The Story of My Life

Ive never been fond of diners. Or restaurants. Or really, anywhere you eat out. So I guess its only natural that I would end up working in a diner. Or is it ironic? I forget how the saying goes. Most people, especially women, would love the thought of eating out. Some people eat breakfast in a diner every day. Whats the point? I mean, leaving the comfort of your own home to pay for grease and salt, which you may then eat in the company of similar strangers. I just dont get it. Dates are the worst. Women dress up to the nines, men put on the old cloak of chivalry. And on every date we know that she wont ever be as beautiful as she is tonight, that he wont ever be as gallant. So why do we bother? Well. Cant change the world with musings. The manager is staring at me now, the silent look of Move your ass and work. Im used to it.

Not that Im lazy, not at all. Im just...perceptive. Yeah, thats a good word. Perceptive. Sensitive. Insightful. Um...keen. Alice. My heart leapt at the shock of such a scratched, thin voice in my ear, and for a second I thought it was death at my door. Then I realized it was simply the manager, Mrs Levinson. I straightened up and awaited her telling-off. She was a sight to see. She was skinny, like an animated cartoon skeleton. Her body was wrinkled like that of a pug. She could have been fifty; she could have been four hundred. Her age was indeterminate. She, however, believed herself to be only twenty-one. And there is no way that she is the same age as me. Greasy, auburn hair in tight little curls escaped the severe bun at the back of her head and clung to her sweaty, melting neck. Beady, mud-coloured eyes bore into me from behind thick, clumped eyelashes. Harlot-red stains streaked her crooked yellow teeth and smeared her thin lips, like drying blood on the fangs of a forest cat. A skinny, wilting cigarette was perched between her calloused fingers and Carmella Soprano-esque stick-on nails. Ash flakes settled on her mustard-coloured waitressing uniform above her non-existent breasts like dandruff. No matter how many times she was told, she just would not give up smoking at work. She was even worse than I was for sticking by her principals. Of course, I dont smoke. Drinking? Yes. Sex? Yes. But smoking? Never.

Mr. Chambers wants you. Now. She screeched. She was the human embodiment of scratching your nails down a chalkboard. I walked past, having to lean backwards in the cramped space behind the counter to keep from touching her. As I was diagonal to the floor, my elbow smacked against a white ceramic mug. As pain spread through my arm, the coffee from the mug pooled over the counter. Steam rose from the puddle as it reached the counters end and fell downward onto a customers lap. He leapt back from his stool as it soaked his jeans and burned his skin. Omigod, I began, I am so sorry! I grabbed a handful of napkins from the holder and leaned over the counter to wipe it from him. I rubbed at the crotch of his jeans frantically as other customers enjoying their breakfast stopped chatting and stared. After a few more seconds of wiping I realized just how awkward this situation was. A waitress, bent over the counter, rubbing a customers crotch. My hand stopped moving and I stood up, embarrassed, dropping the discoloured napkins on the counter. Well done, Alice. Top notch job. You go, girl. Laughter could be heard from the other two waitresses I work with, Samantha and Jennifer. I called them the Twins. Both were tall, had a wonderful cascade of long caramel hair, and both were complete and utter bitches. But I would be lying if I said I wasnt a little bit attracted to them. They would be the perfect girlfriends if they had a mute button. Their main jibe at me is my accent; they always

attempt to replicate it, unsuccessfully. You would think they would be used to the fact that there are many Irish people in New York. I stood silent for a second, forgetting that I had been summoned. Mr. Chambers wants me now? I asked meekly. Mrs. Levinson nodded stiffly. Head down, I spun around and made my way through the diner and towards the back. Customers began to resume their conversations, and I heard several giggles as I walked past. Red-faced and flustered, I knocked on my boss door and opened it. The man was sitting bent at his desk inside his tiny office. Yellowed and peeling wallpaper smelled damp and old. His desk took up most of the floor space. There were no pictures of family or friends; just the man and his ancient computer. You wanted to see me, Mr. Chambers? I asked quietly. He looked up at me with watery gray eyes. Of course, Miss ODea. Please sit. I sank into the old red chair in front of his desk, perched on the edge so as not to come in contact with the suspicious stain on the cushion. Mr. Chambers pushed his glasses up his nose and peered at me through them. Miss ODea, I was just reviewing your performance record. There was a silence as I waited for him to go on. He didnt.

Okay... I finally spoke. And was it...good? His stare forced me to avert my eyes. I looked downwards to my feet, and became even more depressed. My old Converse stared back dejectedly, almost pleading for me to put them out of their misery. These were the ones I brought from Ireland. Id bought them two years prior to my move, which was roughly a year ago. At the time there were limited places in Drogheda where you could buy Converse, and then only the basic black, blue, or red ones. I remember an eighteen-year-old me walking down town, set out to buy new shoes. In Drogheda, down town was only ten minutes walk away. In Manhattan, a ten minute walk was two blocks from where you started. When Id bought them, they were spotless and completely modern. Now they were dirty and scuffed; a hole bore through the threading of the right shoe. My laces were ratty and streaked with all sorts. I dont even want to think about what must be on the soles. Alice? Mr. Chambers voice broke through my reverie of home. Uhm... I struggled to remember what he had been saying. Did you hear what I said? Eh, actually, no, sorry. I mumbled. Well, we at the River Heights Diner feel that you are not suited for this position. So we have decided to let you go. Im sorry, of course. Well allow you the rest of the week working here to line something up.

