Under Fire.

I hated having to travel by coach, but it was either this or thumb. A student nurse's wage doesn't go far, all you have to do is look in my purse to confirm that. I could have taken the train from York to London, but it would have cost me an extra forty quid. Five hours on a bus was worth the pain, as long as I got to see my family. I missed home so much.

As the journey neared its end, I gazed at the outskirts of my city while it passed outside the glass. Tower blocks and trees, all bathed in the orange glow of sodium lights. I watched London course over the head of the little old lady who slept peacefully in the window seat, while Dizzee Rascal played in my earphones.  Four hours forty-three minutes, not long to go now. The little old lady stirred and yawned herself awake. She winced as she tried to straighten her neck and kneaded it with a knotty hand.

“These journeys are getting harder and harder on my old bones,” she said, turning toward me and smiling broadly. With her cherub cheeks and sparkling blue eyes, she was the picture of jolly decrepitude.

“A crick is a curse,” I said, then offered her my scarf to make into a neck pillow.

“Have we far to go?” she asked when she had found a comfortable way to sit.

“Twenty minutes I think, but the traffic is heavy. It might be a bit more,” I offered, noting the sluggish way the bus was weaving its way into the heart of the city. Although I had grown up here, there were so many parts of London I'd never seen, and judging by this part, I wasn’t missing much. A squad car screamed passed the traffic; half on, half off the footpath, and vanished into the distance. I watched the old lady's eyes follow it, but like any seasoned Londoner, she kept her opinions to herself.

A couple of minutes later, the bus braked hard; stalled in the middle of a one-way traffic flow. Nothing was moving and soon horns started to bay the drivers’ frustrations. I raised myself up and tried to see what the hold up was. Up ahead, people were spilling out onto the road, and they weren’t walking, they were running. Hundreds of people were running in all directions, panic written large in every movement they made, and we were stuck right in the middle of whatever was coming. A murmur of concern started in the front of the bus where the passengers had the best view.

“What is it, my dear?” asked the lady, resting a fragile hand on my arm.

“I’m not sure but something is going on up ahead,” I said, not wanting to worry her. That was when I saw the policemen appear, all of them rushing forward in riot gear. There were even coppers on horseback.

“The police are coming,” I said to the old lady, and I could see her relax a little. I felt better for seeing them as well, that was until I realised, they were running away from something, not toward it. A wall of hoodie-wearing bodies crashed into the street, hot on the tail of the police. I knew we were in serous trouble. They were throwing anything they could lay their hands on, and smashing what they couldn’t lift. Worst of all, they were coming right at us.

The bus driver mustn’t have liked the look of it either as he slammed the bus into reverse and began backing up. He got a few feet when a blaring horn and a crash of metal stopped him. We were boxed in and the mob was nearly on us. A brick hit the windscreen and shattered it into a million pieces.

I grabbed the old lady and pulled her away from the window, saying, “Mind your face.” All along the outside of the bus, fists and boots beat against the metal, while more windows imploded. I moved the old lady into my seat and covered her face with my arms in case our window was next. I looked down the coach to see the bus driver abandon his seat and rush toward me. He hurdled my legs in his haste to get to the back of the bus, and then I saw why. Three guys were climbing through the broken windscreen. They looked young, lean and mean and were dressed like LA rappers, despite being as pasty as vampires. They began demanding money from the people, speaking in that weird kind of ghetto talk I'd heard in the hospital emergency room. If the passengers weren’t fast enough handing over their stuff, the yobs speeded up the operation with a threat, or a blow. As they moved closer, I felt real terror for the first time. Then he was standing over me as I cowered in the aisle, trying to shelter the old lady behind me.

“Purse!” he yelled, shaking the piece of timber he was holding for emphasis.

As I scrabbled for my coat pocket, I heard myself say, “Just don’t hurt me.” I could feel the old lady’s hands on me, as if she were trying to pull me away from the man. It wasn’t until one of her veiny legs dropped in front of me that I realised she was actually climbing over me.

She stood right in front of him, looking even tinier than she had earlier, and glared up at him. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” she said, her voice controlled and unwavering.

“Fuck off, Grandma, before you get a hurt,” snarled the thug, and tried to shove her aside, but she braced herself against the seats and held her ground. I saw the guy cock his arm and I knew he was going to bash her with the stick. He could kill her. I jumped up and threw my arms out past her head and screamed, “Noooo!”

His arm was still cocked, but the blow didn’t come. Outside the bus, the riot continued full steam, but inside a hush fell over everyone. The other two marauders were standing there, watching, waiting for something to happen, and it did.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves! All of you!” barked the old lady, but this time she was not looking at the spotty-foreheaded man, holding a rod above her head. She was lambasting the other passengers on the bus. “I’m eighty-one years old! Should it be me standing up to this animal?” she demanded.

The yob clearly didn’t like the word and began to draw his hand back afresh. Instead of cringing from the blow, she thrust her face forward. The unexpectedness of the move stopped the guy a second time.

“Go on so, hit me! You won’t be the first to try,” she said, as I tried to pull the old lady to safety. She struggled out of my grip and advanced on the thug, her fists balled at her sides, her back ram-rod straight. The man was forced to take a step back when a voice came from behind.

“That bitch be crazy,” said one of the hoodlums, as he plucked a handbag from a woman’s arms. But the woman snatched the bag back and held it to her chest. Then, she too rose and faced down her attacker. When a man a few seats away got to his feet, a wave of rebellion found life in defiance. One by one, all the passengers stood, silently confronting the enemy, like a terracotta army.  I saw confusion flicker across the eyes of the man in front of me, then I too let my hands fall to my sides, standing behind the old lady who was brave enough to tell these crooks…no.

 I would not cower, I would not yield, and if this kid laid one finger on the lady in front of me, I would scratch his god-damn eyes out.The thief nearest the front of the bus turned and ran. Now there were only two. The weight of our glares grew heavy on them, and the second buckled. He lept through the windscreen, calling for his mate to follow. But right there on a intercity coach, good and evil were locked in battle. The little old lady acted first. She used one finger to push her glasses higher on her nose, then asked, “Well?”

“Bitch be crazy,” said the man quietly, lowering his baton, then he vanished the way of his friends.

A few seconds passed as everyone came to grips with what had just happened. The old lady turned to face me. Her hands were rock steady, but the colour in her cheeks had risen far beyond rosy.

 

“Oh my God!” I squealed, as I held my face in my hands and danced with exhilaration.

The old lady smiled at the fool I was making of myself, then said, “He was right you know?”

“Right?” I asked, confused.

“This bitch be crazy,” she said with a conspiratorial wink, then simply retook her seat.

Braveheart

“Come on so, you fat bastard!” I yelled, and he was a fat bastard. Hog-beast fat, with a triple-ring neck. Ok, he was bigger than me, but I was fit. He didn’t stand a chance. Particularly seeing as there were four of us, and only one of him. There were hands on me, my friends’ hands, stopping me from doing too much damage. The stupid thing was he could have avoided it all. All he had to do was apologise for knocking into me, and spilling my beer...then buying another of course.

