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bubblesuga · 3 years

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Mahina || Part 1

Summary: Jungkook couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something drawing him to you. Like the moon tugs at the tides, he needed to be beside you. genre: smut, fluff, angst word count: 4,626 tags: idol!au, fantasy!au

When Jungkook awoke this morning, something was... different.

He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the air in his room seemed to have shifted slightly. He felt lighter on his feet, a sudden bounce to his step while he pulled himself off of the bed and towards the bathroom.

He brushes his teeth as usual, carefully scrubbing his tongue and admiring his reflection in the mirror. The eyebrow piercing was a good edition, he thinks. It accentuates his high brow and sparkles underneath even the dimmest light. Spritzing himself with cologne, he opens the bathroom door just in time.

"Jungkook, I made breakfast! Hurry up!"

Smiling to himself, he trots down the stairs of the far too large penthouse he and his band mates bought a couple years ago. He doesn't mind sharing with 6 other people, though. Having grown up with no siblings, he enjoys the dynamics at play when he speaks to the members. They're all his brothers, co-workers, family... He couldn't have asked for a better turn out when it came to finding a career path.

Yoongi is standing in the kitchen when Jungkook walks in, the smell of pork and kimchi filling his nose. Thanking his hyung, he grabs a bowl and starts filling up.

"You seem happy this morning," Yoongi raises an eyebrow, "what's going on?"

"I don't know," Jungkook shrugs, "I just woke up in a really good mood. I feel like--" he takes a bit of his food, then speaks with his mouth full, "--something amazing is going to happen today."

"We just have rehearsals?" Yoongi's statement comes off as more of a question.

"Exactly." Jungkook says, continuing to munch on his food. Yoongi looks at the younger man and shakes his head, continuing to fry meat for the rest of the members.

"Hey, did Namjoon come home last night?" Seokjin asks as he walks into the kitchen. He takes a spot beside Jungkook on the counter, reaching into his bowl and grabbing a piece of pork belly. Jungkook attempts to push his hand away but Seokjin smacks it and grabs the meat anyway.

Yoongi shakes his head again, "Nah. He stayed at the studio last night, said something about a last minute inspiration."

Jungkook has noticed Namjoon's lack of attentiveness recently. It seems as though his head is always filled with potential themes and lyrics and beats, much more so than even in the early days of the band. He's curious about his inspiration as of late but Namjoon doesn't seem to want to give away his methods any time soon.

"He's been doing that a lot lately." Jungkook thinks outloud.

"More power to him," Seokjin says, "man works his ass off and it benefits all of us."

Yeah, it definitely does.

~*~*~

"5, 6, 7-"

Hoseok's counting is cut off by the music blasting again. It's the third run through of the new choreography, Jungkook is center and carefully watches the rest of his hyungs in the mirror. He moves to the left, following Hoseok's lead and smiling as he notices a mis-step on Jimin's part. Jimin throws his head back and yells, lifting his shirt up and wiping some of the sweat that's accumulated on his brow.

"It's okay, Jiminie," Hoseok sings, "this shit is hard."

Seokjin nods in agreement, "Yeah, what the hell happened to a laid back choreography for this come back?"

"It's the last one of the year. We gotta go out with a bang." Jungkook turns back to look at Namjoon, who chugs water in the corner of the room. "Speaking of big come backs, are you working on your mixtape?"

Namjoon laughs, "Nah, definitely not. I'm trying to get a couple more songs for the album."

"Don't we have like 14 tracks?" Taehyung speaks for the first time since rehearsal started.

"16 is better than 14." Namjoon smiles, listening to Hoseok as he calls everyone over again.

"One more time. 5, 6-"

It's then that the doors burst open and Hyun enters in. "And this is the rehearsal room containing the 7 men you will be photographing."

Jungkook's eyes travel to the person his manager is talking to, and he has to hold back a gasp. He feels the way his jaw drops, but he's unable to close his mouth while he looks at you. God, you're gorgeous. Your hair cascades down your back and your clothes cling to your body in all the right ways. Jungkook struggles to tear his eyes away, but once he sees your smile he realizes there's no way he can turn away. You're literally glowing, with god-like shining eyes. Who are you?

"Boys, this is _____. She's in charge of photography and will be around to film Bangtan Bombs, behind the scenes, or anything you all want filmed and made into content."

Jungkook repeats your name in his head five times. He whispers it to himself once while everyone else heads to you to shake your hand. Jungkook stands back, finally blinking his eyes.

You step forward after having shook the hands of everyone else, "And you're Jungkook," you smile again, "I like your tattoos. Glad you're finally willing to show them."

"T- tattoos..." Jungkook mutters pathetically as he takes your outstretched hand. You giggle, shaking his hand enthusiastically.

"Well, anyway. It was nice to meet you all. I'm excited to work closely with every one of you." your words are met with a chorus of 'same!' from everyone except for Jungkook.

Hyun puts a hand on your shoulder and leads you out of the room, continuing on the tour of the HYBE building. Jungkook stares after you, the doorway now long empty but he couldn't look away. You were, by far, the most beautiful woman he has ever come across. With your simple torn jeans and black t-shirt, he feels you could pull off anything you put on your body.

It's not until Yoongi speaks does Jungkook finally tear his eyes away, "Could you have been any creepier?"

"What?"

Jimin bursts into laughter, his frustration with the choreography long gone, "You were-" he takes a deep breath in between laughter, "you were staring at her like she was the last woman on the planet!"

"W- what?" Jungkook stammers.

Jimin doesn't respond, only laughing louder as he falls to the ground. Jungkook can see the hidden smirks of the rest of the members, turning his to look at everyone, "What the fuck just happened?"

"Love at first sight?" Taehyung suggests.

"More like love at first drool." Seokjin begins laughing before he even finishes his sentence, causing the rest of the members to groan at his joke.

Jungkook doesn't react to Seokjin though, as he turns to look back at the empty doorway. If love at first sight is a real thing, Jungkook just experienced it to the fullest extent.

~*~*~

Jungkook manages to continue the rest of rehearsal without a problem, except for the way his mind kept traveling back to you. Saying your name in his head again, he washes up in the gym showers. He thinks back to the way your skin seemed to be literally glowing to him, and your bright white teeth hypnotizing him.

Never in his life has he had such a short conversation with someone that had such an impact. He wants to learn everything about you, your passions, the music you like, the books you read. He hopes that you enjoy some of the same things he does, so he has an excuse to talk to you.

Though his interest in you is certainly piqued, he has to keep in mind that you are, essentially, his employee, and fantasizing about your employee is more than inappropriate.

Fantasizing might not be the right word, but he can't help and imagine conversations between the two of you. Your voice is so pretty, it's light but carries through the room. You make sure your presence is known, though with the way you shine you didn't have to try hard. He smiles to himself, closing his eyes and rinsing off the conditioner from hair. Then, he wonders what your hair looks like when it's wet.

Okay, Jungkook. That's enough.

He shakes the water off his head and wraps a towel around his body. Exiting the shower, he realizes he forgot his bag in the dance room and sighs. Checking the time on his phone, he realizes that it's after 9 pm. The odds of anyone other than the members being here is pretty slim so he can just walk his way to the rehearsal room and change in there, right?

Right.

Tightening the towel around his waist, he walks out of the gym bathroom and strolls down the hall. He scrolls through his phone while he walks, rounding the corner and hearing your voice.

"Thank you, Mr. Lee. I'm very excited to properly start tomorrow."

"We're excited to have you," Jungkook peeks his head around the corner and watches Hyun bow to you, "your work is incredible and I know Taehyung in particular loves your shooting style."

What? Taehyung knows her? Jungkook must have missed that earlier when he couldn't stop staring at you.

"Yeah! It still blows my mind that one of the bangtan boys followed my work," you let out a small, somewhat embarrassed giggle, "thank god for Instagram."

You and Hyun share a laugh, followed by a goodbye. Jungkook gasps as he sees you turn in his direction, rushing to a small doorway and pushing himself up against the wall. You can't see him like this, not already. He's nearly naked and he knows this towel isn't big enough to cover himself as well as he should in front of a stranger, so he holds his breath as your foot steps become closer... and closer... and-

"Hey Jungkook."

Fuck.

Jungkook exhales a breath and moves to tighten the towel around his waist even more. You're eyes are not scanning his body like he thought you would be. Of course, Jungkook knows that sounds cocky of him to say but he can't help but assume that that would be the outcome of this situation. Either way, his face still burns when your eyes meet his. Those gorgeous, glowing eyes.

"Were ya hiding?" you laugh, tilting your head to the side, and Jungkook realizes that he's still pressed up against the wall.

"I- I, uh-" come on Jungkook, get it together, "Sorry. I didn't want you to see me naked."

"Oh please. When humans are naked, they're at their purest forms. It's natural, there's nothing to be embarrassed about." you smile brightly, moving a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. Your phrasing is odd, but he doesn't question it. Instead, he swallows, "You're right, but I'm sure you wouldn't have been okay with my dick just hangin' out. Neither would the security watching the cameras."

You laugh, a proper laugh that doesn't seem to be masked by something else, and Jungkook realizes it's melodic. A fine tune singing into his ears as one of the most beautiful songs he has ever heard. It's soft, breathy, and makes him want to make you laugh for the rest of eternity.

"Either way," you say after a moment, the hint of humor still in your voice, "nothing to be ashamed of. I'll see you tomorrow, Jungkook."

Jungkook tilts his head, watching you wave and waving back as you carry your feet towards the elevators.

~*~*~

The air was even lighter this morning, and Jungkook can't help but think you play a part in his bright mood.

Following the conversation yesterday, Jungkook walked with a grin on his face to grab his clothes. You're incredibly charismatic, an stark difference to Jungkook's usual shy and laid back personality. Despite your conversations together being minimal, Jungkook feels you and him are going to be close.

Jungkook hops out of bed and styles his hair carefully. Checking his phone as he brushes his teeth, he's received a text from Taehyung apologizing because he had already left. The house sounds still, he remembers Yoongi and Seokjin opted at staying at their respective apartments tonight, wanting to be a little closer to home. Namjoon probably stayed at the studio again and Jimin and Hoseok more than likely left with Taehyung. He shrugs, making a quick protein shake and grabbing a banana before heading out of the door.

As he drives to work, he makes note at how much more productive the members have been these days. Not that they never were, but the usual slump of exhaustion that follows months of continuous promotions, rehearsals, and recording doesn't seem to be hitting anyone this time around. Surely, the explanation is the high everyone is riding from the success of Butter and Permission To dance in the west. It's motivated everyone, including Jungkook himself.

He pulls into the parking garage, rides the elevator up to the 13th floor, and steps off only to be stopped by Hoseok.

"Jungkookie!" Hoseok wraps his arms around Jungkook's neck and squeezes him tight.

"Hoseokie!" Jungkook mocks, giving a pat to the older one's back. Hoseok pulls away with a chuckle, "I guess _____ is doing behind the scene shoots today. Something about wanting to catch us in our element."

"Oh? Like individual shoots?"

"Yeah," he smiles, "she's with Yoongi in his studio right now. She told me to tell everyone to choose a thing they do on a daily basis that might be interesting to see for ARMY."

"Should I work out?" Jungkook smirks. Hoseok rolls his eyes, patting Jungkook's pecs,

"You work out enough." Smiling, he begin walking towards the commons area,

"I'm almost to where I want to be." "Whatever Jungkook, you bully us enough already." Hoseok pats Jungkook's head and walks away, leaving Jungkook to sit on the couches for a moment.

He picks up his phone and scrolls through Weverse and Twitter for a moment. Despite not being as active as people wish he could be, he does keep up with what everyone is talking about. Currently he sees excitement about their online concert from last year coming to DVD, and "JUNGKOOK'S ABS" is trending.

Yeah, he's definitely going to work out for his behind the scenes.

Holding his phone up, he snaps a quick selfie and posts it to Twitter. Once a month seems to be a good formula.

"Jungkook?" Yoongi's voice enters the room, "She's gonna shoot with Namjoon then you."

"Ah," Jungkook stands, "time to get nice and sweaty for ARMY."

"You're such a freak." Yoongi laughs, watching Jungkook leave the room.

Jungkook begins on the treadmill, listening to music and trying not to think about the fact that you're going to be photographing him while he's working out. He feels somewhat dumb, being so incredibly invested in your opinions of him already, but like yesterday proved, there was something about you that drew him in.

He speeds up the treadmill, his calves burning and his breathing quickening while he runs. It's incredible, the feeling of absolute bliss he feels after a run. When his muscles ache and his chest feels clear, he feels most at peace. Though, peace isn't difficult to come across these days. Even with the sadness of not being able to perform live like he wants to, it's not as looming as it was before. It's incredibly exhilarating to wake up not feeling like the end is near. It happened so suddenly, he's not sure what changed.

At the beginning, when they had to cancel the tour and stay in Korea, Jungkook felt as though life was never going to be the same. It was dark for everyone. He remembers Jimin crying in the bathroom after the cancellation, which caused Jungkook to start crying as well. He scrolled through social media for hours, reading the anger and frustration at those who had to return their tickets. It pained him, to see such a bleak view of the fans he adored.

Now that it's been close to 2 years, Jungkook has learned to-- for lack of a better term-- live with it. He wakes up every day and tries his hardest to live, and that's all you can do when your passion in life is ripped away from you due to an ongoing worldwide pandemic.

The gym doors slide open and Jungkook looks in the mirror to see you.

You have a camera around your neck, Jungkook recognizes it as a Canon. You close the door behind you and stop him as Jungkook starts to slow down the treadmill.

"Pretend like I'm not even here." you nearly whisper, and Jungkook has to stop himself from choking on his spit. Your voice sounded almost sultry. He can't tell if that was his imagination or if it was intentional on your part.

Jungkook shakes his head, turning up the speed just a little bit more.

He hears the shutter on your camera clicking, the action setting in full effect as he runs. You move around him, being sure not to get yourself in the mirror of the shots. The only noises in the room are his breathing and the sounds of his feet hitting the runway. It's rough, his chest heaving the more he pushes himself, but he's more interested in the way you seem to float around the room, or the fact that your hands seem dwarfed by the large camera.

It makes him wonder what your hands would look like on him.

A necklace dangles from your neck, it's gold and shines under the lights of the gym. It falls gently into the crevice of your chest, what looks like a golden moon on the end of the chain.

Again, he wonders what your skin would feel like against his.

"You gotta stop looking at the camera." you giggle.

He didn't even realize his eyes were following you. Suddenly, it's like a wave of confidence washes over him. Confidence that he was not ready for.

He swallows, taking a deep breath, "I'm not looking at the camera." Why is he saying this?

"Yes you are," you grin, "I have like 7 pictures in a row of you looking directly at the camera."

"No," he shakes his head, "I'm looking at the person holding the camera." Shut up, Jungkook. Stop talking!

"Oh?" you laugh, "what's catching your eye?"

"The necklace." what the fuck? He basically admitted to staring at your tits!

"The necklace that's right in between my tits?"

He laughs, you snap a picture.

"I guess so, I'm sorry." The usual nervousness that he would feel at an admission like that is non-existent. He feels comfortable enough to talk to you like this, and judging by the way you smile, you're comfortable with it too.

"No need to be sorry," you snap another picture, "I know they draw attention."

Jungkook nods, "They certainly do."

"What do you like about them?"

The question throws Jungkook for a loop but he doesn't let that show.

"They're perky," he explains, stopping the treadmill, "and your shirts show off the perfect amount to leave some to the imagination."

"Ah, so you're imagining my tits?"

"Yes."

You smirk, walking away. For a moment, Jungkook is scared he said too much, but it's very quickly washed away by the sound of the lock turning. "So," you begin, "you're saying that if I took off my shirt, you wouldn't be opposed to looking at me?"

Jungkook shakes his head, "I also wouldn't be opposed to touching you."

"Well," you slip off your shirt, "I'm ready."

Jungkook feels his cock twitch in his gym shorts at the sight of your bra. Of your fucking bra.

Despite the blood rushing to his cock, he shakes his head, "Oh come on, darling. You know that's not enough for me."

"Your shirt first, buddy." your eyes follow Jungkook as he grips the hem of his shirt and pulls it off. Now that there's verbal consent, your eyes roam all over his torso. He's ripped, Jungkook knows this, but under your gaze he feels like a meal. Like he's about to get devoured by you, and he can't say he's not enjoying the idea.

You reach behind you, unhooking your bra and allowing it to fall to the ground.

Jungkook's eyes widen at sight, stepping closer to you and falling to his knees. He places his nose against your torso, inhaling your scent. The sensuality of the small gasp that left your mouth fueled Jungkook. He grabs your hands and pulls you down to his level, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your lips.

It's rough and heated, all teeth and tongue. He's not used to being this way, to feeling almost primal in his movements. He gnaws at your bottom lip, eliciting another moan from you. It's high pitched and nearly whiny, proving that you're suddenly filled with as much need as he is.

"I'm gonna fuck you," Jungkook states, "right here. Right now."

"Please." you toss your head back, falling onto the padded floors of the gym. Jungkook follows suit, kissing his way down your body until he reaches your navel. Again, he presses his nose into you and inhales, you smell so damn good.

He keeps smelling, inhaling your scent as he undoes the buttons of your jeans. The less clothing there, the stronger your scent becomes. He feels insatiable, nearly ripping off your panties to get to your center.

"Fuck, you're so wet already," Jungkook groans, his voice deep with want, with need. Taking a single finger up your slit, he draws it back and sucks your juices clean, "and you taste as good as you smell."

You stare up at him with hooded eyes, holding yourself up on your elbows and spreading your legs as wide as you can. "Now that you've had a taste you might as well finish it."

Jungkook doesn't need to be told twice, diving into your soaked folds with his tongue. He moves fast but also meticulously, being sure to take note of all the places that make you moan a little louder, sink a little deeper into him. Your hand reaches down and snakes its way through his hair, tugging at the roots.

At that point, Jungkook begins to kick off his shorts without pulling away.

"Fuck, I've always wanted to fuck you," you moan in between words, "you always look so good everywhere you go."

"Yeah?" Jungkook chuckles, "did you imagine fucking me before you got hired here?"

You nod, "I couldn't help it, I knew you'd be good."

As Jungkook manages to get his shorts off, he grips ahold of his aching member. Pulling up to his knees, his thumb doesn't stop rubbing harsh circles against your clit.

"That's hot," Jungkook breathes, "I've been wanting to take you since I first saw you."

"Then do it." you demand, and a flip switches in Jungkook's brain.

He pulls his fingers away from you and leans forward, "Taste yourself."

You don't hesitate to take his fingers into your mouth, Jungkook feeling your tongue dance across the pads of his fingers. Feeling himself twitch, he strokes himself for a little bit of relief while you suck.

"Taste good?" He questions.

"Delicious."

"Good girl." He murmurs, leaning down and connecting your lips with his again. As he does so, he runs the head of his cock against your slit, enjoying the gasp you let out every time he brushes against your clit. You feel so warm, so inviting. He can taste you so well, he wants nothing more than to dive in.

So he does.

Pressing into you slowly, he feels your warmth envelope him. Your legs wrap around his hips and guide him in all the way. When he slips all the way in, you both pull away for a moan.

"So fucking good. So tight." He moves his hips achingly slow, enjoying the noises of content leaving your lips. Your moans spur him on as your tightness engulfs him yet again. He leans down and presses a kiss to your neck, your hot skin nearly burning his lips, "I don't want to hurt you."

You shake your head, "You can't hurt me. I promise."

Jungkook isn't sure what takes over him at this point, but he feels his lips begin to thrust harshly into you. He doesn't process the rest of the world, the only thing that's certain is you. You're everything that he needs to focus on now, your whines, your moans, the feeling of your legs guiding him in and out of you. He wants to take you here over and over again until the end of time, and he's never felt that about anyone before in his life.

Your lips are beginning to bruise from the rough kisses he's been laying on you, so he takes a gentle approach and sucks on your jawline. Every few thrusts, he rests his forehead against yours. Then he moves again. Then rests.

"Tell me how good I feel." you whisper against his lips, breathy.

"Baby," Jungkook's brows knit together in pleasure, "you feel so good around me. So warm. I want to cum in you and fill you up so bad. Do-n't stop squeezing- fuck."

Jungkook abandons the pace he tried to keep and slams into you, pulling you on top of him and lifting you up and down on his cock. You let out a scream as he reaches a point he hasn't touched before, your cunt tightening exponentially around him.

He latches his mouth onto your nipples, the sensitive peaks hardening against his tongue. Your nails rake down his chest while you grind against him, your ass smacking against his thighs while he begins thrusting upward.

His hands grip your hips harshly, sure enough to leave bruises by his fingertips. He feels his orgasm approaching quickly, but he needs you to cum first. He need to feel you cum around him. "Fuck," he growls through clenched teeth, "cum. I need you to cum. Cum around me, please please please!"

"I'm gonna- I'm-" your sentence is cut off by your orgasm taking over, clenching deliciously around Jungkook and pushing him over the edge. His hips stutter and he releases into you, your warmth mixing with his as he collapses onto the ground. You're both silent for a while, your chests heaving as you try to calm down. Jungkook leans up, keeping you in a hug as your knees move to either side of his hips. Neither of you make a move to pull apart, Jungkook softening inside of you but the sensitivity feels so good.

He rests his chin on your shoulder, glancing behind you and towards the mirrors. On the inner edge of each of your shoulder blades, lay two large scars. They're old, pink in color now. Jungkook reaches a finger up to trace the scars but is stopped by a knock on the door.

"Hey, I'm ready when you are _____!" Jimin's voice sounds through the gym, muffled by the door.

"Shit." You whisper, "shit, shit, shit!"

You quickly pull off of him, beginning to slip your panties and bra back on.

Jungkook flinches at the sudden loss of warmth around him, looking down at his cock and seeing a mixture of his and your cum coating his thighs. "Don't you need to clean up?" he whispers.

"I'll stop by the bathroom on the way." you murmur, now fully dressed, "thank you for that, by the way." you wink, grabbing the back of his neck and pressing a hard kiss against him. Then, you're out the door.

Jungkook is left naked on the floor, confused, and wanting to ask why exactly you have asymmetrical scars on your back.

#bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #jungkook x reader fluff #jungkook x reader angst #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader smut #jungkook x you

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jjk-anime-horray · 3 years

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A Call in the Night

Dazai Osamu x reader x Oda Sakunosuke

Series Summary: While Dazai finally gets over the death of his friend and moves on with his life, he has to watch him unnaturally return into the world, and now he has to watch him turn twisted and into everything he hated in a way.

Chapter Summary: The Armed Detective Agency gets a call about an warehouse incident that happened in the middle of the night, and send two detectives to respond to it.

Notice: This fic series is going to have some dark themes in it so be warned, and in this AU Dazai and the reader are members of the armed detective agency, and this is a spiritual successor to “Late Night Tickets, and Meeting Him.” So I recommend reading that first even though you don’t need to. This is going to be a series!

Trigger Warnings: Blood, mentions of extreme violence, and description of illegal activities.

Getting a call about a mandatory and emergency investigation in the middle of the night, to be specific 2:32am, was something no one at the Armed Detective Agency wanted to do. So what's the most logical solution? Draw straws and the two people who draw the shortest are forced to go.

Unfortunately for you, you were one of the two unfortunate souls that drew a short straw. At least the other person who drew the short straw was Dazai Osamu, your coworker but most importantly the first friend you made in this city, so maybe you would be able to get a kick out of the bad situation at hand.

But when the two of you emerged from an alley to meet the crime scene at hand, that would by no means be the case because by the sight of the horror that layed out infront of you two it was enough for the both of you want to hurl.

Crime scene would describe the atrocity in front of as much as the phrases bloodbath and massacre would. No wonder this was an emergency for the ADA there were probably more than 30 people dead killed in various atypical ways.

First walking into the warehouse the most out of the ordinary sight would be a round wooden table with a duffle bag on it, but once someone took a closer look the rest of the ware house was completely empty other than the congealing crimson liquid that was pooling everywhere.

The five chairs around rickety table were matched with four bodies of executives of some sort laid face down on the table or dangling of the chairs.

But the most appalling sight was what was inside the duffle-bag, you were wishing it would be something tame like left behind money, however, much to your displeasure, they where severed off human heads. That by the looks of it were cut off with some sort of serrated knife my the edge markings.

"What are you thinking (Y/N)?" Were the words that Dazai spoke to snap you out of your spiraling train of thought. "I sure as hell am thinking this isn't the way I would have wanted to go."

"I'll have to agree with you on that one, this shit is something right out of a cheesy crime or horror movie.The only thing I can think of is the heads were a message of some kind to the people who were sitting at the table, and either the person at the empty seat with accomplices who killed everyone or are the only survivor, but it could be either. Were you able to identify anyone bodies or do you recognize anyone?"

"I don't recognize anyone, and most of the bodies are too mangled to be identified, but everyone at the table is wearing a customized Rolex, so I suspect that they were all executives of a organization of some kind, probably an illegal on based on all the gun men that were probably guarding the meeting before they got taken out."

"The only lead we have is the Rolex I guess, so Daz, will you take one for reference, we can visit all of the watch makers in the city to try to find out who was the person who commissioned these watches to be made, and then maybe through that we kind find out who the soul survivor was."

"Agreed."

Honestly the two of you would have been a little more playful and chatty if the events that took place tonight weren't so gruesome. The two of you were used to having to see and do brutal things, but Dazai had this gut feeling that this wasn't the typical violent act, and things weren't as the seemed.

The brown eyed detective just wanted to go take a nap after this, which was something you also wanted to do after see all the blood. Deciding to leave the true start to your investigation for a decent time the two of you swiftly communicated with the responders about the potential situation at hand. Then left to go deal with is mess the next day.

