A Spirit's Touch

Preview: Inside

Chapter One. The Flat On Morgan Street

Maya Brookes huddled against the biting wind, her breath misting in the cold air. Birmingham New Street station was a cacophony of announcements, rumbling suitcases, and hurried footsteps. Maya stood still, a small island of quiet in the rushing tide of humanity.

This was it. Her fresh start. A wave of dizziness hit her, and she leaned against a cold metal pillar, suddenly overwhelmed by the enormity of what she was doing. Leaving everything behind, starting over in a new city, alone.

Birmingham was a city she had only visited briefly, but its energy and grit had captivated her. This move, this escape to a place where no one knew her past, was exactly what she needed to outrun the suffocating feeling of failure that had clung to her for the past year. The break-up with Tom, the dead-end job, the constant disapproval in her mother's eyes - it all felt a million miles away now.

"Morgan Street, please," she told the taxi driver, her voice a bit shaky as she climbed into the warmth of the cab.

The driver, a burly man with a thick Brummie accent, greeted pleasantly in acknowledgement and pulled out into the swirling traffic. Rain lashed against the windows, blurring the cityscape into a kaleidoscope of lights. As they drove, the towering office blocks gave way to rows of terraced houses, their brick facades blackened with age and grime. A sense of anticipation, tinged with apprehension, settled over her. What if this flat was not what she had hoped for? What if she could not find a job? What if she was just destined to be alone?

Finally, the taxi lurched to a stop. "Here we are, duck," the driver announced, his voice cutting through her anxious thoughts.

Maya's new flat was on the second floor of a small, nondescript building. It was not the charming Victorian conversion she had imagined, but a more modern block with a security entrance and a keypad by the door.

Punching in the code the letting agent had given her, she stepped into a sterile hallway that smelled faintly of disinfectant. The lift was out of order, so she lugged her suitcase up the stairs, her footsteps echoing in the stairwell.

Reaching the second floor, she fumbled with her keys, finally finding the right one for the lock. As she stepped across the threshold, a wave of cold air washed over her, carrying with it the faint scent of dampness and stale cigarette smoke.

It wasn't just the temperature; it was something more, a sense of stillness, of waiting, that bordered on oppressive. She shivered, pulling her coat tighter around her, a prickle of unease dancing on her skin.

The flat was smaller than she remembered from the photographs, a single-story unit with a cramped hallway leading to the various rooms. The smell of dampness intensified, mingling with the yeasty warmth wafting from the bakery next door and the persistent undercurrent of cigarette smoke that seemed to cling to the very fabric of the building. The silence seemed to press in on her, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

She hesitated in the hallway, suddenly aware of how alone she was. This flat, this city, this new life, it was all hers. The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying. With a determined push, she entered the living room.

It was sparsely furnished, with a brown sofa that sagged in the middle and an armchair that probably should have been thrown out years before. She ran a finger across the unit stood against one wall, coming away with a thick layer of grime. A faint musty odor clung to the air, a smell that reminded her of forgotten things and closed-up spaces.