Heathen/Nemesis

Eighty-Seven

It looked like a hallway.

As Donna eased the door open and peered through she saw a large area of black-and-white tiled floor with three doors leading off it. To the right was a staircase. The hallway was twenty feet across, perhaps a little more. It was brightly lit by two enormous crystal chandeliers hanging from the ornate ceiling. Donna could see the clusters of lights reflected in the tiles.

There were no shadows in which to hide.

She eased the door open a fraction more and looked round at the staircase. It looked like bare mahogany. No carpet covered the highly polished wood. The walls were a dark colour completely devoid of decoration of any kind. Not one single painting hung either in the hallway or on the stairs.

Donna eased the .357 from her shoulder holster and steadied it in her hands.

‘What are you doing?’ Julie wanted to know.

‘We’ve got to get across that hall,’ Donna told her. ‘If anyone comes out of any of those doors, I want to be ready.’

She took a step out into the brightly lit hall.

Her eyes darted back and forth over the three doors, then up the stairs. She inclined her head, a signal for Julie to follow her towards the stairs.

Donna’s eyes never left the top of the flight as they climbed; Julie kept her attention riveted to the doors.

They climbed slowly, step by step, their progress agonizingly slow. Donna was aware how hopelessly exposed they would be, should anyone either enter the hall or approach from the head of the stairs. She could see a large landing at the top with more rooms leading off it.

A step creaked protestingly beneath Donna and she froze. The sound seemed to echo around the hall.

She gripped the revolver tightly, looking quickly around her.

‘Come on,’ whispered Julie, her own heart beating faster. ‘Move it.’

Donna remained motionless. After what seemed like an eternity, she began to climb once more.

Julie followed gratefully.

‘Listen,’ said Donna.

Julie heard nothing at first then ...

Breathing.

It sounded as if there was someone close to them, breathing. A low, almost inaudible but laboured breathing.

‘Where the hell is that coming from?’ Julie said frantically, trying to keep her voice low.

Donna had no answer. All she could do was look around, trying to find the source of it.

Was someone watching them?

The breathing sounded close, as if someone were standing right next to them. Yet they were the only ones on the staircase.

Donna felt cold fingers of fear plucking at the hairs on the back of her neck. She moved further up the stairs until she reached the landing.

The breathing continued, a little more faint now, though. The two women looked round at the doors on the landing. They were all tightly closed. The breathing didn’t seem to be coming from any of them.

It still seemed as if it was from an invisible source right beside them.

Imagination?

Julie looked back and forth anxiously. Their assailant could be behind any one of the doors. Just waiting.

‘Donna . . .’

Her words trailed off as she heard a sound below.

One of the doors leading into the hall had opened.

The two women ducked down against the landing rail and watched as a smartly dressed man emerged from a room beyond the hall, his shoes beating out a tattoo on the polished floor. He vanished beneath them, then returned a moment later carrying a bottle of brandy. He disappeared back into the door through which he’d emerged.

For what seemed like an eternity Donna and Julie crouched where they were, watching the closed door. Then Donna raised herself up slowly, moving to the head of the stairs.

‘Come on,’ she said quietly. ‘We’ll see where he’s gone.’

They began to descend, Donna holding the pistol at the ready should the man or any like him appear again.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs Donna heard the low breathing again. She tried to ignore it but she couldn’t. Her heart thumped hard in her chest as she looked around.

‘I can still hear it,’ Julie said, as if to affirm what her older sister already knew.

Donna nodded slowly, and moved across the hall towards the door through which the smartly dressed man had disappeared only moments earlier.

The chandeliers above them pinned them in bright light; Julie could see their reflections in the fine crystal.

There was still no sound except for that infernal low breathing. The entire house seemed to be deserted, but after the appearance of the smartly dressed man, they knew that to be untrue. Could Julie be right? Could this be the wrong house? What if The Sons of Midnight didn’t frequent this building? What if they only gathered at certain times?

What if?

There was only one way to find out.

Donna grabbed the door handle, swallowed hard and pushed.