The Supermarket

"I think he's love with her."
"Why?"
"What? Why?!" Sarah sputtered, "What do you mean Why?"
"Well what's wrong with him?" Helen asked.

Sarah exhaled and pivoted as an older gentleman bustled past her with a trolley. Getting Helen in one place and engaging in conversation had been much harder than it should have been. The older woman had evaded all attempts at contact and was insistent that her life was far too hectic to manage minor quibbles between grown adults.

In the end Sarah had no choice but escort Helen to the supermarket. Not a supermarket as such, a 'hypermart' on the outskirts of the city. Helen was on her way out of her front door when Sarah arrived. Helen simply didn't have the energy to argue at that moment. They had to be quick as the kids would be back from the grandparents in an hour. Sarah didn't want to have this discussion in an environment where they could easily be overheard but then again Helen hadn't given her a choice.

Be firm, be confident. Accept what you can't control and make the best of a shitty situation.

"Did she ever mention a ghost to you?" Sarah asked as Helen grasped tomatoes in each hand and returned them to the shelf and then looked studied the selection carefully before taking the same two tomatoes in her hands again.
Helen grunted, it wasn't a word, it barely constituted a response.
Sarah wanted to nudge her, grab her by the shoulders and demand that Helen give her undivided attention to what she was saying.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I've got more important things going on right now Sarah. I'm sorry, I have to feed my family, my children and that is getting in the way of your ridiculous enquiries. I'm sorry you can't solve your own problems without running to me and begging me for my input. I can't do anything anyway. I am an ignorant and rude selfish woman."

Maybe she wouldn't say it in so many words, Sarah considered.

Helen replaced the tomatoes and pushed the trolley away. Whatever calculation had struck her had been abandoned. Sarah followed her keeping in step and several paces behind. The inclination to assist had been dashed when Sarah had thrown a head of lettuce in the trolley out of habit and Helen had glowered at her. No words were spoken, Sarah had simply removed the lettuce and placed it back on the shelf and kept her head lowered. If Helen wanted lettuce to make salads or to go in a sandwich then it was her decision, she had not asked for Sarah's help in her shopping.

"Helen?" Sarah asked softly but felt that her voice had been drowned out by the general noise of the cavernous warehouse around them. The shuffling of feet, the shifting of trolleys and the general cacophony of conversations taking place around them melding together to create a din of echoes. Everything sounded the same and everyone looked the same, they all had the same expression of fatigue and disinterest pasted onto their faces.

Sarah felt that being at the supermarket without any intent of buying anything was an anathema. She felt exposed and out of place but this was her first opportunity to speak to Helen in what felt like an age. She continued to shuffle behind Helen like a child who had been advised to stay close with no further instructions on what to do.

You are a strong vibrant woman. A smile goes a long way. Always remember to eat your vegetables.

Sarah shook her head. Her platitudes were losing their effectiveness. Action was required.
"Did she ever tell you about losing a load of money?" Sarah asked tentatively.
When Donovan had told her about the 'ghost' Sarah had been confused. It had happened 'before her time'. Imagining a world in which her 'associate' existed without a connection to Sarah and Helen and the business they had created together unsettled her Sarah. But then again, had this been before Helen? How did this fit into what Sarah's understanding? The curiosity Sarah felt was unnerving but insatiable.

"Money, yes." Helen mumbled, "If they try and give you a cheque again tell them to fuck off back to the stone age. I mean seriously."
Helen looked intently at the large signs dangling from the ceiling denoting the aisle numbers and their contents in brief lists. She seemed to have stopped putting things in her trolley and was looking for one specific thing. She she seemed to think whatever it was could be divined from looking up to the heavens.

Sarah recalled her mother used to take her to do the food shop and let her sit in the trolley with the shopping list. They would always arrive twenty minutes before closing and they would race around the aisles with ruthless efficiency. The first port of call was picking up the fruit and veg which were due to be thrown out and had been reduced in price at the end of the day. The baker's section and the fresh meat would have similar offers but the meat was a especially rare. It was a great day if her mum to could get away with a whole cooked chicken for half the original price. Then there were designated shelves in hidden corners of the shop which had an unorganised mound of reduced items with bright stickers attached to them.

Sarah spent her adult life feeling incredibly guilty if she bought anything, food, clothes or basic amenities, at full price. It was a pang in her stomach and the image of her mother looking disappointed in her.

Neither a borrower nor a lender be. The greatest wealth is to live content with little. 

"This is clearly a bad time." Sarah said as Helen barely even looked at the dairy aisle as she raced along it.
"For fucksake Sarah!" Helen skidded to a halt and turned to look at the younger woman. "Glyn usually does this and he's not here. I need to fucking do this and I have no clue what I am doing here. I used to know how do these things..." Helen exhaled through her teeth loudly.
"What happened to Glyn?" Sarah asked, she couldn't hide her shock.

Helen and Glyn had been married for four years and seemed so solid and happy. He had been a father to Helen's two little girls from her first marriage and they had a baby together. He had supported Helen in her career and been a pillar of strength for her. From the outside looking in they were a perfect family. If something had happened to Glyn Helen's whole world would fall apart. Sarah felt an ache of pain at the prospect. Glyn was the nicest person in the world, a primary school teacher with kind eyes and a penchant from woollen jumpers.

Helen kicked the trolley, her knuckles were white from gripping the handlebar. Her teeth were clenched and her eyes were squeezed shut.
"Come on." Sarah placed her hand on Helen's arm, the tension dissolved as she was led away. The trolley was abandoned, it had a cucumber and a pineapple lolling in the bottom of it.

They sat together in the front seat of Helen's car.
"He found out." Helen said.
Sarah jolted with fear, she could feel her skin prickle and a sharp throbbing erupt within her skull.

The ground hasn't swallowed you whole. You still have all of your limbs and faculties. Sunsets are still pretty.

"He found out about the affair." Helen said solemnly.
"Oh no..." Sarah could barely muster the creativity to mask her relief. She reached out to take Helen's hand as it rested near the gear-stick but Helen snatched it away.

"He hasn't left he's just..." Helen's eyes were leaking with an uncontrollable flow of tears, she was breathing heavily and staring straight ahead. "He's just doing this to me. Some kind of protest. He's not doing the housework, or the cooking or the fucking shopping and I have to and I... I can't do this!"

Sarah made a reassuring hushing noise trying to diffuse the situation without saying any actual words. Helen was bristling and making guttural noises as she continued to leak from her eyes. Sarah fumbled with the glove compartment trying to find something to staunch the flow.

"How did this fucking happen?" Helen cried furiously. "Why is he doing this to me?"
Sarah felt that the obvious answers were better left unsaid. In fact answers were not what Helen needed right now, at least not the ones that Sarah could not provide.

Success struck as Sarah's purse produced a bundle of napkins. She had stolen them from a fast food place she had eaten at a few days previously. It was force of habit to help herself to a wedge of napkins and use them at home when she inevitably ordered takeaway or in place of kitchen towels. They were made of flimsy cheap paper but Helen took them with an appreciative grunt.

It was Helen's car so she was sitting in the driver's seat. Sarah didn't know how to drive but she felt that she should at least offer. Helen was in no fit state to drive herself home. Then again the older woman might feel compelled to go and have another go at her shopping expedition.

"Here's an idea." Sarah said trying her best not to sound too bright, "Let's get you home. We can put the kettle on and we'll write a shopping list. The kids will come home from the grandparents and I can watch them and then maybe we can try again later."
Helen's head collided with the steering wheel and the car let out an embarrassed wail. Sarah wasn't sure what to do, her hand patted the back of Helen's head of ruby red hair in a 'there, there' motion.

The Ghost

"It just says 'the ghost' on here. Look!" Donovan held the piece up careful not to let the man in the dressing gown take it from him. "This is the right house?" He looked around him and back at the figure glowering at him in the doorway. "Is it haunted?" Donovan asked.

