“Listen, I really should be going,” I finally said to break the awkward silence that had descended over the conversation between Jesse and myself for much too long.

The evening had taken an unfortunate turn. Judging by Jesse's mood, I wasn't going to get any more information out of him that night, not when I considered where my particular line of questioning needed to head. Oh he could switch his mood up and be amiable, even bright and cheery, as long as I didn't continue to press the subject of his family, which essentially meant I would be wasting my time. Plus, for some inexplicable reason, I really needed to get out of that house.

“No, wait. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put a downer on things.” Jesse moved around the centre island counter that divided the kitchen and took one of my hands tentatively in his own; frowning, as if he were unsure of the gesture.

“It's fine, honestly. I shouldn't have been digging when you're obviously not ready to talk about...whatever it is that's bothering you.” I couldn't help the sigh that escaped my lips as I verbalised my disappointment. “But I really should go. It's starting to get late and I have no doubt that Frances will have me working a double shift tomorrow to make up for taking tonight off at such short notice.”

“But we haven't had dessert yet.”Was Jesse's last ditch effort to encourage me to stay, though his tone lacked any real enthusiasm.

“Another time?” I said as I headed to grab my coat and bag from where I had hung them beside the front door. Jesse followed me, our footsteps echoing each other on the hardwood floor.

Ready to leave, I stood on tiptoe and placed a quick kiss onto Jesse's stubbly cheek. It was an impulse gesture, and I'm not sure where the impulse had come from, but it felt appropriate at the time and it drew a small smile back onto Jesse's face.

“Dinner was great. Thank you,” I said, softly, as I stood in front of the door. “And, seriously, don't forget what I said. Think about gelling someone what's got you in such a mess. Keeping it all bottled up will only eat away at your insides. Just, y'know, think about it, okay?”

I smiled as he nodded, visibly considering my words. He opened his mouth, and for one brief moment I allowed myself to be hopeful that he was going to accept my idea, that he was about to tell me to stay so that he could talk about things. But the words he did speak crushed all of this hope into a pulpy mush that caught in my throat.

“Do you want me to walk you back to the pub?”

The wave of disappointment was all encompassing as it washed over me. I breathed in a deep sigh, feeling the chill of the night air fill my lungs as I shook my head.

“Goodnight,” I muttered quietly, the words threatening to get caught in choking constriction I felt in my throat. It was the cold night air, I swear it was, that brought the sting of tear to my eyes. I sniffed them back and, with a sad smile, turned away and hurriedly crunched my way down the gravel path before he could say anything more. Dammit, I would not cry!

The whole situation was stupid, and nothing was working the way it was supposed to. Frustration burned my lungs, my body willing me to cry the strange cocktail of emotions out into the night air, to take the same advice I had given to my mark and release them before they ate away at me. But I couldn't, I stuffed them back down all the harder. I wasn't going to get what I needed from Jesse, not without taking some more drastic measures, and I was even less sure if I really wanted to hear what he had to tell me any more. There was something about him, he wasn't like any of the others had been, and he didn't deserve what he had coming to him – when did I start caring to much?

I scrubbed the tears that had snuck their way past my stubbornness away angrily. Come on Rayne, pull it together. You can't let everything fall to shit now. I wanted to go home, wanted to feel the warm and comforting arms of Hell embrace me and just forget, for a while, all of these human emotions that plagued me, turning my life into one big, confusing mess.

Things were supposed to be so simple, but they hadn't been simple for some time now – since well before my case with Shane even – I could not put my finger on why, but cases had started to feel much more difficult, took increasingly longer to complete and yet nothing significant had seemingly happened to have thrown my life so out of whack. And I wasn't at all confident I had any chance of setting everything straight again.

The journey back to the pub seemed to take no time at all. The dark, country streets passed in a blur of twisted thoughts and confused, silent ramblings that ran endlessly through my head. I barely even registered where I was going until I found myself faced the pub car park. I had to take a moment to drag my mind back to the then and now, a moment to compose myself before I entered the building and had to face Frances.

It wasn't really as late as I had claimed to Jesse – in my eagerness to escape the house he hadn't bothered to check exactly what the time was – so I anticipated the bar would still be fairly busy. If I was lucky, I would be able to sneak around the edge of the bar and up the stairs to my rented room without drawing any attention to myself; though luck had hardly been in my favour recently.