Oh. Well. Looks like Ill have to put up with holey shoes for a little while longer. I knew I would be leaving this job eventually; nobody wanted a clumsy nuisance. And six weeks is a long time for me to keep a job. Oh...right. I muttered. You can go and finish your shift if you want. But by Friday we will need to retrieve your uniform and nametag. Uh, no, no, Ill leave them in now. I said quietly. Very well. Mr. Chambers answered. I left his office and crossed over to the employee bathroom to change into the street clothes I left in my little cubbie hole if ever a situation like this should arise, along with my bag. When I returned to his office, I was wearing kick flare Love Label jeans and a brown v-neck t-shirt which, ironically, read Happiness, in purple writing. A soft purple cardigan rested over my arm which held up my uniform, nametag, and notepad. I placed them gently on the desk and put down my check shoulder bag on the floor as I put on my cardigan. I slung the bag back over my shoulder. Badges were attached to the strap. Escaped Rehab, Cant Dance, Game Over, and 100% Pure were sported on a choice few. Most had been bought in Ireland. Mr. Chambers was signing a check for me when I put down my uniform. He tore it from the book and handed it to me. Your final pay check. Its made out for cash. I took it and slipped it into the hidden pocket at the back of my bag and mumbled a thanks.

And so I left the River Heights Diner with three days pay, my battered pride, and my last remaining hope that Ill never have to get a cup of tea for someone else ever again.

If I Can Make It There...

Can you get me a cup of tea while youre up, please? I pursed my lips together as I pressed the kettles button. I set up the mugs and teabags and walked back into the sitting room to speak to Simona. Since my move to Manhattan I had managed to make two great friends, and Simona was the first of the two. And she was absolutely gorgeous. Two years older than me at twenty-three, four inches taller at five foot eight, and several pounds lighter, she was like a model. Her beautiful chocolate-coloured hair reached her breasts and flowed in smooth, carefully-crafted waves. Cerulean blue eyes were enlarged by perfect make-up and thick lashes. Her skin was flawless and still held a summer tan; mine in comparison was like that of a corpse. Of course, Im pale to most New Yorkers. And thats what Simona Valentine was; A New Yorker through and through. Born and bred right here in Manhattan. I could still remember the day we met as clear as a bell; it was a year ago, and I had just stepped off the plane at JFK airport into a new life. And as you can imagine, my nerves

were shot. Only twenty years old and alone in a whole new country, I made my way as quickly as I could to the nearest pub. ID please. The bartender asked. I handed over my driving license, my hand shaking. Youre underage, Miss. We cant sell you any form of alcohol. What? I replied in disbelief. No, the age limit in New York is eighteen. Im twenty, look. This continued for almost five minutes, and I became so aggravated that I almost burst into tears, before Simona, who was sitting across the terminal sipping from a cappuccino, walked over to see what was wrong. She effectively calmed me down and ordered a Heineken for herself. She led me over to a table in the caf she had been sitting at and allowed me to break down about my big move. I had felt completely lost; I left my entire family and everything I ever knew behind to cross an entire ocean and set up life in a new country to become a cop and maybe someday an FBI agent. Simona stayed with me until her flight was called. She had been going to visit her older sister Ivy in Oregon for the week. She was kind enough to give me her phone number in case I needed any help, although I dont think she believed I would be so dependent. By the time she got back from her trip she couldnt get rid of me. I think she took pity on me and agreed to be my friend. And I thank her for this. We always joke about how I had a crush on her and thats why I wouldnt leave her alone, and although this isnt exactly false, I will deny it. And Im sure I only had a crush

because I thought she was gay. I should take this moment to point out that despite being bisexual for many known years, I still have the worst gaydar in the world. And you would be surprised just how angry boyfriends can get when you hit on their girl, no matter what type of genitals you have. Stupid boss. I mumbled as I collapsed on the couch next to Simona. She had the TV on a repeat of That 70s Show. All I did was break a few mugs. It wasnt even my fault; the diners far too small and therere too many tables to get around. Thats how many jobs in one year now? Simona asked, turning towards me. Fifteen? Sixteen? Were all those diners, restaurants and offices too small as well? And lets not even mention your less than average jobs. The jobs that Simona meant were the odd jobs I picked up that were slightly different than waitressing or being a secretary. These included working on a building site, being a substitute teacher for a high school, and even being a personal assistant for an actress on a locally-produced and aired TV series. My actress, to be exact. Melony Hartigan had been my girlfriend for close to three months now. She hadnt really settled into the group yet; she was fine with Simona; it was Link she had a problem with. Dont ask me why. I glared at her. They cant fire me for being physically challenged. Simona grinned. No, but they can for being clumsy! When she saw my face, she stopped jeering. Oh come on, Al. Youll get another job. Yeah, and how long will I keep that for?

You just have to find the job thats right for you. I was about to reply when I heard the kettle clicking off. Thats the tea. I said, standing up and returning to the kitchen. I made Simonas tea as she usually has it, with low fat milk and artificial sweetener. The other cup was made with full fat milk and three spoons of sugar. Simona often commented that my food would kill me one day. Well, I would rather die because of sugar than because of disease. I brought them in carefully to the sitting room and placed the mugs on the table, settling in the couch to watch That 70s Show. A young Ashton Kutchers antics with the rest of the gang soon cheered me up. My cat Bear clambered onto the couch between us and curled up tight. I stroked his thick brown fur and relaxed into the gentle surroundings of my home. When the episode finished, Simona put her empty mug on a coaster on the table and looked at me. She may be the most neurotic person Ive ever known; she cant go anywhere without fixing or cleaning something. You know whatll cheer you up? Going down to Low Places, getting shitfaced and singing my heart out on the karaoke? I asked. Simona grinned. Yes, but thats not what I mean. Theres a party on tomorrow night for a guy who published his first book. Itll be pretty big, everyone at the company was invited and we all have plus-ones. Wanna go? I wrinkled my nose and made a face at her. She knew exactly what I meant. Oh come on, itll be fun!

