94
Nightingale let himself into his flat and hurried down the hallway to the kitchen. He knew that the best thing for stress was hot sweet tea, but what he wanted was alcohol to dull the pain, the purer the better. He had several bottles of Corona in his fridge but that wasn’t strong enough for what he wanted. There was a bottle of Russian vodka in the icebox and he took it out, unscrewed the top and drank from it. He took three gulps before it began to burn his throat and he gasped.
He half filled a tumbler with vodka then popped the tab of a can of Coke and poured that in. He took the tumbler, the Coke can and the vodka bottle into his sitting room and put them on the table by the window. The Ouija board was still there, surrounded by the five candles.
He took a long drink of vodka and Coke and began pacing around the room. His mind was whirling and he found it impossible to concentrate. All he could think about was the knives going into Bella’s eyes and the way her body had gone into convulsions when he’d thrust the final knife into her heart.
He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and then took another gulp of vodka and Coke. He wanted to get drunk, so drunk that he wouldn’t remember what he’d done. His stomach lurched and he fought the urge to vomit.
He pulled his mobile phone from his raincoat pocket. He wanted to talk to somebody. Jenny maybe. Or Robbie. But what he could tell them? And if he told them the truth, what would they say? He tossed the phone onto the sofa, then took off his raincoat and draped it over the back of a chair. He drained his glass and grabbed the vodka bottle for a refill.
As he sloshed vodka into the glass he noticed movement on the Ouija board. He frowned and stared down at the planchette. It was vibrating. He shook his head, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him. But there was no doubt, the planchette was juddering. As he watched it began to move slowly across the board. Nightingale held his breath, the vodka bottle and glass forgotten. The planchette moved slowly but surely in a smooth motion until it reached the word GOODBYE. Then it stopped dead. Nightingale felt a cold breeze on the back of his neck and he shivered. ‘Goodbye, Bella,’ he whispered, then drained his glass in one.