Donovan had taken a bus for the first time, it had been an experience which had both terrified and bored him in equal measure. Full of old people and winding streets, the fascination faded very quickly. He had considered how he would return home and then wondered where even was his home? Would he go back to the flat his father paid for in the fashionable area of the Industrial District? An area where old converted factories had been transformed into chic apartments with exposed brick walls and double height ceilings. He had been on Sarah's couch for eight days in her shoe-box apartment eating cereal and watching day time television which he could do at his own flat but Sarah's throw pillows were very comfortable.

"I'm not...  How did you find me? Did anyone follow you?" The man glanced up and down the street. He had stringy black hair dangling over his creased forehead. He couldn't be more than Donovan's age but fatigue had aged him. Certainly not lack of money, this was a nice area.

"I just told you, the bus." Donovan realised he shouldn't have started this encounter by bragging about finding his way there by riding the bus. He sounded like a four year old.

The address had directed him 'The Bend', a suburban district to the west of the river situated on the curve. What had been an overgrown network of terraced houses choked by ancient trees had been developed into a fashionable place to store the second car and the family.

Donovan stood on the stranger's door step, having just walked up a small garden path swamped by an overgrown shrubbery on one side and a severe brick wall on the other.

"Just get in." The man hissed grabbing Donovan by the shoulders and roughly hauling him across the threshold and slamming the door.

They stood in a hallway which was cavernous and very dark considering the time of day. Donovan's back collided with the wall and he felt the man fumble jerkily into his jacket casting thick fingers around his chest and back.

"Whoa, buy me a drink first bud." He gasped, slightly winded by the impact.

"Did she send you?" The man croaked. Donovan could feel the man's breath against his cheek as the investigation covered his chino pockets.

Donovan didn't know what to say. He didn't mind being manhandled much but this was an absurd situation. Where did Sarah find this weirdo?

Satisfied the man led him into a well appointed kitchen and directed Donovan to a dining room table with a flick of his wrist.

In this light and at this new angle Donovan could see a withdrawn hermit with a terrible haircut and overgrown stubble. The kitchen, dining room area had a smattering of discarded toys and paintings which were essentially just splodges of colour stuck haphazardly across the walls.

The man clattered about the kitchen and approached the table collapsing into a chair opposite his guest. A mug of tea was carelessly shoved in front of him, Donovan recoiled. The teabag remained in the mug with no teaspoon and he hadn't been offered any milk or sugar. What kind of Siberia was this?

"Sooo..." Donovan drummed his fingers against the side of his mug. He had no intention of drinking the contents.

The man was slumping in his chair, his dressing gown hung open exposing a scattering of black chest hair and a small but recognisable beer gut.

"The ghost." He said looking squarely at Donovan with eyes like a wolf. "You're looking for a ghost."

"Yes!" Donovan was relieved the man had demonstrated some kind of acknowledgement of what he had presented to him. The list was safely tucked back in his inner pocket in his leather jacket.

"And she sent you?" He asked.

Donovan considered answering the question he had left unsaid in the hallway. There were no hands dangerously near his genitals at this point and furthermore he had a cup of boiling hot water to throw in the man's face if he tried anything funny.

"Yes." He said.

"Fuck." The man exhaled deeply. "What does she want?" He asked.

"She wants... You to tell her what's going on!" Donovan said.

"Wife left me and the kids are with their grand-" His eyes narrowed and he sat up pointing an accusing finger at Donovan. "She didn't send you."

"Yes did!" Donovan snapped, "Sarah sent me."

"Who the fuck is Sarah? I'm talking about the... you know who." He enacted a slicing motion across his neck with his finger.

"You know HER?" Donovan rose from his seat slightly. He was looking for answers and had assumed the list was somewhat connected to Sarah. "Oh! Well that makes more sense." Donovan settled into his chair somewhat relieved that this wasn't some wild goose chase Sarah had invented by to get him off her couch.

  

The man went on to tell his story, it all happened five years ago. He explained that he had taken a sheet and black permanent marker. He had cut the edge in a wavy line and blotted two large circles near where his head would be. It was rudimentary at best but looked at least like a childish attempt at a ghost costume. He hadn’t wanted a party. 

He lived with several undergraduates while studying in the city for his Masters and this was the most cost effective option open to him. His friends had moved away to start careers in the city but he had gambled that another year of academia could improve his prospects. This meant moving into a house with students who were looking for someone to fill a room and help pay the rent.

The undergraduates who had deigned to let him take a room in their house expected him to be ‘cool’. He was more than happy to disillusion them. He was slovenly, rude and frequently drunk out of his mind. By Halloween he was regretting his decision to take his Masters and found himself frequently rehearsing the speech he would tell his parents about ‘failure being a learning experience’.

"I didn't know what she was doing there." He said exasperated. "Who just walks into a party and just sits around staring at people?”
“Yeah man, that’s just… weird.” Donovan said with a sympathetic frown.

A woman who had forgotten to wear a skirt and had a scar across her neck entered the house and he found himself drawn to her. She wore a black lace mini dress and skyscraper kitten heels. Her hair was black and her lips were blood red. He didn’t really recognise anyone at the party but she didn't look like a student looking to drink and copulate. She looked like something else entirely, like she’d stepped out of a gentleman’s club. Perhaps it was Halloween but he felt it worth mentioning that her eyes looked haunted. 

Donovan felt that the best reaction in this case was to nod and smile and the man continued after an excruciating pause.

He spent the evening following the girl to see what she would do. She scoured the hallways and the vacant rooms, she examined book shelves and the touched all of the towels in the hallway cupboard. He ducked whenever she turned to look behind her and at one point he found himself splayed across the staircase lying on his stomach. She stepped over him as she descended with a cigarette between her lips. He had no idea where she had found that, she didn't have pockets in that tiny dress.

“Then she cornered me.” He said suddenly.
“Did she ask you to stop stalking her?” Donovan asked. His chin was resting on the base of his palm, elbows on the table, eyes half closed. He ran a hand through his blonde hair distractedly looking around the large dining area. It would seem that the guy had done well in the end. This was a fancy looking house. He certainly hadn't paid for it with his storytelling skills.

“What?” He asked uncertainly from under his sheet.
“Shh.” She put a finger to her lips and pursed them. “No talking.”

He nodded and could feel the contents of his skull sloshing back and forth as he did. Since following her around the building he hadn’t been drinking but he still felt disorientated as he stood in the darkened basement with the woman in black lace.

“I will give you twenty thousand pounds.” She said.

Donovan scoffed, “And you went along with it?”

The man glowered at him and rearranged his dressing gown to cover his bare chest. “It was a lot of money.” He said. “Maybe not for someone like you but, it was for me.”

"Yeah, sure man." Donovan said, his eyebrows flicked upwards but he rearranged his face to concerned intrigue in a flash.

The arrangement was simple enough in theory. The ghost would remain in his costume for one week and follow the woman at a 'reasonable' distance. No talking, no further action to be taken, he would simply hover near by and predominantly behind her. She would then pay him and he could go back to his life, his anonymity retained and whatever sick pleasure she derived from the exercise achieved.

Once the pact was sealed they had left the party and he had followed her through the dark streets. They walked through the suburbs of The Fosters which shifted into the Business District. The skyscrapers slowly began to stack up. Halloween had bled into the city and people were carousing in the bars spilling onto the pavement in plastic masks and torn dresses. The people were older but there didn't seem to be much difference between them and the students he had left hours before. 

She strolled confidently and constantly in her heels and the ghost followed as she sashayed with purpose to wherever she was heading. His trainers scuffed and his legs tired as she walked into a hotel, 'The Collards'. The ghost's mum had travelled to the city to have afternoon tea there with his aunt for her birthday. He was aware it was fancy but he wasn't prepared for the intimidating sensation of walking into the gilded lobby. Marble floors, plush red carpets on the stairs, mahogany panelling on the walls, standard rich decor but nonetheless overwhelming.

He hovered behind her as she spoke to the receptionist. The room they were in had a four poster bed which consumed most the space. She had tossed him some small bottles of alcohols from the mini fridge as he had settled on a chaise lounge at the bottom of the bed. 

The ghost paused from telling his story as Donovan gazed at him, eyes glazed over.

"Look man, I'm not going to tell you the story if you're going to do that." The man in his dressing gown looked hurt.

"What...?" Donovan asked blearily.