Timeskip........

After a horrible night's sleep and about three cups of coffee you were finally able to be semi-functional, so then you decided to grab your partner Dazai after dressing to impress and make for the horrible mood you currently were in from multiple factors. Dazai was even in a worse state than you where, you found him at the trying to convince Kunikida to go on the investigation for him, which was ultimately denied by the blonde haired man. Also leaving you to drag the genius yet idiotic maniac out of the office.

Walking down the streets in-between visiting different watchmakers and jewelers, you noticed some was off each time your boots hit the ridged pavement. In particular something about Dazai, his face was contorted into a being in deep thought, not to be disturbed for any reason. It was so out of character you were going to ask what he was thinking about, but then opted out.

"I know you were going to ask what I was thinking, I am a detective you know." He said his face morphing into one not of deep thought but of cockiness with a smirk. Damn, sometimes you really loved and hated that smirk, but right now you didn't know what to think of it. "I was just thinking of how now I know exactly who made the watches, and where is is for your information."

"Really who would that be? For my information."

"His name is Opāru Shokunin, he's done a lot of custom jewelry for Elise-chan and the port mafia in the past, but recently he's been doing a lot of foreign commissions for gangs and syndicates outside of Japan my word of mouth. When I first saw the watches I was initially reminded of how it looked like his handy work, but since the first three places we've visited were a bust, i'm confident it's him."

"Alright Mr. Mic-cocky, lead the way by all means." You scoughed lightly.

Unfortunately for the two of you, your desired destination was all the way across yokohama, so you had to hail a taxi which you knew you were going to be the one paying or it. The icing on the shitty cake was that you got stuck in rush hour traffic, so, the total time until arrival was three time longer than it should have been. At least you got dibs on the radio choice.

When the two of you arrived at your desired destination you now witnessed a normal looking office building, unfortunately, there was no elevator so the two of you had to work your legs up three flights of stairs to make it to Opāru's workshop.

Before you went in however you whispered to Dazai "how do we know he's even gonna be willing to talk to us?"

"He's going to be willing...."

"Why?"

"Simple you're gonna pay him."

"Um no you're going to pay him because I payed for the cab!"

"Um no."

"Yes!"

"No."

"Yes!"

"You realize I can hear you two bickering right?" was the raspy voice of the man you were looking for that ended your whisper argument. He was actually younger than you expected, about 38, but he looked older than his body by his eyes, the eyes of someone very worn out. Which would explain the smoking. "He's right i'll talk if you pay me, just come in before ya give everyone else a headache."

The two of you swiftly made your way into the working man's shop room. The room was a lot nicer than you thought it would be, and a lot lighter too. The man possessed a very nice view from his wall because his wall was almost completely filled with by windows. Dazai did mention something about the craftsmen liking natural light in the cab on the way here, so it wasn't too surprising and really lightened the room up.

You followed Dazai to the two chairs across from the white tufted sofa that Opāru was already occupying. Then Dazai placed the watch and a thick wad of cash on the coffee table separating the two parties of people.

"Oh, so you're here to ask who paid me to customize this for them? No surprise there they were particularly nasty."

"How where they particularly nasty?"

"I'm pretty sure that they were doing things even nastier than the port mafia, like taking kids of the streets and shipping them off."

"So, supposedly by word of mouth were human traffickers."

" Yeah, supposedly, but I didn't ask when the guy approached me."

"The guy?" You reconfirmed.

"Yeah, the guy, he had this weird tattoo on his wrist. The guy's name was Zinnnnnng, THUMP.

The two of you didn't even have time to blink or create when the bullet zipped through the head of the craftsman from. The crimson liquid from his head pooling on the couch were he was just alive a few seconds ago. The blood seeping into the fabric like the disparity of situation into Dazai and yourself.

Glimpsing out middle window now tainted with a hole you see the silhouette of the person responsible for this.

Dashing up without a second thought you sprint to pursue the culprit of the murder that just took place infront of you. Eyeing your target through the broken window.

Ahhhhhhh! Okay I’m literally really proud of how this came out! I’m really hope people like it. I’m really new to writing full fanics so if any experienced writer is reading this will you please give some pointers, that would be very helpful!

-Ellie

#anime #weeb #x reader #manga #platonic #romantic #bsd fanfic #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #bsd au #bungou stray dogs au #fanfic #fan fiction #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #oda sakunosuke #odasaku x dazai

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wendystales · 3 years

Text

Memories - lrh (Chapter Sixteen)

Memories (also on Wattpad)

Chapter Fifteen ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ Chapter Seventeen

Luke pov.

“Do it again.” Ashton asks, staring at me intently.

We were about to leave my house for my surprise party, which I discovered in less than an hour. I was rehearsing a face of surprise so as not to end the surprise, cause I know everyone worked hard for it.

I widen my eyes, breaking into a smile.

“I can't believe you deceived me.” I say with my voice altered by the ‘surprise’.

“Don't say that, it will be very obvious that you know. Says ‘I can't believe you threw a party for me’.” he suggests.

"I can't believe you threw a party for me." I redo the entire acting.

“Yep! Me either. But what doesn't M&Ms ask, that I don't do?” Ash dries the water bottle with a shrug. “I'm just kidding.” he laughs after seeing my face.

“Speaking of her…” I fill my glass with some more wine, since it's too early for us to go. “Something new?” Ashton denies, frustrated too.

“I commented that she was acting weird, but she just changed the conversation and said that she's been busy and that she was nervous about the party.” he sighs. I massage my forehead, annoyed.

"Am I going to have to put her against the wall to get something?" I look at him, not knowing what to do.

“You know this isn't going to work. She's going to run away, you're going to fight, she's going to walk away and you're going to be more annoying than you already are.” I appreciate my friend's attempt to change the mood with provocation, but it has no effect.

"I can't find any reason to give me any sign of what's going on. Was it my fault? I knew I shouldn't have stayed with her that Saturday, I pushed the situation too hard and now she's pulling away, avoiding me-”

“Oh shut up! Don't even start with that.” Irwin raises his voice, cutting mine off. "Marnie isn't like that, she doesn’t do these things. If she wasn't comfortable she was going to talk. You said yourself that she asked you to sleep there. She let you pick her up on Monday and asked you to take her home, even after you dedicated Best Years to her. She didn't run away there, because it was remarkable how much she liked the song. You should pay more attention to the way she looks at you.”

A silly laugh escapes my lips when I see Ashton imitate her looking at me and smiling. My heart warms at the possibility that she is actually falling in love with me, just as I already am with her.

"Luke, if she didn't want to get back together, she wouldn't open up so many gaps and opportunities for you to be together. She must just be confused about the feelings. That's how it looked for the first time. Look, let's analyze her behavior today, after all the stress of the party and then we get stressed.”

I agree with my friend. I'm freaking out over something that shouldn't be very important. Maybe it's all the pressure with finishing the album. The release date is approaching and sure enough, Jim freaking out in my ear for the publicity trip we were supposed to be doing, but we're still going against it due to Marnie's accident.

I don't know how many times I have to tell him I'm not leaving LA yet. This delay wasn't hindering anything, so I don't know why he makes such a point.

“Go, get rid of that dead face and let's enjoy your party.” Ash slaps my shoulder.

We left the house, heading to Jack's house, where the party would be. I've been training my face the entire way, wanting it to be as realistic as possible, even though everyone already suspects that I know.

Even if I didn't know it, the moment I see the street full of cars, I realize that I would find out there. Irwin tells them we're coming and I notice the noise of the music fade away. Discreet.

We entered the house, finding everything quiet and tidy. But when we turn to the kitchen and garden, a lot of people scream in surprise. I take a step back, like I'm really shocked.

"I can't believe you did that." I look at Ash, wanting to see that I did well. But his expression ‘so so’ disappoints me.

“In the car it was better.” he says before walking away and letting people get closer.

I don't know how many people I hugged, but I know the only one I wanted to see was the last one to arrive. I hold my breath, seeing her in a black leather skirt and a transparent black blouse, highlighting her tattoo between her breasts.

I swallow hard, cracking a nervous smile as she approaches with a huge grin, almost jumping into my lap. Unlike yesterday, where I just got a congratulations message, M&Ms hug me, leaving a lingering kiss on my cheek.

“Happy Birthday!” the gleam in her eyes proves to me she's already a little high.

I resist the urge to steal a kiss from her lips, just kissing her cheek back but giving her waist a squeeze, pressing her against my body. She seems to notice my intent, drastically changing her breathing.

"I wanted to talk to you later. If possible.” I say against her ear.

“About?” her eyes sweep me for any clues.

“Surprise.” I reveal, seeing her roll her eyes in agreement.

I watch her walk away with the girls, but she doesn't fully break eye contact with me, looking at me from afar. I let out a breath, realizing it's going to be a long night and another long battle to resist her and the urge to take her to a dark corner.

In the kitchen, where most of the drinks are, I start my work, drinking the alcohol, enjoying the burning sensation that the liquid leaves in my throat. I get distracted with video game conversation and allow my mind to relax with lighter, more relaxed topics.

The party had been going on for a few hours. My head is already light, due to the high alcohol content my body retains. I know I'm laughing at some bullshit Brian is talking about, even though his words don't make any sense in my mind. Maybe I've already had too much to drink and it's better to stop for a while. I don't want to be sick at my own party.

The term vibrates in my mind and I start searching the crowd for the cotton candy hair, worried about her condition. The feeling pulls my head out of the air, sobering me up for a few minutes.

I find her dancing hand in hand with Noah, laughing at the older man's exaggerated steps. I stare at the scene, happy that she is enjoying herself. Unlike at the beginning of the week, Marnie is now upbeat and not acting. Maybe Irwin is right and she was just stressed about the birthday party.

I push my thoughts away, concentrating on yet another beer pong game. I've played more times than I could count and I'm starting to doubt the two arms Jack has won since my last drink.

“Problems.” Michael sings beside me, pointing to the door. Pam walked in smiling excitedly, holding hands with a guy who sure as hell didn't want to be there. It's not possible…

Sobriety hits me like a cannon. All the alcohol and smoke that was in my body is gone and I am able to think clearly for the first time since I arrived.

I massage my forehead, bringing my gaze to Marnie, who's already staring at Pam without a specific expression. I cross the room with incredible ease, reaching for her, hugging her waist, pulling her to me.

“We can talk now?” Marnie didn't even seem to hear me, still staring at Pam, who was greeting some people. "M&Ms?" I call closer to her ear, but no effect. “Hey!” I drop a kiss to her temple, squeezing her waist.

Her green eyes cross mine and I can palpate the insecurity in them. Marnie just nodded, letting me lead her out of the room. We went up to a room, being alone. I look at her face, still half lost, and I approach slowly, feeling that little box weigh tons in my pocket.

“What do you want to talk about?” she gives a slight smile, turning her full attention to me.

“First I wanted to apologize for Pam. I didn't know what she was going to come.” Marnie rolls her eyes, shrugging.

“It’s OK! No need to apologize. My head is so full I don't even care about her anymore.” she sits up in bed, crossing her legs.

“And I believe she won't even mind us today, after all, she came with someone” I sat beside her.

“Yeah! Poor guy.” I let out a laugh at her pity for the poor boy. “It was just that?”

I lose myself in her eyes for a few seconds, wondering if that's all. I draw her face in my mind once more, recording every feature I fell in love with. My lips tingle as I landed my eyes on her mouth, slightly reddened by the drink.

At another time, right now she and I would be locked in some bathroom or bedroom, succumbing to desire and the alcohol in our blood. My fingertips ache amidst the memories of all the times I have run across her skin, feeling it burn under my touch.

My mind starts to cloud and the flashes of the two of us become more and more vivid. I try to push those thoughts away, but they seem to sink into my mind with force. My body heats up with every scene my mind plays. I feel the blood running the wrong way and I don't know how to stop it.

"Luke?" I'm startled by your touch on my hand. Marnie was looking at me with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “Are you okay?” I watch her hand squeeze mine, like she always did when I was angry or upset.

And just with that touch, everything stops inside me. The fire is gone and now I'm seized by a gigantic pain and rage in my chest, a rage for her being ripped from me so abruptly. I stare at her fingers moving gently, transmitting a caress throughout my body.

"Luke?" now she was looking at me extremely worried.

“Sorry. I think the drink hit.” I open a smile, trying to calm her down. M&Ms don't seem to buy much, but she smiles smugly.

“I already told you you're drinking a lot. In a little while you'll be passed out and won't even enjoy your own birthday party.” my smile widens in the midst of her care. "Don't give me that smile." she pushes my face away. "Is that all you wanted to talk about?"

“No!” this time I answer faster. “Actually, I wanted to give you something.” I fish the little white box in my pocket, feeling my fingers as soft as jelly. What if she doesn't like it? What if she gets angry?

“You know it's your birthday, right? You're the one who should get presents, not give. Especially for me.” she looks at me angrily, not wanting to accept the box.

"Well, it's my birthday and I'll do what I want, in which case I give it to you." I place the object in her hands. “I wanted to wait until your birthday, but it's still far away and I can't take it.” I lift my shoulders quickly, making her laugh.

Taking advantage of the fact that she was involved with the present, slowly, I move closer to her body, contenting myself with the least contact we have. I notice Marnie hold her breath at the sight of the blue quartz necklace, just like the one she had.

With no more reaction than that, I start to convince myself that I've fucked up and she hated it. It wasn't the time yet, as much as everything was going well, it wasn't the time yet.

“I can't believe you did this.” her voice comes out in a breath in surprise. I let my mind race to our first Christmas, where she gave me my necklace and I gave that star to her.

“If you don't like it…” my voice trails off as I see her eyes watery and filled with joy. It was the right time.

I'm not afraid to advance towards her, covering your lips with mine in a short kiss. The cherry taste becomes my favorite for the rest of the night. Marnie wipes her tears as she calls herself pathetic for crying.

"I know we used it as a dating ring, but it doesn't have to be-”

"Could you put it on for me?" she interrupts me, not caring about my fear. With my hands still trembling and cold, I close the necklace around her neck, enjoying the scene of her smiling enchanted by that stone. “Thanks!”

This time it is she who steps forward, stealing a kiss. The mood changes drastically. The screams outside seem to die in my ears, leaving only silence. The music that used to burst had ceased to exist.

That little kiss breaks, but she doesn't pull away, keeping her forehead still glued to mine. I'm startled when her eyes return to mine, I can see her perfectly there, in front of me, in my arms. I recognize that glow, that look and what it wanted to convey.

It was her there. The reason I get up every morning. The reason that makes me want to be better and better. The person I always want to impress. My girl. My Marnie.

I bring my hand to the back of her neck, bringing our lips together once more. I feel goose bumps as our tongues touch and her hand cups my face, holding me there. If she knew the last thing I want is to run away…

I'm surprised I feel despair on her side. The urgency on her lips. The need for the touch of her hands, the way they ran through my hair, the back of my neck and chest.

Easily, I pull her onto my lap, moaning, feeling her body against mine after so long. The fire that had previously ceased inside me, runs again through my veins, making everything too cloudy. I can't reason whether this was right or not. We both drink too much. She still hasn't given me full openness to so much attitude, even though she's still here, kissing me.

I try for a few minutes to clear my mind, to be a little rational and not get carried away by emotion, but the sound her mouth makes when I touch her neck with my lips ruins whatever train of thought I was building.

I touch the exact spots that make her moan and scramble for more friction. I watch thirstily as her eyes roll back and her lip is bitten in an attempt to control the moans. Her nails scratch the back of my neck, releasing an electric current that migrates between my legs.

I gasp when I feel her rub against my groin, spreading a current throughout my body. I want to beg her to do it again, but it's not really necessary, she knows and she does. So excruciating, but so good. Again I am startled to find that glow that I knew so much. I wonder where this Marnie was all along.

I shove my hand inside her shirt, enjoying her burning skin. I stroke the spot below her bra with my thumb, wanting not to frighten her. I suck the skin under her ear, lapping it with my tongue. My body combusts as she stirs and presses her crotch harder against mine. I cup her breast with enjoyment, hearing her call my name the way I liked it best.

Her desperate hands run inside my jacket, wanting to throw it away. I was ready to help when a heavy knock on the door disrupts our moment.

"What the fuck is it?" anger rips up my throat, causing a very angry scream. So much time to interrupt.

"It's time to cut the cake." I hear Calum's voice and feel like throwing him from the second floor.

“Serious? Stick the cake in your-” two small hands cover my mouth, preventing me from continuing.

“We're on our way, Cal.” Marnie yells louder and breathless.

I watch your body soften, lost and, I fear, even regretful. She is no longer there. She avoids looking at me, perhaps out of shame.

“It was better this way.” her sweet voice comes closer to a whisper.

“Was?” I stare at her, not wanting to accept that I was the only one to feel it. I know I wasn't, because her expression tells me I'm right.

“Was! You know it was.” her tone is still sweet, but her gaze is hard. "I think we'd better go downstairs." she gets up carefully, getting out of bed. I throw my head against my hands, visibly frustrated.

"Go ahead, I need to get both heads in place." I throw my body against the mattress.

“Sorry, Luke.” I can't stand her feeling guilty when she's the biggest victim of all this.

"M&Ms?" I leap out of bed, grabbing her before disappearing through the door. “It's not your fault. I'm the one who lost control, I'm sorry. You didn't give me the opening to attack you like that and I let myself go…” her lips silence me.

“It wasn't anyone's fault, can we do that?” I nod, stealing the last kiss before I let her go. "I'll wait for you downstairs." she announce.

I turn around, heading back to bed, still feeling frustration coursing through my veins.

“Hey!” I turn to see her there, standing in the doorway. My chest races with yearning from the many times I've seen her do the same scene. My ears and heart ache wanting to hear those words that always came next. Those three words that were so beautiful in her mouth. “Thanks for this.” she smiles and leaves.

I stare at the wood, snapping back to reality. I'm such an idiot for thinking she was going to say she loves me. I hide my face, exhausted. I look across the bed, able to see the two of us there, so given to each other.

I replay the scene in my head, tasting her kiss on my lips. Feeling my body tingle, still wanting her touch. The pressure on my pants becomes bigger and more uncomfortable. I need to make this go away. I scramble my mind for many things to calm myself down, but I can't. I can still feel her hands running around the back of my neck and her groin against mine.

"Shit!" I give up, going to the bathroom and locking myself in there. I don't care if I'm late, or what they think. I won't be able to eliminate this with thoughts alone.

I lower my pants and underwear, releasing my already throbbing member. I run my hand over it, making my body vibrate in relief. I let my mind flood with all thoughts and memories with her, feeling my body inflate further.

I increase my speed, being able to feel her touch through my body. I punch the wall, feeling my stomach contract. I rest my forehead against the cool coating, letting out several sighs. Her eyes flash in my mind.

The many times I've seen her face twist in pure orgasm under my touch. That smirk and that vulgar glow she always lets off before pulling me aside. And I always did, like a puppy.

My breathing gets out of control as I reach my orgasm. A wave of relief and lightness overcomes me, along with a wave of guilt. It must have been the 15th time since it all happened.

I can't have her. I can't stand the idea of looking for someone else, even though we are not officially together, so I have to get by with baths and my bare hands, but as a result I feel like the dirtiest human being, as she doesn't even suspect.

I walk down the stairs, not attracting any attention. I find her sitting on the couch, on Leah's lap, laughing at some imitation Ashton was doing. I approach the group, who make no fuss about my delay.

I pick up the bottle of white wine on the coffee table, flipping half the contents. I feel her green eyes burn on me and I don't even have the courage to reciprocate by ignoring her.

“Is everything OK? Sorry if I messed something up.” Hood says next.

“It's OK! In fact, it was better, if you didn't show up, we would have done something stupid.” I say dry.

"Is that why this sour face?" he raises an eyebrow.

"I'm feeling awful for almost bringing her to this and not having the conscience to stop." I reveal a part of the guilt that burns in me.

“Luke, you are not complete strangers. And maybe she really wanted to go further, she just didn't know how. After all, at that moment she was supposed to be your f-”

"I know!" I cut it off, not wanting to hear the rest of the sentence.

For my salvation, someone starts to sing happy birthday and the matter is closed. I open a smile disguising the shit my head was on. Michael puts a little purple hat on my head, blowing a plastic horn, very excited.

The scene makes me laugh, relieving the stress. I watch Leah and Kyleen swing colorful pom poms behind Marnie, who is holding a small cake with several candles.

I look deep into her eyes, noticing her happiness to be there and somehow mine too. After all, she's here, even if she doesn't remember much, she's still here. The accident could have been a lot worse and I could have lost her forever.

I push the damn thoughts away, blowing out the candles and driving everyone crazy. I'm surprised when Marnie leans in, stealing a kiss, not caring that she's in front of everyone. Her rosy cheeks manage to steal a smile far bigger than Michael did.

In the back of the room, I notice Pam with her arms crossed and sulking. I don't know if Marnie did it on purpose, intent on teasing, but something she did, and if Pam is pissed off, we're happy.

The clock was already showing around 5:00 in the morning. I've already fluctuated my alcohol level more times than I can count. While the boys filled me with rum, M&Ms filled me with water and food, afraid I would go into an alcoholic coma or whatever. Of course I took advantage of her concern and all the attention she was giving me.

At some point during the party, Michael took over the DJ's table and there we were, jumping up behind him, singing I Want It That Way at the top of our lungs, with the lost girls trying to do the choreography. That was definitely the best thing about the party, right after my moment with Marnie in the bedroom.

Right after his moment commanding the party's playlist, Clifford decided to climb on the roof to jump into the pool. Something that was already taking a while to happen. What he and no one expected was Marnie yelling at him, worried.

“It's comical, because if it weren't for the amnesia and the lack of alcohol, she would be the one on the roof.” Irwin comments lying beside me, watching the scene of her yelling at Michael, asking him to come down.

“And we called the fire department because she got stuck again.” I shake my head, wanting not to laugh at the memories. “Good times.” I'm toasting my friend, still watching her worriedly behind the older one.

Sitting in the garden, talking to some friends, I watch the girl laughing in a circle with Noah and Calum. She gets up, walking into the house, returning in a few minutes. I watch her come around, stopping behind me.

“Now the one who needs to talk is me.” she whispers in my ear. I don't think twice about taking your hand and heading out of the wheel chat.

I can see a large package in her hands and the idea of being my gift makes me anxious. A little farther away from the mess that remained, she hands me the black box with a gold bow on top. Before opening it, I take a look at her excited smile, letting out a laugh.

I find five rings and three necklaces arranged around the box. I can't hold back the smile, seeing what she's chosen. I know I might look like an idiot for some jewelry, but it's amazing jewelry she picked out.

“You liked?” she bites her lower lip, curious.

“I loved!” I hug your body, thanking her. I know she has no intentions other than to give me a birthday present, but of course I will wear these rings and necklaces with more affection than usual. “Thanks.” I mean, still ecstatic.

Hand in hand, we approached the crowd again, bumping into Kiki, Sophie and Michael.

“We were thinking about going to Michael's house. The party is already boring and I'm hungry.” Kiki comments. I look a little offended at her, after all, that was my birthday party. “Oh! Nothing personal.” she laughs, slapping me on the shoulder.

“What do you think?” I ask the M&Ms, who shrug their shoulders. "Have you talked to the rest?"

“Leah was going to call Noah and Ash, we were going to rescue Calum.”

“OK! We'll get our stuff and meet you at the door.” Marnie agrees and so we disperse.

Still holding hands, we walked back upstairs, looking for her bag. In the kitchen, I grab a bottle of vodka, a tequila, and a whiskey, trying to put everything in my bag, but it doesn't quite work.

“We should take advantage of the gathering and have your liver funeral.” I turn to Marnie who glares at me, seeing three bottles in my arm and me struggling to open one of beer.

Easily, we made our way to the front door, finding Kiki and Sophie. Gradually, everyone arrived and so we left the party, without saying goodbye to anyone.

“Uh, tequila?” Hood comes towards me, hugging the bottle.

Michael's house was the closest and, having drunk too much, we thought we'd better walk.

On the way, we stopped at a bakery, buying a bunch of things to eat. The day was already showing signs of life when we arrived at Mike's house. At the dinner table, we spread out the stolen drinks and food, starting our round table, as well as picking up several board games that Michael kept.

“I wanted to propose a toast to Mr. Luke Hemmings.” Noah draws the toast, making everyone raise their glasses and bottles. “One of the few people worth meeting in this hellish city where you can't trust anyone. The other people are unfortunately not present…”

A shower of paper balls and food flies towards the 20 minutes older twin. I'm surprised when I watch Marnie leave my arms, standing up.

“I also wanted to give a speech.”

“You didn't have to, babe.” I say, shaking her hand that still had our fingers intertwined.

“It's not about you.” she sticks out her tongue, causing everyone to scream.

“Ouch!” I put my hand to my chest, accepting the blow and still feeling my heart race.

“Shut up.” she screams, laughing. “Well, I wanted to make this toast in thanks to all of you. I know it's been three years of friendship, but for me it's only been a month and even with all the confusion and breakup.” her fingers squeeze mine and I move them, giving them a light caress. “You still took me in and took great care of me. I am eternally grateful for that. Leah doesn't even start crying, I need to get this over with and if I cry it's going to go wrong.” the mood breaks a little with the laughter. “Bottom line, I just want to say that whatever the future holds, I like you all a lot and that this isn't just a bunch of crazy friendship the universe threw at me, it's the family I've been looking for. As Noah said, you're the few people worth living in this hell of a city and I love you all so much. Cheers!”

Everyone raises their glasses once more, toasting her speech. I cross my gaze with Leah, who has also noticed something odd. She still hadn't commented on Monday's episode and I still had it hanging around in my mind.