“You total knob!” he said, and gave me the finger. I couldn't believe the gall of him, after all, I was the one who had been wronged. I started to struggle in earnest. Before, I might have been saying Let me go, while thinking, hold me back, but now I wanted at him for real. Its hard to describe how I felt; I was shaking, and I was buzzing with excitement. Everything was heightened, my body seemed to be swelling up on adrenaline and anger. I'd never felt anything like it. It was...I was...awesome. 

“At least I’ve seen mine recently,” I sneered, and looked down my nose at him.

“What did you say?” he demanded.

“You heard me, Shamu.” That one really got him. He reared back, his jaw trying to grind his teeth to dust.  

“Fuck you,” the big ape roared, then hocked a ball of spit right in my face. I was frozen for a second. I couldn’t believe it. Then the red mist descended. I slipped through my friends’ fingers and launched what could only be described as a majestic punch. I had every ounce of my strength behind it and I swear it actually whistled as it cut through the air. I threw myself into battle with a roar William Wallace would have been proud of. This was going to be as easy as hitting a barn door.

But then the door moved. Really really quickly as it happened. My hand was still arching toward him when I felt his knuckles connect with the tip of my chin. Things moved so quickly, they seemed to happen at once. His pudgy fingers were surprisingly solid on the underside of my jaw, jackhammering my teeth together. I was lucky not to have my tongue amputated. The bones in my legs seemed to dissolve and the power of my punch dragged me forward. His next blow found the end of my nose, and after that...well...let’s leave it there. 

My mates dragged me to safety, apologising to Shamu as they went. So, here I am, sitting outside a chipper with a blood-stained shirt and a sore nose. My mates are simultaneously concerned for me and angry at me. I don’t want to talk about it, because honestly, I thought it would have gone differently. I know you might expect me to feel shaken, or frightened, or ashamed; and I do...a little. But that was my first ever fight and I survived. I’d taken a punch…a real one, and I was still ticking. I guess like all normal people, I was trained to avoid violence; fed stories of one-punch killings and lives spent behind bars. But that was behind me now. The shackles of fear have been cast from my wrists.

As my friends yakked, I sat and rubbed my nose. They gave me guarded looks, wondering what was going on in my brain. I think they would have been surprised to find; I was looking forward to the next fat bastard who dared spit in my face.

Violet

Violet’s finger pinged off the alarm and flopped back on the pillow. She didn’t have to open her eyes; she was a snooze-button ninja. For ten minutes she floated in a narcotic state; half in, half out of sleep. When the chime sounded a second time, she knew she had to get up.

She threw back the curtains to be treated to a near perfect sunrise peeping over the trees. Three years she’d had this view and it still made her smile. To anyone else it was just a back garden. A strip of grass with a water feature and a deck. The difference was, it was her back garden.

Violet. She never liked the name, but didn’t have the nerve to do anything about it. She’d grown up in a family where little was expected of her, and in fairness, she did little to dissuade them from the idea. It was easy to hid in the shadow of her siblings’ ambitions, but she never counted on being there forever. Every day she bowed under the yoke of her name, the more imbedded in her skin it became.

The ghosts of her past made her shiver. She threw them off, along with her night-wear, and headed for the shower. She dressed quickly; added just a touch of makeup, then tied her hair in a ponytail. She looked at herself in the mirror and wondered for the millionth time – who is that girl? She could easily pass for nineteen, not her actual twenty-nine. Her eyes were a touch to big, making her look innocent or startled. Her face was slim; her cheeks held a thimble-full of shadow, without appearing gaunt. Nothing on her face stood out, making her…ok.

She flicked a stray hair out of her face and wondered what Jim saw in her? Ok, was never an adjective to be used on him. He was tall, towering a full foot over her. He could talk to anyone; and that smile? That man was a knee melter. But he wasn’t perfect. Oh no! He was a little full of himself; cock-sure her mother would say. He could act like a spoilt teenager when he didn’t get his way. Mind you, she didn’t mind letting others take the limelight, never had. 

The only time she ever put her foot down was over this house. Jim had wanted to invest in a studio apartment in the city centre; all shiny surfaces and exposed brick, but it was as big as a shoe-box.

“It will double our money in no time,” he’d said. To her, and his, surprise, she flat out refused to consider it. If they were putting money into anything, it was going to be a house. She never let Jim in on her reasoning, but she refused to budge. Every time he tried to talk her around, she just looked at him with her eyes wide open, and her lips clamped shut. Eventually he gave in, and they started looking at three bed semis in the suburbs.

The driving force behind this defiance was simple. All her life she had to share a room. First with her older sister, then the younger. Even when she moved to the city she had to share. That claustrophobia was what pushed her into working two jobs, and Jim’s arms.

It was a seedy place, all dark corners and loud music, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. The owners were just about staying on the right side of the law by offering a never-used food menu on the alcohol-soaked counter. She knew they must have been paying off someone or else they’d never get away with running a nightclub on a restaurant licence. The very first night she bumped into Jim; literally. 

She was rushing around a corner with a crate of Heineken when she crashed into him. It was like running into a wall. She bounced off him and landed on her ass while he seemed to barely feel the impact. He rushed forward and scooped her from the ground, his forehead lined by concern.

“I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” he asked, as he deposited her back on her feet. She was covered in dust and before she could say anything, he was swiping away the smudges. It was clear he wasn’t thinking about what he was doing, because the fingers sliding over her legs felt just like her mother’s. Then it clicked with him and his face went red. He jumped back a step, the hand he’d been using on her, held up in surrender.

“I wasn’t…” he said, and then his words faltered. Whether he was, or wasn’t, didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to make a fuss about it. Not on her first night.

“I know,” she said and smiled. She picked up the crate, checked she’d broken none of them, then said, “Got to go,” and scooted past. As she rounded the corner she glanced over her shoulder and saw he was staring after her, his hand still held up; which was sweet. Despite his black security jacket, she thought he looked like a college kid, only XXL size.  

After that, he always seemed to be around, calling over for a chat, keeping an extra eye out when the punters worse for wear. Violet thought he was like that with everyone, she never for a minute thought he was interested in her, not her. Some of the other girls started teasing her about her, Bodyguard, but she only said, “Get away, would you,” and blushed intensely.  When he did ask her out, he had to do it four times because she kept saying, “You’re messing,” and walking away.

They had a date, then another, and then they slept together. It was still dark when he left her that morning. She sat for ages in her bed with a growing sense of doom.

“He’s got what he wanted now. That’s the last I’ll see of him,” she said, burying her head under a pillow. She didn’t hear from him all day. Not even a text. The walk to the club that night was the longest she ever had to make, and her heart sank when she didn’t see him standing at the door. She’d been right, he’d legged it. She nearly turned around and went home but she needed the money.

Inside, the music was already deafening but the crowd was sparse. She searched for him, but he wasn’t there. Probably out with some other girl, or laughing about her with his mates. She took her coat off and handed it in at the cloakroom. The girl behind the counter smiled and gave her a naughty wink.