"You're falling asleep!" The man snapped.

"No I'm not." Donovan sat up straight and rubbed his palms against his thighs and shook his head back and forth. "So what happened next? You followed her?"

The girl dressed in black coaxed the ghost onto the bed. He was drunk and afraid and she had unbuckled his jeans and was straddling him within moments.

Donovan slumped back in his chair frowning. The man stared at him unblinking and silence hung between them. Donovan could hear the birds chattering outside and creak of his chair as he leaned back in it.

The ghost proceeded to follow the woman. She would eat at restaurants and he would sit on the table behind her or near to her. Food would be presented to him by the waiters who said nothing. He would stare at the back of her head, black hair cropped to the base of her skull, her shoulders slim but muscular. The ghost memorised the shape of her skull, he settled on it being similar to the shape of an apple.

She didn't really do much. She walked everywhere, at the shops she was fascinated by the home-ware department, specifically the bath towels he recalled. She also attended museums and he sat several rows behind her when she saw a movie. A lot of the time she just walked places never quite sure of the destination veering off down side streets but never turning around. She would sit on park benches and he would stand behind her three metres away. She would return to the hotel on the evenings and sleep with the ghost next to her. He never removed the sheet and unless she had removed it while he was sleeping (which he did fitfully) he swore she never saw his face.

The ghost considered running away but what would he run to? He was drowning in coursework and the intensity of his masters was overwhelming him. He noticed that colleagues on his course at university were struggling to find gainful employment. His parents hadn't called him in weeks which he felt was a sign that they were not interested in his state of mind. He had left his phone and wallet at the house and yet he felt that his housemates would not have noticed his absence regardless.

He had stepped out of his life into this abyss and convinced himself that he just needed to survive and he would receive enough money to at least make a decent start in life. The girl in black was clearly wealthy and yet she ate mostly at fast food restaurants and rarely showed any interest in the high end shops when she was browsing.

Then it came to the final day and first thing in the morning she walked to the bus station which was near the Industrial District by the river. It was still dark when they left, he remembered it had been raining through the evening. She had the key to a locker in the station and removed a large backpack. They took an 'out-of-city' bus which was part of the city's efforts to connect the capital to the satellite towns beyond. 

"Then I'm walking around in the woods." The man said with some finality.

"The woods." Donovan repeated.

"Yeah, the fucking woods." The man said.

She had produced a map and spade and had stopped at a spot next to a fallen log. The trees surrounded them reaching up to the sky which was obscured by a green canopy. He could smell the damp moss and earth and turned to see her pointing a gun at him. It was a pistol but nonetheless it was unmistakable. She had tossed the spade at him and had marked the forest floor with her foot.

"Dig." She had said.

"And I thought I was going to die." The man said.

"But you didn't." Donovan said, then he paused. "Unless..." Was he talking to an actual ghost?

"No I didn't die but..."

It hadn't taken him long to strike his spade against a hard surface. He uncovered a biscuit tin wrapped in clingfilm. It had a painting of an idyllic country lane on the front. The ghost recalled that his grandmother used to have biscuit tins in her cupboards. In them she would store her sewing kit, her first aid supplies and even old jewellery she was saving. The man specifically recalled that she had one tin which held sweets and sugary surprises. He would always make a beeline for it when visiting her.

He opened the tin and inside it was filled with folded up rolls of moneys. Lots and lots of money.
"There should be more down there if that isn't twenty thousand." The girl had said nonchalantly.

The ghost continued digging and found another biscuit tin and realised there was more, he pulled another from the soil and looked up at her. 

"I don't know what came over me." The man said clutching his forehead recalling the memory. "I mean I was exhausted, humiliated, she had tortured me, raped me, abused me. I was tired and fucking..."

She had looked surprised when the spade had connected with the side of her head. That split second of shock and confusion and then she had collapsed to the floor. The ghost had removed his sheet and had kicked her in the stomach. He gingerly took the gun from her hand and stood up observing her lying prone on the floor. A rage boiled inside of him. He wanted to continue pummelling her, with the spade, with his feet, with his hands. He wanted to put a bullet through her apple shaped skull. But he didn't, he had left her unconscious on the forest floor.

Deeper into the hole as he dug further gave way to innumerable biscuit tins. He bundled them into the sheet he had been wearing over his head the seven days prior and tied a knot in it before slinging it over his shoulder. He took the map from the floor and walked away.

"Two hundred and eighty five thousand pounds." The man said miserably.
Donovan looked at the sighing man and then around the room. This place was designed for a family, it was a place for people to grow but he was clearly sitting opposite a stunted adolescent.
"And you blew it." Donovan said. "You have the house, but the family aren't here and you're sitting around in the middle of the day looking like crap. You blew it."
"I shouldn't have taken the money." The man said, his eyes downcast.
"But you did." Donovan said bluntly, "And if the same situation played out again, you would."
"Hey man..." The 'ghost' was stung. "You don't know that."
"And neither do you." Donovan said.

What Donovan didn't understand was why Sarah had given him a list which had the loser's name on it. Was the girl in black that the 'ghost' was talking about even the same person? Why was she wandering around paying losers to follow her? What was the point of that? Were the rest of the people on the list similar situations? This had happened years ago and clearly this guy had no idea where she was or what happened following leaving her in the woods.

"My life is a mess and... The money..." The man mumbled.
"The money didn't do... whatever kind of crisis this is." Donovan flapped his hand at the dark haired man with disdain. "The money did what you told it. Obviously bought you a nice house, got you the attention of a girl who became your wife and gave you some children. The money didn't fuck that up man. You did."
"You would say that." The man said bitterly. He sat up in his chair and ran both hands through his greasy hair. He looked pointedly at Donovan and said, "You just wouldn't understand. I know who you are. You've never lived a day of discomfort. You've never felt desperate."
Donovan was stunned, desperation had dragged him to this idiot's doorstep.

"What if I offered you some financial help, get you back on your feet?" Donovan wanted to prove this man wrong and at least leave this corner of the world a better place than when he found it.
"What is wrong with you people?" The man spat angrily. "I don't want anything to do with any of you. What the hell do you want from me?"
"I'm looking for the girl you're talking about," Donovan paused, "I think."
"Well let me give you some advice, and this is for free. You're better off without. She is the fucking devil and she will destroy you. Stay the hell away from her."

The Party

"She was the last one in the hot tub." Donovan said.
"And it couldn't be anything else. It just had to be fate."
"I know you're mocking me but yes." He said holding his wine glass near his cheek, "She was the last one in the hot tub."

It had happened so gradually that Sarah had barely realised. Donovan stopped shouting at the cat when it approached him and he cleaned the dishes in the sink when it was full. He was patiently waiting, cleaning up after himself and engaging in amiable small talk. He was quiet and polite and on occasion would wear her slippers. Sarah didn't say anything regarding the contact she had promised to make. The conversation in which she had failed to make anything happen. Sarah realised that until she told Donovan something significant about the woman he was searching for she had a roommate. For the most part it was less of a burden than she had expected. She almost appreciated the company.

"And this was the first time you saw her after the..." Sarah trailed off. The first time Donovan had met Her had been a hit and run according to the police. The security force took no interest in what they termed 'an accident'. The Quadrangle was designed to protect people from outside forces and a petty road traffic accident slipped under their radar. Luckily the media had also ignored the incident and Donovan managed to escape the incident unscathed by the law and by society.

The police investigation studied the footage from the street but the cameras didn't provide a clear angle on the incident. Aside from Donovan's statement there was nothing to investigate. Donovan said nothing further about the woman, other than that she bolted. The details he provided concerning her appearance were vague at best. He wasn't asked anything further. His father made a discreet payment to the family of the deceased man. He was under the impression that Donovan was at least partially responsible. Donovan remained oblivious of his generosity. The incident gradually faded from memory and was never mentioned by father or son.

In the following months Donovan found a new lease of life. He said yes to every opportunity his friends formulated. Raucous weekends on the continent, drag racing by the docks in their sports cars, taking drugs and irritating the patrons of the members only clubs in the Quadrangle. Whether this was directly connected with his recent experience or it just happened to be an idle summer in which he had no job or anywhere to be were negligible and barely dwelt upon.

