Free Dead Flesh by Tim O'Rourke

in his hands. He threw it at me. I
snatched it from the air.
    “What’s this?”
I asked him.
    “You said that
you missed your old life, that you wanted to be Kiera Hudson
again,” he half-smiled and his jet-black eyes twinkled. “So I went
and got you some of your stuff from your flat.”
    “It’s still
there?” I asked him, wondering if parts of my old life had been
pushed too.
    “Kind of,” he
said, lighting a cigarette, watching me unzip the bag.
    “What’s that
mean?” I asked him.
    “Your flat is
four streets along now,” he said. “At first I couldn’t understand
why your underwear drawer was full of thick, old woolly knickers
and bras that the SAS would have been happy to use as parachutes.
Then the old woman started whacking me with her walking stick.”
    “Old lady?” I
laughed. “What old lady?”
    “The old lady
who lives in your flat, the flat that you used to live in before
everything got pushed,” he explained. “She caught me rifling
through her knickers – I thought they were yours. Anyway she whacks
me over the head and calls me kinky. I tried to tell her that I
wasn’t kinky and she said she was going to call the cops.”
    “So what did
you do?” I said, my hand over my mouth as I tried to stifle a fit
of the giggles.
    “I ran, that’s
what I did,” he snapped, unable to see the funny side of the story.
“And don’t you dare breathe a word of this to Isidor. I’m fed up
already with him calling me Gabriel every five minutes.”
    “I promise,” I
said, unable to hide my laughter anymore.
    “It’s not
funny,” he barked. “I didn’t have to go and get that stuff for
you.”
    I looked in the
bag and could see that it was full of my own clothes, underwear,
perfumes, make-up. Just beneath a pile of T-shirts, I found a
photograph of my father. I brushed the tips of my fingers over his
face.
    “I thought you
might like that,” Potter said softly, coming to kneel next to me on
the floor. “There was a picture of your mother, but I didn’t bring
it. Apart from her ripping my heart out, I didn’t think you would
want…”
    “The picture of
my dad is enough,” I whispered. “Thank you.”
    As if sensing
the picture of my dad was upsetting me, Potter reached inside the
bag and said, “And look what else I found.”
    “What?” I
whispered unable to take my eyes from the picture of my dad.
    “Your police
badge,” he said, waving it before me.
    I placed the
picture gently back into the bag and took my badge from Potter. Constable Hudson it read in silver letters
on the front. “Why did you bring this back with you?” I asked
him.
    “You said that
you missed being a copper,” he said. “And besides, if you’re going
to start investigating stuff again, I thought it might come in
handy. You never know.”
    “But I thought
you said the whole Miss Marple thing was a waste of time,” I said,
looking at him.
    “That’s before
I realised the Lycanthrope were back,” he said. Then, taking my
hands in his, he said, “Kiera we’ve got to find out what they are
up to. And if they are still killing, somehow we’ve got to find a
way of stopping them.”
    “Just like the
old days, huh?” I said, staring down at my badge again.
    “Me and you,
Kiera,” he whispered. “The old team back together.”
    “Kayla?” I
asked him.
    “Of course,”
Potter smiled. “It wouldn’t be the same without her whingeing.”
    “Isidor?”
    “Don’t push
your luck,” he groaned. “He can stay here and look after the manor
– you know, a bit like Alfred from the Batman comics.”
    “No Isidor, no
team,” I said, staring straight at him.
    “Okay,” he
said, throwing his hands up into the air as if in surrender. “But I
promise you, one more wisecrack from him about my name and…”
    “Why did you go
and get my stuff for me?” I cut over him.
    “Why not?” he
shrugged.
    “Tell me the
truth,” I asked him.
    “Because you
wanted it and I couldn’t bear to see you so