Jesus, she knows! Oh God, I’m such an idiot! she thought, and hurried away. Money or no money, she wasn’t sure she could bare the humiliation of the whole place laughing at her. She ducked under the bar hatch and was stopped dead in her tracks. Beside her till was a huge bouquet of flowers, and even from here she could see the lettering on the card.  “Love Jim.” Her heart nearly burst.

That had been five years ago, and they were five good years. They’d had rough patches, every couple did, but Jim was always there for her, looking out for her, protecting her, loving her, and she felt so damn lucky.

***

The front door opened and she heard keys clatter into the bowl. She looked out and watched him lean against the wall as he kicked off his shoes. His shirt had two buttons open and his clip-on tie was hanging from the pocket of his jacket. “You’re late,” she said, and he looked up.

“Yea,” he said, tiredly. “Another lock in! I’m getting sick of it.” His shoes are off but his jacket is still on. He looks tired, but not the grey kind. There was colour in his cheeks to counter the bags under his eyes.

“Why didn’t you leave them at it and come home?”

“I couldn’t, could I? What if it kicked off? And it’s not like we don’t need the money,” he said, rubbing his hands through his hair as he passed her.

She felt the sting of that last comment. Jim always maintained the house was too expensive and that she spent too much doing it up. He might be right about that, but…she couldn’t explain what it meant to her, even though she had tried a few times.

“Why don’t I take on some shifts again,” she said, sipping her coffee and reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder.

“No,” he said, moving out of her reach as he took another step toward the stairs.

“Why, no? The bills are my responsibility as well.”

He stopped and turned toward her, his face stern and set. “I told you before, I’ll take care of it. You do enough already. People will say I’m sponging off yea if they see you working two jobs.”

“I don’t care what people say.”

“But I do. Look – I’m tired. I’m going to shower and sleep,” he said. The words were sharp enough to sting but not shock. She reverted back to a habit of a lifetime and clamped her mouth shut and looked at him with Bamby eyes. “Don’t do that,” he said, partly annoyed at himself, partly at her. She looked down into the mug and sipped again. His stocking feet thread softly up the stairs and after a few minutes the shower started. She sipped her cooling drink and stared into space.

She could go upstairs and look through his pockets but what was the point in that. She’d seen the smudge of foundation on his collar and a hint of Opium in the air that swirled around him. Always Opium. She hated that God-Damn perfume. Searching pockets would give her nothing because she already knew everything, everything except a name. In reality, she didn’t need another name to hate, her own was enough.

She never told anyone Jim was cheating because she knew what they would say. They’d make reassuring noises and say, stay strong. They'd ask aloud how Jim could do such a thing, while inside they would wonder why it took so long. Violet didn’t need to hear any of that, she didn’t need false reassurances or pity, because above all things she was a realist. She knew that Jim believed he was saving her from the heartache of watching him leave. Truth is, he’d been gone a long time, only his body stayed behind.

He might stay a month, he might stay a year, but he already has one foot out the door. And that was ok. The thing was, Jim never really understood her, neither did her mother, her father…the world. She might look innocent and crushable, she might be the picture of a shrinking violet, but she wasn’t. She was much tougher than that. They should have called her Edel, like the Edelwiss. That survived in the harshest environments, put up with being trampled and crushed, spent nine months droning in snow and still it bloomed. That was the flower for her.

She flipped off the light switch, stroking the wall lovingly before leaving for another day at the grindstone.   

Mrs Right

Heart to Heart Dating

Name:  Darren K                                                              Interested in - Ladies: 30/45

Status:  Divorced                                                              Build: Athletic

Smoker: No                                                                      Pets: Must love Dogs

Looking for: Serous Relationship                                    Drinker: Social

Intro:

Hello everyone. I’m Darren. I’m a forty-seven-year-old, divorced dad of two. I enjoy eating out, walks on the beach, and cosy nights in. I’m adventurous and active. I’m looking for someone to share life’s challenges with.  I have a great sense of humour, and if you love to laugh, then I can’t wait to meet you.

I know it’s a bit cheesy, but I still believe in love and hope that someone out there believes in it too.

Messages to:        Darren K

Sugarfairy35:     Love your profile pic. 😊 Call by my page and let’s see what happens??? LOL

LovelyLucy:       I love Dogs!! And Walks on the Beach!! Where’ve you been all my Life!

GuestUser125:   Dear Darren,

When I saw your photo, I was kinda shocked. To be honest, I didn’t know what to do. But the long and the short of it is, you deserve love, and I hope you find what you are looking for.

However,

There are one or two minor discrepancies, that I think you should clear up, before anyone reading this decides to take up your offer of, a cosy night in.

The first one is easy. Darren, you’re fifty-two, not forty-seven. Perhaps it’s the blackouts? If you added all those up, you could easily be excused for mislaying five years. I’m delighted you’ve seen the error of your ways, and knocked the benders on the head. If you hadn’t, I’m sure your liver would have imploded.

I have to say, I was touched you acknowledged the boys so prominently. Like a great Dad, you put them first. If I had known that signing up to on-line dating was going to have this effect, I would have encouraged you to do it way sooner. Billy says, Hi. He’s the five-year-old…remember. He was so upset you couldn’t make his birthday. He kept you a slice of cake.

I did spot one other thing you should fix on your profile. Whether you like it or not, Darren, you’re still married…to me! Hell, we only separated three weeks ago. I can’t believe you’re out there, looking to jump into bed with the first bimbo you can lay your hands on! God bless whoever that will be! Unless things have changed drastically, she’s in for the most mundane ten minutes of her life.   

So, that’s all I have to say on the matter. Best of luck finding the next Mrs K. To expedite your search, I’ll be contacting our lawyer in the morning, and get the ball rolling on the divorce. While I’m at it, I’ll ask him to remind you that you haven’t paid as much as a penny for the kids’ food, clothes or housing, since you walked out. You deadbeat!

Hugs and kisses,

Your Missus.

Sugarfairy35:  BURN!!!!!!!!!   LOL

Retribution

There was a hint of dawn in the sky. Tom should have been stiff from hours of sitting, or bored from watching the empty sidewalk in the side-mirror of his van, but he wasn't. He'd thought about this moment for seventeen-years. He'd planned it, dreamt of it, obsessed of it and today it was going to happen.

He stretched his fingers inside the black leather driving gloves, making sure they would not slip when the time came. A folding sunscreen filled the windscreen, hiding him from the front and tinted side windows made him basically invisible inside the cab of the van. He was content to wait, that's what prison had given him. Time to be patient.

A flash of movement in the wing-mirror attracted his attention. Tom knew it was the Judge by the way he moved. He half-jogged, half wobbled down the street. His extended gut swinging around inside an expensive Lycra exercise suit. Even though the day had still to begin he was wearing sunglasses, because in the Judge's opinion, important people should see, not be seen. As the Judge neared, Tom could see the last seventeen-years had aged the man who had taken his life apart, but that would buy him no sympathy. It was too little too late.

Tom rested his hand on the door-handle and waited. The Judge slowly closed in on the van, his head thrown back, looking down on the world as he passed. Three strides away, two, one...Tom threw the van door open nearly knocking the man into a hedge.

