Downfall by S.D. Wasley

  ****

  I got barely any sleep that night, obsessing over what I’d discovered and worrying about the people in the visions. In the morning I took a trip to the Mayfair shopping mall, those visions of the elderly woman and her blue handbag nagging at me. I brought Albion, who was always happy to come along on a shopping trip, just in case I saw something that scared me. It wasn’t lunchtime so I didn’t expect to see the old lady but I still orchestrated a stroll to the bakery. While we queued up to buy a crusty loaf I gazed at the giraffe ride and the nearby bench. It was occupied by a young woman, waiting while her kids went round and round on the ride.

  “I know, such a tragedy,” the bakery woman said to a customer. “Poor old thing. She always came in on a Tuesday for her free sandwich. Always had the cheese and pickle. Sat on that same bench every week to eat it. She loved her Tuesday sarnie! I’ve seen him around before, the bastard who grabbed her purse. He hangs around the center, making a nuisance and keeping security busy. A bit―” She tapped her head. “Poor love, she screamed out and tried to hang onto her bag, tried to stop him taking it. It would have been better to just let it go. It was hanging onto it that made her fall in the end. He dragged her off the seat when she wouldn’t let go of her blasted bag, and then she lost her balance.” There was a tsking and murmur from the customer. “I know,” continued the woman. “I said the same thing. But it wouldn’t do her any good now, would it, even if they did throw away the key. She lasted just two days in the hospital. The break in her hip and the knock to her head were too much and her old heart gave up.”

  I turned away. Albion bought the loaf and came after me.

  “You all right?”

  “Not feeling well,” I muttered.

  “Too many late nights out,” he said.