Shaun’s psychiatrist, Amanda, was returning from a late shift at work.

  She opened her door, switched on the hall light, and dumped her work bag on a small ottoman. She rested her head on the front door and sighed, she was emotionally and physically exhausted. What happened today, she asked herself. Sometimes… I’m still astounded by what I come across in this job.

  In the kitchen, she grabbed a half-finished bottle of white wine, helped herself to a glass and quickly downed it. The bite caused her to cough, but the heat inside her was good, refreshing, revitalising. ‘God, I needed that.’ She poured another glass, almost letting the wine brim over the top and carried it upstairs.

  Amanda clicked the bathroom light into being, and a small extractor fan whirred into life with a clunking flap-flap-flap as the external cover bobbed in the airflow. She rested the wine on the side of the bath, reached over to the taps and started the water running. After bobbing her hand up and down, testing the waters temperature, she mixed in soothing oils and sniffed the wonderful scents that tantalised her nostrils. Already, tension was offloading from her shoulders, and the knots in her back unfurled slightly in anticipation of the hot bath. She watched as the tub filled. Steam rose from the hot water.

  Slowly, and with a purpose which had been with her ever since she was a small girl, she removed her clothes, carefully folded them, and placed them precisely on the toilet seat. Without thinking, she peered at herself in the long bathroom cabinet’s mirror and rubbed her hands down the skin of her stomach. It was times like this that she felt alone. Not for the needs of a man, but for companionship, someone to be there to hear her fears, her thoughts, and needs.

  A long slender leg dipped into the water, relishing the hot prickle of heat and slid further in. Amanda eased herself into the almost scolding hot water, yet she did not yell out. Instead, she smiled and sighed deeply, this was a cleansing which was well overdue. She slid back until her entire body was submerged until her neck. She smiled to the ceiling and closed her eyes. The taps were still running, but they could wait a while.

  …

  Downstairs, everything was quiet, nothing stirred. The only sounds came from the plumbing as the water ran, and the sounds of the bath being disturbed as Amanda eased herself in. The hallway was empty, except for the ottoman and a coat rack which was fixed to the wall.

  The front door’s brass handle was well polished, reflecting a distorted version of the hallway, like the fisheye of a photographer’s lens. Everything was still, just as it should be, as though frozen in time - perfect, yet only for a moment. An object moved down the hallway, it was long, thin but faint. A shadow undulated down the hallway, delicate like a stalking hunter. It made no sound, not even a footstep, or sound of rolling, swishing - nothing.

  Black mould spawned in its wake, sprawling out in all directions, coating the floor, the walls and ceiling in thick black spots, furred like moss growing on well-worn stone. Thin tendrils meandered along all the surfaces like the roots of a plant, and curling around light fixtures, knotting themselves around picture frames and switches.

  The shadow meandered up the stairs. It was almost without form. It rolled in the air, like the steam from a kettle or smoke from a cigarette. It never disbursed, merely replenished itself in this semi-transparent haze.

  …

  Upstairs, Amanda had shuffled lower, now only her face breached the surface of the water. She wore a tired smile, one that resembled the tension releasing from her aching muscles. Shaun, she thought, if only you could feel this release. Ah, what will I do with you?

  She laughed to the room. Thinking of clients at home, huh Amanda? What would people say about that? She sat up, causing the water to react violently around her, almost sloshing over the side. As Amanda rose, she pulled back her hair and squeezed out a little of the water. ‘Ah, that’s good.’

  She reached for the wine, and took a large mouthful, smacking her lips. She reclined and wiggled her toes under the hot flow of water.

  She took a smaller swig of the wine, and her mind suddenly thought of her ex-boyfriend Richard. He had been pretty good to her, but this lifestyle did them no favours. He couldn’t handle the crazy hours she worked, and his care for her eventually got in the way - he didn’t trust her patients.

  Richard… she thought and slid a little deeper into the water.

  It would be one of her last thoughts.

  …

  The bathroom door, which was only half closed, darkened. The rot had spread this far, and the tendrils trickled over its surface. Mould spores burst into being and stained the wood in off white and dark grey blotches.

