Mortal Sin - Sin Book II

Chapter 9

She stepped to a tall gate next to us. I hadn't immediately noticed its presence. The wooden slats seemed to blend from fence to gate and back again with hardly a line. It wasn't until she gripped the handle that I noticed it and wondered how it could have been missed at all. She quietly twisted her hand and pushed. The gate didn't move.

"Locked," she hissed.

I, personally, would have been surprised if it hadn't been. Why go to the trouble of putting up such a high fence, surely a security and privacy feature, and allowing anyone to stroll in unannounced? I watched the woman move to the gate opposite. Perhaps the neighbour wasn't as security conscious as the first?

Nope, that gate was locked too. Muttering something which sounded expletive even if it might not have been, she indicated for me to follow - clearly feeling a hand signal would suffice instead of telling (not asking) me. I followed. What else was I to do? If I waited for my memory and identity to return, I could have been sitting on a bench facing the beach far into the next decade. They had probably eloped together, having a hammer-to-anvil wedding up in Gretna Green before nipping over to Edinburgh for a few days. They'd visit the pandas in the zoo and the castle, sampling the whiskey and take in a little shopping for the hell of it. They didn't have anything to rush back for - I wasn't going anywhere, or, at least, my mind certainly wasn't.

At the end of the alleyway, we turned left. It ran along the back of the houses, allowing rear access and somewhere to put out the wheelie bin on a Thursday morning for emptying. The woman, wrapped in a thick, long coat despite the fairly warm weather, ran from gate to gate, her speed and stealth increasing and decreasing in equal, frustrated amounts. Finally, when I thought she'd reached the point of either smashing through or climbing over, one opened.

"What if they're in?" I asked, my breath racing to beat me to her. I didn't actually know why she even needed entrance to a garden, let alone any garden.

"They'll be watching the parade." She stepped through quickly, then hesitated. "Wait here. Keep an eye out."

I felt like a dog that had just been told to sit and stay. Maybe, if I rolled over, I'd get my belly rubbed. Perhaps not. I figured my eye was being kept out for the return of the occupants. I wasn't sure how I'd explain my presence at their back gate, nor the sudden emergence of the woman if the need to alert her arose. Like the good dog I was, I decided to just bark if anyone came. Or shout, whichever option made the situation less ridiculous.

Before I'd had the chance to circle three times, sniff my bum and get settled, she re-emerged. She was carrying a shirt and jeans and shoved them in my hands.

"Put these on!"

"Where...?" I was going to ask where I could get changed, not fancying stripping in the open before the unknown eyes of this stranger.

"They were drying on the line. Hurry up!"

The misinterpretation of my question gave no indication of an answer, but my expression must have shown my anxiety - or part of it. She sighed and turned her back on me.

"Just hurry up. I don't exactly relish the sight of you undressed, but you don't need to be bashful. I've seen it all..."

She stopped talking and I expected the owners of the clothes to come storming from the back door of the house. I paused, preparing to run.

"Just get a move on," she insisted.

I got my move down from the shelf, dusted it off and threw it on like a shirt and jeans.

"What about these?" I asked once done. I held out the bloodied clothes. What was I meant to do? Hang them up on the washing line in place of the stolen ones I was wearing?