"Hay! Watch what you're doing, idiot!" the Judge yelled before properly looking at Tom, and when he did the shock showed in his face even though Tom couldn't see the man's eyes. He tried to get past the door but there wasn't enough room.

"What do you want?" the Judge cried, shrinking back from the man in the mask who was closing in on him.

"Justice," said Tom, quietly then rammed the tazer into the man’s chest and pulled the trigger.

***

Tom didn't know how long it would take the Judge to come around. He had poured a vial of Rohypnol into the man's mouth after he went down on the pavement, and at least some of it went in. It made transporting the Judge easy and quiet. Now he waited and watched the man move fitfully on the hard-concrete floor.

It was evening when the man finally sat up and rubbed his face, trying to get his brain to clear. Tom sat across from him, the warehouse was vast and bare. The Judge wasn't tied or gagged, but he was as caged as Tom had ever been. Slowly, the Judge started putting things together. Tom stood and moved to a spot where the Judge could see him.

"What have you done to me?" he asked, his voice slurred like a drunk.

"The same thing you did to me, taken away your freedom," Tom said, the mask he was wearing reflecting some of his words back at him making his voice sound...different.

"What do you mean?" asked the Judge, his mind still battling the drugs.

"You locked me up, now I've done the same to you."

"No way I'm staying here," the Judge said struggling to his feet. His fat-packed thighs were ridged from lying on the rough concrete floor. The Judge staggered toward the door and Tom did nothing to stop him. He simply waited. 

After ten minutes of pointless tugging, the Judge gave up trying to force the door and began searching for another way out. Tom knew he was wasting his time. The windows were twelve feet up the wall and there was only one door. Eventually the Judge returned to where Tom stood, some of his superior attitude starting to return.

"What is your name? Do you know how much trouble you're in?" Tom didn't dignify either question with a reply.

"I haven't seen your face, it’s not too late to let me go and walk away from all this."

"You took seventeen years of my life! How can I just forget that?"

"I was only doing my Job, if every..."

"NO! If you'd been doing your job, you would have seen that the case against me was bullshit! All you saw was a black man, a poor black man, which I am, but I'm also an innocent black man!"

"So, you came for revenge?"

"Exactly."

"If you're going to kill me, why didn't you do it back on the street. Why bring me here?" asked the Judge and Tom wondered if he was trying to logic his way into a better place than he stood?

"I'm not going to kill you," Tom said, and in his head the words sounded more than generous. 

"So why?"

Tom strode up and down before the Judge, enjoying having the power he'd been denied for so long. "Did you know that the first prisons came into existence in Babylon? Before that, justice was extracted through...retribution. An eye for an eye, a life for a life. You took my freedom, now I want yours."

"You can't leave me locked in here!"

"I can, and I will," said Tom. "But I'm not as cruel as you. Firstly, you have your own cell, and one much bigger than the one I had to call home. And second, I've left you a way out." Tom pointed at a manhole cover, slightly ajar.

"Down there?" he asked incredulously.

"It's another thing I learnt during my forced stay inside. During Roman times, prisoners were kept under the city, in the sewers. So, you've a choice. You can stay in here, with no food, no water. I think you might last two weeks, or even a month. It's up to you, but I'll tell you this, a minute down there is going to feel like a year," Tom said pointing at the manhole.

With nothing else to say, Tom walked to the door and unlocked the padlock. He heard the Judge rushing toward him. He swivelled and drew his tazer. 

"Back!" he said, stopping the Judge a few feet away. With the weapon trained on the Judge's chest, he unhooked the lock and opened the sliding door just enough to step outside. With one swift movement the door clanged shut. The Judge hammered the inside of the door, crying for release, but Tom knew he wouldn't be heard. There was nobody to hear him. The only thing that came through here was thousands of tonnes of human waste from the city in the background.

Tom opened the back of the van and threw his mask, gloves and black jacket inside. He removed the false plates and tossed them in. They clanged off the portable welder as they vanished. Tom looked at the line of manhole lids stretching away into the distance. Each one welded shut. That fat human turd was going where he belonged, The Judge might make it out, he might not, either would be fine by Tom because he had his retribution at last. 

Cosmic Dance

I've heard it said that heart-break is akin to bereavement. The stages of both are the same. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally, acceptance. 

I think whoever said that has never truly been in love.  

I think a great love...a once in a life-time love...is like a furnace. When the right elements combine - it roars into life, building to such blinding magnificence that it's impossible to look directly at it. It's a thing of beauty but it's also a thing of indescribably delicate balance. 

Love is born of the same unquenchable power that drives the universe. Two particles - thrown together to become greater than the sum of their parts. Lovers spiral in the heart of this destruction but instead of being consumed, they thrive. Cosmic entities destined to dance in perfect harmony. 

Sadly, nothing in this universe remains the same. Stars explode, galaxies collide, planets stop spinning and love falls apart. Hearts are often tipped out of balance by such tiny things that the ensuing separation is inconceivable, but it happens. Sometimes this parting is peaceful, mostly not. Often the lovers are blown apart by the fury of their own existence. The furnace begins to cool and layers of:anger, disappointment, betrayal, deceit, envy, bitterness, resentment and amnesia, begin to form crusts over what was once molten-ardor.

Unlike the dead, love never truly goes cold. Deep in that solid block of hurt lives a fundamental element unique to the human condition...hope. 

No matter how bitter and twisted we may end up...there is always hope...it's what makes that one great love...immortal.   

Floor 6

I climbed up the three steps to the huge timber and brass door, then paused. It didn’t look like the kind of door made for me, this thing opened for captains of industry and important people, the kind of person I hoped to become. I wiped my feet twice before I realsed what I was doing.

“Would you get a grip,” I said silently to myself. I was acting like I was going to rob the bank, not ask for a loan. I pushed the door open and the interior was even grander than the entrance. Polished marble floors and vaulted ceilings stupified the likes of me. I spotted the reception desk and hurried over before security tried to throw me out.

“Good morning, Sir. How can I help you today?”  She was young and very cute but the large diamond on her left hand told me I wasn't the only one to think so. 

"I've have an appointment with Mr Philips.”

“Name?” she asked, clacking her perfectly manicured nails on her keyboard.

“Mr Philips.”

The girl giggled and it was a delightful laugh, it made me fall in love with her a little bit. “I mean’t your name.”

“Oh...” I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. “Jason Bell," I near whispered at her. What a schmuck.

A couple of key strokes later she looked up at me, her eyes dancing with delight. She was truly amazing. “He's free. His first appointment finished early. You can take the elevator up to six, his office is at the end of the corridor.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled and scuttled away with my face burning with humiliation.

                                                                                                                                 

“Oh, Mr Bell,” she called, and I had to turn around.

“Good luck,” she said with a beaming smile and then winked at me. Did I say that I fell in love with her a bit? Change that to a lot. As the elevator doors closed, I got a twinkle of the diamond on her finger and promised myself that someday I would be able to give a rock like that to a girl just like her.