I intensified the face by lowering my eyebrows. Theres a free buffet and a swing band. The face evaporated. Good enough. I replied, putting my mug on the table. Simona looked at it for a second before lifting it up and sliding a coaster beneath it. The mug is empty, why are you putting it on a coaster? I asked, laughing slightly. Simona stood up. Low Places? Yeah. Ill just call Melony and tell her where were going. She was going to stop by here later, Ill tell her to come by the pub instead. Alright. How are you guys, anyway? I smiled. Were alright. I havent heard much from her, shes working really hard on the set the past week. Thisll be the first time weve spoken face-to-face for a few days. Ill bet shes really sorry for being distracted. Simona replied, zipping up her light jacket. She stretched her voice and made it a higher pitch to turn that innocent sentence into an innuendo. I grabbed my trench coat from the couch and threw it on, doing only two of its buttons. It was sunny outside, but there was a chill in the wind, reminding us of the coming winter. September sun was setting in the distance as we left the building and came out onto Winchester Street. I phoned Melony on the way and told her where wed be. Turns out she was already there. I couldnt help but feel a little bit off-put. Melony never went to Low Places without me. It was then that I first suspected that something was up.

Bad Day
It was only a ten minute walk to the pub, and it was 7:30pm by the time we got there. Music was already pounding from inside and a sign hung from the window: We serve Guinness and Heineken. It was because of this sign that the pub attracted many Irish and British customers who were brave enough to venture down the small and dirty alleyway that the pub was located in . The doors were, literally, always open. Two people stood outside smoking. Above the doorway a shining sign read Low Places. As we entered the pub the other regulars gave a shout of recognition. Directly in front of us sat a pool table. Two guys were in the heat of a game. Howya Ian! I called over the music to one man who was chalking his cue, stripping off my trench and hanging it on the rack behind the door. When you kick Brians ass, call me so I can rip you out of it. Not a chance! Ian, one of the pubs only American regulars, laughed as he potted two reds in one shot. Simona and I grinned and made our way to the counter. You should have seen this pub. The back portion of its walls were filled with signatures, absolutely smothered with them. The owners allow everyone who visit the pub to sign the walls, and in a matter of a few years half of the

whole pub was signed. A gang of Scottish men sat at the back, staring at a rugby match on the TV. Occasionally they would give a shout of success or a cry of defeat. To the direct right of the pub, a small stage was set up with a little TV acting as a teleprompter and a computer filled with karaoke songs. Because I came here so often and sang when I was drunk and pushed onto the stage by my friends, the owners had let me download whatever songs I wanted onto it. They originally came from a small village just outside of Drogheda, and they knew my parents well. Nice people. Simona and I turned towards the counter. I spotted Melony sitting on a stool, speaking to the other great friend I made since moving to Manhattan. Link North was perhaps the most fun man I ever knew. He is the oldest of the group, at a grand old age of twenty-four. He moved to New York when he turned nineteen, though hes originally from Kansas. Hed been bartending at Low Places since his own move to the Big Apple. We first met when I begged Simona to hang out with me after her trip to Oregon. We wandered around for ages trying to find a cool pub. Well, one which served Heineken. Finally we found Low Places, only ten minutes from my home and twenty from Simonas. Link was on the karaoke stage, singing Charlie Chaplins Smile, and he was absolutely amazing. He still is. Links a remarkable singer, mostly big band and classics. I sometimes sing with him, even though Im only mediocre. I remember the gleam in Simonas eyes when she first saw Link, and I knew straight away to not even try for the singer. Simonas feelings soon passed when we actually spoke to Link at the bar and she got the

impression that he was of the fairer kind of men. We still dont know if she was correct in her assumptions. Thats another interesting thing about Link; no one seems to know if hes gay, straight, bisexual, or anything else. He keeps that secret well hidden. If anyone ever questions him, he simply smiles crookedly and says, Thats for me to know, sugar, and you to never find out. He calls everyone a cute nickname. Angel, Sweetheart, and Kitten are among his most popular, but he has many more. Occasionally hell get someone in the pub who finds his flashy attitude disturbing or something to make fun of, but Ive never met a man more capable of defending himself and shooting out the most perfect of insults and put-downs. With a handsome face, artfully gelled-up brown hair and wide, deep brown eyes, he was often hit on by patrons of both sexes. Come to think of it, I dont think Ive ever heard him accept or mention a date with anyone. Ever. Right now his lovely face was twisted in a look of confusion and irritation. Melodys face showed frustration and defiance. I glanced at Simona to be sure she spotted it too, and we stopped at a safe distance to view the scrap. As we watched, Link appeared to say something cheeky. Melody retorted with a lot of hand gestures, none of which were very becoming to a lady. Time to break up this fight. Hey! I called, plastering on a smile as if I hadnt seen the tiff. I went over and gave Melony a kiss on the cheek. Whats up? I asked her and Link together.