The door snapped shut behind me and I flinched at the loudness of the noise, but it was swallowed by the steady hum of conversation that blanketed the pub. It wasn't nearly as busy as the weekends, but there was a reasonable number of customers still spending their hard earned money. A quick survey of the room and I couldn't spot Frances anywhere. Alan was serving a couple of ladies, and I took the opportunity to rush across the room, I knew that if Frances spotted me she spotted me she wouldn't hesitate to rope me into working the final hours of the shift, and I could do without having to serve drinks to drunks and clean up when they were done; my mind was so not in the game at that moment. I needed some sleep, time to get these emotions under control, and I couldn't do that while surrounded by humans in the midst of alcohol intoxication.

Moving as quickly as I could, I made a dash for the door. I made it up all of two stairs before Frances suddenly poked her head around the door; she'd spotted me.

“Ah, Heather. You're back early, date not quite go to plan?” She questioned me. The forced sweetness and barely suppressed sarcasm in her tone left an unpleasant taste in my mouth.

“Well, it wasn't a date, and things went just fine. Thanks,” I said, curtly, biting my tongue when all I really wanted to do was tell her to mind her own business.

“Well, seeing as you're back already, you can help Alan close up. He's been run off his feet tonight and could really use a hand. I know you won't mind.” She smiled sweetly, patted me on the should and pushed bodily past me so she could head up the stairs.

Her back turned to me, I rolled my eyes. Yeah, of course Alan was run off his feet, Frances had all but relinquished herself of any actual physical labour ever since I'd started work there – I didn't count her bedroom antics amongst them – I knew, from the look of the crowd in the bar, that Alan probably could have done with the help, but I begrudged Frances being the one who'd asked, or more accurately ordered me to go and help out. Plus I really couldn't handle any more human interaction that night.

I felt like one big mess, I needed the time to get myself together because, in that moment, I didn't trust myself. The two very different sides of myself were at war inside of my own head. The demon had been pushed aside in order to get close to Jesse for too long and for so little action; she was growing restless. While the human in me ran amok with a myriad of emotions, throwing me for a loop and making me feel even more restless and agitated.

Anger and frustration battled in me most prominently as I watched Frances retreat up the stairs, under the assumption that I would blindly obey her command. These emotions stirred something inside of me, something so deep rooted and inherent it felt natural to embrace, and difficult to ignore. The blood-lust had started to claw its way up to the surface from the depths of where I kept it hidden, and I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep it under control.

Taking a deep breath, I hurried up the stairs until I caught up with Frances.

“Look, I know it was a big favour for you to let me have the night off. But that's just it, you gave me the night off, not a few hours, the night. Let's face it, I've not had a full night off since I started working here and I could, honestly, really do with the break,” I said, making an effort to keep my voice as flat and emotionless as possible. I really just wanted to curl up in bed and recharge my batteries and hope that the following day might bring me some better luck.

“Well, I hadn't been expecting you to come back until after closing time, or as close to, but seeing as you are here now, you can go and give my husband the break that he so obviously needs. It is, after all what I pay you for, and why I let you stay here, essentially, for free.” She glowered down at me. Standing two steps above me on the flight of stairs put her about a foot taller than me from where I stood, and she intentionally used the high ground to her advantage. I caught on to the implied meaning in her look and tone, if I didn't do as she wished I'd be looking for somewhere new to live, out of necessity and not choice.

“Now, go on downstairs and call last orders so Alan can cash up and get to bed,” she commanded, her tone short and snippy, signalling the end of our conversation; there would be no more arguing with her. She turned her back to me and carried on up the stairs.

I snarled towards her turned back, but I bit my tongue once again and turned around to descend the stairs. If I wanted to continue to live and work there until my face was finally done, then I had little choice but to do as Frances wanted, because where the hell else was I going to go?

At the bottom of the stairs I shoved open the heavy door into the pub and made my fierce progress behind the bar. Slamming my bag down on a shelf below the watercolour of heather, I shrugged off my coat and prepared myself for a trying couple of hours.

Alan was digging about in the till, looking somewhat flustered as he worked out a customers change. “Here, Brian, sorry for the wait,” he said in apology as he dropped the coins into Brian's hand. It was only then that he noticed my presence. “Heather, I thought you were taking the night off?”

“So did I...” I sighed, “yes, well my evening ended early, so I've been sent down to help you out.”