  The door did not move, but that shadow skirted about it, slowly rolling like a cloud. It twisted now, with that slow but definite swirl until it towered above the bath. A second twist of smoke-like shadow unfurled from its side and stretched out toward Amanda. Her eyes were closed and a smile still beamed on her face.

  The dark shadow changed from smoke, till a hand began to form. It did not form skin, but instead the fingers were coated in a black bark. It was rough and seemed incomplete. From the main body of the shadow, more of that bark took form and a jagged face was scratched on its surface. The mouth was a gaping crack.

  The hand pulled back, and as Amanda opened her eyes in that relaxed daze, the hand pounced forward.

  …

  The hypnotic daze was whipped away and Amanda gargled a scream. Water sloshed violently, splashing on the tiles and tipping onto the floor. She flailed her limbs wildly, but she was pinned to the spot.

  The shadow whirled and the hand came down harder, the bath began to whine under the pressure as the metal and fibreglass strained.

  Amanda could only stare wildly into the monstrous eyes before her, like the knots in a plank of wood. They were full of fury, and murderous intent. Her face felt hot with blood. Her head pounded with the pulse of her heart. A deep, dull pain throbbed in her head.

  Her mouthed gasped for air, but nothing could pass her collapsed throat. Her voice box snapped under the grip of this monstrosity, and the pain stabbed into her.

  Not like this! she screamed into her mind.

  …

  Again, the shadow whirled and more force came down on her throat. The bark coated hand gripped tighter, until the sound of snapping bones crackled into the bathroom. Her neck was broken, and those bright intelligent, but terrified eyes became clouded, and unfocussed. Her thrashing body became slack, and her limbs haphazardly crashed back into the water.

  The shadow released her. The hand now melting back into that wisp of smoke. Her body twitched, causing her head to bounce gently. She was slowly slipping into the water and the bath made a terrible grating sound as she slid down till her head was submerged under the water. Those lifeless eyes stared onward.

  The water continued to run from the taps, and soon spilled over the sides and raced over the tiled floor into the hallway. It would be some hours before anyone noticed the water coursing from her front door into the street.

  The shadow rolled around the door and down the stairs, evaporating in the hallway. Everything was still, untouched and the only sound in the whole house was that of the overspilling bath.

  Shaun was sleeping again, comforted by thick, crisp sheets, completely unaware.

  ...

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  Gin straightened his tie in the reflection of his car window and took a deep breath in the cool morning air. From his pocket he slipped on a pair of sunglasses and took his latte from the roof of the car.

  The sun was rising quickly and that scorching, record high temperature would bake everything.

  Tom shouldn’t be long, he thought. It was five to six, and his partner normally picked him up dead on six AM.

  In the distance, the sound of a siren whaled across the open playing field. Gin took a swig of his coffee and rested on his car. The hotel was pretty still, but for a few businessmen who had joined him at breakfast, and were now easing themselves into Mercedes, BMWs, and other much flashier cars than his own.

  A yawn stretched his face, and Gin rubbed his freshly shaven chin. He considered having a smoke before Tom arrived, but after looking at the packet, he gave them a disgusted look and threw them into an open-topped bin with a deft throw.

  A suited man was walking down the path from the foyer and made a passing comment: ‘that sounded pretty full.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Gin, ‘I just quit.’

  The siren came closer and closer. Intrigued, Gin began to walk to the end of the carpark, sipping at his coffee. Tom’s black BMW was racing down Main Street, the roar of its engine now evident. ‘This’ll be a shit day,’ Gin said to himself and thought of that packet of cigarettes.

  The unmarked car skidded to a halt before Gin, and Tom furiously gestured for him to get in.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Gin asked as soon as he could throw himself inside.

  ‘Osborne’s psychiatrist was murdered last night,’ was all Tom replied as he threw the car into first and made a fast three-point turn, the siren blaring, and making clacking sounds.

  ‘Holy shit,’ was all Gin could manage. What the hell is happening? he thought

  ‘When was this called in?’ Gin shouted over the sound of the engine and the blaring siren.

  ‘About five minutes ago, just as I was on my way to your’s. Seems a neighbour noticed a load of water coming out of her front door and called it in. The uniform that responded found her dead in the tub - taps were still running.’ Tom hurled the car round a crowd of early morning traffic and went through a set of lights in the opposite lane.