It was very visible that something was troubling her. Her eyes wandering lost, her disappearance since Monday until today, claiming to be super busy and out of time. Everyone was sensing that something was wrong, but she wouldn't let go or comment on it.

“Especially you.” I focus my attention on her, who settles back into my arms. “Regardless of our future, I like you very much.” she whispers, before pressing her lips to mine. “Please never forget that. Promise?”

I get lost in her eyes, noticing a hint of fear and pain in them. It's horrible to see her like this and not know what to do. For nothing in this world I want her to feel unprotected or alone, she said herself that we are a family, so she wouldn't have to face anything alone.

“Only if you promise me you'll tell me what's going on.” I play hard, not caring if this becomes an issue between us, or if it pushes her away a little.

“Luke…” my name comes out in a painful sigh.

"Marnie." I say her name harshly, wanting her to understand that I won't change my mind.

“I'll tell. Just not today. Today is your day and that's what matters to me. So please let's enjoy?” she begs. As always, I surrender, nodding. I drop a kiss to her forehead, before pulling her to my chest again.

Hastings still looks at me suspiciously and unfortunately I only have reason to agree with her. Something was up with Marnie and she didn't want to tell us.

A minute of silence, our baby is turning 25 today and I am not knowing how to handle it.

14 notes · View notes

one-boring-person · 4 years

Text

Just A Babysitter. (Part Three)

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: theft, some blood imagery, some mentioned drug use, fluff (some)

Context: This part revolves around Michael's first night with the boys, which (Y/n) partakes in.

A/N: I felt like I should post this to make up for the short one I posted earlier, so enjoy!

Part One, Part Two , Part Four , Part Five , Part Six , Part Seven , Part Eight

A strong reek of motor oil hangs over us as we linger on the Boardwalk, waiting for Star to finally rejoin us, the boys restless again, though each for different reasons. None of them have said more than a few words to me since last night, though one of the things they did tell me is that I have to stay with them all night, which annoys me to no end. The silent treatment is also a little tedious and frustrating, but at least it gives me time to think without being interrupted by Paul's constant jokes and pranks, or David's weighted questions, not to mention Marko's sweet yet sometimes irritating habit of making comments in my ear about random people passing by. Out of all of them, the only one acting vaguely normal to me is Dwayne, who treats me with the same quiet friendliness he treats nearly everyone in the group.

"Isn't that her?" Marko suddenly speaks up, pointing to a spot not too far from us.

Following his line of sight, I manage to spot the half-vampire weaving through the crowd with a familiar brunette on her tail: Michael. The boy seems to have bought himself a new leather jacket, probably to appeal more to his intended audience of one, Star, sauntering along behind her with some confidence as they converse together amicably, laughing with one another in response to some joke I can't hear, but the others can. David's jaw seems to clench a bit as he watches them, Paul and Marko smirking at each other as if they know something we don't, Dwayne leaning back a bit to whisper something to Laddie, who is perched on the back of his motorcycle once more. He rode with me on the way up, but quickly swapped when Star told him to do so, though he was clearly a little reluctant to do as he was told.

"Let's go." The blonde leader commands us, expecting us to follow him as he kicks his bike into gear, allowing Marko and Paul to take the lead, followed by Dwayne and then me, though it is obvious by the way he instantly moves his bike next to mine that I won't be a major part of this conversation. Loudly, we pull up in front of Michael as he goes to help Star onto his red motorcycle, the brunette's eyes widening at our sudden appearance, flicking his gaze between us until it lands on me. I smile in greeting, sitting back on my own Triumph as David makes a show of asserting his dominance, trying not to show how much it bothers me.

"Where you going, Star?" The vampire questions, tone neutral for now, though it will likely become harsher very soon.

"For a ride." She responds, trying to turn her back on us, as I have many times in the past.

"Let's go." Michael says to her, voice quieter than it was last night, though this is likely just because he wants to impress the girl trying to get on his motorbike with him.

Obviously, David can't let this slide.

"Star." This time, his voice is laced with authority and suggestion, his icy blue eyes watching her pointedly.

A low laugh emanates from the boys as the half-vampire gives in, climbing onto David's motorcycle with him, but not after making a show of dragging her hand over his chest with her eyes fixed on mine. Rolling my eyes, I zip up my jacket again, knowing that we'll be taking the wild ride home tonight, just to show off.

"You know where Hudson's Bluff is, overlooking the Point?" David inquires, raising an eyebrow at Michael as a downcast expression makes its way onto his face.

"I can't beat your bike." Michael confesses, hands tightening nervously around the handlebars.

"You don't have to beat me, Michael. You just have to try and keep up." With that, he revs his engine and puts the motorcycle into drive, speeding off the Boardwalk and onto the beach with a startled cry from Star, followed swiftly by the others. I take off after them, leading the way for Michael to chase me, grunting when the impact with the beach winds me, reminding me that I need to get the suspension on my motorbike fixed. Behind me, I hear the tell tale sound of Michael hitting the sand, his bike quickly catching up to us as we hurtle over the beach towards the cave, Paul and Marko weaving in and out of my path as we continue on, exhilarated whoops leaving them as they ramp up the speed.

Despite the thrill, I ride the entire way with a grim expression on my face, knowing Michael is unlikely to survive the night without being encouraged to join the boys - and from the impression I get of him, I know he won't refuse their insistence. I briefly break the facade when Laddie calls to me under the peer, his voice high over the howling wind in my ears, reassuring him that I'm still here, as well as letting the others know I haven't run off from them again. A curse escapes me when I recognise the small ridge the boys enjoy springing off of looming up, my own bike often struggling to follow them over it. Determined not to be outdone by a newcomer, I put my foot on the gas and pop off the top of it, overtaking Paul and Dwayne with a loud roar of the engine, a dry smirk making its way onto my face when Paul protests loudly, revving his own engine so he can catch up again. As usual, this begins a small race between us, one which he will undoubtedly win, even though I try my best to out do him each time.

Sitting lower on the bike, I push the accelerator up again until it reaches its highest, a shriek of exhilaration finally leaving me at the pure speed that follows, the uneven ground beneath me causing the motorbike to leave the ground a few times. To my left, Paul calls out teasing encouragement, goading me on to push the limit again, though I can already see the edge of the cliff approaching, so to up the speed further would be suicide. He might be able to survive a trip off the edge, but I certainly won't, which is why I have to pull up short when I get in range of the precipice.

"One more win for me! What's the score now, like a hundred to zero?" The triumphant vampire floats as he stops closer to the edge, sending me a proud grin as I flip him off, breathless but smiling, too, my mood having brightened considerably.

"Shut up, Paul."

A laugh leaves us both before we're interrupted by Michael and David pulling up a little way away, the former skidding on his bike as he overshoots the turn, falling to the floor with a grunt. The latter smirks down at him, a chuckle threatening to escape his lips even as Star looks on with worry. Dismounting, the rest of us approach them, quickening our pace in alarm when Michael lunges for our leader, punching him straight across the face. Anger flares up in me at the newcomer's boldness, quickly joining in with the boys as they go to hold him back, only to stop when we see David's reaction, my eyebrow raising a little at the cunning smirk he is carrying.

"...just you!" I finally tune into what Michael is saying, rolling my eyes at his stupidity, hanging back behind the boys with Laddie as I try to stop myself from laughing.

"How far you willing to go, Michael?" David challenges the brunette, features sharpened in the harsh white light from the lighthouse just offshore.

Confused, Michael can only watch as we hide our bikes and make our way down onto the steps leading to the cave, following behind David as we enter the sunken hotel. Immediately, I head over to my usual spot in the corner: a dusty old armchair covered in my notebooks, comics and other useless trinkets I've picked up, or been given, over the years. Plonking myself down, I busy myself with one of the sketchbooks sitting on the arm, taking a pencil and starting a rough sketch of the hotel interior, one of many. Marko approaches me as David begins his spiel about the history of the hotel and that, a pigeon held gently in his hand, the other stroking it as carefully as possible, a small smile gracing his lips.

"What're you doing?" He asks me, leaning over me to see the page, chuckling a little when I lift it to my chest to hide it out of instinct.

"Drawing." I reply, the corners of my lips twitching up into a smile at Marko's eyeroll, sitting up to get a closer look at the pigeon, "May I?"

The young vampire's smile broadens and he nods, holding the pigeon out to me in offering, allowing me to run a finger over its soft head, the bird chirping as it wriggles a bit in his grip.

"Marko! Food!" David's voice suddenly interrupts us, drawing a small groan of irritation from the vampire in question.

"Want me to come with?" I offer, putting aside the sketchbook as I stand up, stumbling over a fallen comic.

"If you want to." He accepts, releasing the pigeon with a flurry of feathers as he and I climb back out of the cave and into the cooling night air.

"One bike, or two?" I muse, looking over at him in curiosity.

"Two, and we race there." Marko grins, heading over to the hiding spot where we keep them, wheeling his out and waiting for me to do the same.

"Oh, you're on. Where to?" I agree, swiftly accompanying him on the road and pulling on my gloves, shivering a little in the cool wind blowing up from the sea.

"The Chinese place." He decides, starting his engine.

"Sure. On the count of three?" I do the same, adjusting my grip on the handlebars as I prepare myself to race.

"Sure."

"One..." I begin, sitting lower in the seat.

"Two..." He continues, sending a smirk over at me as he revs the engine loudly.

"Thr-" I start to finish, only to catch a mouthful of dust as Marko takes off, drawing a protest from me. In seconds, I've recovered from the shock, thundering after him at the highest speed I'll risk this close to the edge of the cliff, quickly catching up to him with my minorly faster bike. On sand, the Triumph struggles to keep up with their lighter motorctcles, but on roads? Now that's a fight I can win.

Cries of excitement leave us, mingling with the growling of the engines, both of us yelling friendly insults at each other as we turn corners and weave in and out of the thin traffic, my motorbike quickly taking a good position a little way ahead of him. Pride in the vehicle fills me, though I don't let myself get arrogant, upping the speed once more in order to stay ahead, lowering myself in the seat to increase my aerodynamic stance, grinning deliriously to myself as the wind rushes through my hair and clothes, only adding to the exhilaration. Around me, the few other road users call out words of protest and anger at my reckless driving, one car even swerving completely to avoid me when I accidentally take up a place on the wrong side of the road. By the time the lights of Santa Carla come into view, my heartbeat is already at it's highest, tears forming in my eyes at the barrage of air attacking them.

Luckily, the Chinese is just outside the beach town, so there's no need for me to adjust my speed to a pedestrian friendly one when I approach the restaurant, the bike even skidding as I pull up in the parking lot outside, the brakes complaining at the sharp application even as a mother and daughter do the same, the former mentioning something about unruly teens before directing her ten year old away from me. I'm pleased to see that I'm the first here, glad that I've finally won a race against one of the boys after all these years of trying, a burst of pride and triumph filling me as I watch Marko enter the area a few minutes later, a large grin on his face.

"Damn, that bike is fast." The young vampire compliments, reaching out to clap me on the shoulder as he comes to a halt beside me. Climbing off, we make our way into the takeaway restaurant, Marko slinging his arm around my shoulders affectionately as we go, giving me a pointed look when a blush creeps onto my cheeks, his sweet scent clouding my nose briefly until we enter the restaurant itself, at which point all I can smell is food, which makes me hungry.

Going to the front, we order a few things, mostly rice and noodles, and wait for them to make it up. As we do so, I lean up to whisper in his ear.

"We paying for this one, or?"

"I don't know, should we?" Comes the reply, both of us exchanging a secretive glance, "How fast do you feel tonight?"

A mischievous grin makes its way onto my face at his words, my pulse instantly picking up at the idea.

"Very."

"Good." He responds, smirking at me.

For a couple more minutes, we wait for them to prepare the food, before going up to collect it with a neutral expression on our faces. I reach into my pocket for one of the fake notes we tend to carry around, just as a decoy, handing it to the poor worker with a polite smile, taking the food and leaving the restaurant with some speed. As we emerge, we break into a sprint, racing to our bikes and quickly starting them up as the owner bursts through the doors, screaming at us to stop. Giggling to ourselves, we speed off, the food secure on the back of our bikes, trying to get as far away from there as we can before the police are called on us, though it is very unlikely that they will catch us. Triumphant laughs and calls escape us as we hurtle down the road, keeping an eye on our tails to make sure we're not followed, and that the food is still there, making our way home with considerable speed, once again avoiding all the traffic possible. Dust flies up around us as we turn onto the smaller road leading up to the Bluff, a surprised yelp erupting from my lips when my motorbike skids on the dirt, nearly sending me flying over the handlebars, though I manage to hold on with as much strength as I can muster. Just ahead of me, Marko looks back to see if I'm still in one piece, his momentary worry fading into amusement at the look on my face, my pulse having picked up considerably from my near-accident. As we approach the head of the cliff, his smirk still hasn't faded, it has only grown, finding it funny that the traction on the bike very nearly got me badly injured. Upon stopping, he starts his small comments, pestering me as we make our way back down into the cave.

"Feeding time! Come get it, boys." The vampire announces, chucking the boxes of takeaway at the others before handing me a pot of noodles, allowing me to retake my seat in the corner.

"Chinese. Good choice." David acknowledges, taking two from Marko and opening the first, offering it to Michael, who is sat across from his wheelchair. The brunette declines, to which David responds with his usual wit, "You don't like rice? Tell me, Michael, how can a billion Chinese people be wrong? Come on."

The others laugh at David's words as Michael grudgingly takes the pot, starting to eat as the rest of us do, looking up with confusion when David begins to play his first trick.

"How are those maggots?" He asks nonchalantly, looking inquiringly at his target. Instantly, I know he's decided to use his mind tricks.

When Michael fails to reply, David tries again.

"Maggots, Michael, you're eating maggots. How do they taste?"

At his words, Michael looks back down at his food, quickly throwing it on the floor and spitting the contents of his mouth at it, trying to clean it out. A laugh erupts from the coven of vampires at the brunette's expense, a dry smirk creeping onto my face at the confused expression on Michael's, Star scolding them a little.

"Sorry, no hard feelings, huh?" David apologises, picking at the pot of noodles in his own gloved hands, "You like noodles?"

"They're worms..." Michael states, rolling his eyes a little at the joke.

"What do you mean they're worms?" David says, shovelling a few noodles into his mouth in his usual messy fashion, returning his icy blue gaze back to Michael as he chews, "They're only noodles, Michael."

In disbelief, Michael snatches the pot away from him, picking some up with the chopsticks to inspect them, looking incredulous as they turn out to be inanimate, rather than alive. Another laugh escapes the group until Star butts in from her position a little way behind them.

"Leave him alone."

I try to fight the eyeroll that threatens to leave me, biting my lip when I see David call Marko over, whispering something in his ear. My eyes follow the young vampire as he goes to fetch the familiar jewelled bottle for his leader, handing it to him almost reverently. Having been given it, David opens it and takes a sip, shuddering at the metallic taste that accompanies it, before offering it to Michael.

"Drink, Michael, be one of us." The vampire encourages, smirking a bit at the brunette as he takes it, sniffing it. By now, Star has moved to stand behind him, looking nervous as hell, even though Michael's choice will not affect her in any way.

"You don't have to," She argues, speaking directly into his ear, "It's blood."

Michael scoffs, giving her a quick "Yeah, sure" as the boys start to chant his name, encouraging him to drink, whooping and cheering when he does, taking a long drag from the bottle before pulling away.

"BRAVO!" David calls out, ordering Marko to start pushing him around in the wheelchair as the others start to get excited, Paul swiftly lighting what is probably his fourth joint of the night to add to his buzzed state, Dwayne carrying a smile as he parades around with them. Sighing, I busy myself in my pot of food, picking up my sketchbook once more and carrying on with my previous drawing, knowing this will be a boy's night, preparing myself for yet more babysitting duties.

The hours drag on, the boys becoming more and more active as the night wears on, each of them drinking huge amounts of alcohol and smoking large amounts of cannabis and tobacco, ignoring the fact that Star and Laddie are trying to sleep in their beds. The former eventually manages this, but the latter struggles, coming over to me after around two hours to sit with me, watching the boys mess around, as well as me draw, holding himself close to me as if to keep himself safe - he might like the boys, but his trust in them is yet to become a steady thing. Somehow, he drifts off in my arms, causing me to stop sketching and hold him instead, rocking him a little to keep him asleep, which is where the boys find me when they finally decide to take the party elsewhere.

"We're going to the bridge, want to come?" Paul announces, shooting me a guilty look when I hush him, gesturing to the sleeping child in my arms.

"Sure, let me drop this one off in his bed first, then I'll be up." I agree, carefully standing and taking Laddie over to the cot the boys (I) prepared for him when they first came to us, tucking him in before stepping over to leave the cave, following the boys up and out.

As I emerge, I decide to myself that I don't want to ride by myself, so I go over to Paul with obvious intent, smiling thankfully at him when he lets me take a seat behind him. Doing so, I wrap my arms around his waist, holding on tightly when he and the rest of them take off, riding in formation with David at the front, though only after he gives me an odd look, most likely expecting me to ask him for a ride, even though he hasn't said more than two words to me all night.

The journey to the bridge isn't long, especially not at the speed the boys are going at, a small sense of regret welling up in me at Paul's particularly reckless driving, wishing I'd chosen someone safer instead. He seems happy enough that I chose him, though, so I sit tight and deal with it, wondering who'll take me home after this little show the boys have planned. As we approach, I'm quick to get off and pull off the gloves I forgot to remove earlier, wiping my sticky hands on my jeans so they won't slip off the bars of the bridge. As Paul dismounts, he throws himself onto my back, almost pushing me over with his sudden weight, a giggle escaping him as I grunt in surprise, my hands flying to grasp at the arms he has thrown around my neck.

"Jesus, Paul, you're heavy as hell!" I protest, wriggling out from underneath him as we step onto the train tracks running across the bridge.

"Hey, I'm not that weighty!" He laughs, quieting when Michael speaks up.

"What's going on?" He asks David, the platinum blonde throwing an arm around his shoulders.

"Michael wants to know what's going on." The boys chuckle at his words, though I don't, still trying my best to brace my muscles in preparation for the hang that will soon follow, "Marko, what's going on?"

David's voice is laced with sarcasm and heavy emphasis, drawing yet another laugh from the group.

"I don't know, what's going on, Paul?" Marko replies, grinning behind Dwayne's shoulder at us.

"Who wants to know?" Paul inquires, laughing with us as I finally crack a smile, their teasing amusing to me as it always has been.

"Michael wants to know!" Marko confirms again, stepping up onto the edge of the bridge as we come to a halt in the centre.

"I think we should tell Michael what's going on." David says suggestively, giving Marko a pointed look.

With one last smirk, Marko steps off the edge, looking down as he goes.

"Bombs awayyyyyy..." His voice trails off as he drops, as if he's fallen to the bottom, though I know full well he hasn't.

Paul goes next, letting out one of his odd noises as he goes. Dwayne follows, and then David steps up as if he's forgotten I'm here.

"Come with us, Michael." He says before stepping off as well, the brunette turning to me with a worried expression. I can only shrug as I step up, dropping off the edge with a wry smile.

For a second, I feel weightless, before I feel an arm grab hold of me, pulling me against their chest. Instinctively, I wrap my own arms around their neck, looking up at them to find David smirking down at me. Thanking him, I allow him to use his superior strength to lift me up a little, letting me grab hold of an overhanging bar, only releasing me when I have a firm, comfortable grip on it. I laugh nervously as I start to swing with the others, trying to avoid Marko and Paul as they take part in their usual kicking antics, Dwayne grinning across at me widely.

"Michael Emerson! Come on down!" David taunts up at Michael as the brunette finally realises we're all safe (ish), blue eyes piercing into each other.

Finally, he decides to join us, the rest of us greeting him with cheer of our own, allowing ourselves to swing for a little while before I hear the tell tale sounds of a train approaching, and not a light one, either. Adjusting my grip on the cold bar, I try to roll my cramping muscles a bit in time for the heavy vehicle to pass overhead, the metal structure of the bridge shaking under its weight, our bodies vibrating with the shuddering surface above us. Around me, the boys - barring Michael - whoop and cry out in exhilaration, their muscles much more capable of holding on than our human ones, their words distorted under the hooting and chugging of the engine above us, though it is clear when David yells at Michael to hold on. A quiet voice in the back of my head wants to speak up and ask what else he's supposed to do, but I ignore it, instead focusing on the hanging vampires surrounding me, grinning when Paul decides he's going to be the first to go. I don't catch what he says as he allows his hand to slip from the bar, crying out in mock terror as the fog swallows his lanky body, Michael's eyes widening in panic as his newfound friend meets his apparent demise. Marko goes next, though once again, I don't quite hear him as he opens his mouth to speak, my concentration now turning to the aching in my arms, my muscles starting to shake violently as they struggle to hold my body weight up. Sweat beads on my forehead despite the icy air around us, my hands becoming clammy and slippery around the smooth bar in their grip, my palms sliding on the metal, dangerously. I don't notice Dwayne has dropped until he's gone, the dark haired vampire shooting me a reassuring look as he vanishes into the mist. On my other side, I hear David shouting at Michael again, his voice just audible over the pounding above us.

"Michael, you're one of us! Let go!" The vampire encourages, most likely giving the brunette one of his signature grins.

"And do what?!" Michael calls back, incredulously, terror evident in his eyes. At this point, the adrenaline in me at the thought of falling, voluntarily, has made my pulse spike, my heartbeat pounding in my ears as I watch David let go, the black-clad vampire falling into the fog in silence, as usual.

"DAVID!" Michael screams after him, eyes wide and panic-stricken.

The train finally passes by, the new silence eerie until the familiar whoops and cries of the boys below us start to float up from the mist, once more reassuring me. Across from me, Michael tries one last time to pull himself up onto the bridge, before he looks at me.

"What do we do?" He questions, voice laced with fear.

"Let go." I confirm, giving him the most ressuring look I can, though I know it's still daunting to him, and me, even if I have done this many times before, "On three, ok?"

He nods, wincing as his muscles start to hurt him, just as mine are.

"One..." I start, eyeing him carefully, "Two..."

As I reach this, he let's out a groan of terror, fixing his eyes on me.

"Three..." I finish, allowing my hands to release their grip on the bar as I say this, the weightlessness of the freezing air around me only adding to the adrenaline racing through me, a giddy shriek of excitement ripping from my throat as we fall. Spreading my arms, I use them to slow the descent, knowing one of the boys will catch me, Michael unaware of this fact as he screams the whole way down, clearly not enjoying the experience at all. Eventually, they cut out; by which time I've stopped paying attention to him, relishing in the sensation of the wind howling around my body as it tumbles through it, the cold barely registering in my mind.

Just as I start to think the boys will let me fall to my death, I feel my body suddenly stop, a pair of strong arms halting me in my path, the impact drawing a grunt from me as the air is knocked from my lungs.

"Gotcha, Princess." Dwayne's familiar voice sounds in my ear as he pulls me into his chest, smiling gently down at me as the floating vampire notices my exhausted state.

"Thanks, Dwayne..." I murmur, trying to recover from the fall as best I can, a breathless laugh leaving me when he grins in response.

"Of course."

Panting a bit, I allow my head to fall into his chest, my arms looping around his neck so I can hold on with more safety, breathing in his familiar scent: motor oil, dust and cologne, the dark haired vampire often preferring not to reek of his meal's blood when around other people. Sighing, I let myself relax as I feel the air around me shift, signalling Dwayne's ascent to the bridge, my attention now fully on holding onto the tall vampire as I try my hardest not to give in to my sudden exhaustion. I barely notice as he takes me to his motorcycle, the boys all joking around us, David carrying Michael's limp body briefly before passing it on to Marko, who looks swamped by the taller boy's frame, the blonde rolling his eyes when his burden lets out a small groan in his blacked-out state, sweat still coating his pale brow. Gently, Dwayne props me up on his bike, climbing on in front of me and allowing me to wrap my arms around his waist, chuckling when I squeeze his muscular torso in thanks again. Energy dwindling, I feel my head fall forwards onto his shoulder, grunting when the motorcycle sparks into gear, the sudden noise jolting me briefly from my trance-like state, causing me to tighten my grip a little, hoping to secure myself better.

Dwayne drives slowly, Marko doing the same beside us as he provides a taxi service for the passed-out Michael, the two vampires conversing as they ride, voices only just audible to my human hearing, though I can barely make out what they're saying. My eyes remain fixed on the crimson tail lights of our companions a little way away, the bright dots bouncing and jolting as the corresponding bikes go over uneven parts of the ground below them, the two drivers calling out encouragement at each other, most likely racing one another. A smile forms on my lips at the sight of them, even if I can't technically see them, my former anger at them mostly forgotten for the minute; instead, I'm just happy to be with them, realising how grateful I am to them after all they've done for me. With this in mind, I decide to pay a visit to Santa Carla tomorrow night, whilst they're feeding, to think up some way to repay them.

Just as I figure this out, I feel Dwayne's motorcycle come to a halt, meaning we've reached home, a relieve sigh escaping me at the prospect of finally going to bed after this long night. As the engines cut out around me, I feel another pair of arms lift me up off the bike, cradling me against their chest as they start to move with me. A quick glance up confirms this person to be David, the blonde vampire catching my eye with a soft smile as he takes me down into the cave, the rest of the boys - except Marko, who has gone to drop off Michael and his motorcycle - trailing along behind him, both equally as glad as I am that their leader finally forgave me. Struggling to keep my eyes open, I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his jacket, enjoying the smell that lingers around him, even if it does have the same sour odour I've come to associate with blood, the fabric of the garment making a comfortable headrest for me.