“Oh.” Alan seemed surprised that Frances had even asked me to help him out. “You don't need to to that, I've handled plenty of nights on my own.”

“Don't really think I have much of a choice,” I said and Alan frowned. “It's fine, really. She wants me to help you out and, well, I do what I'm told. I know how it works.”

Not waiting for a reply I turned around and rang the large, bronze bell that hung behind the bar. “Last orders, please!” I shouted above the buzz of noise.

Alan's expression remained unsure, but the final rush of customers that invaded the bar at my call kept us both too busy for him to question me any further, and I was grateful for that. Having to make idle small talk with talkative customers had me feeling frazzled, and I could feel the beginnings of a headache as it throbbed behind my eyes.

“Rough night, love?”

I cringed at the question that came from one of the last few customers. It was almost as bad as being told to 'cheer up because it might never happen.'

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. “Nothing out of the ordinary Frank. What can I get you?” I forced a smile to my lips as I face the greying man who stood before me. I could have poured his drink without asking what he wanted, he ordered the same thing everyday, but forced politeness drew the question from my lips. When he responded with the answer I knew was coming I struggled to hold back the laughter that bubbled in my chest at the ridiculousness of it all. My whole case had become some kind of farce, it was only getting to worse and I was starting to lose my thread of the plot.

I poured his drink and handed it over while he passed me a crisp, five pound note; I didn't need to tell him how much it cost, he knew only too well just how much cash he poured down his throat everyday. You'd have thought these guys might appreciate some variety in their lives from time to time, but no. They were like young children, content only in their strictly controlled routine – only they'd matured beyond milk and naps to rely on alcohol and nicotine to sustain them. Creatures of habit, they all seemed so predictable; except there was something about Frank that left me feeling ill at ease in his presence.

Frank took his change and went back to his lonely seat at the table in the corner. Most people tended to avoid him; a part of me wanted to feel sorry for him, if it wasn't for the strange nagging feeling he evoked. I had to wonder if everyone else felt it too, was it the reason they all avoided him? If only I could put my finger on exactly what that reason was.

The rest of the time passed without much incident. Fewer and fewer customers ordered their final drinks as people finished up and started to leave – it was the middle of the week, most people didn't hang around too late – and that was half the problem. The endless small talk grated on my nerves, but the repetitive monotony of watching the time tick away was, in some ways, worse. My cases were not normally tedious like this and I'd certainly never felt stuck in such a rut before; nor so at war with myself. Even the tiny hope of success I still clung onto wasn't keeping me motivated.

“Time at the bar!” I shouted, clanging the bronze bell a little harder than necessary, “drink up and go the hell home,” I added softly to myself.

The crowd in the pub had thinned out significantly since I'd called for last orders which was good, as far as I was concerned they all couldn't leave quickly enough. I had all but forgotten that Alan was still there with me as I started on my furious clean up routine. The pot washer crashed closed with the force of my shove, glasses toppling over inside of their basket, and I jabbed at the buttons to start the cycle; one more load should be enough to have them all clean. I turned to run out from behind the bar to collect the last few glasses that glittered on the tables, when I ran head first into Alan.

“Hey, Heather, slow down a little. You'll do yourself an injury.” He had the till drawer in his hands and a cascade of coins had spilled to the floor.

“Yeah, sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “Just tired is all, keen to go get some sleep. I'll watch where I'm going in future.” I bent down and scooped the change up from the floor, depositing it back into the drawer for him.

“You know I can handle things from here if you want to go up,” he said kindly, a wrinkle of concern creating a deep furrow across the centre of his brow.

“No, it's fine, I'll finish up. I think Frances will be out for my blood if you don't join her upstairs soon.”

Alan chuckled, “You know she's not that bad, it's all talk really.”

“Yeah, I figured. But I'd still rather keep her happy, it's a big favour to let me live and work here so the less pissed off with me she is the easier my life will be.”

“Okay, well, as long as you're sure,” Alan said, sounding far from convinced. “I'll go cash up upstairs and make sure she doesn't come after your blood then. Goodnight, Heather.”

“Goodnight.”

Alan headed out from behind the bar, with one last look back over his shoulder at me, and made for the stairs. I followed him out, but instead of making for the door and the upper floors, I veered into the lounge bar and started collecting the last of the glasses. I gathered them all into one big group on the top of the polished bar, waiting for their turn in the pot wash, whilst I wiped down the sticky table tops and binned sodden beermats. I made my way around the room like a whirlwind on a mission, wanting to get this task done quickly. I chivvied the last few customers to the exit, locked the large double doors and switched off the overhead lights so that the room was lit only by the spotlights above the bar.