On six, I got out and followed the corridor to the end where I encountered a door with a brass nameplate. Max Philips, Student Loans. I knocked and a man’s voice said, “Come in.” The office was bigger than I thought a student loan officer’s office would be. The walls were decorated with framed diplomas and photographs from high-brow events. The man in the photos seemed the picture of success and very unlike the man pacing around behind a large desk strewn with folders. His tie was puled down and two shirt buttons were undone. There were sweat patches under his arms and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked like a guy that hadn't seen a good night sleep in years.

“Bell?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Sit, sit,” he said indicating the chair across from him as he rummaged through his desk for something.

“Ah, here it is he said,” finding a bluff colored folder with my name on it. The folder was terribly thin, a bit like my bank account. He flicked open the cover and let himself flop back into his chair. “Warton? My old stomping ground. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” I said feeling my cheeks color up again.

“I see you're looking to finance the full amount, including housing, is that correct?”

“Yes, if possible,” I said, straightening up in the chair. It seemed we were right into the heart of the discussion.

“Can’t your folks cover any of the expense? This isn't going to be cheap you know.”

“Not really. They've still got four at home and to be honest, I'm the first in my family to get accepted in any college, never mind Warton.”

“Local boy does good, hey?”

“I guess...something like that.”

He slapped the folder closed and leaned back in his chair, stabling his fingers together behind his head - inadvertently showing off the full extent of the sweat stains under his arms. “What’s the plan? Where do you see yourself in fifteen years?”

Now this was a question I was ready for, I had been ready for it all my life. “I want to be on Wall Street, the King of Wall Street. I want to have millions running through my hands every day. That’s what I want. I want it all!”

He unclasped his hands and let his chair fall forward. His eyes stopped dancing in his head for the first time since I came into the office and he regarded me with a stony look. Perhaps I had put too much zeal in my answer.

“The American dream,” he mumbled and a little of the color drained from his face. It was like he had been punched or drugged or something. “You want it all kid, who doesn’t.” He stood and turned away from me, putting his hands into his pockets and faced out his office window. A minute passed, then four. I knew I had blown the meeting, there was no way he was going to approve my loan. I quietly levered myself out of the leather chair but he spoke and stopped me mid movement.

“Ok,” he said softly to the window.

“Ok?” I asked, not understanding what he was OK about.

“Yea...I’ll give you the money,” he said, just as quietly.

“Are you serous!” I yelled, not intending to yell but I couldn’t help myself. “Jesus H, that’s fantastic!”

He turned and glared at me, his blood-shot eyes nearly glowing, “You got to hear the full deal before thanking me.” He picked up the folder and slapped it against the desk. “Four years tuition, housing, medical and full package cover. That comes to three hundred and twenty-one thousand dollars. You start incurring interest as fees are drawn down. The interest is eight and a half percent a year. We don’t expect payment until you finish your studies and take up your first position. After that we'll abridge your wages to the tune of twenty five percent until your debt is paid.”

“That's totally acceptable.”

“WAIT,” he roared slamming his fists into the desk. I fell back into the chair and froze with my hand’s half drawn to my chest like a chipmunk. There was something wrong with this guy. Was he having a nervous breakdown or something? Whatever it was, he was losing it.

“Wait,” he said again, his tone more controlled. “I haven’t told you everything yet.” He moved so his head was craned across the desk, fixing me with wild eyes. “I’m going to take your years, I’m going to shackle you to a desk, and you won’t even object. I’m going to take your youth, your spirit, your drive, your majesty and I’m going to squeeze them until I have wringed every ounce of wonder from them and when you're old and withered, I’m going to toss you aside without a second though. Is that a price you are willing to pay?” he said, his nostrils were flaring.  

“Are you saying I can have the loan?” I asked at last. This guy was nuts, but he was still the man holding my life in his hands.

“Yes, that is what I'm saying. If you want this life, this money... you can have it.”

“Yes...I’m sure, l want it more than anything.”

“Sign on the line,” the man said, pointing at the bottom of the document. I picked up a pen and put my name across the line. As I laid the pen aside the man looked at me like he was disappointed, but he held out his hand and said, “Congratulations.”

I shook the man’s hand and he tried to smile at me. “I’m sure you'll have a great time at Warton. Remember, we're always here to help.”

I couldn’t believe my luck as I rode the elevator down to the lobby. The attractive girl at reception looked up and made an expression with her face that said, “Well?” I gave her two thumbs up and she beamed at me. I walked out those doors feeling on top of the world.

***

That was forty years ago. Today I'm standing at my own corner office on the 46^th floor, my own tie is at half mast and sweat stains mar my shirt. I've a beautiful wife who loves my money and her personal trainer, I've a mansion with twelve bedrooms, where I get to sleep four hours most nights. I've money to burn and I’m the envy of Wall Street. In short, I got everything I ever wanted and today, just today, I understood fully what Mr Philips charged me for that loan. I rest my head against the glass and look down at the million twinkling lights laid out at my feet. How I wish I could go back to that day, to that office and slap the pen out of my stupid hand. Only now do I understand the price and it's too much.

I feel the pinch and know my heart has skipped another beat. The time is here. I feel a band of pain cross my chest and I cry out but there is no-one to hear me in this ivory tower. I slide down the glass, the twinkling lights twinkled more magnificently because of the tears I weep over a life wasted in search of lies. I’m a fool, a royal fool, but it’s too late now.   

Photo Credit : Billy Kidd

Up, Up and Away

Imagine how different our lives would be without air travel?

Not long ago, flying was reserved for the military or the mega-rich. These days we all take it for granted. We can strike out for any point on the globe and get there in time for last orders.

But with increased use comes increased opportunities for misbehavior so security has become a huge factor with going up up and away. Now, I like a man that takes his work seriously but some of these airport guys have had the fun ripped out of them...surgically.  

Perhaps I shouldn't judge, my face might be as long as a rainy Monday in May if I had to work eight hours in a vast hall reeking of foot pong, yelling at endless lines of red-eyed people who can't understand "Put everything in the tray!" Imagine the pain of a thousand blaring alarms set off by belt buckle knuckle heads or the horror of horrors, having to pat-down people you never ever wanted to touch. No, airport security is no laughing matter. Every shoe could be a disaster waiting to happen, every bottle of Head&Shoulders a chemical nightmare.

I once started my own international incident...well international might be an exaggeration...inter-county at any rate. 

I might have mentioned that I play a bit of squash and a few years ago I was on a team taking on a team from Dublin. The competition happening right next to the airport so I decided I would treat myself and fly up. Kerry airport is small, pocket size small. It only has two check in desks and you could throw a tennis ball from the front door onto the runway. Knowing that,  I arrived in the nick of time for my flight, making every minute under the duvet count.

I had no luggage, only a tiny rucksack holding my playing gear and rackets. I like to be organised so as I queued for security I put my belt, keys, wallet, watch, glasses, change and even my shoes, into the bag and zipped it up. I was ready to breeze through security. When it was my turn I plonked my bag on a tray and moved toward the metal-detector.