Minutes later, the feeling of my jacket and boots being tugged off makes it's way known, before quickly being replaced with the relieving sensation of a bed below me. Cracking my eyes back open again, I notice the boys standing around me, an unsure look on Paul's face as he twitches, itching to join me, the other two giving me more intent stares. I lift my arms up, gesturing for them to join me in the large bed, even if it is only for an hour or so, sighing happily when they all slip in beside me, David swiftly pulling me to lay in the crook of his arm, my head on his chest, whilst Dwayne moves to my other side, resting his head on my shoulder contentedly. Paul, as always, takes up his place in between my legs, placing his head on my abdomen as his hands move to hold my hips, pulling them closer to him as he lets out a groan of appreciation. Hazily, I feel a blush start to creep into my face as David starts to caress my hair, Dwayne tracing his fingers up and down my side comfortingly as Paul continues to rub circles into the skin of my hips, the attention from them all making me rethink my former inhibitions.

I fall asleep to the reassuring motions of the boys' affection, feeling as safe as I've ever been.

Part Four

#david(thelostboys)#joel schumacher #the lost boys #vampire #dwayne(the lost boys)#kiefer sutherland #marko(the lost boys)#paul(the lost boys)#star(the lost boys)#laddie(the lost boys)

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kotoplasm · 3 years

Text

𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿:. 𝗯𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱𝘀 𝘄/ 𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗶

synposis.: in which satori tendou is determined to make your christmas feel a little more homey when home was literally a ten hour flight away.

warnings;;;;; none ;))

tendou satori. jersey number 5. owner of the projectively red hair. infamous "guess blocker". manga obsessed teenager... there were many names that he went by. and unfortunately, observant was one of them.

it was odd how his gift per day was one which could at times be a blessing and so land him in situations where it would be a prominent blessing and times when it would land him in tricky dilemmas.

one of them happened just a few days ago. inoue sato. very very very red hair, borderline ginger perhaps. but she insists that it's strawberry blonde. there was no debate about that.

one day, she decided to dye it lighter (don't ask why, she'll give you a stone cold glare for asking) and some parts hadn't been toned properly.

that's what reon said to tendou during english and satoru being the kind soul he was decided to tell her that.

"you're such an idiot," you told him, lightly dabbing the cut on his cheek, left by the dictionary she had thrown at his face. the others scowled in envy as they watched the pair of you: tendou fixating on each negligible movement; tendou's eyes flickering up to your eyes and then back to his feet; tendou falling deeper into a pit known as infatuation.

"well at least she got kicked out of class for hurting one of her precious classmates," he replies, extending the last few syllables for emphasis.

you scoff. "precious doesn't even begin to scrape the surface of your personality, satori."

another incident had occurred in another classroom. semi had his earphones in, not connected to his phone for preface. he was probably too absorbed by the music to even notice that his phone had started vibrating, playing a questionnable ringtone.

"semi." no response. "semi." no response again. "semi-semi." the red head impatiently tugs his earphones out of his ears, drawing him back into reality to listen to the sound that suddenly had everyone staring at him.

although it hadn't been his fault, semi didn't speak to tendou for a few days, making sure to send him rather powerful serves during practice.

unfortunately for him, the ball hit his face with a rather satisfying painful smack.

fortunately for him, that meant that you had to spend another twenty minutes stopping his nose bleed and tending to another bruise.

revenge was sweet but came in the form of a double-edged sword.

to summarise, his "gift" wasn't appreciated by his peers.

it had only been announced yesterday that students were allowed to visit home for the holidays, something that he wished he could celebrate but couldn't.

for one, his dad was out of town again, meaning that he had to spend the holidays with his mother who was always too tired to celebrate. so staying in his room was inevitable, using his free time to read his favourite manga or finish the stash of chocolates that his grandma sent when she couldn't come and visit.

last year was a mess. his cousins, probably turning twenty one if he could remember correctly, were always bragging about their significant others, interrogating him about his, or rather lack of, when they could fit it into their busy schedules.

so when he received a text from his grandma that they couldn't make it, he took the news a little better than what they hoped for.

"thinking of visiting my aunts in hawaii," one girl said, another following the comment with her own plans and how they were planning to travel overseas before the weather got too bad.

everyone wishes for a white christmas in naivety, never realising that others have to pay for the drawbacks.

and to his displeasure, one of the people who had to suffer from the drawbacks was you, a western exchange student who was staying in japan indefinitely.

tendou's phone vibrates once, twice, thrice before he gives into the temptation, opening it to read through the messages that were piling up.

"erm we don't have any guest rooms so you can stay here in the meantime," he points to his bedroom, pulling your suitcase into the very room.

you insisted that you could handle the luggage. naturally he declined your offer (it was a statement actually) and took your bags in hand, trying his best to ignore the flutter in his stomach when your hands brushed against each other.

"i'm surprised tendou," you say, falling back onto his bed. "the last time i came to your room, you refused to let me go anywhere near your room."

"that's because you were with semi." and he'd probably tease the hell out of me about my obsession, he mumbles to yourself.

"is that all?"

"yeah, that's all to it." there's an oddly sounding pause that follows, to which he frowns. "why what else were you thinking?"

"oh nothing! don't worry about it," you reply, waving your hand. "just give me a few minutes to change and i'll meet you downstairs."

he wasn't convinced at all.

***

tendou leaves his room more often now, sometimes finding himself watching you fit right into his family dynamic. the conversations that were had between you and his mother felt natural and barely forced.

she's genuinely smiling, he tells himself as you laugh at another one of her jokes. she was telling you about all the many times that tendou *insert scenario* which you apparently found oh so very amusing.

can't wait until that's used as some sort of blackmail.

during the night, he lays awake on the couch, legs sprawled in an odd position to provide some form of comfort. satoru wonders if you like his room, if you like the smell of his bedsheets *spoiler, you do. it feels comforting, almost as if he's with you at that moment.*

what semi says still plagues him. maybe he does like her a little more than he had hoped. and who could blame him?

the moment you passed by his classroom, he couldn't look away. not now at least, when every single prepubescent boy and their mother would be caught staring a little too long at your ivory coils or glossed lips.

it was hard not to look when all he could think about was getting to know you.

unfortunately, semi got to you first and befriended you, eventually inviting you to their lunch table one tuesday afternoon.

a flare of red hair was the first thing you pointed out about him, eyes falling to meet his before he plumped his head back onto the table.

"he's just tired," says ushijima in hopes to ease his friend.

"he'll be back in commission after lunch," semi adds, mentally taking a note of his odd behaviour.

it took weeks of observations and teasing for semi to conclude that he had a crush and it didn't show any signs of fading.

the next morning, he's greeted by his cousins — yes, those cousins — and he looks anything but pleased. for one, haruki was rather fond of you, doing anything in his power to be as close to you as possible. though you enjoyed the flattering compliments and the occasional flirty glances, you couldn't help but feel distant from tendou who was trying his best to manage the seven children that were climbing on top of him.

"need some help?" you ask from beside him and you swear he jumps.

"i thought you were entertaining your new boyfriend," he replies. it's supposed to be teasing but you can vouch for it being anything but that.

"you're not jealous are you?"

"why would i be? who wouldn't want to be with the high school sweetheart l/n y/n ?" the comment comes off a little rude, he notes. he confirms this as your face shifts into a deeply rooted frown.

"so that's what you think of me?"

"well if the shoe fits.."

then you get up and leave, dismissing some of the children to disappear into the kitchen.

"i'm such an idiot."

he wakes up to an insanely sweet smell, surrounding him in an aroma that was unfamiliar yet cozy.

he hadn't found the time to apologise to you for saying something so insensitive so he hoped he could find you in a house that had suddenly become the centre of a family gathering.

it's technically christmas eve. just a few minutes until christmas day. he took notice of a few presents with his name on a few of them. probably some new games or perhaps more socks. maybe it was the latter.

"these taste amazing! is it a western dish?" it's his mum speaking. who it was that the question was directed to remained unknown.

"oh um yes actually! my parents are originally from west africa so a lot of the food we eat has roots from that region, but my mum would make this for me whenever i was feeling sad or during the holidays as a treat for the young ones."

"i bet satori would love this," she replies, mouth mostly full. "he's always been a sweet tooth."

"yeah i know," your voice trails off into a quiet murmur.

she takes notice of it. "is something wrong? did anything happen between you and satori?"

"well we had a little disagreement. but it's probably nothing. maybe i'm just overthinking things."

his mum smiles knowingly, turning the heat on the hob down and taking your face in her hands.

"you know, he never stops talking about you.. as much as we'd all love for him to stop. and he can be a little bit of an idiot sometimes despite how observant he is."

"yeah, i can definitely agree on that last statement," to which the two of you laugh. tendou scowls bashfully.

"considering that he hasn't left his room since this afternoon, maybe you want to go and see if he's feeling alright? he might even want to try your um... i'm sorry, what did you say they were called?"

"puff-puff. but there are plenty of other names for it."

"ah okay."

you bump into him soon after the conversation, somehow managing to keep the fried dough on its plate without dropping them. tendou takes a whiff of them...

they smell really good....

he realised that he's been standing awetruck for a few moments now and you've been waiting for a response or rather trying to think of a response. music blares from the living room and you spot his cousins making a beeline for the two of you.

"let's go outside," you tell him, tugging his wrist to the front of the house, still keeping the puff puff in tact on the plate. the door closes on the children as tendou turns it lock, awkwardly smiling down at you with his keys in hand.

he should apologise. definitely. but his throat feels dry and his hands are sweaty. the reason was unknown considering that for one thing, he was outside in negative degree values so there was no reason for his hands to be so profusely moist. he doesn't usually get nervous around you unless it's just the two of you.

then in that case, he realises "oh... it's just the two of us."

rather than keeping silent, you hand him one of the fried dough balls and nod, signalling him to eat it.

"it tastes really good," he gushes in between bites. "i bet your siblings must have been obsessed with these."

"yeah, i used to make them when my parents were working. i wonder how they're doing.."

"eh? why haven't you called them? it's almost christmas!"

"timezones exist tendou."

"oh... right."

"that and i don't think hearing their voice will make me feel any better."

of course you were homesick. a holiday that's reserved to be spent with family was one which you were spending with strangers. snow was truly a blessing and a curse.

"then don't call them. if it makes you feel any better, everyone in that house thinks of you as family. so in case you ever feel like you're alone during these holidays, just remember that you're not. afterall, you've got me!"

you snort. "yeah, i'll remember that for the future." it was a sarcastic comment but you were genuinely laughing about his comment, forgetting how just being around tendou was enough to lift your spirits again.

"i'm sorry for earlier."

"don't sweat it. i was just being stupid."

"no you weren't."

smirking you ask, "so you were jealous?"

"as if!" he scoffs. but quietly he murmurs "haruki is too good for you anyway."

"really?" it was loud enough for you to hear regardless. "then tell me tendou satori, who do you think is good enough?"

he's sweating again. even more than before because you've gone and the plate of puff puff have been pushed aside allowing you to move closer and closer towards him. he's only millimetres away from you when he realises "oh crap! i'm going to kiss them! i'm going to kiss y/n! i haven't even checked whether my breath smells or combed through my hair a couple of times!"

but it happens regardless and its quick, ephemeral to be accurate but it's enough to send him into overdrive. he felt stiff under your hold and you couldn't help but laugh.

damn that laugh.

the pair of you hear the alarm go off for midnight. christmas day, your phone reads.

"we should probably go back inside before your mum gets worried," you mumble against his lips. all he could manage was a nod.

tendou satori was observant for the most part. afterall his gift always managed to land him in sticky situations that were always due to his gift.

call it defective if you want, but despite how keen his eyes were, he never realised that maybe there was that 0.000001% chance that you liked him as much as he liked you.

+ bonus:

"oi satori!" his older cousin, that cousin, calls him over with his fiancé in arm. she's pretty.

"you never told me that you brought your girlfriend over! i thought we were close like that?"

not even in the slightest.

"it's just because he hasn't had the time to!" you reply, stepping to stand beside him, your arm moving to wrap itself around his. tendou turns to look at you.

"girlfriend?"

"i mean if you want me to."

"are we interupting something satori? we can always leave." his cousin smirks knowingly.

"um n-no!" he hums a response. "in fact, we can take this to the kitchen!"

i'll take you up on that offer.

(+) 𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗹𝘃𝗲 𝗱𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝗮𝗱𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

(+) 𝘁𝘂𝗻𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗼𝘄 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗽𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗲

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fritae · 3 years

Text

The Missing Piece (Chapter 12)

Closer.

gang! au / ceo! au

characters: dabi x f. oc, lov

status: ongoing

read on ao3 here.

a/n: i really like this chapter heh, hope u enjoy! 😚

The staircase leads all the way to basement. I wondered why they would hide such steep, hidden steps in Dabi's office when they could create (much) shorter, more accessible ones from the first floor.

But I'm guessing that's the point.

This isn't supposed to be easy to reach. And Dabi's office is the one place no one would dare enter.

Aside from us, of course.

The basement is completely dark, forcing me to draw myself even closer to Dabi. I enjoy the weight of his hand in mine. He has a firm, tight grip. But just as the thought warms my cheeks, I shake it out of my head.

Within seconds, Dabi turns on the lights.

My eyes widen, taking in the sight before me.

Blood.

A lot of it.

Though it looks dried, like it's been there for ages.

I spot a wall of different sized knives on one hand. A gun display on the other. A shelf of jars, filled with a murky looking liquid and...I don't even want to know what that is inside.

Dabi watches me.

There's a simple, plastic white table in the center of the floor with a large white board behind it.

The place is much messier and less...classy, than the rest of the Blaze.

But I have the feeling it's because it's not meant for outside eyes.

"You okay?" Dabi asks.

I nod, squeezing his hand to comfort myself.

Before the others reach the bottom, he whispers in my ear, "Whenever you want to leave, let me know. You don't have to be here."

"Okay."

"And," He takes another glance at the stairs as the others begin to appear. "Again, Rina. This place does not exist. Anything we say here does not leave this room. Got it?"

I glance warily at the knives.

"Why are you so worried?" I try to smile so he doesn't pick up on my nervousness. "I don't have anyone outside of you guys anyway. Who would I talk to?"

My comment seems to confuse him. "What about-"

"Welcome to the League!!" Toga jumps off the last few steps and swings into full view.

I shoot Dabi a look. "The League?"

"The League of Villains, of course!" Atsuhiro follows Toga, a dramatic grin on his lips. "Only the baddest group of bad boys in town."

"And girls!" Toga calls out.

"League of Villains?" I cackle. "Who came up with that?"

Tenko scowls.

Oop.

Dabi lets go of my hand and motions for me to take a seat on one of the plastic chairs.

I pick a red chair near the board.

"So what is that you guys really do?"

"I told you," Dabi says. "Special services to people willing to pay up."

Given where we are, that suddenly feels a lot more sinister than it did when he first told me.

I look back at the knives and jars in the background.

"So like, a gang? Where you steal things and hurt people if someone pays you enough? Like the movies?"

"Guess you could put it that way."

"And there's actually people that pay for this stuff?"

Dabi shrugs. "It's a niche market."

Woah.

There's a lot more questions in my head, but now is not the time. Maybe later.

As Dabi moves to take a seat, his abdomen brushes against the edge of the table and he hisses in pain.

It releases blood again.

"Fuck!" He grips the skin.

I move closer to him, gripping his hands again. "It still hurts?" I ask worriedly. "Is there anything we can do?" I look around at the others quickly.

"Yes!" Toga says, a little too eagerly.

"What is it?"

She hops over to knives behind us, and takes a moment deciding which one she wants.

She brandishes a short but sharp blade and lets out an excited squeal, as though she enjoyed this.

"Fire please!" She calls out.

What's she doing?

Dabi groans and pulls a lighter out of his pocket. He tosses it toward her, and she carefully holds it under the edge of the blade, running it up and down for several minutes until it turns red.

She's going to seal the wound so it doesn't get infected.

"Lie down, boss," She says in a sing-song voice.

I clear the few papers were scattered on the table and move so Dabi could spread himself over it.

He lifts the edge of his shirt to his midriff, and my breath catches in my throat when I see his abdomen.

The skin is covered in large swaths of reddish purple.

Like parts of it were burnt off...

I gasp.

"These are old," Dabi looks at me. He's watching me carefully, wanting to see just how I'd react. "Still want to be here?"

I swallow my anxiety as I stare at Dabi's mismatched skin. I won't give him the chance to say 'I told you so.'

This must be why he wouldn't let me dress the wound.

He didn't want me to see this.

No wonder the stab didn't phase him.

What else has his body been through...

"Here I come!" Toga grins.

She was all too eager to take the scorching knife and press it to his stomach.

Dabi clenches his teeth immediately, leaving me to hurriedly stand next to him. I squeeze his hand to soothe him, but he grips mine back so hard I think he might break it.

I brush his hair out of eyes and press my hand to his forehead to calm him.

"It's okay," I tell him softly. "It's over."

The others stare at Dabi's wound uncomfortably, like they've been under Toga's knife before.

I wonder if they have similar wounds.

Dabi releases his harsh grip on my hand and begins to breathe slower.

One things strikes me though.

Despite all the pain he's undoubtedly feeling right now, not a single tear drops from his eyes.

I think it might just be him trying not to appear weak in front of us.

But as I look into his eyes, I'm surprised to find them completely dry.

"Are you superhuman or something?" I joke with him.

He looks at me quizzically.

"All of that and you didn't cry?"

Dabi closes his eyes. "I don't cry." He grits his teeth.

I roll my eyes.

Whatever you say.

The others slowly help him sit up straight. I take the first aid kit from Atsuhiro, picking out the cotton, gauze and antibacterial wipes.

Dabi is less reluctant when I try to wrap the area this time.

"You can hold onto me if you want," I tease as I wrap the gauze around his body.

A small smirk appears on his lips. His arm suddenly snakes around my waist, pulling me close to him.

I blush and the gauze falls out of my hands.

Dabi tilts his head. "What's wrong? Thought you wanted me to hold onto you?"

The guys snicker behind us.

I push him away from me, and he laughs as I take another piece of gauze and try again.

"You guys can talk now," I tell them focused on what I'm doing. "What exactly happened today?

Did Mr. Lane find out about the League? Is that what made you a target?"

Dabi is silent.

His silence puzzles me. I look to the others to see if they knew anything.

"Dabi tried blowing up his car!" Toga volunteers.

I frown.

Could this be just because of how Mr. Lane treated me?

No. There's no reason for it to mean that much to Dabi.

Enough to get angry, sure.

To harm Mr. Lane?

Doubtful.

"Why would you blow up his car?" I ask.

Tenko pulls up a chair. "We did some research on him. He's working with some really shady people. And Dabi told us about the whole Todoroki affair."

I shoot Dabi a look.

"They're trying to trick people into thinking they're heroes. That they should be put on a pedestal and admired. There's people out there telling their kids to be like them. Meanwhile they're going around-"

"Enough," Dabi interrupts Tenko. "Point is, they're fakes. They built up their media empires off that fake image. And we're going to expose them."

"But you guys are also doing...you know," I don't know how to say it in a way that isn't offensive. "I mean, you tried blowing up his car. And I'm guessing you probably have done more...if I'm not reaching."

Their eyes harden.

"We never pretended to be good."

I know I should stay silent, but I keep going.

"Right, but you have a double image too. There's the Blaze, and then there's the League."

They shake their heads.

"The Blaze is to funnel money into the League. Yeah, sure it's a front, but those who need our services know where to find us. We can't have masses of people finding out about the other shit we do, can we?"

"But how did this all start? What are you trying to achieve?"

"We just hate hypocrites. We'll help a bad guy to bring down a worse guy. Those that act like angels in public are our favorite targets. I don't care if we have to steal, blackmail, or kill them," Dabi's eyes shine with evil. "Whatever it takes to beat their egos down. Reveal the private faces they hide. Until they're forced to show their bloody hands before the world. Someone like Enji is using Lane for media coverage. Lane is depending on him for protection and cash. We can take them both down."

"What if you get caught?"

He dismisses the question, like it's not even worth his time. "By who?" He scoffs. "Lane? As soon as we take down Enji, Lane's done for. Since he's your old boss, we can give you leeway with how badly you want us to go after him." Dabi says this like that's what I'm genuinely concerned about right now. "Lane's a scared little prick anyway, as soon as he saw me he bounced out of the car and screamed for protection." He laughs like he can picture Mr. Lane's pathetic position as we speak. "But he'll fall. Just like the rest of them."

"I meant the police, Dabi."

The question puzzles him as if he's never considered it before. But the look in his eyes tells me they're even less of a concern than Mr. Lane.

"Don't worry about that," He says. "That's the least of our problems, to be honest."

I nod.

I let them speak uninterrupted for the rest of the night. They have business to take care of, and if I keep asking questions like this, they'll never get to finish. It's enough that they waited all day for me to leave so they could start. Can't hold them up at night as well.

The Todoroki name was brought up several times, among others. It seems strange now, considering Dabi knows it was Mr. Lane's relations with Enji that led to me leaving the company the way I did. Turns out he knows a lot more about Enji than I do.

I try to keep track of the other names as well, but there's so many and I'm so tired, I can barely keep up.

"Here's where Rina comes in," Dabi continues.

My eyes widen at the mention of my name.

"Enji's using Lane for his image. Rina, you said they were working on a movie or something?"

"A documentary, yes."

"We need to make sure that shit doesn't air."

I bite my lip, trying to remember as much information as I could about the documentary. It was supposed to air already. I remember Mr. Lane saying it would be within the month.

But it hasn't yet.

Which means I need to find out more from Al.

"My roommate still works at NNTV. She's the floor manager so she might have some idea of what's going on. I can ask her."

"You sure you can trust her?" Dabi asks with a frown.

"Well, I'm not gonna tell her any details, she's the one that's gonna need to have trust in me, no?"

Atsuhiro cracks his knuckles and rubs his neck. "I don't know, I don't like the sound of that. We have our own ways of finding stuff out so-"

"It won't hurt to try," I insist, looking at Dabi since he's the one that has final say on these matters. "Having 2 avenues of information is better than 1."

Truth be told, I just want to feel useful. I want to feel like I have a role to play, not just that I'm here to "sit and watch".

I want them to feel good about me being here, not apprehensive about whether this was a good decision.

After some deliberation, Dabi sighs. He looks to the others for input. "Might as well?"

"I mean she's here," Tenko says monotonously. "Might as well use her."

Dabi nods and then turns to me. "Just don't be stupid with it. Lead her into the conversation, don't bring it up out of nowhere. She'll be curious about why you're bringing it up. Don't say anything that'll make her ask questions. The more questions she asks you, the more suspicious she'll be."

"Relax guys, I got this." I smile. "Besides, she's a chatterbox. She'll open up at the slightest nudge and go on forever. She's the one that told me about all the.." I grimace. "..issues with the Todoroki company."

Plus, she's my friend! Of course, I can trust her. We've been roommates for years. If anyone could tell me about Mr. Lane's current plans for the documentary, it'd be her.

"So it's settled!" Toga claps. She takes a marker and goes up to the white board, drawing a flow chart with all that's been discussed today. She adds my part last, circling my name and underlining it several times for emphasis, over a big red INTEL SOURCING.

The sight of that makes me smile, like I have a role to play in all of this. I look around at the others but they're all preoccupied with moving things around and discussing their own parts.

The lack of enthusiasm isn't surprising, I mean this is normal for them.

But all I can think of is how exciting it'll be if I have something to contribute the next time we meet. If they'll call me down, and look at me expectantly. I imagine the looks on their faces with glee and the thought almost makes me giddy.

"Okay, are we done here?" Dabi asks.

A bunch of 'yes'es and 'yup's fill the basement.

"Alright then," Dabi grabs a leather jacket from on the wall and checks to make sure his keys are inside. Then he walks my way and grabs my arm.

"Time for you to go home," He says, moving me in front of him.

"But-"

"Now," His eyes narrow. He moves his head in a silent nudge, telling me to turn around and make my way upstairs.

The others watch us curiously, and Toga lets out a snicker at my expense.

"I'm jealous!" She calls after us. "Wish I had someone to drive me home!"

Dabi groans, nudging me to keep moving.

"Bye guys," I wave back at them from halfway up the steps. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

They all wave warmly and I can't help thinking how grateful I am that they trusted me with this.

It feels so weird emerging out of Dabi's office like this, from a secret path that leads deep under the building. But Dabi simply presses another tile in the walls, and the entrance reseals itself, as though it never existed.

We make our way to his car, and I hurry to catch up to him. The height difference certainly doesn't help.

He unlocks the car and slides into the driver's seat. I follow into the passenger's seat and shift awkwardly in my place.

"Where do you live?" He asks as he readjusts his rearview mirror. No sooner had I told him the address, than he revved the engine and sped away from the Blaze.

The ride is quiet for a while. Regrettably so. Dabi hands me a box of disinfectants to wipe the blood off my hands. I wonder how many times he's had to do the same thing before coming into the office.

I fiddle with the hems of my shirts as I try to think of something to talk about. Dabi doesn't seem to be in as big of a rush to speak, his eyes darting from the rearview to the side mirrors periodically as we cruise down the mostly empty highway.

"Dabi?"

"Hm."

"When they said you were gone today, were you really in the basement the whole time?"

Dabi takes a moment to answer. "After I got back, yeah. Couldn't exactly walk through the front doors looking the way I did." He glances at me before switching lanes.

"Were you avoiding me?"

"Partly."

I nod. "Now that I know about the League, do you think you'd avoid me in a case like this again?"

"A case like this won't happen again."

"Okay." I respond quietly. "Cause you know I get worried."

Dabi seems to be deep in thought.

"You worry a lot for someone who's only met me a month ago."

