217 Babel Street | Apartment 8
"Only meeee! Easier to let myself in."
Emma blinked. Viv Gillis stood on her welcome mat clutching the First Aid kit to her sunken chest.
"Your James said it was an emergency."
"Y-yes. Where is he?"
"Had to pop out. You must be Tom, Julietta's friend," wheedled Viv, extending a limp hand. Her red velour dressing gown fell open slightly and Tom shuddered.
"Do I know you?"
"I've been cleaning up after you. Blood, plenty of it, in the stairwell. As you can see, these hands weren't made for a mop and bucket."
"I’m... I'm sorry," he muttered.
Emma sank, bewildered, into a 70s retro chair. "Miss Gillis, where did James say he was going?"
"He didn't. Now Tom, let your Auntie Viv have a look." The wattle of her neck trembled. "Let's see if I can't kiss it better. Ha-ha."
Tom clambered to his feet. "I'm fine. I forgot..."
"You forgot you're fine?"
His eyes searched the ceiling. "I forgot I have an appointment."
Viv's mouth twisted. "You’ll forget a lot more than that with a clot on your brain."
But he was already at the door, gripping the blood-soaked wad to his head. He peered out. He heard the doors of the lift rattling - open or shut?
He squeezed in sideways as Emma's voice rang out: "But Tom, you're not WELL!"
(Well... Well... Well...)
And it came to him at last... The poster. The show. The two dark eyes staring, mesmeric and vast. THE UNBELIEVABLE BLACKWELL, HYPNOTIST EXTRAORDINAIRE.