Page 14 of The Shadows Beyond
Cinn
Cinn stared out the window, coat on, hands in pockets. The morning sunlight brightened the red-brick roofs of his neighbours’ houses. After waking up at the crack of dawn, he’d been ready and waiting for his lift to ‘the Institute’ for some time now.
This had been, without doubt, the most certifiably insane forty-eight hours of his life. If he rewound time to only three days prior, he’d still be sleeping, ready for his night shift at Rosewood Parlour.Rosewood Parlour.He’d only started there a few months ago, but already felt more at home there than any other place he’d worked. He’d grafted so hard to earn Benny’s respect and Sarah’s friendship, all for nothing.
What did his colleagues think had happened to him? Did they think he was a murderer, or had Eleanor’s people covered the whole thing up? At the very least, they probably knew that he’d attempted to rob the safe. Shame prickled its way across his skin at the image of Benny’s frowning face when he turned up to work the next day to a crime scene.
He’d need to let his flatmates know he wouldn’t be home for a while, that they should sublet his room. What would they do with all his stuff? He’d had to leave so many music cassettes behind…
And thinking of money—how was he supposed to get any? The details of what shape his life would take were hazy, but he definitely wasn’t expecting a regular wage slip to be delivered into his hand. He’d have to be prepared to be skint. Like usual.
Most importantly, Tyler. Tyler, Tyler, Tyler.Every time his face had forced its way into the forefront of his mind over the last two days, Cinn alternated between wanting to cry and wanting to punch something.
Before he’d slept yesterday, he used the telephone—once he figured out how to make international calls—to call every memorised number that could possibly help him get into contact with Tyler, or at least verify his whereabouts. For all he knew, Richter’s men had deposited Tyler’s dead body in the River Thames by now.
His biggest hope was pinned on their old friend Bradley, who often let Tyler stay with him. He hadn’t picked up yet.
Three beeps of a horn distracted him from spiralling panic.
Pulling his beanie on, he locked the front door and jogged down the drive to Julien’s car, the shiny black metal impeccably spotless.
He’d expected to only have to put up with Julien, so it threw him to see the other two in the car. Although Darcy was a nice enough girl, he’d also have to deal with the twat with all the hair.
And sure enough, Elliot scowled at him from the passenger seat.
Cinn slid into the back and blinked in disbelief at Darcy. Clutched in her hand was a mug of tea. Not a travel cup, but a chunky yellow round mug. In a car.
She smiled before taking a sip. “Don’t mind me. Maz drives so smoothly I don’t spill a drop.”
“You mean,Idrive Maz so smoothly with my impeccable skills, even on these godawful country roads, that you don’t spill a drop.” Julien peered at Darcy in the rearview mirror, then his gaze flashed across to meet Cinn’s.
“Yes, Julien, it’s one hundred percent your unrivalled driving ability, and not at all down to the mote-infused metal plating all over Maz’s insides.”
“I’m glad we’re in agreement, then.”
And with that, Julien pushed the car into first, and they were off.
With the conversation hitting a lull, Cinn’s gaze latched itself onto the thing taking up the most space in the car—Elliot’s hair.
“You’ll catch flies if you’re not careful.” Elliot twisted around to face him, his eyes thin slits.
Cinn closed his evidently gawking mouth. “Sorry. Your hair…” He gestured to it lamely.
A roll of the eyes. “Irish mother. Venezuelan father. Quirky as fuck gene mix.”
“Don’t mind him.” Julien reached over to ruffle the corkscrew curls in question, then pushed Elliot back into his seat. “He loves the attention, really.”
The three soon fell into easy banter and inside jokes, and so Cinn stared out the window, attempting not to listen. He was fairly successful at it too, until a soft, hushed tone from Elliot caught his ear.
“Today’s the date.”
And even softer from Julien, “I know it is.”
And then, from Darcy, a shout. “What’s that, Julien?”
Again, Julien’s eyes flicked to Cinn’s for a fleeting moment. “Just that it’s thefifth of November,Darcy.”
“Oh! Of course it is.” Darcy’s eyes widened. “Not that we can actually do anything with that information. As we’ve no idea what she was on about.”