Link and Melody both showed the same face now; silent cattiness. I could almost hear the hissing. Link didnt answer in his usual cheery self. Melony just moved her mouth in a smile towards me. Hey. There were a few moments of silence. Everything okay? Simona asked tensely. Yeah, Melony replied swiftly. How are you? she asked me. I shrugged. I got fired today. Apparently Im not suitable for the Diner. Links eyes rested on me. His tone of voice was soft and caring, like a mothers. Which was kind of his job in this group. He was the mother, the moral compass, and the one to call whenever you had a problem, got some bad news, or just needed a good old bitch about life. Want a drink, love? I nodded yes. Sy? Ill have the same, thanks. Link turned around to the fridge behind him and plopped two open Heinekens on the counter in front of us. On the house. The tone of impending tragedy in his voice worried me, but I didnt have time to question him. We need to talk. Melony said, taking my hand and leading me to a quiet corner of the pub, wedged between the Scottish rugby fans and the stage. I felt Simonas and Links eyes on us as we left. In the corner, Melony seemed to be preparing herself for something. As she did this, I watched my friends. Simona looked at Link, her expression in dismay. She asked him a question. Link leaned his elbows on the bar and sighed.

I tried to read his lips but I couldnt make out a single word. When he finished, Simonas mouth was slightly open and her eyes showed deep concern. They both turned back to Melony and me. I shot them a questioning look. Simona bit her lip; Link pursed his together. Okay, Melony finally said. Well, you know Ive been busy with work lately? Well, I was kind of lying. It took me a second to process her words. Lying? She swallowed. Thereve been some changes in the script, and a new character was added. The girl playing her, Verity, we got really close when I was helping her into the role, and uh... Wait, I stopped her, my mind jumping to, what I hoped were, impossible conclusions, wait, you were cheating on me? With this Verity person? Melony looked down to the floor and nodded. Yeah. I shook my head in disbelief. And you want to be with her? Yeah. Hey, Alice! Your turn to your ass kicked! Ian called, trotting over to me. Eh, not right now, Ian. I answered quietly, my eyes locked on Melony. I cant believe you cheated on me. I muttered to her. A sudden flash of fire appeared in her eyes. Well, what was I supposed to do, Alice? Its not like we were having a good time, you know. I was... I replied timidly.

Well I wasnt, Alice. Youre way too smothering. She gave one sharp syllable of spiteful laughter. I might have actually put up with it if you were any good in bed. My mouth opened slightly in disbelief. Who was this person? I had never known her to be so angry. And just to clarify, I am good in bed. Ill send over whatever you left in my apartment. With one final mean look, she strode away through the crowd and out the door. She didnt even turn around one more time. I stood silent for what seemed like forever, staring at the empty doorway, waiting for her to run back in shouting, Im so sorry, I didnt mean it! Do you think that happened? Oh, Al. Ian said comfortingly, touching my shoulder. I glanced at him, and back to the floor. Can I get a rain check on that game? Of course. He replied, removing his hand. I couldnt believe it. For the second time that day, I was walking with my head down, feeling as if everyone was staring at me. Alice, Simona said consolingly. I sat down in a stool in front of Link. Simona sat next to me with her hand on my back. What were you fighting about? I asked Link. My voice was already rough with feeling. I had the strange feeling that I had just been waxed; A quick and painful tear, left feeling stung and vulnerable to the elements.

Link shifted his weight as he leaned on the counter. Melony came in looking for you, and when I asked why, she told me that she was cutting you loose. I may have overreacted when she said shed cheated on you. What did you call her? Simona asked bluntly. Nothing that she didnt deserve. Link answered. Link, Simona put weight on his name to make it a command. He tightened his lips together. I may have called her an ungrateful whore... Li-ink, Simona moaned. Hey, you know she earned it. Link replied, with a head bob and a jab of his finger towards Simona. You really have to learn what should stay inside your head, dont you? I never liked that bitch. Link shrugged while getting a Guinness for a customer. He leaned on the counter again and took one of my hands. Sweetie, the stage is free, if you want to go up? My heart was still racing and my mouth was dry. I felt physically sick. Never had I seen Melony so...livid. Sure, she may have been headstrong at times, but never this much. Could things get any worse today? I lost a job that I was actually beginning to kind of like, and now Ive lost a girl I really, really liked. When I came to America Id had high expectations of my life. The charming Gaelic woman breezing into town, taking down the bad guys and always getting the lover at the end. But I realized soon that it was just a story. It was only after my first month in New York did I realize how

childish my dreams had been. But I still had a long time left on my visa, and Id spent most of my money on my apartment. For one of the first times in a long time I really missed home. Where I didnt have to worry about how I would pay for my next meal, or where the next blow would come from. I was safe there. I was so stupid for leaving. What am I on about? I gave a slight cringe and shook my head. No, no, Im not feeling it tonight. But you love the karaoke. Simona said quietly. It always makes you feel better. I shook my head. You want a drink to loosen you up? Link asked. I have a drink. I answered, lifting my Heineken to my lips. I mean a good strong one. He replied, brushing my short blonde hair back from my face and straightening my fringe. Ill get you some whiskey. Double. I mumbled. Sure thing, angel. In a matter of seconds I had downed the glass. I pushed the empty tumbler towards Link, a silent plead for more of this kind nepenth. Without question he filled me up. I may as well get piss-drunk as well. Simona sighed, signalling to Link. Im off work tomorrow and Im not gonna let you drink alone. I lost track of how many glasses we had. I just know it was a lot. Pretty soon we found ourselves on the stage,

Simona and I. Her voice was just as second-rate as my own. At least we put feeling into it. Thats the main thing. At this point everyone in the pub had heard of the demise of Melony and I, and they all sang along with us. Every drunken person in the pub, and even a few sober people, singing for their own heartache. But mainly just for the craic. Garth Brooks classic had been the anthem for the pub, and every one of its regulars knew it to be a homing call when another member of the club was newly lovelorn. The pub soon felt like a home when everyone joined in. Now you know why the pubs called Low Places.

