

Anthology

Livian Grey

2018 ©

30/3 Productions Ltd.

Smashwords Edition

The book contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental.

Contents

CHIPS

Elysian

Between Here & Nowhere

Time

CHIPS:

A Collection of Stories About Control

Making Friends

1

Kali loved to spy on their conversations: a third party witnessing the problems they typed day in and day out. She never found it necessary to contribute. No one could know she sat and watched these words, appearing line after line automatically on her computer screen. She had her company.

If they ever asked her to speak, they called her out by her screen name: SpyChild. She wouldn't answer. Sometimes she was insulted, yet she would only laugh at the names they called her. It never hurt her because she couldn't see their faces. She would allow them their anger until they ignored her, and she went unnoticed for the most part, just as she did in everyday life.

Kali walked the hallways of her school every weekday, remaining unremarkable and unseen. This was how she wanted it. She had nothing to contribute to this world. It was best no one asked her to speak. She was a twitcher who watched people instead of birds. Watched with quiet eyes and quiet breath, though nothing they said truly interested her in any way.

Kali's room was painted in swirling patterns of blue and purple, two colours she loved very much. The room was her hideaway in the ancient Merseyside home her rich aunt and uncle owned. She slept in a canopy bed, always drawing the curtains around her as she sat with her laptop. It was a private place for watching the faceless beings from all over the world confess their loneliness. Their lack of gratification and need for companionship formed their words. They were from all the places she had never been and would probably never visit, but they all had these things in common. Kali would see relationships develop, and some that fell apart. She kept an eye on certain names, waiting to see if they succeeded in their quest for companionship.

When Kali was three, the boy from next door moved away. She had known him for two years yet didn't remember a single thing about him. According to her aunt, they hadn't spent much time apart. His name was Louis, but she couldn't remember what he or his family looked like, and she couldn't recall crying when he moved away.

Kali had faded into a state of nonexistence, eventually deciding she was much happier that way.

Her Aunt Rose and Uncle Hubert were her legal guardians. Her mother, Carla, had been admitted to a prestigious institution to spend a few months getting well but ended up having such a nice time, she stayed for eight years. Kali's alcoholic father had run off with a voluptuous woman named Tatjana from Moscow who had been a performer in a travelling circus. That was after mother dearest had started baking cakes in the middle of the night and giving them names like Melinda and Marianne. She'd also taken a liking to raising pigs in the erroneous belief they would be easier to mind than one small, quiet child. Carla had argued that they made more noise and required more attention than her daughter ever did.

Aunt Rose was just as loopy, though her friends defined her as eccentric rather than erratic. Kali thought they were being more than polite. Rose held very civilised dinner parties, one of which had involved Carla's two prize piglets. Kali recalled their names vividly. Little Clopper and Yolanda had been served roasted, smothered with honey sauce, and each had had a plump cooked apple sitting snugly between its lips. All of high society had congratulated Rose on her wonderful feast. She had patted her soft brown hair and smiled ever so modestly, Kali on the sidelines in her starchy pink dress, cringing.

Uncle Hubert was also a funny sort, but Kali almost preferred him to Rose. He read a lot of Hemingway but rarely left the house. He would sit for hours trying to explain to Kali all he had read just to keep her out of her room and in his and her aunt's presence. He wore brown pressed pants, pressed shirts and pinstriped vests. He chewed on expensive cigars and sat in his overstuffed easy chair, peering at the pages under his huge ornate lamp.

'What were your plans for this evening, Kali?' he asked one night after he had bored her into numbness with another analysis on Hemingway.

'I'm staying at home,' Kali replied with her head resting on her fist.

'Why did I expect anything different?' He set down his book and used his thumb to mark the page he had abandoned, taking off his reading glasses to regard Kali sternly. 'You really should consider getting out. This place must bore you.'

'I have all the company I need.'

'That damned computer is going to cause you serious damage one day, Kali,' Aunt Rose grumbled as she came in, wiping her hands on her apron.

'Is it? It doesn't do a lot.'

'You don't do a lot,' Rose snapped before sitting down in the uncomfortable old rocking chair by the fireplace.

Kali sighed. This was just another revision of a tired and worn out argument that had started many years ago. When was Kali going to make friends? She always said she didn't want to befriend anyone. Friends came and went. She saw this every day. Friends could betray. Friends could be selfish. Kali wasn't prepared to dish out lunch money or homework answers to gain respect from her fellow students. She wouldn't give fake kindness to someone she hated. She was contented witnessing others stoop to these depressing means to achieve this.

Kali went to leave but Rose stopped her with her curt tone.

'Tomorrow we're going to pay someone a visit. His name is Dr Forde, and he'll fix your little problem.'

'Who said I had a problem?' Kali cried in astonishment. They had never referred to it as a problem. An annoyance maybe, but never a problem.

'You won't be arguing after tomorrow.' Rose's threat concluded the debate, and Kali returned to her room, clearly outnumbered.

She wanted to express her anger to a stranger, except she didn't feel compelled to type out her woes when she rejoined the hundreds of faceless voices on her computer. She settled for seeing their insecurities while she tried to dismiss her hatred for Rose.

Kali could not see how Rose's plan would do her any good. It wouldn't change her. It wouldn't make her start venturing out into the world for companionship. That would be counter-productive. It would undo her happiness. Rose, with her various circles of socialites, none of whom truly cared for her, would never comprehend this.

Kali dreamt that night of preparing a fourteen-course banquet for a gathering of vacuous rich people who cut their food into tiny portions and nibbled the morsels off their dainty silver forks. They chatted about how fantastic it was to be so disgustingly wealthy, and how they would never have to beg for a meal. Then Kali dreamt she invited a homeless family in to eat with them. The family accepted her gracious offering despite a lot of the food already being touched, and the other guests in attendance got up and left in disgust.

2

When morning came to greet Kali with its radiant strips of sunlight, she hastily got ready for school, making as little noise as possible so as not to stir her evil aunt.

She felt certain she had avoided the trip to the doctor, but Aunt Rose, who wouldn't normally sully herself by entering a public school, hunted Kali down and dragged her out during an important maths test. Kali complained wildly, much to the astonishment of her classmates, who had never heard her utter a protestation in all her time at school. Rose was scarlet with rage and embarrassment. Uncle Hubert remained solemn, however, saying nothing to Kali.

The interior of Dr Forde's waiting room was tacky and displayed an abundance of wear and tear. Furniture had scratched the paintwork and the pictures on the walls of shipwrecks and shorelines were framed in chipped gilt. The chair Kali had chosen to sit in had one leg too short, and she rocked it simply to gain amusement out of annoying Rose, who despised imperfect things. Rose flicked through a dog-eared magazine, her narrow, pointed nose protruding over the top of the pages as she gave Kali one malicious glare after another. Kali only pretended to look confused.

Uncle Hubert was pacing about, probably wondering how much of his precious reading time was being wasted on this expensive trip to Dr Forde. Kali whistled softly, but the sound went unheard by his small ears. Hubert scratched his nose, cleaned his glasses with the hem of his vest, checked his watch then continued pacing. Kali persevered with her obnoxious little tune.

Had Dr Forde not entered then, Rose could have quite possibly strangled Kali. In retrospect, she knew Rose needed the treatment that awaited Kali.

Dr Forde had a long, gaunt face, and his hair grew around his crown, leaving a huge expanse of baldness that revealed his misshapen skull. His eyebrows were thick and unkempt, and when he attempted to smile, he only appeared sinister and conniving.

'Well, Miss Kali Anne,' Dr Forde began as they each took a seat in his dowdy little office. 'Your mother-'

'Aunt,' Rose interjected.

'Your aunt here claims you've been a little reclusive of late.'

'Of late?' Rose exclaimed. 'She hasn't had a friend in twelve years!'

'No social interaction at all?' Dr Forde frowned.

'I have my computer friends,' Kali explained. 'I don't speak to them but they're better company than none.'

'People you cannot see are no substitute for friends, Kali. Social interaction is vital for developing working relationships that will lead to success. Without it, you're doomed to become a hermit on an island in the middle of a desolate ocean.'

'I already am a hermit. A contented one at that.' Kali remained as calm and composed as she possibly could, but found herself gripping the scratched armrests in her effort to repress her anger.

'You cannot live your life like this, Kali' Dr Forde said. 'They've brought you here just in time, I would say.'

'In time for what?' Kali quizzed with mounting suspicion.

Rose grew a smile of satisfaction.

'Kali,' Dr Forde leant forward and pressed his fingertips together in the shape of a triangle. 'I've been trying out this new chip of mine on other children like you. It will help you to make friends.'

'I don't want to make friends.'

'I'm sorry, Kali. It really must be done if you're going to successfully establish yourself as a respected member of society.'

'Is this really necessary? I get decent marks at school. What's to stop me becoming successful?'

'Not being able to communicate,' Dr Forde said, trying to be poignant. 'You won't have people in your life that you can depend on. And besides, you must be sick of your home, and your aunt and uncle. Wouldn't you rather be out having fun and meeting people?'

'I'm already having fun!'

Dr Forde gave her a patronising smirk. 'I'd like you to cease your objections, Kali, and come with me.'

'No,' she snapped.

'Kali, I don't wish to argue with you.'

'Oh, but I'd love to argue with you,' she sneered, insolently.

Dr Forde nodded at Rose and she excused herself, requesting Hubert follow her promptly. Hubert obeyed without question.

'Kali, you'll thank me when I'm finished.'

'Something tells me I really don't have a choice in the matter.'

'That's right, Kali. You don't.'

Dr Forde stood to his full and ominous height, and Kali found herself sinking into the chair. The door clicked open behind her and before she had the opportunity to turn around, something soft and moist smothered her mouth. Every second from then on was filled with black.

3

When she managed to pry her eyelids apart, Kali felt straight away her head was aching. She felt a throb go through her whole skull then ripple down her spine to pinch her in her lower back. She was reclining on a hard mattress lined with butcher's paper, her surroundings blurred and lacking discernible colours. She coughed gently only to receive a jolt of pain so horrendous she had to squeeze her lips together and grit her teeth to prevent crying out.

Things began to sharpen around her as they regained some colour. Everything she saw appeared silver and sterile: scalpels, tweezers, small scissors, saws for bones...

She touched the back of her head. There didn't seem to be any lumps or stitches. When she ran her fingertip over her brow, she felt a few lumps along her hairline. With hardly any strength remaining, she slipped off the bed and shuffled towards the mirror attached to the cabinet on the far wall.

Her fingers had been prodding a neat little line of purple stitches that was almost hidden by her hair. She believed she was meant to be angry, but she found she was simply perplexed by the situation.

When she saw her clothes in a pile on the floor, Kali slowly ducked down and scooped them up. Getting out of the flimsy little gown was a blessing, and she pulled on her old blue jacket, instantly feeling a touch of warmth.

Still confused, Kali sat on the side of the mattress, slipping her cold hands under her thighs to warm them. Her back felt as if it had a thin film of ice covering the skin from the base of her neck to the top of her backside. She expelled a stream of air and smoke shot out to bloom into a little cloud before her face. She rubbed her bare arms and tried to make her mouth call for assistance.

As if he had developed telepathic powers, the strange, gaunt doctor walked in. He smiled the same unnerving smile, but Kali soon discovered she couldn't form a snarl in return. She still felt no contempt, even though she knew she should have.

'Well, Kali, how do you feel?' he asked as condescendingly as before.

'Fine,' she muttered, her tongue as dry as a pile of sand.

'The headache should settle soon enough. In the meantime, try not to push yourself. Your aunt and uncle are waiting to take you home. Wouldn't you like to go out and show them how much you've improved?'

Kali felt far worse than she had that morning, so "improved" hardly seemed appropriate to describe her situation. She allowed Dr Forde to aid her into the waiting room where Aunt Rose and Uncle Hubert were poised with high expectations.

'Hello, Kali,' Rose beamed as she tentatively approached Kali. 'How do you feel?'

'Fine,' Kali repeated as if she had become programmed.

'Would you like to go home now?' Uncle Hubert asked. His face appeared to convey some concern. For what, Kali wasn't sure.

'I would like to go home,' Kali said slowly. She tried to speak louder, but she preferred to remain subdued. She'd never felt so tired in all her life.

Dr Forde and Rose exchanged forms, cheques and smiles of approval while Kali waited beside Hubert. She blinked twice then looked down at her palms, noticing she didn't feel sick or scared, or frustrated. The feeling she had could only be described as neutral. Dr Forde wished Kali the best of luck, yet she couldn't comprehend what he meant by this.

The drive home in the family's stately old car was very different from previous rides. Kali continued to suspect something was amiss. She usually hated being tucked up in the back, her legs sticking to the leather seats. This time, she actually enjoyed being there. She gazed out the window at the trees that lined her street and was awed by how majestic they appeared as they loomed over the car. Normally she wouldn't have given them her undivided attention.

Her home seemed nicer also; less stuffy than she'd once thought. She needed assistance getting up the stairs to her room. With a cordial smile, Rose took Kali's computer from her bed and placed it on her nightstand.

Hubert and Rose then stayed and watched over Kali, expecting her to make a move. Kali wasn't sure what was required of her. She lay down, assuming that was what they wanted, and said she would like to take a nap.

Rose's smile was growing bigger. Hubert remained concerned, and Kali believed she had disappointed him somehow. She drifted off with the image of their faces stuck in her dreams.

4

The prospect of going to school had never really concerned her, but Kali hadn't felt as excited about it as she did the next morning. She was eager to arrive in spite of the fact she had to retake her maths test.

What thrilled Kali the most was seeing her fellow students. That she was actually approaching them shocked them in equal measure. Kali said hello to each of them in turn, not really knowing their names but happy to greet them all the same.

Once more, Kali had the suspicion things were wrong. The reason for it seemed so simple yet she just couldn't figure it out. The expressions of those around her made it increasingly evident she wasn't being herself this day.

Three very chic and skinny looking girls were huddled around a door down the hallway, whispering conspiratorially. When Kali approached them to say hello, all three responded with expressions of pure disdain. The middle girl, whose peroxide blonde hair was pulled back into a stiff ponytail, altered her face to make a smile for Kali.

'Hey, Kali.' Her inane little grin should have sickened Kali. In that moment, Kali forgot what she had been concerned with all this time.

'Hello. You look like a nice person. Why don't we be friends?'

All three girls chortled loudly, and Kali could only laugh along, believing she was sharing the gag.

'Which aliens abducted you?' the girl on the left giggled as she tossed back a clump of her shiny brown hair.

Kali couldn't remember. She strained to recall the previous day, and only managed to drag up images of waking up that morning. She thought she'd rather be somewhere else, doing something she normally did, but she couldn't recall what that was. Her head began to ache again as the three girls strutted away, throwing glances over their shoulders and giggling with each other.

'I always knew there was something wrong with her,' the brunette muttered as she tried to stifle another onset of giggles.

Kali couldn't find a word for how she felt. Her head hurt so much, and it hurt her heart to see their faces.

She walked to class, wishing she would cease feeling the way she did. Her skull only throbbed for the effort. She continued smiling at people, soon realising the actions her muscles were making were completely against her will. She tried to stop smiling, but her own mouth betrayed her. When she spoke she only said: "hello" or "why don't we be friends?"

When Mr Jameson entered the classroom, Kali gave him exactly the same reply. He was so astonished to hear her speak he lost his concentration, and in a fit he ordered her to visit the principal. Hurt by this, Kali obeyed, stuck with the same bemused smile and the same agonising pain.

She didn't want to visit the principal, she wanted to walk home, but her feet wouldn't let her turn in the opposite direction. Her hand wouldn't stop her pushing open the door that led to the main office. Her tongue and her lips wouldn't listen to her when she told them not to form any words.

'Hello,' Kali said to the receptionist, Miss Wethers. 'I have come to see the principal.'

'Concerning what?' Miss Wethers replied, completely disinterested.

'I'm not sure. I think I've upset someone.' Kali's memory was getting even more foggy and unreliable.

Miss Wethers batted her mascara-laden eyelashes. Perhaps it was then it occurred to her that Kali Anne, the girl who never spoke, was actually speaking now.

'Just... just have a seat over there.' One of Miss Wether's acrylic nails pointed at the row of seats and Kali obediently sat down.

Miss Wethers spoke quickly and quietly into her intercom, urging the principal to see Kali immediately. She was met with a refusal. Without request, Kali stood and marched into the principal's office, taking a seat and paying no attention to the parents who had come to visit concerning their child.

'I was told to come straight here,' Kali announced, almost robotically.

'Kali Anne Brown,' said Principal Harrison sternly with her wrinkled red lips. 'I suggest you leave before I suspend you.'

Her tone displeased Kali and a horrible sensation was swelling in her chest. She didn't like the way the two parents were staring at her, their mouths slightly agape.

'I was told to come straight here,' she repeated, now mimicking Principal Harrison's cold demeanour.

Principal Harrison stood and pointed at the door. 'Leave, Kali. I'll deal with you in a minute.'

Kali stood, shoving back her chair against the wall and screaming out:

'I WAS TOLD TO COME STRAIGHT HERE!'

The volume of her voice hurt her head so greatly she had to race from the room. A whine like the sound an old stove kettle filled her ears and making her crouch and grasp her head with both hands.

The other students had all left homeroom and were headed for their first classes. As she tried to battle her way through the throng, Kali was tripped by someone, and she found herself crawling through a sea of legs while the waves of laughter drowned her.

'Crazy little Kali! Crazy little Kali!' they chanted over and over as she scrambled to reach the exit. Shins were raised to trip her and boots swung at her to kick her sides. Why were they being so mean now? She'd never done anything to them. What was so different now?

She had just tried to make friends.

As she raced past the library and the creepy old church near her house, Kali shot this notion through her mind over and over until she thought her head was going to explode. Something seemed to shift around in there as if her brain had become severed from her spinal cord and was floating aimlessly under the layers of protective muscle. She gripped the sides of her skull in an effort to press the pain into submission. Her running only exhausted her and she collapsed somewhere familiar.

It was her doorstep.

Aunt Rose and Uncle Hubert busied themselves during the day with boring tasks, and Kali entered to find them in the midst of their usual routines. Rose was preparing food in the kitchen and Hubert had his eyes cast down on his latest book, his thin-rimmed spectacles on the end of his narrow nose.

Kali took slow steps through the house, edging down the corridor against the wall so she'd go undetected. Her head was killing her.

From the shadows, Kali stared a while at Hubert. He seemed content sitting there all on his own while the little wife prepared him his food. He always spent his time in solitude. So amazingly wealthy was he that he never had to busy himself with people. He hadn't been very sociable since his retirement.

If that were so, why couldn't Kali be unsociable? Why hadn't he understood where she'd been coming from?

Kali slipped past the doorway ever so stealthily and ducked behind the stairs. In the instant that followed, Hubert moved from the living room through the dining area to reach the kitchen.

'Should we tell Kali about the operation?' Kali heard him ask.

'Don't be ridiculous. She didn't touch that blasted computer when we bought her home. She's cured. No doubt she's being a normal teenager right now, making new friends and behaving properly.'

'But she did seem happy to sit up there. I'm sure if she'd wanted to make friends, she would have. This was a ridiculous idea, Rose. We've wasted thousands of pounds on this treatment.'

'What does it matter now? We'll finally be able to get her out of the house. If we're lucky, she'll meet a boy and want to run away with him.'

The blood in Kali's head was boiling, scolding her arteries and veins and heightening her pain. So their little plan had been to get rid of her. They'd never wanted her, and though this didn't come as a colossal surprise to Kali, she still felt absolutely betrayed.

'We're meant to take care of her,' Hubert argued, and Kali's heart softened from his show of compassion.

'She'd have ended up as balmy as her mother, Hubert. You know that. All that time Carla spent in her room, playing with dolls and never talking to people. By twenty-five, Kali would have been keeping chickens for children.'

'Carla wanted Kali to be happy, that's all.'

'Carla was too mad to know what Kali needed. And Kali will be happy. I couldn't change her, so we had to go to Dr Forde. If she had never made friends we would have been stuck with her until she was fifty. I don't want her running this house when I'm old.'

Kali emerged from her hiding place.

'I didn't make any friends, Aunt Rose.'

Rose dropped her kitchen knife, gasping dramatically.

'Kali! What are you doing here? Go back to school.'

'I got beaten up and yelled at. Nobody wanted to be friends with me.' Kali heard she couldn't even express her anger through her tone. The feeling, however, was overwhelming. The muscles around her skull started to pulse. 'Everyone wanted to hurt me.'

'Don't be silly!' Rose laughed uneasily. 'Try again. Honestly, you give up at the first sign of difficulty all the time. You're just like your mother.'

'I got sent to the principal for trying to be nice. I was tormented for opening my mouth. It didn't make sense then, but it does now.'

Blood was now seeping into Kali's eyes. All she could see was red.

'Look at her!' Hubert cried. 'She looks as pale as a cloud and her eyes are going red! We've made her sick.'

Kali snapped, and her whole head felt the sting of a thousand hot needles. Her vision became shrouded in red. Her hands wrapped themselves around something heavy and wooden. The weight of it didn't prevent her lifting it over her head, and she was blind now to which way she was facing. Whatever she was holding left her hands, and a terrified scream sounded, followed by a heavy thud and a loud clattering. Kali fell on her knees, collapsing onto her shoulder. The tiled floor was hard against her aching, bleeding head.

Red was all she saw before she slipped from consciousness yet again.

5

As soon as she was able to see again, Kali acknowledged the haggard face of Rose, whose eyes were streaming, her nose twitching from her sniffing. She clutched one of her lacy handkerchiefs and dabbed her cheeks.

Kali figured out she was in a hospital by the scratchy sheets beneath her and the sterile surroundings.

'This is all your fault, you horrid child,' Rose hissed. 'If you hadn't been so pigheaded and been a normal girl, I never would've had to do it.'

Her recollection of what happened to Hubert was slow to reach Kali as she touched the bandage wrapped around her head.

'He's dead, isn't he. Uncle Hubert.'

'Of course he is, you disgusting beast!' Rose answered. 'They took it out. Said it had cut your head on the inside. If you hadn't been so stupid-'

'No Rose, if you hadn't been so vile as to hate me so much, I wouldn't have done anything at all. No one would be dead.'

'Shut up,' Rose spat indignantly. 'I'm going to visit your mother. She'll sort you out.'

'That's fine. I think I'd rather live with her.'

Carla had to testify that her daughter had never displayed homicidal tendencies as a child, despite no one seeing Carla fit to make that judgement. Meanwhile, the more Rose argued Kali was unbalanced, the more unbalanced she sounded herself. Consequently, Rose put her foot in it when she mentioned Dr Forde, (who had mysteriously vanished after vacating his office), and she was arrested for child abuse and colluding with a known criminal to brainwash her niece.

Kali was acquitted and handed back into Carla's custody. This didn't make her feel any less horrible. Tragic as it was ironic, Carla was viewed as mentally stable enough to continue raising her daughter.

Poor Rose, since driven madder than she already was by the loss of her husband and her conviction, took Carla's old room at the same prestigious institution Carla had called home for eight years.

In the end, Kali took her computer with her to her mother's old house and never tried to make friends again.

Grace Controlled

1

The girl on stage was supple, graceful and fully in control of Matthew's thoughts. Right from the moment she appeared from behind the red curtain, she'd stolen his complete attention. The slightest flick of her aristocratic fingers sent shivers up his spine. Something in his head pulsed, giving him a sensation not unlike anxiety. Her eyes sparkled, yet seem to lack emotion. She looked at him and beyond him, and Matthew was faintly aware she wasn't just controlling him but every other man in the room.

All because she was the first stripper they'd seen who wouldn't strip.

She didn't need to. What surprised Matthew was she never once touched her flimsy pink dress. If a strap fell from her shoulder, it fell of its own accord, and she'd raise her long, slender arm to move the strap back into place. The dress practically hung off her as though her shoulders were a feeble wire coat hanger. She was hardly well- endowed either. Her entire torso lacked any substantial amount of flesh, and Matthew saw her ribcage clearly when she tipped herself back from the pole, centre-stage. Her features were angular and her spine was almost perfectly straight, leading up to her long neck that was curved like a crystal vase. She appeared about breakable as crystal; every limb could be dashed to the floor and shatter on impact. Matthew even fretted when he thought she would slip and fall. She wrapped one delicate leg around the pole and spun around it, appearing more exotic than erotic. This didn't have anyone averting their eyes to meet some other distraction.

Matthew soon discovered it was physically impossible for him to look away. She had trapped his line of sight on her. She paced around the pole as she gripped it with one hand, tilting forward without ever losing her balance, then she spun around three times on the tip of her bare toes, catching herself on the pole but never faltering. Her routine didn't even seem rehearsed, and when she ran to the edge of the catwalk and leapt out to the nearest grimy wooden table, she stole Matthew's breath and stopped his heart.

Those around the table stared up at her in wonderment, not turning to each other with questioning looks or to even utter their marvel. She leant down, effortlessly lifting her leg back into the air, and gently touched the stubble-covered face of the man beneath her.

His reaction to her sickened Matthew and he knew the feeling had everything to do with simple jealousy. The man formed a crooked smile, showing a degree of satisfaction, but the smile was quickly stolen when she made another leap to the next table. She spun twice on her toes, then back the other way, her arms spinning out from her body. When she made a third leap, she set down on the floor then vaulted over onto the next table — Matthew's table — landing perfectly in the centre of their empty glasses and beer bottles.

She stood straight and still before Matthew and he froze solid, caught in the shimmering light from her cold blue eyes. She knelt down and brought her slender hands to his face, tilting her head a little as if to question him for staring so intensely. He couldn't answer with his mouth or his eyes. He couldn't find the courage. All he could manage to do was savour the warmth of her hands on his face before she took them away. She bent her body back, tipping her head to face Matthew's cousin, Dominic, who was sitting opposite him. She turned on her knees and curled into a ball, rising quickly to her full height before leaving them to return to the catwalk through the sea of curious faces.

She executed one last graceful turn for her captivated audience, and Matthew was lucky to get a final glance from her crystalline eyes before she vanished behind the red curtain. The music of her routine hadn't fitted the grace of it; it'd been just another seedy song no one really paid attention to. The drone of guitars as it ended didn't evoke any applause.

There was a heavy moment of silence following her departure, and Matthew felt a twinge of loss so great he almost rose from his chair to look for her behind the curtains. Dominic was leaning against the back of his chair, staring with those around him. When the voices began to rise and the announcer was introducing the next act, Matthew reached his own moment of clarity. If he didn't meet this girl, he would regret it the rest of his days. He said this to himself over and over until it was all he could think.

He left the bar with a strong hope she would appear eventually from the backstage door and he could ask to spend some time with her. He tried to mentally script the conversation they'd have. She would walk up and he'd introduce himself, then ask her if she was headed anywhere and if she would like to have coffee. It seemed a simple enough scenario to carry out. But the anticipation of meeting her was causing Matthew to tremble and his thoughts were getting scattered.

He was too engrossed in staying calm to notice someone running towards him from the alley beside the club. When he glanced up, he saw the girl racing towards him, her soft blonde hair flowing behind her. She was dressed now and wearing sneakers, and she caught his arm for support.

'I saw you inside,' she breathed. 'I know I don't know you, but you gotta help me.'

Once more she had rendered Matthew speechless.

'If I don't get out of here soon the owner's gonna beat me. Do you know where I can stay?'

'I... ah... I'm not sure.'

'I have money,' she said quickly, 'but not much. Is there a motel around here?'

Matthew shook his head. 'Maybe you should come with me.'

'Not until you tell me your name.'

'Matthew,' he blurted as if he'd only just remembered.

She took his hand and he stared down to see her fingers linked with his. 'My name's Josephine.'

A deep voice caught them both in mid-step, and Josephine spun back in shock.

'Matthew, slow down!'

Dominic approached them quickly in long, quick strides. He was pulling his jacket tight around his body and he struggled to get warm as the three of them stood under flickering streetlamp outside the club.

'What's she doing with you?' Dominic demanded of Matthew.

'She needs a place to stay,' Matthew explained without faltering.

'I can't go home.'

'I don't think we have the space to harbour a runaway ballerina-turned-stripper, miss.'

Dominic's honesty angered Matthew to his very core; he could not let anyone ruin this. Dominic had taken Matthew to the club for his 21st birthday, but he wasn't going home without this girl as his real present.

'She can stay in my room and I'll sleep on the sofa.'

This remark only caused Dominic to pull Matthew aside. He watched the girl pretending not to hear.

'First of all, I don't want the cops involved when she's reported missing. Second: you're acting on some twisted impulse, and that's going to get you in trouble like it did last time.'

Matthew had no time to state his case. The slamming of the main door alerted them all to the owner of the club, who was glaring with pure malice at Josephine. She didn't hesitate, taking off down the street with her bag flying behind her like a kite. Before Matthew could register what was happening, the owner was in pursuit of Josephine. Dominic was the second to join the race behind her, with Matthew in close third.

Josephine cried out suddenly and Matthew saw her collapse to the ground the second the owner pounced on her. As his fist rose up, Dominic caught it in mid-punch, throwing the owner back against the brick wall beside them. Josephine struggled to her small feet and dashed down the street, discarding her bag. Matthew scooped up the bag and hastened after her, not remotely concerned by the slippery asphalt.

She had stopped in the shadows across the street to catch her breath and was now watching Dominic and the owner in the midst of their brawl.

'Shouldn't you go back and help him?' she frantically asked Matthew.

'I think we should just get out of here.'

As Matthew drew her to her feet, Josephine tried to look over his shoulder, and he felt the same sweet panic as before being this close to her. He ushered her quickly in the opposite direction, sure they would reach his apartment without the owner catching up. His heart was already racing at the thought of having her all to himself. She would have to return his favour eventually, and dancing for him would suffice; he could feel like he did in the club whenever he wanted. He didn't care Dominic would find it odd Matthew wasn't after her for sex.

Matthew had taken up with Dominic almost a year before this night in an effort to escape the backwards country town he'd lived in most his life. The room he rented was small and pokey and offered little space for the few possessions he'd dragged along with him. Josephine examined the apartment carefully, eyeing the pictures on the wall in the living room. Dominic had only put up pictures of semi-naked models from various men's magazines, and Matthew hoped Josephine didn't feel offended. If they had been shots of random people then maybe he wouldn't have felt so excruciatingly nervous watching her stare at them.

'I can take them down,' he offered.

'It's not my place to argue with your friend's choice of... art. Besides, I saw the same thing for real not ten minutes ago, and girls see each other naked all the time in dressing rooms. It really doesn't bother me.'

