21
In the dull, dead quiet of the night, Richard lay wide awake, staring into the darkness, haunted by the idea of Penwright being first killed, then burned. Certainly, a more preferable fate than the opposite, but still a dreadful thought. To murder someone, then pretend to burn them alive. For what purpose other than to terrorise? He turned over, the steady breathing of the others sounding like the mournful dirge of distant attenders to a funeral. Penwright’s funeral. And as he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, he saw Penwright, mouth gaping open, black smoke rushing out. He did his best to clear his mind, to think of nothing, but it would not work. Always the images, always the whooshing sound of straw engulfed by raging flames. Exasperated, he sat up, surrendering to the obvious – h
