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A bleary-eyed Craig rose from his bed the next morning and rubbed his eyes. Remnants of a dream stuck in his mind, but he felt so tired his mind couldn't sort them. The image of a black-haired woman with tanned features flashed, but too fast to make sense. There were others too, but the memory faded fast, replaced by Emily's voice from the kitchen.
"Wake up, sleepyhead! You slept in, and you don't want to be late."
A glance at the clock revealed the time. Six-thirty. Most people would think about stumbling out of bed. But to Craig, this was sleeping in. He'd missed his workout with Yong in the kwoon; the ancient master would punish him for that later. Craig staggered out of bed, his head swimming with tiredness, and trudged towards his en-suite. Five minutes later, after a hot shower followed by a frigid shower, an invigorated Craig stepped out to choose his clothes for the day.
Wearing black dress jeans and a royal-blue Ralph Lauren shirt, Craig strode into the kitchen where Emily was flitting about at the stove. The Scottish spirit hadn't noticed him as she hummed a haunting tune that Craig didn't recognise. He picked up a triangular piece of toast, crunching into it, relishing the warm, buttery texture mixed with marmalade. Emily turned to face him.
"You will be late," Emily chided him.
Craig lifted his watch. "But it's only seven o'clock. I've plenty of time before the shop opens and -"
Emily rolled her eyes. "Did you forget you're meeting Brianna? The poor lass will think you stood her up, and I'm not covering for you this time."
Craig's mouth dropped open. He spun towards the calendar on the refrigerator, saw the date and the reminder, and muttered an expletive. "Thanks, Emily. I had forgotten. What would I do without you?"
"I wonder the same." An amused smile crossed her lips as she watched Craig make a mad dash for the door.
Craig had opened the door but an inch when someone knocked on it. He looked at a deliveryman with a long parcel in his hands.
"Parcel delivery," the newcomer answered, appearing surprised at the door opening so soon.
Craig didn't waste time on niceties and took the pen to sign for the package which he placed on the foyer's floor. He mumbled a quick "thank you" before hurrying towards his Jaguar. The deliveryman grumbled something in return and jumped in surprise when the front door slammed.
From inside the door, Emily watched Craig's Jaguar roar down the street towards the motorway. A sly grin crossed her translucent features as she turned and looked at the clocks in the kitchen and living room. With a wave of her hand, the clocks stepped back an hour, and she giggled. How long would it be, she wondered, before Craig realised she had turned the clocks forward an hour to get him out of the house so she could watch a movie?
***
Craig's stomach rumbled with hunger as he changed lanes on the motorway. Breakfast would have helped, but he could have that at Brianna's place. But with Craig having slept in, Brianna mightn't have time to eat. He sighed. Brianna was a great lady: strong, without losing femininity, and adventurous. He liked that. A life without adventure would bore him. And he couldn't forget how personable she was. Despite their friction upon first meeting, they had forged a friendship alongside their bristly partnership on the case a couple of months ago.
What was that?
Craig checked his watch, its display reading eight o'clock. But his car's clock read seven am. His eyebrow raised in consternation as he pondered. That was odd. He turned the radio on and listened. There was the announcer, Sally Green, reading the news. And now...
"It's seven-oh-eight on STQFM."
Craig's eyes narrowed as he checked his watch. Somehow it had jumped an hour, and so had the clocks on the stove and kitchen wall. How could-?
"Emily," he muttered with a grin. "You old interfering woman."
At least he wasn't late. That meant he had time to collect breakfast on the way.
With Craig's lifting wakefulness came memories; flashbacks of a dream. Blood, pools of it; a knife blade and gleaming fangs; darkness and a finger of light touching a beaten, blood-blotched face. Brianna's face. Tyrone.
***
After picking up breakfast at a bakery, Craig arrived at Brianna's place. The first thing he noticed was the other car. Since Brianna's Skyline's unfortunate end a month ago, the detective had been driving a marked police car from work. But it wasn't there this time. Craig's eyebrow raised with curiosity at the Holden Statesman as he parked behind it. Brianna must have changed to a different vehicle. This car attracted less attention, standing out less than her marked police cruiser had.
