Rochelle closed the door, securing the deadlock and sliding on the chain. She had checked and double-checked that she wasn’t being followed but, after today’s strange events, she wasn’t taking any chances. She did a quick circuit of the house, making sure that the windows were locked and that the French windows were secured. Finding everything in order, she headed for the kitchen, slumping down on a chair, relieved but exhausted.
She needed a drink. A shot of bourbon, a glass of wine, something to calm her down. But even as she contemplated dragging her bones to the fridge, she remembered her resolution to call Kassie’s outreach team. Sighing, she went back into the hall, dug her cell phone out of her bag and scrolled through her Contacts. Predictably, given the hour, Kassie’s social worker did not pick up, but Rochelle left a brief, measured message, outlining her concerns, signing off with a suggestion that they speak in the morning.
Her duty done, Rochelle dumped her phone on the table. As she did so, it pinged loudly – flashing up an alert. The last few hours had been so unsettling, so confusing, that she’d forgotten that her favourite show was going to start soon. The drink would have to wait. She’d have a quick shower, then she’d call Kat, see if she wanted to come over. They could watch Scandal, eat Ben & Jerry’s, empty a bottle of Pinot. Cheered by this thought, Rochelle afforded herself a brief smile, then skipped up the stairs to her bedroom.