Witch(41)

I couldn’t betray Vincent’s trust. I would have to find out who Molly had met that night, but more importantly, who had pushed her into the well. For once in my life, I knew I wouldn’t be able to rely on my father for help. For once, I would have to depend on myself.

Turning off my iPad, I climbed off the sofa and went to bed, secretly praying that my dreams wouldn’t be haunted by Jonathan Smith again.





Chapter Twenty-Four



I hadn’t been in bed long, just enough time to find that comfortable place between semi-consciousness and sleep. There was a knocking sound, and, believing at first it was just my imagination, I turned over onto my side. The knocking came again, this time louder. I opened my eyes. The bedside clock read 00:03 hrs. Who could be knocking at this time of night? With my head cocked to one side above the covers, I listened.

Silence.

Sighing, I dropped my head onto the pillow again and closed my eyes. The knocking came again.

Louder.

I sat up.

It came again. This time more persistently.

Reaching down, I snatched my bathrobe from the floor and slipped it on, fastening it tightly about my waist. I went to the living room and the knocking came again. It was clearer now. Somebody was knocking on my front door. Slowly, I crossed the room and went into the hall.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“Hello?” I called out, my hand hovering over the lock. “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Vincent,” he said.

With the side of my face just an inch from the door, I whispered, “Vincent, do you have any idea what time it is?”

“I know it’s late,” he whispered back. “But I need to speak to you.”

“Can’t it wait until the morning?” I asked.

“Not really,” he said from the other side of the door.

After quickly combing my hair with my fingers, I knocked my fringe from my brow and opened the front door. Vincent stood on the other side. He didn’t look as if he’d been home since leaving mine earlier that evening. Beneath his open jacket, I could see he was still wearing his white police shirt, black work trousers, and boots. Vincent looked pale and nervous.

“Are you okay?” I asked, stepping aside.

Vincent came into my apartment and I closed the door behind him.

He appeared anxious as he looked about the living room.

“Are you okay?” I asked him again.

Vincent looked at me and nodded.

“You look kinda on edge,” I said.

“Perhaps I should go,” he whispered, brushing past me, heading towards the door again.

“Hang on,” I groaned, taking his arm. “You can’t just come around here in the middle of the night and wake me up only to disappear again. Tell me whatever it is you’ve come to say.”

Vincent went to speak, then stopped. He took a bottle of Coke from his jacket pocket, unscrewed the lid, and drank. I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he finished off the sticky black contents. He replaced the lid, put the empty bottle onto the coffee table, and took a deep breath.

“This isn’t easy for me,” he started nervously.

“It’s okay,” I said, looking at him with a frown etched across my brow.

“It’s just that...oh, God where do I start...” he stammered as he fought to find the right words. “Okay...I’ll be totally honest with you...I’ve been lying to you...”

“What?” I said, confused. “What does that mean? What, you’ve been lying about my father and what happened to Molly Smi–”

“No,” Vincent cut in. “I haven’t been lying about that.”

“What then?” I snapped, starting to feel cheated in some way.

“Oh, God...” Vincent sighed, nervously wringing his hands together. “How do I say this...it’s funny because I’ve been walking around and around the town since leaving here...going over and over in my mind how I was going to tell you the truth...and now I’ve completely forgotten...”

“Just spit it out,” I snapped, placing my hands on my hips.

“Okay...mmm...let me think...” Vincent mumbled. Glancing around the living room, he added, “Where’s your iPod?”

“Over there,” I hissed, pointing at the dock on the other side of the room.

“Just wait right here,” Vincent said, heading across the room.

I stood and glared at his back as Vincent fumbled about, trying to switch on the iPod.

“Oh, Christ, you’re not gonna start dancing again, are you?”

Vincent didn’t answer. Instead, the song I won’t let you go by James Morrison started to play.

“Vincent...” I started, beginning to get annoyed by his games.