Deze afbeelding leeft onze inhoudsrichtlijnen niet na. Verwijder de afbeelding of upload een andere om verder te gaan met publiceren.
——————
PEACE AND QUIET, that's all Persie Harrow hoped for on her day off. She liked to sit back in her favourite armchair in the flat she shared with her best friend, allowing a cup of tea and a tub of biscuits to soothe her weary soul, and a nice hot bath to soothe her aching bones.
But she did not receive that luxury today.
For one thing, Fern's Mother and littlest, and only, sibling were visiting from Brighton, so naturally, the two were staying with them out of courtesy. But if she had to hear one more word about Ashley's newfound love of bugs and arachnids, she would throw the girl out of her living room window herself.
What made it worse was that she'd brought her "pet" spider, Atticus, along with her - and you could probably tell where she'd found the wicked devil creature from the name she gave him. How one could go on living with such a creature, much larger than normal size, roaming free in your house was beyond her. She would simply move out. There was no way she was accommodating to an arachnid, especially when those things were a great big neon sign for a haunting.
Which is why they were there in the first place. DEPRAC had asked them to leave while Agents exterminated their ghost problem.
There was absolutely no reason why Ashley couldn't simply leave it behind. But she wouldn't hear of it, like the annoying twelve-year-old she was. Nevertheless, she loved her like she was her own sister, having grown attached to her since the first time she went to visit on Persie and Fern's first Christmas as friends.
Which was in fact Persie's first Christmas since her Godmother's death two years previously.
So instead of sitting at home peacefully, or fearing for her life while her feet refused to meet the ground, pressing her knees to her chest on her beloved armchair, she took to a nice stroll.
Well, it was not without its purpose.
She hated walking aimlessly, the only time she ever did was when she was pacing, it relieved no tension or quietened her mind. Instead, it heightened everything, every nerve ending in her body begging for her to stop and do something productive.
So as she'd sat eating her breakfast, could it even be called breakfast when it was being eaten at three in the afternoon, at the small round table earlier on she'd been processing on what she could do. Until the world decided for her. In the form of George Karim, the most promising prospect of the day.
He'd called, sounding huffy and puffy about something, stuck doing research most likely, and like the bored child, she was, she'd jumped at the chance.
