Mime

Chrissey Harrison

Description

There's a supernatural killer on the loose...Elliot Cross didn't believe in monsters. At least, not until his brother died at the hands of something unnatural.Four years later and a string of impossible deaths leave the police baffled. Consumed by a desire to shine a journalistic light on the supernatural world, Elliot sees a chance to make a difference. Enlisting the help of his (only) employee, Samantha, he quickly identifies the culprit - a demonic mime artist whose invisible creations are fatally real.Way out of his depth, Elliot's only hope is renowned demon hunter Gabriel Cushing. But tracking down Gabriel is only the beginning The search for a way to end the demon forever will take Elliot and Sam across the country, uncovering lost history, buried secrets, and a few new truths about themselves.

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Urban fantasy
• Thriller
• Bristol
• Fantasy
• Oxford

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 28 juillet 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781838595890
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

Copyright © 2020 Chrissey Harrison
chrisseyharrison.com

Mime Illustration © 2016 Marek Purzycki

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The character of Gabriel Cushing is a creation of Mark Adams and Great Escape Films LLP and is used with their kind permission.

Matador
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ISBN 978 1838595 890
Also available as a printed book: ISBN 978 1838593 605

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.


Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd


Contents
2009
BRISTOL
1
2
3
No Regrets
4
5
6
No Future
7
8
9
10
11
12
13

OXFORD
14
No Answers
15
16
17
18
19
20
No Strings
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28

DEVON
29
30
31
No Words
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
No Time
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
A Demon Hunter’s Promise

Acknowledgements
About the Author
Want To Read More?