"Hold it right there!" yelled a stern voice behind me. I turned around, sure the command was intended for someone else. I was wrong. "You can't take that on a plane!" said the security guy pointing at my racket handle like it was going to jump up and bite him.

"Why not?" I asked, I was really in the dark about this one.

"It's sports equipment," he said, talking to me like I was an idiot, and I was starting to feel like one as well. The line behind me was grumbling and I was starting to feel very flushed.

"I'm not going to start playing on the plane," I said, but he didn't see the sense in my reasoning. Nope, back he sent me to get the bag checked in as luggage. By now, the intercom had started calling for boarding and I was getting filthy looks from all the people queued up behind me. I scuttled out into the reception area, shoeless and holding my pants up with one hand but disaster...my check in desk was empty.

'All passengers for flight number EI176 to Dublin please make your way to boarding gate 1,' screamed the speakers.

I explained to the girl at another check in desk what had happend and she said, "I'll call Mary, she's just gone for her tea." Two minutes later, Mary appeared like the saint she was. I explained my situation and without any fuss she tagged the bag and sent it shooting down the conveyor belt towards a hole in the wall, she didn't even charge me.

'Last call for boarding flight EI176 to Dublin, can all passengers make their way to boarding gate 1'

Oh no! It looked like my bag was going to make it to Dublin without me. I rushed back to security and thankfully everyone was gone. The same guy who'd refused me earlier stood glaring as I ran through the metal detector half dressed and shoved my boarding card and passport into his hand. Two minutes later I was walking across the tarmac in my socks, trying desperately to stop my pants from hitting the ground. A small twin prop plane was waiting and as I approached from one direction, my bag was being carried toward the plane from another.

Now, this is where the story veers off from what you would expect at JFK or Gatwick. You see, Kerry is a small place and the man carrying my bag had worked in the bar as a teenager. I won't use his real name in case he gets in trouble, so lets call him Alan.

"How-yea, Alan," I yelled over the sound of the engines starting up.

"Hi Squid! God, its been years. Where are you off to today?"

"Dublin," I said nodding toward the plane. The captain was looking out his window at the half-dressed madman stopping for a chat on the runway and he must have thought 'Oh no! It's going to be one of those flights!'

"That's my bag actually, can I get some stuff out?" I asked, pointing to the rucksack Alan was holding.

"Sure," he said and handed over the bag. I got my belt, shoes, phone, keys, wallet. I zipped up the highly dangerous rackets and handed them back to Alan. "Yea can lash that in the boot," I said with a wink and Alan walked a way smiling to himself.

I'm sure if the security man had watched me get dressed under the wing of the plane, he would have shot me out of annoyance, but he didn't see. You'll be delighted to know I didn't blow up the plane, or hold it to ransom with a 'Wilson Hyper-Hammer' squash racket, but I did get a great kick out of living in a place where everyone know your name. It made me fall in love with Kerry all over again.

Neptune's Tears

Neptune's Tear

I felt my knee touch the ground and couldn't believe I was about to do it. The question was lodged in my throat, refusing to come out but the look on her face said she knew what was coming. That look...was it shock or joy, anticipation or terror? It didn't matter now, it was too late to turn back, not that I wanted to turn back. All I ever desired stood before me in the form of a five foot four pixie of a girl with sparkling blue eyes. I tried to say something romantic but my brain seemed to have turned to mush. All I could do was open the box and ask, "Will you...?"

To her credit she never gave the ring a look before throwing herself at me crying, "Yes! Yes, yes, yes, YES!" The stone I slid over her beautiful finger was tiny...but still the most extravagant thing I'd ever purchased. I wished I had more...Eve was worth a million bolder size diamonds, not that she'd ever believe it. She was the most amazing, generous, loving, surprising and humble person I'd ever met. Why she loved me I'll never know.

I wanted to wait till we finished college before getting married but she wouldn't hear of it. She wanted to be Mrs Zack Markel, and she wanted it now. I tried to reason with her; I pointed out the four years of law school I still had to go, not to mention the internship. I reminded her that being broke would be a step up for my finances but trying to dissuade her was like trying to dam the Amazon. Eve believed we could live on air and love. Two months later we said I do in a registry office and couch-surfed our way through a midterm honeymoon.

When the new college-term started I found us a tiny loft over an all night mini-market. It was pokey and crumbling, the pipes rattled when the water ran and the roof leaked...it was perfect. We didn't sleep much those first few weeks. I was floating on air. We both studied during the days and held down an accumulation of part-time jobs in the nights but Sundays we had to ourselves. We liked to go to the bus station, jump on a random bus and see where we ended up. That was what we were doing the day we found Neptune's Tear.

We'd ridden the sixty-four to a town on the coast called Newcove. We spent the whole day exploring, walking the beaches, kissing and more kissing. At one stage we found ourselves walking hand in hand along a tree-lined road, imagining we lived in the amazing houses we passed, naming our imaginary kids and bitching about our imaginary neighbors. One house had it's front door open and a sign on the lawn declared 'House Sale, Everything must go!'

"Want to take a look," I asked.

"We cant go in there, we can't afford anything. I'd be mortified."

"It costs nothing to look, come on!" I said taking her by the hand and dragging her across the manicured lawn.

The house was amazing, a Gothic three-story dream. The hall was filled with people and a steady buzz of conversation filled the air but there was something gloomy about the place.

"It feels damp in here," Eve whispered in my ear. She was right, there was a chill to the air that went marrow deep.

"It might be haunted," I said, then tickled her ribs to make her squeal with delight. Gloomy or not the house was amazing. Things were priced so cheep they were practically giving stuff away. Upstairs in a bedroom, Eve found the most amazing dark-green pendent on a silver chain. It was just thrown in a drawer, not even priced. How could they have overlooked such a thing?

"It's fabulous!" she exclaimed. I turned her toward a full length mirror and draped the pendent around her neck. She sighed in way that made my heart flutter and I couldn't resist kissing her shoulder.

"You look like a princess," I whispered into her ear.

"It suits you," said a voice behind us. We both spun and saw a gray-haired man leaning against the door.

"I'm sorry...we weren't..." stammered Eve.

"I know you weren't," said the man with a smile. "Did you want to buy it?"

Eve went bright red and said, "We couldn't possibly afford it. Its beautiful."

"Most likely colored glass knowing my aunt."

It was my turn to look embarrassed, "Even so..."

The man unfolded his hands and walked into the room. " Show me what you can afford."

I rummaged in my pockets and held out a few coins.

"That looks like enough to me," he said taking the money and slipping it into his pocket.

"Are you serious?" asked Eve laying her hand over the stone.

"Deadly," said the man and his smile vanished. "I want nothing from this place. It was all my aunt Cassie's and the only good thing she ever did was die. Frankly my dear, you could have it for free."

We walked out of that house not believing our luck. All the way home Eve kept lifting the pendent and twirling it in the light.

"There's no way this is glass," she said as the bus reached the station. We agreed to get it appraised the following day.

***

That night I woke up to find Eve thrashing in the bed beside me. Her skin was running with sweat and her hands were stretched upward, as if trying to touch the ceiling.

