The Aura by Carrie Bedford

freedom.”
    As he pushed the door open just a few inches, I knelt down to block the cat’s exit. A cannonball of soft grey fur shot into my hands.
    “It’s okay,” I cooed as I picked him up.
    “Oh yuck, his litter tray needs cleaning out,” said Nick, poking his head through the door. I cradled a wriggling Caspian in my arms while Nick pushed the door open and felt around inside to find a light switch. Clutching the cat tightly, I followed him in and closed the front door behind me. The central heating was running. The air was hot and fetid. A sweet and cloying odor caught in my throat and made me gag. I bent to release Caspian, who fled up the hallway towards the bedroom. The motion of bending over made my stomach heave. I thought I might be sick.
    Nick’s face was ashen. “What on earth is that?”
    I put my hand over my nose and mouth, taking short sharp breaths. A sense of impending disaster weighed on me like a giant hand pressing down on my shoulders.
    Nick walked towards the living room, flipping switches as he went, releasing bright light into every corner. I dragged myself a few paces behind him, terrified of what we would find. The silence was overpowering, a physical entity as strong as the smell. My head began to ache again.
    Nick stopped at the entry to the living room, reaching in to turn on another light, and I saw him framed in the doorway, motionless. It seemed that minutes had passed before he spoke although I knew it was only seconds.
    “Oh God, no,” he said.
    Feeling detached from my own body, I watched myself take the few steps towards the door, watched Nick move aside to let me in. Both of us standing together, side by side, wordless, still.
    Rebecca lay on her back in a pool of broken glass, the remains of the shattered coffee table. White roses, thrown from their ruined vase, rested all around her, the tips of the petals turning yellow. Blossoms of rusty black patterned the white carpet and Rebecca’s cream sweater. All color was drained from the scene, like an old black and white photograph, apart from the red of Rebecca’s hair, still as vibrant as ever. An empty wine bottle lay close by and the stem of a broken wine glass rested in her hand. The air around her head was perfectly still. The aura had gone.
    A bloody print down the front of the white sofa. I imagined her fingers grappling for a hold. That detail hit my stomach like a fist. Rebecca had been hurt but hadn’t died immediately. How awful to lie there, feeling your life slipping away and not able to save yourself.
    “Oh, Rebecca,” I whispered.
    “I’m calling the police,” said Nick. His voice came as a shock in the silence. I heard the tapping on the cellphone and then him calmly saying that there had been an accident and to please send someone. He gave the address and put his phone back in his pocket.
    “They’ll be here in a few minutes,” he said. “I can’t look at this any more. I’m going to make sure Caspian has food.”
    I stood alone, paralyzed and numb, then sank to the floor, dizzy, while the room spun around me. Acid rose into my throat. I scrambled to my feet and ran to the bathroom, where I vomited several times. I remained there, curled up on the tile floor until I heard Nick tap on the door.
    “Kate, the police are here,” he said quietly. “Can you come out? I hate talking to people in uniforms.”
    I went to the sink and washed my face and hands and took several gulps of cold water. Noticing that the door of cabinet was slightly open, I peeked in to see that one shelf was empty. The bottle of aftershave and tubes of shaving cream had gone. That was odd. I wondered if the boyfriend had moved out.
    Wiping my hands on a fluffy pink towel, I took a deep breath before leaving the bathroom. Two officers were with Nick in the living room, one of them in a corner talking on his radio. The other one introduced himself, but my mind was too full to absorb his name. I thought I might be sick again and