Chapter Twenty-Two“The voices in the fog,” Ingrid said to Astria. She sipped her Australian Shiraz red wine from a Bordeaux glass and leaned over the table toward her friend. “They warned us. We've stumbled on something or someone evil. Be careful what you do, pal. Beware and take care. They talked about you.”
“Me?”
“We're not sure, Astria. It might have been a dream.”
Astria knew when she heard the sound of a key in the door of her Calgary apartment on Monday that Patrick had returned. It was his birthday; it was Charlie Chaplin's birthday, too. Funny. No, not funny. Odd, like him. She waited while the door swung open and he stood there.
“I came back for you, a*s-girl.” Patrick's eyes were like pockets of pus and his mouth was a crimson s***h. He held a burning cigarillo between his f