  ‘Any signs of forced entry?’ Gin asked, holding on for dear life.

  ‘Don’t know, didn’t ask too many questions.’ Traffic blocked a junction, and they couldn’t get through. The siren blurted and crackled. ‘Come on, out of the fucking way!’ As if in response, the cars slowly rolled aside, making room for them to shoot down the centre. The car’s engine roared as they raced down the queue and through the traffic lights.

  It was almost another five minutes before they arrived at the scene. The entire street had been blocked off, and neighbours were at the ticker tape in their night wear.

  Nosey as ever, thought Gin.

  The two detectives hauled themselves out of the car and were let under the tape by a uniform.

  Sergeant James Bowman was talking to a forensics officer and noticed the two of them walking up the steep path. It was wet, but the water must have stopped running some time ago.

  ‘Morning, gentlemen!’ he said and shook each of their hands. He had been on scene for most of the bodies found in this case and was ever a comforting sight.

  ‘Morning, Sergeant,’ said Gin. ‘This is all a bit dramatic for a Saturday morning.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ said Bowman. ‘Shall I run you through what we have so far?’

  ‘Go for it,’ said Tom.

  Bowman pointed to the path. ‘At approximately four-thirty AM Mr Hamilton there on fifty-eight noticed water running down Miss Garcia’s path. He thought that was odd as he had seen her return home sometime between seven thirty and eight thirty. He tried the door but got no answer, so he called the police. A uniform arrived at about five and gained entry and found Miss Garcia dead in the bath at roughly five-ten. Once we realised that she was one of your’s, we called you in. That’s as much as we have. Shall we go in?’

  The water was about three inches deep, and soaked Tom and Gin’s shoes easily. ‘There are no signs of forced entry, nor of any struggle,’ Bowman continued as he led the detectives up the stairs. The carpet squelched and the staircase creaked. It was completely saturated with water, as was the rest of the house.

  Inside the bathroom, a forensic photographer was taking close-up shots of each item. Another member of the forensics team was busy labelling all the evidence. Water covered the tiled floor, and the bath was filled right to the top, almost ready to brim over again.

  Amanda’s body was twisted uncomfortably and was completely submerged under the water, only emphasising the pale skin of the body. Her eyes were staring blankly back at them all.

  ‘We’re just waiting for the pathologist so we can get a cause of death, but I think you’ll find this interesting,’ said Bowman pointing to the back of the bath.

  The headrest was crumpled and almost crushed. ‘Ever seen that happen before?’ asked Tom.

  Gin squinted a little. ‘Never. How much pressure do you think it would take to do that?’

  Bowman laughed. ‘I think a lot more than your gym membership would provide you. Whoever it was, must have been both built like a brick shit-house, and mad as hell.’

  ‘Where’s Osborne?’ asked Gin.

  Tom crouched down a little and inspected a speck of mould that was floating on the water. ‘I checked with the hospital, he’s quite happily asleep.’

  ‘Good, last thing we need is him on the loose,’ said Gin. ‘Look, if you find anything-’

  ‘Unit Tango-one, do you read?’ crackled Tom’s radio. ‘Unit Tango-one, do you read, over?’

  Tom unclipped the walkie and stepped into the hallway. ‘Tango-one, go ahead dispatch, over.’

  ‘Be advised that a missing person’s report has been filed, you are requested to respond, over,’ the female dispatcher’s voice rattled away.

  ‘Dispatch, are there no other units available, over?’ Tom replied.

  ‘Negative, over.’

  ‘Okay, what’s the address?’ Tom asked, picking his notebook out of his jacket and clicked a pen into life.

  Gin inspected the speck of mould that Tom had seen and pinched it between his fingers. It broke up easily in a thin puff of dust. He rubbed his fingers together and smelt them. ‘Did any of the neighbours report any disturbances last night?’

  Bowman made a quick flick through his notes. ‘Nothing that I know of. The two houses on either side said that it was all quiet until they noticed the water streaming from the front door.’

  Rubbing his chin, Gin made another pass around the bathroom and saw nothing of interest but noted the tidy pile of clothes on the toilet seat. ‘Looks like she was pretty happy when she got in the bath.’

