Page 4 of Tangled Threads Of Fate

She passed me a plate of food from her fridge, covered with plastic wrap. “Oh, let an old lady get her kicks somewhere. I have one foot in the grave, and no matter what they tell me at the doctor’s office, my time isn’t coming any sooner than it was supposed to.”

I really didn’t like to think about Mrs. Byrne dying.

Nate finished putting away her groceries, then folded the bags and handed them back to me. He leaned down and kissed Mrs. Byrne’s cheek, before giving me a respectful nod as he left.

She watched him go with a frown, then turned back to me. “Wren, I know I tease, but when I go, ya must know that this house goes to Nate, and he’ll ne’er kick you out as long as you want to live here.” There was always something comforting about Mrs. Byrne’s soft Irish accent.

“I know, Mrs. B. But you’re going to live another sixty years, because you’ve been pickled from all that whiskey you keep in your kitchen cabinet.”

She chuckled. “Aw, away with you. It’s time for Judge Trudie.”

Kissing her on the cheek, much in the same way as Nate had, I closed her door, making sure it was locked first. She was vulnerable down here on the first floor, but she liked her independence, and she couldn’t manage the stairs.

A wave of exhaustion swamped me, and suddenly, Judge Trudie and suspicious-smelling pickled pork sounded like a great idea. The step outside Nate’s door squeaked, but I didn’t have to worry too much about disturbing him. I was pretty sure he’d left after putting away Mrs. Byrne’s groceries.

As I dragged myself up to my apartment, my stomach cramped, and I sighed. Great, I was getting PMS on top of being tired. My ovaries hated me, for sure. Still, I made it to the couch and flopped down, grabbing the remote and flipping on the television. I’d just have a little nap, and then I’d get up for dinner.

Chapter 2

WREN

THIRTEEN WEEKS LATER

Ihad brain cancer. Or cancer of the eyeball. Or maybe my ex had given me syphilis, and that was affecting my vision? Considering I’d broken up with him twelve months ago, when I caught him being spanked in his apartment by the building’s Armenian maintenance man, syphiliscouldbe an option. I probably should’ve gotten checked way back then, but I’d been heartbroken, and honestly, poor as hell.

I regretted it now, because obviously whatever venereal disease that fuck had given me had migrated to my brain. For weeks, my eyes had been blurry. No, blurry wasn’t quite the right word. I’d gone to an optometrist in the mall, who’d told me I had perfect 20/20 vision. But that couldn’t be right, because there were strange disturbances in my sight. Little streaks of light danced through my vision, as if my eyes were on a slower shutter speed, creating stars.

It had been the optometrist who’d told me I should go and see my family doctor. He’d suggested what I was describing wasmaybe some kind of synesthesia, though it didn’t present with colors like it normally would.

My doctor had transferred me to a specialist, and at this point, I was pretty sure that if I didn’t die of some kind of brain-melting disease, I’d die of starvation, because the medical bills were killing me. Not even Java Llama’s decent benefits covered MRI scans, which was what the specialist had suggested during the previous appointment.

Luckily, I didn’t have to take the day off work, instead setting my appointment for after two, but I still had to get a rideshare to the doctor’s office, and it was all eating into my meager savings.

I thanked the driver and stepped out in front of the shiny neurosurgeon’s office. It was a sleek building made of walls of glass. It was obviously architecturally designed, all sharp angles and economy of space, and held all sorts of specialist offices, from brain surgeons to podiatrists.

A couple walked out in front of me, smiling sweetly at each other. He squeezed her hand, and the light flared around them, the streaks of light wrapping around both of them like a ribbon, and their faces transforming into someone else. Somethingelse, with longer faces and bigger teeth. They looked like monsters.

“Argh!” I screeched, scrabbling away, shaking my head. When I opened my eyes again, they were staring at me likeIwas the monster, these two perfectly human-looking people.

Fuck.This was bad.

Tears welled in my eyes, and I felt my lips form into an apology, but the couple were hurrying away, the man’s arm wrapped protectively around the woman’s back, like he was ready to throw himself between us if I attacked.

I was going crazy.

I couldn’t breathe as I slid into the elevator, relieved when no one hopped in after me so I could rest my head against the glass of the mirrored wall and breathe.

I’m going to be okay.

I’m going to be okay.

I hit the button for the floor I needed, and deep-breathed the entire trip up.

When I stepped into the reception area, the receptionist frowned. “Name?”

“Wren Mahone.”

She looked at her screen, then nodded. “Take a seat.”

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