Living with the Dead

COLM





COLM WATCHED THE COUPLE walk out of Robyn Peltier’s apartment minutes after he’d seen the cops leave. The place was a regular Grand Central Station, his mom would say.

He backed farther into the cubby by the waste-disposal chute, but they headed the other way, toward the stairs. He continued to watch them through his mind’s eye. Their figures were faint against a shimmering background, as if seen at the bottom of a lake through a dirty, glass-bottomed boat.

It was a struggle to keep a fix on them. He’d been light-headed all evening—probably from not eating all day. After last night, his stomach was in a permanent knot, refusing to accept even the thought of food.

He’d killed a man. Shot him in the back. He’d had to, of course, for Adele. She’d been so grateful. And his reward . . . He shivered now, thinking of it.

Besides, the man had been an outsider. The kumpania taught that killing a human for survival was no different than slaughtering a cow for food. But last night, watching the man die, Colm hadn’t been so sure.

Still, it was over. He’d done the right thing, and now he had to focus on helping Adele again.

The couple was about halfway down the hall now, moving fast, the man holding a backpack in one hand, his other on the woman’s back.

Colm wished he could see the woman’s face. She looked pretty. He watched her rear moving under her tight pants and felt himself harden. His gaze moved to the man’s hand, so confident, so intimate, her hair cascading over his fingers. Beautiful hair, black curls spilling down her back. Nothing like Adele’s short, straight, dirty-blond hair. Guilt surged at the comparison, but it trickled away as he imagined what it would be like to touch the woman’s hair, to wrap it around his fingers, to see it hanging down as she rode above—

Fresh guilt slapped the image out of his head. She was human. Unfit. Unclean. Even to entertain the thought was a betrayal—

The woman glanced over her shoulder, as if she’d heard his thoughts. His heart pounded, and her image faded. He concentrated on pulling it back, working so hard that the vision snapped into focus, nearly crystal-clear.

Even with the frown, she was pretty. Brown skin and golden eyes like a cat—

“What’s wrong?” The man’s voice was soft, but carried down the quiet hall. He stopped, pulling her farther into his protection as he scanned the corridor. “Did you—?” The next words sounded like “sense something?”

The woman shook her head and tore her gaze away. She murmured something too low for Colm to hear and they continued to the stairwell. Colm struggled to hold the vision, but by the time they reached the last flight, the scene blinked out.

Colm had presumed they were part of the investigation. Friends of Robyn Peltier’s helping the police to find her.

After seeing their cautious glances, though, he reconsidered. Both had been dressed in dark clothes. They’d taken the stairs, not the elevator like the police. Again he saw that backpack swinging from the man’s hand.

Colm hurried after them.