“DED 1666? Are you sure?” The Sgt. asked “It’s a pretty unusual number, probably a custom plate.”
“Yes I’m sure.”
“A number like that should be easy to trace. You can’t remember the color, but you remember the plate number.”
“Like you said, it’s unusual.” The doorbell rang again. Pam left Lindsay and the Sgt. together and opened the door to Steve, Lindsay’s brother. He followed her into the kitchen. “I thought I’d pop by to make sure you’re alright. I just opened the local newspaper and saw what happened at that disco. I heard the fire engines last night, but didn’t know where they were going. Isn’t that where you hang out sometimes?” Then he looked at Sargent Whitely. “Are you in trouble Lindsay?”
“No for once I’m not in trouble. I was at the disco last night, I left early. All of my friends were there. Now they’re dead.” Lindsay’s voice broke. She didn’t have a close relationship with her brother and he looked uncomfortable.
“What? There are no survivors? God, I didn’t know. That’s awful. Why didn’t you come to us last night. You shouldn’t be on your own. I’m not sure how to contact Mum and Dad, they’re in France somewhere.”
Lindsay looked a Steve. He was genuinely worried, a side of him she’d never seen before. “Whats the point in worrying them. They probably won’t hear the news in France, leave them be and let them enjoy their vacation. God knows they deserve it.”
Sgt Whitely interrupted, “I’m going to leave you in peace now. If you remember anything else please call me.” Lindsay nodded and Pam showed him out.
Steve looked at his sister. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Lindsay said. She felt numb, probably in shock. “I’m alive.”
Pam switched on the kettle. “It’s too early for anything stronger so we’ll make do with tea. That car you saw, you’d best watch out for it, it may be the bloody Irish. They might be watching you. Terrorist bastards.”
“IRA?” Steve looked at me alarmed. “Did the IRA do this?”
“No one knows. The locals are putting two and two together and making six. They are guessing its the IRA because Studio 2 is near an Army camp. No one really knows what happened. They say it may be a car bomb, but everyone is just jumping to conclusions.”
“Do you want to come and stay with Janie and I until this all blows over?” Steve asked.
“It’s never going to blow over, people are dead, how can that blow over? No, I’ll be alright here.” A noise from outside made everyone look towards the window. Lindsay screamed.
“What wrong?” Pam asked. Lindsay couldn’t speak, just pointed to the window.
Steve opened the back door. “Nothing here, it was probably a squirrel or something.
Lindsay was visibly shaking. “No one saw the face at the window?”
Pam and Steve looked at each other. Steve spoke “No, I didn’t see anything. Are you sure you don’t want to come and stay with Janie and I?”
“Don’t treat me like an invalid, I saw a someone at the window.”
“Did you recognize them? Who was it?” Pam asked.
“It looked like Mel.”
“Wasn’t Mel at Studio 2 with you last night? Did she leave with you?”
Lindsay hung her head. “No, she was dancing with someone when I left.” She daren’t add that the face she’d just seen at the window was charred, hair burned off and teeth protruding from lips that were no longer there. If she told them that, they’d think she’d lost her mind.
My novel Dead of July is available on Amazon, more stories to be published this year. Check back soon for the next instalment of my short blog story. I hope you it creeps you out!