“Richard, sorry to disturb. Urm, need you at the station. Murder.”
Brandt yawned. “Alright, be there in twenty. Put kettle on.” He hung up and sighed. He was just about dozing off when the phone had rang.
He got up from his makeshift bed on the couch and rubbed the ache out of the back of his neck, then got dressed and tucked Alex’s gun in the holster under his arm. As he slid his right arm in his jacket he winced at the sharp pain that spread through his shoulder.
Jesus, those painkillers don’t do much.
When the pain receded he noticed the dark spots on his shirt where the blood had seeped through. He checked the dressing on the wound just below his collarbone. The wad of gauze taped to his skin would hold just until he got back, then he’d change it out for a fresh one. As he brushed his finger over one of the red spots, he pressed it in a little and winced at the pain. He left it alone after that.
On his way out he went to knock on the bedroom door. He hesitated at the last minute.
Would she even wanna know I’m off out? Ha! Don’t be daft. She didn’t even want to know what happened earlier.
Brandt opened his mouth to tell her, then he heard Kayleigh and the kid she’d brought home in the bedroom. She was screaming his name as the sound of the bedposts banging against the wall speeded up.
He didn’t say anything. It had been going on for far too long, but today of all days was a god damn joke… Like hell she’d forgotten what day it was either. If anything, she was doing on purpose because of it, to rub it in.
Brandt closed his eyes, sighed and against the cold nauseating feeling in his stomach that he felt every time she did this, he reminded himself it was all going to be OK, one day. Then he left the flat. He locked the door behind him.
The opening prologue, short and sweet, to my second novel: An Inside Joke.