I smile. "Well, of course. We're friends aren't we?"

Dabi spares me a look before switching lanes again. "Right." But he doesn't look like he fully believes me.

"You think you'll be able to handle your friend?" He changes the subject.

"Who, Aliyah? Of course! I told you, we're really good friends and she's the kind of person that loves gossiping anyway. It'll be a piece of cake."

He grunts. "Okay. Because to be honest, that's part of why I wanted you at the Blaze."

I don't know why hearing that makes me feel slightly sad, but it does. "The documentary?"

"Yeah. I mean you work in the media industry. You'd know about that stuff. People like Enji have the industry wrapped around their palms. When you told me he was cozying up to NNTV, I figured you'd be the person to handle all of that for me."

I nod. "So why haven't you asked me before today?" Come to think of it, he even sounded reluctant about agreeing.

"I don't know," He sighs. "Still not sure I want you mixed up with all of this."

I roll my eyes. "I'm not even a member, remember? I'm just getting information for you," I tease. "What's so dangerous about that?"

"That's what worries me," Dabi glances at me, his brows pulled together. "That's all you see it as."

"What am I supposed to see it as?"

"What it is," Dabi gets increasingly agitated, but he tries to keep himself calm. "I'm not sure you're taking this seriously enough, Rina. The closer you get to us, the more at risk you are. The more people that know you work for me, especially what kind of work," He looks dead serious. "The more danger you'll be in."

I roll my eyes. "But no one knows anything about you, Dabi. I've been here for a month and I'm only just finding out about all of this. And I'm sure there's much more I don't know. How would people outside of the League even find out?"

"Same way we find out shit about them. Lane's using his Todoroki connections to supply him with information and protection. They're good at what they do."

My mouth drops. "You mean the Todorokis know about you?"

"Well," Dabi's jaw hardens. "They think they do."

I wait for him to say more, but he leaves it at that. We ride the rest of the distance in silence.

Once we pull up in front of my apartment complex, I try to put a smile on my face.

"Thanks Dabi." I tell him as I unlock the door.

He nods without looking at me. "See you tomorrow."

Those words trigger me immediately and I let go of the handle.

"Don't say that."

Dabi looks confused.

"You said that yesterday and had no intention of seeing me." I cross my arms. "You broke your promise."

"Don't be dramatic, no one says that shit as a promise."

"See you tomorrow means I'll see you tomorrow," I tell him seriously. "Otherwise, just say goodbye or something else."

He leans his head forward against the steering wheel and sighs. "It's just a stupid phrase, you're overthinking it."

I frown.

"See you tomorrow," He gives up. But still, I don't leave.

"I mean it!" He says. "I. Will. See. You. Tomorrow. Good enough?"

I grin. "Mhm, thank you!" I lean over to give him a quick hug before I leave, and he immediately recoils, like my body was made of ice.

"Handsy, aren't you," He mutters, craning his neck to look at me, without getting too close.

I pull away.

"Always have to ruin the moment, don't you," I counter, slightly disappointed. I turn to open the door, and suddenly feel him pull me back in.

"How do you do that?" His voices comes out low and raspy.

I look into his eyes. "Do what?"

There's that frustration in his eyes again.

"Fucking making me feel bad about shit I'd never fucking feel bad about." He growls.

The way he says it makes me blush.

"Cut that shit out."

"Yes sir," I mumble.

He leans his head back.

Then, he hesitantly opens his arms.

I shake my head, pulling my purse over my shoulder again. "Not gonna force you to do something you don't want to do."

I open the door this time, and just as I'm about to step out of his car, he pulls my arm again - harder this time, and I fall back into the bend of his arm.

My heart is pounding faster. I shake my hair from my face to get a better look at Dabi in the dark.

"Why are you so much fucking work," He mutters, his face inches away from mine. I swallow.

He leans forward to hug me closer to his chest. The leather jacket feels surprisingly smooth against my cheek, and my hand finds the back of his seat to balance myself, careful of coming near his wound. He holds me to him for a few long breaths and I smile against his chest, knowing he can't see me right now.

When we pull away, I look at his face once more. But Dabi avoids my gaze.

"You don't have to play along with me," I tell him, a teasing smile on my lips. "I'll only expect more from you next time."

"See you tomorrow," He mumbles, still without facing me. His foot is on the brakes but he's already pulling the gear shift into Drive.

And then, just before I leave for good and with no time to think this through -

I press my lips on his cheek.

Dabi's eyes widen immediately and he looks at me in alarm. "What-"

"Bye Dabi!" I wave with a laugh as I hurry out of his car. I run to the door of my building, grateful for the dark to hide my red cheeks.

Dabi remains in front of the building for a moment, his head still turned my way in shock.

I close the door behind me but hurry to the window, peeking the corner of my head out just in time to catch him shaking his head and rubbing a tired hand across his eyes.

There's no way to describe the relief and warmth in my chest, when he eventually pulls out of his spot.

But just before he can drive off, I swear I feel him smirk at the window.

As if he can hear the adrenaline thrumming in my veins.

#dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x oc #dabi fanfic #dabi angst #dabi fic #dabi fluff #dabi x female reader #touya fluff #bnha fic #mha #bnha #league of villains #dabi is a todoroki #dabi is touya #touya x y/n #bnha touya #tw: mentions of blood

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gambissanctum · 3 years

Text

Nostalgia Ultra: Jenn X Khalil/Strawberry Swing (Fanfic part 3)

"When we were kids, we hand-painted strawberries on a swing . Every moment was so precious then, I'm still kicking it, I'm daydreaming on a strawberry swing."

Over the next year, Philky and I got really close. I learned he was a former ASA member that fell on hard times and that clearly had a drinking problem. Painkiller and I got more accustomed to each other. He was still an asshole but a hell of a lot more tolerable. Philky and I struck a deal that if I broke into this abandoned ASA bunker that he would help me get a handle on PainKiller.We ended up using the money to create our lab and bar. In addition to Philky I also met Donald and Priscilia. Donald who at the time was in a similar state that I had met Philky in, was an ex-military guy with a lot of medical knowledge. He has a duality about himself too. I think that's how we bonded so quickly. He's always a voice of reason amongst the chaos and good at keeping us all in line.

Priscilla is originally from New Orleans. She is a firecracker with southern charm. She moved to Gothan for few years and use to strip. While in Gotham she got into it with people you don't want problems with so she like me decided it was time to find a new place. She came into the bar one day looking for a bartending job. She's been here ever since. She's also a meta with the power of telepathy, shapeshifting and she's even skilled in Martial arts. Needless to say, she's been an asset since she walked in those doors 6 months ago.

"Hey Khalil, you good?" Priscilla snapped her fingers in front of my face at the bar. I snap myself back into the present. "Painkiller" I shrug. "He giving you trouble again? You know I can go in there and whoop his ass" she suggested. She was always volunteering to fight with PainKiller. To be honest I think both of them enjoyed the fights. "Nah, you're good, he says hello though" I replied. "I bet he had more to say than that" she laughed. Since Priscilia is telepathic she can get into the head of just about anybody. She calls it a blessing and a curse because sometimes she can control it, sometimes she can't. Sometimes she hears multiple conversations at once, which can be overwhelming for her. That's where Philky comes in. He's helped her control things a bit better. I think collectively we're all just works in progress here in Akashic Valley.

We were closed up for the night so I headed to my room. I was having one of those nights again. Not bad just reminiscing. I hadn't sketched in a while so I dusted off my sketchbook and pencils and got to work. There was a sketch I was working on I hadn't finished yet. A little time had passed and there was a knock on the door.

I looked up to see Priscilia standing there. " You drawing Jenn?" she teased. Priscilla was like a big sister in a lot of ways. " How'd you know?" I asked. "Khalil I can read minds...." she laughed.

"Aye stop doing that " I threw a pillow at her. " This time it was on accident, I swear" she raised her hands. "Pain Killer is gonna catch you off guard one of these days" I joked."Mane, PK don't want none of this" she started punching the air. Pris had been through a lot too but she was always making things lighter for everyone around her. "Speaking of reading minds, you wanna know what she's thinking right now?" She folded her arms raising a brow. "You can do that?" I was curious. I didn't want to invade Jennifer's privacy but I did want to know.

"I told you Philkys been helping me" she reminded me. She started to concentrate. When she's tapping in so to speak she looks like she's in a trance. Her eyes gloss over and turn a glowing white."She's on a roof...smoking weed". I chuckled a bit. "Sounds like Jenn". " Someone just joined her on the roof, looks like a guy". "Probably TC" I replied."No, actually this guy looks a lot like you....". She was confused at first but she tried to concentrate more.

"This is almost uncanny, this guy looks more like you than PK does". I started to get concerned."What?"

"Philky taught me how to hop to another person's consciousness outside of my original target....let me hop on to this guy. I don't trust this". She tapped over into the guy's brain. Her eyes widened. "What! What do you see Pris?!" I inquired. " This guy does not have good intentions at all. It's a shapeshifter. I think Jennifer is in trouble."What is he thinking Pris?" Her eyes reverted back and she looked me directly in the eyes. "Nothing good, I think he's going to kidnap her". I felt like time stopped for a moment. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Who would want to kidnap Jen?

I grab my phone and call TC. "Hey Khalil? Are you alright? It's kinda late" he answered.

"Yeah, I know.I think something bad is about to happen to Jenn. I need you or Anissa to go over to the house like now." My anxiety was high.I knew time was of the essence.

"How do you know? What's going on?" TC sounded like he was half awake so this call and request was coming out of left field.

"There's a guy who looks like me on the roof with Jennifer right now. It's a shapeshifter and we think he's going to try to harm Jenn, you have to go now." I pleaded.

I look over a Priscilla she's back in the trance. That was until she started shaking. I rushed off the phone with TC as he agreed to go to the house. "Pris!" I yelled out running over to her convulsing body. Just then Donald and Philky ran in. "What's going on? Philky ran over to aid Priscilia. "Let's get her to the lab".

TC attempts to call Jenn but there's no answer. He contacts Anissa and she tells him she's on the way there too. TC gets to the house first but Jenn was already gone. There didn't seem to be any signs of struggle but there was a letter on her vanity.

It read:

" Hey J,

I know it's been a while. I've been trying to stay out the way. Forgive me if this is too much. I could understand if you still want nothing to do with me but I needed to get his off my chest. You've been a light in my life even when everyone else gave up on me.

I cherish the memory of the strawberry swing, where we first met. The moment I saw you, I knew you were going to be an important part of my life.

When I look at you, I just want to protect you even though I know you don't need my protection.

Over the past year, I've made some friends and they have helped with my control of PainKiller. The good news is I don't have the kill order anymore. I really want to see you. If you are okay with it please meet me on the roof for old times sake Saturday night.

All my love,

Khalil

Anissa comes in. "What's going on? Where's Jenn?" she asked."That's what I'm trying to figure out, look at this." TC hands Anissa the letter. She reads it. "Khalil?" "Yes and No, so from what Khalil told me there's a shapeshifter impersonating him and I think it got to Jenn."

#black lightning #blacklightning #painkiller #jenniferpierce #gambissanctum #lightning #khalil payne #pain killer #china anne mcclain #jordan calloway

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brownskinsugarplum76 · 5 years

Text

The New Girl, Part 1

I'm going to hijack something else from you today, @m-faithfull. 😁 I saw you post this pic a little while back, and I was itching to write for it. Here you go, a leonine Robert going in for the kill. 😬 Just felt like making him a little more forward this time around.

Thanks to @starchild0985 for the argument idea a while ago, and thanks to @firethatgrewsolow for the sanity check on the emotional stuff. ❤️❤️❤️

Not smut yet, but there are "adult undertones." 😎

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You round the corner with the food cart and hear them before you see them: the blaring radio and the boisterous, British-accented speech. And then there's a fearsome, metallic crash--a large, glass something, likely hurled into trash can.

You park across from the doorway, look into the room, and take a deep breath. It's your first night on the job, your first time serving a bunch of rock stars and their entourage. You've heard the stories and know that anything is possible in the green room: arguments, fist fights, food fights, hasty sex, even musicians too drunk or high to perform. But it's not just anxiety about the possible mood in the room that gives you pause. You are a huge Led Zeppelin fan, and you are as ashamed about your pink polyester work dress as you are excited to meet the young legends. You've daydreamed about meeting Robert, in particular, but certainly never under these circumstances.

You're glad to have had time to pull your copy of Led Zeppelin IV out of your locker while no one was looking and stash it on the bottom shelf of the cart, hidden behind the long, white tablecloth. An autographed vinyl would be a happy memory of the night, even if everything else went crazy.

Bonzo starts talking, and you realize things are not as jovial as you'd hoped.

"All I'm saying, Perce, is less talk between songs!" Bonzo's voice is colored with exasperation. "We both know damn well that you're just scanning the crowd to skim the finest birds off the top for yourself, innit?"

You're not sure if you should make your way into the room or stay out of the fray for a while. Since no one has noticed you yet, you decide to watch what happens next.

"How do you mean, Bonzo?" Robert's voice has all of the charm you'd expect to hear, but you don't know if his soothing tone will be enough to defuse the situation.

"All I'm doing," Robert continues, "is showing love and gratitude to the audience and setting the scene for you lot to release the sturm und drang, as it were."

"Fucking hell, Robert. Admit it, that's not the release you're most worried about! The crowds are bigger than in Birmingham, but you haven't changed your horny bastard ways one bit, matey…"

"It seems the song does indeed remain the same," Jimmy muses with a chuckle.

"I'm just surprised he ain't have a knee trembler onstage yet. G, Pagey, you're really lucky he didn't hump a pillar when you came to check him out back then. That's the sort of bollocks that I don't miss from this one." He frowns and takes a huge sip of his beer.

It seems this story is new to Jimmy and G, the imposing man you understand to be the manager. Both men exchange glances and shake their heads.

"Fuck it all!" Robert uncrosses his arms and picks up a cigarette package and lighter from the table. "Don't believe me, then." He turns his back on his critics and lights a cigarette.

You get a glimpse of his pout and his elegant fingers, marveling at how cute he looks when he's upset. Somehow this vision has neutralized any red flags raised by Bonzo's stories. You don't know why you can excuse Robert for things that would make you cold to anyone else. You are a little wary, but you know any objections you have left could be swept away with something as light as his sinful whisper in your ear, the brush of his lips against your neck, and the feathery touch of his fingers on your bud.

You are in danger of slipping deep into fantasy and decide to enter the room now to save yourself. Part of you wants to get your work over with, get your autographs, stargaze at the band and leave, but part of you wants to offer whatever comfort you can to the grumpy Robert before your eyes--just about anything he'd ask for.

Everyone else has moved on in a few different conversations. This ends up being a lucky occurrence for Robert, who is still sulking alone and notices you first.

He drops the hand with the cigarette by his side while he familiarizes himself with you. Then he lets loose with a dazzling smile.

G, the rest of the band, and the others in the room focus on you a beat later, while Robert quickly stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray. "And food saves the day. Your timing is impeccable, darlin'. Allow me to be your knight in denim and help you with that cart." He sidles up to you and rests one hand on your shoulder and the other on top of your hand. He winks at you, and you step aside so he can move the cart.

You drink in the sparkly, mostly open button-down that is hanging off of his broad shoulders, thankful that it ends just above the bulge in his jeans that won't be denied, so you can sneak a peek.

He is every bit as flirtatious as you've gleaned from the radio interviews. You get the impression that he doesn't mind the uniform you're wearing, that he's looking way past it in his mind, that he'd still flirt with you if you were wearing a potato sack. It is both a relief and something that leaves your stomach jittery.

"Our wonderful caterer…" he stares for a long time at the general region of your name tag, licks his lips, and relays your name with a wicked grin, "has brought the real food. Orange juice for Jimmy? And sandwiches and crisps for the rest of us. No need to gorge on three-day-old bananas anymore… Although there's one aged almost 25 years that's highly recommended, if you're into that sort of thing…" Robert murmurs the last part for your ears only.

You blush and are stunned by his boldness, but you get your bearings quickly, realizing things will be as out of control as you anticipated. You can't deny that you would love to spend some time alone with Robert, and you're ready to see what other bold moves he has in store.

You steady yourself to throw some of your own boldness his way. "Well, they are good for you--delicious and incredibly filling… And I do like them ripe, personally, so…" You reply just as softly and gaze into his eyes.

Inside of the stare, the two of you are zapped by a mutual, high-voltage flash of interest. Your heart races, and your body throbs.

"Prime example, this is!" Bonzo interjects from the couch. "Percy Plant plucking another flower for himself!"

"Not now, Bonzo," Robert mutters, still looking into your eyes.

You blink rapidly, realizing all eyes are on you. "Sorry… It's my first night here… I-- I've got to set these things out," you stammer to Robert. You want him, but to have things so very obviously play out in front of so many people… A curtain of shame weighs heavy on the lust that has engulfed your body.

Before you can pick up the tray of sandwiches, Robert steps in. "Allow me, love." He notices your conflicting emotions and removes all of the food from the cart for you. You're glad for his help because you feel lightheaded. The last thing you need to do is drop a tray of food on your first night and draw the ire of the rambunctious group.

"What's this, then?" Robert has peeked under the tablecloth and has found your record. "Fancy some autographs from us heathens?" He holds up the album for everyone to see.

"One of my favorites. I must commend your good taste." Jimmy's tip of his glass to you and his friendly words lighten your tension. Your thank-you to him is for his compliment as much as it is for the lifeline to normalcy that he has thrown.

Robert places a hand on your shoulder. "You know what? I'll let the rest of the lads sign first. You look like you could use some help getting this cart back where it belongs, yeah?"

You get the sense that Robert genuinely wants to blot out your embarrassment, but you know that he has other, wolfish desires alongside his altruism. You're okay with that, and you don't question why.

"That would be great." A weak smile grows stronger on your face as you think of how exciting a stolen moment with Robert will be.

"Yes, allow me to drive this for you then?" He begins to push the cart to the door.

"Thirty minutes until showtime, Robert," G calls out, knowing he won't return right away.

Robert doesn't respond to G but does motion for you to join him in the hall. You tell him which way to turn. You're back to bursting with excitement again as you leave the room in the distance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of my stories are here, or search for the hashtag #brownskinsugarplumlibrary.

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unsettlingshortstories · 4 years

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Don't Look Now

Daphne du Maurier (1971)

'DON'T LOOK NOW,' John said to his wife, 'but there are a couple of old girls two tables away who are trying to hypnotise me.'

Laura, quick on cue, made an elaborate pretence of yawning, then tilted her head as though searching the skies for a non-existent aeroplane.

'Right behind you,' he added. 'That's why you can't turn round at once-it would be much too obvious.'

Laura played the oldest trick in the world and dropped her napkin, then bent to scrabble for it under her feet, sending a shooting glance over her left shoulder as she straightened once again. She sucked in her cheeks, the first tell-tale sign of suppressed hysteria, and lowered her head.

'They're not old girls at all,' she said. 'They're male twins in drag.'

Her voice broke ominously, the prelude to uncontrolled laughter, and John quickly poured some more chianti into her glass.

'Pretend to choke,' he said, 'then they won't notice. You know what it is-they're criminals doing the sights of Europe, changing sex at each stop. Twin sisters here on Torcello. Twin brothers tomorrow in Venice, or even tonight, parading arm-in-arm across the Piazza San Marco. Just a matter of switching clothes and wigs.'

'Jewel thieves or murderers?' asked Laura.

'Oh, murderers, definitely. But why, I ask myself, have they picked on me?'

The waiter made a diversion by bringing coffee and bearing away the fruit, which gave Laura time to banish hysteria and regain control.

'I can't think,' she said, 'why we didn't notice them when we arrived. They stand out to high heaven. One couldn't fail.'

'That gang of Americans masked them,' said John, 'and the bearded man with a monocle who looked like a spy. It wasn't until they all went just now that I saw the twins. Oh God, the one with the shock of white hair has got her eye on me again.'

Laura took the powder compact from her bag and held it in front of her face, the mirror acting as a reflector.

'I think it's me they're looking at, not you,' she said. 'Thank heaven I left my pearls with the manager at the hotel.' She paused, dabbing the sides of her nose with powder. 'The thing is,' she said after a moment, 'we've got them wrong. They're neither murderers nor thieves. They're a couple of pathetic old retired schoolmistresses on holiday, who've saved up all their lives to visit Venice. They come from some place with a name like Walabanga in Australia. And they're called Tilly and Tiny.'

Her voice, for the first time since they had come away, took on the old bubbling quality he loved, and the worried frown between her brows had vanished. At last, he thought, at last she's beginning to get over it. If I can keep this going, if we can pick up the familiar routine of jokes shared on holiday and at home, the ridiculous fantasies about people at other tables, or staying in the hotel, or wandering in art galleries and churches, then everything will fall into place, life will become as it was before, the wound will heal, she will forget.

'You know,' said Laura, 'that really was a very good lunch. I did enjoy it.'

Thank God, he thought, thank God…. Then he leant forward, speaking low in a conspirator's whisper. 'One of them is going to the loo,' he said. Do you suppose he, or she, is going to change her wig?'

'Don't say anything,' Laura murmured. 'I'll follow her and find out. She may have a suitcase tucked away there, and she's going to switch clothes.'

She began to hum under her breath, the signal, to her husband, of content. The ghost was temporarily laid, and all because of the familiar holiday game, abandoned too long, and now, through mere chance, blissfully recaptured.

'Is she on her way?' asked Laura.

'About to pass our table now,' he told her.

Seen on her own, the woman was not so remarkable. Tall, angular, aquiline features, with the close-cropped hair which was fashionably called an Eton crop, he seemed to remember, in his mother's day, and about her person the stamp of that particular generation. She would be in her middle sixties, he supposed, the masculine shirt with collar and tie, sports jacket, grey tweed skirt coming to mid-calf. Grey stockings and laced black shoes. He had seen the type on golf-courses and at dog-shows-invariably showing not sporting breeds but pugs-and if you came across them at a party in somebody's house they were quicker on the draw with a cigarette-lighter than he was himself, a mere male, with pocket-matches. The general belief that they kept house with a more feminine, fluffy companion was not always true. Frequently they boasted, and adored, a golfing husband. No, the striking point about this particular individual was that there were two of them. Identical twins cast in the same mould. The only difference was that the other one had whiter hair.

'Supposing,' murmured Laura, 'when I find myself in the toilette beside her she starts to strip?'

'Depends on what is revealed,' John answered. 'If she's hermaphrodite, make a bolt for it. She might have a hypodermic syringe concealed and want to knock you out before you reached the door.'

Laura sucked in her cheeks once more and began to shake. Then, squaring her shoulders, she rose to her feet. 'I simply must not laugh,' she said, 'and whatever you do, don't look at me when I come back, especially if we come out together.' She picked up her bag and strolled self-consciously away from the table in pursuit of her prey.

John poured the dregs of the chianti into his glass and lit a cigarette. The sun blazed down upon the little garden of the restaurant. The Americans had left, and the monocled man, and the family party at the far end. All was peace. The identical twin was sitting back in her chair with her eyes closed. Thank heaven, he thought, for this moment at any rate, when relaxation was possible, and Laura had been launched upon her foolish, harmless game. The holiday could yet turn into the cure she needed, blotting out, if only temporarily, the numb despair that had seized her since the child died.

'She'll get over it,' the doctor said. 'They all get over it, in time. And you have the boy.'

'I know,' John had said, 'but the girl meant everything. She always did, right from the start, I don't know why. I suppose it was the difference in age. A boy of school age, and a tough one at that, is someone in his own right. Not a baby of five. Laura literally adored her. Johnnie and I were nowhere.'

'Give her time,' repeated the doctor, 'give her time. And anyway, you're both young still. There'll be others. Another daughter.'

So easy to talk…. How replace the life of a loved lost child with a dream? He knew Laura too well. Another child, another girl, would have her own qualities, a separate identity, she might even induce hostility because of this very fact. A usurper in the cradle, in the cot, that had been Christine's. A chubby, flaxen replica of Johnnie, not the little waxen dark-haired sprite that had gone.

He looked up, over his glass of wine, and the woman was staring at him again. It was not the casual, idle glance of someone at a nearby table, waiting for her companion to return, but something deeper, more intent, the prominent, light blue eyes oddly penetrating, giving him a sudden feeling of discomfort. Damn the woman! All right, bloody stare, if you must. Two can play at that game. He blew a cloud of cigarette smoke into the air and smiled at her, he hoped offensively. She did not register. The blue eyes continued to hold his, so that he was obliged to look away himself, extinguish his cigarette, glance over his shoulder for the waiter and call for the bill. Settling for this, and fumbling with the change, with a few casual remarks about the excellence of the meal, brought composure, but a prickly feeling on his scalp remained, and an odd sensation of unease. Then it went, as abruptly as it had started, and stealing a furtive glance at the other table he saw that her eyes were closed again, and she was sleeping, or dozing, as she had done before. The waiter disappeared. All was still.

Laura, he thought, glancing at his watch, is being a hell of a time. Ten minutes at least. Something to tease her about, anyway. He began to plan the form the joke would take. How the old dolly had stripped to her smalls, suggesting that Laura should do likewise. And then the manager had burst in upon them both, exclaiming in horror, the reputation of the restaurant damaged, the hint that unpleasant consequences might follow unless… The whole exercise turning out to be a plant, an exercise in blackmail. He and Laura and the twins taken in a police launch back to Venice for questioning. Quarter of an hour…. Oh, come on, come on….

