For a long, long time I lay under the covers, the knife next to me, listening for anything that sounded out of place, determined not to be caught out by the murderer. The bedroom door was locked, as was the window, but I still didn’t feel safe. Locks can be picked. If Charlie was the killer, he might have spare keys. I managed to push a small chest of drawers in front of the door to slow down any advance, but it was hardly foolproof. In the end, though, even the fear gave way to exhaustion and I drifted off sometime around dawn, awaking with a start at 9.16. I felt like crap but there was a real sense of relief too. I mean, if nothing else, I was still alive. Sunlight drifted in through the narrow gap in the curtains and I pulled them open, squinting against the brightness. I don’t normally smoke first thing in the morning but I made an exception today and had a cigarette out the window. The wind had picked up substantially and, even with the shelter provided by the rock, it was still powerful enough to make me shiver.
