Page 13 of When You're Alone

No voice replied, but Finn detected a whispering noise. It was barely audible—a swarm of hushed voices overlapping. The sound came from near the tall window where the thick velvet curtains hung. His breath quickened. He remembered how they suspected someone had hidden behind curtains in the real crime scene. Could this dream be dredging up that memory?

He moved slowly, each step resonating with a dull thud that didn’t match the softness of the rug. It was as if the floor, or the entire study, had a heartbeat—thump… thump… thump. The curtains, a deep crimson in this half-glow, swayed gently, though there was no breeze. The whispering intensified, a thousand overlapping voices that made no sense at all, just a swirl of half-formed syllables.

Finn reached out to grab the curtain’s edge. His hand trembled, but he pulled it back in one swift motion. The fabric glided aside.

Behind it stood a figure, slumped and motionless. At first, Finn’s mind told him it must be Sir Richard’s body again, asin real life. But it wasn’t Sir Richard. His heart lurched, dread coiling in his stomach. The figure’s hair was a burnished red, fanned out over the collar of a jacket he recognized too well. Amelia. Her eyes were closed, her skin pale.

“No,” he gasped, stumbling back. Amelia's face was drained of color, a slight smear of blood at the corner of her mouth. For a split second, her eyelids twitched, as if she might wake, but then her body sagged further.

Finn tried to scream her name, but his voice wouldn't come. The study’s walls seemed to close in on him, the flickering lamp overhead dimming to a single pinpoint of light. He reached out, wanting to touch her, to see if there was any life left, but his limbs felt like lead. The whispering turned into a roaring hush.

Suddenly, the entire dream world flickered as though someone had switched off a projector. The study warped, the curtains vanished. Then another voice cut through the cacophony—a playful, real-world voice.

“Wakey-wakey,” it said, followed by a soft thump against his cheek.

Finn’s eyes flew open. He was in bed, tangled in rumpled sheets, his heart pounding. His mind took a few seconds to comprehend the transition from nightmare to morning. Someone was hitting him in the face with a pillow, a light, teasing smack. He blinked the last vestiges of dream from his eyes.

Amelia stood by the bedside, half-dressed in jeans and a simple t-shirt, her hair swept up in a quick ponytail. She wore a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes—eyes that were very much alive and bright. Relief and disorientation crashed over him in equal measure.

“You looked like you were wrestling a ghost,” she remarked, giving him one more gentle pillow thwack. “And you’re clearly not winning.”

Finn exhaled in a rush, heart still hammering. “It was… a dream,” he managed, pushing himself upright. “A nightmare about that club. I… saw you—” He bit back the rest, not wanting to place that image into words.

Amelia gave him a curious look. “A dream about me? Keep those thoughts to yourself, mister.”

He forced a chuckle that came out shaky. “It was… intense,” he settled on, rubbing his eyes. He tried to steady his breathing, reminding himself that the real Amelia stood safe and unhurt in front of him.

She tossed the pillow onto the bed, then checked her watch. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to get ready, or it won’t just be a pillow fight.”

He raised an eyebrow, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Fifteen minutes? Why so pressing?”

Amelia’s smile faded to a more serious expression. “We just got word there’s been another murder.”

Finn stared at her. The dream’s residual horror still clawed at him, but now reality hit like a cold slap. “Another… from the same killer? Something to do with Sir Richard’s death?”

“We’re not sure,” she admitted, grabbing a jacket from a nearby chair. “Rob called while you were still thrashing in your sleep. He wants us at the new scene ASAP.”

A swirl of dread and determination churned inside Finn’s gut. One murder at The Monarch Club was bad enough, but a second homicide—? He sighed, finally pushing himself off the bed. “Alright. Let’s do it.” But a hint of dryness returned to his voice. “Though you might have to drive if I don’t get my act together. I’m not sure my old corvette and I can handle an adrenaline rush quite yet.”

She snorted. “Don’t tempt me. Your car is a marvel of questionable engineering, but I’m more than happy to getbehind the wheel. But at least shower first. You’re practically drenched in sweat.”

He ran a hand over his forehead, discovering it was indeed damp. “Fair enough,” he muttered, heading toward the bathroom. At the threshold, he paused and glanced back. Amelia was zipping up her boots, evidently ready for action. He hesitated, wanting to say something about the nightmare, about the image of her crumpled behind those curtains. But the moment felt fragile.

She sensed his gaze. “You okay?” she asked, gentler now.

“Yeah,” he said after a pause. “Just groggy.”

She straightened. “I'll make you a coffee while you're in the shower.” Her tone suggested she’d guessed the gist of his nightmare—Finn was never good at hiding worry. “Now hurry. We’ve got a crime scene waiting for us.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Finn steered the red Corvette off the main road, peering through the windshield at the first blush of springtime sun. The morning air carried a crisp edge that hinted at winter’s lingering hold, but the fields on either side shimmered with new buds. Amelia Winters sat beside him, fiddling with the radio in silence until a faint clunking noise punctuated the hum of the engine.

She frowned. “Finn, that sound doesn’t exactly say ‘roadworthy.’”

He shot her a mock-hurt look, tapping the steering wheel. “That’s pure American engineering you’re hearing. Nothing wrong with it—it’s practically a lullaby.”

The Corvette rattled over a shallow pothole, emitting another metallic clank, and Amelia raised an eyebrow as if to say,Sure it is.Finn ignored her skepticism. In truth, he was aware the car could use another trip to the mechanic, but he refused to show doubt in his beloved project.

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