Nurse Link
Ugh, was all I could manage to say the following morning when I woke up. Just ugh. Not even a real word. Im just glad that my bathroom is directly connected to my bedroom. Thats the only bad thing about whiskey; you can keep it for a little while, but then you have to give it back. I lay with my head resting on my arm, which was placed on the seat of the toilet. Somehow I had managed to undress myself last night and put on pyjamas, albeit inside out and back to front. From my bedroom, my phone whistled at me to be picked up. Ugh, I groaned again as I walked all the way to the bed. Eight whole feet without puking again. Woohoo. What? I snapped into the phone. Somebodys cranky. Li-ink, I moaned. Whyd you let me drink so much? Cause Im a sadistic motherfucker. I honestly cant tell if youre joking or not. I heard laughter from the other end of the phone and I had to turn down the volume to keep my head from bursting. That whiskey must have really done a number on you, kitten.

I covered my eyes with my hand. Id forgotten to shut the blinds last night and the morning sun was shining directly on my face. Please tell me I didnt do anything stupid last night. Alright. You didnt do anything stupid last night. What did I do? Link only ever had that tone of voice when you did something incredibly dumb in your drunken haze. Well, the bar isnt there anymore because you drank it. Ugh... You forced me to agree to the fact that I am Link from The Legend of Zelda games. Ugh... And you made out with Ian. Oh God... I muttered. Its cool, he was pretty smashed too. He probably doesnt remember either. Well, thats some solace. I replied sarcastically. From my bed I heard a loud, head-pounding knock at my door. Hang on, theres some asshole pounding on my door. Alright. Does that asshole have breakfast? What are you on about? I asked, rubbing my eyes as I made my way out of the bedroom and through the kitchen to the front door. When I opened it, I almost had to look twice. Link stood in my doorway, holding a paper bag and two Styrofoam cups in one hand, his phone in the other, held up to his ear.

So? he asked into the phone. Is the asshole hot? I dropped my phone and ended the call, being unable to keep my pissed off expression. Standing back, I motioned for him to come in. Not like Link needed an invitation. He plopped the bag onto the kitchen counter with the cups. I shut the door and joined Link in the kitchen. Whatd you get? Tea for you, he slid one of the cups over to me. Coffee for me. Scrambled eggs and sausage for the both of us. Mmm... I murmured sickly. Itll make you feel better, sunshine. I dont think puking will make me feel better. Oh but it will; when you puke youll get rid of the alcohol in your stomach. Here, Ill make toast. Go sit down. Put the TV on. How are you even still alive with that logic? I complained. Though I wasnt dumb enough to ignore Nurse Links instructions, and I followed to a T. Have you heard from Sy? I asked over the noise of Link gathering plates and cutlery. No, I was gonna get you fixed up and we could go to her apartment and see if shes still alive. Link replied, leaning against the counter and waiting for the bread to toast. Sounds like a plan. Link appeared beside me on the couch a few minutes later with two plates of food. The smell churned my stomach. Link caught a glimpse of my paling face.

Eat. Yes, boss. I replied sullenly. Bear crawled from under the couch, enticed by the aroma of our breakfast. When Link wasnt looking I slipped him some eggs and half a sausage. Even the loss of some food wasnt enough to keep me from being sick. Atta girl! Link praised from the bathroom doorway. Now go shower, your hairs a mess. It was another half an hour by the time we were able to leave the apartment and walk to Simonas. Simona! Link called through the door. Sih-moanah! Fuck, shes dead. I joked, feeling far better after a warm shower, 3 painkillers and a Motilium. Shes probably passed out; Ill call her. On the way to Simonas wed stopped and gotten her breakfast as well. Coffee and pancakes with strawberries and cream. Simona was far too good for greasy sausages and over-buttered eggs. Link held the phone to his ear for a long time before speaking into it. Good morning, starshine. he called into it after an impossible amount of rings. The earth says Hello. I continued, pulling links arm down low enough that I could speak into it comfortably. ...The fuck? I heard from the other end. Just thought wed check in, see how you were doing after your bender. Link replied.

The speaker was loud enough that I could hear Simona speak. Years of working in a loud pub had damaged Links hearing slightly. Just enough that he often needed his phone, the TV, and sometimes people to speak louder than usual. ...Youre at my front door, arent you? Simonas rough voice questioned. Brilliant deduction, Sy. Ugh. Simon mirrored my earlier annoyance before hanging up. About a minute later her door opened. Simona stood in the same clothes as last night. She had obviously tried to get undressed; her belt was open and she wore only one sock. Make-up was smeared over her face and her hair was knotted and sticking up at odd angles. Dont tell me I looked this bad this morning? I asked Link, who nodded. At least you could get your pyjamas on. Link replied. What do you want? Simona asked gruffly. Link held up the bag and I held up the cup. To make peace? he replied. Simona turned from the door and walked into her pitch-black apartment. She had been able to shut her blinds. As we walked in, I flicked the light switch on. Simona shied from the light as if it would attack her. I handed her the cup and threw myself onto her couch. Simonas apartment was compulsively neat and as stylish as something from a magazine. A carefully crafted pile of drawing boards, boxes of colouring pencils and stencil

pens were stacked in the corner. Which is why we usually hang out in my pigsty; you can make a mess and no one cares. Except for Simona. Also, my place is much bigger. Dont even ask how I got it. Youre awful chipper this morning. She groaned to me. Nothing like getting absolutely plastered to fix a broken heart. Of course, I lied. My heart was still broken. Whiskey can only act as Blu-Tack, after all. Eventually you gotta get yourself some superglue in the form of closure. I didnt want closure though; I wanted Melony. Reluctantly, she eased onto the couch next to me and rubbed at her temples. You really are hungover, arent you? I asked, amused. Really? Simona pretended not to have known. What time is it? About half eleven. I answered as Link placed the plate in Simonas lap and shoved a knife and fork into her hands. Crap, Simona said, tentatively cutting into a pancake. Weve got that thing tonight. Thing? Link asked. Some party for a writer. I answered. Simona was invited and she got a plus-one. Link put on a pleading, puppy-dog face, his deep brown eyes locked on Simona. Im free tonight...