Craig grabbed the bags of croissants, locked his Jaguar, and allowed his hand to sweep across the Statesman's surface as he walked around it. The expected psychic vision came to view, overlaying his physical vision. The Statesman belonged to another man, not Brianna, who worked at the police station. An air of familiarity washed over Craig; he knew the man but something wasn't right about him. A faint impression of Brianna came to mind, but she hadn't driven it here.
Craig shook his head. Was it jealousy or fear of loss? No, it couldn't be. And Brianna was a big girl; she could decide for herself. Craig chided himself and decided it was fatigue playing tricks on his mind. The dreams had all but faded from consciousness, apart from some faded images and emotions, but they must have meant something to linger so long.
The front door opened and out stepped a man dressed in a leather jacket shiny enough to compete with his balding scalp. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lower lip. As soon as his eyes fell upon Craig, a surprised expression turned to recognition, and he leered at Craig.
"Well! Craig Ramsey!"
For a moment, Craig was at a loss. The man knew him, but oh! now Craig recognised him. How could one forget that shit-eating grin and the masked eyes of jealousy? "Detective Tony Gifford, right?"
Gifford lit his cigarette with a shiny lighter which he shut with a flourish. "What brings you here?" He blew a plume of smoke into Craig's face.
Craig cocked an eyebrow, having noticed Gifford's posture. Gifford's actions were more transparent than a windscreen. Craig brushed the detective's attempt aside as he raised a hand to open the front door and walk in.
But the door swung open first and Brianna emerged, and her eyes took in the scene. "Hi, Craig," she half-smiled, closing the front door behind her. "What have you -" Brianna paused, her eyes catching the brown paper bags and the faint aroma of baked goods brushed her nostrils. To the side, Gifford leered, a chuckle escaped with a waft of smoke as he ground his cigarette out on the grass, and he eyed the couple.
Craig's breath caught in his chest, aware of Gifford's peacocking, but it was what Brianna held in her hand that caught him off-guard: two key-rings. One, he recognised as Brianna's. The other set, Brianna handed to Gifford, saying, "Don't forget your keys."
Craig followed the exchange, a sinking sensation inside him which he fought back as he stood taller. After Brianna pulled the front door shut, he cleared his throat to attract her attention. "Breakfast?"
Brianna glanced again at the paper bag then at him, an apologetic look on her face. "I can't. We received a call-out."
Craig heard nothing much past the "We". The bags were heavy in his hand.
"You snooze, you lose, Craigie," Gifford chortled, holding a hand out towards Brianna. "Come on. The bodies will be putrid soon."
Craig forced himself to return a smile for the one Brianna gave him. "I'm sorry."
"It's all good," she replied, taking the paper bag he offered. "Me too."
Their fingers touched for a moment.
Another vision.
Craig's eyes lost focus and he looked as though from above the scene. Gifford and Brianna, both pursuing a man in rags. Their quarry's laughter pealed and echoed through the alley. Then handcuffs on his wrists.
"Brianna."
She turned around.
"Yeah?"
"You will catch the killer soon," he mentioned in an almost off-hand tone. "Very soon."
Brianna's eyebrow raised as though questioning, but a car horn beeped and distracted her.
"Come on, hurry up," Gifford called from the car and revved its engine. Brianna hustled herself and into the passenger's seat. Craig approached Gifford's side of the car and fixed a hard stare upon him that caused Gifford's sleazy grin to subside.
"What's up?" Gifford asked, his jaw bouncing while chewing a piece of gum. Craig leaned forward, his hand outreached. Gifford snatched his own hand away but not before Craig managed to touch his skin. "What the hell are you doing?" Gifford looked at Craig, ready to complain more, and his face slackened, the gum dropping from his mouth.
Craig leaned forward towards Gifford, aware that Brianna said something but choosing to ignore it. "Tony," he whispered loud enough for only the detective to hear. "Stay alert when you meet the killer this week. Your distraction had better not cost her life."
Gifford's face remained stunned, his tough guy mask gone as he gazed into Craig's cold eyes. At last, his lips worked out a weak voice. "Whatever, Trevor." He hit the accelerator pedal, completed a U-turn, and drove the car away towards the intersection.
Craig watched, trying to forget his vision of Brianna in a pool of blood.