My eyesight in the dark room was still pretty good, but in my haste to get the cleaning done I paid little attention to what was going on around me. After dumping yet another load of glasses down I turned swiftly back around and walked straight into something tall and person shaped.

“Shit, Frank! You scared the crap out of me,” I exclaimed.

I'd looked up into the man's face and instantly recognised the unkempt greying hair, gaunt cheeks peppered with at least a weeks worth of stubble and those imposing grey eyes that were glazed with a pair of beer goggles almost permanently. To say I'd felt intimidated by his presence earlier, when I'd been safely behind the bar would have been untrue, though he unnerved me I hadn't been afraid, not then. But, in the dark, faced with his tall, though slight frame and manic stare I felt the anxiety begin to rise again and clench its fist around my chest.

“We're closed now Frank, it's time to go home,” I said in a purposefully loud and slow voice in case the inebriation slowed his comprehension of my worse, but he just starred at me, blank and emotionless.

I knew he was drunk, he was always drunk, totally alcohol dependent, but something told me he was more than just your average alcoholic, as if those alcohol glazed eyes hid something much more sinister. An idea struck me and I frowned – surely not, in the same tiny village? That was like a one in a million chance surely, unless...

A loud snort, a sound somewhere between humour and exasperation, erupted from Frank's lips and drew me out of my thoughts – not to mention shudder in disgust at the shower of spittle that followed the sound out of his mouth.

“Yeah, right, home,” he slurred, “n'where's that supposed to be then, huh? Bitch's kicked me out again!”

I rolled my eyes and decided to proceed with my original task, I did not need to get into this conversation. Frank's wife kicked him out on a regular basis, at least once a month if not more so I'd been told. To be honest I couldn't understand why she kept taking him back; there really was no understanding people sometimes.

“Well, that is really not my problem Frank. You can't stay here, where do you usually go when she kicks you out?” Like I cared, but I needed to get him out of that pub.

“Me brother's,” he huffed.

“There you go then...”

“Can't go there nomore either. His wife's got fed up with me stopping over, said it was too often she gets up in t'morning and finds me crashed on the sofa.”

Passed out and stinking of drink, yeah I couldn't blame her for getting sick of that. “Still not my problem, Frank. Now it's time for you to go.”

Screwing up my nose, I placed one hand on Frank's back and the other on his arm in an attempt to forcibly lead him towards the door.

“But you could, they rent out rooms here and stuff, don't they?” he asked, quickly.

He turned back around before I'd managed to move him more than three steps across the floor. I'd been loathe to touch him in the first place, but him turning to face me placed him much too close. His breath was rancid and thick with drink, but even that couldn't overpower the fact that he hadn't washed in quite some time, the odour made me cough as I backed away from him.

“Yes, we have rooms, but we don't take any new check-ins after 8pn, those are the rules. Now you don't want Frances after the both of us, do you?” I hoped the threat of Frances' wrath would be enough to deter him from pressing the subject any further, it would for many. “So, now you need to go so I can finish cleaning up. If you still need a room tomorrow, come back and speak to Frances about it.”

“But I ain't got nowhere to go. I'm not leaving, you can give me a room to sleep in you just don't want to.”

The anxiety had ebbed away as Frank hadn't shown any sign of threatening behaviour, but the frustration had certainly caught a second wind. I'd had enough, I would not argue with a drunk, and there was no way I was sleeping in the same building as that man. He may not have been acting aggressive or threatening, but there was still something about that man I didn't trust. Besides, Frances would probably go ape-shit if she knew I'd given that man one of her precious, flowery rooms.

“Look, Frank, I really don't give a shit!” He was cutting into my precious sleep time and I had long since lost my patience. “Go and find somewhere to go, kip on a park bench for all I care. Just go so I can lock the fucking doors and get some sleep myself.”

He looked slightly taken back by my sudden outburst. He opened his mouth to speak but I held up a hand and cut him off.

“No Frank, seriously, save it. I don't want to hear a sob story or any other kind of shit. You brought this situation on yourself, maybe if you spent some more time at home with your family, instead of in here getting shit-faced all the time you might still have a home to go to.”