2009



BRISTOL


1
Oily and bitter, the lingering odour of burnt flesh lodged in the back of Elliot’s throat. If he hadn’t known where the smell came from, he might not have thought anything of it.
Fifteen minutes had passed since the first reports had hit social media. Ten minutes since “spontaneous combustion” had started trending and flagged up on Elliot’s searches. Mostly third-hand accounts, but he’d found enough supposed eyewitnesses to convince him it was worth investigating.
Seven minutes since he’d left the Weird News office to drive down Whiteladies Road and across the city centre to the scene. Now, as he approached the waterside edge of Castle Park, that hint of charred human on the breeze made the whole situation more real. He pressed his lips together, swallowed, and headed closer.
A couple of patrol cars were parked on the roadside, alongside a grey Ford Mondeo he suspected was an unmarked police vehicle from the radio equipment visible on the dashboard. Rows of curious people gathered behind railings strung with blue-and-white striped tape. Some held phones above their heads like digital periscopes, trying to glimpse the focus of all the activity before the daylight faded. People loved a morbid circus.
Elliot pushed closer to the front.
Beyond the cordon, blue lights flashed from the roof of a police car parked near the bandstand – no sirens though, which left the park oddly quiet against the background hum of the city. Further in, another police car, two ambulances and a white van were parked in a rough circle around a brightly lit white tent, which presumably hid the remains. A large presence, but then Bristol had been on high alert for violent crime since the shooting last week.
He’d missed the initial frantic activity. Now, quiet tension held sway.
At a break in the railings where a cycle path entered the park, the police tape looped between several bollards. There, a police officer wearing a stab vest stood with his hands clasped in front of him, chin tilted up as if daring anyone to try something. Elliot sized the man up from a distance. In his forties, maybe even early fifties, and stuck with guard duty? Couldn’t be an ambitious sort, but probably dependable, stoic. The onlookers were certainly giving him a wide berth. Elliot doubted he’d get more from him than an official line, but if he could get the man flustered something might slip. He extracted himself from the press of bodies and skirted the rear of the crowd.
The constable gave him the evil eye as he approached. “Should have known you’d turn up at some point.”
Elliot tried for a friendly but professional smile. “Have we met?”
“No, but the inspector warned me about you.”
“Detective Inspector Yates?”
The man nodded. Now Elliot realised where he’d seen that particular grey Mondeo before. He could do without crossing paths with Yates again, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. It had been weeks since a story with genuine supernatural potential had broken so close.
“Well, PC…” He looked for a name tag.
“Reynolds.”
“Right. Elliot Cross.” He held out a hand, which Reynolds briefly shook. “I’m sure he’ll have told you I’m just a reporter. Right?”
Reynolds’ jaw twitched. “That wasn’t the word he used,” he muttered.
Elliot kept his expression bland, pretending he hadn’t heard. “I’m only after the facts. Is there a theory on how the fire started?”
Reynolds widened his stance and straightened up. “You’ve wasted a trip, I’m afraid. We’re not releasing any details at this time.”
“I appreciate your investigation has barely begun, but surely there’s a basic statement you can give me?”
The man folded his arms. “DI Yates will be issuing a press statement tomorrow morning. You’ll have to wait till then.”
“Right, right. But you see there’s already a lot of speculation flying around. Maybe you could help me put a few rumours to bed before they get out of hand.” He took his notebook from his pocket, flipped to a fresh page.
Reynolds frowned and said nothing.
“Are you treating this as an act of violence? An attack?”
“I can’t disclose that information,” Reynolds said, but at the same time he shook his head.
“Alright. Is there any truth to reports of the man getting angry before the incident? Any evidence he was making a phone call?”
Reynolds shifted his feet. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“What about unusual phenomena in the lead-up? Strange silences, animals acting unpredictably…?”
“Unusual… A man died from burns. There’s nothing unusual about it! Have a little respect.”
“I apologise, I meant no disrespect. I’m sure there’s a clear, rational explanation for what happened.”
“Of course.”
“Which is?” He held Reynolds’ gaze, letting him see a hint of a challenge.
“We don’t… You’ll have to wait till the press statement.”
“Fair enough.” Elliot made a show of jotting down a few notes.
Reynolds huffed. “Are you done?”
“Did the victim work with flammable chemicals at all?”
“Not that we know of. Now I’m serious, you’ll have to wait till tomorrow. Move along.”
“I understand. Thank you for your time.”
Elliot finished noting down his thoughts as he returned to the crowd.
The number of people didn’t seem to be decreasing. Why were they here, really? He could still taste that bitter taint on the back of his tongue. Had any of them even noticed it? Of course, some of that bitterness might have come from realising how much his reputation had spread among the Avon and Somerset constabulary.
Police withholding information was to be expected, but Reynolds’ unsettled demeanour suggested that whatever had happened wasn’t clear cut. Otherwise they’d have wrapped up faster and at least issued a basic statement to forestall any hysterics. He was certain they didn’t have a theory, but that didn’t mean much. As a rule, he didn’t accept a lack of evidence as proof, especially when it came to the supernatural. For all that Weird News drew a fairly sensationalist readership, it was a matter of principle that he stuck to the same journalistic standards he always had.
What he needed now was a first-hand witness.
He backtracked along the cordon. About fifty yards from the cycle path the road dropped below the level of the park; it turned ninety degrees to the right along the base of a four-foot retaining wall topped by dense shrubs. There was technically no access into the park this way, and no police guarded it. With the daylight fading quickly it should be easy to stay hidden. Elliot checked no one was looking, then hoisted himself onto the wall. He scrambled through the overgrown bushes, picking up a few scrapes and almost losing his glasses when a stray branch flicked in his face.
He crouched behind the fence at the top of the slope and paused, giving any details a chance to leap out at him from this new vantage point. Three shadows moved around inside the tent, silhouetted against the canvas by work lights running off a portable generator. Still gathering evidence.
The rear doors of one ambulance stood open. Inside, a paramedic moved around a person sitting on the stretcher. Elliot could only see the edge of a knee and arm, but anyone being treated must have been involved. He checked Reynolds was still facing the other way, then climbed over the fence.
As he approached, it became clear the patient was a young woman. The harsh fluorescent lights washed the colour from her pale complexion, and greasy soot stained her blonde hair. The paramedic was applying dressings to her hands.