"Eve, wake up," I said shaking her gently. Her body was locked solid. Her eyes flew open and she drew in a huge gasp of air, like a drowning woman coming to the surface of a lake. She looked around wildly as if she had no idea where she was. "You were having a dream," I said and waited for her to wake up properly.

"It was horrible," she said, still glaring around the room. "I was in a grave yard and couldn't get out. It was so dark, I had no idea which way to go but I knew, just knew, something bad was going to happen."

"Dream graveyards are never good places," I said trying to be funny and I put my arm around her shoulder.

"It felt so real. I was drawn to one grave, one with a huge black headstone, black as coal. There was only one word on it...Simpson. As soon as I read that name two hands shot out of the ground and grabbed on to my legs. They were old and withered, like mummy hands or something but they were so strong. They started pulling me into the ground..." then she started crying.

"Sush...its over, it was only a dream," I cooed and rocked her in my arms. As I did she mumbled into my chest.

"I was wearing the necklace and a voice said over and over again, It's mine!."

***

The next day was Monday so we took the morning off to go get the necklace appraised. We went into the most expensive jewelers shop in the town and approached the owner.

"Could you tell us what this is?" asked Eve as she handed over the necklace.

"Mummm," said the guy as he rolled the stone around in his hand, then held it up to the light, before producing an eyepiece and examined it closely. He even licked it.

"Is it an emerald?" I asked, because that was the only green gem I'd ever heard it.

"Ha! You wish," said the man taking out his eyepiece. "An emerald about this size would be worth more than fifty thousand dollars. Now that would be something."

"So it's not worth anything," asked Eve and I remembered the man saying it was most likely glass.

"I didn't say that, it's a Tsavorite Garnet, a type of gemstone. They cost about two hundred bucks a carat but its unusual to find one this big. It could be four...four and a half carats, and its got a good setting, solid silver. All in all I would say about two thousand. That's retail of course. If you folks are looking to sell I could offer you...say....nine hundred."

The man waited for an answer but his body betrayed him. While he waited he kept the necklace in his hand, as if he were unwilling to let it go.

"Oh boy...nine hundred," said Eve excitedly. She knew how stuck we were for money but I knew how much she liked that necklace.

"We're not looking to sell it," I said, taking the necklace and putting it around Eve's neck.

"Fair enough...but if you change your mind the offer stands," said the man. We were about to leave the shop when he spoke again. "Its got a name you know."

I stopped and turned. "Sorry?"

"The stone, there is a tiny name engraved in the setting. I saw it with the glass," he said indicating the little magnifying monocle.  "Neptune's Tear."

"Neptune's Tear," I repeated and felt a chill run over my body. Eve didn't seem to feel it as she cheerily thanked the man for all his help.

***

If you had asked me at the time, I would have said the next few months passed without incident. It's only with the benefit of hindsight that I know differently. It all started so very slowly...insidiously. Eve's workload in college must have increased because she spent more and more time with her head in the books. Some of the intense fire went out of the time we were spending together. I just thought it was natural that a little spark would go out of our relationship, it happened to everyone. But her moods steadily got darker...and lasted longer. One day I came home to find her crying hysterically for no reason and when I tried to comfort her she flew into a rage. She only picked at her food and had started to drink a little more than normal. I put it all down to the stress of her studies until I happened to bump into one of her classmates and discovered that Eve had been missing all her lectures.

That night I waited for her to come home from wherever she was...because it sure as hell wasn't college...and confronted her. Of course I assumed she was seeing someone else and went in with all guns blazing. The fight that followed could only be described as biblical. It got so bad that the owner of the mini-market came up demanding we keep the noise down or he'd call the cops. Eve told me I was stupid, and jealous, and stupid again. She said things had all gotten on top of her; being married, settling down when she was only just a kid herself, the college work...everything. She said she knew she needed some time or it was all going to explode on her so she had been going to the coast and spending hours just sitting staring out across the waves. She said she had been going to Newcove, it was the only place she felt at peace.

At first I didn't believe her but she swore that there was nothing more to it than that. I was still worried, even if there was no secret lover, our marriage was in trouble. We talked long into the night and eventually she agreed to see the college counsellor. Eve needed help, real help and I was going to make sure she got it.

The next morning I ditched my classes and went with Eve to Dr Stanton's office. At first he saw the two of us together but he soon asked to speak with Eve alone. I waited outside the door and it was the longest forty minutes of my life. When Eve appeared she nearly looked like her old self. She was smiling and her amazing sparkle was there for all to see.

"I feel great. Thank you so much," she said throwing her arms around me and kissing me deeply. Dr Stanton appeared at the door, smiling.

"This time next week, Eve," he said shaking both our hands before closing the door of his office. All the way home Eve talked about how much it helped to talk with someone. I smiled and nodded but wondered why she couldn't talk to me. I know it was selfish but I wanted to be enough for her, just me. I had to put that to one side and if Dr Stanton worked, then Dr Stanton it would be. I needed Eve and would do anything to have her. I was walking on cloud nine but the good times were short lived. That night the nightmares came back.

I woke up and found the bed empty. I turned on the light and nearly jumped out of my skin. Eve was standing in the corner, her eyes were wide open and there was a snarl on her face. She was actually growling and her body was shaking as if something was trashing around inside her skin. She was completely naked except for Neptune's Tear hanging on her chest.

"Jesus, Eve, what are you doing?" I asked, getting out of the bed. A guttural growl passed her lips and I stopped in my tracks.

"Eve?" I was frightened now.

"It's mine," she whispered, but it was not her voice. The voice that came out of her mouth sounded a hundred years old or more. It sounded like nails being pulled across a black board. I couldn't believe what I was seeing or hearing. What was happening to her?

"Eve," I said again, louder this time, trying to stamp some authority on this impossible situation. I looked more closely at her eyes and they looked distant, as if she were in a trance. I thought she was sleep walking so I rushed to her. She attacked me like a wild animal. She clawed me, digging her nails into my face and chest, drawing blood and leaving gouge marks in my flesh. I fell backwards and Eve clutched the pendent to her naked breast. Again those words came.

"It's mine!"

As I lay there, feeling my blood trickle through my fingers, I saw something change. Her eyes swam and came into focus. The tremble subsided and her hunched shoulders relaxed. She was waking up. She looked confused, gazed around the room,  then down at her own nakedness and finally at me.

"Oh my God! What happened?" she said when she saw the blood.

"You. You happened," I said softly but she just shook her head. It was like she knew the truth but couldn't face it. What ever I had just seen, what ever was affecting Eve was not just stress. Something dark was at work here and the only thing I could see was that green stone glinting in the light of my bedside light.

***

The following morning I insisted Eve see Dr Stanton. She was frightened by what had happened the night before and was happy to agree.

"Are you coming with me?" she asked.

"Wish I could but there is something I cant get out of...and I don't particularly want people seeing me like this," I said indicating the dressings across my cheek.

"I'm so sorry," she said looking ashamed.