I knew I was ranting, but I couldn't stop myself. I'd snapped and the words just kept pouring out of my mouth, but I wasn't the only one who could snap, and I should have recognised the danger is pushing Frank too far.

“Hey, who the hell are you to tell me what I should and shouldn't do, huh? You don't get to judge me, you got no idea what goes on in my life!” He snarled at me, angrily and, even in the dark room, I watched something black flash inside of his eyes.

The angry outburst didn't scare me, but that flash of darkness sent a chill of fear down my spine. I had been right in my earlier suspicions, Frank was possessed by a Whisperer demon. His alcoholism was the main symptom, as well as all the bad choices he kept making in his life, all because of a demon whispering inside of his head, encouraging him to do things, inspiring him with sudden impulses. They affected people differently, and some were much more susceptible than others, passing their hosts off as addicts, psychiatric cases, but I could recognise a Whisperer when I saw one.

They were menaces in the demon world. Their mission was to cause pain, misery and destruction from the inside their hosts, it didn't necessarily make Frank more dangerous in the conventional sense; he was no stronger, no more powerful than the average human male of his size and stature. What it did make him was unpredictable, with their powers of hypnosis and mind control the Whisperer made Frank's behaviour erratic, he could flip without so much as a trigger; I would have to be careful.

Ultimately, a Whisperer was at its most dangerous if you acknowledged its existence, realising the truth about its existence drew it to the surface, gave it greater power made it much more of a threat. Exorcisms did work, but the demons didn't go down without a fight and I didn't have the time or energy for that. No, I would have to be careful to try and ignore its existence, all the while wondering why the hell there was a Whisperer demon in the same village I had been sent to. It made me even more keen to get Frank out of my sight, by any means necessary.

“No, don't you snap at me Frank, don't you dare. Because, you know what, you're right, it is nothing to do with me. I don't want to know and I don't care. I just want you gone, now.” I said in a slow and hushed tone as I clenched my fists to try and stop my hands from shaking.

“N-no,” he stuttered, a little hesitant at my menacing tone, but I knew that the mutterings in his head would not keep him afraid for long – not to mention the alcohol that had addled his senses. “No, you have to help. I've got nowhere to go, you can't just kick me out onto the street. It's your fault y'know, people like you, you're the reason I'm in this shit, the reason Linda kicked me out. And now you've got my money you don't care what else happens to me.”

I frowned, what did he mean people like me? Was that people in general, the 'us' that worked in the pub and obligingly served him the evil drink. Or was it the demon talking, tempting me to say something as it teased words from Frank's mouth that the man didn't fully understand. I didn't want to think about it too much, the risk of letting something slip grew bigger every time I thought to hard about why that demon was suddenly in my life, it could be a coincidence, but I doubted it.

It was at that moment that Frank advanced on me, aggression suddenly rippling through his soused limbs. He shuffled across the floor, arms outstretched like some kind of shambling zombie. I stepped backwards and slapped his hands away.

“Knock it off Frank, I told you the sob story wouldn't work and neither will this stunt. You're an alcoholic, Frank, you need help of the special variety, help that I can't provide for you. So get out and let me get on with my job!”

Somewhere in his deeply befuddled head, Frank managed to catch the hint of a threat in my tone, but it didn't entice him to leave any quicker. Instead he lunged at me, arms reaching out again he grabbed for my shoulders and I wasn't quick enough to get out of the way. We stumbled together as I tried to wiggle out of his grip and we went tumbling into one of the battered old tabletops.

We hit it with an ugly thump, I'd managed to shift myself around enough so that I didn't land on my back with Frank on top of me, which was one saving grace, but my left shoulder took the brunt of the impact and I winced in pain.

The legs of the table gave a very large, ugly crack and the whole thing started to give way. Frank had loosened his grip on me when we hit the table, so I shoved at him and, with some painful effort, managed to roll off of the tabletop just as the whole thing collapsed and he went crashing to the floor.

I backed away from the pile of man and old pine on the pub floor until I felt the cool polished side of the bar press at my back. Breathing hard through a mixture of fear and adrenaline, I hissed, “That was a very stupid thing to do!”

While he was still on the floor, I rotated my shoulder to test how badly injured it might be and I winced at the pain of movement. It wasn't dislocated, but it was going to be sore and ache for days, damn. Frank had started to drag himself up from the floor and, not trusting what he might do next, I quickly dashed through the door to the other side of the bar and snatched up the tiny silver parring knife that Alan used for slicing lemons.

