Page 80 of The Devil's Torment

“What news?”

He looks tired, the paper-thin skin around his eyes bruised. Grimacing, he shakes his head. “We’re waiting for the fire service to complete their search. One side of the building just sheared off.” He blows out a heavy breath. “Only saving grace is how late at night it happened. If it’d collapsed during the day, God only knows how many casualties there would have been. Christian and I have a meeting with the Health and Safety Executive in the morning. George has done his best to smooth things over, but there’s no escaping an investigation. We need to do what we can to keep a lid on this before it explodes in our faces.”

“If you need me…” I trail off.

“I do. My office in five minutes to devise a media strategy. I’ve briefed The Consortium, but the council will want a full report first thing in the morning.” Another grimace pulls the edges of his mouth down. “It’s going to be a long few days.”

ChapterTwenty-Eight

VICKY

It seems fitting that the sky is dark and gray, with the odd spots of rain that promise a downpour any time soon. The weather at funerals should be miserable. A dazzling, cloudless blue sky feels like a slap in the face to the deceased and the mourners.

As I enter the church, my hand tucked into Nicholas’s, the memories of Beth’s passing hit me like a tidal wave. It’s almost three months now since she died. The world continues to turn, the sun rises and sets, but there’s a hole, a gaping chasm, and every time I find myself enjoying a period of happiness, a torrent of guilt almost drowns me.

The church organist plays a mournful tune while the congregation takes their seats. The entire De Vil family have turned out, as well as some representatives from The Consortium. I’ve hardly seen Nicholas these past two weeks, his time taken up with helping to manage the fallout from the building collapse. Christian may head up that part of the vast De Vil empire, but the whole family has rallied around.

Two people lost their lives; the lead architect and the head of the construction firm who, in a ghastly twist of fate, happened to be married to one another. Christian isn’t sure what they were even doing in the building, especially as it was long after hours. I guess now, we’ll never know. From what I’ve gleaned in snatches of conversation, they were diligent, hardworking people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Nicholas grips my elbow and guides me to a seat next to Imogen. Alexander’s profile is grim, his jaw locked, a muscle flickering along the sharp angle there. The rest of the family sit in the pew in front, everyone’s backs ramrod straight, their expressions more serious than I’ve ever seen them.

Before I became a part of this family, I’d assumed they were all unfeeling robots, interested only in making money and misery, but Christian’s slumped posture and disheveled hair where he keeps raking his fingers through it tell the story of his devastation at the turn of events. The cause of the collapse remains a mystery, and I don’t think he’ll sleep a wink until he gets to the bottom of what happened.

The deceased’s children are the last to enter. The daughter dressed all in black, with a veil covering her face, clings to her brother’s arm as though she’ll collapse without his support. His eyes hold a murderous glint as he glances around, and his gaze falls on the two pews where we’re sitting. For a second, I think he’s on the verge of throwing us out, but he passes by and helps his sister to a seat at the front.

It’s understandable that he blames the De Vils. If I was in their shoes, I’d do the same. Hell, Iwasin their shoes. I initially blamed Nicholas for Beth’s murder. If anyone understands the violent urge to hit out, to offload your crippling grief onto someone else, and to findsensein it all, it’s me. I hope for their sakes the answers are forthcoming soon.

The service is short, and it isn’t long before the grieving brother and sister make their way down the center aisle. The rest of the mourners take their turn, one pew at a time, to file out behind them like well-behaved passengers exiting an airplane row by row.

A line forms for well-wishers to pay their respects, and it takes a few minutes before we reach the front. Christian takes the lead, holding his hand out to the brother, who lets it hang in mid-air, hatred blazing from every pore in his body. Christian moves on to the sister.

“Grace, I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

She keeps her eyes lowered, her face still hidden by the thick black veil. “You shouldn’t have come.” Her voice is barely audible. “You’re not welcome here.”

Christian opens his mouth to say something else, but he must think better of it. He moves away, his posture even more slumped than it was when we arrived. It’s clear to me he’s suffering from crushing guilt over the collapse of the building that left two young adults orphaned.

I murmur how sorry I am to Grace, too. She barely dips her chin in acknowledgement. I take a deep breath as I exit the church, sucking cold, damp air into my lungs.

“That was rough.” I rest my head on Nicholas’s shoulder.

“You okay?” He slides his arm around my waist and squeezes my hip.

I nestle into his proprietary touch, using his strength to ward off the demons this funeral has stirred; echoes of my own crushing loss.

“Yeah, I?—”

The world comes to a shuddering halt. The bustling sounds of passersby streaming past fade away, leaving only a face I thought I’d never see again coming into sharp focus across the street.

Beth?

It can’t be. It… It’s impossible.

I squeeze my eyes closed. It’s another vision, my subconscious playing tricks on me. My desperation forhopemanifesting itself in an impossibility.

My breath lodges in my throat. I open my eyes. She’s still there.She’s still there.I can’t look away.Daren’tlook away. The thought that I’m losing my mind, seeing things that aren’t real, is a terrifying one.

I blink several times at the figure standing beneath a tree bare of leaves. My heart pounds, each painful beat rattling my ribcage and echoing in my ears. A chill races down my spine, a gust of wind blowing my hair over my face, momentarily blinding me. I shove it away, expecting the vision of my dead sister to have vanished.

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