Chapter 24: Pretty Stars

When I open my eyes, I see her licking the blood off her arm. Then she says something strange and all cryptic, oooh, what’s Robert Langdon’s hand phone number again? Or rather, the number of the psychiatric hotline.

“You know, there’s a mental hospital just next door,” I say, my face a mask of pure hatred. I think. “I suggest you pop over and…”

Thump.

Pretty, pretty stars! Nice, shining, glowing bright –

Thud.

I wake up next morning with a huge bump on my head. Plus, there’s something wrong with my nose. I put a hand to my face and feel around.

“Evans!” the boss storms out of the building. “Where’s my hair?”

Good question. “I don’t know, sir. Didn’t you lose it twenty years ago? You were bald when I came alo –”

“Not my hair, the hair of the murderer!”

Oh. Realisation dawns on me like dawn in the morning. “The murderer was here last night. I shot her but she knocked me out.”

The superior opens and closes his mouth like a fish without water. “You’re a fish?” I ask, puzzled. Charades, now? “You need water?”

The boss, his face redder than the reddest thing on earth, storms back into the building without answering me.

“I’m fine, by the way,” I call after him. “I feel great. Thanks for asking.”