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Date Posted: 16:34:42 05/03/02 Fri
Author: Repost Fairy
Author Host/IP: 64.193.19.25
Subject: Chapter 64 (a bit of swearing)
In reply to: Genevieve 's message, "Burden of Proof - Chapter 55 onwards..." on 16:10:02 05/03/02 Fri

~*~*~*~

Nikita sat bolt upright in bed, her heart hammering against her ribs. Something awful had intruded into her dreams, jolting her awake. Oh god…what the hell was that?!

Breaking glass.

Fear stabbed at her belly, freezing her blood. Nikita gripped the bedclothes tightly, trying to take long calming breaths. She’d always wondered what she’d do if she heard an intruder. She had hoped she would keep a cool head and deal with the situation calmly, but it seemed more likely that she would, in fact, simply sit on her bed feeling nauseous and just hope they would go away.

No. Nikita sucked in another lungful of cool night air and gritted her teeth. You picked the wrong girl on the wrong day, you wanker. Shivering, she threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Glad she’d decided to sleep in pyjamas instead of underwear, Nikita got to her feet and silently padded across the dark bedroom. She had no built-in cupboards for anyone to hide in, and one quick look into the little adjoining bathroom told her it was empty. She crept quickly to the doorway, avoiding the wide stream of moonlight that shone through the window. The last thing she wanted to do was throw up a ‘look, I’m here’ silhouette on the rice paper screens in her room.

Her heart felt as though it might burst through her ribs. Every tiny noise seemed magnified, but she was glad of it. The blood pounded in her head so loud she could hardly hear herself breathing, let alone pinpoint an intruder’s footsteps. Crouching as low to the floor as possible, she took a deep breath and peered out into her apartment, her gaze sweeping the whole lower level.

Nothing.

She squinted, her eyes becoming more accustomed to the half-light. Still nothing.

So what did I hear? Her gaze travelled again to the small living room, and around to the French doors leading to her balcony. No broken glass there. Was it possible I dreamt it? She edged forward, still in a crouch. She stared out through the closed French doors as best she could, and her heart lurched. Something was out of place on the balcony. Something didn’t look quite right.

The table. Nikita let out her breath in an unsteady woosh. The small, round wooden table at which she ate breakfast every morning was lying on its side. Did I bring in my empty coffee mug this morning? She couldn’t remember. Perhaps that was what she’d heard breaking.

She stayed crouched in the hallway for what seemed like an eternity, until her calf muscles twinged in protest, spurring her into reluctant action. I can’t sit here all bloody night. Nikita rose cautiously, trying to look everywhere at once. Hugging the wall with her back, she sidled across the landing to the stairs leading down to the living room. It was deathly quiet. She looked at her front door. All the locks were still engaged. Still feeling slightly sick in the stomach, she crept through the apartment, peering into every dark nook and cranny. I didn’t realise there were so many places to hide in this bloody place!

When she reached the French doors and looked out onto the balcony, she let out a soft sigh of relief. Her favourite coffee mug was no more. Its shattered remains lay in a garish pile of jagged blue and red china under the wicker chair. She frowned, staring down at the little weather-beaten wooden table, lying on its side. It may have been old, but that table had been sturdy enough to withstand years of storms and high winds. How on earth did it tip over?

Nikita turned on the outside light before gripping one of the bronze door handles, her thumb poised to flip the small lever that would unlock the door. But the handle turned easily in her hand, making her blood run cold. I locked these doors. I know I did.

She leaned against the door, her heart pounding. The entire balcony was visible. Unless someone was hiding in the empty terracotta planter, roughly the size of a large shoebox, which was bloody unlikely, she was alone.

Nikita pulled both doors open with a determined flourish. The cool night air washed over her heated skin, instantly drying the thin layer of sweat that fear had formed. Shivering, she walked slowly over to the fallen table, her gaze darting in every direction. Righting the table, she looked sadly down at her smashed coffee mug. Walter had given it to her when she started working at Stanley & Pembroke. He’d deliberately bought the most luridly coloured one he could find, knowing that she was working in an ‘beige at best’ environment.

Hands on hips, she carefully surveyed the entire balcony, trying to ignore that she was now officially freezing. Going from a warm bed to an open-air balcony wearing no more than leggings and a tank top, wasn’t the smartest thing to do when it was autumn in London.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Nikita went inside quickly, shutting and locking the French doors behind her, but leaving the outside light on. Rubbing her eyes, she walked through to the kitchen, where the clock on her microwave told her it was now five-thirty in the morning. She sighed. It’s pointless going back to bed now. I’m too jumpy – I’d never get to sleep again.

Well, I know I wanted something to take my mind off my week from hell, but this is a bit much. Nikita eyed the French doors suspiciously. Time for a new deadbolt, I think. Yawning, she turned on the coffeemaker and reached for her favourite blend of beans. The hardware stores wouldn’t open for another two hours. If she wasn’t going back to bed, she was going to do the next best thing. Dose up on double mochas and watch the Saturday morning cartoons.

~*~*~*~*~*~

wanker - idiot, putz, stupid person

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Replies:

  • Chapter 65 (quite a bit of bad language) -- Repost Fairy, 16:36:15 05/03/02 Fri
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