The EditorialThe gun went off. The light left my best friend’s beautiful dark eyes. His little body slumped to the ground three feet away, blood pooling around him.
I struggled, I tried to scream, but no sound came out.
David Bryce raised his head. “Help me.”
I woke, my face in the pillow, heart pounding.
The bed lay empty in the pale dawn light. I felt a pang of loneliness, my eyes filling with tears.
A firm knock at the door.
I took a deep breath, let it out. “Yes?”
“Your tea and wash-water, mum.”
“Thank you, just leave it on the table.”
My day footman Honor came in, set the tray on my tea table, and left, without once glancing my direction.
I pulled the covers over my head. I didn’t want to think of my dream. Did it mean David was dead?
Some said the dead sent messages to the