There was a crunch of feet on the gravel. Laura's twin walked slowly past, alone. She crossed over to her table and stood there a moment, her tall, angular figure interposing itself between John and her sister. She was saying something, but he couldn't catch the words. What was the accent, though-Scottish? Then she bent, offering an arm to the seated twin, and they moved away together across the garden to the break in the little hedge beyond, the twin who had stared at John leaning on her sister's arm. Here was the difference again. She was not quite so tall, and she stooped more-perhaps she was arthritic. They disappeared out of sight, and John, becoming impatient, got up and was about to walk back into the hotel when Laura emerged.

'Well, I must say, you took your time,' he began, and then stopped, because of the expression on her face.

'What's the matter, what's happened?' he asked.

He could tell at once there was something wrong. Almost as if she were in a state of shock. She blundered towards the table he had just vacated and sat down. He drew up a chair beside her, taking her hand.

'Darling, what is it? Tell me- are you ill?'

She shook her head, and then turned and looked at him. The dazed expression he had noticed at first had given way to one of dawning confidence, almost of exaltation.

'It's quite wonderful,' she said slowly, 'the most wonderful thing that could possibly be. You see, she isn't dead, she's still with us. That's why they kept staring at us, those two sisters. They could see Christine.'

Oh God, he thought. It's what I've been dreading. She's going off her head. What do I do? How do I cope?

'Laura, sweet,' he began, forcing a smile, 'look, shall we go? I've paid the bill, we can go and look at the cathedral and stroll around, and then it will be time to take off in that launch again for Venice.'

She wasn't listening, or at any rate the words didn't penetrate.

'John, love,' she said, 'I've got to tell you what happened. I followed her, as we planned, into the toilette place. She was combing her hair and I went into the loo, and then came out and washed my hands in the basin. She was washing hers in the next basin. Suddenly she turned and said to me, in a strong Scots accent, 'Don't be unhappy any more. My sister has seen your little girl. She was sitting between you and your husband, laughing.' Darling, I thought I was going to faint. I nearly did. Luckily, there was a chair, and I sat down, and the woman bent over me and patted my head. I'm not sure of her exact words, but she said something about the moment of truth and joy being as sharp as a sword, but not to be afraid, all was well, but the sister's vision had been so strong they knew I had to be told, and that Christine wanted it. Oh, John, don't look like that. I swear I'm not making it up, this is what she told me, it's all true.'

The desperate urgency in her voice made his heart sicken. He had to play along with her, agree, soothe, do anything to bring back some sense of calm.

'Laura, darling, of course I believe you,' he said, 'only it's a sort of shock, and I'm upset because you're upset….'

'But I'm not upset,' she interrupted. 'I'm happy, so happy that I can't put the feeling into words. You know what it's been like all these weeks, at home and everywhere we've been on holiday, though I tried to hide it from you. Now it's lifted, because I know, I just know, that the woman was right. Oh Lord, how awful of me, but I've forgotten their name-she did tell me. You see, the thing is that she's a retired doctor, they come from Edinburgh, and the one who saw Christine went blind a few years ago. Although she's studied the occult all her life and been very psychic, it's only since going blind that she has really seen things, like a medium. They've had the most wonderful experiences. But to describe Christine as the blind one did to her sister, even down to the little blue-and-white dress with the puff sleeves that she wore at her birthday party, and to say she was smiling happily…. Oh, darling, it's made me so happy I think I'm going to cry.'

No hysteria. Nothing wild. She took a tissue from her bag and blew her nose, smiling at him. 'I'm all right, you see, you don't have to worry. Neither of us need worry about anything any more. Give me a cigarette.'

He took one from his packet and lighted it for her. She sounded normal, herself again. She wasn't trembling. And if this sudden belief was going to keep her happy he couldn't possibly begrudge it. But… but… he wished, all the same, it hadn't happened. There was something uncanny about thought-reading, about telepathy. Scientists couldn't account for it, nobody could, and this is what must have happened just now between Laura and the sisters. So the one who had been staring at him was blind. That accounted for the fixed gaze. Which somehow was unpleasant in itself, creepy. Oh hell, he thought, I wish we hadn't come here for lunch. Just chance, a flick of a coin between this, Torcello, and driving to Padua, and we had to choose Torcello.

'You didn't arrange to meet them again or anything, did you?' he asked, trying to sound casual.

'No, darling, why should I?' Laura answered. 'I mean, there was nothing more they could tell me. The sister had her wonderful vision, and that was that. Anyway, they're moving on. Funnily enough, it's rather like our original game. They are going round the world before returning to Scotland. Only I said Australia, didn't I? The old dears…. Anything less like murderers and jewel thieves.'

She had quite recovered. She stood up and looked about her. 'Come on,' she said. 'Having come to Torcello we must see the cathedral.'

They made their way from the restaurant across the open piazza, where the stalls had been set up with scarves and trinkets and postcards, and so along the path to the cathedral. One of the ferry-boats had just decanted a crowd of sightseers, many of whom had already found their way into Santa Maria Assunta. Laura, undaunted, asked her husband for the guidebook, and, as had always been her custom in happier days, started to walk slowly through the cathedral, studying mosaics, columns, panels from left to right, while John, less interested, because of his concern at what had just happened, followed close behind, keeping a weather eye alert for the twin sisters. There was no sign of them. Perhaps they had gone into the church of Santa Fosca close by. A sudden encounter would be embarrassing, quite apart from the effect it might have upon Laura. But the anonymous, shuffling tourists, intent upon culture, could not harm her, although from his own point of view they made artistic appreciation impossible. He could not concentrate, the cold clear beauty of what he saw left him untouched, and when Laura touched his sleeve, pointing to the mosaic of the Virgin and Child standing above the frieze of the Apostles, he nodded in sympathy yet saw nothing, the long, sad face of the Virgin infinitely remote, and turning on sudden impulse stared back over the heads of the tourists towards the door, where frescoes of the blessed and the damned gave themselves to judgement.

The twins were standing there, the blind one still holding on to her sister's arm, her sightless eyes fixed firmly upon him. He felt himself held, unable to move, and an impending sense of doom, of tragedy, came upon him. His whole being sagged, as it were, in apathy, and he thought, 'This is the end, there is no escape, no future.' Then both sisters turned and went out of the cathedral and the sensation vanished, leaving indignation in its wake, and rising anger. How dare those two old fools practise their mediumistic tricks on him? It was fraudulent, unhealthy; this was probably the way they lived, touring the world making everyone they met uncomfortable. Give them half a chance and they would have got money out of Laura-anything.

He felt her tugging at his sleeve again. 'Isn't she beautiful? So happy, so serene.'

'Who? What?' he asked.

'The Madonna,' she answered. 'She has a magic quality. It goes right through to one. Don't you feel it too?'

'I suppose so. I don't know. There are too many people around.'

She looked up at him, astonished. 'What's that got to do with it? How funny you are. Well, all right, let's get away from them. I want to buy some postcards anyway.'

Disappointed, she sensed his lack of interest, and began to thread her way through the crowd of tourists to the door.

'Come on,' he said abruptly, once they were outside, 'there's plenty of time for postcards, let's explore a bit,' and he struck off from the path, which would have taken them back to the centre where the little houses were, and the stalls, and the drifting crowd of people, to a narrow way amongst uncultivated ground, beyond which he could see a sort of cutting or canal. The sight of water, limpid, pale, was a soothing contrast to the fierce sun above their heads.

'I don't think this leads anywhere much,' said Laura. 'It's a bit muddy, too, one can't sit. Besides, there are more things the guidebook says we ought to see.'

'Oh. forget the book,' he said impatiently, and, pulling her down beside him on the bank above the cutting, put his arms round her.

'It's the wrong time of day for sight-seeing. Look, there's a rat swimming there the other side.'

He picked up a stone and threw it in the water, and the animal sank, or somehow disappeared, and nothing was left but bubbles.

'Don't,' said Laura. 'It's cruel, poor thing,' and then suddenly, putting her hand on his knee, 'Do you think Christine is sitting here beside us?'

He did not answer at once. What was there to say? Would it be like this forever?

'I expect so,' he said slowly, 'if you feel she is.'

The point was, remembering Christine before the onset of the fatal meningitis, she would have been running along the bank excitedly, throwing off her shoes, wanting to paddle, giving Laura a fit of apprehension. 'Sweetheart, take care, come back…'

'The woman said she was looking so happy, sitting beside us, smiling,' said Laura. She got up, brushing her dress, her mood changed to restlessness. 'Come on, let's go back,' she said.

He followed her with a sinking heart. He knew she did not really want to buy postcards or see what remained to be seen; she wanted to go in search of the women again, not necessarily to talk, just to be near them. When they came to the open place by the stalls he noticed that the crowd of tourists had thinned, there were only a few stragglers left, and the sisters were not amongst them. They must have joined the main body who had come to Torcello by the ferry-service. A wave of relief seized him.

'Look, there's a mass of postcards at the second stall,' he said quickly, 'and some eye-catching head scarves. Let me buy you a head scarf.'

'Darling, I've so many!' she protested. 'Don't waste your lire.'

'It isn't a waste. I'm in a buying mood. What about a basket? You know we never have enough baskets. Or some lace. How about lace?'

She allowed herself, laughing, to be dragged to the stall. While he rumpled through the goods spread out before them. and chatted up the smiling woman who was selling her wares, his ferociously bad Italian making her smile the more, he knew it would give the body of tourists more time to walk to the landing stage and catch the ferry-service, and the twin sisters would be out of sight and out of their life.

'Never,' said Laura, some twenty minutes later, 'has so much junk been piled into so small a basket,' her bubbling laugh reassuring him that all was well, he needn't worry any more, the evil hour had passed. The launch from the Cipriani that had brought them from Venice was waiting by the landing-stage. The passengers who had arrived with them, the Americans, the man with the monocle, were already assembled. Earlier, before setting out, he had thought the price for lunch and transport, there and back, decidedly steep. Now he grudged none of it, except that the outing to Torcello itself had been one of the major errors of this particular holiday in Venice. They stepped down into the launch, finding a place in the open, and the boat chugged away down the canal and into the lagoon. The ordinary ferry had gone before, steaming towards Murano, while their own craft headed past San Francesco del Deserto and so back direct to Venice.

He put his arm around her once more, holding her close, and this time she responded, smiling up at him, her head on his shoulder.

'It's been a lovely day,' she said. 'I shall never forget it, never. You know, darling, now at last I can begin to enjoy our holiday.'

He wanted to shout with relief. It's going to be all right, he decided, let her believe what she likes, it doesn't matter, it makes her happy. The beauty of Venice rose before them, sharply outlined against the glowing sky, and there was still so much to see, wandering there together, that might now be perfect because of her change of mood, the shadow having lifted, and aloud he began to discuss the evening to come, where they would dine- not the restaurant they usually went to, near the Fenice theatre, but somewhere different, somewhere new.

'Yes, but it must be cheap,' she said, falling in with his mood, 'because we've already spent so much today.'

Their hotel by the Grand Canal had a welcoming, comforting air. The clerk smiled as he handed over their key. The bedroom was familiar, like home, with Laura's things arranged neatly on the dressing-table, but with it the little festive atmosphere of strangeness, of excitement, that only a holiday bedroom brings. This is ours for the moment, but no more. While we are in it we bring it life. When we have gone it no longer exists, it fades into anonymity. He turned on both taps in the bathroom, the water gushing into the bath, the steam rising. 'Now,' he thought afterwards, 'now at last is the moment to make love,' and he went back into the bedroom, and she understood, and opened her arms and smiled. Such blessed relief after all those weeks of restraint.

'The thing is,' she said later, fixing her ear-rings before the looking-glass, 'I'm not really terribly hungry. Shall we just be dull and eat in the dining-room here?'

'God, no!' he exclaimed. 'With all those rather dreary couple at the other tables? I'm ravenous. I'm also gay. I want to get rather sloshed.'

'Not bright lights and music, surely?'

'No, no… some small, dark, intimate cave, rather sinister, full of lovers with other people's wives.'

'H'm,' sniffed Laura, 'we all know what that means. You'll spot some Italian lovely of sixteen and smirk at her through dinner, while I'm stuck high and dry with a beastly man's broad back.'

They went out laughing into the warm soft night, and the magic was about them everywhere. 'Let's walk,' he said, 'let's walk and work up an appetite for our gigantic meal,' and inevitably they found themselves by the Molo and the lapping gondolas dancing upon the water, the lights everywhere blending with the darkness. There were other couples strolling for the same sake of aimless enjoyment, backwards, forwards, purposeless, and the inevitable sailors in groups, noisy, gesticulating, and dark-eyed girls whispering, clicking on high heels.

'The trouble is,' said Laura, 'walking in Venice becomes compulsive once you start. Just over the next bridge, you say, and then the next one beckons. I'm sure there are no restaurants down here, we're almost at those public gardens where they hold the Biennale. Let's turn back. I know there's a restaurant somewhere near the church of San Zaccaria, there's a little alley-way leading to it.'

'Tell you what,' said John, 'if we go down here by the Arsenal, and cross that bridge at the end and head left, we'll come upon San Zaccaria from the other side. We did it the other morning.'

'Yes, but it was daylight then. We may lose our way, it's not very well lit.'

'Don't fuss. I have an instinct for these things.'

They turned down the Fondamenta dell'Arsenale and crossed the little bridge short of the Arsenal itself, and so on past the church of San Martino. There were two canals ahead, one bearing right, the other left, with narrow streets beside them. John hesitated. Which one was it they had walked beside the day before?

'You see,' protested Laura, 'we shall be lost, just as I said.' 'Nonsense,' replied John firmly. 'It's the left-hand one, I remember the little bridge.'

The canal was narrow, the houses on either side seemed to close in upon it, and in the daytime, with the sun's reflection on the water and the windows of the houses open, bedding upon the balconies, a canary singing in a cage, there had been an impression of warmth, of secluded shelter. Now, almost in darkness, the windows of the houses shuttered, the water dank, the scene appeared altogether different, neglected, poor, and the long narrow boats moored to the slippery steps of cellar entrances looked like coffins.

'I swear I don't remember this bridge,' said Laura, pausing, and holding on to the rail, 'and I don't like the look of that alleyway beyond.'

'There's a lamp halfway up,' John told her. 'I know exactly where we are, not far from the Greek quarter.'

They crossed the bridge, and were about to plunge into the alley-way when they heard the cry. It came, surely, from one of the houses on the opposite side, but which one it was impossible to say. With the shutters closed each one of them seemed dead. They turned, and stared in the direction from which the sound had come.

'What was it?' whispered Laura.

'Some drunk or other,' said John briefly. 'Come on.'

Less like a drunk than someone being strangled, and the choking cry suppressed as the grip held firm.

'We ought to call the police,' said Laura.

'Oh, for heaven's sake,' said John. Where did she think she was-Piccadilly?

'Well, I'm off, it's sinister,' she replied, and began to hurry away up the twisting alley-way. John hesitated, his eye caught by a small figure which suddenly crept from a cellar entrance below one of the opposite houses, and then jumped into a narrow boat below. It was a child, a little girl she couldn't have been more than five or six-wearing a short coat over her minute skirt, a pixie hood covering her head. There were four boats moored, line upon line, and she proceeded to jump from one to the other with surprising agility, intent, it would seem, upon escape. Once her foot slipped and he caught his breath, for she was within a few feet of the water, losing balance; then she recovered, and hopped on to the furthest boat. Bending, she tugged at the rope, which had the effect of swinging the boat's after-end across the canal, almost touching the opposite side and another cellar entrance, about thirty feet from the spot where John stood watching her. Then the child jumped again, landing upon the cellar steps, and vanished into the house, the boat swinging back into mid-canal behind her. The whole episode could not have taken more than four minutes. Then he heard the quick patter of feet. Laura had returned. She had seen none of it, for which he felt unspeakably thankful. The sight of a child, a little girl, in what must have been near danger, her fear that the scene he had just witnessed was in some way a sequel to the alarming cry, might have had a disastrous effect on her overwrought nerves.

'What are you doing?' she called. 'I daren't go on without you. The wretched alley branches in two directions.'

'Sorry,' he told her. 'I'm coming.'

He took her arm and they walked briskly along the alley, John with an apparent confidence he did not possess.

'There were no more cries, were there?' she asked.

'No,' he said, 'no, nothing. I tell you, it was some drunk.'

The alley led to a deserted campo behind a church, not a church he knew, and he led the way across, along another street and over a further bridge.

'Wait a minute,' he said. 'I think we take this right-hand turning. It will lead us into the Greek quarter-the church of San Georgio is somewhere over there.'

She did not answer. She was beginning to lose faith. The place was like a maze. They might circle round and round forever, and then find themselves back again, near the bridge where they had heard the cry. Doggedly he led her on, and then surprisingly, with relief, he saw people walking in the lighted street ahead, there was a spire of a church, the surroundings became familiar.

'There, I told you,' he said. 'That's San Zaccaria, we've found it all right. Your restaurant can't be far away.'

And anyway, there would be other restaurants, somewhere to eat, at least here was the cheering glitter of lights, of movement, canals beside which people walked, the atmosphere of tourism. The letters Ristorante', in blue lights, shone like a beacon down a left-hand alley.

'Is this your place?' he asked.

'God knows,' she said. 'Who cares? Let's feed there anyway.'

And so into the sudden blast of heated air and hum of voices, the smell of pasta, wine, waiters, jostling customers, laughter. For two? This way, please.' Why, he thought, was one's British nationality always so obvious? A cramped little table and an enormous menu scribbled in an indecipherable mauve biro, with the waiter hovering, expecting the order forthwith.

'Two very large camparis, with soda,' John said. 'Then we'll study the menu.'

He was not going to be rushed. He handed the bill of fare to Laura and looked about him. Mostly Italians-that meant the food would be good. Then he saw them. At the opposite side of the room. The twin sisters. They must have come into the restaurant hard upon Laura's and his own arrival, for they were only now sitting down, shedding their coats, the waiter hovering beside the table. John was seized with the irrational thought that this was no coincidence. The sisters had noticed them both, in the street outside, and had followed them in. Why, in the name of hell, should they have picked on this particular spot, in the whole of Venice, unless… unless Laura herself, at Torcello, had suggested a further encounter, or the sister had suggested it to her? A small restaurant near the church of San Zaccaria, we go there sometimes for dinner. It was Laura, before the walk, who had mentioned San Zaccaria….

She was still intent upon the menu, she had not seen the sisters, but any moment now she would have chosen what she wanted to eat, and then she would raise her head and look across the room. If only the drinks would come. If only the waiter would bring the drinks, it would give Laura something to do.

'You know, I was thinking,' he said quickly, 'we really ought to go to the garage tomorrow and get the car, and do that drive to Padua. We could lunch in Padua, see the cathedral and touch St Antony's tomb and look at the Giotto frescoes, and come back by way of those various villas along the Brenta that the guidebook cracks up.'

It was no use, though. She was looking up, across the restaurant, and she gave a little gasp of surprise. It was genuine. He could swear it was genuine.

'Look,' she said, 'how extraordinary! How really amazing!' 'What?' he said sharply.

'Why, there they are. My wonderful old twins. They've seen us, what's more. They're staring this way.' She waved her hand, radiant, delighted. The sister she had spoken to at Torcello bowed and smiled. False old bitch, he thought. I know they followed us.

'Oh, darling, I must go and speak to them,' she said impulsively, 'just to tell them how happy I've been all day, thanks to them.'

'Oh, for heaven's sake!' he said. 'Look, here are the drinks. And we haven't ordered yet. Surely you can wait until later, until we've eaten?'

'I won't be a moment,' she said, 'and anyway I want scampi, nothing first. I told you I wasn't hungry.'

She got up, and, brushing past the waiter with the drinks, crossed the room. She might have been greeting the loved friends of years. He watched her bend over the table and shake them both by the hand, and because there was a vacant chair at their table she drew it up and sat down, talking, smiling. Nor did the sisters seem surprised, at least not the one she knew, who nodded and talked back, while the blind sister remained impassive.

'All right,' thought John savagely, 'then I will get sloshed,' and he proceeded to down his campari and soda and order another, while he pointed out something quite unintelligible on the menu as his own choice, but remembered scampi for Laura. 'And a bottle of Soave,' he added, 'with ice.'

The evening was ruined anyway. What was to have been an intimate, happy celebration would now be heavy-laden with spiritualistic visions, poor little dead Christine sharing the table with them, which was so damned stupid when in earthly life she would have been tucked up hours ago in bed. The bitter taste of the campari suited his mood of sudden self-pity, and all the while he watched the group at the table in the opposite corner, Laura apparently listening while the more active sister held forth and the blind one sat silent, her formidable sightless eyes turned in his direction.

'She's phoney,' he thought, 'she's not blind at all. They're both of them frauds, and they could be males in drag after all, just as we pretended at Torcello, and they're after Laura.'

He began on his second campari and soda. The two drinks, taken on an empty stomach, had an instant effect. Vision became blurred. And still Laura went on sitting at the other table, putting in a question now and again, while the active sister talked. The waiter appeared with the scampi, and a companion beside him to serve John's own order, which was totally unrecognisable, heaped with a livid sauce.

'The signora does not come?' enquired the first waiter, and John shook his head grimly, pointing an unsteady finger across the room.

'Tell the signora,' he said carefully, 'her scampi will get cold.'

He stared down at the offering placed before him, and prodded it delicately with a fork. The pallid sauce dissolved, revealing two enormous slices, rounds, of what appeared to be boiled pork, bedecked with garlic. He forked a portion to his mouth and chewed, and yes, it was pork, steamy, rich, the spicy sauce having turned it curiously sweet. He laid down his fork, pushing the plate away, and became aware of Laura, returning across the room and sitting beside him. She did not say anything, which was just as well, he thought, because he was too near nausea to answer. It wasn't just the drink, but reaction from the whole nightmare day. She began to eat her scampi, still not uttering. She did not seem to notice he was not eating. The waiter, hovering at his elbow, anxious, seemed aware that John's choice was somehow an error, and discreetly removed the plate. 'Bring me a green salad,' murmured John, and even then Laura did not register surprise, or, as she might have done in more normal circumstances, accuse him of having had too much to drink. Finally, when she had finished her scampi and was sipping her wine, which John had waved away, to nibble at his salad in small mouthfuls like a sick rabbit, she began to speak.

'Darling,' she said, 'I know you won't believe it, and it's rather frightening in a way, but after they left the restaurant in Torcello the sisters went to the cathedral, as we did, although we didn't see them in that crowd, and the blind one had another vision. She said Christine was trying to tell her something about us, that we should be in danger if we stayed in Venice. Christine wanted us to go away as soon as possible.'

So that's it, he thought. They think they can run our lives for us. This is to be our problem from henceforth. Do we eat? Do we get up? Do we go to bed? We must get in touch with the twin sisters. They will direct us.

'Well?' she said. 'Why don't you say something?'

'Because,' he answered, 'you are perfectly right, I don't believe it. Quite frankly, I judge your old sisters as being a couple of freaks, if nothing else. They're obviously unbalanced, and I'm sorry if this hurts you, but the fact is they've found a sucker in you.'

'You're being unfair,' said Laura. 'They are genuine, I know it. I just know it. They were completely sincere in what they said.'

'All right. Granted. They're sincere. But that doesn't make them well-balanced. Honestly, darling, you meet that old girl for ten minutes in a loo, she tells you she sees Christine sitting beside us-well, anyone with a gift for telepathy could read your unconscious mind in an instant-and then, pleased with her success, as any old psychic expert would be, she flings a further mood of ecstasy and wants to boot us out of Venice. Well, I'm sorry, but to hell with it.'

The room was no longer reeling. Anger had sobered him. If it would not put Laura to shame he would get up and cross to their table, and tell the old fools where they got off.

'I knew you would take it like this,' said Laura unhappily. 'I told them you would. They said not to worry. As long as we left Venice tomorrow everything would come all right.'

'Oh, for God's sake,' said John. He changed his mind, and poured himself a glass of wine.

'After all,' Laura went on, 'we have really seen the cream of Venice. I don't mind going on somewhere else. And if we stayed — I know it sounds silly, but I should have a nasty nagging sort of feeling inside me, and I should keep thinking of darling Christine being unhappy and trying to tell us to go.'

'Right,' said John with ominous calm, 'that settles it. Go we will. I suggest we clear off to the hotel straight away and warn the reception we're leaving in the morning. Have you had enough to eat?'

'Oh dear,' sighed Laura, 'don't take it like that. Look, why not come over and meet them, and then they can explain about the vision to you? Perhaps you would take it seriously then. Especially as you are the one it most concerns. Christine is more worried over you than me. And the extraordinary thing is that the blind sister says you're psychic and don't know it. You are somehow en rapport with the unknown, and I'm not.'

'Well, that's final,' said John. 'I'm psychic, am I? Fine. My psychic intuition tells me to get out of this restaurant now, at once, and we can decide what we do about leaving Venice when we are back at the hotel.'

He signalled to the waiter for the bill and they waited for it, not speaking to each other, Laura unhappy, fiddling with her bag, while John, glancing furtively at the twins' table, noticed that they were tucking into plates piled high with spaghetti, in very un-psychic fashion. The bill disposed of, John pushed back his chair.

'Right. Are you ready?' he asked.

'I'm going to say goodbye to them first,' said Laura, her mouth set sulkily, reminding him instantly, with a pang, of their poor lost child.

'Just as you like,' he replied, and walked ahead of her out of the restaurant, without a backward glance.

The soft humidity of the evening, so pleasant to walk about in earlier, had turned to rain. The strolling tourists had melted away. One or two people hurried by under umbrellas. This is what the inhabitants who live here see, he thought. This is the true life. Empty streets by night, the dank stillness of a stagnant canal beneath shuttered houses. The rest is a bright facade put on for show, glittering by sunlight.

