5:29pm

In the Company of Demons | 5:29pm

In the normally simple, uncluttered and unhindered world of Tina Rawson, the current situation she found herself in was now ranking as one of the biggest wastes of her time yet. Here she was, a senior executive officer for the much-heralded National Crime Agency, and what was she doing? She was tailing someone, which in itself was something she was more than used to being engaged with, but what made this so frustrating was that at the moment her target was in a car about two metres in front of her own company Volvo. Her skills at following and observing were hardly needed here. Tina was so close she could have exited her car, walked a few feet and had a chat with the object of her surveillance.

All because the traffic was doing nothing, only a stop-start dance of the frustrated. Instead, she would have to satisfy herself with sitting here glaring daggers at the man in the Audi who was clearly completely oblivious to her presence. If he had looked in his mirror even once, he would have seen her, perhaps he would have recognised her for what she was, but then again, there was considerable doubt about that.

The clouds of smoke he emitted regularly from his window, complete with the background knowledge they had on the subject, would tend to indicate his known weed habit may be in play here. He, therefore, might only have noticed if she was painted purple and was a unicorn, and even some doubt could be cast on that hypothesis.

---

Purchase the Book:

So Here We Are Just the Three of You

In the Company of Demons | So Here We Are Just the Three of You

So here I am, yes, definitely here, and it’s definitely me. Or I think it is. I suppose the question is valid, as I have no idea who else it could be. The only problem is that I’m not sure where I am, so how can I be me if I cannot nail down that specificity?

There are no clues to my location. It appears to be a small white room, complete with what looks like an oak desk and a black leather-looking chair tucked up under it.

A weird two-tone alarm sounds somewhere in the distance, but the Doppler effect makes it difficult to judge either direction or distance. This is punctuated by a beeping and wheezing noise that, on the face of it, seems to be coming from me. Since that is too strange, I will ignore it for now.

This space has no windows, filled only with a weird sense of unutterable silence, at least, I can hear nothing other than the distant alarm and the unidentified wheezy, beeping noise coming from somewhere close to or inside me. There also appear to be no discernible odours, unless my olfactory sense has gone into hiding along with my ability to work out where I am.

Lifting my hand to my face to conduct a simple experiment, I sniffed. It didn’t smell of anything. Was that conclusive proof? I wasn’t sure what odour my hand should exude in the first place, so scientifically, it was slightly flawed. I heard the sniff, so I was definitely not deaf.

“Hello,” I said. No, I heard that as well. Unless it was in my head, which, as a thought, I quickly filed away in the drawer marked not going there. I needed to cling to the hope that all the other extraneous noises were outside and not go all woo-woo on myself. Based on the evidence I could present, I was possibly olfactorily challenged but not aurally. I was spatially unaware. And I was scared.

---

Purchase the Book:

6:00pm

In the Company of Demons | 6:00pm

There were a lot of things I had seen over the years. Most of them would probably edge on the side of pleasant, or, more accurately, not fall into the offensive to the eye category.

The situation I was caught up in now was definitely on the side of the unpleasant, even if nothing could be seen.

I had lost count of the times I had looked at the clock, which had a certain irony, as it was blinking away my moments and clearly hadn’t lost track of time.

The punishment I was envisioning was getting worse by the minute. There would be a beating, certainly. But would they get rid of him? Surely, Chaz would have some form of loyalty to an old mate, if that was not too strong a use of the word.

There were massive odds stacked against that, sort of roulette table, house always wins type of odds.

My thoughts turned back to the possibility of death and what would happen.

My old man had once said to me, “What you have to remember, son, is that everyone wants to go to heaven, but hardly anyone wants to die to get there.”

This was a philosophical aberration from a man who smoked sixty a day in a bid to get there a bit quicker.

The afterlife was of no interest. Dead was dead.

I just didn’t want to join that particular throng in the next few hours.

Not that I was brave. Not particularly. I could hold my own, but only when told to.

History, though, told you that if you scratched the surface of many a battlefield, you would find the bones of the brave.

Those who advocated and acted with a tad more caution would come home and get to cut the grass on a sunny Sunday afternoon.

Not that caution could help me here.

I was effectively trapped by fate.

A fate put into motion by my actions and my lifestyle for the last thirty years or so.

---

Purchase the Book: