❝I had a conversation with Death, he wants you back ❞
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At the New Year's Eve party, Quincy Sinclair finds the dead body of Alfred Kingsley III. Resident golden boy and incredibly rich, his death was no accident.
By morning, Quincy sees him again...
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I jolted awake and gasped for air.
My arms reached out in front of me desperately while my eyes frantically searched the room. I was still in my bedroom but the air had changed. Slowly, I placed a hand to my chest to feel the racing of my heart but when I did, the texture of my clothes distracted me. It wasn't the jumper I was wearing earlier but instead the silky material of a light navy dress that hung loosely around me.
The dress caused my already ragged breaths to quicken because I recognised it instantly. It was the outfit that I thought was lost forever. It looked a little different now that it wasn't covered in blood.
"Quincy!" The sound of my Dad's voice rang up from downstairs.
Hesitantly, I swung my legs around the bed, sitting upwards and letting my heeled shoes hit the floor. Instantly, black dots surrounded the edge of my vision and I felt dizzy. I blinked past the darkness, though and squinted to see the clock on my bedside table.
10:43 pm, it read. Why was I in a dress? Why was my dad still up? Normally, he went to bed early, it was only when mum-.
I pushed myself to my feet and hobbled to the door, throwing it open. There, right in front of my bedroom door on the opposite wall, was a picture that made my blood run cold. It was a picture I knew well, one that I loved quite a bit. It was of the beach on a sunny day. Standing on the gleaming sand was Dad in his swimming trunks and a loose t-shirt with a six-year-old me on his shoulders. Big smiles adorned our faces and Dad had one hand on my leg, holding me tight, the other around a woman's small waist.
Amélie Sinclair.
That knowledge propelled my legs forward and I glided down the stairs, throwing myself around the corner to see the living room. Dad sat on the sofa with his legs up and his glasses on. Just Dad, though. My heart rate slowed, she wasn't here and I couldn't tell whether I was happy about it or not.
Sure, it was disappointing but perhaps it was for the best.
Dad looked up and smiled at me, a few more greys in his usually black hair. The TV blared with whatever he was watching and the smell of Christmas had disappeared.
I opened my mouth to speak when I felt an arm snake around my waist from behind and a chin dropped onto my shoulder. The person was shorter than I and the strong smell of aloe vera flew up my nostrils, triggering a hint of nostalgia within my brain.
"She's finally ready," this person laughed, mocking me playfully. She had a soft voice, warm and comforting with a hint of an accent.
Dad chuckled along and I took the chance to glance to my side. My breath got caught in my throat.
"Mum," I breathed out shakily.
I didn't think I'd picked that, and yet...
She held a cup of coffee in her hand and just as I was slowing down my heart, she detached herself from me and placed the mug onto the coffee table for Dad. My fingers itched to reach out and pull her to me.