It may not have been much of a weapon, but the blade was wickedly sharp and it glinted in the bright spotlights as I brandished it in Frank's direction. My eyes were wide and wild, he'd pushed me too far, something in me had snapped. I wouldn't acknowledge his demon, but I was more than embracing mine. My mouth was dry with anticipation...oh for just a little bloodshed.

I should have threatened to wake Frances, or call the police, but my rational mind had long since checked out and my warring personalities were quiet for a moment with something else to, finally, focus my frustration on. There might be trouble for harming an innocent while I was working a case, he wasn't directly a part of it after all, but he was proving to be a threat to my own safety that would buy me some relief from the demonic wrath – oh yeah, and the guy was possessed. I didn't need a Whisperer getting in the way of my work, Lucifer would understand that, right?

It was a moment or two more before Frank noticed the knife in my hand, small as it was and as fuzzy as his vision must have been, but when he did, he froze in his tracks. I smiled, a sinister baring of teeth and he swallowed hard, I could see the bobbing of his adam's apple, like a ripe fruit just waiting to be sliced.

“Now, I'm not going to say it again, Frank. I think I've made what I want perfectly clear, and you've had more than your fair share of chances.” I took a few slow paces towards the front of the bar, “but you're still not going to leave are you, even now?” I didn't say the words that I was thinking, but I knew that the Whisperer demon wouldn't let him, not yet, not unless I did something more drastic that would threaten its own existence.

“So, I've got an idea.” I waved the knife animatedly through the air in front of his eyes. “Get you a nice comfortable bed for the night, maybe a few days. Lots of people in uniforms around to take care of you. Could solve both of our problems at the same time.”

For a moment I watched a flicker of desperation pass over his face as he actually considered what I was offering him. It too several moments before he realised I was talking about a hospital bed.

Frank shook his head and backed away a step or two. “No, you wouldn't dare.”

“You really want to test that theory?”

In one swift movement I jumped onto the top of the bar and dropped down onto the floor on the other side. Frank took several long, swift strides for the pubs door, he could have been free and gone if I hadn't already locked them. A look of desperate fear on his face, Frank turned back to me and I shook my head. He wasn't able to escape and I wasn't going to be able to turn off the blood-lust. All of my carefully measured control had shattered and been thrown to the wind, leaving me with just my demonic instincts and raw emotions to run on.

I rushed towards him without warning, so swiftly he didn't have a chance to react, and I pressed my free hand to his throat. My shoulder hurt as I moved it, but the surging adrenaline helped me to ignore the ache enough to hold him steady.

His pulse beat frantically beneath my fingertips, like a caged animal struggling to be freed. I drank in his fear through his flesh and found the rush exhilarating, tempting. I pressed the flat of the blade against his cheek, let him feel the chill of the metal and the threat of the sharp edge that was just a flick of my wrist away from biting into his flesh.

“LET ME GO!” he demanded, his voice still strong, loud and determined as it echoed around the empty room. The thought that he might draw Alan and Frances's attention was but a tiny blip at the back of my mind. “I'M SORRY, OKAY. Don't hurt me, please.”

His words, though, despite his tone, sounded forced and insincere, or maybe it was just the pressure of my hand around his throat. Either way, I didn't believe the apology, whether they came from the demon or from Frank himself, they were all about self preservation and nothing more. I knew the signs only too well.

“Yes, well, it's a shame I don't believe you. All I want is to be able to do my job, but it's all just too much. One thing after another, after another, and it just keeps getting more and more complicated. But this, this is simple.”

I slipped the blade down his cheek and pressed it to his throat. The ache in my should had grown more prominent and my grip on him loosened, but I knew for certain that Frank and his demon wouldn't be stupid enough to impale themselves on the knife. I let the sharpness bite into his flesh a little harder, if he moved so much as an inch it would draw blood. I didn't want him to move, not really, it would cut too deep, so close to all of those major arteries, he would bleed out on the pub floor. I couldn't kill him, that was important to remember, but just a little blood?

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON DOWN HERE?” a shrill voice suddenly yelled from behind me.

The lights in the main bar snapped on, flooding the room and momentarily blinding me. The knife fell from my hand as I jumped away from Frank's trembling body and faced Frances.

“Shit.”