Karla awoke coughing and gasping, her head reclined on Isobel’s lap in the back seat of the little blue Ford. Droplets misting the windshield refracted light from a street lamp, transforming a row of rowan trees into living pointillism. Bursting with berries, their leaves had begun to turn.
Renfrew glanced over his shoulder from the driver’s seat. “She lives! Goodness darling, we thought you went into a bloody coma. Sorry you had to miss out on dinner, but your sister insisted we let you sleep.”
“Don’t worry La, I saved you some fried rice,” said Isobel.
“Where are we?” said Karla, squinting, cobwebs muddling her brain.
“Home,” said Isobel.
“Inverness?” Karla bolted upright, alarmed.
“It’s okay, La,” said Isobel, patting her. “Ren wanted to stop and check on Sturgie. Jessica’s gone to see if he’s alright.”
Renfrew ran the wipers to clear the accumulated droplets. He wiped a cloth above the dashboard. The night world came clear for a few moments before the mists and fog again smothered it.
They were parked on the street before an array of three modern apartment buildings with glassed-in lobbies, arrayed around a square and sterile-looking central green space haunted by a smattering of scraggly lindens.
She knew the spot well. They were a block from Longman Road, near the busy roundabout at Inverness College—part of the consortium of small schools that formed the University of the Highlands and Islands.
Inverness College was too small to have its own residence halls, so students either commuted or rented flats in rowdy apartment blocks dominated by students and young professionals.
A chill shuddered through Karla. Isobel had her window rolled down partly, probably because the glass was fogging up from the inside, but that wasn’t entirely the cause. Being back in Inverness was enough.
“You shouldn’t have let Jessica go by herself,” said Karla.
“Had to,” said Renfrew. “Sturgie would never open his door if he saw me coming.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a long story. We had a … a bit of a falling out.”
“How long has she been gone?” said Karla.
“Not long. Maybe ten minutes.”
“I should go check on her,” said Karla, reaching for the door latch.
“She’ll be fine,” said Renfrew. “She has her mobile.”
A car pulled up across the street under street lamp—a black Vauxhall. The vehicle barely registered with Karla, until the door opened and a tall man stepped out, blonde locks spilling from beneath his watch cap. A younger man in a hooded sweatshirt exited the passenger side. They stood and consulted a map together, before striking out across the street right in front of them.
“Renfrew! Turn off your wipers. And keep them off.”
“But why?”
“Turn them off!”
Before the mist rebuilt to consume their view and conceal them, approaching headlights of the pair, confirming what she feared.
“Why’s that bugger carrying a cricket bat this time of night?” said Renfrew.
“They’re from Papa’s church,” said Karla, undoing her buckle. “They must be coming after Sturgie.”
“It’s Mr. Joshua!” said Isobel, daubing the side window with her sleeve for a better look.