It was Tristan's birthday blowout balls-stravaganza and Donovan found himself sitting on a sofa in a penthouse suite in a lavish hotel based in the Quadrangle. It was a late evening and there had been a bar and restaurant beforehand which he was certain they couldn't go back to but could not recall why.

A bunch of girls had been called and told to wait in the hot-tub in their underwear. Donovan drew the short straw and was last in the queue therefore having no choice. He would be responsible for taking up the leftovers. Upon approaching the hot tub one was presented with a bevy of girls holding champagne flutes, their feet dangling in the bubbles as they sat on the edge. Taut stomachs and big bosoms, all smiles. The other men had seen a skeletal drawn out woman with sunken cheeks and grey eyes avoiding their gaze. Unsurprisingly the buxom blondes and busty brunettes surrounding her were swiftly selected and led away.

Donovan didn't recognise her in the first instance but rather than feeling disappointed by the runt of the litter he was delighted by the girl with bubblegum pink curls and a devilish smile.
"Good evening mister." She had said in her low husky tone. Donovan was besotted.

He admitted to Sarah he had been very high. The scar on her neck was covered by a black lace choker but he vaguely recognised the shape of her mouth and the scent of her skin. He had jolted as the recollection of their first encounter flooded back to him in an alcohol infused haze. She had stroked his chest and exhaled next deeply next to his ear. The memory of leather car seats and static on the radio flashed through his mind. He didn't feel fear or regret, instead She felt familiar and intoxicating. His brief brush with danger had been an adrenaline boost rather than a trauma.

"I don't doubt that." Sarah said with a strained smile as he waxed lyrical about Her undeniable magnetism.
"I need to see her." Donovan said as he refilled his glass holding the neck of the wine bottle unsteadily.
"I know you do." Sarah agreed but sounded incredibly fatigued, she leant forward and took the bottle from him to place it back on the coffee table. She had half filled her glass and barely drank any. The bottle was now empty.
"I miss her." He said, his voice higher than he had anticipated. His body furled into itself, his limbs shifting toward his stomach. Sarah sat opposite him silently.

When Donovan had mentioned it had been 'Tristan's' birthday party and he had ordered the girls Sarah vaguely recalled the story from Her perspective. She had mentioned the penthouse and the hot tub with the other girls. She had been coy about the details and had not mentioned any of the salacious details of the job therefore Sarah was unaware that Donovan had been there.

One of the five girls had dropped out at the last minute and for one night only 'Candy' took her place. The wig had fitted the theme but She had looked disdainful even before she left. Sarah had done her best to daub her in enough make-up to make her look less than exhumed corpse. It was early days and She was suffering from withdrawal. The suite had four bedrooms with king-size beds which shared two en-suites. Donovan had been relegated to having sex in the living area and sleeping on the large corner sofa. She had described the living area briefly as being a room made of windows.

She adjusted her pink wig as Donovan snored gently on the floor with a towel covering his hips and a dazed smile on his face. She propped a cushion under his head before strolling toward the bedrooms. She explored the suite and found Tristan in the final room she pressed her ear to. He was still busy it would seem but She stumbled into the room and acted as if this was accidental. It hadn't mattered to Tristan and She had joined the pair and spent the night with them.

Tristan's balls-stravaganza, as it was known, lasted three more days and ended when Tristan was found in a hotel room unconscious from a drug overdose. Donovan had been sleeping off his hangover elsewhere when it happened. He found out via a news bulletin on the television the day after the fact. Donovan didn't seem to connect the events nor had he seemed aware that his (brief) night of passion had been followed by another encounter.

Sarah sipped her wine and remained quiet. She had learnt that Donovan would grasp what he wanted with both hands, he rarely let sorrow or regret enter his mind. He was a child distracted by delight and unaware of danger. She envied his conviction and focus. He had burrowed his way into her apartment and into her life and she had let him. As he curled into a ball on her sofa with his wine glass she wondered how long this could last, how long he would last. His eyes squeezed shut as his arms folded around one of the throw cushions embedded against his stomach.

"Donovan?" Sarah said softly.
His eyes remained closed, his lips pressed together but no intelligible sound was produced.
"What's going to happen?" She asked him, "What do you think is going to happen if you find her?"
"She was the last one in the hot tub." He mumbled quietly, his wine glass clattered to the floor.
Sarah swore and grabbed the glass from the floor and hurried into the kitchen to grab some paper towels. She returned to mop up the deep red spillage creeping across her expensive rug.

Sarah looked at Donovan wearily as she rose to her feet. He was sleeping gently with a rumpled forehead. She tugged the throw from the back of the sofa to cover him and walked away.

Donovan awoke in the morning aching and sore in several uncomfortable places. The muscles in his neck clicked loudly as he shifted on the sofa. He couldn't remember falling asleep but he found he was still fully dressed in yesterday's clothes and he smelt of body odour and wine. Sarah was busy in the kitchen, the kettle was boiling and she was obnoxiously rattling glasses and shifting saucepans.

Donovan rolled off the sofa onto the floor and groaned loudly. She looked over her shoulder to see a mound of haphazard blonde hair bobbing behind her sofa. Donovan approached Sarah in the kitchen with the intention of obtaining a glass of water but intercepted him before he could reach the sink and shoved something crumpled and damp into his hands. It was a small scrap of paper covered with greasy fingerprints and scrawled handwriting entitled 'Bitch List'.

Under Sarah's bed there was a small lock-box and inside was several gun cartridges, a small stack of gold bullion and a pearl necklace. Donovan was groggy and barely noticed when she gave it to him. He couldn't get past her and she was blocking the sink. He looked helplessly as he was denied the prospect of sticking his head in the drum and running cold water over his scalp. Sarah immediately realised that this was a terrible idea but this was all she had.

"I can't help you." She said firmly, "But I think this might." He felt a sharp jab in his gut as she pressed her fingers under his rib-cage the scrap of paper unfurled precariously.
He grasped the paper and looked down to observe it.
It was a list of names followed by addresses crammed underneath in miniscule scrawl.

"It's in case of an emergency and..." Sarah looked at the scrap and paper and considered snatching it away from him and ripping it into tiny pieces. Donovan stood dumbfounded glancing at the paper and then at her. His hangover was severely delaying his cognitive skills.
"They are people who might be able to help." She said reassuringly taking a step back.

He remained silent and studied the paper intently trying to decipher the meaning of the random hieroglyphics in black ink presented to him. He looked at her again and back at the paper and then clutched his forehead and laughed inadvertently.
Sarah threw her hands up in exasperation and walked away. "You're welcome." She said slamming her bedroom door.

The Liability

"Not my problem." She said dismissively.
Sarah coughed, her champagne had caught in her throat, she could feel it burning the inside of her nose as she grabbed her napkin from the table. "Are you kidding me?" Sarah choked.
"Well that's that then." Helen said and nodded toward Sarah.

Sarah crushed the napkin in her clenched fist as the two women sitting across the table from her avoided her gaze. The older woman was reading her menu with fascination, her green eyes darting up and down barely settling on anything. The younger woman with a blonde bob of haphazard curls staring at the ceiling and counting the light-bulbs dangling from ropes around the restaurant hovering over each booth.

The three women had gathered at the restaurant reluctantly. Helen had ordered a bottle of champagne declaring it a special occasion. It was extremely rare for them to be in the same room but Sarah had insisted on bringing them together much. Helen had determined that it must be a celebration of some sort. Her optimism had been doused upon seeing the barely concealed frustration on Sarah's face and her associate's impudent nonchalance.

Helen didn't know why she was there if it was a matter between the two women. She much preferred to be kept out of any dispute which did not concern her. Sarah had been firm on the matter and ordered a taxi to pick Helen up from her house in the suburbs to ensure she arrived on time.

Helen had been staring in the mirror trying to perfect her makeup but removing her fake eyelashes frantically when she heard the taxi driver lean on the car horn outside. Her children were stampeding up and down the stairs, her husband was yelling ineffectually, the dog was barking and the television was chattering in the background it's volume far too loud. Helen pressed her forehead against her vanity table and lifted her head to observe her top lids gummed together with glue and her eyes down-turned in dismay. She tried to jam an eye-shadow palette which was too large into her sequin covered purse.

The taxi driver had refused to let her turn his interior light on in order to allow her to apply her makeup in the passenger seat. Helen muttered about not giving him a tip under her breath but both of them were aware that Sarah had prepaid for the trip through an app on her phone. Helen didn't understand how it worked and was too embarrassed to ask how technology enabled such a transaction. Couldn't Sarah have picked a more amenable taxi-driver?

"When was the last time we were all just... having a meal together?" Helen asked, attempting to break the angry silence fomenting between her associates. She had bolted into the toilets before taking her seat. The glue was not coming off her eyelashes but it was successfully camouflaged by a layer of black eye-shadow. Neither woman had said anything but Helen was exceedingly self-conscious every time they looked at her.

"Do you hate me?" Sarah asked, "Is that why you are doing this?"
The blonde woman remained silent, her eyes gliding back to the table lazily tilting her head at Sarah. She remained coolly indifferent, forehead smooth, grey eyes rimmed with royal blue eyeliner.
"No one hates anyone." Helen said admonishing Sarah with a frown.
"Look, you just need to get him the fuck off my couch." Sarah said irritably.

Helen had an impulse at that moment to demand to know why she had been summoned. She had been dragged away from an evening with her family. She had shaved her legs and put on an evening dress. Not to mention the ongoing threat that her eyelids could possibly forever remain glued shut. Her first evening free in what felt like months and yet she was here playing referee.

The blonde perm with the penetrating gaze remained silent. She was wearing a silk scarf around her neck and a golden halter neck top. She looked like she had stepped out of a time machine but her nonchalance and intensity made it seem as natural as her skin. Helen noted that her attire always felt like costume as if she were an alien from a world beyond reality who merely wore what she expected humans to dress like from watching old films and reading ancient magazines. She never followed the current trends and seemed to actively avoid dressing in anything modern. Tonight She looked like an extra from an old film who was in the background at a disco. At least she had graduated from dressing like a homeless person.

"She broke the rules Helen." Sarah was exasperated and was looking directly Helen who appeared to be bewildered with red hair and gummy eyelids. If Sarah couldn't rely on Helen for assistance in these circumstances all hope was lost.

"Rules?" Helen asked confused.
"What the fuck?" Sarah cried. "Yes, the rules!"
"What did you do?" Helen asked in a business-like tone turning to the woman sitting next to her. The blonde woman shrugged and turned to look at Sarah who sat opposite them. The young blonde and the older red head pierced Sarah with concerned gazes of different intensities. Helen looked like she was about to cry but her eyes were barely open.

"Look, I'm not dealing with this. This is all so fucked. I'm out." Sarah placed her palms on the table in front of her, "I just wanted you both to know that. I'm out."

The blonde took a sip from her champagne flute. Helen's shoulders sagged and she cast her gaze between the two women glowering at one another across the table. This felt significant. It was the first time Sarah had even expressed that she didn't wish to be a part of their arrangement. Helen was mortified.

"Are you threatening us?" The woman asked.
"No, I'm just done." Sarah said shaking her head. "We're standing over a chasm and it's time to walk away before we all fall in. I'm not falling."
"And if I get rid of him?" She asked, Helen sighed with relief.
"I'm just done." Sarah said and laughed, "God, I'm so out of this."

"We can't just shut this down Sarah." Helen said frantically. She felt like she had been punched in the gut, winded and afraid. The fortifying sips of champagne she had taken weren't enough to steady her, she needed something stronger. Something to settle her stomach which was churning with anxiety, something which would cauterise her insides.

"We managed fine without you." The woman said.
"Yeah sure, I'll just take my contacts and see how long you two last without me." Sarah said, she was grabbing her bag.
"Stop it!" Helen snapped. "Both of you!" Sarah paused before exiting the booth. "I have no fucking clue what is going on but you need to sit the fuck down Sarah. And you-" Helen turned to the woman who was trapped in the booth by Helen's person, "You need to tell me what the fuck is going on."

"He has lost it and you are ignoring him." Sarah said. She had returned to her seat, she had slung her purse onto the seat beside her with a flourish.
Helen had ordered tequila, her triple which hadn't been satisfactory. The knot in her stomach had tightened further as the girls had continued to bicker viciously. Sarah was sipping from a Cosmopolitan and She had a gin martini.

"He'll get over it." She said.
"His uncle died." Sarah responded, a softness had entered her voice.
"I don't need to know this." Helen sighed.
"He'll be fine." She said.
"He knows too much." Sara said her voice hardening.
"Then you deal with him." She said bluntly. Sarah could visualise the gun she had left in her sock drawer. Donovan wouldn't look there she hoped. He had found her stack of hat boxes and proceeded to try them all on and take photos of himself posting them online to his large following. He wouldn't do the same with her stockings. Definitely not.

"Not my job." Sarah said as coolly as she could. The gun was for self-defence.
The blonde perm swung back and forth as she shook her head.
"What? You can't?" Sarah asked. "You've gone soft."

This prompted a frown, Helen sense her tensing next to her, she flagged a waiter to the table.
"Same again but twice for me." Helen advised. "It's tequila." She handed her empty glass to the waiter.
"Vodka." Sarah sputtered. "Vodka and soda, double!"
"Same." She lifted her martini glass and nodded.

The Summit

It had been one of those nights that felt like a year had passed in the space a mere handful of hours. How it had begun Donovan could never be sure, like a dream it had already started before he had realised what was happening. The devil's greatest trick was convincing the world he didn't exist. Her greatest trick was entering entering your orbit without your knowledge and leaving a crime scene in her wake all without anyone batting an eyelid. She would burrow under your skin and into your memories without even breaking a sweat and then that was it. She had you.

Donovan had never really had a voice in his head weighing up the consequences of his actions. His father would wade in and fix whatever mess was left in his wake with handshakes and chequebooks. Perhaps that's what made them so well suited. Their predilection for unwitting carnage. 

He had been at a function his father had asked him to attend, the guarantee had been that it would be blessedly brief. Showing his face at such events would be an opportunity to network and glad-hand to cement his future prospects, or so he had been told. It had seemed a somewhat gruesome exercise to Donovan who was keen to skip the thing all together if he could manage it. 

A cigarette break had evolved into a brief check he hadn't left something in his car which had then somehow resulted in him driving around the roads late at night in the Business District, unlit cigarette still hanging from his lips. When was the last time he had just driven around for the sake of it? The joy of driving his extremely expensive sports car was what he was missing from his life. This is just what he needed to sustain him. Then he might go back. If he felt like it.

A young woman in a t-shirt and shorts smeared with blood was kneeling next to a man lying in the middle of the road. The figure miniature and pale in the darkened streets grew bigger as he sped along the road. He had screeched to a halt and jumped out of his car and ran toward the scene.

Her bob of hair knotted in ochre curls plastered to her glinting face in the cloying heat of the summer evening. She was illuminated by street lamps and headlights and even then she was a glorious sight to behold. Her grey eyes were rimmed with smudged black and unspent tears, she was breathing heavily, her body was almost vibrating as he crouched beside her. 

It was the middle of the night and it was unnervingly quiet. She careened forward and her cheek hovered next to the man’s face, his mouth next to her ear. The man was elderly and grey haired, he was wearing a suit jacket and a cravat. Donovan would always remember the paisley pattern of the fabric, a meld of emerald green and royal purple. He looked like he had stepped out of a catalogue for older gentleman who lived on wooded estates.

She pulled her phone from her pocket as Donovan knelt next to her. He noted her fingers were smudging the screen with swipes of red as he surveyed the crumpled man laying before them. A stream of blood was cascading down the man's face from his wrinkled temple.
“Hello, yes! I need an ambulance, there’s a man he was. He was run over. I think he was run over by a car. Uh…” She turned and looked at Donovan, grey blank eyes with mascara tracks stained her pale cheeks. She thrust the phone into his hand and scrambled to her feet.

He could vaguely hear the slap of her sneakers against the tarmac as a woman on the end of the line asked him where he was. He looked around wildly uncertain of what was happening. He had stopped his car and left it idle when he dashed to help with the best intentions.

“We’re downtown in the Business District. I think it’s near Kings Road.” He babbled, he heard the familiar growl of a car engine starting and turned to see his tomato red convertible speed away. He swore loudly and apologised to the woman on the phone, “Someone just stole my car!” He shouted exasperated. 

He was advised to stay put and the emergency services would be there in eight minutes. He was asked if he knew CPR and if anyone else was nearby. The prospect of doing CPR at that moment was beyond his capability. He told the woman he didn't know what that was. “That’s the thing with the chest pumps right?” He asked sheepishly.

The woman on the phone was very soothing and authoritative as he stared wildly around him confused and terrified. He frantically explained to the woman that the man was not breathing and there was an abandoned car nearby. She told him that the police would come to sort that out and talked him through the motions and actions for CPR. The woman on the phone emphasised the need for him to stay put and remain calm. Her advice seemed rote but she sounded genuinely concerned about his situation, perhaps she had been trained to do that, he couldn't quite tell.

He placed the phone on the floor next to him with the speaker turned on as he pressed his balled fist against the man’s chest. He heard a sickening crunch as he lent into the motion and panicked. An irrational part of him had been convinced that the broken ribs he had undoubtedly contributed to the man's death. The coroner disagreed and said something about internal bleeding, or shock, or organ failure. But Donovan was fairly certain he had pierced something with his physical force. 

The body was declared deceased upon arrival as the paramedics invited Donovan to sit in the ambulance as they awaited the police. "You're just leaving him there?" Donovan asked frantically. He was gently advised to sit with the paramedics and they would talk to him. "You can't just leave him there..." He had mumbled.

He was offered a bottle of water. He requested something stronger and was granted a grim chuckle. One of the men was rearranging their equipment in the back of the vehicle, “It’s going to be a long night mate.”

“I didn’t kill him, did I?” He asked worriedly the words making him feel nauseous.
“Probably not.” The paramedic said reassuringly. He wanted to ask more questions. How many call outs had they had? Was this the most gruesome one? Had there been any other 'Dead on Arrivals?' Is that what they call them still? Would they let him borrow their uniform for a fancy dress party he had at Lottie's house next weekend?

The police arrived and cordoned off the street with yellow tape and blue flashing lights. Donovan was asked repeatedly if the abandoned car with the dented windshield was his. He responded emphatically that it was not, he would not drive something so ugly, it was a rectangular grey people carrier. His car had been stolen, were they not writing this down? He described the sequence of events repeatedly until the men with notepads and furrowed brows were satisfied. His voice was hoarse, the bottle in his hand warm against his skin and full of water he had forgotten to drink. They advised they would still have to take him to the station for a statement and that someone would be with him shortly.

"But I gave you a statement." He grumbled glancing at the sky. He had been removed from the ambulance and sat on a bollard next to the roadside. He couldn't see any stars, the sky was an inky black canvas with a haze of streetlights distorting it.

He was assured by a young woman in black fatigues that everything would be okay but Donovan remained unconvinced. He asked if he could go home and tried to explain that his apartment complex was only a few streets away. The woman asked a colleague and a familiar voice repeated that he would have to stay and wait to be taken to the station for a statement.

At this point Donovan rummaged in his pockets and couldn't find his carton of cigarettes but managed to feel smooth edges of his phone. He did what he had been putting off for as long as he could. His phone had been intermittently buzzing for the past hour but he hadn't felt it.

“Dad, hey! Yeah, I'm alive." He laughed cautiously.
"So there’s been a car accident and uhh…” He took a deep breath while the tirade of recriminations began. “Yeah but the thing is... I just want to say… Dad I’m serious!” He held the phone away from his ear as a familiar sensation of impatience began grow in the pit of his stomach.

“Hi, Mr Policeman, hi yeah, my dad is on the phone, he just wants a quick chat with you." He thrust the phone into the woman's hand. "Yeah, you just take that, thanks.” She looked bewildered and looked around for backup with little success. Donovan backed away from her as she held the phone to her ear and terror struck her features.

Donovan ducked under the police tape cordoning off the street. He managed to walk down the road and turn off without so much as a shout in his direction. For whatever reason at that moment the scattering of people milling around the crime scene were all distracted. A part of him felt slightly stung that no one had tried to stop his exit but then again his intention had been to sneak away.

To remove yourself from a situation it was best to throw your shoulders back and walk with confidence. Donovan had plenty of experience strolling away from many situations by acting like he was strutting down a catwalk without a care in the world. His niece's school play had been a particularly awkward example of this.

Donovan felt that the air was thicker around him, as if walking through a oppressive fog. His skull particularly attuned to each minute movement but his peripheral vision completely lost. It was not dissimilar to having drank two or three shots of tequila in quick succession and then trying to find his way to the toilet. The block was the longest he had ever walked down but as soon as he found a turn off he bolted into the next street.

He had left his phone with the police officer but that was not a big loss to him, he could get another phone. Or perhaps when a member of his father's staff had picked him up in the morning he would have it returned at the police station. That would be ideal. He could go one evening without his mobile phone, of course he could. Or if he was lucky they would go to the police station without him and then pick up his phone and he wouldn't have to talk to anyone. At what point would it be appropriate to charter the private jet to an exotic island? Could he walk to the airport from here?

Of course Donovan had no idea where he was and without his phone to produce a map to guide him he had no way of knowing how to get home let alone to a runway. He wandered the streets strolling into alleyways without a care in the world. Since the 'Security Force' had been installed in the Quadrangle, the inner city was the safest place to be on the planet. Not that it was recommended to wander aimlessly in the Business District in the middle of the night, especially when theoretically descending into a potential post-traumatic disorder. Donovan had also read that it was safe to wander the streets alone but this could have easily been propaganda to prop up the martial law that had been installed in the inner city since the creation of the Quadrangle.

A flash of light caught his eye as he strolled past an alleyway. He paused and looked down the street to see his tomato red convertible with it's headlights blaring. It was wedged in among some wheelie bins and carrier bags of takeaway containers.

He approached the vehicle in a daze and rapped on the blackout window with his knuckle his heart beating in his throat.

“Good evening officer.” The woman with ochre curls appeared at the window wearing a large pair of sunglasses and crooked smile on her pink lips. The sunglasses were branded and broad, specifically designed for the travelling high class gentleman. It was clear she had found them in the glove compartment.

“This is my car!” He snapped with a burst of unrestrained somewhat unexpected fury. Donovan's fatigue and confusion evaporated and he suddenly felt frustrated and prickled with fury. He had woken from his dreamlike state and was alert and furious. “Get the fuck out of my car!”
“This is your car?” She asked tilting her head to observe the edges of the window framing her. She was resting her arm on the car door holding up her chin with the tips of her fingers.
“Yes, that’s my car. Out, get out.” He sputtered.
He couldn’t see her eyes, her lips were pursed in an ‘o’ as if about to whistle. She looked like a child being reprimanded. Then it set in a thin line and she shook her head, bouncing curls wafting to and fro. “Nah, I don’t think so.” She said distractedly.

“This is my car. Get the hell out of my car.” He stammered. He couldn't think of anything further to add to his accusations. He was at a loss but enraged.

She lifted the sunglasses from the bridge of her nose, her brow furrowed, her eyes focused on him. He launched forward and grabbed the door with both hands which caused her to jolt backwards into the black leather cavern behind her.

“Just get out now, for fuck sake.” He grunted moving away from the car and surveying the alleyway which was empty. The wind shifted an empty beer can which skittered over a puddle.

He heard a crash of metal and turned to see her arm outstretched from the window. His keys had landed on the dark damp road opposite the vehicle.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He walked over to the keys and bent over to the pick them up and turned to her. He pushed the button on the key fob and the door began to slide upwards. She yelped and burrowed into the inky black of the car interior. As the door shifted and the street light flooded in he noticed she had pushed the front seats completely back so that they were horizontal. She was curled up in the foetal position with her hands over her face.

“Right you’ve had your fun.” He muttered, “Get out.” He approached the car.
“Wait!” She bolted upright and raised her palms to him. “I just needed somewhere to stay tonight. I was going to give your car back to you. Honest!” She smiled and took the sunglasses off, folded them up and held them out to him. “Honest.” She repeated.

“You were going to sleep in my car?” He asked warily.
“Yeah...” She rummaged in her pocket and produced a bag of white powder. She was biting her lip and he noticed her legs tucked under her, the sliver of bare thigh peeking out. She appeared delicate and harmless.

“Did you run that guy over?” He asked bluntly.
“No.” She responded promptly, “Sorry I didn’t stick around...” She nodded at the bag in her hand stretched in front of her. She smiled, it took up her whole face, all teeth. He clambered into the car beside her without further argument pulling the door down behind him. He immediately flicked the switch to turn the headlights off and took the bag of white powder from her as she levered onto the passenger seat opposite him.

She commented about how she wasn’t sure how to put the seats back up. He turned the radio on and lay down fiddling with the seal of the bag distractedly. He asked her if she was homeless and she didn't answer. She lay on her seat and they remained horizontal and parallel for some time. Their conversation was stilted nonsense.

In the end he couldn't remembered taking the drugs with her. He couldn't recall the first time they kissed or the first time they had sex. He didn’t even notice the scar on her neck. A thin deep pink line embedded in her flesh. It was took dark in the car and he was too high, too lost in the moment. But in years to come he would see a red welt across the neck of every person he had sex with. As if every person he engaged with had suffered at the executioner's axe.

The memory that remained with him was waking up in the morning next to her. She was breathing gently and unconscious. His lips pressed against her shoulder, his legs entwined with hers. Her hair stroked his forehead, the taste of her in his mouth, the warmth of her skin. The sensation of her vulnerable and at peace in his arms embedded in his mind.

As it had happened it had simply been a sequence of events that he had stumbled through with no idea of their significance. It was the chemical reactions he would recall as more powerful than when they had occurred. The thrill of her crouching over a dead body. The fear as she had sped away in his car. The adrenaline that had mounted within him as the severity of the situation had set in. The shock that followed as he sat on the side of the street dazed and bewildered. The rage in finding her and the release in fucking her in the cramped convertible. He couldn't imagine his life feeling more real than that which he experienced when he was with her.

The Complex

"Come on Winston! It won't be long, it'll be ten minutes, tops. Honest!" Donovan stood in the doorway of apartment complex, the doorman jamming the door with his foot refusing him entry. Donovan had no choice but to respond with force by leaning into the door with his full weight.

"Someone is going to walk past any second now and wonder what's going on here Winston. You know me Winston, you know who I am!" His breath was fogging the glass as he pressed his face against it. Whether Winston could see him was negligible at this point. Those rubber bottomed steel enforced shoes were standing very firm and to be fair Winston had some considerable weight on him.

The door loosened and swung open, Donovan stumbled into the lobby his scuffed trainers slipping on the marble floor. Winston placed a large hand on his shoulder and steadied him, "Ten minutes." The taller man said calmly. Donovan nodded appreciatively. He had no idea what time Sarah would be back but at least he was in the building. Plus, once Winston got talking it would be easy enough to keep him distracted.

Sarah's building was situated in the Financial District suburban sector if it can be called that. It was a few streets crammed together where young professionals lived in one bedroom apartments close to their offices. Otherwise the skyscraper apartment complexes were bought up as second homes for businessmen to stay overnight while their nuclear families waited in the actual suburbs. Winston was more than aware of the revolving door of lovers and one-night stands which took advantage of the inner city location. Being situated close to the Quadrangle increased the rent but the convenience was undeniable for those with deep enough pockets.

Donovan paced the lobby as Winston returned to his desk.
"Sooo Winnie. How long has it been?" Donovan asked casually watching his feet flick in front of him as he danced around the hall.
"Not that long Mr D." Winston didn't mind calling him by his enforced nickname. As far as nicknames went it was juvenile but the blonde man with his dazzling smile had stuffed a lot of money in his pockets the last time he had said it.
Donovan laughed loudly, "Oh Winnie. I'm going to make a honest woman out of that girl tonight."
"Miss Sarah?" Winston asked uncertainly. He was aware that Donovan had been a frequent house-guest of Miss Sarah but the pair had not given any indication of any romantic relationship. "Yeah, shotgun wedding and everything. I think it's true love. You can be the godfather!"

Donovan was babbling, he needed a reason to keep himself in the lobby until Sarah arrived. Winston looked shocked more than anything which was the correct response. Shock leads to uncertainty, uncertainty leads to inaction, inaction means he might let Donovan use the staff toilet.

"Congratulations!" Winston beamed deciding to mask his scepticism with an earnest smile. As long as the young man didn't cause any trouble he would let him stay in the lobby. It wasn't worth the bother of trying to remove him. Miss Sarah had explicitly told Winston that she did not wish for Mr D to be allowed on the premises but perhaps things had changed since the time she advised this. There was talk of marriage and if a baby was involved, well it was only fair to let the boy have his say.

Donovan ended up sitting on Winston's desk talking to him about the unlikely nuptials which he was planning with Miss Sarah. He advised that it felt right and that Sarah was under no obligation to wear white or invite her family. It'll be just a few friends in a registry office and then drinks by the river.

Of course the very idea of such a low key wedding was a complete anathema to Donovan's expectations of his wedding day. It would undoubtedly be the social event of the year and every single person he had ever clapped eyes on would be invited. His wife would have her breasts resting under her chin and be encrusted in white lace and diamonds. Marrying a social climbing desperado to the chagrin of his father with the attached spectacle was his ambition. Maybe he'd impregnate the lucky woman but he hadn't decided if her being 8 months pregnant at the end of the aisle would be too much.

Winston was nodding and smiling jovially but his attention was focused on the array of security screens situated on his desk under a running shelf. Donovan careened off the desk trying to lean over to the get a good look at them. Winston had become quite irate as Donovan clattered to the floor in a heap and asked him to sit somewhere else in polite but warning tone.

Sarah had asked the security staff not to let Donovan in the building. Winston was aware of this but at the same time Donovan had tried to ram raid the door which would have caused bad publicity for the building and more importantly might reflect on Winston poorly. If he complained to management it would be Winston's job which would be at stake. Plus the young man with his broad smile and blonde hair didn't seem to be causing any trouble. He had settled on a chair with his feet resting on a large potted plant near the lifts.

"Heeeey!" Donovan crowed and Winston observed him trot over to the petite woman who stood in the cavernous lobby, her shoulders slumped, her head tilted as she struggled to keep her head straight. She turned and looked towards Winston, her face was writ with disappointment. Winston mouthed his ineffectual apologies and shook his head from the safety of his desk. She turned to the louche and greeted him with a plastered smile, her posture straightening and walked him to the lifts.

They stood in the lift together in silence, Sarah stood with her back to the mirrored wall opposite him. Her face was impassive but her fatigue was unmistakable, her silence was contagious. Donovan took the opportunity to decide with some finality whether she had changed at all over the past few months since he had seen her previously. She had lost weight, her cheeks were even more pronounced, her lips still as full as they had been with that pleasant shade of pink making them pop against her dark skin. Her knees were still knobbly and her ankles pronounced, she was still extremely skinny but in a way that made her look delicate and approachable rather than freakish. Even tired, her eyes remained inviting and warm.

Sarah led him to her apartment, he fell into step directly behind like a reprimanded child. She shoved the door open into the cramped hallway. He noted that the mound of sandals and heels were still wedged behind the front door. The light bulb when turned on flickered and provided a dim ineffectual glow which illuminated very little. She disappeared into the living area beyond leaving him to remove his shoes and close the door behind him. Manners would smooth this over surely.

The living area and kitchenette existed together in an open plan space. Sarah hadn't decorated in so much as she had bought an overly large white leather sofa and left it in the middle of the room with a few fluffy cushions. Aside from the coffee table and television there was nothing else of note in the windowed box.