'Dominic's my cousin, actually,' Matthew corrected as he locked the door, figuring he could open it for Dominic if and when he decided to stop beating up the club owner and come home. 'Can you tell me...? Only if you don't mind...'

Josephine turned and awaited his question.

'Why did you end up in a strip club? I mean, you don't belong there, that's for sure.'

Josephine glanced about herself, looking for a place to sit and choosing the ratty old beanbag by the television. Matthew cringed remembering the countless times he'd come home to find Dominic and some girl fooling around on it.

'Well, you may think I'm odd for doing what I did, but believe me, if you had my life, I think you'd have looked for something else, too.'

'What kind of life do you have?' he asked.

She sighed heavily. 'I'm disgustingly rich, Matthew. It's appalling how much my family has made off of my talent.'

'You're a ballet dancer.'

'I'm the ballet dancer.' Her tone carried so much bitterness and snobbery. 'I've been the principal dancer of the city's biggest ballet company for nearly two years now.'

'Where do you normally dance?'

'Uptown, at the Royal Theatre. You know the one with the massive foyer with plush red carpets and velvet-covered seats and gilded boxes.'

Matthew nodded while having no idea where she meant.

'They pay hundreds of bucks to watch me with their beady little eyes. The women look on in awe while the men yawn away, clearly thinking of less civilised things and resenting being there in the first place...' She trailed off. 'And the critics come for their free seats to either trash or praise me in the local rags.'

'And all of this bothered you?' Matthew couldn't help the stupid question. He was doing all he possibly could to not gawk at her.

'I had to get away. I had to! I rehearsed every day. I ate and slept when I was told, and I practiced and practiced until my feet were sore and my toes were calloused. And that damn music they made me endure. All dainty and pretty-'

'Like you.' This interjection disturbed her, but Matthew's mind had given up on holding his tongue.

She rose to her full height and Matthew was astonished to see her body was completely perpendicular to the floor. Her fingers seemed to be permanently stuck in the same position: her ring finger lifted ever so slightly with her thumb tucked just underneath, and her three remaining fingers resting stuck together. Her feet were also turned out as if they wanted to head in two different directions.

'Tell me something, Matthew. What did you think of my performance tonight?'

He hadn't anticipated this, but then he hadn't anticipated she would be here at all. She remained poised for his answer, and he couldn't help wishing she'd just dance for him. He hoped she would if he complimented her enough.

'I liked it. It was beautiful.'

'And what do you think the other men in the bar thought of it?'

'I think they all liked it, too.'

'Well, my new employer didn't. He was prepared to beat me to a bloody pulp before I left. I didn't get any tips, though one of the girls graciously gave me hers, just to get me started. I wasn't prepared to stay longer than a week.'

'Why did you go there, then?' Matthew had only just regained the want to know.

She sucked in her breath, her chest swelling and shrinking with her sigh.

'I wanted those vile, uncivilised men to see what they never would've been able to afford to see. The rich men who watch me don't care about what I have to show the world. Those men in the club couldn't cease their gawping, and neither could you. I wanted to mock all the values my mother tried to instil in me. She never liked me wanting to perform for people who couldn't afford it. She said I could never lower myself like that. After our last fight, I packed a bag and left.'

'How did you get to work there? That's a place for strippers-'

'That's the irony. I didn't strip and they still enjoyed my performance. I wouldn't give them what they had come to see; the reason they'd left their wives and girlfriends at home. I wouldn't be the thing they were after. I did it to mock them as much as to spite my family.'

'I guess I can understand that.'

'But you want to know how I managed to get a job in the first place. Naturally, I had to strip at my audition. As far as I was concerned I had already lost most of my dignity dancing for rich people, and I wouldn't have to strip for anyone again as long as I stuck to my plan. Frank won't take me back, but that doesn't matter. I managed to get away with it once, and that was all I really wanted.'

'So what happens now?'

She paced away from him and he watched her dainty feet cross the carpet.

'I'm really not sure.'

'Well, you can stay here as long as you like, Josephine.'

'Josephine,' she repeated with contempt. 'How pompous is that name? Call me Josie, please. Anything but Josephine. I can only hear my mother when I hear it.'

'I like Josie,' Matthew said. 'It suits you better.'

'Do you think Dominic will let me stay?'

'He might,' said Dominic, who had materialised in the room, Matthew completely forgetting they both had a set of keys in case something like this happened while they were out.

Dominic's upper lip was covered in a film of blood from his nose, and a scratch ran down his temple.

'Frank wasn't too pleased with my intervention,' Dominic continued, gingerly touching his wounds with a soiled handkerchief.

Josie reached him in a few delicate bounds.

'I'm sorry, Dominic. Thank you for saving me.'

Dominic didn't accept her gratitude. He was far too disgruntled to accept anything from her. Matthew tried not to seethe over the fact she hadn't thanked him personally for getting her away from Frank.

'Yeah, I'm a regular knight in shining armour,' Dominic joked. 'I'm going to bed. Don't make any noise. My head is killing me.'

'You may have a concussion. You should really go to a hospital and get your wound stitched up.' Josie flittered behind Dominic, reaching to inspect his wounds with her little hands.

'Doesn't this place tell you I can't exactly afford a trip to the emergency room right now?' Dominic disappeared into his own room and Josie hovered around his door, ready to knock but clearly seeing it wouldn't be wise.

'He'll feel better in the morning,' Matthew said. 'Then he'll work most of the day in there, so you won't have to deal with him.'

'More to the point, he won't have to deal with me,' she said dismally.

'Don't get discouraged,' Matthew replied. 'I'm sure he'll get to like you.'

'What does he do?'

'You mean for a job? He manufactures computer parts.'

'Then he should be loaded with cash!'

Matthew put his finger to his lips and told her to keep it down.

'They're not all for computers.'

Josie's manner of walking softly was much like tiptoeing. She sat before Matthew with eager ears and he leant in close to her, catching her perfume in his inward breath and trying not to let it distract him. He made sure his voice was close to a whisper.

'He works for this Dr Forde guy. I've never met him, but he designed this microprocessor that slots into people's brains to make them behave properly.'

'Behave properly how?'

'They use them mostly on mental patients as an alternative to drugs and shock therapy.'

'It sounds awful.'

'It works. They're saying it's revolutionary. They had one mishap though, with this girl in England, where Dr Forde started his work. He ran off to New York and set up his offices in this old warehouse downtown. Very few people know about it here.'

'What happened to the girl?'

'I don't think she actually needed treatment. She had this rich aunt who wanted to get rid of her so she paid Dr Forde thousands of dollars to stick this chip in her that would make her behave. I don't know the whole story, but she snapped when the chip malfunctioned and killed her uncle.'

'That's horrible,' Josie gasped.

'Apparently the girl's aunt was arrested or something. It wasn't made public, Dominic found out from Dr Forde. That's why it's a big secret here, just until he knows the heat's died down. In the meantime, he's hired people like Dominic to mass-produce the processors. Dominic's got hundreds of them in his room.'

'So it's all illegal?' Josie asked, disgusted. 'I'm not staying if the police get involved.'

'Where else will you go? Anyway, it's all cool. Everything's okay. No one suspects anything so no one will come here.'

She pushed herself up. 'I'm tired. Where can I sleep?'

'You can take my room.' Matthew directed her to his room. It had a thin mattress on the floor and a small chest of drawers for his clothes. He moved to leave her, but lingered by the door, waiting for a 'goodnight' or any kind of expression of gratitude.

'I wake early,' she warned him. 'I'll try to be quiet if I move around.'

Matthew nodded, not really certain how to answer her. She got out her hairbrush from her bag and began running it through her hair, giving him a stare rather than a polite request for him to go. He slowly closed the door behind himself.

Matthew spent hours trying to get to sleep on the lumpy old sofa. The bright streetlamp pierced through his eyelids, and he could only settle himself with visions of Josie dancing in the seedy bar under the brightly coloured lights.

2

Josie spent two weeks with Dominic and Matthew. Though they were happy times for Matthew getting to see her every day, Josie became increasingly erratic. She ate very little, which was fortunate for Dominic since he couldn't afford to properly feed three people. Matthew was supposed to be looking for work, but he'd been much lazier about it now Josie was around.

Josie spent her days dancing for the sake of it. She had enjoyed it once before she realised her technique still wasn't good enough for her directors or her mother. It was her mother who'd turned it into an unwanted chore. Josie also busied herself cleaning the apartment, saying she'd never had to clean her own room because her family had a maid. Matthew would sit at the kitchen counter and watch her wash their dishes from the previous night, never helping and only telling her where to put everything away.

She would dance in his room, but Matthew wasn't allowed to watch her. He thought having her there would mean he could watch whenever he wished, yet she became incensed when he suggested it. She would play her music very softly and move about, unseen by the whole world. If he'd had access to the adjacent room, Matthew would've drilled a secret hole in the wall to watch her. But that was Dominic's room, and it was forever off limits.

Matthew knew he was too old now to be behaving this way, but the more he listened to her music, sitting in the living room with nothing better to do, the more determined he was to intrude on her. He wanted his reward for having rescued her and giving her a place to hide. He felt more betrayed by her than anything. His anger fed his obsessions and soon he was prepared to do anything to make her dance just for him.

Another week elapsed, and Dominic was with Matthew in the kitchen as they listened to the same gentle song playing in the other room.

'She's a freeloader,' Dominic grumbled. 'Either she's out in a week or I'll send her home.'

Matthew hated this idea but kept his mouth shut. Dominic couldn't find out how badly he needed to see Josie dance.

Dominic decided to tell Matthew about his own little invention he'd been tinkering with. He'd put it together with some leftover parts from Dr Forde and a few items from RadioShack.

'It's more a joke thing,' he explained. 'The remote control is for pets to make them walk when they won't. You stick it in their food so they eat it and then you run them around with the remote.'

'Who would want that?'

'It's a joke! I figure I could just test it out in some kind of robot. Or...' He glanced over at Matthew's bedroom door. 'I could stick it up her butt and force her to walk home.'

The very idea of manipulating Josie's entire body lit up Matthew's insides with pure excitement.

'How would it work?' Matthew casually asked Dominic.

'It would just sit in the stomach and cause impulses that would move certain limbs. There's a lot of nerves in the stomach. And it's almost perfected. Dr Forde was giving us plans on how the real chip worked. He wanted us to come up something that could be swallowed rather than implanted. Of course, the remote thing was my idea.'

Dominic was obviously gloating, but the more he spoke, the more Matthew became driven to make Josie the first guinea pig.
3

The next couple of days drifted on much like the previous weeks. Matthew stayed quiet, crafting his plan to make Josie swallow the chip.

Dominic had two processors with working remotes and stealing one of them didn't leave Matthew with any kind of bad taste or uncomfortable sensation. He'd been fantasising about it so much there was no room left for guilt or second-guessing.

Josie emerged as Matthew was closing Dominic's bedroom door.

'What were you doing in there?' Josie asked suspiciously. 'Dominic never lets anyone in there.'

Matthew hid his fist behind his back. 'I was just looking for some batteries.'

'I've been thinking about what to do next,' she announced when she finished eyeing him. 'I've decided I'm going to move on and try something new.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, I hate it here. Dominic has been less than hospitable after I tried to be compassionate about him being beaten up. And he's sick of finding my hair in the tub, I heard him complaining to you about it the other day. Plus, you seem to be less interested in me being here, so I'll find another place to stay.'

That she was talking so flippantly about leaving had Matthew nearly enraged. Dominic would be annoyed that she beat him to the punch, but he'd make no moves to stop her.

'I'm going tonight,' she went on. 'I've booked a ticket on a bus to Vermont. I know a choreographer there and he'll put me up for a while. I don't know why I didn't call him before. Foolish pride, I suppose.'

'You can't go,' Matthew suddenly blurted.

'You don't want me here, I'm sure of it. Besides, I need to figure out what I'm meant to be doing.'

'Dancing,' he said firmly. 'You're meant to be dancing.'

'Matthew, I haven't been able to figure out if that's my life's calling. I have to follow my true path.'

'But look at your hands, your feet!' He gestured at her, almost wildly. 'They're stuck like that. Ballet's your life.'

'Why do you care? I never dance for you. I don't even practice anymore. I hate it. I want to know what I'm really supposed to be doing.'

She opened the refrigerator, yanked a bottle of juice from the door and poured herself a glass. Matthew watched her swallow it in one gulp then pour another. He went to her slowly, waiting for the right moment to drop the chip in. Hopefully, it would sink quickly and go unnoticed.

Josie only took a sip this time and left the glass on the bench, turning her back to put the bottle away as Matthew edged closer to the counter.

'I'm pretty sure ballet isn't what I'm supposed to be doing,' she said. 'Of course, I didn't know this when I was five. I'm nineteen now, and I've learned a lot. You've known me a few weeks so you can't decide I'm just a ballerina. Maybe I'm meant to be a doctor.'

Matthew couldn't tell her she didn't have a chance at being anything but what she was. She wasn't smart enough to be a doctor, but he couldn't openly insult her like this. What he was about to do would be better for her, it'd help her see sense. She turned to the kitchen window to gaze out on the twilight, and Matthew took his chance and dropped the chip in the juice.

As Matthew watched the chip sink into the pulpy liquid, Dominic walked in the front door, coughing loudly and wiping his nose on his sleeve. He said nothing to the pair of them and went straight for Josie's discarded drink.

'No, don't!' Matthew shouted at him, reaching out.

Josie spun round and she and Dominic glared at him.

'Why the hell not?' Dominic snapped.

'It's mine,' Josie said with a shrug, glancing at Matthew. 'But you can have it. I'm not that thirsty.'

'No, it's all rancid and gross,' Matthew said as he rubbed the back of his neck. 'You don't want it.'

'Thirsty person here, Matthew,' Dominic sniffed as he pointed at himself. 'Willing to drink almost anything.'

Matthew was unable to voice his objection, and he held his breath as Dominic drowned the juice and left the glass on the counter with no intention of rinsing it. He'd gotten used to Josie being their live-in maid, even if he was annoyed she wasn't paying any rent.

'I'll be back,' Dominic said, heading out with his keys. 'I forgot to get the mail.'

Matthew carefully peered into the glass, relieved as he was bewildered to see the chip was resting in the residue of juice. He took the bottle from the fridge and filled the glass again, holding it out to Josie.

'I'm not thirsty now. I better get my things. My bus leaves in a couple of hours.' She pulled her hair into a ponytail and tied it up with a hair-tie as she wandered off to his room.

Matthew followed her with the glass. 'But I poured it for you. You can stay a while longer, can't you? Take the bus tomorrow.'

'Listen, Matthew, I'm sick of being your maid. That wasn't what I had in mind.'

Frustration was building a nest in Matthew's head. 'You don't need to clean up. Just stay.'

'No. Why are you so determined to keep me here?'

'I like having you around,' he replied. And it was true, in a sense.

'You hardly speak to me anyway. So I'm going. Thank you for rescuing me, I know I didn't say as much, but I did appreciate it. And tell Dominic the same. I wish it could've worked out better, but I can't stay.'

'But you're never going to dance again.'

'It's not a big deal.'

'You can't waste your life doing something you're not good at, Josie.'

'And what do you do? Absolutely nothing. You're twenty-one, you're not a child. Get a job and stop being so lazy.'

'You're a dancer. That's all you'll ever be.' He only spat this out in contempt over her comment. He didn't have any aspirations of his own, he was more concerned with keeping her in her place, which he knew was with him. It didn't matter she was too stupid to be a doctor; she'd end up fainting at the first trickle of blood; Matthew was sure of it.

He stood in the doorway and watched her shove all her things into her bag as she knelt on the floor.

'I'd like to believe I could be something more. I'd like to do some good for this world.'

'You do. You're amazing. People should see you dance. It makes them happy.'

Matthew didn't give a shit if it made anyone else happy, she was supposed to be there to make him happy. She was his present, and she'd been nothing but a disappointment.

'Matthew, it's not up to you.'

Finding this impossible to accept, Matthew shoved the glass in her face in one last attempt to make her drink.

'Well, you can at least drink this before you go.'

'Fine, if it will shut you up.'

She took the glass, glaring up at him with the same amount of contempt he now held for her. He was so infuriated he couldn't wait to grab the remote and start to make her dance like a marionette. She swallowed the orange juice and sighed out her breath, handing him the glass, and Matthew skilfully hid his excitement to see the chip was now gone.

'Can I leave now, please?' she asked impatiently.

'Sure, go ahead.'

Josie shot up too quickly and lost the balance she was usually so good at maintaining. Matthew had to hold her by the arms to steady her, but his touch outraged her and she shoved him aside, muttering that she didn't need any more knights to help her.

Matthew darted into Dominic's room and snatched up one of the remote controls, his sweaty fingers turning it on and tilting the left stick down.

'What the hell?' Josie cried.

She was walking backwards towards him and her consternation amused Matthew no end. Her gait was stiff and sort of robotic, and he flicked the right joystick, her knee bending to a right angle in front of her. He spun the left stick and she twirled around erratically. Ridiculous as she looked, Matthew was delighted by how easy this was.

'What are you doing?' she screamed. 'What is this!'

'You can't give up being what you're are, Josie,' Matthew said coldly, jerking her again to make her left arm lift above her head.

'Stop! You're hurting me!' Her right arm shot out to the side and flicked behind her back as she went into another twist. With another twitch of the right stick, Matthew made Josie spin around on her toes.

'My arm! Cut it out, Matthew!'

He pulled back hard on the left stick and she screamed, putting out her arms to stop her fall with her hands. She was on her knees now, crying hysterically with her head down.

'I think you broke my arm,' she wept. 'God, it hurts so much! What did you do to me?'

'I just wanted to teach you a lesson, Josie. You are what you are. Why try and fight it?'

'I'll kick your ass for this, Matthew.'

Dominic was livid as he snatched the remote from Matthew, accidentally shifting the joystick. Josie screamed again, her crying contorting her pretty face and turning her into an ugly, pathetic mess in Matthew's once adoring eyes. She tried to clutch her injured arm, but she could only lay still and weep.

'He broke my arm,' she sobbed.

'I'm taking her to a hospital. What the hell were you thinking, Matthew? I know she pissed us both off but she didn't deserve this.'

'You two are monsters!' she screeched. Dominic's attempts to lift her only caused her to lash out at him and she yelped from the pain. 'I hate you, Matthew! I'm calling the fucking cops and you and Dr Forde are gonna end up in federal prison!'

Matthew didn't really care what she felt towards him as he watched her being carried off by Dominic. He wasn't in love with her or anything, he'd only wanted to see her dance and to relive the incredible feeling she'd given him on his birthday. Had she obliged, he wouldn't have had to go to such lengths to make it happen.

When he returned from the hospital, Dominic said darkly Matthew's obsessions had gone way too far this time. It didn't take much to get make him fixated, Matthew knew that. If he wanted something badly enough, he'd cause trouble to get it.

The last time Matthew had almost followed through on his desires, he'd stopped short when the girl in question filed a restraining order. It was his other reason for leaving town, and he'd gotten over that girl eventually, but hadn't counted on ever being as enamoured of anyone else as he was of Josie.

Maybe he had gone too far, but Matthew wasn't convinced. If she hadn't danced the way she did to begin with, if she'd been just another stripper in a seedy bar, he wouldn't have become so obsessed. And it wasn't like he'd raped her; he hadn't wanted to really touch her. He didn't even like her, she was pompous and mean. What harm would watching her have done?

Josie left town the next day, Dominic giving her a fistful of cash to keep her quiet.

When Matthew later reflected on his moment of complete control over Josie, he only wondered if he had actually scared her into remaining a dancer. Her broken arm would set her back, but it had been a clean break, according to the doctor. It would heal up fine. Like it never even happened.

In the winter, Matthew saw Josie performing in a Christmas special on TV as the star of The Nutcracker. He watched her dancing for the vacuous millions she had despised so much, satisfied in his heart she was still in her element and would never again consider straying. He even taped her solos to watch them later, and the images pleased him just as much as his memories of her dancing before him with pure ice in her eyes.

Witch Child

1

Of all the horrifying things she'd seen as a nurse, Janet could not remember anything as disturbing as the sight of little Georgia Preston fighting for her life. Georgia had presented as one of the worst cases of child abuse Sacred Heart had ever come across. She had the sweetest, chubbiest little face, but she was sickeningly pale now, and a heavy bandage covered her left hand where the doctor had pulled ten stitches through a long split in her palm.

The thin hospital blanket was tucked neatly around the child's still form. She breathed softly, her rounded belly rising with her inward breath. She had no machines attached to her to aid her breathing; she was simply locked in some horrible form of shock, unable to wake up when prodded or moved. Her vitals were all normal. She was receiving sufficient medication from the intravenous bag. She just wouldn't wake up.

Janet wiped her own brow, then her upper lip. She gripped the child's hand and put it to her lips, distracted by her friend Alison entering with a hot cup of coffee for her.

'Have they said anything useful yet?' Janet quizzed Alison with a lack of hope in her tone, expecting the answer would be in the negative. Her haggard demeanour was owing to the fact she'd been sitting with Georgia for nearly eighteen hours, desperate to see a change. Alison had only started her shift that evening.

'You should be doing something else,' Alison replied. 'She's in shock. She'll wake in her own time. Imagine she's having a nice dream and she doesn't want to wake up yet.'

'She's going to have to wake up soon. Do you know what happened to her?'

'No, I haven't heard a thing. What about you?'

'I wasn't meant to find it out. I was eavesdropping.'

'As usual,' Alison smirked.

'In a way, I'm glad I listened, but I think it's about time I gave up that habit.'

'It'd be wrong of me, wouldn't it?' Alison muttered with her fingernails to her lips, about to bite them but refraining.

'What would?'

'Asking what happened.'

'I don't know if I have the energy to tell you everything. It's the strangest story I've ever heard. And I don't know how anyone could be so foolish as to allow this to happen. That's all I've been trying to figure out.'

'Maybe I could figure it out. If you told me, that is.'

Janet took a small sip of coffee, savouring the bitter taste by holding the fluid on the tip of her tongue. She swallowed and felt the heat of the liquid burn in her chest. It was the first thing she'd consumed in almost a day.

'I can't decide whether her adoptive mother was delusional or if the boy's father was. Either way, she's just a kid. She shouldn't have been persecuted for what they thought she was.'

'Persecuted? I don't get it.'

'You'll only believe it if I explain the whole sorry story.'

'Then explain.'

'As long as you don't tell it to someone else.'

'I promise.'

Janet shut her eyes and envisioned herself strolling by the staff coffee lounge down the hall. At the mention of the word "witch" she'd stopped in her tracks and strained to listen, ducking into the corner by the door to go unseen. She had just caught the beginning of the story, which was being told to a police officer by a man with fair hair and a drawn face. She'd learned his name was John, and her sharp memory brought it all out for Alison.

2

Cayden was a quiet boy; reclusive. Autistic some said. Retarded, said others. Simply plain rude said the rest. To his father, John, Cayden was just a son who didn't speak. A boy who kept to himself. He played with his toys, building simple towers with coloured wooden blocks. And if you paid enough attention, you'd know he also messed with minds.

His mother, Louisa, had been fourteen when she'd given birth to Cayden. This would be the second most traumatic moment of her short life, the first being her rape at the hands of her own step-father. A distant relative and only known next of kin, John was left to tend to the matter of the child, who was now utterly alone. John felt responsible for Cayden, just as he had been responsible for taking care of Louisa during the last difficult weeks of her pregnancy. The poor girl had asked for one thing: if anything unfortunate should happen, Cayden was to be raised by John and be known as his father. Cayden was to have a good life, and would want for nothing. John promised all this to her and raised the baby as his own.

Cayden's first months were quiet. He never cried. John bathed him and pulled on his little baby clothes, and fed him his off-putting baby food. He played with the boy and gave him toys. At the start, Cayden appeared to be developing as normally as any child would. He learned to crawl and walk when the time seemed right.

But when it came to opening his mouth to speak, Cayden failed completely. Rather, he chose not to speak. John was certain there was a word in there willing to leave his little mouth, Cayden just didn't want to release it.

Cayden had his mother's intense blue eyes and her soft chestnut hair. One moment he'd be looking everywhere, and then seemed to be looking at nothing at all. He watched other children playing with such a saddening serenity that John just had to accept. If he didn't wish to interact, then John couldn't push him.

John continued his work as a freelance web designer in the townhouse where he and Cayden lived. Cayden received enough of John's attention, though he rarely appeared to need it.

Sometimes when John paced, he felt twinges in his head. Usually, he paced to find a solution to something that wasn't working with a particular job. Cayden would sit and watch with his crystal blue eyes as John placed foot before foot in the same invisible line across the floor. Then the twinge would occur. He never figured out how Cayden did this. John would just feel a twinge, then he would change his direction, rushing off on his tangent until he found something he thought Cayden needed. After he'd handed it to Cayden, he'd continue his pacing, finding his train of thought quickly again.

John worked for Cayden's survival more than his own. He strove to make money to give Cayden whatever he needed.

Cayden did little in return for John in the early years, which was understandable. As his motor skills developed, he would take things to John, like pencils or pieces of tattered notepaper. By age four, Cayden could even manage to pull down milk from a shelf in the refrigerator and pour himself a small cup full. He wouldn't ask for it from John. But if he didn't want to move from his place on the floor, John would rise as if by instinct and fetch Cayden his milk after feeling the twinge somewhere in the convolutions of his brain.

It was a sunny afternoon the day Cayden met Georgia. John hadn't seen this olive-skinned five-year-old in the park before. She sat alone in the sandbox tipping sand into various brightly coloured plastic contraptions, and she had a sippy-cup full of water to sprinkle on the sand. The children around her, who were mostly white, barely acknowledged her. Those who did wouldn't give much attention. John reasoned in that moment this was what Georgia wanted, just as Cayden wanted his solitude. Garnering from the small talk going on around him, Georgia had been adopted from India, and it saddened John she was this isolated. The other parents were actively discouraging their children from playing with her.

Cayden amazed John by slipping his little hand free of his and going to the girl. He sat beside her, and the pair of them looked at each other, staring unquestioningly. Eventually, she put one toy in his hand and Cayden immediately aided her in tipping and moving the yellow sand about the box. Neither of them uttered a sound, communicating by gestures only and not once misunderstanding each other.

Cayden's questionable intrusion stole the attention of a thin woman with fine lines etched into the skin around her eyes and lips. The soft breeze tousled her auburn hair as she knelt into Georgia's line of sight and asked her if she was alright. Getting no response, the woman rose, meeting John's gaze in the same instant. Stepping over the toys between the children, she approached John and asked him if Cayden was his son, to which John answered yes.

Introducing herself as Lydia, she explained she had recently become Georgia's adoptive mother. She hadn't had much interaction since arriving at Lydia's home, which was always busy with laughing, playing children. Seeing Cayden sitting beside her had amazed Lydia as much as it had John, Lydia admitting quietly that Georgia's silence troubled her.

John commented on how Cayden's own muteness bothered him, but he had conceded long ago that it was as Cayden wished. The two adults watched their silent children co-operating to build a sand castle.

John and Lydia chatted, both of them expecting one child would give up and leave to amuse themselves with some other activity. Neither Georgia nor Cayden displayed any signs of wanting to move. They occasionally stared eye to eye and neither would get distracted, as children so easily did. While John was enjoying seeing Cayden having fun, Lydia suddenly became distressed and she rushed to Georgia to scoop her up. She apologised to John for troubling him and whisked Georgia away towards the parking lot. Perplexed by Lydia's show of alarm, John took Cayden home and tried not to dwell on it.

That night, Cayden was restless and wouldn't sleep. He fussed and whined through gritted teeth as John tried to give him a bath, and he was belligerent about getting dressed, kicking at John as he tried to put his pyjamas on. Patient as he was during these rare outbursts, John caught himself snapping at Cayden to stop, and though he did, his eyes were still wild.

Two days were to pass before John took Cayden back to the same sandbox. He'd felt a twinge beforehand and had discarded his work to drive Cayden to the park, ignoring the fact he had a solid deadline he was now going to fail to meet. Sure enough, Georgia was there, seeming to be waiting expectantly for her new friend. The romantic in John found it terribly sweet, but he became perturbed by the manner in which they stared at each other this time. Strangely, Lydia was nowhere about, which meant Georgia was completely unsupervised.

Then something occurred that made John question his own sanity.

The toys were now moving by themselves all about the sandbox, picking up sand and dumping it inches away in little heaps around Georgia and Cayden. Both children stared at the spectacle with indifference, and this hadn't drawn the attention of anyone else.

Almost out of nowhere, Lydia appeared. She was crying out and cursing Georgia, saying she had known all along that something was wrong about her. She gathered up the girl with a violence that John protested to instantly, but Lydia demanded he mind his own business and carted Georgia away, the little girl making no fuss at this.

After that, Cayden didn't urge John to take him to the park for nearly a month.

On the first morning of autumn, Cayden brought John a piece of paper. He had formed some letters on the page in thick black crayon in a kind of scrawl that suggested the crayon had been gripped in Cayden's fist. John had yet to teach Cayden to write but had been reading to him every day in the hope it would encourage the boy to speak.

The piece of paper read rather ominously: JORJA. DOKTER FORD. HERT.

The words DOKTER FORD became recognisable the instant John remembered a news report he had seen some months back on a man named Dr Jeffrey Forde, who had attempted to assimilate patients with severe mental illnesses by placing a device in the body that would cause them to behave properly. Children with behavioural problems could be instantly cured. However, the device was discovered to have some disturbing side effects and Dr Forde had his license revoked, but not before vanishing from the UK where he was being investigated for malpractice.

John looked at Cayden in bewilderment, questioning how he could have known what Dr Forde had been doing was wrong. It couldn't have made any sense to Cayden at this age, even if John had explained it, Cayden's comprehension skills were too underdeveloped. When he deciphered the first word, he absorbed Cayden's panic. He'd tried to spell Georgia's name, but the last word, HERT, disturbed John more than anything.

He tried to explain to Cayden that there was very little he could do to help. Cayden began stamping his foot and making little noises of desperation as he tried to drag John to the door. Bordering on frustrated, John tried to get Cayden to speak, but he only shook his head and continued his mounting tantrum. John confessed openly that he didn't know what to do.

Cayden wouldn't give in, and it was then John realised he wasn't being forced to go. Cayden had to ask, he couldn't just make John do his bidding now, and he wouldn't open his mouth, even when John begged him to say how he knew Georgia was in trouble.

Defeated at last, Cayden left John alone, and the matter wasn't brought up again. On instinct, John knew he'd failed Cayden terribly.

That night, John dreamt of Louisa. John still felt she had suffered so much for no good reason. She told him he hadn't failed Cayden, it was Cayden who felt he had failed Georgia. The boy was weaker because of his distress, his abilities diminished by his panic. If John took Cayden to the park the next day, maybe there would be hope for Georgia

Georgia was in the sandbox when John took Cayden to the park first thing the next morning. Cayden had been tetchy and impatient and had fussed and squirmed to avoid his parka when John had tried to slot his arms in the sleeves.

Georgia appeared passive, almost vacant, and she offered the brightly coloured toys in the sandbox no amount of interest. Her hands wouldn't move to touch them. There was something about the way she sat there and stared at the sand, like a catatonic patient in a hospital, that made John think she'd been struck dumb. Cayden was quick to leave John's side to go to her, immediately trying to put the toys in her hands. John edged closer, feeling he was intruding on this private moment between the children as Cayden continued his hopeless attempts at getting Georgia to play.

Lydia arrived, looking at Georgia with the same distress Cayden displayed and saying she didn't know what had happened. All she had done was take Georgia to Dr Forde.

John asked her why she had done this, failing to disguise the panic and disgust in his voice.

Lydia explained Georgia had been moving the toys that day. She had known something was peculiar about the girl, and Dr Forde had said he could stop her doing such things, arguing that her potential would bring harm to the other children and even to Lydia herself if left unaddressed. Georgia would develop destructive tendencies, and Lydia had to pay Dr Forde to fix her.

Throughout Lydia's hurried discourse, John pieced together the situation. Her words triggered a memory of someone long ago speaking about Louisa in the same way. People hadn't been fond of her. She'd possessed some kind of power and her mother had branded her a troublemaker. Her friends had accused her of being a harlot, and her step-father had even labelled her a whore. Accusations had been made against Louisa concerning devil worship. It had all sounded ludicrous to John, and he'd dismissed most of it as garbage, admonishing them for being so insanely judgemental while having no evidence against Louisa.

Lydia then confessed she'd had her suspicions the day Georgia had arrived at her home. She seemed to have been scheming... like a witch.

John immediately protested in Georgia's defence, saying she was just a child and there was nothing evil or wrong about her. He didn't believe she had moved those things. He was more certain that it had been Cayden's influence if anything, though he wasn't able to voice this.

Just then, the most horrific scream captured their attention. Cayden was there with Georgia, gripping her wrist with uncanny strength. Georgia was making her own strange noises, screaming and screeching, yet she wasn't trying to wrestle herself from Cayden's grasp. Blood began to ooze from a sudden cut on her palm. John was sure Cayden couldn't have possibly cut her, there wasn't anything sharp nearby that he could see. Lydia had become paralysed by her shock, seeing all and powerless to stop it. A crowd gathered but kept their distance, mothers covering their children's eyes while they were compelled to keep staring.

Cayden was squeezing something small and metallic out of the bloody wound in Georgia's tiny palm. She ceased her crying when the object dropped onto the sand, where the drops of blood had reddened the grains. It was a small chip, about the size of a basic resistor.

Nobody moved to pick it up, and Lydia didn't even try to comfort Georgia, who sat mute in the sand, her screams now dead as she held her injured hand. In the deafening silence around him, John watched as two more teardrops of blood trickled down onto the sand next to Cayden's lifeless face.

3

'And this is all completely true?' Alison asked, her nails still by her lips and her eyes brimming with astonishment

'John was sitting with a cop and one of the other doctors. They wanted the story behind the boy's death.'

'His powers killed him?' Alison said, her tone proving she couldn't believe what she was saying.

'He had a bleed in the brain. I think he strained himself to save her.'

Alison smoothed back her hair with both her hands. 'All because that Lydia woman didn't realise it was Cayden all along.'

'Yeah... There was nothing wrong with Georgia.'

'I don't think there was anything wrong with either of them.' Alison paused. 'What about Dr Forde?'

'He'll be arrested when they find him, or rather if they find him. Some morons out there still thought he had a good idea with that damn chip.' Janet wiped the tears off her face and gazed at Georgia. 'As if modern medicine just isn't cutting it and the only cure is crude, untested technology.'

Alison squeezed Janet's shoulder. 'Go home, babe. There's not much you can do here.'

'I can't. If I go home, I'll only worry about her, so I may as well stay. Lydia's in police custody right now trying to defend her lunatic actions. This kid's got no one left now.'

Alison accepted this, and Janet took Georgia's hand again, shutting her tired eyes and weeping softly.

Through the darkness came an image so vivid Janet believed she'd transcended into paradise. She stood in the middle of a beautiful field where ruby red flowers shimmered in amongst the blades of emerald-green grass. A little boy with a huge smile ran across the field, trampling the flowers with his footfalls. Janet turned to witness the most beautiful girl she'd ever seen open her arms to the boy. The girl was wearing a dress of pure white and her deep brown hair flickered behind her in captivating waves. Her smile was as angelic as the boy's, and she gathered him up into her arms and held him tight, kissing him softly on his brow. She then walked with him through the grass towards the woods behind them, and they disappeared into the trees.

Janet's heart cracked in two as she opened her eyes.

'You know what the saddest thing was?'

Alison leant in and put her arm around Janet's shoulder. 'What?'

'John said he had another dream of Cayden's mother. Cayden was running over to her in this beautiful field of flowers, and John knew it was the last thing Cayden saw as he was dying.'

As Janet breathed in deep and tried to suppress another onset of tears, the tiniest of moans escaped Georgia's lips. She opened her little eyes and gave Janet the sweetest little smile, and all Janet could hope was Georgia would be spared the memory of her ordeal.

'Where will she go?' Alison said quietly. 'If this Lydia woman goes to jail, Georgia just goes back into the system, right?'

'Not if I can help it,' Janet muttered harshly.

If she couldn't fix Georgia's past, Janet could at least fight to save her future. It'd make up for the cruelty she and Cayden had suffered. In some small way, Janet believed it would help.

It had to. For Georgia's sake, and hers.

Elysian

1

The cover charge for Elysian had gone up five dollars since his last visit. Josh forked over his money and exposed his wrist so it could be stamped. The place wasn't filled at that point. The show wasn't meant to start for another half an hour.

Rhona was by the bar being cornered by some guy. Her face went from a sneer to over-exaggerated grin when she spotted Josh. He went to her rescue and the guy edged away, disgruntled.

'Where the hell have you been?' She hugged Josh. Now the guy was uncomfortable enough, he slinked back along the bar.

'Took a while longer to get back into town. Traffic.'

'How was it back home?'

'Excruciating. Like always. How was your holiday?'

She lifted her glass. 'I haven't stopped drinking since I got in this afternoon. Two more of these and I might start to forget what happened.'

'That a hint?'

'Of course. But don't be gone too long, that guy doesn't look like he's completely given up.'

Josh took out his wallet and moved past the barstools to where the only person behind the bar was serving a girl he hadn't seen before. She barely looked legal, yet she was being served a vodka tonic. She was completely bald, and by the backlight of the bar, he could see an ornately patterned black tattoo around the back of her scalp. She was staring at the stage, watching the band set up. He kept his distance, since she was visibly nervous, and ordered a beer and another rum and Coke for Rhona.

The girl turned to him and smiled awkwardly. The tattoo made a perfect ring around her head and joined in a slight V shape in the centre of her brow. Her eyes were small and pretty, and her lips were thin and tinged with a dark shade of purple. She scratched the back of her neck and sipped her drink.

She was too intriguing for him not to say something.

'Are you a fan? I haven't seen you here before.'

'I work here,' she replied. 'I only started a few weeks ago.'

'That's cool, what do you do?'

'I'm a projectionist...' She took a longer sip of her drink. The bartender smirked.

'Really? So you usually work at the theatres?'

'I have occasionally. These days, I get asked to project my art onto the backdrops for live shows. Donnie decided to take me on permanently for his bookings.'

'So you're an artist too?'

'I used to paint. A long time ago.' She put down her glass and hopped off the stool. 'Excuse me, I really need to get started.'

He quickly put out his hand. 'I'm Josh, by the way. I know the manager. He still makes me pay to get in.'

She regarded his hand carefully then took it. Her grip was light, and he tried not to squeeze her small hand too hard.

'I'm Isla. I'll see you around, I guess.'

He smiled at her while she trotted over to the heavy black curtains beside the stage.

Rhona called out to him. 'Little thirsty over here!'

Now the crowd was starting to fill out, and it was harder to get back to Rhona. They liked to stay by the bar, not only for the easy access to further drinks but for it being a good position to watch the bands play without getting shoved around by their more enthusiastic fans.

He wasn't a fan of that night's act. They were a two-piece from out of town, and the vocalist depended way too much on auto-tuning for Josh to believe she had any natural talent.

'Well done getting a word out of Isla, by the way,' Rhona said.

'Huh?'

'She doesn't say much. Just gets her free drink, goes to work then goes home. I've asked her to hang out, go to other clubs. She never says yes.'

'She said she was an artist.'

Rhona smirked. 'Honey, you don't know the half of it. Some of the people here tonight didn't just show up for the band.'

The lights finally dimmed and the horde got louder. He casually drank his beer and watched the backdrop. With the first notes of the opening song, a series of patterns washed over the back screen. A fractal formation moved in perfect synchronicity with the song, the fractal patterns then shrinking into the centre of the screen before a montage of strange images flashed up in time with the chaotic beat. Distorted faces, objects and abstract versions of cities appeared and vanished. Some were horrific, others were mesmerising. A sustained note from the keyboard kept one image stationary: a butterfly pinned to a board, its wings rotted, the markings on its wings resembling tiny skulls.

The images continued throughout the songs, but Josh wasn't paying any attention to the cacophony generated by the band. The pictures and patterns on the screen nearly hypnotised him. He was in a half-daze by the time the show was over and Rhona had to nudge him.

'What did you think?' she shouted. He knew his hearing probably wasn't as good as it should have been. They were only in their mid-twenties.

'Amazing. She drew all those pictures?'

'It's a bit more complicated than that.'

Donnie sauntered up then, staring out in satisfaction at the roaring crowd. The bartender passed him his usual after show drink as he leaned against the bar and grinned at Josh and Rhona.

'What did you think, Josh? She's pretty fuckin' impressive, huh?'

'She is. So she has some kind of digital set up that's hooked up to the mixing board or something?'

'It's a bit more complicated than that,' Donnie said.

'And I'm a little sick of being left out of the joke. Can either of you elaborate?'

Donnie laughed. 'I'm only letting you in on it since you're a friend. But if you tell anyone, you're not coming in here again.'

Rhona playfully leapt off the stool and started pushing Josh through the throng, Donnie leading the way. They went behind the heavy curtain to an area just behind the stage. Isla was standing by a small laptop that had several connecting cords running from the back and sides. One of the cords ran up her arm to a small round pad, exactly like the ones used by hospitals to monitor heart rates. The pad was stuck to the skin behind her ear. She peeled it off and dropped it casually by the terminal then glanced up and tensed when she saw Josh.

'We had a deal, Donnie,' she snapped.

'Josh is a friend. He won't blab.'

'He better not.' She quickly shut down the laptop and began yanking the cables out.

'Isla, it's fine. Hang out for a while. Have another drink.'

'I'm off the clock, aren't I?' She slipped her laptop into a black padded bag and slung the strap over her shoulder. 'I'm going home.'

'Sure thing. See you next week.'

She glared at Josh and shoved past them, heading out the back entrance where the bands usually came in.

'She won't even do interviews,' Donnie sighed. 'There's been journos and photographers here every week. I have to kick them out once they start snooping. You want her to work for you, you don't tell anyone what she does.'

'Which is?' Josh hated feeling like an idiot.

'All those pictures you saw,' Rhona explained, 'came directly out of her head.'

'Bullshit,' Josh snorted.

'It's real,' Donnie said. 'I thought she just took the images from her laptop, she basically uses that to organise the images and arrange it in time with the music. Otherwise, it would just be a mess. None of the images get stored on there. You won't see them again. People want prints and they want them on shirts and posters. They show up from time to time online, but you won't get the genuine article, just a photo someone in the crowd took. I try to stop the cameras coming in, but you know how hard it is. I'll watch her back here during the show. She doesn't pull up a single file on that laptop. It gets downloaded straight from her head.'

'C'mon, Donnie. It's a trick. How could you fall for it? She's pulling the pictures from somewhere in that laptop.'

'She can do it on a TV,' Rhona explained. 'She just plugs that old pad into the AV port of any TV and the images come straight up. I've seen her. She can do it. Like Donnie said, the laptop is just a means of controlling the images.'

'I still think you're getting played, Donnie.'

'Think what you like,' Donnie shrugged. 'I'm still selling tickets.' He pointed with his glass in the direction of the main hall. 'It doesn't matter they don't know how she does it.'

Rhona tugged Josh's arm. 'You wanna kick on?'

'Nah, I'm tired. The drive here killed me. I'm going home.'

'You're getting old, man,' Donnie teased and patted him on the back. 'Come by tomorrow. I need some new posters and I want some designs.'

'Why don't you ask Isla?' Josh smirked.

'She won't do it. I don't blame her. She's too talented to waste her art on a fucking bill that'll just get pasted over next week.'

Josh wasn't given enough time to be offended. He kissed Rhona on the cheek and headed out the back exit to his car.

Isla was out past the alley on the street, trying to flag down a taxi. He called out to her.

'Need a ride?'

'I'm fine.'

A taxi went straight past her.

'C'mon. I think it's about to rain.'

She eyed him and sighed. He opened the passenger door for her and she slid into the seat, making herself as small as possible. When they were out on the street, he asked her where her place was.

'Wilson.' She didn't turn him.

'That's near me. You been here long?'

'My dad died a month ago. He left me with his loft apartment. I wasn't planning on coming back here.'

'I'm sorry to hear that - about your dad, I mean. You don't have any other family?'

'My mother disappeared when I was ten. She went to Borneo of all places and never came back.'

'What was she doing in Borneo?'

'She was a photographer. And a painter. She wanted to live in the jungle for a while and paint. She was supposed to do a show when she came home.'

'They never found her?'

'No.'

He cleared his throat and turned a corner. 'You said you used to paint.'

'I did. Not lately, though.'

'Donnie really likes your work. He said people are after prints.'

'I don't do prints anymore.'

'It's a good way to make a buck on the side. I still sell my prints when I can. There's a couple in a local coffee shop.'

'You paint?' she asked, sounding like she didn't want to seem interested but couldn't hide it anyway.

'Graphic design. I do a lot of digital art. I've got a trackpad, digital camera; all that stuff. So I do contract work for a lot of companies. I designed the Franklin Corp. logo.'

'Cool. Ever feel like a sellout?'

'All the time,' he chuckled. 'But I have to eat and pay rent and all that shit.'

'Yeah. It's nice to have ideals, but it's also nice to have food and a place to sleep.'

He pulled onto Wilson. 'I know what you mean. The whole suffering for your art thing didn't suit me. Which one is you?'

She pointed at a building up ahead and he pulled over. 'Thanks.' Her defences were up again.

'Not a problem. If I'm there again next week and you need a ride...'

She opened the door to get out but stopped halfway.

'Sorry, I got all cagey before. I've been screwed over, so I'm a little reluctant to let people in on what I do.'

'It sounds like a cool trick.'

'What do you mean?'

'Rhona, you know her, she said you can plug yourself into a TV and put up images.'

'And you didn't believe her, did you.'

'Well... no,' he said.

She nodded up at her building. 'You wanna see? I've got a tonne of adaptors.'

Humouring her seemed more entertaining than going home and watching DVDs until he passed out on the couch. He liked her, and he liked she didn't seem to take whatever gag she was performing seriously.

He followed her into her building. It was nicer than his block; it had a proper foyer and the floor was polished. They took an elevator to her apartment. As she put the key in her lock, she said, 'Trust me, if it weren't for my dad, I'd be somewhere a lot cheaper.'

'What did he do for a job?' Josh asked, marvelling at the high ceiling as they went in.

'Neurosurgeon. He bought this place a few years ago. He wanted me to keep doing my art, but he always worried I'd end up homeless.'

She opened her fridge and peered inside. 'You want anything to drink? I have beer, some wine that's possibly turned to vinegar by now...water...'

'Beer's fine.'

The kitchen seemed miles away from the sofa. Her bedroom was visible from where he stood and a slatted staircase led up to the landing. The bed was shrouded in shadows. Under the landing past the kitchen was another door that had been left ajar.

'I'm assuming that's the bathroom?' he asked as he pointed to the door.

'Go ahead if you need to.' She opened the bottles and left one on the counter while he disappeared.

Josh checked himself out in the mirror. He looked tired, and he hadn't bothered to shave since he'd only been by the club to drop in on Rhona for their usual post-Christmas commiseration drink. He hadn't even prepared for the possibility of picking up. Given it wasn't fair on Isla to expect anything and that he wasn't big on one night stands in the first place, he chose not to make a pass at her. He wanted to, she was strangely beautiful, but it didn't seem right. He washed his hands and splashed some water on his face. One drink, see her little magic show, whatever it was, head home. It was a solid plan that didn't leave any room for humiliation or disappointment.

Isla was sitting on the couch when he came out. He picked up his beer and sat beside her.

'It's nice here,' he commented, feeling like an idiot.

'Yeah. Kinda big, though. Makes me feel smaller. Guess I haven't settled in yet. I normally rent very small places... I could sell it, I suppose, but I'd feel like I was being ungrateful. My dad did what he could to take care of me, even if I didn't see him much.' She started peeling off the label on her bottle. 'What do your parents do?'

He shifted to face her. 'My dad is a plumber. My mother used to be a music teacher, but she was tired all the time so she did a lot of classes in our house. Listening to some kid trying to learn "Three Blind Mice" on a flute really grates after a while.'

'Do you see them much?'

'I only got back into town tonight after seeing them for Christmas. We get along ok, but my sister tends to cause a lot of drama. She's only 19. I don't make a habit of visiting.'

'I was planning to see my dad for Christmas, not that we ever did anything. Then he had the heart attack.'

'You seem to be coping with it pretty well.'

'Not really. It kind of comes out in my work a lot. Which is fine when you're doing stuff for a band like Death Wish. Not so great when the local philharmonic wants you to do a botanical garden theme for one of their performances.'

'How do you get these jobs?'

'Contacts. I've done work in other countries. People know of me, but only as much as I'm willing to divulge. I do the job, get paid and wait for another job.'

It took him a moment to pick up on what she'd said about the philharmonic performance.

'Orchestras don't use soundboards. What do you hook the laptop up to?'

'Just the digital projector. If I concentrate the images can be controlled. They tend to want long drawn out visuals anyway. It's not so difficult, so I don't need as much control on the timing. It's relaxing sometimes, when they're not playing Wagner.'

'So you create the images by hand then scan and project them?'

'Like I said, I've not painted for a while.'

She scuttled across the floor on her knees then pulled out a box from beside the fifty-inch flatscreen TV. 'This was my dad's,' she told him. 'I'm not big on television.'

Out of the box came a tangle of various cables. She pulled out one that had been modified; one end was a standard jack for an AV connection, the other had a small felt pad like the one she'd pulled from the back of her head at the club. She stuck the pad to the same spot as before, then plugged the jack into the TV.

'The remote's over there,' she said casually as she pointed to the table by the couch. He picked it up and switched the TV on. She was sitting on her knees, watching the screen. An image appeared on the screen then of a dense jungle, the edges fuzzy, like a memory. She blinked. A man's face appeared. She blinked again, and Josh saw a simple one-storey house with an immaculately kept garden.

'That's where I grew up,' she announced. 'I save a fortune in developing photos.'

He peered at the TV cabinet.

'There's a DVD player down there, isn't there.'

She opened it. It was empty. He put his beer on the table and leaned forward, then walked in a hunch over to the set. There was nothing hooked up behind it other than a power cable, and the cable attached to her head.

'No fucking way,' he murmured. 'How are you doing this?'

'What you see in your head is created by electrical impulses. That's all I'm doing: running an impulse down a line to create an image.'

'If it's so easy, why can't anyone do it?'

She shrugged. 'I don't know. My dad never figured it out either. I had seizures when I was really small. They seemed to stop for a while until I was about five, then I had a major one. After that, I had all these weird dreams. That was about the time I started drawing.'

'But how did you figure out how to do this?'

'My dad did a scan on me. They put all these pads over my head. Instead of seeing the readings on the computer monitors, all they saw were these random pictures. Mostly things I'd been dreaming or thinking about. My dad told me to think of a cat and the cat appeared on the screen. He made everyone in the room promise never to tell anyone about it. Not even their families.'

Josh was distracted by the TV while she spoke. Everything she was saying was narrating a silent film on the screen. She was projecting her memories for him.

'Why couldn't they tell anyone?' Josh knelt down in front of her, bewildered.

'He didn't want the world to know what I could do. He did it to protect me. We did all these tests when he could get time with the machines in his radiology department. I shaved my head since it was easier to put the pads all over my scalp. My mother hated it, but she loved that I could draw exactly what I saw in my head. Not a lot of people can really make everything in their mind come out of their hands.'

Josh knew it was true. There were some things he'd desperately tried to draw that somehow never came out right. The result was a pile of screwed up paper on the floor.

'You could do so much with this. It's amazing. Why are you trying to hide it?'

'I've let people exploit it before,' she said to the floor. 'I didn't listen to my dad.'

Now Josh was wired up. He couldn't leave without asking more questions, but she was starting to fidget. On the TV now was a shot of a woman with narrow dark eyes and black hair. A shot of a canopy bed appeared and she saw what she'd done, pulling the pad off her head. The screen then flicked up a little message that said "no signal".

'Would you really want someone exposing everything that went on in your head?' she said bitterly with a small smile. 'It got pretty embarrassing when I was sixteen...'

Without even thinking about it, he put his hand on her knee.

'Least this way, you have some control over it?'

'Exactly.'

He quickly removed his hand and cursed himself for making her feel even more awkward.

'I better go.' As he stood he held out both his hands and helped her up.

'OK. I really need to get some sleep.'

She saw him to the door. It was too difficult now to play it cool with her.

'I won't tell anyone else,' he said in the doorway.

'Thanks. Goodnight.'

''Night.'

She was glancing at the TV while she closed the door. Josh stood outside a moment and ran his hands through his hair. Then he held his fist in the air in front of the door, desperately telling himself not to knock. He stopped before his knuckles hit the wood, and turned to go.

He heard a creak and turned around. She was standing awkwardly in the doorway, her timidness too alluring to him. He walked back to her and carefully pushed back the door.

'Are you ok?' he murmured.

She took his hand and pulled him inside. He pressed the door shut behind himself then kissed her. He wasn't irrational; he didn't act on impulses, but he didn't want to go. She gripped onto him tightly and her thin arms were quaking against him. He lifted her around her waist and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He didn't consider himself strong at all, still she was shockingly light.

Up on the landing by her bed, he tried to slow things down a little to get a grip on the situation. She sat down in front of him and pulled off her shirt. She looked fragile, almost breakable. He was a clear foot taller than her when she was standing, now beneath him, she seemed so much smaller. He tilted her chin.

'We don't have to do this if you don't want to.'

By her smile Josh saw he wasn't pushing his luck. He slowly pulled off his shirt and sat beside her. He breathed in her scent and gently touched the top of her spine. Then he moved his fingers slowly up to touch her scalp. Her skin was smooth and he traced the edge of the tattoo before drawing her closer for another kiss.

'Sometimes I need to stop whatever's going on in my head,' she murmured. 'So much of me pours out, I can't contain what's left.'

His other hand touched her cheek, and her fingernails scratched the stubble on his jaw as she lay back against the quilt, guiding him down with her.

2

Josh's phone woke him sometime past eight. Disoriented, he got up and fumbled around until he found it in his pants pocket.

'Hello?'

'Josh, you able to meet me at the club in half an hour?' Donnie asked at his usual "clock's ticking" pace. 'I got a lot of shit on today and I need to get these posters started up.'

Rubbing his head, he slowly came to the realisation he was standing naked in Isla's apartment. She was lying on her stomach, her pale back exposed. Shadows of raindrops hopped over her skin.

'Uh, yeah. I need a shower first, but I'll meet you there.'

'Cool.' Donnie hung up.

He quietly picked up his clothes and tiptoed down to the bathroom. He wasn't planning on sneaking out. He wanted to wake her before he left and leave his number. Something had started but he had no idea which direction it was going to take, and he was worried she'd wake up with second thoughts, the inevitable brush-off coming when she realised she'd rushed into things. Josh was going to act on her reaction, and he wanted time to talk to her.

He rushed his shower. When he came out Isla was in the kitchen in a pair of small shorts and a loose camisole shirt. She was spooning coffee into two mugs, and his heart skipped.

'I'm guessing you take sugar,' she said.

'Yeah, two. But I have to meet Donnie in about ten minutes.'

'That's fine.' She poured the water, stirring with no sense of urgency, and handed him the mug. 'I had fun last night.'

'Me too,' he said over his coffee, a little disappointed in her response. 'I mean it's up to you, but...' He was only faltering now. He hated that he never was good at this part.

'Why don't you come over for dinner?' she asked. 'Only if I haven't completely freaked you out.'

The nervous laughter that followed between them made him forget he was supposed to be hurrying.

'Uh, yeah. Sure.'

His phone started up again, making him jump and spill the coffee. She went to him and took the mug from his hand. She was towelling off his wrist while he spoke to Rhona, distracting him from his conversation.

'Josh! Are you free this afternoon or not?'

'Yeah, I should be.'

Isla smiled up at him. Rhona's constant chatter didn't stop him from kissing her.

'Hello! Is three ok? God, can't you answer one question?'

'Three's fine,' Isla said.

'Who's that?' Rhona yelped.

'Bye, Rho.' Josh pressed the button to hang up on Rhona and kissed Isla one more time. 'Can I call you?' he asked.

'Yeah.' She plucked the phone from his hand and plugged in her number. 'Even Donnie doesn't have this.'

Kissing her once more, he backed out of her apartment, wishing he could blow Donnie off to spend another hour with her.

He found some gum in his car and flicked on the radio, loathing the song that was playing but too cheerful to turn it off. He pulled up behind Elysian and sauntered inside where Donnie was sitting at the bar on his phone.

'She won't do it, I'm telling you... No, you can't have her address... Yes, I know she's a freakin' genius, but she's my freakin' genius and we have a deal. Goodbye.' Donnie sighed and slammed his phone down on the bar. 'I feel like her agent.'

Josh sat up at the bar. Rhona's girlfriend, Veronique, walked in with a paper bag and a coffee for Donnie from the doughnut shop across the street. She co-owned the club with Donnie and ran errands for him when she was in a good mood.

'Sorry, Josh. Didn't know you'd be here.'

'It's cool. I'm not hungry.'

Veronique winked. 'You gonna tell us about your little mystery date last night?'

'What?'

Donnie cocked an eyebrow. 'Excuse me?'

'Josh has got some lady answering for him. Rhona told me about it just now.'

Josh quickly put a finger to his lips before Donnie could turn around. Veronique only giggled and nudged Josh as she went by.

'Well, tell me about it later.' Donnie tapped his pen. 'I've got some stuff I need done here.'

Josh couldn't concentrate, so he nodded at Donnie when it felt appropriate. He slipped all the rough designs and details into his case and told Donnie it would all be ready in two days.

'Now you can tell me about the mystery date.'

Josh slapped Donnie's arm. 'No time now, my friend.'

'Asshole.'

Veronique blocked his way. 'Not so fast. Spill.'

'I can't. It's too soon to tell.'

'You don't let a girl shove you around, Josh. Unless she's baited you. How hard are you falling here?' She flicked her long fringe away from her face and grinned.

Josh kissed her cheek and grinned back. 'Never you mind,' he murmured.

When he was finally home, he stripped off all his clothes and took a proper shower, then finally shaved. He sat around in his towel for half an hour, procrastinating. It was useless getting to work. He wanted to call Isla but was trying not to be too eager. Veronique was right on one thing, she'd hooked him. He was helpless.

With all his dawdling, he was late to meet Rhona for their coffee meeting. Rhona's position as receptionist for a major ad agency kept his business ticking over. She slipped his card into a lot of clients' hands. As a favour, he bought her coffee once a week.

'You won't get off that lightly. Tell me who it was.'

'Don't say anything to Donnie,' Josh murmured. 'I'm amazed she even gave me five minutes.'

Rhona balked. 'You're shitting me. Please tell me you are.'

'Why? What's the big deal? She's incredible. I just have to play it smart.'

She shook her head. 'I won't tell Donnie. But you better fess up eventually. Isla's working for him now, you know he hates bullshit like relationships getting in the way of him making money.'

'It's none of Donnie's business. I like her, Rhona. A lot.'

'Well, it's been a while. How do you think she feels?'

'I'm going to her place for dinner tonight.'

'Don't rush things.'

'Bit late for that,' he said absently to the window. She threw a balled up napkin at him.

'You've gone insane,' she declared. 'You spent one week with your parents, now you're completely deranged.'

'We both needed to take our minds off things. It just...'

'Oh, don't even start with the fucking clichés, or I swear I'll kill you.'

Rhona pushed herself out of the booth.

'I'm telling Veronique, by the way. I'll make her promise not to tell Donnie, but don't you dare mess this up. She's a nice girl, Josh.'

'And I'm not an idiot. Give me some credit, would you?'

'I can't, you're maxed out. Later.'

Her heels clacked along the floor and she waltzed out of the café, waving to someone he didn't know. Josh's palms itched as he dialled Isla's number. It rang out to a voicemail service, and he didn't have the nerve to leave a message. He stupidly forgot to ask her what time to show up for dinner, now she wasn't answering. His headlights had passed a hazard sign and he was thinking he'd have to wake up and pull over before he went off the cliff.

His answering machine at home was blank. He figured dialling from another number wouldn't look so desperate, but it rang out again to voicemail. He sucked in his breath, asked what time he was supposed to show up told her to give him a call.

Donnie was holding another White Party at Elysian and a couple of well known DJ's were on the bill. Josh spent an hour working from the mock-ups Donnie had drawn, and Isla's name was at the bottom. He wanted to put her as the headliner, but part of the arrangement with Donnie was to keep her appearances low key. Josh wondered if the attention got too much for her, whether or not she would run. It wasn't a fear of success or failure for her. Someone had obviously gone too far and she'd drawn a line.

He waited until 8 before he got worried enough to go to her place. Where he would have taken the hint from other girls, her kisses from that morning told him he couldn't give up on her without good cause.

There was only silence following his first knock, prompting him to knock again, harder.

'Who is it?' Isla shouted from inside.

'It's me, Josh...'

A moment later, her face appeared over the chain lock. She looked rattled.

'Shit. I'm sorry.' She slackened the chain to release it and let him in. Once her door was locked again, she walked away from him.

'What's going on?'

'Nothing.' She curled up on the couch and covered her head with her hands. 'It's not important.'

'Isla, c'mon.'

She sighed heavily and dropped her arms. 'I got a call from someone I was doing another job for. I walked out on our contract years ago and I didn't think she'd find me again. I'm sorry I wasn't answering the phone after that. She completely rattled me.'

Josh sat beside her. 'It's OK. I thought I'd done something...'

'No. If I don't answer it's because I'm hiding out. I don't know what'll happen. Hopefully nothing.'

'What does she want? She's not suing you, is she?'

'Worse. She wants me to come back. I told her no. No fucking way. She said she'd see me again. Then she hung up.' She breathed out slowly, and the air trembled out of her lips. He tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, and she sunk into his lap. He cradled her, grateful she was trying to find comfort in his touch. Her tiny frame was shaking again.

'She's the one who took too much?'

'I don't want to talk about it.' Isla craned her neck to look up at him. 'Let's go out. Drive somewhere. Anywhere. I shouldn't stay here, I feel trapped.'

The trembling told him enough. If she wouldn't speak he could simply be there. He'd pushed too hard with other girls, driven them off instead of being patient. Tried to be the one to take all their bad things away, only to suffocate or frighten them. He let her breathe for a moment, then kissed her temple.

'I don't know what you need me to do, Isla. Whatever it is, I'll do it if you ask.'

'Don't say that.'

'Why not?'

'You can't make promises like that. Not to me. I don't believe in promises. Shit happens, and through no fault of your own, you've broken it.' She shifted out his arms and stood up. 'Don't make me make you any promises, either.'

'I won't.'

Her words gave Josh the feeling she considered their new found... whatever it was... temporary. Her smile then brightened him a little.

'Let's go.'

He followed her out after she grabbed her hooded jacket. Outside she pulled the hood over her head. He opened the car door for her and she slid in.

'What's with the gentleman routine?' she asked with a grin when he got into the driver's seat.

'I don't know,' he smirked. 'How I was raised, I guess. Never seemed to work, though. All the girls I dated just wanted guys who treated them like shit.'

'Well, I like it,' she said as he pulled out onto the street.

'So what about you? Any bad boyfriends I should know about?'

'A couple. But not 'til after I left home. Dad kinda made sure I didn't date in high school.'

'Because of your...' He didn't want to call it a power. That sounded too corny.

'Abilities?' she suggested. 'Sort of. I think he was more worried I'd fall in love and know what it was to lose someone. When my mother vanished, he wasn't the same person anymore. It was hard to move away from him, but he knew he had to let me go. Or I'd never learn anything.'

'And what did you learn?'

'More than I'd care to think about now.' She bit her nails and stared out the window.

They drove for an hour until Josh had to fill the tank. Isla went into the station and bought two cans of Coke and a bag of chips. When he'd paid for the fuel, he came out, and she was balled up in the passenger seat, chewing on the cuff of her hooded jacket and staring at the windscreen.

'Where did you want to go now?'

'Can I stay with you at your place tonight? If it's not too much to ask.'

'I already said I'd do whatever you needed me to do. So it's not.'

Her finger was still stuck in the cuff of her sleeve when she jabbed it at him and said, 'Ah, but one day it will be.'

Isla held a can of Coke on her knee for him to drink while Josh drove for another hour. If she fell silent, he kept driving and didn't force a conversation. Eventually, they ended up at his place. She walked one step behind him up the stairs. She seemed to relax more once they were inside his apartment.

'This is more like somewhere I'd live,' she announced. He'd been living in the one bedroom apartment for three years. While the rent kept going up, his motivation to move was hampered by laziness. Everything he needed was in this space, and strangely to him, when she sat down on the couch, she seemed to fit right in. The idea didn't scare him. He locked the door and sat beside her.

'I think it's the high ceilings that freak me out,' she told him. 'This place feels very... contained.'

She got up and started examining some of his work that a friend had framed for him. She peered at one picture over his bookcase.

'Wow, this is really cool.

'Thanks,' he mumbled.

'I like your style. What was it for?'

'Some local band's fanzine. They didn't last long.'

'I saw these guys a few years ago,' she exclaimed at another poster. 'You did their artwork? It's brilliant, so perfect for their sound.'

Josh laughed sheepishly. 'Yeah? I listened to the album about 80 times. I was never really happy with what I did.'

'Nah, this is awesome. It's exactly what that record needed. A kinda contained chaos. I'm jealous I didn't come up with it.'

He let her rummage through his DVD collection until she found something insipid enough to watch. After a while, she rested her head on his shoulder, and she was asleep by the time the movie ended. He tried not to wake her, but as soon as he moved his numbed arm she was startled. She looked like a frightened animal in a cage.

'It's OK. You fell asleep.'

Once she was oriented, she softened.

Later that night, she lay in his bed with him, and he stroked her bare skin while she murmured to him in the dark.

'Sometimes I like to think of static. Like I've lost a signal and there's nothing but white noise in my head. They didn't like that when I did it in my old job. So they put me to sleep, so I'd dream. All the time.'

'Why did you let them do that to you?'

'They said they were going to pay me a shitload, and I really needed the money. I was only 19 and I wanted to make it on my own. I got sick, but they wouldn't let me go. Eventually I got away, but they found me.'

'And you think they'll do it to you again?'

'I know they will. They were making money too. Lots of money... but I didn't see a cent. They don't like it when you stop the money coming in, or you want to take it off them. I thought they were acting in my best interest, didn't I? Now, whenever I agree to something, it's on my terms or no deal. It's hard to trust Donnie.'

'Donnie likes you. He likes money too, but he's a decent guy.' He went quiet. 'Do you trust me?'

'I wouldn't be here if I didn't. You're different. Your eyes are kind.' Her fingertips brushed over his eyebrows. 'I've let people see so far into me, I've had to learn to see into them. I can't just plug myself in and figure them out.'

'That'd be nice. Might've helped me make some sense out of people I've known.'

'Maybe they weren't meant to make sense.'

'You make sense. To me, anyway.'

She nuzzled into his chest and sighed.

3

By the time the White Party started two weeks later, Josh hadn't spent a day without seeing Isla. She'd stayed at his place, going back to get things she needed, but she didn't want to sleep there. She threw out her phone and bought a new one, and eventually stopped looking over her shoulder when they were walking down the street. She was with him at the Elysian for New Year's, and they shared a secret kiss at midnight.

After some cajoling, she convinced him to try a new way of drawing. She'd cover his eyes and told him to move his hand to wherever it felt right. The end result wasn't always as bad as he'd suspected it would be. When she was sitting still on the couch, he secretly drew digital pictures of her while pretending to work. She caught him out in the end, and he gave her one as a present.

Keeping the whole thing secret from Donnie wasn't difficult. Staying away from her while she was working was. She showed up to the White Party in tight white jeans and a patterned white tube top, and as much as he wanted to jump her, they had to act like acquaintances. She'd winked at him before she went to work and he desperately swallowed his beer, pretending not to notice.

Josh never bothered to go in on Donnie's little raver theme parties, so he was in his usual black pants and short leather jacket. Rhona and Veronique were in matching dress suits, Donnie had hired three dancers, who'd brought white gloves and glowsticks. There were platforms set up around the DJ booths and they took turns dancing in front of the backdrops. Isla was projecting at a ridiculous pace. She kept up with the rhythm perfectly. Rhona started grinding beside his hip and he shoved her off and laughed.

'She's on fire tonight, huh?' Rhona shouted over the heavy beats pounding out of the sound system. He stayed propped up by the bar, watching the sea of white-clad dancers, the UV lights turning their clothes neon purple. Rhona took out her lollypop. 'She's in for a major comedown tomorrow.'

Josh checked out the screens. The images themselves were frenetic and distorted, and colours were heavily saturated.

'She's on something?' he asked, stupidly.

'Of course!' Rhona laughed. 'She asked me to hook her up. Said she can't do raves without it. You want some?'

'Nah, I'm cool.'

She shoved him again. 'You used to be fun!'

Veronique suddenly appeared and slipped her arms around Rhona's waist. Rhona twisted around and they started kissing sloppily until Veronique noticed Josh.

'What's up with him?'

'I don't know. Maybe he's too old for this shit!' Rhona cackled.

'Someone's gotta drive you all home,' he hinted.

'Who said anything about going home?' Donnie appeared while Veronique dragged Rhona out to dance. Donnie surveyed his domain with a satisfied smile.

'It's all about diversity,' he said. Josh thought he looked ridiculous in his tight white shirt and white jeans. His shoulder-length black hair was slicked away from his face with gel. 'You cater to a few different crowds on different nights. Everyone's happy.'

'You seem pretty pleased,' Josh mentioned.

'I would be, but one thing's been bugging me.'

'What's that?'

'I hate it when my own friends treat me like a moron.'

'Who said we were?'

Donnie finally looked at Josh. 'You are, Josh. You and Isla. I know, OK? Why didn't you tell me?'

'Rhona knows you hate people messing with your business. I was just trying to be respectful.'

Donnie sniffed loudly and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. 'Well, you're being an asshole. You're lucky I'm in a good mood tonight.'

Josh's skin became itchy. He peeled off his jacket. 'I'm happy, Donnie. She makes me happy. Why do you have to shit on that?'

'Because if she's sad, I'm sad. And her work suffers.'

His beer bottle hit the bar. The sound wasn't loud enough for anyone to notice. 'You don't give a fuck about her, really, just what she can do for you.'

'And what does she do for you? Other than make you so happy?'

'She doesn't have to do anything. She's scared. She's been waiting for someone or something to trip her up, I don't know who it is. It better not be you.'

'There's been people sniffing around for her,' Donnie shouted over the noise. 'Some woman with a taste for high-heeled boots and shitty fur coats keeps showing up here making threats. Isla told me it's nothing and I know she's lying. Do you know anything?'

'She won't talk about it. But I know she doesn't want to be found.'

'Well, I'll make sure of it. I suggest you stay on guard too.'

Josh's shoulders tensed and he forced his way through the menagerie of tweaks to the curtain where Isla was hiding. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling. She moved with the music, tapping her fingers over the keyboard. He knew not to bother her when she was really concentrating. The DJs performing both kept their sets tight without interruptions, so she wouldn't be stopping for another few hours. In the dim light, he could see the sweat all over her bare scalp. She opened her eyes, grabbed some water, and kept going. He hitched himself up on a nearby stool and stayed with her.

Finally, the pace began to slow. It was 3 a.m. and Donnie wasn't going to keep the place open any longer, but the kids knew where the next party was and they moved on, still amped, out into the streets. Isla unplugged and rubbed her temples, then noticed he was there.

'You were watching the whole time?'

'I'm sorry. Donnie said some stuff that made me nervous. I thought I'd come back and keep an eye on you.'

She wrapped her arms around his neck. She was drenched and her perfume was practically steaming off her skin into his nostrils.

'I'm fine.'

'Donnie said something about some woman showing up here. Why didn't you tell me?'

'He told me he'd call the cops if she showed up again. She hasn't been back. I didn't want to think about it all.'

'I'll take care of you, but you need to keep me in the loop here.'

'Baby, you've got the inside track. Everything's sweet.' Her dilated eyes beamed up at him.

'And you're smashed. I better take you home.'

'Good idea. I need a freakin' shower.'

When he got her home, he regretted not taking Rhona up on her offer. Isla had him in the shower, and he was desperate to stay awake while she played with him relentlessly. She burnt out later, and Josh fell asleep beside her.

In the morning, she wasn't so insatiable, or cheerful.

'I used to do this every weekend. Friday and Saturday. Now I remember why I quit.'

He passed her a mug of coffee and she sipped it, gratefully.

'So, what's the deal with this woman Donnie had to chase off?'

'Not now, Josh. Please.'

'Well, then when?' he snapped. What tensed him up more was the fact Donnie knew about it and he didn't. That he hadn't found out from her made it worse.

'There's nothing to worry about. Donnie took care of it.'

'Did he? How do you know?'

'She's not stupid. She's been in trouble before; she's all about low profiles. There's a detective in another city after her.'

'Because of what she did to you?'

'Because of who she is.'

He rubbed his neck and paced. 'Well, who is she?'

Isla sighed. 'Her name's Georgia Harrington. She's an art dealer; she came to one of my exhibitions. Now, she makes movies. Arthouse, mostly. She owns an old-school theatre. That's where I used to work. She's just some coked-up socialite really.'

'What did she do?'

Her arms flexed. 'She shot me full of amitriptyline and projected my dreams. Then she sold them off to people. Amitriptyline makes you sleep heavier and your dreams are more intense but she didn't know about my seizures or that the drug would cause me to have them. I had one and she freaked out but instead of letting me go, she mixed the drug with something else to stop the convulsions. I never found out what that was. Trust me, she doesn't want me dead.'

'Jesus.'

'I got away from her one night when she was throwing some party. Are we done now?'

'No, not if you're in trouble...'

She put down the mug and walked out of the bedroom. 'I'm always in trouble. You can't change that.'

'I can. We can drive somewhere else for a few weeks.'

'No. That won't change things. All the bullshit will still be here when we get back. She'll hang around and wait for her moment. She hates not getting what she wants.'

She pulled on her clothes and grabbed her bag.

'Where are you going?' Josh had to stop himself grabbing her arm.

'I'm getting out of here. I don't feel good.'

'Isla, wait... C'mon. Don't be stupid.'

She yanked the door open. 'You know what I liked about you, Josh? You usually knew when to back off.'

'Isla...'

He stopped himself from following her down the stairs. She wasn't on the street when he went to his window. A taxi disappeared around a corner. He went to his couch and sat down, slamming his head into his hands.

Rhona called him later that day, interrupting him from his work. She didn't sound particularly enthusiastic either.

'This is what happens when you try to defy the laws of gravity,' she said, bitterly. 'What goes up really must come down.'

'Yeah, well thanks to you, Isla came down spectacularly this morning. She stormed out.'

'Why?'

'We got in a stupid fight about some woman who's been harassing Donnie about her.'

'Veronique told me about that. Woman was a nightmare. She made some pretty nasty threats.'

'So you knew, she knew, Donnie knew... When were any of you going to tell me?'

'Josh, Isla begged me and 'Nique not to say anything. Donnie was pissed off, but he doesn't want her to leave. She doesn't want to quit either, but she hates the idea of you worrying about her. Veronique just said it's none of our business and that was the last of it.'

'I better go and see her.'

'Be cool about it, OK? You know what you're like. You'll choke her.'

'I know. She's ... fuck it, never mind.'

'You're in love with her, Josh. I know you are. Just let it breathe. She'll come round.'

Josh hung up on her, got changed and went out to his car, telling himself over and over not to be an ass again to Isla. Flowers would have been too much. He didn't make grand gestures or over-orchestrated apologies. He just didn't want her to hate him. Attacking her while she was in a vulnerable state of mind was stupid enough it in itself, but grovelling wasn't going to fix it.

It sure as shit wasn't going to fix the fact her apartment was trashed when he got there. The door was wide open, and half her things were either strewn or smashed all over the floor.

'Isla!' He ran up into her bedroom then back downstairs. She wasn't holed up in the bathroom either. He pulled out his phone and called her new number. It rang out. He called Rhona back.

'She's not here.'

'Maybe she went...'

'No, she's fucking gone. Someone's raided her place and she's not here.'

'She could've gone to the police.'

'She's not answering her phone.'

'Shit... Meet me at Elysian. Maybe she went there.'

He did it, even though it was a waste of time. Donnie was on the floor, bleeding out of his mouth. Half the bar had been annihilated and glass was sprinkled all over the place. Veronique dropped to Donnie's side, negotiating the glass as she tried to pick him up. He staggered to his feet.

'I should've known that bitch would have goons.' He wiped his mouth, flinching when his hand passed over his split lip.

'What happened?' Rhona gazed around the room, panicked.

'Whoever that woman was, she came back with reinforcements. When I said Isla wasn't here, they went to town on the place and left.' Donnie stumbled over to Josh. 'You know where she is? I'm gonna have to take this out of her next pay cheque.'

'She's gone,' Josh snapped. 'I went to her place. It's a mess. And she's not in it.'

'Fuck...'

Trying not to add to the injuries Donnie had already sustained, Josh inched closer. 'What did you tell them?'

'I didn't say shit, Josh.'

'But your organiser's missing.' Veronique said to Donnie's trashed suitcase. 'So you didn't have to.'

Josh rubbed his face. 'Call the cops.'

Veronique flipped open her phone and dialled. Luckily for them, she was capable of keeping a level head even after a sleepless night. Donnie stayed to make a statement when the police showed up, and Josh drove with the other officer to Isla's place. Within an hour, people were searching the apartment. He couldn't go past the tape across her door.

'When did you last see her?' a detective asked. She was a tall woman with a very severe face. She agitated Josh.

'This morning. She left angry.'

'You two had a fight?'

'Yeah, look, some woman was after her. Georgia Harrington. She did this. She had her people trash my friend's club.'

'OK, but I still have to get all the details here...'

'Someone's already looking for this woman. Isla told me.'

'What's Isla's history with this Georgia?'

'She worked for her.'

'As a prostitute?'

'No, but she did drug her. I don't even know this woman, I don't know if she'll kill Isla.'

'Well, we'll do everything we can to make sure that doesn't happen.'

Josh sat on the steps by the apartment door while the forensics people took shots and samples. The detective held out her card.

'If you hear from her, call me. If she's in trouble, it won't do any good to go running after her.'

Josh took the card and they left him there on the steps. The lock was broken, and the tape would now do a pathetic job at trying to keep anyone else out.

4

Elysian was quiet for the next few weeks. Instead of bills, there were missing posters up and down the alleys around the building. If Isla didn't want to be known before, she was known now. Even a couple of local news shows came with cameras. Josh hated it.

He couldn't sleep. He would pass out after drinking, get up around midnight, and try to work. Rhona and Veronique showed up occasionally, either to force him to get out bed or to eat. He kept his phone with him constantly. When his mother called to ask about what happened at Elysian, he desperately tried to get her off the line in case Isla called.

Late one night, a weird movie came on TV. He watched in a haze, not really paying much attention. The story seemed disjointed and filled with strange characters that did nonsensical things. He felt like he was watching an old dream.

Then he sat up and called Rhona.

'Josh, it's 2 o'clock. I gotta work tomorrow.'

'Turn on your TV. Channel 82.'

'What? Why?'

'There's this movie on. I think it's her.'

He heard her fumble around and Veronique grumbled in the background. 'It's just a movie.'

'But it doesn't make sense,' Josh went on.

'Shit...' Rhona murmured. 'That's me.'

Josh peered closer. A young woman with dark curly red hair was standing with a glass in her hand, laughing. She put her arm around a guy, and when he turned to the screen, Josh saw his own grey eyes looking at him. Same narrow nose, same dark brown hair. He recognised his leather jacket. It was like looking into a crazy house mirror.

'How is she doing this?' Rhona whispered.

'It's in her dream. She's being broadcast, she must be.'

'From where?'

'Meet me on Division street. Bring Veronique.'

'Shouldn't we call that detective?'

'You think she'll believe us? Just meet in five minutes.'

He dressed quickly and darted out, almost forgetting his car keys. Rhona and Veronique arrived ten minutes later when he was nearly ready to completely lose his cool with them.

'You have to take me to the Channel 82 building.'

Veronique shook her head. 'You really think they took her there?'

'I think so.'

'Don't get your hopes up, Josh,' Rhona warned.

He got into his car. 'Lead the way.'

Rhona started up again, but Veronique took her arm and ushered her to their car. Josh tapped the steering wheel while he waited for them to pull out.

After half an hour or so later, a building with a large satellite dish on the roof came into his view. Rhona was driving up ahead. He saw her indicator and took the right turn into the building's parking lot. Parking beside her, he watched her get out. There was a security guard pacing by the entrance. Veronique hovered around by his car door and Josh opened the window.

'She's going to see if she can get in,' Veronique told him. 'I'm not sure it'll work.'

'Doesn't she know someone who does the night shift here?'

'Yeah, but she's not sure he still works here.'

Rhona was playing with her hair and smiling with the security guard. Josh motioned Veronique to get out of the way and got out. Rhona pulled out a business card and giggled. The guard examined the card and cast his torch up at Josh and Veronique.

'You can't be any more than five minutes. Otherwise, I'm coming down there.' He unlocked the door and let them in.

'What did you say?' Veronique asked.

'I told him the ad agency had forgotten to send the tapes over for a client and I was dropping them off.'

'Your clients never buy ad time this late at night.'

'Like he would know that,' Rhona smirked.

'Where are we going?' Josh trotted behind them.

'Relax, would you?'

Josh was staring at all the locked doors along the corridor, paranoid Isla was in one of those rooms. Rhona lead them to another door and knocked.

'Room service!' she called.

'Who's that?'

'Just your friendly late night snack dispenser coming to serve you your 3 a.m. sugar fix.'

The door opened and a young guy with sunken eyes and stubble squinted at them.

'Rhona?'

'Hey, Alex.'

'What the fuck are you doing here?'

Josh pushed past to see a panel of small TV screens. Most of them were blank. One of them was still playing Isla's movie. Now he could see a little girl repeatedly stabbing a knife into an eyeball.

'She's not here,' he muttered.

'Where did you get this movie?' Rhona pointed at the screen.

'We play a lot of local independent stuff late at night. This got sent over the other day.'

'Do you know who sent it in?' she went on.

'Nope. Pretty weird. Doesn't make any sense.'

'Josh.' Veronique hit his arm. 'Check it.'

He saw Isla on the screen, sitting alone in a small theatre by herself. The seats were covered in red velvet. She was crying, and her eyes were staring back at him.

Josh barged out of the room and Rhona ran out after him

'They've taken her to the theatre,' he said over his shoulder.

'What theatre?'

'Where she used to work.'

'Do you know where it is?'

'I've got no idea. I only know she's there.'

He drove off, leaving them in the parking lot.

5

Before dawn, Josh rolled through town, surveying the streets, wishing Isla had told him more about her old job. All the hurt it caused her to confess must have, to him, matched the pain he felt now. But the misery in her eyes when he'd last seen her...if he found her alive, he would do all he could to not see that sorrow again. To cause it would kill him.

It didn't really matter. Her past was hers. And for everything that was stolen or squeezed out of her, she had the right to retain whatever was left.

He pulled up by a café, desperate for something to keep him awake. Walking out with a black coffee, he saw an awning across the street that didn't match the store beneath it. There was an entry to a narrow staircase that he could see through a glass panel in the doorway. The awning was exactly like the ones they had in the front of movie theatres, but it was much smaller. He could see the rows where the titles of the films would have been slotted in, letter by letter.

Dashing across the street, Josh got to the door, unsurprised to find it locked. No other stores there would be open for at least another hour or so. He went back to the café and asked the girl behind the counter if she'd ever seen anyone come out of the building.

'Not often. I only saw a really nice car pull up there the other day last week and some lady got out and she went in there with a couple of guys.'

'What did she look like?'

'I dunno, I didn't see her face. The only reason I can remember is I was grossed out because she was wearing a fur coat.'

'Thanks.'

'I wouldn't think anyone would go in there now. The guy who owns this place, Rick, said it used to be an old dirty movie theatre. I figured it was way too small to show actual movies.' She scrunched up her nose and shivered dramatically. 'God, imagine sitting in the seats now.'

Josh sat behind the wheel sipping his coffee while he staked out the entrance, hoping that Georgia or someone would show up. A parking inspector came around about an hour later, and he drove around the block three times before parking again up the street.

The ringer on his phone startled him.

'Any luck?' Rhona asked.

'I'm outside the place now.'

'No shit? Where is it?'

'It's on Cater street. It's an old porno theatre. No wonder we never knew it was here, you'd never notice it.'

'Did you call the detective?'

'I'm going to sit tight and wait for someone to show up.'

'Josh, don't be an idiot. She has muscle. Veronique and Donnie are still cleaning up the bar.'

'The cops don't have shit on this bitch. Unless they've bothered to do a background check on her, she's safe for now.'

'At least let me come down and wait with you.'

'Aren't you at work?'

'I could knock off early.'

'No, Rhona. It's better I do this alone. I'll pretend I'm family or something.'

'Call me if you need me. I'm serious.'

'Thanks. I'll be fine.'

His ego was a little pumped after the coffee, but even if Georgia had protection, he wasn't going in to start trouble. Another hour dragged on, and his body became heavy and weary. He would have fallen asleep if a black Mercedes hadn't parked up ahead of him.

A big lug of a man came out of the driver's side, then let the passenger out the back. She was svelte, with a cruel face that was framed by her long matte black hair. He matched her face to the one he'd seen on the TV at Isla's place that first night. She was carrying an expensive purse and she strutted towards the theatre entrance in her black stiletto boots. He got out as casually as he possibly could and hailed her.

'I'm sorry, miss,' Josh called. 'I'm looking for my cousin. She said she worked in a theatre on this street. She was supposed to meet me here.'

Georgia stopped and lowered her head. 'Your cousin?' she snorted. 'You honestly think I'm that stupid?'

He smirked as if he had no idea what she meant.

'We had a contractual agreement, that was perfectly legal and binding, and she broke it. She's mine. I could have re-negotiated the terms if she'd stayed, but she ran instead.'

He glared. 'You were killing her.'

'Every artist has to sacrifice something of themselves for their art, or it's not genuine. I've sold portraits painted in real human blood and shit. She's very good at what she does. She should be earning the praise and recognition she deserves.'

'Do you deserve all the fat cheques you make off her?'

'Of course I do. But you're wasting my time. Don't think of coming here again, unless you want your arm fractured in five places.'

The bodyguard at her side didn't even have to look at him. Josh instinctively took a step away from them, hating his own cowardice.

In his car, he yanked out the card from the detective and called her.

'You know she's in there?'

'I'm sure of it.'

'We can go and check it out, but I'm not able to get a warrant until I can prove she's responsible for actually kidnapping her.'

'Didn't you check on her name? I told you Isla said someone was watching out for her.'

'She was arrested, but it was never proven. She came out clean. Acquitted on all charges. I've got nothing but what you've given me. Stay away from there, Josh. Don't do anything. I'll let you know once I've had a look around.'

Josh refused to go. He insolently sat there and waited for the detective to show up. She took her time getting there, and he saw her go in for five minutes, then leave, shaking Georgia's hand on the way out. Slamming his hand against the wheel, he took off then to Elysian so he could come up with a better idea than sitting around waiting.

6

'What are you gonna do?' Donnie scoffed. 'Karate kick your way in there and bust her out?'

'I need to borrow your gun,' Josh demanded.

'Forget it. I only have it to protect myself here. It's not for you to go and play "cops and robbers" with.'

Veronique sat on one of the stools and sighed. She was holding a broom in one hand and a beer in the other.

'Let him do it,' she said. 'Let him have the gun.'

'No,' Donnie shouted. 'Look, I want to talk to Isla about all this as much as the rest of us, but we should leave this to the detective. I hate having cops around here, even if it's for my benefit, but they're good for stuff like this. They've had training. He hasn't even touched a gun.'

'Show me how to use it then,' Josh retorted.

Donnie laughed out loud. 'Hell, man, I can barely use it. I figured having it would be enough.'

'Maybe him having it will be enough,' Veronique argued.

'Not against those guys! They have fists, Josh. Massive fists that could probably break your arm and almost broke mine. Is she worth that?'

'Yes!' Josh cried. 'She's worth more than that. To me at least, maybe not to you.'

'I care about her, Josh. I do.' Donnie walked up to him. 'But this is my life, my livelihood. I don't appreciate that it's come to this. I did everything I could to keep her under wraps like she asked. This was out of my control. I'm sorry.'

'Well, you can make up for that by helping me out here.'

Neither of them had noticed Veronique had left the room. She appeared beside them with the small pistol in her hand. His hand quaked a little when he took it from her sturdy fingers.

'If you need a little backup, I can come with you.'

'It's OK. I don't want you getting hurt too.'

'I can take care of myself. Before I knew the love of a woman suited my palate more, I had a dickhead boyfriend who used to hit me. So I'm made of tougher shit than you realise.'

Rhona announced her presence with the clack of her heels on the polished dance floor.

'I just got off work. What's going on?'

Veronique turned to Rhona. 'We're going to get Isla.'

Josh was staring at the gun in his hand, wondering if he was really capable of pointing it at someone let alone firing it. While he was staring at it, Rhona gasped.

'This is stupid, Josh. I told you to call that detective.'

'I did! She didn't do anything. She walked in there for two seconds then left and she's not going back.'

'She might be going to get reinforcements!'

'I know she's not! We're on our own. Isla needs us. She needs me.' He gripped the gun to steel himself, as if he could absorb its metal into his own hand. As if it would give him superpowers. As if...

He marched out of the club before his nerve got the better of him. Veronique was behind him, with Rhona behind her, desperately trying to stop them both.

'Don't do this, please. I can't lose you two, you're all I've got.'

Josh and Veronique stopped. To see Rhona so pained and frantic was strange to Josh. Veronique went to her and stroked her hair from her face.

'It's gonna be fine, sweetie.' She kissed Rhona. 'We'll be careful, I promise.'

'Don't say that,' Josh told her. He echoed Isla: 'You can't make promises like that. Shit happens, and through no fault of your own, you've broken it.'

Once they'd driven away, Veronique snapped, 'Why the fuck would you say something like that?'

'Like what?'

'That shit about not making promises. What's wrong with you? Rhona doesn't need to hear that from you.'

'It's just something Isla told me. I see what she means now. Things are outside your control. There's no guarantees.'

'Pull yourself together, Josh.'

'I'm together.'

'No, you're not.'

'Then why are you here? If I'm going in half-cocked, you're taking a risk too.'

'Because you need someone with a steady hand. And a bit of fucking faith things will work out.'

They waited for the sun to set in silence. They waited for the streets to become deserted. They watched the door of the theatre. No one came back, or out. It was past midnight when Veronique decided to move. She jumped out of the car. He followed at a distance. She walked through the door without an ounce of hesitation. When he was inside she held up her hand, and he paused until she flicked her fingers, then he moved, creeping behind her up the stairs.

There was a narrow corridor leading from the top landing. Veronique crept around the bannister towards the first door on the left and carefully tried the handle. It didn't turn. Josh snuck in behind her. Bizarre music was coming from the second door, which was slightly open. Veronique gingerly pushed it inwards and Josh pressed himself against the wall behind her. The music was vibrating the walls, causing his stomach to tense and feel nauseated.

'What do you see?' he whispered.

Veronique didn't answer and he stiffened as she moved backwards.

'I think she's behind the locked door,' she murmured. Josh inched past her to see inside. The large narrow room had a steep incline. There were rows of chairs right to the bottom of the slope, and at the front of the room was a large screen. Light from the screen strobed across the profiles of two people sitting near the back.

He was momentarily distracted by the images on the screen. A young girl lay asleep on a metal slab. A man was slicing into her exposed brain. He was taking the slices and placing them on a silver platter. The platter was taken into a party where the pieces were served to men in suits and women in cocktail dresses who were sipping champagne. They licked the blood and cerebral fluid off their fingers while they laughed and drank. The music became more intense. He craned his neck around the door to see a rectangular cut in the wall and a prism of light beamed out onto the screen.

Veronique dragged him away.

'What are you doing?' she growled softly. 'We have to get this door open.'

He lifted the gun and she grabbed his wrist.

'Don't, Josh.'

Ignoring her, he pointed the trigger at the lock and fired. The bolt exploded and the door swung back.

'You idiot!' Veronique cried. She leapt past him to the second door and quickly pulled it closed. Whoever was in the theatre began shouting and swearing.

'Hurry!' Veronique grit her teeth. She was playing tug of war with the handle.

Josh darted in. Isla lay on a canopy bed, asleep, with wires hooked up to her arms and head. Her scalp was covered in surgical pads, and the wires were connected to a projection unit that was hanging from the ceiling. The lens was directed through the hole in the wall. An IV lead went from the vein in the back of her hand to a bag of clear fluid. A heart monitor beeped incessantly, and the pulse rate began to rise. He rested the gun by her side. He managed to pull out the IV lead just as a pair of arms lifted him away from her. He landed in the corner of the room.

Veronique was screaming obscenities outside. Georgia waltzed in then. Her bodyguards were on standby. The one who'd thrown Josh against the wall hauled him up effortlessly by his collar.

'Why are you doing this?' Georgia asked simply. 'I told you to stay away.'

'You've put her in a coma!' Josh spat.

'It's easier this way. She's like a machine, endlessly churning out productions at low cost. All I have to pay for is the means to keep her alive. She's huge in Europe right now. We're headed there tomorrow. Everyone wants to meet her. She's my little star.'

'She's your meal ticket, for Christ's sake,' Josh cried. 'She can't live like this.'

Veronique was dragged into the room.

'I really should have you both arrested,' Georgia went on. 'This is a private cinema and I was trying to screen her latest masterpiece to a buyer.'

The buyer was now leaning against the canopy bed, nonchalantly gazing down at Isla and smoking.

Georgia waved her hand at him. 'Damien, please, not around her. Go wait in the car, I'll be out in a minute.'

Damien sauntered out, saying, 'She'll be better off in Paris, darling. Away from the peasants.' He sneered at Josh and Veronique. Georgia chortled and blew him a kiss.

'Honestly, this is the best thing for her. She's a nothing here. I can give her everything she needs and she'll never have to worry about anything.'

'She left you,' Josh sneered. 'She didn't have anything when she was with you.'

'The young and gifted become so ungrateful. Eventually, she'll learn to appreciate me.'

The sharp crack of the pistol sounded again. Georgia buckled over and landed on her face by Josh's foot.

'I would've appreciated you more if you'd actually paid me for my work, you greedy bitch.'

Isla was sitting up on her elbows, scowling. Lifting the gun seemed to have taken all of her energy from her. Josh was let go as the two guards pounced on her, pinning her to the bed. Another crack sounded and one of the guards slumped over. Josh and Veronique shot a look at one another before Josh leapt over Georgia's prone body and grabbed the other guard from behind. Josh couldn't move him and only ended up piggybacking the guard while he reeled backwards and tripped over Georgia, landing on Josh. Isla was squirming under the dead body of the guard who'd tried to get the gun.

Veronique ran around the bed and heaved the body off then helped Isla up, ripping the pads off her skull. With the gun still in her hand, Isla pointed it at the guard, while Josh was wrestling him on the floor. He could see her hand was shaking. She couldn't keep herself upright. Veronique held her and slipped her arm along Isla's to help her hold the gun steady then lifted Isla's other hand to help her aim better. Isla was whimpering. The sweaty hunk of meat that was the still-living guard rolled off Josh and stood up. He put up his hands, his face going slack.

'I'm not armed. She never gave us guns. She's just an art dealer.'

'She's a megalomaniacal, sociopathic whore!' Isla shouted, her voice cracking. Josh saw her tongue was completely dry and her lips were split. Veronique raised Isla's hands so the gun was square on him.

'You better go,' Veronique warned.

The guard inched out of the room. 'Fuckin' freaks.' The wooden stairs made a chorus of creaks and groans while he jogged down the stairs. A car engine started up outside before a set of tyres squealed.

Josh prodded Georgia.

'Is she dead?' Veronique whispered as she let Isla go.

Isla dropped her arms. Josh went to her and grabbed her as she started to collapse.

Veronique knelt by Georgia's shoulder and pressed her fingers to her neck.

'There's a weak pulse.'

'Leave her,' Isla murmured. 'We have to go.' She tried to take a step, but her knee gave way. She went limp in his arms and her eyes rolled back, her eyelids fluttering.

'Shit.'

Veronique looked up. 'What's happening?'

'She's having a seizure from the drugs.'

'Dammit, we can move her until it stops.'

He gently laid her onto the floor while she kicked and sputtered. Veronique watched on, terrified. He stood at the foot of the bed and covered his mouth, internally begging her to stop. Her arm twisted around her and raised her off the floor a moment and her body pulsed and rocked. She was rigid for a second then flopped heavily against the floor.

Veronique wiped her top lip. 'Check she's breathing.'

Josh leaned over her mouth and breathed a shaky sigh when he felt a puff of warm air rising from her lips. He handed Veronique his keys then bundled Isla up into his arms, supporting her frail neck as best he could.

Sirens were wailing nearby. Veronique waited for Josh and Isla to get in the backseat then started up the car and drove as casually as she could away from the theatre.

'Where now?' she breathed.

Josh was still panting while Veronique had gone stony. Her eyes stayed on the road. Isla was conscious now and he felt her weeping in his lap.

'Elysian, I guess.' Josh stroked Isla head as he tried to calm down.

'Do you think they'll find out it was us?' Veronique eyed a police car as it sped past them in the opposite direction.

'I don't know,' he replied.

Veronique drove them to the rear entrance of the club. Rhona was still waiting for them by the bar. She rushed into Veronique's arms. Josh carried Isla inside.

'What happened to her?' Rhona slipped from Veronique's embrace and went to them.

Isla buried her face into the crook of Josh's shoulder. Josh shook his head and Rhona bit her lip as she stared at Isla.

'Can someone please get me a bottle of water?' Isla moaned.

Rhona bought her a bottle from under the bar and took off the cap. Isla guzzled it desperately as Josh set her on the edge of the stage. Donnie came out.

'I don't think you guys should stay here. There was some shit on the radio about a shooting on Cater street. Do me a favour and lose the gun, would you?'

Isla dropped her eyes. 'I'm really sorry about this, Donnie,' she said. Her voice was strained and faint.

'I didn't know I was taking such a big risk hiring you. You could have warned me.'

'I got stupid. I thought she wouldn't come back here. I can pay for the damage. I'll sell my apartment. Whatever you need.'

'Look, forget about it. I have it covered. But you're fired. I can't keep you here.'

'I'm not staying in town.'

'Where are you gonna go?' Josh sat next to her as his body seized up. He was waiting for the blow to the chest he'd been expecting early on when they'd first hooked up.

'I don't know. Just away from here.'

He sucked in his breath. 'I'll take you. That detective won't leave me alone after this.'

'No. You've done too much for me. I wasn't even sure you would find me or if that idiot guard I bribed even sent that tape to the station.'

'He did. I figured it out.'

'I know. And thank you so much.' Her eyes were covered in a film of glittery tears and her face was now sunken and blotchy. 'I can't ask anything else from you.'

'Well, I'm doing it anyway. I don't care if you can't ask, you were asking me in your dreams, and whether you really wanted me to come and get you or not, you still asked.'

She laughed and wiped her nose with her sleeve. 'I should've known. My stupid head always gives me away.'

Rhona and Veronique saw them to the car.

'I'll call you,' he told Rhona while he hugged her.

'You fucking better.' A laugh broke out in the middle of her sobs.

Donnie came out and held up his hand. 'I can't say it's been fun knowing you,' he said to Isla, 'because it hasn't.'

'Thanks for giving me a shot anyway.'

'Least you can do is keep him out of trouble.' He nodded at Josh.

'I'll try.'

Donnie smiled and wandered back inside. Veronique kissed Isla's cheek.

'You're a lot braver than I gave you credit for.'

Isla shrugged weakly and slid into the passenger seat.

Josh took the first exit he could find out of town. They slowed down over the river and Isla tossed the gun out the window. He caught the splash as they took off.

7

When the slate seemed clean enough, they started over in another city. Josh took a boring magazine job with a regular pay cheque. They got a tiny apartment after Isla sold her father's loft. They eventually stopped looking over their shoulders as they walked down the street.

She bought herself a collection of cheap wigs instead of growing out her hair. When he went to pick her up one afternoon in the park, she was wearing a pink bob. Her tattoo still showed under the fringe. She was surrounded by trays of wax crayons and she'd taped all her pictures to a large piece of brown paper that was weighted down to the pavement with a tin can full of spare change and a few rocks. A small crowd had gathered to watch her work. She squinted up at him with a cheeky smile. He held onto the image as best he could, so he could draw her later.

'I sold two pictures today. Made twenty bucks.'

'Cool. You can buy me a coffee then.'

He took her hand to pull her up. Her nails and fingertips were stained from the crayons.

'You want a muffin with that, your worship?' she quipped.

'Well, since I'm the one who's sold out completely, I can guess I can spring for the muffins.'

He helped her gather her things together and carry them to the car. She was happy in her obscurity. That was enough for him. She paid him back in inspiration and in the end, the money itself simply meant nothing to either of them.

Not much else did matter to them by then, as long as she wasn't dying for her art.

Between Here And Nowhere

1

The demolition party, like all of John's parties, didn't start at any particular time. Usually, he'd turn on the stereo sometime around 8 or 9 pm. The hordes would slowly arrive after brief pit stops for fuel, booze, smokes and chips.

Quinn hitched herself on the bonnet of Kyle's car while he went to pay for his petrol. Kat and Donald sauntered up to her. Donald had a case of beer under his arm and was wearing a backpack fat with cans of spray paint. A lollypop stick jutted from Kat's scarlet lips, and she was decked out in black. Donald was in a standard blue flannel shirt that covered a battered Metallica tee. His jeans were missing both knees and his sneakers were on the verge of disintegrating. He had his messy black hair gathered up under a beaten baseball cap.

'We need a ride,' Donald announced. 'Jeff and Will took off without us.'

Kat approached Quinn and kissed her cheek, taking out the red, saliva-glistened lollypop first.

Quinn smirked. 'You'll have to ask Kyle.'

'C'mon,' Donald whined. 'It's not like you have a pack of clowns in there already.'

'Fine. I'll take a beer then.' Quinn hopped down.

'Get one for me.' Kyle popped the driver's side door, appearing out of nowhere. He and Donald were more or less dressed the same. The only difference: Kyle wore an Iron Maiden tee.

Donald paid his toll and got in the back with Kat. Kyle cranked the knob on his stereo, which was worth more than his piece of shit car, and they pulled out onto the road.

'What's the deal, anyway?' Donald shouted.

Kyle took a corner sharply. 'The deal with what?'

'John trashing his house?'

'He said he'd get more money for it if he sold the whole block,' Quinn explained. 'The house is a wreck anyway. Some realtor told him he could fit a couple of units on it.'

'Didn't he inherit the house from his grandma or something?' Donald went on.

'Something like that.'

'But where's he gonna live now?' Donald belched. Quinn caught Kat rolling her eyes in the rearview mirror while she took out her lollypop.

'He's leaving town, dumbarse. Something we all should've done by now.' The lollypop regained its former position.

'Well, no one tells me this shit anyway. I got about 8 cans of paint. Shame once the bulldozers come in, all my work will be destroyed.'

'I got a camera,' Quinn said over her beer. 'Just make sure it doesn't get busted.'

'Yeah, I swiped my dad's axe,' Kyle grinned. 'He had it sharpened. Been waiting all week to bust up some shit with it.'

'Your mum wasn't exactly pleased with that collage you pasted on your wall,' Quinn laughed.

'It was just a shitty plastic tea set my sister use to play with.'

'I liked the phallic slant you had going with the teapot nozzle, by the way,' Kat told him.

'Well, it sure makes up for all those tea parties Rosie used to make me play with her.'

Quinn cracked his beer open for him and handed it over. 'How's ballet school going?'

'How should I know?' Kyle snorted. 'Least it keeps the parentals from worrying what I do every night.'

Kyle shot through a round-a-bout without slowing down, tossing Donald and Kat around in the back. Donald hollered. Kat grimaced. Quinn felt a splash of beer hit her chest and the liquid ran down the crevice between her breasts. She rubbed the front of her red camisole shirt against her skin, irritably.

They had to park a street away and walk since the lawn and most of the curbs were taken up already. The axe swung casually by Kyle's leg. Kat broke away from the guys and Quinn fell back with her.

'What's up with you?'

'Nothing.' Kat crunched the last of her lollypop and started gnawing on the plastic stick. 'Just pissed at John'

'Why?'

'He came over last night and unceremoniously announced he was going as he pulled up his pants. Like nothing we did together mattered.'

'It's not like you love him.'

'It's not about love, Quinn. It's about decency.'

'And he's not about grandiose gestures. He's not here. Never has been. He's just relocating his body to where his mind is right now. He'll have the money.'

'Yeah, I get it.' Kat kicked a rock with a scuffed up Chuck Taylor. 'But I feel like you're about to disappear, too. You're all gonna leave me here.'

Quinn took her hand. 'I'm not leaving.'

'Not yet.'

Kat spat out the stick and pulled Quinn closer. Quinn leaned in and kissed Kat hard on her plump little mouth.

Glass smashed up ahead. A discordant cheer went up. The bass booster on John's stereo was vibrating the walls of his dilapidated house.

'Let's go fuck something up,' Kat smiled, her green eyes sparkling with mischief.

The girls ran up to the house. Kyle was already inside showing off the blade on his dad's axe. John had left a couple of couches around, but for the most part, there was no furniture. A couple of fridges in the kitchen and the sink in the laundry were stocked with beers and bottles of Jack Daniels and Coke. Kat took a spray can from Donald's backpack and drew a black love heart on a wall in the living room, covering the floral wallpaper. There were at least fifty people in the house. Numerous windows were breaking in a badly timed orchestra of destruction. Plaster crumbled inside the crawl spaces.

Kyle raised the axe and landed it into the wooden mantle of the fireplace, splitting the panel. Quinn got out a black marker and started writing on the concrete floor.

Here I sit and here I die, coz of all the shit at Wakefield High.

'That's original.'

She glanced up at John, who was polishing off a beer. He pulled her to her feet, and her nose was square with his hard chest. John stood about six feet, had sandy, unwashed hair and dry tanned skin from his wasted hours at the beach, surfing.

'Didn't think you'd show,' he smiled.

'Kat's pissed at you.'

'Kat's pissed at life. How am I supposed to fix that?'

'She just wants to know she means something to someone.'

'Well, she's always expected too much out of people. C'mon. I want you to take some shots out back. Preserve the moment.'

His beefy hand dragged her out to the backyard. A fire ate some dry wood in a rusty barrel. Pieces of tiles were thrown in and sparks danced erratically up from the flames. Cans and bottles were strewn about the grass. Quinn stood with John down by the fence and she took a couple of shots of the busted doors and windows.

'I told everyone they couldn't bust up the bathroom until last. I have a plan for the toilet.'

'Sledgehammer?' Quinn asked.

'Better. You'll see.'

'So where are you going?'

'Frankston. There's a job waiting for me. I was waiting for someone to buy the place before I went, so I wouldn't have a reason to come back.'

'Good plan.'

'Make sure you email me those pics. I'm grabbin' another beer. You want one?'

'Sure.'

She knew John would forget about her drink due to some hot chick suddenly showing up. Quinn didn't much care what he did; it was Kat who seemed to need his adoration and acceptance more. Quinn had only fooled around with John once a year before, and neither of them had felt keen to take it any further.

Meanwhile, Kyle was peaking and brandishing his axe like a maniac all through the house. He came screaming out the back door, blade raised, before hurtling down the back veranda stairs. A couple of girls got out of his way as he took to a bannister with full force, gleefully hacking the wood. The chunks were gathered and thrown into the barrel fire. Quinn kept taking snaps, trying not to laugh too hard.

Donald bugged her for the camera, and she handed it to him.

'I get a new one if you break it.'

Kat stepped out in a daze, smiling, as Quinn headed inside.

'John hooked me up; said sorry. Doubt he meant it, but this will do. You want?'

Quinn put out her tongue and Kat planted a small pill on it, then gave Quinn a hit of vodka to wash it down. She took Quinn down onto the grass and they watched as someone finally broke through a wall with a hammer. More crashes and pounding and breaking sounded inside. The music was heavy; the bass pounded down in Quinn's stomach as the pill was kicking in. She swallowed some more vodka.

'You really should go trash something in there.' Kat took the bottle from Quinn. 'It's very therapeutic. Plus, I've never seen you really break something before.'

Quinn giggled. 'Hey, Kyle,' she hollered. 'Give me your axe. Kat wants to see me smash something.'

Kyle bounded up to them, sweating, and handed her the axe as she got up.

'Grip it like a bat,' Kyle instructed.

'That's not how you cut wood,' Kat laughed.

'No, but it's funny belting shit that way.'

Quinn walked up to the side of the house, swung the axe away and slammed it has hard as she could against the drywall. It split and spewed powder down on the gravel.

'Fuckin' pussy,' Kat shouted. 'Hit it harder.'

Quinn lifted the axe again, swinging it back further behind her, then planted it deeper into the wall, grunting. On the third swing, she screamed as she brought the blade down as hard as her arms would allow. Picking up speed, she hit the wall repeatedly. Kat cackled behind her.

Some time around 3 am, John announced it was time for the obliteration of the bathroom. The toilet sat at the end of the main corridor. John produced an old bag from a closet that he plonked on the ground. The resultant thud was audible over the music. He knelt down, slowly opened the bag, and brought a bowling ball up with both hands. He developed a steely façade as he raised the ball up to his face, then took three steps down the corridor, launching the ball on the third step. It rolled neatly at high speed towards the bottom of the toilet, connecting with the porcelain. The bowl cracked open, spilling water over the floor.

'Steeeerrriiiikkkke!' John pelted towards the bathroom, picked up the ball and smashed it into the bathtub. A mob filled the bathroom, breaking tiles and smashing mirrors. Pipes burst, spraying everyone. Kat and Quinn stayed in the doorway, doubled over in stitches.

Most families in the neighbourhood had left town for Christmas, and whoever had stayed were clearly too fearful of a riot to come and order them to shut up or threaten to call the cops. John's only other rule was the destruction was not to filter out into the streets. Quinn sat on the front step, chewing gum and listening to the tinkling of glass and scuttling of debris as people shuffled out into the night. Kat lit up a smoke as John came outside. He pinched the cigarette from her.

'All is forgiven,' Kat sighed as she pulled out another smoke. John kissed her cheek and grinned inanely.

Kyle took one more chop at the door, yanked out the axe and stumbled drunkenly out onto the yard.

'I am the axe-man,' he declared.

'You're also not driving,' Quinn announced.

'I can do anything!' Kyle screamed, shaking the axe over his head.

John confiscated the axe. 'He can leave his car here.'

Kat yanked Quinn to her feet and they wandered away with Kyle. Halfway down the road, Kyle tried to tickle and kiss Quinn.

'You're drunk on power,' she told him, shoving him off and laughing.

'C'mon, let's go.' He pulled her towards the bushes by the road.

She slapped his chubby, pockmarked face. 'Let me go, Kyle!'

'God, you're such a tease!'

Kat shoved him.

'And you're smashed, now fuck off.'

'Slut!'

Kat put her arm around Quinn and led her away. Kyle stumbled off.

'Why do you hang out with him? He's such a douche.' Kat flicked her cigarette stub across the pavement.

'He's ok when he's not high.'

'When is he not high?'

'When he's asleep.'

Kat still lived with her mother, Tess, but now they were out of school, she was paying rent and helping pay bills as a boarder. Her little sister, Evie, snuck out of her room, rubbing her eyes with her little hands.

'Go back to bed, Evie.'

Quinn picked the girl up and they took her into her room, putting her in her bed. Quinn kissed Evie's temple and stroked her hair. Once she was asleep, the girls went to Kat's room and curled up into her bed, cuddling each other. Kat started to cry.

'What is it?'

'I don't want you to go,' she whispered. 'I don't know what'd I'd do if you left me here.'

Quinn caressed Kat's face and kissed her.

'I'm not going anywhere,' Quinn murmured.

'Not yet.'

2

Quinn snuck out of Kat's room around 11 a.m., hoping she could make it out of the house without rousing Tess or Evie.

'Not staying for coffee?' Tess asked as Quinn stiffened. Tess was only slightly taller than Kat and Quinn and dyed her hair red instead of black — Kat's choice of hair colour. Her face was worn considering how young she was, having only had Kat at 19.

'I can't. I really have to go.'

'How was the party?'

'Great.'

'How's your dad?'

'Fine.'

Kat emerged, bleary-eyed, her matte black hair in tangles from the pillow.

'Leave her alone, mum.'

'Well, you should take better care of your guests. Least offer them something to eat.'

Kat made a face. Quinn's stomach knotted and she vomited a little in her throat. Kat then frantically pulled a smoke from her mum's pack and lit up as she went out the screen door to sit on the porch. Quinn followed suit, minus the cigarette.

'Swear she loves mentioning food when I'm coming down.'

'It's one of her last guilty pleasures, I'm guessing.'

'Least she stays off my case, otherwise.' Kat shot a stream of smoke into the air and Quinn curled up on the battered couch.

'Wonder what John's place looks like now in the daylight,' Quinn muttered.

'Did you want to go back?'

'I need my camera from Donald. Little shit's probably trashed it.'

'Bad move, lending it to him.'

'I was in a good mood. I was feeling generous.'

A couple of younger kids rode by on bikes, screaming. Quinn flinched.

'Shut up!' she barked. The kids only got louder.

Kat gave them the finger. 'God, I can't bear this anymore. Why are we still here?'

'We have shitty jobs. We can't afford to leave. Will said he had a spare room I could rent, but I still can't afford it.'

'Chicken boner didn't turn out to be the lucrative job he'd thought it would be?' Kat smirked.

'I know, plus he reeks. Video store's fine for me... during the week, when the arseholes are working and not bothering me. It's just the money...'

Kat cracked her knuckles. 'Well, least you're spared the early onset arthritis which comes with the illustrious position of check-out chick.'

Quinn rested her head on the arm of the couch.

'Think John will let us go with him?'

'Doubt it.' The butt left Kat's fingertips and sailed off into the grass. 'When he severs ties, he severs them properly. I think that's the real reason I hate him; he does that so easily.'

'And you can't?'

Kat shrugged. 'Where the hell will I go without money? Should I just go in there and ask if mum's made out a will yet? Left me a small fortune?'

Quinn took her tone to be nothing more than the edge brought on by a brutal comedown. Normally they would sip coffee and say nothing for a few hours first, but John's leaving clearly was messing with a particular wavelength in Kat's brain.

'I better stop by the house,' Quinn announced. 'Double check mummy dearest has taken all her medicine.'

'What she on now?'

'Something starting with L and ending in pam. I've lost track. I'll go home, then I might go to work.'

'You're insane.'

'No, just practical.' Quinn skipped off Kat's front veranda and waved goodbye. Kat kissed the air in return.

Back at home, her mother was sitting at the table, smoking and staring off into the distance. A cup of coffee sat half drunk beside her, along with an assortment of pills. Quinn imagined she was staring into a mirror that showed her future self when she looked at her mum. Same narrow features, same dark brown hair. The wrinkles around her deep-set brown eyes and the flecks of grey were really the only major differences.

'Mum, it's just me, Quinn.'

Her mother stirred. 'I was just about to take them,' she chided, looking at the pills. 'Don't even start on me.' Her fingers pinched up the smallest of the white pills and she popped it on her tongue. The next one was like a fat purple Smartie, and Quinn wondered if she bit into one she would taste chocolate. There was another slightly bigger white one left, and her mother placed it on her tongue. When the pills were gone, Quinn kissed her mother and sat down.

'Did you have fun at your party last night?' her mother asked, listlessly.

'Kind of. John's leaving.'

'Oh, that's a good thing, It's important you all leave here eventually. Don't stick around like I did.'

'Maybe we will stay.'

Quinn was getting edgy from all this talk of sticking around. Her skin was begging for a long hot shower so she indulged it as long as the water heater allowed it. Then she pulled on her uniform for the video store and made an appearance, thinking Philip would appreciate the afternoon off. Her comedowns were usually a day late, so she was sure she'd be hit by the after-effect bus later that night, if not the following day.

Philip was contending with a couple of kids who were in the cartoon section and yelling at them to choose something or get out. Quinn appeared and his face didn't change much, but she was hoping some sense of gratitude would come over him.

'I take it you were at the party last night?' he asked, scratching his head near the band of his ponytail.

'Of course I was. You weren't.'

'I was, but only for a little while. I missed the great toilet massacre. I heard it was epic.'

'It was.'

The kids ran up with their selection and Philip ran it through the computer. 'How many times do you want to rent this?' Philip asked.

One of the kids shrugged while the other one tossed the money over. Philip passed the tape over the counter the kids scurried off.

'I think I died a little inside when Charlie decided we should open Sundays.'

'If you want to go, I think I can manage the rest of the day.'

Philip kissed Quinn's cheek then leapt over the counter.

'I owe you.'

'You know it.'

Quinn's remaining customers were just several more punks from the area after the Rob Zombie movie she couldn't be bothered watching. Usually if she had the store on her own, she would slip on one of her favourites, rather than the latest new release. She'd even had an argument with Charlie about putting the new release amounts up to seven dollars for one night, telling him it was an egregious rip-off. Videos were her life; some kind of tether to the possibility their existence wasn't all short-term highs and chicken boning.

Kat came by as she was closing at 8.

'We should rent some porn,' she suggested.

'It's all softcore. Charlie told me that's the only kind they can legally rent out. No junk.'

'Oh boo. I came to walk you home.'

'My house is only five minutes away.'

'Don't care. Five minutes more with you. Actually, I was looking to stay longer. At your place.'

'Mum isn't too good.'

'Is she ever? I thought she liked me.'

'Fine, you can entertain her. Just no drinking. The docs told me to keep her off all alcohol from now on.'

'OK.' Kat marched behind Quinn over the wood-chip covered garden of the old cottage by the store. They stumbled through the brush and weaved through the paperbarks to Quinn's house.

'I should just move in with you and your mum.'

Quinn stopped and sighed. 'Barry's back, huh?'

'God the last time I was sitting with them, he groped mum's tit while looking at me. I could've puked and died, not necessarily in that order.'

'You can stay until Barry leaves.'

'That's the issue. Barry got a local job. He's not leaving.'

'Oh shit,' Quinn sighed. 'Go home now and get some clothes. You can sleep in my room.'

Kat grabbed her neck and kissed Quinn's cheek then skipped over the ground to her own place.

Quinn's mother was asleep upstairs again, a consequence of her daily medication coupled with a lack of riveting daytime programming.

Quinn only found tinned spaghetti in the cupboard, but not enough to serve her new guest. She called Kat's mobile.

'There's no food here. See if you can at least pinch something from your house.'

'I'll do what I can.'

What Kat could do was half a bag of stale bread and a box of biscuits. Quinn sighed and ordered pizza, and had to pay with mounds of spare change. Waking her mother up was also a pointless endeavour, so they spread themselves out on the floor in front of the TV and ate.

'Are you working tomorrow?' Kat asked.

'Yeah, morning shift.'

'Think Charlie will let me do some hours? The store's only called me in for two days this week. Ever since I hit eighteen suddenly I'm not worth the cash.'

'I'll ask. Charlie's been weird lately. Whenever I ask for a day off he's always knocking me back. He's not as lenient as he used to be.'

The pizza was annihilated by both of them, then Kat took her things into Quinn's room. Quinn had to drag an old mattress out of her mum's room without waking her.

'How much does she sleep?'

'If she thinks there's no reason to get up, she won't. I try to talk to her but most days she's off in her own head. Dad came by the other day just to check on her. Said it was like conversing with a dead cactus.'

'What else can he do?'

'He gives me money to look after her. That's about it. Least she can still go to the toilet without any help. If she were that far gone, I don't know what I'd do.'

Quinn took the empty pizza box and left it on a pile of rubbish she'd yet to take out. Now she was feeling the shit leave her system, her body was hit with a sudden weakness, and though it was only some time after 9, she wanted to go to bed then and there. She told Kat she couldn't deal with being awake anymore so they set about looking for blankets, pillows and sheets before Quinn lost all cognisance and collapsed.

Kat stayed awake a while longer, flicking through magazines until Quinn begged her to put the light out and go to sleep.

3

Quinn was awake hours before anyone else. Her mother woke early, and she sorted through her medications, confused. Quinn stopped her.

'No, mum, you take those at night. This one's for the morning.'

She popped out the right combination, then watched her mother take them with a glass of stale tap water.

'Can you make me a coffee?' Ina asked.

'Sure, just sit down.'

Quinn was the only one who could make Ina's coffee how she wanted it. Ina wasn't incapable of doing it herself, but she would make a bigger mess due to her lack of hand-eye coordination. Everything was easier if Quinn did it; getting food, calling doctors, working. If her dad ever got involved, he only became a controlling nightmare, plus he had a new girlfriend who wasn't interested in Quinn or Ina.

She was about to spill the sugar when someone knocked on her front door. She landed the spoon back in the jar and went to the door, harried.

Donald was standing there with her camera. 'I didn't bust it. And I got all the shots on my laptop now so you can trash everything.'

Quinn had a quick look instead. Most of the tags were typical Donald, but some other kids had thrown up some amazing designs, she thought it was a shame they would be torn down. There were jagged clown faces with real depth and incredible shading, and mutant sharks with massive silvery teeth. She knew if half of those kids were given a chance, they could design some incredible shit for some company. If only it didn't feel like selling out.

'Shouldn't you two be at school?' her mum yelled, and Quinn was astonished to hear her muster up the energy to even speak above a whisper.

'We graduated a month ago, mum!' Quinn reminded her. 'I work now! Donald does too.'

No response. She wondered if her mum had even remembered talking.

'Speaking of, my shift starts soon.' Donald got on his push bike. 'Drop around sometime when you're free. I'm starting up a blog and I'm adding these pics to it.'

'Cool.' Quinn shrugged.

Quinn liked Donald mostly, even though Kat didn't have any patience for him. Donald never tried to get in her pants, either, not like Kyle did, and that fact still had her pissed off over a day later. Running into him was only going to set her off again. Kat just thought Donald was too stupid to hit on anyone.

Kat emerged then as Donald disappeared up the street.

'Wow, you got your camera back.'

'Check out these shots.' Quinn showed her the best ones.

'Nice layout, and good depth too, not too overcrowded on the lettering.'

'I know. Such a waste.'

'We should go find John. See him before he leaves.'

Quinn checked the time. 'I got an hour 'til work. Don't try and get a long goodbye out of him.'

They showed up at Charlie's, where John was supposedly crashing now his house was inhospitable. Charlie opened the door in his shorts with an over-tired expression half hidden behind a curtain of dirty, greyish brown hair. He squinted at them.

'Lose the key to the store?' he asked.

'Is John gone yet?' Kat looked past Charlie down the darkened corridor.

'Of course. He had to be in Frankston for that job today. Caught the six o'clock train.'

'Shit,' Kat wandered off.

'Hey, didn't you want to beg for more work? Priorities at all functioning, Miss?'

'Oh yeah.' Kat came back. 'I need more hours. The store only gave me two shifts this week.'

'Fine, but no fucking around, ok? I know what you two are like.'

'We're like a firecracker ready to blow at any time. One day we'll blow your mind, Charlie.' Kat blew him a kiss and took Quinn's hand, hauling her away,

'If you rent porn to an underage kid, Kat...' Charlie yelled after them.

'He never did trust me,' Kat smiled as they hurried off to open the store. 'Promise me we'll go to John's place before they tear it down completely.'

'We'll go after work.'

'That's like six hours away.'

'Six hours you said you desperately needed.'

Kat groaned. 'Fine.'

Quinn coached the disinterested Kat through how to use the computer system; simple as it was, she knew Kat wasn't paying attention. She was eyeing off a boy they knew from school, who was scoping out the horror section.

'Hey Fletcher,' Kat shouted. 'What's been happening?'

'Whole lot of nothin' other than that party. Trying to get the guys together for band practice.'

'Why don't you call them?'

'They're always stoned or asleep.'

'So are you,' Kat quipped. Fletcher got pissed.

'Look, do you have Let the Right One In yet or not?'

'New Release section,' Quinn told him, staring at the popcorn machine.

Fletcher picked up a copy and tossed it on the counter.

'It's nothing like the book,' Quinn warned.

'Like I care. I've wanted to see this for months. Like they'd ever show it in town.'

Quinn was the resident brain on all things adapted from book to screen. Some people cared for her opinions, others not so much. Most of her opinions on any matter ended up falling on disinterested ears. If Kat was having one of her self-indulgent days, Quinn knew it was pointless to even voice how she was feeling. She didn't hate Kat for that, and was past being annoyed.

An elderly couple came in and left with some British drama. Kat thought they were adorable fumbling with their bags looking for their member card, since one couldn't remember if the other had it. Quinn decided it was just too unbearable and put the transaction through herself.

'So you're the bitchy cashier at the video store,' Kat teased when the old couple were gone.

'They rent trash, apart from Fletcher, and half the shit he wants Charlie refuses to order since he won't shift it enough. Said an army of two cinema freaks in one minuscule town wasn't motivation enough for him. I'm lucky he bothered to stock Twin Peaks.'

'I know he almost didn't stock American Psycho. I would've kicked him in the balls if he didn't. He only makes occasional grandiose gestures, it's why I find him so insufferably boring.'

'He's not boring, he's just mean.'

'Did I ever tell you Charlie got drunk and hit on me?'

'No! When?'

'That party you missed when you went to the city with your dad. He said he loved my eyes. So I hit him.'

'Do you have to be so hostile? Why can't you just say how you feel?'

'My hand says all it needs to do. You know that.' She tickled Quinn's rear and Quinn nudged her. The act was witnessed by two younger girls in the comedy section who stared and whispered. Since they were of the recently graduated, Quinn and Kat had made sure the younger students of their school knew they didn't care where their preferences lay. Quinn was too comfortable around Kat, and they kept their dalliances between them, but they weren't about to cover up anything in public. They loved that it made others uncomfortable.

At the end of their shift, when Philip showed, (asking them how it was necessary two people were required operate the cash register), Quinn and Kat stopped by John's house. In the dull light of the afternoon, their damage appeared more dramatic. They picked through the rubble after stepping through the wide open door. Kat found a glass doorknob that had survived the fray and picked it up.

'Perfect souvenir. I'm gonna miss screwing John.'

'You'll miss him, period. Face it, you hate he doesn't love you.'

'I love that he doesn't love anyone. But yeah, I wanted to mean more to him than I did. Total paradox, I know.' She twisted the doorknob in her hand. 'I'm gonna hang this from the ceiling then focus on it when I do myself.'

'TMI, bitch.'

Kat giggled. They went through the house and found John's empty room, where most the amazing artwork adorned his walls. Kat tramped through the pieces of rubble and picked something up.

'Check it out! He left my mixed CD behind. It's destroyed.'

'You made him a mixed CD? You're pathetic.'

'It was in year nine. Everything I did that year was pathetic. What's more pathetic is I assumed he'd take it with him.'

'Why do you need him to love you so much?'

'I've known him forever. Kindy forever, so, longer than everyone else. When we finally started doing it I thought it meant something to him. I was just another lay.' She tossed the doorknob in her hand thoughtfully, then suddenly threw it at the wall opposite her where it got lodged behind the drywall.

'What happened to it being a masturbatory aid?' Quinn smirked.

'Didn't want him to have the satisfaction of knowing I'd be jerking off over him.' She threw the CD like a frisbee at the same point the door handle had hit. It only bounced off to the side and rattled onto the floor.

'Oh, of course not.'

'Let's get the fuck out of here. I'm not getting the same vibes I was hoping for. Let's go raid Donald's.'

'I can't. Mum's supposed to take her meds now.'

'Fine, but I need some fucking pot, so I'll go and meet you back there later.'

'Whatever.'

Quinn was prone to getting tired of bending to Kat's needs and wants and it was always easier to agree to her tangents than try and realign her focus. Kat wandered off to Donald's and Quinn walked home. Her mother hadn't moved, as far as she knew, from her position in the kitchen. Quinn set about popping all the blister packs and filling her little medicine cup. She knew the order. Two purples, one big one small, two little yellow wafers and one little white one. All served with a glass of water. Then Quinn would set about making her actual food, usually something out of a tin. She wasn't prepared to wait for Kat this time so she served her mother heated tinned spaghetti, which neither of them touched.

'When's the last time your father called?' Ina asked. 'I haven't heard the phone ring all day.'

'I spoke to him on Tuesday, mum, like I always do.'

'Did he say when he was coming home?'

'Mum, he's not. That's the point.'

'Has he changed his weeks? Remember he used to do six weeks on, one week off?'

'Yeah well now he spends his one week off with Kirsten and their baby, remember?'

Ina stubbed out her smoke. 'I don't have another baby,' she sneered, and finally got up. She grabbed her empty coffee cup and dumped it in the sink then rubbed her head, staring at the plate of spaghetti.

'I can't afford anything nicer, mum. My wage is giving me nothing. What do you want, a fucking soufflé?'

Her mother grasped her head. 'Leave me alone, Quinn. You're such a nasty girl after everything I did for you.'

She let her mother shuffle off to the bathroom. Kat didn't show up for another hour at least, leaving Quinn seething with no one to bitch to. Kat always knew when to be absent when Quinn needed to vent, and usually Kat was so wrapped up in her own garbage, whatever Quinn had to say never ended up vocalised. Her only means of weathering her internal storms was to stand sullenly at the kitchen sink and do the dishes, which usually piled up during the day when her mother decided to eat. She sang softly to herself while she did this chore, one of a few methods she knew to calm herself down.

Putting her mother in permanent care wasn't an option, even though Kat had suggested it numerous times. There was no money to cover the costs. She'd been hospitalised in government-funded facilities that hardly cared for her, and discharged her when she seemed stable by their terms. Once she was home, she would sit in the kitchen beside a cold cup of coffee for the better part of the day, staring at nothing, or sleep. She only just met requirements for a disability pension, that was meagre and supplemented by Quinn's less than modest salary from the video store.

Kat finally showed up, completely baked and silent. Just as Quinn took the plug out to drain the dirty water, Kat came up and threw herself over the sink. A heavy torrent of vomit poured out of her and Quinn backed up, disgusted.

'I told you Donald's weed was bad.'

Kat croaked. 'I know. It was all he had.'

'Well, I'd go get your money back.'

'Later. I need to sit down.' She fell on one of the kitchen chairs and rested her head on the table. Quinn rinsed out the sink then handed Kat a glass of water. Kat stared at it, groaning.

'You're probably dehydrated from the other night.'

'Probably. How's your mum?'

'Not good.'

The toilet flushed in the bathroom and Ina emerged.

'Keep it down, I'm going to bed.'

'Night, Ina,' Kat waved. Ina didn't respond.

'She still thinks dad's coming home. I think I better call her doctors, see if those meds aren't fucking with her memory.'

'They can do that?'

'I don't know. She's on enough shit to tranquillise a horse.'

'Maybe she needs to go back in.'

'Yeah, maybe.'

'I feel like hell,' Kat complained. 'Got any Panadol?'

Quinn rummaged through the kitchen drawers and dug out an expired packet of painkillers. Kat took the risk and downed two with some water.

Later the two of them curled up on the couch to watch a movie. They fell asleep together, Kat's head resting in Quinn's lap.

4

Kat was dry-heaving in the bathroom when Quinn finally woke. She got up and knocked on the bathroom door.

'What's going on?'

Kat came out, her skin blanched, clutching her stomach.

'I don't think it was the weed,' she groaned.

'Did you eat something weird?'

'We better go to the chemist.'

'Let me get my shoes on.'

Normally Kat would have made herself more presentable for the outside world, but this morning she was clearly too distracted to bother. They walked in silence to the chemist.

Louisa was working the register when they arrived.

'Shit, why does she always have to be around when I'm in trouble?'

'What do you mean? You've probably just got a virus or something.'

'No, it's not that.' Kat stopped in front of the pregnancy tests.

'You're shitting me,' Quinn said.

'I wish I were. I remembered last night it's been a month since my last period. I've been puking a lot lately.' Kat picked up one of the tests. 'This will do. We'll have to do it at your house, my mum will only hassle me. I don't need that.'

She handed the box to Quinn.

'Can you buy it for me? I'm out of cash.'

'Plus it'll throw Louisa off, right? Make her think it's me and not you?'

'That'd be a bonus. I love you, Quinn.'

'Oh, I bet you do,' Quinn smiled sarcastically. Kat went outside while Quinn took the test to the till. Louisa smirked as she ran the package through the scanner on the counter.

'Who's the dad?'

'Fuck you, Louisa,' Quinn answered as she passed over a twenty.

'What happened? Did the condom break or were you too drunk to bother?'

'Like you're so responsible.'

Louisa dropped the packet into a paper bag and handed it to Quinn.

'I'll cross my fingers for you,' Louisa smiled. As Quinn was turning around, she almost bumped into Deborah Cunningham, the resident church freak. She was held in high stead at the local Catholic group that met every Sunday in the rec hall.

'Hello, Quinn,' she beamed. For someone who was so keen on holy rhetoric, Quinn thought Deborah wore more makeup than a prostitute. 'How's your mother? We've been praying for her.'

Quinn's own stomach was churning just being around that much piety.

'She's been better. I'll tell her you asked.'

'I was hoping she would come back to us. I'm sure she needs the Lord more than ever now. I know they didn't exactly provide His good word to her in the hospital.'

Quinn only wanted to punch the woman then.

'Well, she needs her medicine,' she said, holding up the bag. 'I better go.'

'Of course. God bless.'

Quinn ducked out of the main door and found Kat outside, smoking.

'What the hell happened in there? Louisa give you a grilling or something?'

'Worse. Mrs Cunningham cornered me with her church BS.'

'She didn't see you buying the test, did she?'

'I hope not. Last thing I need is for her telling everyone I'm pregnant.'

They got home without any more hindrances. Kat took the test into the bathroom and Quinn waited outside. Ina came down then, ignoring Quinn and going straight for the bathroom door.

'Kat's in there, mum. She'll be out soon.'

'I need the toilet. They locked mine when I was in hospital. You know I hate waiting.'

'I know, mum.'

'Fuck!' Kat called. 'I knew it.'

Quinn covered her face. 'Mum's out here, Kat.'

The door opened and Kat quickly put the test behind her back. Ina didn't care for Kat's new problem and shoved her aside, slamming the door behind herself. Kat handed Quinn the plastic strip and Quinn sighed at the sight of the two blue lines.

'We better get out of here.'

'Don't you have work?' Kat asked.

'Nah, today's my day off. C'mon.'

'What the hell is all this?' Ina re-emerged with the empty packaging and instructions in her hand.

'Shit,' Kat whispered.

'It's OK, mum. It was negative.'

'Good. I don't need a goddamn baby right now. From either of you.'

Ina shuffled off to the kitchen, tying her battered robe around her waist. The girls went outside and walked to the river.

'What the fuck am I going to do?' Kat said at last.

'I don't know. You can't afford to have a kid.'

'Can't afford to get rid of it. Jodie had an abortion a couple of years ago. Said it cost her seven hundred bucks.'

'Who do you think the dad is?'

'John. It has to be.'

They both sat on the riverbank and Kat stared out at the water. Quinn pulled on the end of her frayed jeans.

'Fuck. I can't be a mum. I'll have to talk to John. See if he'll give me the money.'

'Do you know where he is?'

'Charlie should have his address, right? We can drive up there, get the money, I'll get the procedure and we'll be back the next day.'

'I may not have enough for fuel.'

'Can Charlie give you more pay this week?'

'I can only ask.'

Kat rested her head on her arms. 'I feel like such a fucking idiot.'

'It could've happened to anyone, even Louisa.'

'I wish it happened to her. I don't know how you dealt with her smug, self-satisfied grin.'

'She didn't terrorise me half as much in school as she did you.'

'All because I fucked her boyfriend, who was about to dump her arse anyway. He couldn't stand the bitch.'

'We better go talk to Charlie. I take it you want this thing over with, quick.'

'The quicker the better.'

Quinn got up and hauled Kat to her feet. Still holding hands, they walked up the slope to the road. Charlie's place was a couple of streets away, and Quinn had no idea what to say while they walked. She tried to put herself in Kat's shoes, but it seemed pointless. She knew at least she would have come to the same conclusion. A baby would've kept her in Wakefield for far longer than she wanted to stay. She wouldn't be able to give up working. Her mother was enough of a child as it was.

Charlie wasn't out of bed when they arrived. Kat pelted on the door. When he finally emerged, he leaned on the doorframe, disgruntled and dishevelled.

'What do you want?'

'I need an advance on my pay,' Quinn said, 'and a couple of days off.'

'We also need John's address.'

'What did he do?'

'Nothing,' Kat snapped. 'We just really need to see him.'

'He's barely been gone two days.'

'Look, will you just give in?' Kat said, nearly stamping her foot.

'Fine, I can give you another week upfront. But you have to be back by Tuesday or you're both fired.'

Kat calmed down. 'What about the address?'

'Jesus, will you settle down. Who lit a fire in your underwear?'

'I got worse than a fire to put out, Charlie.'

'Oh shit,' he smirked. 'John got you pregnant, didn't he.'

'That's not it, Charlie,' Quinn snapped. 'He just owes Kat some money and he skipped out on her.'

'Bullshit. He doesn't owe anyone. If I remember rightly, you two got a lot of weed off him on tick that you never paid back.'

'We had an arrangement,' Kat retorted.

'Yeah, and so do we. So be back by Tuesday. Wait here, I'll get the address.' Charlie disappeared and Quinn listened to him rummage around in the hallway. He returned with a box of CDs and a slip of paper.

'If you're going you may as well drop this off.' He handed the box to Quinn and gave the slip of paper to Kat. 'I was going to take it next time I went up, but I don't know when that'll be. Come by the store later today I'll give you the money.'

He shut the door on them, not bothering with a goodbye.

'That could've gone a lot worse,' Quinn said, uselessly.

'I need to talk to Jodie, get the number of that clinic in the city she went to.'

'We better go back and get the car, I'm not walking all the way out there.'

Wakefield was a small town with a few suburbs that stretched out a fair distance. Most houses were on large blocks, which were bordered by asbestos fences. Jodie lived in Wakefield Heights. Back at Quinn's house, they got into her mother's car and drove the ten streets to Jodie's place. Her dog barked at them through the gate as they pulled up. Jodie was on her veranda, smoking, a can of Beam and Coke beside her. Her bleached blonde hair was in a ponytail and she was only wearing a Soundgarden shirt and a tiny pair of cotton shorts. She was also sporting a sunburn. Quinn knew Jodie lived with a couple of other girls, who were a few years older. One of them worked at the chicken boning factory with Will.

'What's up?' Jodie asked as she skipped down the path towards them. Kat got out.

'I got some bad news this morning. I need to go to that clinic in the city.'

'Shit, that is bad news.'

'Do you still have the number?' Quinn asked.

'Yeah I have a card somewhere. Come in, I'll find it.'

Quinn popped her door open, but didn't bother locking up once she was out. Her mother's car was a piece of junk no one would think of stealing.

Jodie's place was dark and smelled of cigarettes, even though Jodie smoked outside, the other girls insisted on polluting the house with their bongs and cigarettes. Boxes lined the passageway. The living room had a few old couches and an ancient TV set. Kat perched herself on one of the couches and tapped her foot, incessantly.

'If you want a Beam, help yourselves,' Jodie hollered. Quinn didn't sit down. She was eager to get the number and go.

'I hope I can get an appointment for tomorrow.'

'I heard they just run a production line. Think of it like being boned in the chicken factory.' Quinn wasn't proud of her statement, and Kat only smirked dryly. Jodie returned with the card.

'You can use my phone if you want.'

'Nah, that's cool. We'll just use a pay phone.' Kat took the card.

'Who's the daddy?' Jodie asked.

'John. I'll have to hit him up for the money.'

Jodie grunted, unsurprised. 'He'll give it to you. Last thing that guy needs is to be paying off a kid.'

They left Jodie with her drink after Kat gave her a hug. Quinn stood awkwardly by while they shared goodbyes.

There was one pay phone outside Wakefield Heights near the high school. Quinn parked beside it and stayed in the car while Kat got out.

'Can you come with me?'

'Sure, I guess. Don't know what you need me for.'

'In case they start asking stupid questions. And I need some change.'

Quinn sighed and got out, pulling out her purse, which was usually jammed with coins. They both squeezed into the doorless booth and Quinn fed the coins in the slot before Kat dialled the number off the card. After a couple of rings, someone picked up. Quinn strained to hear the voice.

'Family Planning, this is Dora.'

'Hi,' Kat muttered. 'I need to make an appointment.'

'May I ask what for? We have a number of services here.'

Kat covered the receiver. 'I don't want to say abortion,' she panicked.

'Say termination,' Quinn whispered.

'Ah, termination,' Kat said, removing her hand. 'Do you have any appointments for tomorrow?'

'I can book you in at two. You have the option of seeing a counsellor before the procedure.'

'No, that's fine. I'll be OK.'

'Do you have insurance?'

Kat stared blankly at Quinn, who shrugged. 'No. I don't think so,' she said at last.

'Then you'll need to pay upfront when you arrive. We'll see you at two tomorrow.'

'Thanks.' Kat hung up and sighed. 'I hope Jodie was right about John.'

'Maybe I can convince Charlie to give me two weeks up front.'

Kat suddenly hugged Quinn. 'I don't know what I'd do without you.'

Quinn drove them to the video store. Charlie was at the counter and Philip was stacking DVDs in the drama section. Some action movie Quinn had yet to see was blaring on the TV. Otherwise the store was empty. Kat hovered by the door while Quinn spoke to Charlie.

'I'll need two weeks.'

'Why?'

'It's personal, Charlie. Jesus. I got a lot of shit going on right now.'

'OK, fine. But you're not asking me again. You know how slow business has been.'

'It's not my fault people download movies. Maybe if you didn't jack up the prices all the time.'

Charlie handed her the cash from the register. Philip appeared from behind the shelves and caught them.

'It's not payday.'

'Extenuating circumstances. Some people are just irresponsible.'

Kat held up her middle finger. 'Shut up, Charlie. You still owe me a day's pay anyway.'

Charlie sighed and took out a fifty. Kat folded it and put it down her top. Quinn stuffed the money into her purse and led Kat out, already weary from the tension. Out in the parking lot, Louisa approached them. Quinn guessed she'd just finished her shift. She cornered Kat before they could get to the car.

'How'd the test turn out, Quinn?'

'None of your business, Louisa,' Kat said flatly.

Louisa only laughed. 'I knew it was for you, Kat. Quinn wouldn't be stupid enough to get knocked up.'

'Leave it alone, would you,' Quinn warned.

Louisa leaned against one of the pillars by the entrance to the shopping centre and took out her phone, tucking back her curly ebony hair behind her ear. Her thumb quickly danced over the buttons. 'Maybe you two can move in together and be the first lesbian couple in town to have a baby. That'd be cute.'

Kat walked up to Louisa and shoved her against the pillar.

'Get over yourself.'

Louisa balked. 'Hormonal much?'

Quinn dragged Kat to the car. 'You think you're so fucking special!' Kat yelled.

'Least I'm going to uni in the city next year. I'll be out of here and you'll just rot with the rest of the trash.'

Once they were in the car, Quinn finally spoke. 'Why do you let her get to you? You know she's just a little self-righteous bitch.'

'That's the whole point. If she just kept her damn mouth shut.' Kat took out a cigarette and rolled down the passenger side window. She puffed away indignantly while Quinn drove in silence. Quinn hadn't made as many enemies in school as Kat had, and she wondered if Kat got a thrill out of being antagonised. She'd pulled Kat out of a dozen cat-fights at least.

Back at Quinn's place, Ina was in the living room, crying into her hands. Quinn wondered when the drama was finally going to end. Kat hovered in the living room doorway while Quinn sat next to her mother and cradled her.

'What happened, mum?'

Ina didn't speak. Her face was wet and her unkempt hair fell about her eyes.

'I miss your dad,' she said at last.

'I know, mum, but you know he's not coming home. He left us.'

Ina sniffed. 'I know that. Those damn pills. I can't remember what day it is half the time.'

'You have to keep talking them, or you'll only get worse.'

'Can you make me a coffee?'

'Sure.'

Quinn got up and went to the kitchen. Kat followed behind her.

'Maybe you should call her doctor,' Kat suggested while Quinn flicked on the kettle. She got out three mugs and started spooning coffee into each of them in turn. Kat got out the milk.

'We have to get out of this place, Quinn. I can't spend the rest of my life here. Kid or no kid.'

'Well we're not going to uni.'

'Who gives a fuck about uni? We can get jobs somewhere else. John did.'

'Let's just deal with your problem first.'

The kettle clicked off and Quinn poured the water into the mugs. Kat took a cup to Ina, who was now staring at the wall. She didn't look at Kat as she took the mug from her hands.

'Mum,' Quinn said as she returned. 'Kat and I need to go to the city for a couple of days'

'Why?' Ina croaked.

'We're going to look for work,' Kat lied. Quinn shot her a look.

'So you're leaving me, too?' Ina wiped her eyes and stared at Quinn.

'We don't know yet,' Kat said. 'We just want to see what our chances are.'

'No, that's fine,' Ina sneered as she got up. 'I'm obviously too much of a burden.'

Quinn sighed. 'It's not like that, mum.'

Ina ignored Quinn and went to her room.

'Why did you tell her that?' Quinn snapped at Kat.

'Well, I wasn't going to tell her the truth, was I? Besides, when we get back we can just say we didn't find anything.'

Quinn slumped on the couch and sipped her coffee. 'I don't think I'll ever be able to leave her alone.'

'You'll have to. She'll get better eventually.'

'Sometimes I wonder if she will. Nothing makes her happy.'

'You can't feel responsible for her forever, Quinn. You're not her mother.'

'I know that. But I'm all she has now. Dad couldn't take her mood swings.'

Kat sat next to her and put her coffee cup on the floor before putting her arm around Quinn.

'You do everything for her. And me. You deserve to be happy, too.'

Quinn rested her head on Kat's shoulder.

'I don't even know what I want. I just wish she'd get better so I can make up my mind.'

'She should get a job. Get out of the house.'

'There's no way she'd cope. She can seem ok for days then she just falls apart. If she has another manic episode, they would probably fire her. It's too hard to make people understand how sick she really is.'

Kat kissed Quinn's hair.

'That idiot Mrs Cunningham thinks her God will fix anything,' Quinn said.

'Don't even mention her to me. She's been trying to shove a bible down my throat for years.' Kat went quiet for a while then said, 'We'll have to leave early so we can get to John's before two.'

'I know. Try not to worry. We'll make it in time.'

'Thank you for this. I owe you big.'

'It's OK. You'd do the same for me. I know that.'

'True, but you're not as stupid as I am.'

5

Quinn knew it would take at least an hour and a half to get the city on the new highway. John's address was just outside the city, but the clinic was further out. They stopped off at Kat's to get her things, hoping they could sneak out before Tess caught them. They weren't so lucky. Tess stopped them at the front door.

'Where have you been, Kat?'

'Just at Quinn's.'

'And where the hell are you going now?'

'We're going to the city to look for work.'

'What about your job here?'

'They haven't called me for nearly a week.' Kat opened the door. 'We're running late, mum. We have to go.'

'I'll talk to you when you get back, alright?'

'Sure, fine. We'll talk.' Kat got in and Quinn waved weakly at Tess, who was leaning on the doorframe, her arms folded, unimpressed.

Once they were on the road, Kat let out her breath.

'She'd fucking kill me if she knew the truth.'

Quinn took out a tape from the glove box and shoved it in the deck.

'I think she would have understood if you'd given her a chance.'

'No way. She wouldn't be able to let it go. God, I can't wait for this to be over.'

Little else was exchanged on the rest of the trip. Kat quietly sang along with the tape, which was a mix of grunge bands they'd loved in high school. Quinn was grateful nothing this awful had happened in school. They'd both managed to get graduate certificates, since uni wasn't an option, even with her dad's income. She didn't envy Louisa going to school in the city, just the fact she was getting out of Wakefield.

The city eventually appeared over the horizon. Kat rubbed her hands on her skirt and stared ahead.

'How close are we to John's?' she asked as the tape ran out and ejected itself from the deck.

'Not far. What's the time?'

'Nearly twelve.'

'Don't worry, we'll make it.'

Quinn pulled off the freeway at last. Finding John's place was easy enough. Quinn parked outside the small townhouse and Kat all but raced to the front door. After she knocked for almost a minute, John emerged.

'What the fuck, Kat?'

'I need a favour. Can we come in?'

Quinn followed Kat inside. The living room was small and a flight of stairs was close by. She could see the kitchen from where she stood. John plonked himself down on the couch and picked up his Xbox controller, unpausing Call of Duty.

'I need some cash, like, now.' Kat blurted.

'Look, I was happy to let your little debts slide, but that's it. I'm not forking out anymore.'

'I'm pregnant, you arsehole.'

John paused the game and glared at her. 'And that's my problem... how exactly?'

'Well, you're the only one I've been screwing lately, so it is your problem. Exactly yours.'

John wiped his face and groaned. 'Fucking hell, woman.'

'I'm on my way to get rid of it but they want the cash up front. I'm sorry.'

Quinn started biting her nails. John sighed and got up off the couch. He went to a small box by the TV and opened it.

'This is our rent money. New room mate's gonna love me. It's only four hundred.'

'I think I have the rest,' Quinn announced.

'Next time you're up here, I want that back.'

'I thought the house got you a pretty packet,' Quinn said, kicking herself the moment the words left her mouth.

'Payment's going straight on a house up here, soon as it comes through. Plus I obviously haven't gotten paid yet. I'm not a fucking bank or anything.'

Kat went to John and kissed his lips before hugging him. He reciprocated the hug with some reluctance.

'Can we crash here tonight? We're supposed to be looking for jobs.'

'Yeah, fine. I'm sure Mitch won't mind. You'll have to sleep out here, though.'

Kat kissed his cheek and Quinn took her hand.

'We better bail if we want to find that clinic in time,' she said.

'Thanks, John. You're a champ,' Kat smiled.

Out in the car, Kat counted the money. 'I knew we could count on him.'

'You were lucky. We do owe John more than that for weed and pills.'

'I thought my expert blowjobs were payment enough.'

'You can't pay the rent with BJs, Kat.'

Quinn started up the car and they drove back to the freeway. Finding the clinic was the harder chore. She took two wrong turns thanks to Kat's inexpert map reading. Checking the clock on the car, she tried not to swear at Kat. With only a few minutes to spare, they got to the clinic. Kat practically ran inside.

The woman at the front desk gave Kat a clipboard with a form attached and they found some spare seats between a heavily pregnant woman and a girl about their age who was gnawing on her fingernails, clearly petrified. Kat shot Quinn a glance and Quinn squeezed her hand.

When the form was complete, Kat went and handed it in. She took out John's money and Quinn gave over the rest.

'We're running a little late,' the woman at the desk told Kat as she counted out the money.

'That's fine. We can wait.'

The pregnant woman glanced up from her magazine to scowl a little at Kat. Kat only glared back, and Quinn had to silence her before she came up with an insult. The woman was called away by one of the nurses, leaving them with the nervous girl. Quinn picked up a magazine and flicked through it while Kat's leg bounced. The nervous girl was up next, and she hurried down the corridor with the nurse in tow.

'God, how much longer will this take?' Kat murmured.

'Just relax. There's nothing you can do about it.'

The nurse returned.

'Kat Harrigan? The doctor is ready for you.'

Kat quickly kissed Quinn and shot out of her chair, dashing away almost as quickly as the other girl had. The receptionist smiled at her.

'Don't worry. Dr Jenkins will take care of her.'

Quinn flashed an awkward smile and looked down at her magazine. She hadn't looked at the cover, and it took her a moment to realise it was a magazine for new and expectant mothers. She glanced over some of the articles, cringing over the mention of breast tenderness and chronic indigestion. She was glad she'd played it safe with the few guys she had been with.

Another woman entered with a pram containing a chubby boy with ashen hair. He stared at Quinn while the woman spoke with the receptionist. It only made her think of what Kat's baby would have ended up looking like. She imagined a girl with Kat's tiny nose and John's grey-blue eyes. What she couldn't imagine was either of them being responsible parents.

Kat emerged over an hour later, pale and wide-eyed. Quinn went to her and carefully ushered her out to the car. When they were inside, Kat burst into tears.

'God that was horrible,' she complained.

'It's over now.'

'I know. Don't ever want to do that again. The doctor was creepy as hell. And the chick with the dope just glared at me. I felt like a monster.'

'You did what you thought was right, Kat.' Quinn squeezed her knee then started up the car.

'They just gave me some painkillers and a pack of maxi-pads. Said when the pills wear off it'll just be like bad cramps.'

'I'll tell John to be nice to you.'

'He's the lucky one. Guys always get off easy. None of this bullshit for them.'

Quinn pulled out of the clinic's parking lot. She drove them around aimlessly, the car stereo blaring. Kat simply stared out of the window, wiping her eyes intermittently. Quinn eventually pulled into a drive-thru and ordered them some food. She parked out the front a huge suburban shopping centre and passed a burger to Kat, who nibbled on it, absently.

'They did an ultrasound, to check if I was really pregnant. Said it was just like a little cyst. I couldn't see anything.'

'Are you gonna be OK? You're pretty maudlin right now.'

'I'll get over it. There's no way I could've had it. I'd be a shitty mother.'

'You never know,' Quinn said hopelessly, despite what she'd thought earlier in the clinic.

'I'll pay you back, and John. Maybe Charlie can give me some more hours.'

'Don't worry about it now. Main thing is it's over.'

'I need a drink,' Kat said.

'Should you really be drinking on those painkillers?'

'Probably not. But I really don't care at this point. Is there any money left over?'

Quinn checked her purse. 'This was for petrol.'

'That's fine. John's bound to have something at his place.'

Quinn drove them back to John's, where he was outside, smoking and talking to another guy who John introduced the girls to as Mitch as they sauntered up. Kat kept her head low.

'Got any Jacks, man?' she asked John.

'Inside. Are we having a party?'

'Yeah, it's a total riot my end.' Kat disappeared inside.

'She's not in the best of places right now,' Quinn told him. Mitch seemed disinterested. He eyed Quinn up and down.

'You two spending all his rent money on drugs or something?' Mitch asked.

'I wish,' Quinn smirked. 'Just had some shit to take care of. Nothing serious.'

'Yeah, nothing serious,' John said.

Quinn found Kat in the kitchen pouring a large measure of Jack Daniels into a tall glass. She downed the drink then started pouring another.

'The cramps have started,' she said before Quinn could make a comment. John came in and turned on some music while Mitch wandered in, staring at Quinn. She instantly disliked him. Between his skinny black jeans and his long, heavy metal hair, Quinn could find little that was attractive about the guy. Quinn rubbed her arms nervously while Kat poured everyone a drink. They sat about the living room in silence for a moment, until Mitch decided to speak.

'You guys from John's old town?'

'Yeah, Wakefield,' Quinn answered, swallowing her drink and wincing. She hated drinking, but she liked being drunk. Normally she would have been mixing her whiskey with Coke, but she didn't want to put John out anymore. John took out a bag of weed and started rolling a joint. Kat looked on, almost desperately.

'It's alright, you can have some,' John cooed. Kat took the joint and sparked it up, taking a long, hungry drag before passing it to Mitch. Quinn was still conscious of Mitch's gaze, especially on her. As the night wore on and the music played softly in the background, Mitch's attention fell on Kat. John got up to have a cigarette outside, and Quinn followed him out.

'Thanks for helping us out, man. Kat was freaked.'

'Well, I don't need a kid right now. I'm guessing neither does she.'

'No way.'

'You guys should move up here. Get out of Wakefield.'

'I can't leave my mum,' Quinn said. 'She's too sick.'

'She needs to get it together. Your dad's been gone for years. Can't she just get over it?'

'It's not that easy for her. She has nothing besides me.'

'I think you want her to stay sick. Gives you a reason not to do anything with your own life.'

'Believe me, I'd cut off my own foot if it meant she'd get better. I don't want to stay in Wakefield until I'm dead. I can't be forty and still working the till at the video store.'

'If you were, I'd come back and smack you across the head.'

Quinn laughed. 'Thanks.' She couldn't get mad at John's honesty. He'd always been brutal, something she found appealing about him. He had all the courage she lacked, all the conviction she wanted. He found a way out and took it, no questions asked. She couldn't resent him for that.

'Get the fuck off me,' Kat shouted inside. Quinn went back in to see Mitch getting pelted by Kat.

'Hey man, relax,' Mitch laughed. 'What's your problem?'

'I've had a bitch of a day, I don't need this.' Kat stormed up the stairs and John went after her. Mitch only shrugged.

'She's way more uptight than John let on.'

'Well, she's gone through a lot,' Quinn snapped. 'Not that it's any of your business.'

'Whatever.' Mitch held up his hands. Quinn sat down and listened to Kat yelling upstairs. The yelling turned to sobbing, but Quinn didn't want to go up. John could take care of it. Quinn picked up her drink and swallowed it down.

'I thought you country girls loved to party,' Mitch said.

Quinn only glared at him and he got up and went to the kitchen. She wished he would just disappear. She was getting tired from the weed, and desperately wanted to lie down. She considered calling her mother, but realised it was too late and she was most likely asleep. She made the decision then they'd be gone first thing in the morning.

John came back down.

'She just passed out on my bed. I'll sleep down here tonight.'

'She shouldn't have been drinking,' Quinn sighed. 'Heavy duty painkillers.'

'Well, I'm turning in,' Mitch announced. 'You guys are boring the shit out of me.' He trotted upstairs and Quinn kept an eye on where he went, hoping he wasn't considering taking advantage of Kat's comatose state.

John took out some blankets and pillows from a cupboard under the stairs. Quinn was grateful when John spread one of the blankets over her as she lay down. He kissed her cheek and she shivered a little.

'Kat's only going to end up more messed up if she stays where she is.'

'I don't want to think about it now. It's been a long day.' Quinn yawned and John shifted away from her to lay down on the other couch. She was asleep in seconds.

6

John wasn't around when Quinn woke. She got up and went upstairs to Kat, who was splayed out on John's bed. The door to the other bedroom was wide open, and Mitch was nowhere to be seen, something she was grateful for. Quinn shook Kat and she moaned into the pillow.

'We better go,' Quinn murmured.

'Where the fuck are we?' Kat said, wiping drool from her lip.

'John's, remember?'

'How much did I drink?'

'Enough, clearly. We better get back. I'm not sure mum will remember to take her pills.'

Kat pushed herself up and Quinn held on to her as they went down the stairs. She only had to pull the door closed behind them to lock it. Once they were in the car, she took off for the highway, trying not to speed. Kat slept the entire way home, and Quinn was wondering if she hadn't poisoned herself with pills and booze.

It was midmorning when they arrived back at Quinn's. Kat woke up with a start when Quinn cut the engine. Getting out, Quinn saw the front door was wide open. She walked up the stairs to the veranda and stood in the doorway.

'Mum! Are you here?'

Kat came up behind her. 'Doesn't your mum usually lock the whole place down every night?'

'Yeah, she does. What the hell is going on? Mum?'

Quinn checked the living room and the kitchen while Kat went upstairs.

'Quinn! Come up here, now!' Kat shouted. Quinn raced upstairs to her mother's room, where her mother was lying beside an empty packet of medication.

'Shit, mum!' Quinn lunged forward and grabbed Ina's shoulders, shaking her violently. She put her ear to Ina's mouth, and could feel the faintest breath on her skin. 'Call a fucking ambulance, Kat.'

Kat raced downstairs while Quinn shook Ina awake. Ina moaned and stirred, lifting her head groggily.

'I'm sleeping,' she mumbled.

'No, you're not, you're being stupid. Sit up.'

'Leave me alone, I'm tired.' Ina fell back against the pillow and shut her eyes. Kat ran back up.

'The ambulance is on its way.'

Ina lurched forward suddenly and threw up all over her lap. Quinn backed away and sighed while Ina started to cry.

'It's ok, mum. We'll clean it up.'

The paramedics arrived as Quinn was helping Ina into some clean clothes.

'What are they doing here?' Ina yelled.

'You're sick from the pills, mum.'

'I'm fine. Go away,' she said to the two guys standing in her bedroom doorway. 'I'm not going with you.'

'She tried to kill herself,' Kat told them.

One of the paramedics stepped forward. 'Why don't you come downstairs, we'll check you out.'

'No,' Ina screamed. 'Get out! Leave me alone.'

'We just want to make sure you're ok,' the second paramedic responded, calmly.

'I told you I'm fine.' She pointed behind them at the stairs. 'Get the hell out! You better not bill me for this.'

Quinn approached them and ushered them out. Downstairs, she sheepishly explained her mother's story.

'She passed out. Look, I'm really sorry.'

'We need her to sign a waiver stating she didn't want to come with us,' the second paramedic said, who was considerably older and more annoyed than the first.

'She'll do it.'

'You might want to call her doctor. Get some advice,' the first paramedic told her. She saw his name tag, Tim.

'Thanks,' she mumbled as she took the waiver. Back upstairs, Ina scratched her signature on the page and slapped it back in Quinn's hands.

'Make sure they don't charge us.'

'I'll talk to them.'

Kat hovered behind them, looking guilty. Quinn had to get rid of the paramedics. Outside, she handed them the waiver.

'Listen, can you please just wipe this from the record? She was really out of it.'

'Can't promise anything,' the annoyed paramedic said. She checked his name tag as well. Josh.

'I thought I was doing the right thing.'

'You did,' Tim smiled. 'If they're conscious we can't make them do anything. Give her doctor a call.'

'I will.'

They got back in the ambulance and drove off, leaving her defeated on the front lawn. Back inside, she quickly dialled the number of Ina's doctor. His receptionist answered.

'Is Dr Bailey there?'

'May I ask who's calling?'

'Quinn Davis. My mum, Ina, she took a whole heap of pills.'

'I'll see if he's free.'

She got less than a minute of annoying hold music, then Dr Bailey came on the line.

'The receptionist told me. What did she take?'

'I don't know, I wasn't really looking. She threw up and she's acting fine now but I don't know what to do.'

'I can see her now if you bring her by to the emergency room.'

'She won't come. She wouldn't get in the ambulance.'

'See if you can talk her round. She may need readmitting.'

'I don't think she'll agree to it.'

'Do what you can. She needs another evaluation.'

'I'll try.'

'Why don't you call your dad? He may be able to help.'

Quinn sighed and tried not to come up with an excuse not to call her father, quickly coming up short.

'I'll see what he can do.'

'You're doing the right thing, Quinn. Ina's obviously not responding to treatment. Do you know what may have triggered this?'

She glanced up the stairs to where Kat was standing on the landing. Her mother emerged from behind.

'I don't know. I only left her alone for a night.'

'We can take care of her, Quinn, if she's too much for you.'

'I know. Thanks.' She hung up the call.

'Who were you talking to?' Ina asked.

'Nobody, mum. Go have a shower, you're probably dehydrated.'

'I'll help her out.' Kat walked with Ina down to the bathroom.

Quinn took the phone out to the kitchen and called her dad's mobile. Someone else picked it up.

'Jim's phone.'

'Hi, I need to talk to Jim. It's kind of an emergency.'

She heard whomever she was talking to call out to her dad, and a moment later he started talking.

'Who's this?'

'Dad, it's Quinn. Mum took a bunch of pills and the doc wants her to be readmitted. Kat called an ambulance but she refused to get in.'

'And what do you expect me to do about it?'

'I don't know, dad. Maybe you could talk to her. Convince her to go back to the hospital. I only left her alone for one night.'

'Shit, Quinn... Fine, I'll talk to her now.'

Quinn gripped the phone, desperately trying not to throw it at the wall. She went into the bathroom where Ina was sitting naked on the edge of the bathtub with the shower running behind her. Quinn handed her the phone.

'It's dad. He wants to talk to you.'

Her mum all but snatched the phone from Quinn's hand. She dragged Kat out and shut the door.

'You shouldn't have told her we were looking for work,' Quinn murmured.

'I'm sorry, but I didn't know she'd do this.'

'Look, forget it. This is too much. I don't need this.'

Kat went to hug her, but Quinn pushed her away.

'I gotta deal with this.'

'Fine, be a bitch. It's not like I fed her the pills.' Kat marched out, and Quinn fell against the wall, trying not to scream. She heard the shower go off. Ina came out in her robe.

'Take me to the hospital.'

'Are you sure?' Quinn said tentatively.

'Your dad said he'd come back if I go to the hospital. So take me.'

'They will keep you there, you know that?'

'Fine, just take me there now.'

'OK. Pack a bag and I'll drive you there.'

7

Quinn waited in the emergency room with Ina for her doctor to arrive. They were alone behind the curtain, her mother sitting up in the bed with a hospital gown on. Her bag was sloppily packed and sitting beside the bed. Quinn was grateful her mum had calmed down considerably since the paramedics had left, but she knew in her bones her father's promise to return was completely bogus. She could barely console herself with the fact the lie was necessary to achieve an end. Ina was where she needed to be.

Dr Bailey finally appeared, drawing back the curtain. Ina sat up a little more while the doctor went over the notes.

'You seemed to have cleared most of the drugs from your system, but I'm glad you packed a bag.'

'My husband said he would come home if I came here.'

Dr Bailey mirrored Quinn's look of concern at this and asked to speak to Quinn privately. Quinn acquiesced, kissing Ina's cheek then going out with the doctor. He closed the curtain and drew Quinn out of her mother's earshot.

'Is your father coming back?'

Quinn shook her head, solemnly.

'He must've only said it so she would come here. I didn't ask him to say that, just to convince her to go. You'll need to try harder with her this time. I can't cope with her living at home. I only went away for one night to help a friend. I have to go to work. I'm pretty much supporting her right now.'

'We'll do what we can, but it'll take a while.'

'Fine.'

'I'm concerned we may have to try ECT. I've gone through every medication possible and she's not showing signs of improvement.'

Quinn felt her whole body stiffen at the mention of the procedure. Her biggest fear was they would end up frying her mother's brain to get a result out of her. She let out her breath at last.

'Do what you have to.'

'I'll go prepare her admission paperwork now. I'd suggest not visiting for a few days while we assess and stabilise her.'

'Suits me. Can I say goodbye first?'

'Of course.'

Dr Bailey left then and Quinn returned to Ina.

'I have to go, mum. Dr Bailey's getting you organised for a bed now. I'll come back and see you in a few days.'

'Why not tomorrow?' Ina asked, clearly heartbroken.

'The doctor said you need a few days rest. It'll be good for you.'

'Ok. You better go home and clean up so your dad can move his stuff back in.'

Quinn felt sick as she hugged Ina and kissed her goodbye. Out in the parking lot, she sat at the wheel, bawling with the realisation her father's lie was going cause more damage than good.

8

Sometimes Jodie was a more reliable friend than Kat was to Quinn. She was out on her veranda when Quinn pulled up to her house. The stereo was louder than usual and her bulky looking black dog, Jax, was sniffing around Jodie's feet. He started barking when Quinn arrived. Jodie settled the dog as Quinn got out and went up the veranda steps

'What you doin' here?' Jodie asked.

Quinn leaned against the railing. The dog was desperate to get near Quinn and sniff her but Jodie held his collar.

'You look like hell,' Jodie commented.

'Yeah, I just put my mum back in hospital. She took a bunch of pills while Kat and I were in the city sorting out the baby situation.'

'Fuck. That's heavy.'

'What's heavy was my dad lied about coming home so she would agree to being admitted. He's not coming home and they're probably going to zap her as well with ECT.' Quinn sighed. 'I feel like leaving her there and taking off. I don't want to deal with this anymore.'

'It's probably not a bad idea. Your mum needs to get her shit together. She's been living in her head for so long now.'

'I don't know where I'd go. Has Kat been by? We kinda had a fight earlier.'

'Nah, I've not seen her. How did she go at the clinic?'

'She was pretty broken up after. Would've been a lot to come back to my mum's bullshit after. I should call her.'

'Don't worry about her too much, you know what she's like. Give it a few days. In the meantime, you can chill at home without worrying about mummy dearest. Did you want a stick of weed to see you through?'

'I should be ok. Thanks for the offer.'

Jax the dog let out another bark as Quinn left them alone.

The minute she was home, she picked up the phone and called her father. She barely let him say hello.

'Why did you tell mum you'd come home for good? I didn't tell you to say that.'

'What do you mean? I said I'd come and visit her and stay with you if you needed me to.'

'She's interpreted that as you coming back. She thinks if she admitted herself you'd dump your girlfriend and get back with her. She thinks you're moving in.'

'I can't be held accountable for her misunderstandings and delusions. She's insane. I'm not taking responsibility for that. You'll have to explain to her that's not what I meant.'

'Jesus, thanks a lot. She'll probably want to kill herself even more when I tell her.'

'Look, Quinn, I have a new life now. I've tried to help you and your mother, but Kirsten is pregnant again. I have to focus on that.'

'Congratulations and fuck you too.' Quinn slammed down the phone, but managed to refrain from throwing it across the room. A knock came at the door a moment later, and she almost ripped out the handle when she opened it. Kat was standing there, her face dark and sad.

'Hi, Quinn.'

'Hi.' Quinn struggled to drop her aggressive veneer.

'Hey, I'm sorry about before with your mum. Guess I was still in a shit mood from the procedure.'

Quinn finally softened. 'It's ok. Mum's in hospital now. That's the main thing.'

'How did you get her to go?'

'I don't want to talk about that. Come in. I need a coffee.'

Kat moved inside and Quinn headed to the kitchen.

'So what happens now?' Kat asked as she sat at the table.

'Dunno. Hopefully the docs will do something for her this time. I don't want her home until she's well.'

'Maybe I could stay with you here. What do you think?'

'You can if you want. My dad said he'd drop in but I don't really want that. Turns out his girlfriend is pregnant now.'

'Christ. That's all you need.'

'It doesn't really matter to me. I got past him leaving years ago. It's mum that will have the problem with it. I won't tell her though. Not yet.'

The water finished boiling and Quinn poured it into two mugs over the spoonfuls of cheap instant coffee. She was relieved to find some milk that hadn't expired in the fridge. Setting down the cups, she sat at the table and held her head.

'I have to keep telling myself her being there is a good thing. She's safe. But I don't want this life anymore. I don't want to care for her. Jodie reckons I should just take off.'

'She's right. I say we just do it.'

'I can't just up and leave. Tempting as it is. Mum's car wouldn't make it far enough anyway.'

Kat sighed. 'I have to think things through. Between the baby thing and seeing your mum all messed up... I don't want to fuck things up anymore.'

'No one wants to fuck up. It just happens. I don't think my mum was ever really well. Dad leaving only made it more obvious. I sometimes wonder if I'll end up like her, too.'

'Not if you don't want to. You're not crazy like her.'

'But what if something terrible happens? Maybe I'll go off the deep end the way she did.'

'You deal with things much better than she does. You've always been stronger than her. Smarter, too.'

'Maybe I'll do a course or something. Hopefully that'll make it easier to find a real job.'

'We could do something together.'

'Yeah, we could.' Quinn took in a mouthful of coffee, swallowed hard and sighed heavily. 'I shouldn't think about this now, I'm too tired.'

Kat looked into her cup, as if she were searching for answers in the dregs that floated on top. 'Thanks for going with me to the city. I couldn't have done it alone. John wouldn't have taken me.'

'It's ok. Just don't let it happen again.'

'I'm gonna be celibate for a long time now. Least with guys anyway.'

Quinn smirked and rubbed Kat's hand.

Later that night, the two of them lay awake in Quinn's room. Kat was sprawled out on the mattress on the floor.

'We'll have to leave sometime. You know that, right?' Kat said at last.

'I do. I know I keep saying I can't go, but I've fantasised about running almost every day. Hopping a bus somewhere. Hitching, even. Anything to get out.'

'I used to imagine some guy riding into town on a motorbike. He would stop and wait for me to get on, not saying anything. I didn't even have to know who he was, just that he was getting me the fuck out of here. We'd ride off, but I never really imagined where we'd end up. It was just the idea of going that turned me on more than anything.'

Quinn didn't respond to this. She was closing her eyes then, making the fantasy Kat had described in her head with her own stranger. She pictured his eyes, his hair, his face. He looked kind but mysterious. She didn't hesitate running to him. She saw everyone she knew trying to stop her. And she didn't picture where she went with him. The moment was too perfect. She played it as many times as she could to forget she would still be waking up in her own bed the next day, with the same fucking problems... and for how much longer, she could only guess.

Time

Based, unfortunately, on actual events

1

Time is a precious thing, yet Jeffrey is squandering his in this vacancy. His fingers, usually nimble, now bordering on arthritic and useless from the drugs, fumble to roll his cigarette. His thumb will struggle to ignite his lighter, he won't get any real relief from the hit, and he can't have a snifter of something to settle his jangled nerves.

He waits for breakfast. You can't eat before seven thirty and you're awake at five, so that's your problem. There's free coffee, what more do you want? He waits for his pills. Morning routines are hindered by other patients. His world wakes up and soon he'll be fed his medication that will have his head fuzzy enough to go back to bed. Then he'll be forced up again for therapy at ten.

And so it goes. Meals, groups, meds. Lights out. That's the day gone. Multiply by five, that's your week, wasted.

Weekends, the therapy room is closed, obviously. The weekend skeleton staff leave a couple of newspapers out and unlock the board games — with their missing pieces and torn rulebooks — and leave them on the table in the rec room.

He writes to ignore the others and their stupid comments. Their ignorances. He's not one of them, he doesn't think the way they do. The TV blares, now with cheap cable, more channels to bore him and dozens more locked out.

Nothing works. Inside his body, all is a mess. Two weeks after starting his new meds, he can just take a piss, but a comfortable shit is out of the question. As for his dick, it's less responsive to the visions he has in his head of his love long gone.

Jeffrey is in a locked unisex ward. It's a modern hospital, and there's a bed shortage issue, so the state allows for this. Some of the inmates ("patients" doesn't fit in this context, not in his mind) have shady backgrounds that they've yet to be sprung for. There's one who stalks a younger girl, constantly trying to coax her somewhere secluded so he can grab at her middle and push himself up against her. She keeps her head down, demanding he leave her alone and heading to her room where she cries into her pillow, feeling abandoned.

Jeffrey likes her, so he keeps his distance and observes. He incriminates the stalker, tells the orderlies to keep a better eye on him whenever he's around her. This rotation may pay attention, the next will forget, the head of staff that day neglecting to put it in the notes.

So then he's unwittingly assigned to being her protector. She's only twenty-two. The stalker; the tall, slightly hunched, leering piece of shit, is pushing thirty. Our hero in this is thirty-five and feels eighty. Doped up and ineffectual.

Carolyn, the damsel, returns to the rec room with her book and curls up on one of the battered armchairs. The stalker stops in the doorway, hovers, staring without blinking and finally says her name. She doesn't react.

'Fuck off, Charles,' our hero says to him. 'Leave her alone.'

Jeffrey has bulk and can square Charles off, and he doesn't need to stand to prove it. Now he's introducing himself as a threat to this pervert, it works to good effect. Charles retreats, scowling and suspicious he'll lose his girl to him. Carolyn looks up at the door, sees the threat now gone, and turns her attention to Jeffrey.

'Thank you,' she mumbles.

He makes a smile, or rather some simulacrum of a smile. Crooked, awkward. Creepy. Though not as creepy as Charles, it seems.

She doesn't shy from him. 'What's your name?' she asks him.

'Jeffrey,' our hero just manages to answer.

She's warming to him, and she approaches, her thumb in the place of her book. She sits at the table across from him, brighter now.

'You don't talk much,' she says.

'Not much to say.'

She nods at his notebook. 'Are you a writer?'

'Not by trade.'

'Been here long?'

'Two weeks almost.'

She's new. In Charles's eyes, nothing but new meat. The women who are usually detained here are in their forties, recovering alcoholics or prescription drug addicts, mothers struggling to care for their ungrateful families. They cry over so little. They end up in supermarkets staring at boxes of cereal with crippling indecision. The most benign comments trip them up.

Carolyn is different. She's childless, educated and has been committed for stress-related psychosis. Accused by her physicians of seeing things and hearing voices, it's clearer to Jeffrey from her descriptions that it's a case of delusions of reference, another thing entirely. The TV's not talking to her or saying her name, it's not even saying anything that can't be heard by anyone else but her. She's just convinced the message is for her. At her worst, she can hear a call to arms from the most mundane of messages.

He's better educated for his time in this hole; more perceptive, because he's with the inmates twenty-four-seven and not half an hour three times a week, like the docs. He knows himself and he knows who's faking to get out of a real detention in a real prison. The Blue ward upstairs is full of men pleading for treatment for their rapist tendencies, begging not to be thrown in jail where they'll end up victims themselves.

'I got some smokes,' she says. 'You want one?'

'Okay.'

The small enclosed garden outside sits on the edge of the local wetlands, and odd prehistoric birds duck under the gates in the morning to pick up orange peels and apple cores, the waste of the fruit the patients are given that the stores can't sell: the defects. So fitting.

Jeffrey sits with her on one of the benches and Carolyn offers him a cigarette. He accepts the gift, seeing they're weaker than his usual brand.

Her fingers are painfully thin, and so is she. Not anorexic, according to her, she just struggles to eat when she's stressed. But the pills make her ravenous. She stuffs her face when she isn't hungry, and sometimes lies awake at night thinking of huge slices of cake she wouldn't normally want. She's as annoyed, pent up, and agitated as he is. She glowers at their jailers, sneering at them one day then refusing to acknowledge their presence the next. She's biding her time, waiting to go home.

She has a boyfriend who rarely visits, who's probably cheating on her because she's too high maintenance. Hot and crazy just isn't popular anymore. The manic pixie dream girl, according to her, is a myth; a beautiful muse invented by boyish writers and idealists. You forgot the mania part. It's not nice to trivialise a manic girl, she says. She has lows. Crushing lows. Suicidal lows. And where are these boys when this happens? Dreaming of a girl who doesn't even exist while washing their hands of the one they're with, who won't stop weeping uncontrollably.

'Don't insult me,' she grumbles to these boys in conclusion. 'Don't patronise me.' These are the words she wishes she'd said but didn't.

Jeffrey listens to her complaints without comment or judgement. It's not something she's granted often. He likes her, and not for her pretty face or svelte body, or wispy brown hair. He looks past the scars where she's picked at her blemishes as a teen, and the sallow skin under her eyes. She's more human than he is. More real and honest.

'What about you?' she asks.

'I live alone. It makes sense for me.'

'Anyone been to visit?'

'They don't know I'm here. Checked myself in after a drinking binge. I'm just waiting till the new meds kick in, then I'm out again.'

'Lucky you,' she smirks bitterly. 'I'm involuntary. I have to stay twenty-eight days.'

'You seem to be doing better than when you came in.'

'Comparatively.'

'Carolyn,' one of the male orderlies calls from the door. 'Visitor.'

'Who?' she asks, stumping out her smoke.

'Boyfriend, I think.'

She's annoyed. She's having a nice time talking to her new friend.

'I'll see you later,' she mumbles to Jeffrey.

He's just as irritated; her company is congenial enough that she's taken his mind off his litany of troubles.

Back in his room, he unlocks his drawer where his personal belongings live. He's responsible for all these things now. At the start, it's all kept behind the nurse's station in marked plastic containers, the room numbers written on tape stuck to the lids. When you have your shit together, you get your stuff back. He has a small mp3 player, and he sits on his bed, playing Bach loudly into his eardrums, drowning out the white noise in his head.

Charles is protesting, shouting down the corridors. He wants to make a phone call. He wants his meds now. He wants... He's a fucking child posing as a man, his dick distractingly hard because he's got nowhere to put it, and now he's been robbed of his potential vessel, he's looking for a fight. Carolyn is just a body with a prick-shaped cavity to Charles, he's not interested in her brain. If he has her once, he'll want her again.

The music offers our hero some contentment. He can imagine himself elsewhere... the air isn't stifling and he can lay in the grass under a tree. He's robbed himself of this freedom for his own benefit, he's committed himself and has to be committed to the process. This is going to be the last time.

He's not going to go home and drink himself into a stupor. He's going to empty all the bottles, and be a good citizen and recycle them. He's going to go back to work, stop being a nuisance, be productive. Be normal. He's going to fix things, make amends... call people he's neglected to speak to for over a year.

Forcing himself to stay awake, he returns to the rec room with his notebook to continue his musings. Carolyn is back in the same armchair, wiping her eyes, staring at her book as the words blur from the film of her tears.

Jeffrey doesn't want to ask her what happened. He waits, his train of thought now derailed, his next sentence deconstructed into nothing but a lost memory. He waits for her to glance at him. He can roll her a smoke, pay her back. Scratching another inmate's back gets you all kinds of free things: sometimes even the painkillers they don't swallow, or the Ativan they've been stockpiling. It's basic bartering, and they form a society unto itself that can commodify all kinds of things. A chocolate bar and a soda from the vending machine for two Ativan and three cigarettes. There's no hard stuff, no booze allowed. The hand sanitiser is kept behind the nurse's station due to its high alcohol content. But the free pills are more effective and he's never been desperate enough to resort to drinking hand sanitiser.

One of the saints — the nicer orderlies — a woman in her fifties who appears genuinely sympathetic, goes to Carolyn's side to ask what's wrong. Carolyn shakes her head and mumbles her complaints, her hands out as if to say, "I don't know what to do."

A common cry among their kind.