Laura joined him and they walked away together in silence, and emerging presently behind the ducal palace came out into the Piazza San Marco. The rain was heavy now, and they sought shelter with the few remaining stragglers under the colonnades. The orchestras had packed up for the evening. The tables were bare. Chairs had been turned upside down.

The experts are right, he thought, Venice is sinking. The whole city is slowly dying. One day the tourists will travel here by boat to peer down into the waters, and they will see pillars and columns and marble far, far beneath them, slime and mud uncovering for brief moments a lost underworld of stone. Their heels made a ringing sound on the pavement and the rain splashed from the gutterings above. A fine ending to an evening that had started with brave hope, with innocence.

When they came to their hotel Laura made straight for the lift, and John turned to the desk to ask the night-porter for the key. The man handed him a telegram at the same time, John stared at it a moment. Laura was already in the lift. Then he opened the envelope and read the message. It was from the headmaster of Johnnie's preparatory school.

Johnnie under observation

suspected appendicitis in city hospital here.

No cause for alarm but surgeon thought wise

advise you.

Charles Hill

He read the message twice, then walked slowly towards the lift where Laura was waiting for him. He gave her the telegram. 'This came when we were out,' he said. 'Not awfully good news.' He pressed the lift button as she read the telegram. The lift stopped at the second floor, and they got out.

'Well, this decides it, doesn't it?' she said. 'Here is the proof. We have to leave Venice because we're going home. It's Johnnie who's in danger, not us. This is what Christine was trying to tell the twins.'

The first thing John did the following morning was to put a call through to the headmaster at the preparatory school. Then he gave notice of their departure to the reception manager, and they packed while they waited for the call. Neither of them referred to the events of the preceding day, it was not necessary. John knew the arrival of the telegram and the foreboding of danger from the sisters was coincidence, nothing more, but it was pointless to start an argument about it. Laura was convinced otherwise, but intuitively she knew it was best to keep her feelings to herself. During breakfast they discussed ways and means of getting home. It should be possible to get themselves, and the car, on to the special car train that ran from Milan through to Calais, since it was early in the season. In any event, the headmaster had said there was no urgency.

The call from England came while John was in the bathroom. Laura answered it. He came into the bedroom a few minutes later. She was still speaking, but he could tell from the expression in her eyes that she was anxious.

'It's Mrs Hill,' she said. 'Mr Hill is in class. She says they reported from the hospital that Johnnie had a restless night and the surgeon may have to operate, but he doesn't want to unless it's absolutely necessary. They've taken X-rays and the appendix is in a tricky position, it's not awfully straightforward.'

'Here, give it to me,' he said.

The soothing but slightly guarded voice of the headmaster's wife came down the receiver. 'I'm so sorry this may spoil your plans,' she said, 'but both Charles and I felt you ought to be told, and that you might feel rather easier if you were on the spot. Johnnie is very plucky, but of course he has some fever. That isn't unusual, the surgeon says, in the circumstances. Sometimes an appendix can get displaced, it appears, and this makes it more complicated. He's going to decide about operating this evening.'

'Yes, of course, we quite understand,' said John.

'Please do tell your wife not to worry too much,' she went on. 'The hospital is excellent, a very nice staff, and we have every confidence in the surgeon.'

'Yes,' said John, 'yes,' and then broke off because Laura was making gestures beside him.

'If we can't get the car on the train, I can fly,' she said. 'They're sure to be able to find me a seat on a plane. Then at least one of us would be there this evening.'

He nodded agreement. 'Thank you so much, Mrs Hill,' he said, 'we'll manage to get back all right. Yes, I'm sure Johnnie is in good hands. Thank your husband for us. Goodbye.'

He replaced the receiver and looked round him at the tumbled beds, suitcases on the floor, tissue-paper strewn. Baskets, maps, books, coats, everything they had brought with them in the car. 'Oh God,' he said, 'what a bloody mess. All this junk.' The telephone rang again. It was the hall porter to say he had succeeded in booking a sleeper for them both, and a place for the car, on the following night.

'Look,' said Laura, who had seized the telephone, 'could you book one seat on the midday plane from Venice to London today, for me? It's imperative one of us gets home this evening. My husband could follow with the car tomorrow.'

'Here, hang on,' interrupted John. 'No need for panic stations. Surely twenty-four hours wouldn't make all that difference?'

Anxiety had drained the colour from her face. She turned to him, distraught.

'It mightn't to you, but it does to me,' she said. 'I've lost one child, I'm not going to lose another.'

'All right, darling, all right…' He put his hand out to her but she brushed it off, impatiently, and continued giving directions to the porter. He turned back to his packing. No use saying anything. Better for it to be as she wished. They could, of course, both go by air, and then when all was well, and Johnnie better, he could come back and fetch the car, driving home through France as they had come. Rather a sweat, though, and the hell of an expense. Bad enough Laura going by air and himself with the car on the train from Milan.

'We could, if you like, both fly,' he began tentatively, explaining the sudden idea, but she would have none of it. 'That really would be absurd,' she said impatiently. 'As long as I'm there this evening, and you follow by train, it's all that matters. Besides, we shall need the car, going backwards and forwards to the hospital. And our luggage. We couldn't go off and just leave all this here.'

No, he saw her point. A silly idea. It was only-well, he was as worried about Johnnie as she was, though he wasn't going to say so.

'I'm going downstairs to stand over the porter,' said Laura. 'They always make more effort if one is actually on the spot. Everything I want tonight is packed. I shall only need my overnight case. You can bring everything else in the car.' She hadn't been out of the bedroom five minutes before the telephone rang. It was Laura. 'Darling,' she said, 'it couldn't have worked out better. The porter has got me on a charter flight that leaves Venice in less than an hour. A special motor-launch takes the party direct from San Marco in about ten minutes. Some passenger on the charter flight cancelled. I shall be at Gatwick in less than four hours.'

'I'll be down right away,' he told her.

He joined her by the reception desk. She no longer looked anxious and drawn, but full of purpose. She was on her way. He kept wishing they were going together. He couldn't bear to stay on in Venice after she had gone, but the thought of driving to Milan, spending a dreary night in a hotel there alone, the endless dragging day which would follow, and the long hours in the train the next night, filled him with intolerable depression, quite apart from the anxiety about Johnnie. They walked along to the San Marco landing-stage, the Molo bright and glittering after the rain, a little breeze blowing, the postcards and scarves and tourist souvenirs fluttering on the stalls, the tourists themselves out in force, strolling, contented, the happy day before them.

'I'll ring you tonight from Milan,' he told her. 'The Hills will give you a bed, I suppose. And if you're at the hospital they'll let me have the latest news. That must be your charter party. You're welcome to them!'

The passengers descending from the landing-stage down into the waiting launch were carrying hand-luggage with Union Jack tags upon them. They were mostly middle-aged, with what appeared to be two Methodist ministers in charge. One of them advanced towards Laura, holding out his hand, showing a gleaming row of dentures when he smiled. 'You must be the lady joining us for the homeward flight,' he said. 'Welcome aboard, and to the Union of Fellowship. We are all delighted to make your acquaintance. Sorry we hadn't a seat for hubby too.'

Laura turned swiftly and kissed John, a tremor at the corner of her mouth betraying inward laughter. 'Do you think they'll break into hymns?' she whispered. 'Take care of yourself, hubby. Call me tonight.'

The pilot sounded a curious little toot upon his horn, and in a moment Laura had climbed down the steps into the launch and was standing amongst the crowd of passengers, waving her hand, her scarlet coat a gay patch of colour amongst the more sober suiting of her companions. The launch tooted again and moved away from the landing-stage, and he stood there watching it, a sense of immense loss filling his heart. Then he turned and walked away, back to the hotel, the bright day all about him desolate, unseen.

There was nothing, he thought, as he looked about him presently in the hotel bedroom, so melancholy as a vacated room, especially when the recent signs of occupation were still visible about him. Laura's suitcases on the bed, a second coat she had left behind. Traces of powder on the dressing-table. A tissue, with a lipstick smear, thrown in the waste-paper basket. Even an old tooth-paste tube squeezed dry, lying on the glass shelf above the wash-basin. Sounds of the heedless traffic on the Grand Canal came as always from the open window, but Laura wasn't there any more to listen to it, or to watch from the small balcony. The pleasure had gone. Feeling had gone.

John finished packing, and leaving all the baggage ready to be collected he went downstairs to pay the bill. The reception clerk was welcoming new arrivals. People were sitting on the terrace overlooking the Grand Canal reading newspapers, the pleasant day waiting to be planned.

John decided to have an early lunch, here on the hotel terrace, on familiar ground, and then have the porter carry the baggage to one of the ferries that steamed direct between San Marco and the Porta Roma, where the car was garaged. The fiasco meal of the night before had left him empty, and he was ready for the trolley of hors d'oeuvres when they brought it to him, around midday. Even here, though, there was change. The head-waiter, their especial friend, was off-duty, and the table where they usually sat was occupied by new arrivals, a honeymoon couple, he told himself sourly, observing the gaiety, the smiles, while he had been shown to a small single table behind a tub of flowers.

'She's airborne now,' John thought, 'she's on her way,' and he tried to picture Laura seated between the Methodist ministers, telling them, no doubt, about Johnnie ill in hospital, and heaven knows what else besides. Well, the twin sisters anyway could rest in psychic peace. Their wishes would have been fulfilled.

Lunch over, there was no point in lingering with a cup of coffee on the terrace. His desire was to get away as soon as possible, fetch the car, and be en route for Milan. He made his farewells at the reception desk, and, escorted by a porter who had piled his baggage on to a wheeled trolley, made his way once more to the landing-stage of San Marco. As he stepped on to the steam-ferry, his luggage heaped beside him, a crowd of jostling people all about him, he had one momentary pang to be leaving Venice. When, if ever, he wondered, would they come again? Next year…. in three years…. Glimpsed first on honeymoon, nearly ten years ago, and then a second visit, en passant, before a cruise, and now this last abortive ten days that had ended so abruptly.

The water glittered in the sunshine, buildings shone, tourists in dark glasses paraded up and down the rapidly receding Molo, already the terrace of their hotel was out of sight as the ferry churned its way up the Grand Canal. So many impressions to seize and hold, familiar loved façades, balconies, windows, water lapping the cellar steps of decaying palaces, the little red house where d'Annunzio lived, with its garden our house, Laura called

it, pretending it was theirs-and too soon the ferry would be turning left on the direct route to the Piazzale Roma, so missing the best of the Canal, the Rialto, the further palaces.

Another ferry was heading downstream to pass them, filled with passengers, and for a brief foolish moment he wished he could change places, be amongst the happy tourists bound for Venice and all he had left behind him. Then he saw her. Laura, in her scarlet coat, the twin sisters by her side, the active sister with her hand on Laura's arm, talking earnestly, and Laura her.. self, her hair blowing in the wind, gesticulating, on her face a look of distress. He stared, astounded, too astonished to shout, to wave, and anyway they would never have heard or seen him, for his own ferry had already passed and was heading in the opposite direction.

What the hell had happened? There must have been a hold-up with the charter flight and it had never taken off, but in that case why had Laura not telephoned him at the hotel? And what were those damned sisters doing? Had she run into them at the airport? Was it coincidence? And why did she look so anxious? He could think of no explanation. Perhaps the flight had been cancelled. Laura, of course, would go straight to the hotel, expecting to find him there, intending, doubtless, to drive with him after all to Milan and take the train the following night. What a blasted mix-up. The only thing to do was to telephone the hotel immediately his ferry reached the Piazzale Roma and tell her to wait- he would return and fetch her. As for the damned interfering sisters, they could get stuffed.

The usual stampede ensued when the ferry arrived at the landing-stage. He had to find a porter to collect his baggage, and then wait while he discovered a telephone. The fiddling with change, the hunt for the number, delayed him still more. He succeeded at last in getting through, and luckily the reception clerk he knew was still at the desk.

'Look, there's been some frightful muddle,' he began, and explained how Laura was even now on her way back to the hotel-he had seen her with two friends on one of the ferry-services. Would the reception clerk explain and tell her to wait? He would be back by the next available service to collect her. 'In any event, detain her,' he said. 'I'll be as quick as I can.' The reception clerk understood perfectly, and John rang off.

Thank heaven Laura hadn't turned up before he had put through his call, or they would have told her he was on his way to Milan. The porter was still waiting with the baggage, and, it seemed simplest to walk with him to the garage, hand everything over to the chap in charge of the office there and ask him to keep it for an hour, when he would be returning with his wife to pick up the car. Then he went back to the landing-station to await the next ferry to Venice. The minutes dragged, and he kept wondering all the time what had gone wrong at the airport and why in heaven's name Laura hadn't telephoned. No use conjecturing. She would tell him the whole story at the hotel. One thing was certain: he would not allow Laura and himself to be saddled with the sisters and become involved with their affairs. He could imagine Laura saying that they also had missed a flight, and could they have a lift to Milan?

Finally the ferry chugged alongside the landing-stage and he stepped aboard. What an anti-climax, thrashing back past the familiar sights to which he had bidden a nostalgic farewell such a short while ago! He didn't even look about him this time, he was so intent on reaching his destination. In San Marco there were more people than ever, the afternoon crowds walking shoulder to shoulder, every one of them on pleasure bent.

He came to the hotel and pushed his way through the swing door, expecting to see Laura, and possibly the sisters, waiting in the lounge to the left of the entrance. She was not there. He went to the desk. The reception clerk he had spoken to on the telephone was standing there, talking to the manager.

'Has my wife arrived?' John asked.

'No, sir, not yet.'

'What an extraordinary thing. Are you sure?'

'Absolutely certain, sir. I have been here ever since you telephoned me at a quarter to two. I have not left the desk.'

'I just don't understand it. She was on one of the vaporettos passing by the Accademia. She would have landed at San Marco about five minutes later and come on here.'

The clerk seemed nonplussed. 'I don't know what to say. The signora was with friends, did you say?'

'Yes. Well, acquaintances. Two ladies we had met at Torcello yesterday. I was astonished to see her with them on the vaporetto, and of course I assumed that the flight had been cancelled, and she had somehow met up with them at the airport and decided to return here with them, to catch me before I left.'

Oh hell, what was Laura doing? It was after three. A matter of moments from San Marco landing-stage to the hotel.

'Perhaps the signora went with her friends to their hotel instead. Do you know where they are staying?'

'No,' said John, 'I haven't the slightest idea. What's more, I don't even know the names of the two ladies. They were sisters, twins, in fact-looked exactly alike. But anyway, why go to their hotel and not here?'

The swing-door opened but it wasn't Laura. Two people staying in the hotel.

The manager broke into the conversation. 'I tell you what I will do,' he said. 'I will telephone the airport and check about the flight. Then at least we will get somewhere.' He smiled apologetically. It was not usual for arrangements to go wrong.

'Yes, do that,' said John. 'We may as well know what happened there.'

He lit a cigarette and began to pace up and down the entrance hall. What a bloody mix-up. And how unlike Laura, who knew he would be setting off for Milan directly after lunch-indeed, for all she knew he might have gone before. But surely, in that case. she would have telephoned at once, on arrival at the airport, had the flight been cancelled? The manager was ages telephoning, he had to be put through on some other line, and his Italian was too rapid for John to follow the conversation. Finally he replaced the receiver.

'It is more mysterious than ever, sir,' he said. 'The charter flight was not delayed, it took off on schedule with a full complement of passengers. As far as they could tell me, there was no hitch. The signora must simply have changed her mind.' His smile was more apologetic than ever.

'Changed her mind,' John repeated. 'But why on earth should she do that? She was so anxious to be home tonight.'

The manager shrugged. 'You know how ladies can be, sir,' he said. 'Your wife may have thought that after all she would prefer to take the train to Milan with you. I do assure you, though, that the charter party was most respectable, and it was a Caravelle aircraft, perfectly safe.'

'Yes, yes,' said John impatiently, 'I don't blame your arrangements in the slightest. I just can't understand what induced her to change her mind, unless it was meeting with these two ladies.'

The manager was silent. He could not think of anything to say. The reception clerk was equally concerned. 'Is it possible,' he ventured, 'that you made a mistake, and it was not the signora that you saw on the vaporetto?'

'Oh no,' replied John, 'it was my wife, I assure you. She was wearing her red coat, she was hatless, just as she left here. I saw her as plainly as I can see you. I would swear to it in a court of law.'

'It is unfortunate,' said the manager, 'that we do not know the name of the two ladies, or the hotel where they were staying. You say you met these ladies at Torcello yesterday?'

'Yes… but only briefly. They weren't staying there. At least, I am certain they were not. We saw them at dinner in Venice later, as it happens.'

'Excuse me….' Guests were arriving with luggage to check in, the clerk was obliged to attend to them. John turned in desperation to the manager. 'Do you think it would be any good telephoning the hotel in Torcello in case the people there knew the name of the ladies, or where they were staying in Venice?'

'We can try,' replied the manager. 'It is a small hope, but we can try.'

John resumed his anxious pacing, all the while watching the swing-door, hoping. praying, that he would catch sight of the red coat and Laura would enter. Once again there followed what seemed an interminable telephone conversation between the manager and someone at the hotel in Torcello.

'Tell them two sisters,' said John, 'two elderly ladies dressed in grey, both exactly alike. One lady was blind,' he added. The manager nodded. He was obviously giving a detailed description. Yet when he hung up he shook his head. 'The manager at Torcello says he remembers the two ladies well,' he told John, 'but they were only there for lunch. He never learnt their names.'

'Well, that's that. There's nothing to do but wait.'

John lit his third cigarette and went.out on to the terrace, to resume his pacing there. He stared out across the canal, searching the heads of the people on passing steamers, motor-boats, even drifting gondolas. The minutes ticked by on his watch, and there was no sign of Laura. A terrible foreboding nagged at him that somehow this was prearranged, that Laura had never intended to catch the aircraft, that last night in the restaurant she had made an assignation with the sisters. Oh God, he thought, that's impossible, I'm going paranoiac…. Yet why, why? No, more likely the encounter at the airport was fortuitous, and for some incredible reason they had persuaded Laura not to board the aircraft, even prevented her from doing so, trotting out one of their psychic visions, that the aircraft would crash, that she must return with them to Venice. And Laura, in her sensitive state, felt they must be right, swallowed it all without question.

But granted all these possibilities, why had she not come to the hotel? What was she doing? Four o'clock, half-past four, the sun no longer dappling the water. He went back to the reception desk.

'I just can't hang around,' he said. 'Even if she does turn up, we shall never make Milan this evening. I might see her walking with these ladies, in the Piazza San Marco, anywhere. If she arrives while I'm out, will you explain?'

The clerk was full of concern. 'Indeed, yes,' he said 'It is very worrying for you, sir. Would it perhaps be prudent if we booked you in here tonight?'

John gestured, helplessly. 'Perhaps, yes, I don't know. Maybe…'

He went out of the swing-door and began to walk towards the

Piazza San Marco. He looked into every shop up and down the colonnades, crossed the piazza a dozen times, threaded his way between the tables in front of Florian's, in front of Quadri's, knowing that Laura's red coat and the distinctive appearance of the twin sisters could easily be spotted, even amongst this milling crowd, but there was no sign of them. He joined the crowd of shoppers in the Merceria, shoulder to shoulder with idlers, thrusters, window-gazers, knowing instinctively that it was useless, they wouldn't be here. Why should Laura have deliberately missed her flight to return to Venice for such a purpose? And even if she had done so, for some reason beyond his imagining, she would surely have come first to the hotel to find him.

The only thing left to him was to try to track down the sisters. Their hotel could be anywhere amongst the hundreds of hotels and pensions scattered through Venice, or even across the other side at the Zattere, or further again on the Giudecca. These last possibilities seemed remote. More likely they were staying in a small hotel or pension somewhere near San Zaccaria handy to the restaurant where they had dined last night. The blind one would surely not go far afield in the evening. He had been a fool not to have thought of this before, and he turned back and walked quickly away from the brightly lighted shopping district towards the narrower, more cramped quarter where they had dined last evening. He found the restaurant without difficulty, but they were not yet open for dinner, and the waiter preparing tables was not the one who had served them. John asked to see the padrone, and the waiter disappeared to the back regions, returning after a moment or two with the somewhat dishevelled-looking proprietor in shirt-sleeves, caught in a slack moment, not in full tenue.

'I had dinner here last night,' John explained. 'There were two ladies sitting at that table there in the corner.' He pointed to it.

'You wish to book that table for this evening?' asked the proprietor.

'No,' said John. 'No, there were two ladies there last night, two sisters, due sorelle, twins, gemelle'-what was the right word for twins? — Do you remember? Two ladies, sorelle vecchie

'Ah; said the man, 'si, si, signore, la povera signorina.' He put his hands to his eyes to feign blindness. 'Yes, I remember.'

'Do you know their names?' asked John. 'Where they were staying? I am very anxious to trace them.'

The proprietor spread out his hands in a gesture of regret. 'I am ver' sorry, signore, I do not know the names of the signorine, they have been here once, twice, perhaps for dinner, they do not say where they were staying. Perhaps if you come again tonight they might be here? Would you like to book a table?'

He pointed around him, suggesting a whole choice of tables that might appeal to a prospective diner, but John shook his head.

'Thank you, no. I may be dining elsewhere. I am sorry to have troubled you. If the signorine should come…' he paused, 'possibly I may return later,' he added. 'I am not sure.'

The proprietor bowed, and walked with him to the entrance. 'In Venice the whole world meets,' he said smiling. 'It is possible the signore will find his friends tonight. Arrivederci, signore.'

Friends? John walked out into the street. More likely kidnappers…. Anxiety had turned to fear, to panic. Something had gone terribly wrong. Those women had got hold of Laura, played upon her suggestibility, induced her to go with them, either to their hotel or elsewhere. Should he find the Consulate? Where was it? What would he say when he got there? He began walking without purpose, finding himself, as they had done the night before, in streets he did not know, and suddenly came upon a tall building with the word 'Questura' above it. This is it, he thought. I don't care, something has happened, I'm going inside. There were a number of police in uniform coming and going, the place at any rate was active, and, addressing himself to one of them behind a glass partition, he asked if there was anyone who spoke English. The man pointed to a flight of stairs and John went up, entering a door on the right where he saw that another couple were sitting, waiting, and with relief he recognised them as fellow-countrymen, tourists, obviously a man and his wife, in some sort of predicament.

'Come and sit down,' said the man. 'We've waited half-an-hour but they can't be much longer. What a country! They wouldn't leave us like this at home.'

John took the proffered cigarette and found a chair beside them.

'What's your trouble?' he asked.

'My wife had her handbag pinched in one of those shops in the Merceria,' said the man. 'She simply put it down one moment to look at something, and you'd hardly credit it, the next moment it had gone. I say it was a sneak thief, she insists it was the girl behind the counter. But who's to say? These Ities are all alike. Anyway, I'm certain we shan't get it back. What have you lost?'

'Suitcase stolen,' John lied rapidly. 'Had some important papers in it.'

How could he say he had lost his wife? He couldn't even begin…

The man nodded in sympathy. 'As I said, these Ities are all alike. Old Musso knew how to deal with them. Too many Communists around these days. The trouble is, they're not going to bother with our troubles much, not with this murderer at large. They're all out looking for him '

'Murderer? What murderer?' asked John.

'Don't tell me you've not heard about it?' The man stared at him in surprise. 'Venice has talked of nothing else. It's been in all the papers, on the radio, and even in the English papers. A grizzly business. One woman found with her throat slit last week-a tourist too-and some old chap discovered with the same sort of knife wound this morning. They seem to think it must be a maniac, because there doesn't seem to be any motive. Nasty thing to happen in Venice in the tourist season.'

'My wife and I never bother with the newspapers when we're on holiday,' said John. 'And we're neither of us much given to gossip in the hotel.'

'Very wise of you,' laughed the man. 'It might have spoilt your holiday, especially if your wife is nervous. Oh well, we're off tomorrow anyway. Can't say we mind, do we, dear?' He turned to his wife. 'Venice has gone downhill since we were here last. And now this loss of the handbag really is the limit.'

The door of the inner room opened, and a senior police officer asked John's companion and his wife to pass through.

'I bet we don't get any satisfaction,' murmured the tourist, winking at John, and he and his wife went into the inner room. The door closed behind them. John stubbed out his cigarette and lighted another. A strange feeling of unreality possessed him. He asked himself what he was doing here, what was the use of it? Laura was no longer in Venice but had disappeared, perhaps forever, with those diabolical sisters. She would never be traced. And just as the two of them had made up a fantastic story about the twins, when they first spotted them in Torcello, so, with nightmare logic, the fiction would have basis in fact; the women were in reality disguised crooks, men with criminal intent who lured unsuspecting persons to some appalling fate. They might even be the murderers for whom the police sought. Who would ever suspect two elderly women of respectable appearance, living quietly in some second-rate pension or hotel? He stubbed out his cigarette, unfinished.

'This,' he thought, 'is really the start of paranoia. This is the way people go off their heads.' He glanced at his watch. It was half-past six. Better pack this in, this futile quest here in police headquarters, and keep to the single link of sanity remaining. Return to the hotel, put a call through to the prep school in England, and ask about the latest news of Johnnie. He had not thought about poor Johnnie since sighting Laura on the vaporetto.

Too late, though. The inner door opened, the couple were ushered out.

'Usual clap-trap,' said the husband sotto voce to John. 'They'll do what they can. Not much hope. So many foreigners in Venice, all of 'em thieves! The locals all above reproach. Wouldn't pay 'em to steal from customers. Well, I wish you better luck.'

He nodded, his wife smiled and bowed, and they had gone. John followed the police officer into the inner room.