Simona looked at him, her lips puckered as she tried to think of a reply. Simona was often fooled by Links acting into thinking he actually cared. Well...I only invited Alice because she got fired. If I could help it, I wouldnt have either of you there. Whoa! Link and I exclaimed together. Where did this sudden hatred come from? I asked, grinning. I dont particularly want to have to choose between an awkward Irish fool and a flaming karaoke king, which I will then present to my boss, my colleagues, and my clients. Simona answered through a mouthful of pancake. Link and I beamed at each other. Uh-huh, I answered. And what is it you do again? Simona rolled her eyes. I design the cover artwork on books. So youre a struggling artist. I am not a struggling artist, Simona replied to me. I am an illustrator for a very well known publishing company. There was a sudden chirping from Simonas phone. It vibrated across the table and flashed the name Ross across the screen. Simona dropped her knife and fork with a clang and snatched up the phone. Ross... was how she greeted him. ...What do you mean?...Well you call them back...I dont care!...If you have to, you get your ass over there and you get those copies yourself...Just get them to the party in time for tonight. With that, she shut the phone and dropped it on the table.

She sat staring at it for a second. That idiots not gonna get the copies. She leapt from the couch and walked into her bedroom. A second later, we heard the shower turning on. Link looked at me and cocked his head to the side. Wanna watch Ross get his ass kicked?

Fall For Anything

By the time Simona was finished with her assistant, we had to get ready to go to her party. I was sent home with strict instructions to wear my red and black dress, sensible shoes, and nice make-up, under penalty of being bitched at. So thats exactly what I did.

At around half past seven I found myself ready and waiting for Simona. I stood looking in the standing mirror in my walk-in closet. I know I was still exactly the same as when I left Ireland; I just seemed so different. I still had the same heart-shaped face and fair skin; the same big green eyes with brown flecks; the same blonde hair that I kept short and trim (the longest it will ever be is gently touching the top of my shoulders) which I usually kept in loose waves, just like tonight. I didnt feel like I should fit into my surroundings. I mean, I own such a beautiful apartment in New York, of all places. How did I get here? My red skater dress with black mesh neckline reached as far as just above my knee; after that I wore striped tights which made my legs look thinner. I held my shoes in my hand; black velvet shoe boots. My bag was strewn over my bed, and in it were my lipstick, my purse and my phone. I heard it sing at me through the fake leather. It was Simona, wondering if I was ready yet. I replied that I was, and she stated that she was just entering my apartment building. People are in such a rush today to get to my apartment. I left my front door open for her when she finally reached my floor. Your elevators broken. Why do you have to live on the fourth floor? Simona complained as she walked in. She wore a light blue v-neck pencil dress and black heels, with sheer tights. Her hair was straightened; the top portion was

fastened back with a clip. A short black leather jacket was slung over her arm and she held a black clutch purse. I grinned at her, threw on my trench and laid my bags strap on my shoulder. Ready to go? I asked. She nodded and walked out the door. You sure theres a free buffet? Absolutely. She replied. She was a whole lot happier than shed been earlier, giving poor Ross the hardest time of his life. The poor guy seemed terrified of the usually sweet-natured Simona. I had been an assistant before, and it definitely wasnt fun. Being Simonas assistant had to be ten times worse than whatever Id experienced. Simona already had a cab waiting for us outside; even though Simonas publishing company was based in the Bronx, the author was having his party in Manhattan, his home. It took an hour to get to the venue from my apartment amidst the thick New York traffic which wound its way through the concrete jungle like a deep yellow fog. Along the way I watched the streets. Just empty streets filled with broken promises. A homeless middle-aged man sitting on the steps of a building, arms folded around his midsection, shivering through his ratty old coat. A girl, barely sixteen, standing beneath the streetlight and trying to sell the only wares she had. As we drove past a car stopped in front of her, an old blue Nissan. She leaned in the window to name her price before clambering into the passenger side. I wondered if she would ever be seen again. New York holds so many possibilities for people all around the globe. But what happens when somebodys

dreams dont come true? This. This happens. Cold nights no matter the season, other people speeding up when they walk past you. Not enough money for another blanket to help keep the feeling in your fingers. This is what I, and Jon Bon Jovi, called Broken Promise Land. I count myself lucky every time I see these streets, the underbelly of the Big Apple. I had been fortunate enough to arrive in Manhattan with more than enough safety money, just in case I couldnt become a cop. Some people arent as lucky. My reverie was cut short as we moved from the deadly night, into the glowing hue of a better life. Streets were cleaner here, there were no men huddled on steps, no girls beneath streetlights. Here there was just well-lit buildings and expensive cars. When I stepped out of the cab I found myself beneath the wide, sloping stone arch of a beautiful events room. Around us, other cabs were letting out nicely-dressed people, and a few fancier cars opened to reveal extravagant VIPs. Apparently people quite high up on the food chain enjoy modern literature. Simona paid the cabbie for us and streamed her way through the throng of people. I didnt think books got this much attention from really rich people. I said to the back of Simonas head. Her clip stayed firm with each step. She shrugged. Theyre not really here for the author. Its his wife they want to impress.

