Thirteen.
It was dusk when he woke, and for some reason he felt worse than he had before he'd fallen asleep. His eyes were cloudy, his brain sleep-addled, his limbs utterly uncooperative and the whole of him confused as to where he was and what was happening.
It didn't take him long to work out. His bedroom, his mobile phone ringing. Again. He wanted to scream.
He sat himself up slowly, casting around the room. His phone wasn't on the bedside table where he usually left it, and now, on top of feeling like the living dead, he had to go on a manhunt around his increasingly messy-looking flat.
As he approached his trousers, screwed in a ball on the floor, the ear-piercing notes grew louder and he upended the clothes roughly, shaking them until the phone fell out onto the floor with a dull thud.
He didn't recognise the number, largely because he couldn't really see it and scrubbing at his eyes he raised it to his ear,
"Yeah," It was more of a croak than a word,
"Detective?"
The voice sounded tentative, but familiar all the same,
"This is sergeant Scott, yes."
"It's Mitch, Mitch Cannaby…w-we met in the theatre yesterday?" there was a strange waver in his voice,
"Yes Mr Cannaby, what can I do for you?" as he waited, Scott wondered how the man had managed to get hold of his number, he didn't recall giving it to him, not that he recalled a lot of his activities over the last few days. When the reply came he almost missed it,
"I – I need you to come down to the theatre."
Scott blinked,
"Now?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
There was a short paused,
"Something's happened. I need you to come here and sort it out."
Scott sighed, totally confused.
"Mr Cannaby, I'm not currently on duty at the moment, but if you need the police, I'm sure my colleagues at the station would be – ," he didn't get the chance to finish.
"NO! I need you to come here now! Please!"
To say Scott was displeased at being shouted at was an understatement, and it was only the additional and rather timid 'please' that had prevented him from putting the phone down. Quietly Mitch tried another angle,
"I – it won't take long."
Scott sighed, rubbing again at his eyes. He couldn't believe this was happening to him again.
"Fine. I'll be there when I can."
He didn't wait to hear the reply and snapped the lid down angrily. His gaze slid to the crumpled trousers and he groaned loudly. They, as well as him, would just have to last a little bit longer.
As he moved about getting ready, he left a message for the DCI, figuring that the Mary Saddler case wouldn't really interest him, but would at least give someone else an idea of Scott's movements in case he forgot them all the next day, which seemed highly likely.
He flicked the kettle on with some effort, pulling down a mug and the rapidly emptying coffee jar. Just a few more hours, he told himself wearily, just a few more hours.
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Two more chapters today…aren't I good to you? Lol!