Formalities began. Name, address, passport. Length of stay in Venice, etc., etc. Then the questions, and John, the sweat beginning to appear on his forehead, launched into his interminable story. The first encounter with the sisters, the meeting at the restaurant, Laura's state of suggestibility because of the death of their child, the telegram about Johnnie, the decision to take the chartered flight, her departure, and her sudden inexplicable return. When he had finished he felt as exhausted as if he had driven three hundred miles non-stop after a severe bout of 'flu. His interrogator spoke excellent English with a strong Italian accent.

'You say,' he began, 'that your wife was suffering the after-effects of shock. This had been noticeable during your stay here in Venice?'

'Well, yes,' John replied, 'she had really been quite ill. The holiday didn't seem to be doing her much good. It was only when she met these two women at Torcello yesterday that her mood changed. The strain seemed to have gone. She was ready, I suppose, to snatch at every straw, and this belief that our little girl was watching over her had somehow restored her to what appeared normality.'

'It would be natural,' said the police officer, 'in the circumstances. But no doubt the telegram last night was a further shock to you both?'

'Indeed, yes. That was the reason we decided to return home.'

'No argument between you? No difference of opinion?'

'None. We were in complete agreement. My one regret was that I could not go with my wife on this charter flight.'

The police officer nodded. 'It could well be that your wife had a sudden attack of amnesia, and meeting the two ladies served as a link, she clung to them for support. You have described them with great accuracy, and I think they should not be too difficult to trace. Meanwhile, I suggest you should return to your hotel, and we will get in touch with you as soon as we have news.'

At least, John thought, they believed his story. They did not consider him a crank who had made the whole thing up and was merely wasting their time.

'You appreciate,' he said, 'I am extremely anxious. These women may have some criminal design upon my wife. One has heard of such things….'

The police officer smiled for the first time. 'Please don't concern yourself,' he said. 'I am sure there will be some satisfactory explanation.'

All very well, thought John, but in heaven's name, what?

'I'm sorry,' he said, 'to have taken up so much of your time. Especially as I gather the police have their hands full hunting down a murderer who is still at large.'

He spoke deliberately. No harm in letting the fellow know that for all any of them could tell there might be some connection between Laura's disappearance and this other hideous affair.

'Ah, that,' said the police officer, rising to his feet. 'We hope to have the murderer under lock and key very soon.'

His tone of confidence was reassuring. Murderers, missing wives, lost handbags were all under control. They shook hands, and John was ushered out of the door and so downstairs. Perhaps, he thought, as he walked slowly back to the hotel, the fellow was right. Laura had suffered a sudden attack of amnesia, and the sisters happened to be at the airport and had brought her back to Venice, to their own hotel, because Laura couldn't remember where she and John had been staying. Perhaps they were even now trying to track down his hotel. Anyway, he could do nothing more. The police had everything in hand, and, please God, would come up with the solution. All he wanted to do right now was to collapse upon a bed with a stiff whisky, and then put through a call to Johnnie's school.

The page took him up in the lift to a modest room on the fourth floor at the rear of the hotel. Bare, impersonal, the shutters closed, with a smell of cooking wafting up from a courtyard down below.

'Ask them to send me up a double whisky, will you?' he said to the boy. 'And a ginger-ale,' and when he was alone he plunged his face under the cold tap in the wash-basin, relieved to find that the minute portion of visitor's soap afforded some measure of comfort. He flung off his shoes, hung his coat over the back of a chair and threw himself down on the bed. Somebody's radio was blasting forth an old popular song, now several seasons out-of-date, that had been one of Laura's favourites a couple of years ago. 'I love you, Baby…' He reached for the telephone, and asked the exchange to put through the call to England. Then he closed his eyes, and all the while the insistent voice persisted, 'I love you, Baby… I can't get you out of my mind.'

Presently there was a tap at the door. It was the waiter with his drink. Too little ice, such meagre comfort, but what desperate need. He gulped it down without the ginger-ale, and in a few moments the ever-nagging pain was eased, numbed, bringing, if only momentarily, a sense of calm. The telephone rang, and now, he thought, bracing himself for ultimate disaster, the final shock, Johnnie probably dying, or already dead. In which case nothing remained. Let Venice be engulfed….

The exchange told him that the connection had been made, and in a moment he heard the voice of Mrs Hill at the other end of the line. They must have warned her that the call came from Venice, for she knew instantly who was speaking.

'Hullo?' she said. 'Oh, I am so glad you rang. All is well. Johnnie has had his operation, the surgeon decided to do it at midday rather than wait, and it was completely successful. Johnnie is going to be all right. So you don't have to worry any more, and will have a peaceful night.'

'Thank God,' he answered.

'I know,' she said, 'we are all so relieved. Now I'll get off the line and you can speak to your wife.'

John sat up on the bed, stunned. What the hell did she mean? Then he heard Laura's voice, cool and clear.

'Darling? Darling, are you there?'

He could not answer. He felt the hand holding the receiver go clammy cold with sweat. 'I'm here,' he whispered.

'It's not a very good line,' she said, 'but never mind. As Mrs Hill told you, all is well. Such a nice surgeon, and a very sweet Sister on Johnnie's floor, and I really am happy about the way it's turned out. I came straight down here after landing at Gatwick-the flight O.K., by the way, but such a funny crowd, it'll make you hysterical when I tell you about them-and I went to the hospital, and Johnnie was coming round. Very dopey, of course, but so pleased to see me. And the Hills are being wonderful, I've got their spare-room, and it's only a short taxi-drive into the town and the hospital. I shall go to bed as soon as we've had dinner, because I'm a bit fagged, what with the flight and the anxiety. How was the drive to Milan? And where are you staying?'

John did not recognise the voice that answered as his own. It was the automatic response of some computer.

'I'm not in Milan,' he said. 'I'm still in Venice.'

'Still in Venice? What on earth for? Wouldn't the car start?' can't explain,' he said. 'There was a stupid sort of mix-up….'

He felt suddenly so exhausted that he nearly dropped the receiver, and, shame upon shame, he could feel tears pricking behind his eyes.

'What sort of mix-up?' Her voice was suspicious, almost hostile. 'You weren't in a crash?'

'No… no… nothing like that.'

A moment's silence, and then she said, 'Your voice sounds very slurred. Don't tell me you went and got pissed.'

Oh Christ… If she only knew! He was probably going to pass out any moment, but not from the whisky.

'I thought,' he said slowly, thought I saw you, in a vaporetto, with those two sisters.'

What was the point of going on? It was hopeless trying to explain.

'How could you have seen me with the sisters?' she said. 'You knew I'd gone to the airport. Really, darling, you are an idiot. You seem to have got those two poor old dears on the brain. I hope you didn't say anything to Mrs Hill just now.'

'No.'

'Well, what are you going to do? You'll catch the train at Milan tomorrow, won't you?'

'Yes, of course,' he told her.

'I still don't understand what kept you in Venice,' she said. 'It all sounds a bit odd to me. However… thank God Johnnie is going to be all right and I'm here.'

'Yes,' he said, 'yes.'

He could hear the distant boom-boom sound of a gong from the headmaster's hall.

'You had better go,' he said. 'My regards to the Hills, and my love to Johnnie.'

'Well, take care of yourself, darling, and for goodness' sake don't miss the train tomorrow, and drive carefully.'

The telephone clicked and she had gone. He poured the remaining drop of whisky into his empty glass, and sousing it with ginger-ale drank it down at a gulp. He got up, and crossing the room threw open the shutters and leant out of the window. He felt light-headed. His sense of relief, enormous, overwhelming, was somehow tempered with a curious feeling of unreality, almost as though the voice speaking from England had not been Laura's after all but a fake, and she was still in Venice, hidden in some furtive pension with the two sisters.

The point was, he had seen all three of them on the vaporetto. It was not another woman in a red coat. The women had been there, with Laura. So what was the explanation? That he was going of his head? Or something more sinister? The sisters, possessing psychic powers of formidable strength, had seen him as their two ferries had passed, and in some inexplicable fashion had made him believe Laura was with them. But why, and to what end? No, it didn't make sense. The only explanation was that he had been mistaken, the whole episode an hallucination. In which case he needed psychoanalysis, just as Johnnie had needed a surgeon.

And what did he do now? Go downstairs and tell the management he had been at fault and had just spoken to his wife, who had arrived in England safe and sound from her charter flight? He put on his shoes and ran his fingers through his hair. He glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes to eight. If he nipped into the bar and had a quick drink it would be easier to face the manager and admit what had happened. Then, perhaps, they would get in touch with the police. Profuse apologies all round for putting everyone to enormous trouble.

He made his way to the ground floor and went straight to the bar, feeling self-conscious, a marked man, half-imagining everyone would look at him, thinking, 'There's the fellow with the missing wife.' Luckily the bar was full and there wasn't a face he knew. Even the chap behind the bar was an underling who hadn't served him before. He downed his whisky and glanced over his shoulder to the reception hall. The desk was momentarily empty. He could see the manager's back framed in the doorway of an inner room, talking to someone within. On impulse, coward-like, he crossed the hall and passed through the swing-door to the street outside.

'I'll have some dinner,' he decided, 'and then go back and face them. I'll feel more like it once I've some food inside me.'

He went to the restaurant nearby where he and Laura had dined once or twice. Nothing mattered any more, because she was safe. The nightmare lay behind him. He could enjoy his dinner, despite her absence, and think of her sitting down with the Hills to a dull, quiet evening, early to bed, and on the following morning going to the hospital to sit with Johnnie. Johnnie was safe, too. No more worries, only the awkward explanations and apologies to the manager at the hotel.

There was a pleasant anonymity sitting down at a corner table alone in the little restaurant, ordering vitello alla Marsala and half a bottle of Merlot. He took his time, enjoying his food but eating in a kind of haze, a sense of unreality still with him, while the conversation of his nearest neighbours had the same soothing effect as background music.

When they rose and left, he saw by the clock on the wall that it was nearly half-past nine. No use delaying matters any further. He drank his coffee, lighted a cigarette and paid his bill. After all, he thought, as he walked back to the hotel, the manager would be greatly relieved to know that all was well.

When he pushed through the swing-door, the first thing he noticed was a man in police uniform, standing talking to the manager at the desk. The reception clerk was there too. They turned as John approached, and the manager's face lighted up with relief.

'Eccolo!' he exclaimed. 'I was certain the signore would not be far away. Things are moving, signore. The two ladies have been traced, and they very kindly agreed to accompany the police to the Questura. If you will go there at once, this agente di polizia will escort you.'

John flushed. 'I have given everyone a lot of trouble,' he said. 'I meant to tell you before going out to dinner, but you were not at the desk. The fact is that I have contacted my wife. She did make the flight to London after all, and I spoke to her on the telephone. It was all a great mistake.'

The manager looked bewildered. 'The signora is in London?' he repeated. He broke off, and exchanged a rapid conversation in Italian with the policeman. 'It seems that the ladies maintain they did not go out for the day, except for a little shopping in the morning,' he said, turning back to John. 'Then who was it the signore saw on the vaporetto?'

John shook his head. 'A very extraordinary mistake on my part which I still don't understand,' he said. 'Obviously, I did not see either my wife or the two ladies. I really am extremely sorry.'

More rapid conversation in Italian. John noticed the clerk watching him with a curious expression in his eyes. The manager was obviously apologising on John's behalf to the policeman, who looked annoyed and gave tongue to this effect, his voice increasing in volume, to the manager's concern. The whole business had undoubtedly given enormous trouble to a great many people, not least the two unfortunate sisters.

'Look,' said John, interrupting the flow, 'will you tell the agente I will go with him to headquarters and apologise in person both to the police officer and to the ladies?'

The manager looked relieved. 'If the signore would take the trouble,' he said. 'Naturally, the ladies were much distressed when a policeman interrogated them at their hotel, and they offered to accompany him to the Questura only because they were so distressed about the signora.'

John felt more and more uncomfortable. Laura must never learn any of this. She would be outraged. He wondered if there were some penalty for giving the police misleading information involving a third party. His error began, in retrospect, to take on criminal proportions.

He crossed the Piazza San Marco, now thronged with after-dinner strollers and spectators at the cafés, all three orchestras going full blast in harmonious rivalry, while his companion kept a discreet two paces to his left and never uttered a word.

They arrived at the police station and mounted the stairs to the same inner room where he had been before. He saw immediately that it was not the officer he knew but another who sat behind the desk, a sallow-faced individual with a sour expression, while the two sisters, obviously upset the active one in particular-were seated on chairs nearby, some underling in uniform standing behind them. John's escort went at once to the police officer, speaking in rapid Italian, while John himself, after a moment's hesitation, advanced towards the sisters.

'There has been a terrible mistake,' he said. 'I don't know how to apologise to you both. It's all my fault, mine entirely, the police are not to blame.'

The active sister made as though to rise, her mouth twitching nervously, but he restrained her.

'We don't understand,' she said, the Scots inflection strong. 'We said goodnight to your wife last night at dinner, and we have not seen her since. The police came to our pension more than an hour ago and told us your wife was missing and you had filed a complaint against us. My sister is not very strong. She was considerably disturbed.'

'A mistake. A frightful mistake,' he repeated.

He turned towards the desk. The police officer was addressing him, his English very inferior to that of the previous interrogator. He had John's earlier statement on the desk in front of him, and tapped it with a pencil.

'So?' he queried. 'This document all lies? You not speaka the truth?'

'I believed it to be true at the time,' said John. 'I could have sworn in a court of law that I saw my wife with these two ladies on a vaporetto in the Grand Canal this afternoon. Now I realise I was mistaken.'

'We have not been near the Grand Canal all day,' protested the sister, 'not even on foot. We made a few purchases in the Merceria this morning, and remained indoors all afternoon. My sister was a little unwell. I have told the police officer this a dozen times, and the people at the pension would corroborate our story. He refused to listen.'

'And the signora?' rapped the police officer angrily. 'What happen to the signora?'

'The signora, my wife, is safe in England,' explained John patiently. 'I talked to her on the telephone just after seven. She did join the charter flight from the airport, and is now staying with friends.'

'Then who you see on the vaporetto in the red coat?' asked the furious police officer. 'And if not these signorine here, then what signorine?'

'My eyes deceived me,' said John, aware that his English was likewise becoming strained. 'I think I see my wife and these ladies but no, it was not so. My wife in aircraft, these ladies in pension all the time.'

It was like talking stage Chinese. In a moment he would be bowing and putting his hands in his sleeves.

The police officer raised his eyes to heaven and thumped the table. 'So all this work for nothing,' he said. 'Hotels and pensiones searched for the signorine and a missing signora inglese, when here we have plenty, plenty other things to do. You maka a mistake. You have perhaps too much vino at mezzo giorno and you see hundred signore in red coats in hundred vaporetti.' He stood up, rumpling the papers on his desk. 'And you, signorine,' he said, 'you wish to make complaint against this person?' He was addressing the active sister.

'Oh no,' she said, 'no, indeed. I quite see it was all a mistake. Our only wish is to return at once to our pension.'

The police officer grunted. Then he pointed at John. 'You very lucky man,' he said. 'These signorine could file complaint against you-very serious matter.'

'I'm sure,' began John, 'I'll do anything in my power…' 'Please don't think of it,' exclaimed the sister, horrified. 'We would not hear of such a thing.' It was her turn to apologise to the police officer. 'I hope we need not take up any more of your valuable time,' she said.

He waved a hand of dismissal and spoke in Italian to the underling. 'This man walk with you to the pension,' he said. 'Buona sera, signorine,' and, ignoring John, he sat down again at his desk.

'I'll come with you,' said John. 'I want to explain exactly what happened.'

They trooped down the stairs and out of the building, the blind sister leaning on her twin's arm, and once outside she turned her sightless eyes to John.

'You saw us,' she said, 'and your wife too. But not today. You saw us in the future.'

Her voice was softer than her sister's, slower, she seemed to have some slight impediment in her speech.

'I don't follow,' replied John, bewildered.

He turned to the active sister and she shook her head at him, frowning, and put her finger on her lips.

'Come along, dear,' she said to her twin. 'You know you're very tired, and I want to get you home.' Then, sotto voce to John, 'She's psychic. Your wife told you, I believe, but I don't want her to go into trances here in the street.'

God forbid, thought John, and the little procession began to move slowly along the street, away from police headquarters, a canal to the left of them. Progress was slow, because of the blind sister, and there were two bridges. John was completely lost after the first turning, but it couldn't have mattered less. Their police escort was with them, and anyway, the sisters knew where they were going.

'I must explain,' said John softly. 'My wife would never forgive me if I didn't,' and as they walked he went over the whole inexplicable story once again, beginning with the telegram received the night before and the conversation with Mrs Hill, the decision to return to England the following day, Laura by air, and John himself by car and train. It no longer sounded as dramatic as it had done when he had made his statement to the police officer, when, possibly because of his conviction of something uncanny, the description of the two vaporettos passing one another in the middle of the Grand Canal had held a sinister quality, suggesting abduction on the part of the sisters, the pair of them holding a bewildered Laura captive. Now that neither of the women had any further menace for him he spoke more naturally, yet with great sincerity, feeling for the first time that they were somehow both in sympathy with him and would understand.

'You see,' he explained, in a final endeavour to make amends for having gone to the police in the first place, 'I truly believed I had seen you with Laura, and I thought…' he hesitated, because this had been the police officer's suggestion and not his, 'I thought that perhaps Laura had some sudden loss of memory, had met you at the airport, and you had brought her back to Venice to wherever you were staying.'

They had crossed a large square and were approaching a house at one end of it, with a sign Perisione' above the door. Their escort paused at the entrance.

'Is this it?' asked John.

'Yes,' said the sister. 'I know it is nothing much from the outside, but it is clean and comfortable, and was recommended by friends.' She turned to the escort. 'Grazie,' she said to him, 'grazie tanto.'

The man nodded briefly, wished them 'Buona notte,' and disappeared across the campo.

'Will you come in?' asked the sister. 'I am sure we can find you some coffee, or perhaps you prefer tea?'

'No, really,' John thanked her, 'I must get back to the hotel. I'm making an early start in the morning. I just want to make quite sure you do understand what happened, and that you forgive me.'

'There is nothing to forgive,' she replied. It is one of the many examples of second sight that my sister and I have experienced time and time again, and I should very much like to record it for our files, if you will permit it.'

'Well, as to that, of course,' he told her, 'but I myself find it hard to understand. It has never happened to me before.'

'Not consciously, perhaps,' she said, 'but so many things happen to us of which we are not aware. My sister felt you had psychic understanding. She told your wife. She also told your wife, last night in the restaurant, that you were to experience trouble, danger, that you should leave Venice. Well, don't you believe now that the telegram was proof of this? Your son was ill, possibly dangerously ill, and so it was necessary for you to return home immediately. Heaven be praised your wife flew home to be by his side.'

'Yes, indeed,' said John, 'but why should I see her on the vaporetto with you and your sister when she was actually on her way to England?'

'Thought transference, perhaps,' she answered. 'Your wife may have been thinking about us. We gave her our address, should you wish to get in touch with us. We shall be here another ten days. And she knows that we would pass on any message that my sister might have from your little one in the spirit world.'

'Yes,' said John awkwardly, 'yes, I see. It's very good of you.' He had a sudden rather unkind picture of the two sisters putting on headphones in their bedroom, listening for a coded message from poor Christine. 'Look, this is our address in London,' he said. 'I know Laura will be pleased to hear from you.'

He scribbled their address on a sheet torn from his pocket-diary, even, as a bonus thrown in, the telephone number, and handed it to her. He could imagine the outcome. Laura springing it on him one evening that the 'old dears' were passing through London on their way to Scotland, and the least they could do was to offer them hospitality, even the spare-room for the night. Then a seance in the living-room, tambourines appearing out of thin air.

'Well, I must be off,' he said. 'Goodnight, and apologies, once again, for all that has happened this evening.' He shook hands with the first sister, then turned to her blind twin. 'I hope,' he said, 'that you are not too tired.'

The sightless eyes were disconcerting. She held his hand fast and would not let it go. 'The child,' she said, speaking in an odd staccato voice, 'the child… I can see the child…' and then, to his dismay, a bead of froth appeared at the corner of her mouth, her head jerked back, and she half-collapsed in her sister's arms.

'We must get her inside,' said the sister hurriedly. 'It's all right, she's not ill, it's the beginning of a trance state.'

Between them they helped the twin, who had gone rigid, into the house, and set her down on the nearest chair, the sister supporting her. A woman came running from some inner room. There was a strong smell of spaghetti from the back regions. 'Don't worry,' said the sister, 'the signorina and I can manage. I think you had better go. Sometimes she is sick after these turns.'

'I'm most frightfully sorry…' John began, but the sister had already turned her back, and with the signorina was bending over her twin, from whom peculiar choking sounds were proceeding. He was obviously in the way, and after a final gesture of courtesy, 'Is there anything I can do?', which received no reply, he turned on his heel and began walking across the square. He looked back once, and saw they had closed the door.

What a finale to the evening! And all his fault. Poor old girls, first dragged to police headquarters and put through an interrogation, and then a psychic fit on top of it all. More likely epilepsy. Not much of a life for the other sister, but she seemed to take it in her stride. An additional hazard, though, if it happened in a restaurant or in the street. And not particularly welcome under his and Laura's roof should the sisters ever find themselves beneath it, which he prayed would never happen.

Meanwhile, where the devil was he? The square, with the inevitable church at one end, was quite deserted. He could not remember which way they had come from police headquarters, there had seemed to be so many turnings.

Wait a minute, the church itself had a familiar appearance. He drew nearer to it, looking for the name which was sometimes on notices at the entrance. San Giovanni in Bragora, that rang a bell. He and. Laura had gone inside one morning to look at a painting by Cima da Conegliano. Surely it was only a stone's throw from the Riva degli Schiavoni and the open wide waters of the San Marco lagoon, with all the bright lights of civilization and the strolling tourists? He remembered taking a small turning from the Schiavoni and they had arrived at the church. Wasn't that the alley-way ahead? He plunged along it, but halfway down he hesitated. It didn't seem right, although it was familiar for some unknown reason.

Then he realised that it was not the alley they had taken the morning they visited the church, but the one they had walked along the previous evening, only he was approaching it from the opposite direction. Yes, that was it, in which case it would be quicker to go on and cross the little bridge over the narrow canal, and he would find the Arsenal on his left and the street leading down to the Riva degli Schiavoni to his right. Simpler than retracing his steps and getting lost once more in the maze of back streets.

He had almost reached the end of the alley, and the bridge was in sight, when he saw the child. It was the same little girl with the pixie-hood who had leapt between the tethered boats the preceding night and vanished up the cellar steps of one of the houses. This time she was running from the direction of the church the other side, making for the bridge. She was running as if her life depended on it, and in a moment he saw why. A man was in pursuit, who, when she glanced backwards for a moment, still running, flattened himself against a wall, believing himself unobserved. The child came on, scampering across the bridge, and John, fearful of alarming her further, backed into an open doorway that led into a small court.

He remembered the drunken yell of the night before which had come from one of the houses near where the man was hiding now. This is it, he thought, the fellow's after her again, and with a flash of intuition he connected the two events, the child's terror then and now, and the murders reported in the newspapers, supposedly the work of some madman. It could be coincidence, a child running from a drunken relative, and yet, and yet… His heart began thumping in his chest, instinct warning him to run himself, now, at once, back along the alley the way he had come-but what about the child? What was going to happen to the child?

Then he heard her running steps. She hurtled through the open doorway into the court in which he stood, not seeing him, making for the rear of the house that flanked it, where steps led presumably to a back entrance. She was sobbing as she ran, not the ordinary cry of a frightened child, but the panic-stricken intake of breath of a helpless being in despair. Were there parents in the house who would protect her, whom he could warn? He hesitated a moment, then followed her down the steps and through the door at the bottom, which had burst open at the touch of her hands as she hurled herself against it.

'It's all right,' he called. 'I won't let him hurt you, it's all right,' cursing his lack of Italian, but possibly an English voice might reassure her. But it was no use-she ran sobbing up another flight of stairs, which were spiral, twisting, leading to the floor above, and already it was too late for him to retreat. He could hear sounds of the pursuer in the courtyard behind, someone shouting in Italian, a dog barking. This is it, he thought, we're in it together, the child and I. Unless we can bolt some inner door above he'll get us both.

He ran up the stairs after the child, who had darted into a room leading off a small landing, and followed her inside and slammed the door, and, merciful heaven, there was a bolt which he rammed into its socket. The child was crouching by the open window. If he shouted for help someone would surely hear, someone would surely come before the man in pursuit threw himself against the door and it gave, because there was no one but themselves, no parents, the room was bare except for a mattress on an old bed, and a heap of rags in one corner.

'It's all right,' he panted, 'it's all right,' and held out his hand, trying to smile.

The child struggled to her feet and stood before him, the pixie-hood falling from her head on to the floor. He stared at her, incredulity turning to horror, to fear. It was not a child at all but a little thick-set woman dwarf, about three feet high, with a great square adult head too big for her body, grey locks hanging shoulder-length, and she wasn't sobbing any more, she was grinning at him, nodding her head up and down.

Then he heard the footsteps on the landing outside and the hammering on the door, and a barking dog, and not one voice but several voices, shouting, 'Open up! Police!' The creature fumbled in her sleeve, drawing a knife, and as she threw it at him with hideous strength, piercing his throat, he stumbled and fell, the sticky mess covering his protecting hands.

And he saw the vaporetto with Laura and the two sisters steaming down the Grand Canal, not today, not tomorrow, but the day after that, and he knew why they were together and for what sad purpose they had come. The creature was gibbering in its corner. The hammering and the voices and the barking dog grew fainter, and, 'Oh God,' he thought, 'what a bloody silly way to die….'

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