BLOOD DRAGON by Freddie Peters (books to get back into reading .TXT) 📕

Dior … Less conventionally some sketches of clothes by JP Gaultier and Paco Rabanne. The large table that took up the space of half the room and on which Beth drew clothes and accessories, was covered with her own designs. Others had been pinned to a cork board on a wall in clusters of different styles.

And of course, clothes were everywhere, hanging in the open wardrobe, from its doors, over the backs of a couple of armchairs that rested in the only free corner of the bedroom.

There must have been some on the bed, but Beth had done away with them by scattering them on top of a highly decorated silk screen she used to change behind. She liked to present the final picture of herself in whatever outfit she had chosen to whomever was in the room at the time … male or female.

The scent of lavender mixed with other floral perfumes made the room soothing and welcoming despite the creative energy that emanated from her drawings. Cora rolled on her side and brought her knees to her chest.

She took her mobile phone out of her jeans’ pocket. The screen displayed one of Apple’s preloaded images and Cora’s eyes swam. Tears started rolling down her face and she let them flow.

The selfie of Ollie and herself pulling silly faces that had become her screensaver had vanished with her previous phone.

Her body shook and she pressed her hands over her face to prevent anyone hearing her sobs.

“No more drugs … Not even weed.” Ollie had said.

They were both at a party one of her artists friends had thrown, impromptu. The location had been chosen at the last minute, keeping the invitees guessing until a few hours before the start. The large derelict warehouse had been kitted up with DJ equipment, laser lights played around a monumental piece of art built out of recycled objects.

Cora had hesitated. It’s old stuff and idea recycling, she had complained. But Ollie had thought it might be fun. They had arrived shortly after midnight as the party was just starting.

The ripe smell of joints of various strengths and origins filled the air. Cora giggled … No need to buy any … You could just inhale. Ollie took a deep breath and laughed.

They grabbed two glasses of something sparkling and started looking for people they knew. Sure enough, a few art critics had turned up, some people in showbiz, actors of various calibres. It would have been a fine evening until a short, fat man who must have been in his late 50s opened up a pill box full of various coloured capsules.

“Happiness in a gulp.” He kept saying to the young girls and boys that had gathered around him. Cora turned her attention away from him, intent on ignoring such a crass way of attracting attention or perhaps worse. But Ollie looked transfixed.

“What is it?” She tugged at his shirt.

“Nothing … It’s just … Bad stuff …” Despite the changes in light created by the laser beam effects, Cora could see that his face had turned pale.

He looked away suddenly, twisting his head as if looking for air.

“It’s just too hot in here. Let’s get out.” He didn’t wait for her response and walked towards the exit, barely noticing when he bumped into people.

“What was all that about?” She was not annoyed, more puzzled.

Once home Ollie had told her his story … The escalation from a little weed … Then a little coke … to stay alert during his exams … The known risk of combination drugs supposed to help during his PhD and then the inevitable … dependency.

It had crept up on him without his noticing. He had convinced himself he could stop anytime … until he couldn’t.

“Didn’t your parents notice?”

“Too busy with their own business.”

“How did you get clean?”

“My PhD tutor sent me to rehab.” Ollie sat motionless on the sofa of their flat. “He got my parents involved by convincing them to pay for it, although he advanced the funds to start with.”

Cora brought her face next to his, brushing her cheek against his. “And now?”

“I’m clean, Cora. I promise. I’ve not touched any of that stuff since the US and that was years ago.”

Cora rested her head on his shoulder and the weight of it brought him back to life.

“I promise.” Ollie wrapped his arms around her tight.

* * *

“Certainly, Ms Butler.” Officer Michael Branning was on a call to the senior pathologist. She was dispatching a SOCO team to Cora’s flat and had argued with the London fire brigade that they should be first on site … It was a criminal investigation into whether or not arson had been committed. She insisted her team would go in first.

Branning was given a time slot for the team’s arrival of 3pm, 4pm at the latest.

He grumbled when the phone went dead and heaved his heavy body up from the chair. He had been offered lunch by the arty gang, as he liked to call Cora and her mates.

Time for another intake of nicotine and perhaps a better cup of tea then what that lot had been offering him. All those fancy fragrances did not cut it for him. He just needed a good, strong cuppa of honest builder’s tea.

Beth was in the kitchen preparing the dough for some more cookies. He looked at the mix in the bowl with suspicion … The words ‘organic’ and ‘free from’ did not inspire much confidence. He told her he was just going downstairs to have a quick cigarette. She nodded and returned to her baking.

Branning lumbered down the flight of stairs. He tied his old woollen scarf around his neck … The only concession he made to acknowledging it was cold outside. He stepped onto the pavement outside the main door, lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. It took a few more drags to do the trick but it eventually hit a home run. His neck relaxed. His shoulders dropped a fraction.

DS Branning looked up