  ‘Clearly,’ said Bowman, ‘something went wrong down the line.’

  Odd, such a violent death, but she never saw it coming. ‘Let me know what prints you get,’ said Gin.

  ‘Gin?’ called Tom. ‘We’ve been called out to another house. Seems like some foster mum went missing during the night.’

  ‘Well, aren’t we a little busy here?’ asked Gin. ‘The pathologist hasn’t even arrived.’

  ‘There’s no one else able to respond. There’s not much else we can do here. Might as well check this out.’

  ‘Sergeant, keep us informed of the pathologist’s findings,’ said Gin.

  ...

  A patrol car was sitting on the driveway of the house. The children were huddled around a picnic table talking to the officer who had responded, their faces were sullen, and their postures were hunched, hugging the wooden table.

  Tom’s car eased into the driveway and the two detectives climbed out. Two crime scenes in one day, Gin laughed to himself. That’s either providence or some real bad luck.

  ‘Morning,’ said Gin as he approached the table. The kids spun around and looked up at him, cupping their eyes with their hands. The sun was shining so painfully off every surface that Gin was squinting himself. ‘So, who can tell me what happened?’

  There was a long pause, no one spoke for a time, until an older boy - maybe fifteen - spoke up: ‘well we woke up this morning to get ready for school, and thought it was odd that Mum wasn’t up already. So, I checked her bedroom and she wasn’t there, but she hadn’t made her bed - and that’s odd. I thought she might have had an attack so-’

  ‘What kind of attack?’ Gin asked, now cupping his eyes from the sunlight.

  ‘She has this muscle disease thing, so she has, like, attacks all the time where she can’t breathe and gets paralysed. Anyway, I ran round the house but couldn’t find her. It’s been quite a few hours now and she didn’t leave a note.’ The boy finished and looked around at the rest of the kids.

  ‘Could she not have just gone to the shop?’ asked Gin.

  One of the teenage girls laughed. ‘Clearly, you don’t know our mum.’

  ‘Where’s your dad?’ Must have been a busy guy, thought Gin looking round at all the kids. But then, he noticed that they did not look related.

  ‘We’re foster kids, bit of a sore subject,’ the boy returned quickly.

  ‘Mind if we take a look inside?’ asked Gin, giving Tom a ‘put my foot in it’ look.

  ‘Go for it’ said one of the older girls.

  ...

  Inside, the house was spotless, except for a small corner where several toys had been spread around their containers.

  'No sign of a struggle,' said Tom as he entered the lounge.

  'No,' Gin replied, 'but what does that remind you of?' He thought of a dirty house, weeds covering the front garden as though they were on display; some so high that they had flowered and made the garden look more like a meadow in the middle of a suburban neighbourhood.

  'What the Garcia woman's place?' Tom popped his head through a serving hatch.

  Gin knocked his fist on the coffee table and sat down on a faux leather sofa. 'No, I was thinking of the second victim Thomas Whitmoore. These last two call outs have been the same as that. No sign of a break in, no motive or reason. What bothers the fuck out of me is that Osborne has been in our custody for almost a week and yet the toll has gone up from eight to eleven.'

  Tom exited the kitchen. 'So, it must be an accomplice?'

  'Has to be, how else could people still be killed and kidnapped in the same manner - and with our man in custody.' Gin lifted himself from the sofa and walked towards the stairs.

  As Gin was climbing them, Tom tailed behind. 'So, are we going to bung this disappearance in with the case?'

  'Not yet, nothing is confirmed. We have enough to worry about without trying to look for a missing woman, but we'll keep a close eye on it in case it looks like she definitely comes under our remit.'

  Just as the children had said, Marie's bed was empty and unmade. The sheet had been pulled back in a controlled manner. Like the house, her room was neat, and everything seemed to have a place, even the pulled back sheet. This, Gin thought, is not the scene of a crime.

  'Alright, I don't think we'll find anything here, let’s go and see what came of the Garcia killing.' As the two men left Marie's room, Gin looked out of the window and felt a little pull as though the ground had been taken from him, very gentle, like the ghost of a thought, but it had been there. He chewed his lip and left.