had said to Deacon was how she felt, though she took no pleasure from it.

It didn’t matter now. She was sitting in a late afternoon class, in one of the finest private colleges in the world, listening to a brilliant speaker deconstruct Chaucer. Snow was falling outside, the theater was lit with soothing overhead lights, and she had never felt so at home in her life. She let the feeling wash over her, enjoying it for once instead of tensing, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Penelope and Millicent had responded to her call for help by moving her into Harry’s old room in Dugald Croft.

“It’s only fair,” Millicent said. “He would want it this way.”

“Agreed.” Penelope had nodded but she seemed less thrilled with the idea of having Robbie under the same roof.

Robbie had packed her suitcase and moved out that morning. Dugald Croft was intimidating as all hell, but as she unpacked her belongings and hung them up in Harry’s closet, she began to sense that he was with her.

Less of a sensation than her imagination at work, but she felt his presence. Not overtly, like a cold breeze or a prickling at the back of her neck. More like a soft, warm blanket that enveloped her as soon as she stepped into the room.

It was twice the size of his flat in the old building and had a working wood burning fireplace. A desk with a good lamp for studying, a large sturdy bookcase and a sizable walk-in closet. But best of all was the window of lead-paned glass that had awindow seat in front of it and a deep sill for balancing cups of tea, candles and notebooks.

She hadn’t had a panic attack in weeks. Her nerves were rock steady. The shock of Harry’s death had cured her. The worst that could’ve happened, happened and life went on.

Robbie opened one of the notebooks she had purchased for the class and lifted her pen. Not everyone used a laptop to take notes so at least she wasn’t the only one without a computer.

She was bent over the page, lost in concentration when a conversation behind her caught her attention.

“Did you hear about the cats?”

“I heard something but I wasn’t paying close attention. What cats are we talking about?”

“There was a colony of feral cats living in the old chimney square; you know the one I mean. A janitor found them dead.”

“Fucking hell. What happened?”

“Someone hanged them. Each one of them, hanging by a string on a metal bar. It was positively macabre. A mother and her five kittens. I’m not a fan of letting cats run wild–they kill the birds, but extermination is a bit extreme.”

“How did the janitor find them? I didn’t hear any reports about a feral cat colony on campus.”

“He’d been feeding them; when he found them, he went completely apeshit. Old Manderville had to be called in to calm him down.”

“Oh, I think I know the one you mean! The guy who flipped out in the pub a week ago. They were his cats?”

“So it seems. Killed last night. He only found them this morning.”

“That fellow is at the center of a few storms. With that temper, he likely did it himself. The RSPCA ought to be called in to investigate.”

The conversation abruptly ended when the professor barked at them to shut up.

Robbie’s blood ran cold in her veins. She stared at the page in front of her until it blurred. A high-pitched whine sounded in her ears and her heart began to race so fast, she thought she was having a heart attack.

All around her, people were scribbling down their thoughts and she had no thoughts, only fear.

Crippling, debilitating fear.

Everyone was staring at her.No, they are not. You are imagining it.

She jumped to her feet, clawing at her neck.

Someone whispered: “It’s her–the sister of that fellow who killed himself.”

“Threw himself from the tower at Arran after he killed a man. What is she doing here?”

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