"It wasn't you, it was the nightmare," I said, taking her in my arms and holding her close. How could I tell her I thought she was being haunted? I couldn't but I knew I had to find real help, not Dr Stanton.

I left the flat moments after she'd gone. My mind kept going back to the way Eve protected the necklace and the words It's mine. As stupid as it sounded, I was sure this was all connected to Neptune's Tear.

An hour later I got off the bus in Newcove and found my way back to the house where we'd bought the necklace. Today, the door was locked and all the windows were boarded up. A for sale sign was hammered crookedly into the lawn. With nobody around I decided to try next door. A woman in her sixties answered the door.

"Sorry to intrude, Ma'am. I bought something from the house next door a few months ago and I was wondering if you could tell me how to get in touch with the owners."

The woman gave a dark look at the house and said, "Nothing good ever came from that place, particularly that bitch, Cassie." It was a real shock to hear such vulgar language coming from a sweet old lady.

"I take it you didn't get on with her."

"Nobody ever got on with her. She was the most vicious, self centered creature. She could never abide anyone being happy. Cassie was a real looker and that only made her more dangerous. She had a mean streak a mile wide. Do you know she even slept with her sisters husband and then told her about it! That poor girl killed herself and it was all that bitches fault." The old woman actually spit on the ground.

I was shocked, but I guess I shouldn't be. Still it was hard to imagine. I scratched my head and said, "The man seemed so nice that day."

"That must be Peter, Betty's son, the poor thing. He is a sweetheart. He is the last of the family, all the rest are dead now. She..." the woman said throwing a thumb toward the house, "Was the last to go...typical."

"Do you know where I could find Peter?"

"Sure, he has a Cafe on the main street. Simpson's."

"Simpson's?" I asked, shocked at hearing the name from Eve's dream.

"It was Betty's before she married. Peter run's it now. Simpson is the family name." I walked away with awful thoughts of Cassie Simpson and what might have caused her wickedness. Could it have been the stone? Could it be happening all over again to my beautiful Eve?

***

The coffee shop wasn't hard to find and when I entered I immediately recognized Peter Simpson, but he didn't recognize me.

"What can I get you?" he said as I approached the counter.

"You probably don't remember me but I bought something from you a while back." I could see by his face he didn't remember. "It was a necklace with green stone."

"Now I remember you, a very pretty young lady, blonde? Right?"

"Yes, Eve. It's because of her that I'm here."

"Oh?"

"She's been having a hard time and as silly as it sounds...I think the necklace could be behind it."

"How can that be?"

"You said that necklace was a favorite of your aunts and I've heard what she was like. The thing is...Eve has started to change. I think the pendent is evil and the same thing might have happened to your aunt. I know its a mad idea but I'm just convinced."

"Look...?"

"Zack."

"Look, Zack. I'm sorry that your lady friend is not doing so well but I really don't think it's anything to do with the necklace. If anything was evil in that house it was Cassie. She was a terrible person long before that necklace ever came into her life. If I remember correctly she only purchased  it a few years ago at auction."

"I..."

I didn't know what to say. I felt like a total prat. I was so sure that the gem was responsible for the change in Eve but now that I had said the words...the idea sounded ludicrous.

"Can I get you a coffee, you don't look great?" he asked, and seemed genuinely concerned.

"I think I've taken enough of your time. I'm sorry for the intrusion," I said turning and hurrying toward the door.

"It's quite all right," he said but I didn't wait to answer him. I felt foolish and wanted to get back to Eve as quickly as I could.

***

Eve was in the kitchen making dinner when I reached the flat. She looked totally drained. "You're late," she said.

"Sorry, I got delayed. How did it go with Dr Stanton?" I asked hanging my coat on the back of a chair.

"Fine. He wants to send me for tests," she said as she started chopping carrots.

"He's the doctor," I said and wondered how to broach what was on my mind. "Eve?"

"Yea?"

"I think we should sell the necklace."

"What?" she snapped turning toward me. I could see the dark green glint of the stone resting against her skin and I knew, just knew, I had to get that thing out of our lives.

"We could do with the money and I have a feeling..."

"What kind of feeling?" she asked, raising her hand to touch the stone.

"There is something not right with that thing. Nothing has been right since we got it."

"It's mine, I don't want to sell it," she said and her tone was a lot sharper than I liked.

I stood and walked over toward her with my hand extended. "Please, Baby. You got to trust me."

"No," she said backing away.

"Give it to me," I said advancing a little more.

"No!," she said, there was something unnatural in her voice. As I took another step Eve's eyes glazed over and her body went rigid.Her face pulled down in a terrible grimace. When she spoke again the voice that came out was not hers. "No! Its mine!"

I watched in horror as Eve's lovely body spasmed, she was being torn apart. I was frozen to the spot, not knowing what I could do. I watched as her eyes cleared and she became the woman I knew. She looked so frightened and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. "She's in side, Zack. Help me!" she screamed and tried to move toward me but something invisible yanked her backward and slammed her into the kitchen counter. Once again she was racked with shudders and her eyes clouded over.

Her deformed face turned on me and screamed, "Never!" I rushed forward trying to grab the necklace from around her neck but as my fingers closed on the stone I felt the knife plunge into my gut. I refused to let go as the knife plunged again and again. I fell backward, my fingers wrapped around that evil thing and the necklace snapped. I felt hot and cold at the same time and there was a funny smell in the air...metallic. I lifted my hand and saw the dark green stone running with scarlet blood.

Eve leaned over me, the blood dripping from knife still held. Her face was a mask of hate and the most evil voice I had ever heard filled the air.

"It's mine!" she said but made no effort to take the green gem from my hand. An evil grin replaced the scowl as she touched a bloodied hand to her own chest. "It's mine!"

That was when I got it. It was never about the stone. The it was Eve. She dropped the blade on the ground and calmly walked out. I tried to cry out but everything went black.

***

That was one year ago. Thankfully the manager of the mini-market had seen Eve covered in blood and called the police. I spent two months in hospital and nearly died twice.  Eve was arrested but it was clear she wasn't in control of herself. She was committed for mental assessment but I was told that there is a good chance she'd never stand trial. I'd told them about the stone and Cassie Simpson but they looked at me like I was getting the padded cell beside Eve. Nobody would listen, nobody could help. As soon as I could, I got out of the hospital and arranged to visit Eve.

I walked into that room and the woman chained to the table was not my wife. She had my wife's skin and hair, she had her hands and legs, but it wasn't Eve. Her eyes were hard and merciless, her mouth permanently turned down at the corners and the things that came out of her mouth were vial. I talked to her, pleaded with her to fight this, I said I knew she was in there somewhere and I would never give up on her. None of that worked so I played my last card and pleaded with Cassie. This got a reaction. The creature in front of me smiled. Spit dribbled from her tranquilized mouth and her dull eyes focused on me. She leaned closer and a voice I had heard before whispered, "It's mine."

I left that room with cackling laughter ringing in my ears. In the years that followed, I visited her every week, always trying to break through to my darling wife, I know she's in there somewhere and as much as Cassie might want her....now and forever..."She's mine!"