The orderly rubs her arm while offering her something to take the edge off. Carolyn refuses at first but is eventually talked around. She's tough and has a strong stance against the pills she's offered. Doesn't want to be dependent. But why stay like this if you have a way out presented to you? Why suffer? The orderly goes to fetch her a calmative, an Ativan most likely. The little white pill of unnatural peace.

All this time, he's been rolling a smoke under the table for her, thinner than what he prefers. He holds this up to her when the orderly is gone and she nods. There's something plaintive about her stare. She's been dumped, no doubt. Or the cheater has confessed his sins and given her the chance to break up with him.

Jeffrey waits outside for her, dusk setting in. The clattering of cutlery goes on in the kitchen behind him, part of the symphony of cheap crockery and laughter from the underpaid kitchen staff. They have little to prepare. Most of the weekend food is all prepackaged and thrown in ovens for longer than required. The inmates eat it anyway out of false hunger and boredom, often asking for more. They sit and chew like cattle, their fine motor skills, as well as their jaws, hindered by the medications, and they stare vacantly and chew. Placid.

Carolyn emerges, a cup of shitty day old coffee in one hand and her pink lighter in the other. She carries this lighter with her, slipping it into her pocket during the day. She knows how easily these little things go missing if left out in the open. Pilferers, liars... common thieves roam the halls and pick up anything not tied down. He's lost several pens from absently leaving them behind.

She takes his gift, smiling slightly. She's not far off her little high, and she'll be drowsy too soon before her night meds, so the coffee is to keep her awake.

'I hate it when I give in,' she says as she lights her cigarette, wincing from the strength of the tobacco. 'Jesus, how are your lungs not shredded by now?'

'I'm used to it. Goes well with bourbon on a hot day.'

She snickers lightly. 'I'm a vodka girl myself. Pretty trite, huh?'

'Each to their own.'

'You got any books here?'

'No.' He shakes his head, takes a drag and remembers his mistake once more. 'Didn't think to bring any.'

'I have a few. Mostly required reading, I haven't finished my year. You can borrow one.'

'Sure, I'll check out what you have.'

She agrees to bring the books to the rec room. She's been studying there, off and on; he's seen her trying to focus with the haze of medication getting to her and frustrating her further. She's dedicated, more than he is. Fixated even, he observes.

'You're the only normal one here,' she says out of the blue.

'What makes you say that?'

'Even when Mike was throwing shit around and screaming last week, you didn't even flinch.'

'You get used to people pulling that shit. Amateur theatrics, I call it. And I can't judge, I've had bad days, too.' Few and far between as they are, he can't claim to be innocent. Projectiles are common in this zoo; it's minimum security, you can move the furniture, disrupt things, make the cleaning staff's lives more difficult. It's not hard.

'I hear they're moving Charles,' she says, and Jeffrey is surprised she's not mentioned it sooner. 'He's going to the Blue ward. A bed just opened up.'

Charles will be with the rest of his kind. Clearly he's been classified incorrectly and placed in the wrong pen of the zoo. He's now going to be with his species, homo raptorem. The zookeepers finally get it right.

'I tried keeping him off your back,' Jeffrey says as earnestly as possible.

'I know. I was suspicious of you at first, and I heard him muttering that you just wanted to get your dirty paws on me. Circling your prey like hungry hyenas, the two of you.'

She sees the same analogies as he does. She's adept with words, she sings softly to herself; there's a brightness in her eyes not yet dimmed by her medication. A little flame, hungry for oxygen. He knows she dances alone in her room, her headphones on, lost in her music and blotting out the things around her, just as he does. Tries to do. She lives in her head, where it's safe. Where there's no judgement and she can be as she is, not constrained by expectation.

He rarely covets such fragile things, but if she were his, he'd protect her and whatever she holds precious. He would offer her patience where he'd failed to with others. He isn't capable of romance, but Carolyn isn't one to be won over with overt affection. She needs something else. An honest girl needs an honest suitor. He doesn't see himself fitting this role.

She's lost her appetite. Over dinner, he watches her push her food around, mimicking her and eating little himself. The water is too warm to quench anyone's thirst, the coffee too stale to swallow. Monday means fresh things; stocks are replenished, but Sunday nights are always spent hearing the complaints of the inmates. No more stevia, no more creamers... how dare their keepers punish them like this. Being free of life's responsibilities leaves room for petty complaints. Free of the confines of adulthood, the inmates revert to childish behaviour. Charles is not the only manchild here. It's another thing Jeffrey hates about this place, another reason to work harder to not come back.

After the food they're given is consumed or disposed of, the night staff come to relieve the afternoon shift. Another nurse is assigned to him for the night, and she brings him his medication dutifully, with word from his physician. He's been summoned to see her tomorrow morning at nine. Where once he made demands to see a doctor, he now leaves this up to whomever he's been dumped on. This new woman, he's only spoken to her twice before. He's yet to build any kind of relationship with her. He's guessing she may ask him to leave; someone in more dire need of a bed is coming and she has to build a case for Jeffrey's discharge. And perhaps this isn't a bad thing. He doesn't need this vacation as badly as he'd first thought.

Still, he finds himself pitying Carolyn with the thought her incarceration will continue in his absence.

She brings in her books as promised, and he's glad not to be staring at anything familiar. She's taking courses in modern literature, there are contemporaries here he's heard of, and he takes one of the books to read with a promise he'll return it before he leaves.

'You're leaving sooner?' There's no hint of disappointment here in her tone. The Ativan's kicked in, she's less emotional, more logical and detached. Numbed.

'Perhaps. Depends on how my appointment goes tomorrow. I underestimated how long my recovery would take.'

'So unfair,' she mutters, her chin on the heel of her palm, her eyes on the TV, watching the same news bulletin that aired a half hour before. Repetition is vital; routine is everything. Here is where they should be gaining life skills; habits suited for the outside world to reform them and make them productive again, rather than the loose cogs falling through the system and landing on the factory floor. A tired metaphor, but still so apt. So little has changed.

'I'm sure if you spoke to someone, they could get your sentence reduced,' he suggests.

'Tried that. They didn't listen.' She turns to him, the same bored eyes now full of mischief. 'Maybe when you get out, you can bust me out.'

He laughs, actually laughs, for the first time in... that doesn't matter. She amuses him, trips a wire he thought too broken to fix. The twitch in the corner of his mouth feels almost foreign.

'Not that easy.'

Her mood is lighter once more until her nurse comes with her night meds.

'Sleepytime tea tonight?' she asks. 'Or am I getting the Seroquel again?'

'Same as always, Carolyn,' the male nurse says, condescendingly. 'You talk to your doctor about med changes, remember? Not me.'

Jeffrey knows this guy, this is probably his third shift. He's attractive and tall, probably slightly older than her. Carolyn bats her eyelids at him and he watches her swallow her pills as per the rules. As soon as the nurse turns his back, she flips him off and scowls.

'Hate that guy,' she mutters. 'I had him last week. He's so full of himself. Thinks he's smarter than me.'

'He did seem cocky to me.'

'Not my fault he flunked out of med school and this was the best gig he could get.'

Again, Jeffrey is smiling. She's mordacious and gorgeous, full of indignation and just the right amount of cynicism to make her nicely vicious and not overly bitchy.

They keep talking, the echoes of security buzzers and doors opening and slamming shut now just part of the nighttime symphony. The air conditioning is blowing colder than usual, and Carolyn is in her heavy college sweater. She brushes out her hair, braiding it loosely so it won't tangle in her sleep. This ritual is so personal and yet she's so accustomed to this place, she's making it a home without even realising it.

Finding comforts in unfamiliar places makes sense to him. He'd be lost without his music and his notebooks. He sees her yawn, the chemicals building up in her system to render her zombified. She'll sleep with little dreaming, and wake with a dry mouth, drool on her pillow. She'll be irritable, morose.

He isn't fond of Mondays, either.

The night staff offer the inmates leftovers from the kitchen: tubs of yoghurt that will only be tossed out and warm drinks like cheap cocoa that barely have any sweetness to it. Carolyn doesn't ask for cocoa as usual. She gathers her things, mutters a goodnight to him and wanders back to her room.

The new meds make him sweat more than the old ones. His skin crawls, and he can actually feel his metabolism slowing to a grinding halt. All of the body suffers when the mind refuses to behave itself. One thing can't be righted without a grievous wrong being committed in turn. Basic chemistry. It's why so many don't stick with it. The numbed out feeling has them reaching for something else. There's never any satisfaction; no middle ground where they can comfortably sit. You want peace of mind? Well, you'll have to take it with a shot of blurred vision, muscle aches, flu-like symptoms. The pharmacos haven't come up with a better solution. Not yet.

There's no money in curing anything.

2

Jeffrey wakes just before five, the silence louder now. He showers, grooming himself for his appointment, thinking if he looks neat and tidy, his doctor will let him go home. He prepares to leave, in a way. He's not living out of his bag, but he's ready to go at a moment's notice. He has to keep his room tidy, make his own bed and collect his own linen and towels from the closet down the hall. He's to wash his own clothes in the shared laundry. It's not a cakewalk, but some find all this easier on the inside than the outside.

It's why they get so comfortable; why they keep coming back for more. A security blanket paid for by the state.

Alone at dawn, he smokes and thinks of his apartment; where he left things before he stumbled to the emergency room, if he locked his front door properly. He imagines he's been robbed. He'll come back to find his whole place ransacked and the shoebox containing his emergency cash — seventy-three bucks and some loose change — will be missing. They won't take his laptop, it's too old, or his TV. He has nothing of value but that never stopped a crook from trying.

It's only a matter of hours until his appointment, but the minutes dragging turn this time into the length of two days. Impatience almost gets the better of him, but he refuses to pace or to appear upset. His outsides will not match his insides.

The door to the yard creaks open and Carolyn steps out, still in her sweater, her hair a little messier but still in the braid she made the night before. She takes out a smoke and lights it, not seeing him see her.

'Hi,' he says.

She doesn't jump. Her responses are dulled. 'Hey.'

'How are you?'

'I feel like shit. They always give me way too much.' She takes a drag, moves in beside him and tucks her free hand under her thigh. Her knee jiggles, like always. She's just a walking bag of nerves, really.

'There should be fresh coffee soon,' he says, listening out for the cart that rattles into the cafeteria every morning to be attacked by the inmates; their privileges finally awarded to them. They'll leave empty stevia packets on the floor and spill the decaf grinds all over the cart, making a mess like children at kindergarten attacking the paints with glee.

No decorum. No dignity.

'I was right about Josh,' she says, talking about the boyfriend at last. 'Told me he was seeing someone else. I wish I hadn't cried.'

'It's nothing to be ashamed of.'

'Yes it is,' she snaps, but her anger isn't for him, and it's really not for Josh. She's her own worst enemy. 'Damn him. I wish he hadn't gotten to me like that.'

'Someone will, at least once. If you let them.'

'I should be alone.' Such a typical thing for a girl her age to spout after a heartbreak like this. But she's more honest now than before. 'I think some people are born to be alone. There's not someone for everyone, that's a cruel trick people play on you to give you hope.'

'Better you learn it now.' For half a second he believes this is a thought, but he's said it aloud. Her reaction confirms this. He's too accustomed to solitude; his failure to engage others in conversation has made him absentminded.

'When did you learn it?' She's engrossed, she wants to learn from him how to be singular. What a horrible education this is, he thinks. And the thought behaves itself this time and stays locked behind his teeth.

'Early,' he states. 'When I was nine or ten. Your first experience of humans comes from your parents. How they behave represents how all men and women behave, that's your primary marker. It usually tarnishes your further interactions. It might enrich them, but this is rare.'

'My parents are pretty neutered emotionally. It may as well be the fifties. I think they've told everyone I've gone to Europe for a month.'

'You can try to learn from their mistakes.' He doesn't want to go into specifics. These people known as his family don't affect him as severely as they once had. He's come to consider them strangers, himself an emotional orphan deprived of understanding. But he doesn't wear this like an open wound to gain sympathy, he accepts it as a truth and he's comfortable with it now.

His lesson continues and she listens attentively, making notes in her head. His bungled experiences become markers for her future, things to be wary of. Never expect this, don't ask for that. Promises are hollow when delivered drunk and desperate.

'Well, I already knew that.'

'You've got your head screwed on tight enough,' he says. 'You'll be alright.'

'I just want to get back to school. I want to graduate and leave town. I don't get why I need a month in this place first. I'm sure there are other girls my age who went overboard with some pills and didn't need a month in a psych ward, right?'

'Depends how severe a case you are when they get to you.'

'Were you scared?'

'When?'

'When you came here? I mean, you must've thought shit was going south badly enough to run to a hospital and admit yourself.'

'It's what they suggested I do. I don't see myself doing it again.'

Her smoke is dead so she stubs it out on the bench that's covered in scratches of graffiti.

'What do you do for work?' she quizzes him.

'Mechanic. If I'm here, I just don't get paid.'

'But you're smart, well read. Why do that for a living?'

'It's what I can do, it pays the bills.' He's taken to his pouch again, purely working on instinct as he crafts himself another cigarette. The two of them could happily sit there all day smoking and talking, and he finds this appealing and worth hanging around for.

'High school dropout?' she continues.

'Yeah, of course.' This isn't a point of shame for him. School was a torturous place and to relieve himself of this nightmare, he dropped out and learned a trade. 'I'm not unique in any way.'

'No, you're leaving something out,' she says. 'Something painful.'

'Doesn't everyone have something painful they don't want to talk about?' He lights his smoke and considers confessing. He doesn't bring it up often.

'My sister died,' Carolyn says, beating him to the punch. 'About two years ago. Killed herself. They think I have what she had. They're not sure yet.'

'So that's why you're locked up, you're a high-risk case.'

'I feel like I'm being punished for it. Like I've been a bad seed.'

'Did she feel the same?'

'I think so... We were close as kids, but when I left for college we stopped talking. She'd already left town after high school and she fell off the map for almost a year. We heard she was moving north, then about a month later, the local police called my parents to say she'd been found gassed in her car. My parents fessed up after the funeral that she was diagnosed with severe depression. And it wasn't like I was clueless, I knew she wasn't well... I just wasn't allowed to talk about it.'

'What happened with you and the pills?'

'I don't know...' She squirms under his scrutiny and the skin of her neck grows red. 'I don't think I wanted to die... not really. I thought I did... It's too hard to explain.'

'I know.' He gets it. She may not believe him, but he does.

She's taken out another cigarette of her own and has it between her lips, but her fingers shake too much for her to light it. He offers his assistance as an apology for his bluntness.

'You're not very good with people, are you, Jeffrey?'

'Not really.'

They're interrupted by another nurse leaning through the door. 'Carolyn. Meds.'

She cradles her head and groans. 'No. No more.'

'C'mon, hon. You know the rules.' The woman beckons her over with diminished patience. Carolyn obeys but not without protest, and this carries on inside, her complaints becoming colourful insults.

Jeffrey goes inside to watch from a distance. Any other time this happens, he's simply watching a play or some tired daytime drama; it's pointless and always ends badly. They have to get physical with her, and she's dragged away to her room. A male orderly, known for barking orders and getting tough on recalcitrant inmates, heads after the squabble.

Distracted by his nurse then, Jeffrey takes his meds without a fuss, restless now about this altercation and Carolyn's mistreatment. She's required by law to take the medication. No amount of refusal will be tolerated.

The zookeepers are better at keeping people locked up than they are with secrets. They speak of the patients as if they're so removed from reality it won't matter if they make a throwaway comment or disclose treatments to another doctor in earshot of someone else. He knows much more about Carolyn than he should because his ilk doesn't complain. No one listens to subhumans.

He hides in his room until his doctor summons him. The office is in another part of the hospital, and he follows a step behind his nurse as she takes him through the corridors, signing off on his movements from the ward. He thinks it'd be easier for them to all be lowjacked; tagged and monitored without pen and paper recording their locations. That way, if they're lucky enough to escape, the cops can bring them in quicker. Checks are made every fifteen minutes, this isn't a fiction, it's how it works. Whoever is assigned to you has to check where you are at least every fifteen minutes, the time extending only when you have proven you can be trusted.

He's left in an office only large enough to accommodate one doctor and their patient for the duration. This isn't always where Dr Rubens lives, she's given this temporarily for the course of her rotation. Nothing in this room belongs to her.

In the space between their last encounters, he's forgotten most of her facial features. Auburn hair and a pasty complexion are the extents of his memories of her. She enters, her heels making her a lot taller than she is. Does she have a complex about her height? he ponders. Is she the type to be easily intimidated? Is she married? He can't see a ring. Does she have children?

He can't ask any of these questions. She's supposed to be a figment, a nonperson. Her role in this is to help him make sense of himself. According to the textbooks she's had to study to get where she is now, she essentially has no identity.

'I'm sorry I've not been able to see you sooner, Jeffrey,' she says as she takes a seat. She means this. Apologies are seldom given by her kind. 'How are you finding the new meds?'

'I feel better than I did last week.'

'Good. I see you've been going to the group sessions. I know that's not your thing, but it proves you're invested in your recovery.'

'It kills the time,' he tells her plainly.

She goes over the notes the nurses have made, their observations in various scrawls for her perusal. 'Well, I don't see why we can't continue this in an outpatient setting.'

She is granting his wish: discharge. He could leave today. But Carolyn is still being held prisoner and he can't leave without knowing if she'll be alright. He needs a resolution.

So he scrambles for an excuse.

'I think I just need a couple more days. Just to be on the safe side. So I don't end up back here.'

The doctor is dubious, of course. He knows she's on orders from her superiors to clear some beds; others are waiting their turn. Treat and street, wasn't that the term? The revolving door policy that he's now jamming up with his reluctance: Move along, sir. You've had your time.

Rubens goes back to her notes. 'I'll give you two more nights.'

'That's fine.'

They carry on their previous conversation, however he's disinterested in bringing up the past. It's been five years since he lost Kara and their unborn child, killed by a drunk driver when he was working late one night. His drinking binges make him no better than the guy who ran her down crossing the street. The best he has done is walk himself to a hospital rather than get behind a wheel.

'I can't stress enough how important it is you go to your meetings, Jeffrey,' the good doctor tells him. 'You need that understanding and support right now.'

'If they left out the Jesus crap, I'd be fine with it.'

She smiles at this, allowing herself a chuckle. 'I know. You'll be hard-pressed to find a group that won't at least try to shove some higher-power nonsense down your throat, but do you think you can put that misgiving aside?'

'I'll try.'

'I'll see you on Wednesday. You'll need to be ready to go by 10 a.m. and I'll make sure your meds are all organised.'

He agrees to this arrangement, certain he can tolerate two more nights for the sake of Carolyn. His escort arrives, leading him back to the ward and signing him in, all while making forced conversation regarding his appointment.

He gets stuck on a thought of Kara, and he tries not to indulge in it. Pushing it down is harder when he's restless. And he can't think of her in the daylight, she invades his nightmares too much to have her there when he's awake.

The sweet pain her memory often brings has him retreating to his room, shutting the door and curling up on his bed. He's lucky he doesn't have to share a room. He doesn't want to talk anymore; he didn't want to discuss it, not today. Not with the other worries invading his mind. He needs a drink now, and he didn't need one this morning. And now two more days hardly seem appropriate.

His remedy is to return his focus to Carolyn, as if making her situation better will stop his agony. Jeffrey sees why he's drawn to her now: she's Kara to him in so many ways, bright as she is biting. This is lamentable, it shouldn't be entertained.

Carolyn sleeps throughout the day and misses art and lunch. She likes art therapy, though he can't stand it. The pretentious teacher drives him up the wall with her controlling nature. Meanwhile, this woman has no understanding of the abstract at all, yet calls herself a painter.

Around three in the afternoon, Carolyn shuffles into the rec room, free of the chrysalis of her bedcovers, now more a cabbage moth than a beautiful butterfly. It breaks his heart to see her dull eyes. She settles herself in the armchair by the TV, her head resting on her fist, and he knows she's lost to him. Offering her a smoke won't shift her. He goes out alone in the hope she'll follow, waits a respectable amount of time, then gives up.

He sees she's vanished, most likely to her room, a place he can't invade without reprimand. She's at one end of a corridor, his room is in another corridor, their neutral territory in between. He sequesters himself in his room with the book he's borrowed, well aware he'll not be finished by the time he has to go. He's always been a slow reader.

He finds her later, wide awake at nine, just after she's taken her night meds. She doesn't tell him to leave her alone when he sits across from her. She has her books open, and the agitation from that morning has disappeared.

'I hate it when I lose a day,' she says. She won't shift her focus from the page, she's pushing herself. She doesn't know what's good for her, but he's not about to say so. She isn't adhering to the rules of her recovery. 'I thought you'd be gone by now,' she adds.

'I wasn't ready.'

'Did your doctor decide that?'

'No, I did. I just need a couple more days.'

Carolyn looks at him, serious before she smiles. 'You hate it here.'

'It's not that bad,' he lies.

'Can I bum a smoke? I won't get another pack until tomorrow.'

The yard is open until ten, so they have twenty minutes before they'll be called back in. She wants to learn how to roll a cigarette, and he tries his best to teach her. Her fingers are nearly as useless as his, hence the occupational therapy they're required to attend. But he feels his methods are more beneficial. This still teaches finesse and patience, and craftsmanship. The process of threading needles is redundant to him. She'd rather paint than sew. The women with their knitting needles get told off for leaving them around the rec room.

Each to their own.

Carolyn talks like she hasn't had a bad day. She won't mention the incident from that morning, and Jeffrey knows she's embarrassed about it. There's an unspoken agreement between them not to bring this shit up. Friendships he cultivated in the past, when he was happy, a different being entirely, weren't as respectful. Kara was the only other one who'd known when to back off.

'My parents are coming tomorrow afternoon to see my doctor,' Carolyn says. 'I have to sit there and listen to them talk about me like I'm nonexistent.'

'That must be...'

'Infuriating? Yes. It is.'

Carolyn is too independent to have these people controlling her life, and here he finds the crux of her anger. He still has the autonomy to make simple life decisions. His own independence is vital and she has had hers stolen, this non-consensual confinement all arranged while she was unconscious, post-stomach pump, in an unfamiliar bed.

'It took me two days to realise where I was, they drugged me up so much. Now I know I've been tricked and can't leave, it's hard not to get pissed off. Then they give me more pills when I'm legitimately angry. It's not fair. Whatever case I make for release, it's all met with these condescending remarks like: "you're not ready, you need more time." Like I'm a child and I can't think for myself.'

'They need to know you won't do this again.' He'd rather not play devil's advocate. He's on her side, not theirs.

'I won't. I just want my life back. I feel like I'm trying to earn it back now. Earn back what's rightfully mine... It's not fair.'

She makes this statement without the whine of a six-year-old forbidden something, without the foot stamping and the tantrum designed to get her way. It's just her truth. It's not fair.

They're called in from the cold, and she bids him goodnight. Alone in his room, he packs, seeing his misjudgements. He can't stay and help her. Whatever fool's errand he's on, he now discards it. He can do something small to make her day better, but the next day is another matter. Her road is longer than his, and he has no energy to walk it with her. He has to go home.

Resigned to his decision, Jeffrey keeps his distance the following day, again watching from afar as she interacts with her parents. They've just spoken to her doctor and she's not happy with the decisions made for her. Her arms are folded and her head is down. She refuses any affection from them. The mother looks worried, disappointed. Dismayed. The father seems as concerned. Her perception of these people is flawed by their actions. She walks away, and Jeffrey knows she wants to flip them off. She's off to her room again, to sleep. To pretend she's somewhere else.

Lost causes were never his forte.

Kara was as fiercely her own person. She was going to be a working mother, and he was going to care for the baby at home since her office job paid better. She'd planned meticulously when he'd wanted to wing it. Now he'd give anything for her to come back, to give him focus. His aimlessness leads him to drink and his drinking leads to him failing.

He calls his boss to say he'll be back at work by Thursday.

'You're ready to come back?' Kris asks. 'You don't need more time?'

'No, I need to keep busy.'

'Right. I'll see you Thursday. Just call me if anything changes.'

'Sure.'

Kris is the closest thing Jeffrey has now to a friend, someone who tolerates these instances of failure. Someone who leaves the door unlocked for the idiot roommate who forgets their keys all the time.

He needs to try harder. He needs to stop screwing up.

Sleep eludes him as his stress overwhelms him. Breathing to calm down doesn't help. Around midnight, he requests his pro re nata: a valium. This is his level of giving up. He needs rest. He needs his brain to stop.

As a consequence, he wakes late, well past ten. His new nurse, a girl he's not seen before, gets around to giving him his medication for the morning. He drinks coffee, smokes, fails to gain an appetite. He's pretending not to wait for Carolyn, pretending not to keep an eye out for her.

He doesn't recognise her when she at last appears. Her hair is in a ponytail, her shirt is tighter, and she's in jeans and nicer shoes. And she's smiling, being gracious.

He sees through this act. If she pretends to be happy — she's reasoned, thinking she's a genius — they'll let her out. As if it's that simple. But he won't piss on her parade to make things worse. He'd rather see the experiment play out, see how long it takes before she's in a shitty mood again, cruel as it is inevitable.

Much to his amazement, the veneer doesn't crack. She ignores any negativity thrown at her. She has blinkers on and the other inmates don't exist to her. Including him. He hasn't helped her do this. He's stayed for nothing. He goes to his room to finish packing.

Group is at two. Carolyn is there, early for once. There isn't an impatience coming from her. The other inmates make coffee and chat amongst themselves, sort of catching up, forcing themselves out of isolation. Relating.

The therapist running the group is a much younger guy, positive and softly spoken. Non-combative. He'd have been called a pacifist if he'd been born in another time. The boy brings the court to order: two middle-aged women who've become friends in the last week, a weedy, sinewy addict in his mid-twenties, and another thirtysomething woman who's suffering from post-natal depression. Jeffrey knows the older women have secretly accused her of just wanting a vacation from her newborn. The schoolyard bullying exists here too; the judgements they face on the outside invade the inside, so no one's immune here. This microcosm works perfectly in conjunction with the real world. All the affirmations and motivational posters on the walls won't change these assholes and their misgivings.

These two women cast aspersions on Carolyn from a distance as well. Too young to be depressed, too young to want to die, as if her age alone disqualifies her from having any negative emotions. What could she possibly have to be sad about? She hasn't lived.

She was born into this world, he mentally argues. What other reason should there be?

Jeffrey listens to one of these women drone on about her life. She has fewer problems than Carolyn. She's rich, kept even. She's just bored. So many assume to be depressed when really life hasn't brought them enough to be interested in, and they're simply bored as hell. Dissatisfied, disillusioned... but not depressed. Not clinically.

Carolyn's aware of this. She sees through it. The woman is thanked for sharing what amounts to a complaint; a misgiving about her husband who's never around since he's working to maintain her opulent lifestyle. He won't go to marriage counselling, that's the worst of her problems. If anyone's taking a vacation, it's her.

The young mother speaks next, quick to be brought to weeping as she recounts her last attempt to breastfeed her child. Nature has betrayed her twofold: she's been driven suicidal by her hormones and she can't even provide milk for her child. She's considered a monster for having the gall to give her baby formula. She's been branded a failure already and this is her first child. This is what Jeffrey considers cruelty, and he's moved by her story, though he doesn't show it. He knows it's not her fault.

It's not fair.

The sisterhood across from her, the two elders, they're not convinced. Not sympathetic. She's a shit mother, as far as they're concerned. Not only that, she's most likely birthed another useless member of society. Like their own children are any better. She's scorned by their eyes while being offered false smiles and gratitude for her sharing.

He wants to punch them and call them inhuman. They're part of the problem, far more than he is.

Now it's his turn, and the bile in his throat from his anger means he has to cough into his fist before he speaks.

'I'm going into outpatient treatment,' he announces. 'Tomorrow.'

'Think you're ready?' the therapist asks.

'It makes sense. There's not a lot else I can achieve in here. And I'll go back to my meetings. Make more of a commitment.'

'Do you feel you've made peace with your loss, Jeffrey?' the boy asks like he really cares. Like he'll ever give a fuck one way or the other.

'In some ways... But how do you really make peace with losing your pregnant girlfriend to a drunk driver?' His arms are folded and he's slouching again: classic defensiveness. Sometimes body language is the only language people respond to. Other days, they're oblivious.

Carolyn's reaction is one of shock, however the therapist stays neutral. The others in the room, not all of them knew this, and Jeffrey takes note of their varied expressions but doesn't apologise for his bluntness.

He's feeling passive-aggressive now, going on to say, 'I know if she'd lived to have the baby, I'd never have blamed her for anything that went wrong.'

Carolyn starts to cry out of nowhere, deeply enough to have to excuse herself. He can't follow after her, and she isn't the one he's attacking. The young mother gives him the smallest smile, her gratitude conveyed by her eyes.

The therapist excuses himself to tend to Carolyn and find her nurse. Class is dismissed. The tweaker rolls his eyes, not that he had much to contribute, just his time was wasted, he could've been smoking or watching TV.

Out in the hall, Carolyn leans against the wall as the therapist speaks to her in hushed tones. Jeffrey watches, and she catches him, storming at him and pushing him in the chest with her open hands.

'Do you even care, Jeffrey?' she shouts in his face. 'Are you some kind of sociopath? What the fuck is wrong with you!'

'I care,' he says, sounding helpless suddenly. 'Of course I care.'

'You're just a boozehound,' she snaps at him. 'You're just a worthless alcoholic now.'

The boy tries to get in her way and she's having none of that.

'I've nothing to learn from you that I can't teach myself.'

Jeffrey accepts this and leaves her to her anger. It's not something he hasn't been accused of before. But she's wrong. He cares so much some nights he'd rather be dead than be in that amount of pain. He gets it. He gets her. But he can't help her.

He doesn't see her again that night; she's in her room, tucked away with her books and her music. He pictures her more determined than ever to get out. She'll beat them at their own game. She'll get parole. She's smarter than them.

The discharge process the following morning takes longer than an hour. Though he's ready at ten as instructed, the pharmacy is backed up and he's stuck there until eleven waiting for his meds. His doctor speaks to him briefly before signing him out. His room will have already been assigned to the next new inmate.

At the front desk, Jeffrey leaves a note he's folded carefully and marked with Carolyn's name. It's a feeble apology for not showing more heart for what he's lost, along with an explanation he believes she'll instantly dismiss. He apologises for the world being the way it is. He expresses hope she'll find a way out of her misery, and he leaves her with a simple turn of phrase another inmate in another place offered him long ago:

We're not exactly free as eagles, are we?
