The Gadget: The Rondon Chronicles Book One V. Timlin (mobi reader .txt) 📖

Anouk blushed. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Nat.”

Nat smiled and winked and Anouk turned to go.

“Anouk?” Nat called behind her.

“Yes?” She twisted her head.

“Could you tell me the direction of Uxbridge Road?”

“That way.” Anouk pointed along the path she was following. “It’s the road beyond the gate.”

“Much obliged.”

Anouk waved her hand and resumed walking. He was rather hot. The steampunk costume was very becoming, and those eyes… maybe she should have given him her number.

“Okay, Anouk. Snap out of it. Handsome and well mannered, yes, but decidedly weird. The guy jumped out of a grave, for God’s sake. Maybe I should check tomorrow if they did lift the lid back,” she muttered.

She came to the gate and turned to walk along Uxbridge Road. Her neck started to itch as if she was being watched. She spun around. An elderly couple sauntered along the opposite side of the road, but their gazes were directed at each other. A stream of cars drove past and a dog walker popped behind a corner. His dog stopped, sniffing a lamppost before lifting its hind leg.

Pressing her head down, she resumed walking. She was imagining things. Still, the itch on her neck persisted as she hurried home.

* * *

Anouk woke up in the middle of the night, nauseous and with a skull-splitting headache.

She groaned. Oh, shit. That bright light must have triggered some sort of migraine or something. She staggered to the bathroom and fumbled through her medicine cabinet for painkillers. She tossed two aspirins deep into the back of her throat but before she could swallow the pills, her stomach lurched and a geyser of vomit erupted from her mouth. She managed to get over the bath as her digested dinner began splattering against the white enamel.

“Great,” she moaned.

She crawled to the toilet seat. A cramp tightened her abdomen again, and she emptied another load.

“Dear God…”

Hanging her head over the toilet bowl she sobbed and disgorged. “This isn’t a migraine, but some really bad stomach bug.”

Purge.

“I’m a fucking fountain of puke.”

Purge.

“I’m dying!”

Purge.

The next morning Anouk awoke on the bathroom floor, her body sore and head aching. Exhausted, sick and feeling like death, she now questioned if it were she who had crawled from a grave, in contrast to being no more than witness to the same act.

“If this is the afterlife, it’s bloody awful.”

She held on to the edge of the bathtub and hauled herself up. The sight of the vomit in it made her gag. She grabbed the shower head and washed the mass of indistinguishable foodstuffs down the drain.

Still holding the shower head, she pondered should she take a shower as well but decided against it. No work today, that’s for sure.

She checked her face in the mirror above the basin. The image of the woman staring back at her made her grimace—her jaw was smeared with vomit, the greenish-brown of her irises stood out against the pink-hued whites of her eyes, the freckles against her pale skin looked darker, matching the brown of her long, knotted hair.

“I look like a bloody zombie.”

She rinsed out her mouth and rubbed the grime off her chin before glancing back at the mirror. “That’ll do.”

Anouk shambled out of the bathroom and headed to the bedroom. She collapsed on the bed and struggling, reached for the mobile phone on the nightstand. It was half-past eight. She searched for Alison’s number and pressed the green receiver symbol.

After several hollow rings Alison replied, the background noise of commuting nearly drowning her voice, “Hi, Anouk.”

“Hi. Look, I’m not coming to work today. I’m sick,” Anouk croaked.

“Oh, poor you. Hopefully it’s nothing serious.” Alison exhibited a tone of exaggerated sympathy that irked Anouk.

“No, just a stomach flu or something. I’ll call the boss after nine when she’s in the office. I wanted to let you know first, though.”

“Good that you did. I would have been worried.”

Anouk rolled her eyes. Did Alison think she was prone to slashing her wrists? Alison needed kids, cats, whatever. She would buy her one before Alison drove her to it. Anouk pinched the bridge of her nose, acknowledging she was not being fair on Alison. She was just being a good friend.

Alison’s voice drifted from the other end of the line, “Do you need anything from the shop or pharmacy? I could get something for you so you don’t have to go out yourself.”

“No, no. I’m fine. Don’t need anything. Thanks for asking, though.”

“Okay. Well, call me if you need anything, alright?”

“Yeah, I will. Bye for now.”

“Bye. Get well soon.”

Anouk waited half an hour, lying in her bed before she called her boss who was more than happy to grant her as many days off as she needed. Yes, no one wanted a stomach bug, thank you. One of the team members would finish the report.

She tossed the phone back on the nightstand and lay back on her bed, with strength only to stare up at the ceiling. Where had she got that bug? From Nat? To think of it, it wouldn’t be a surprise, after all he had been rolling in bones. God knows what illness had claimed the deceased in that sarcophagus.

“Hope this isn’t the plague or I’ll sue that man. Handsome or not,” she muttered.

She smacked her tongue against her palate and swallowed. Saliva stung her throat as if she had swallowed a cactus. She grimaced. Her mouth tasted like a rat had crawled in and died. Judging by the foul taste, the rodent was already decomposing. She needed a cup of strong tea.

Anouk hoisted herself out of bed, but collapsed right back—too much effort. She would make tea later. Dreams were creeping in and she curled uncomfortably under the duvet.

* * *

Anouk stirred from her sleep. Something had awoken her. She listened. A key was turning in the lock… Owen.

“Damn you, Owen! I said, drop the key through the letter box.”

There came no reply but the key kept turning.

Anouk jumped from her bed and stormed to the entrance. She