At the main double doors, we were stopped by a beefy-looking man twice the size of me. Simona whipped a laminated card from her clutch with the speed and ease of someone who did this action every day. Simona Valentine, illustrator. This is my plus-one. Simona said in a very important tone, nodding her head back slightly at me. The massive man gave a curt nod and stepped aside. He covered almost the entire door, which was made of clear, spotless glass. Inside I could see people in all their finery, mingling and socializing with each other. I suddenly realized that I would have to interact as if I were one of them. I have trouble interacting with people my own class, let alone with these dignitaries. The security guard pushed open the glass door with one arm and held it open for us. I nodded thanks and ducked under his chiselled arm. When we were inside, the security guard stepped in front of the doors again, blocking the evening twilight from view. A woman offered to take our coats, and we handed them over gratefully. Gentle lighting gave a calm, warm atmosphere. The clinks of champagne glasses could be heard along with feminine laughter and masculine chuckles. I could feel the thick, maroon carpet through my shoes and almost bent down to really feel how soft it was. The scent of expensive perfumes and aftershaves wafted through the air with a sweet, soft aroma. A sparkling chandelier caught my eye above the hall, and beneath it sat a stage. Link would

have had dreams of this stage, and for a second I regretted not giving him my place. A tall, good-looking man stepped out of nowhere and raised his arms to Simona. Miss Valentine! Wonderful to see you! It was clear from his demeanour that he had already made a good start on whatever drinks they had here that were stronger than champagne. Brian, Simona greeted with an edge to her voice. It was clear that Brian was no stranger to alcohol and its many forms. Whos this? he asked, gesturing to me with his empty glass. Simona smiled politely and pushed me in front, glad that Brians attentions had strayed from her. This is my plusone, Alice ODea. Alice, this is Brian. Hes also an illustrator. Hi, I greeted, holding out my hand to shake. Brian, however, had spotted a waiter carrying a tray of drinks. In one quick, carefully planned move, he had replaced his empty glass with a full one. I was left hanging. I withdrew my hand quickly and awkwardly brushed my hair out of my face with it. So, when is the band starting? I asked Simona. After the speeches. Speeches? I moaned. Brian seemed to refocus on us. Youve got an odd voice. He said to me. I nodded with embarrassment. Uh-huh, yeah, Im from Ireland.

Oh, hey! Simona suddenly cried, waving to a woman wearing a purple dress oddly similar to the wrapper of a Quality Street chocolate. Ill be back in a minute, Al. I stood, open-mouthed, watching Simona leave. Great. Now Im the common girl whos alone at the fancy party. Ireland? Brian repeated me. Wheres that? Over by England. I answered, replicating Brians move with the champagne when a waiter walked past. So youre English? I bit my tongue. Honestly, the amount of times I had already been asked this question since I left the plane. Dont get me wrong, most of the time people know that Ireland and England are not the same country. Its just the choice few you have to look out for. Especially the drunks. No, I replied. Im Irish. Brians face was unmoving with confusion. Its the same thing? Okay, time for me to leave. Hey, look at that girl. I said, pointing to a brunette across the room. Shes pretty, why dont you introduce us? Brian grinned. You mean introduce her? He turned the word into an insinuation, but I had no idea what he thought introduce could mean. I nodded anyway and watched his face light up before he spun around and made for the poor brunette. I quickly escaped and wandered among the crowd. Very soon I found myself at the free buffet Simona had advertised. And what a buffet it was; I couldnt even

name most of the food items on it. Most people were standing next to the table, chatting. I simply took a plate from the pile at the tables edge and tested the food as I walked by. If it was edible, I added a few to my collection. By the time I reached the end of the table, my plate was full. I settled myself in a place by the table in case I wanted more. I spotted Simona in the crowd, laughing with a group of co-workers. So much for cheering me up. You seem to be enjoying yourself. A voice said beside me. When I turned around, a man was standing a few feet from me. He was also leaning against the wall, clutching a plate of finger food. I nodded and picked up small, toasty bite of unknown food and ate it. You know it. The man took a step closer. So, I know why Im here. Why are you? It was only now that I properly looked at the man. And to be honest, he was kind of cute. He had scruffy blonde hair and when his brown eyes caught the light they turned golden. Then I noticed the band around his left ring finger and my interest dropped. See the girl in the blue dress? I asked, gesturing across the room. Simona Valentine. I glanced back to the man in the expensive suit. He couldnt have been more than twenty-eight. Yeah, I replied. You know her? He nodded and bit into some kind of expensive meat, but didnt go on.

Well, she invited me tonight as a plus-one because I lost my job and my girlfriend in the same day. I answered, feeling a deep pang in my solar plexus. That sucks. The man answered, taking a sip of champagne. Yes it does. I nodded. So, I know why Im digging into the buffet. Why are you? I gave a grin. He returned the favour and nodded to a woman in a cream-coloured dress. She was around forty years old, and wore her short black hair in waves around her face. My wife. He answered. Shes quite the socialite. Me, I prefer a quiet night in. I looked between him and his wife and couldnt come up with an answer for my question. Why would such a handsome man settle for an older woman way below his league? Of course, the obvious answer came to mind; Money. Before I could ask, a man walked out onto the stage. He stood in front of the mike stand and tapped on the microphone. The amplifiers responded and people began to quieten down. Hello and welcome! he spoke into the mike. People began to clap. I rapped my left hand against my wrist so I wouldnt have to put my plate down. Ladies and gentlemen, wed like to welcome you tonight to celebrate a very important time in a certain mans life. This man has just published his first novel, at the rare age of twenty-six. Please give a warm round of applause for the author of Fall For Anything, Anthony Metzler!