Sarah had frequently declared that they were not friends and Donovan refused to believe this. They had been connected via intersecting social circles at university which had led to them being invited to the same parties but that was as close as they had been for quite some time. Donovan felt that had he had the opportunity to take a good look at her, he would have definitely gotten to know her much sooner. It felt like fate had drawn them closer together in the end, almost like it was meant to be.

"Cup of tea?" Donovan called, "Or something harder...?" He mumbled staring at the bottle Italian white wine and pint of milk in the otherwise empty fridge.
He turned and Sarah was standing behind the sofa, she had changed into an oversized t-shirt which swamped her frame and leggings, her hair scraped against her skull into a ponytail. She held a pistol in her hands, arms straight in-front of her, legs apart, the stance of a young child at a carnival stand.

"I don't know what's going on Donovan but you need to keep me the hell out of it." Sarah said successfully maintaining an even tone even though there was a slight air of panic emanating from her.
"Okay Sarah... That's fine. Just put the gun down." He held his hands up, palms on display. "Calm down and put the gun down." He said in his most soothing voice.
"I am calm." She said firmly, her resolve calcified.
"That's great. You just need to- AGH!" He yelped and flinched. A pin prick pierced his foot and he looked down to see a large white cloud sitting on his feet. It looked up at him with a grumpy face and meowed loudly.
"Walter." Sarah sighed deeply, she walked over to the kitchen, placing the gun on the counter and picked up the cat.
"I see you haven't got rid of that..." Donovan said glaring at the feline.
"He's the love of my life." Sarah smiled, her fury had abated, she finally looked like she wasn't about to murder him or flee without looking back.
Donovan turned to the kitchen counter and grabbed the kettle, while holding the ball of white against her chest she nodded.

They sat on the large white sofa both in each corner with a mug of tea in their hands.
"Were you really going to shoot me?" Donovan asked her.
"You were pissing me off." Sarah said dismissively.
"Come on. Don't pretend like you didn't miss me." He said.
"It's not me you're looking for." She said with a frown.
Silence descended and hung between them. Donovan didn't want to take the bait as tempting as it was but Sarah wasn't volunteering anything further. It would be an ideal moment for him to apologise for what had happened and make some kind of amends but he couldn't bring himself to.

"I saw you at Uncle Jasper's funeral." He said quietly, "Thanks, you didn't have to."
"Oh yeah, I was sorry to hear about that." She mumbled.

That had been the last time he had seen Sarah, months ago in a line next to a grave, family members on either side of him. She had been near the back of the congregation among his father's work colleagues who felt obligated to attend. Donovan hadn't been sure as she had kept her head lowered and melted in and around the throng of black suits and coats.

When the priest had finished the ceremony she had looked up and Donovan recognised those cheek bones from a mile away. He didn't see her for the rest of the day. Hindsight had tortured him, he wished he had said something to her. He should have strode over to her and taken her hand and said something to her. Anything would have done. He wasn't sure if it was friendship that had compelled her to be there but the fact that she hadn't stayed or spoken to anyone had felt significant.

"I don't know what I can do." Sarah said abruptly, "You know I would help if I could but..."
"Do you know what even happened? Do you know what she did to me?" Donovan asked.
"I uh... I don't know Donovan." She say noncommittally.
 "She locked me in a bathroom with another dude!" He said loudly. The cat on Sarah's lap jumped up and darted under the coffee table.

Sarah said she wanted to help but that there were rules and she couldn't make contact at that moment in time. She sounded earnest enough that he almost forgave her for holding a gun toward him. Sarah suggested that Donovan go home and she would get in touch when she had anything further.

"Nah, I'm good." He said stretching his legs out on the sofa. He was testing her patience and as he suspected, the gun was not turned on him for his insolence. She threw a bundle of blankets at him and told him if she hadn't heard anything in the morning he would still have to go home.
"Or...?" His eyes settled on her bedroom door.
He felt a hard thud against the back of his skull, she walked away with the gun dangling loosely in her hand.

New Beginnings

There she was, just sitting at the bar with an empty martini glass. She had her back to him and he noted that it was hunched, shoulders up against her ears. Her fingers loosely clasped the stem of her glass, her head bowed. Donovan took a deep breath and pushed through the glass door into the bar and strode toward the young woman who clearly wished to be alone.

"Heeey!" He grasped the woman's bare shoulders, her skin was clammy and warm.  She flinched and shifted away from his shadow. "Fancy seeing you here gorgeous." Her face turned and she glowered at him. Such a beautiful face with a perfect scowl. He held his hands up and took a slight step back, "Sorry!" He said. Her expression remained the same.

"Why...?" She closed her eyes and looked away.
"It's been such a long time since we last saw each other, isn't it?" He beamed, "Miss me?"
"How?" She said firmly. Her palm pressed against her forehead as she rested her elbows against the bar. He tugged at the stool next to her and pulled himself onto the seat.
"Well, since you asked. This establishment is walking distance from your apartment, popular with the Quads and it's discreet. Plus I talked to the manager and it turns out you have an arrangement... So, not that discreet then."
"Fucking Bill." She groaned.
"Hey, don't be like that with Bill."

Donovan felt strangely protective of Bill. The guy hadn't been particularly forthcoming in the first instance. It had taken a large wedge of rolled up bills to get him to talk and even then it had been through gritted teeth. It was that or he had said it very quietly just to be obnoxious. "Come on Bill, speak up." Donovan had told him and the man earned his exceedingly large tip.

This had been the fourth bar he had frequented and it had taken some time to determine how she operated. Regardless he had attracted some attention and his nights sitting in bars until closing time in the Financial District had been a fruitful expedition. He hadn't had to pay for all of the company either.

She preferred midweek and somewhere quiet with a high class clientele. Donovan had no interest in such quiet bars and these were not on his usual rotation when in the city. Luckily his father's secretary had been more than willing to suggest nice bars for quiet 'dates'. The secretary would have loved an invite but her teeth were too big for her mouth, Donovan didn't like the way her face looked when it broke into an uninhibited smile. Didn't she get dental as part of the company benefits?

This bar wasn't the worst one he had sat in. He noted that the lighting had a soft golden hue which was both flattering and alluring. She looked entrancing regardless of the lighting but this was extremely complimentary. Although he was struggling to read the drinks menu without squinting. Perhaps he would ask her what she was drinking. Couldn't go wrong with a martini to be fair.

"Donovan!" The menu slipped from his hand and slapped against the metallic bar. She sighed, "I'm busy. You need to leave." She said firmly, her eyebrows knitted together in a frown, her mouth set in a full lipped pout. He admired how the shade of pink complimented the tone of her skin and didn't make her look at all cheap like it would have done on any other woman.

"Come on, I just got here." He said, "I'll buy you a drink." He then quickly added, "As a friend."
"I'm meeting someone in," she checked her phone, "Ten minutes."
"Whatever he's paying, I'll pay double." Donovan said smoothly.
"No." She replied.
"Triple!"
"Donovan!" She snapped, her palms slammed against the bar and her back straightened.
"Sarah!" He responded, bolted upright to attention.
"Why are you doing this?" She was pleading with him. "Please, please just go."
"Hmm. No." He smiled. "I offered you triple. Come on, that's a good deal."

Sarah picked up her phone and tapped furiously at the touch screen.
"Cancelling?" Donovan asked hopefully. Perhaps this was an aggressive approach.
"I will tell you where she is if you leave me alone right this second." Sarah said looking at him sternly. He took a moment and exhaled slowly. This cat and mouse game suddenly fell apart quite quickly. But-
"If I leave this second you won't have time to tell me. That wouldn't work." He said. He couldn't stop a smile spreading across his face.
"I don't know where she is right now, but I will tell you when I do." Sarah said. She looked tired.
"So you want me to leave and then you'll tell me? When will you tell me?" He asked.
"As soon as I know." Sarah said firmly and gave her phone a quick shake. She glanced at the door across the room and rose to her feet. She waved at the bartender, "Please could I have the same at my table?" The bartender nodded as she sidled past Donovan. "I will let you know." She said under her breath as she walked away.

"I'll have what she's having." Donovan said to the bartender. He was presented with a martini glass with a wedge of lime and filled with water. He nodded with an impressed smirk. Clever girl.