The crowd began to clap again. I followed suit. Well, thats my cue. My new friend said to me, leaving his plate on the buffet table and ambling through the crowd towards the stage. I stood watching as he climbed onto the stage and took a microphone handed to him. Mr. Anthony Metzler seemed too regular to be an author. Of all the interviews with authors Id seen on the TV I expected a writer to be either painfully eccentric or extremely taciturn. Never so friendly and homespun. Thank you, Anthony Metzler spoke into the mike, patting his announcer on the back. He waited for the applause to die down before continuing. Im not good at making speeches, so Ill keep this short. Im sure you all want to get back to your party and the endless supply of alcohol. There came an encouraging Yeah! from Brian. He was still bothering the girl I sent him to, and she seemed ready to crack. Anthony Metzler gave him a thumbs up. I was taken by surprise at his easy-going nature. Well, speeches usually begin with thank-yous. Thats a tradition Im not quite ready to break yet. Metzler continued. I owe the biggest of thanks to my beautiful wife, Marla. I would never have even had a chance to publish Fall For Anything if not for her. She provided me with endless words from her immense vocabulary, and supported me when writers block almost made me quit. I could see Metzler was beginning to get emotional; his eyes were locked on his forty-something wife Marla and he took a pause here. Marla watched back, a shimmer of love in her eyes. Though there was something odd about their joined

gaze. It seemed too...rehearsed. Yet at the same time it wasnt completely fake. If she had never come into my life, I wouldnt be standing on this stage today. The crowd gave a murmur of Aww... as Metzler grinned and fidgeted, becoming uneased by his sudden moment of emotion. He continued with his speech, thanking Monsoon Publishing and the various influences in his life. The second Metzler ended his speech the band began to carry their instruments onto the stage. Metzler waded through the crowd, shaking hands and being hugged. When the throng finally parted to the rhythm of the swing band and Metzler was able to wriggle through, he came straight back to me. Well, straight back to his plate. He leaned against the wall again beside me with his food. Impressive, I joked. You could well be a private detective. He chuckled. I see youve been reading my novel. Actually, no. I replied. And I didnt know you were the author until just now. Your books about a private detective? Metzler raised his finger in a Hang on one second motion. He nodded to answer my question and left his nowempty plate on the table, swallowing his last mouthful. Follow me, he said, turning and walking towards a door to the right of the stage that I hadnt seen before. I shot him a questioning glance but left my plate anyway, scampering after Metzler. He gently pushed on the door handle and let the door swing open. The room seemed to be a tiny janitors closet; mops and brushes were propped against the right

wall, along with buckets and dusters. In the centre sat a small wooden table with a big cardboard box on it. Metzler walked into the room, turning on a light switch. The bulb flickered slowly to life and I wondered to myself why the offices of janitors were always so dirty. You like to read? Metzler asked me over his shoulder, pulling at the tape holding the cardboard box together. I walked timidly into the small, dirty closet. Dark, dank places were the home of spiders. And I am no friend to arachnids. I love reading, I replied, I have a floor-to-ceiling bookcase in my sitting room. I raised my arm to show Metzler the height of my bookcase. The light caught his teeth as he smiled at me. Got any favourites? The tape resisted against Metzlers hands. A lot of Edgar Allan Poe, the Brothers Grimm and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. But if you want to get modern then I would have to choose Jeff Lindsey. Ah, both a modern and a classic taste. Metzler commented as the tape finally gave way and the cardboard box could be opened. I stood by his shoulder and peered in. The inside of the box was stacked with shiny, clean hardback books. Metzler lifted one from the box and held it to the light so I could see. On the cover a man cloaked in shadow stood in front of a background of flames. On the bottom, the title Fall For Anything was printed above Metzlers name. He dug a pen from his pocket and opened the cover. He wrote something on the first page of the book and turned around me.

My first autograph. He said, holding out the book. I took it eagerly and glanced at the back. This is so cool, thank you. The music outside changed from The Best Is Yet to Come to the much more upbeat Peroxide Swing. The singer faltered at the beginning as he became accustomed to the repetition of lyrics. Metzlers eyes lit up and he took my hand. Care to dance? My cheeks grew warm as I stuffed my new book into my bag and was pulled by Metzler into the crowd, shutting the janitors door behind me. The dance floor was filled with people, many of them carrying drinks. Metzler led me to the centre and wrapped his arms around me. The music was loud and perfectly orchestrated. I barely had time to think before I was spun around until the room tilted. Metzler really did love this song, and he was a very enthused dancer. It wasnt long before the crowd had learned to give us a bit of space. I didnt even know where I was for the most part. When the song finally ended I was able to straighten myself out and get my head together. The dance had felt similar to a carnival ride. Okay were gonna go with a slow song next, the singer announced. Mainly so Mr. Metzler doesnt kill that girl. The crowd murmured with amusement and I stood with all eyes on me. Self-consciously I smoothed out my dress and fixed my hair; I only ever used hairspray on windy days. Today had been mild and slightly breezy, with a cool

ribbon weaving through the air. I had already experienced a New York winter, and although I longed for the beauty of freshly fallen snow and the sight of frozen statues standing in the open with crowns and cloaks of pure white, I still felt apprehensive about the added element of danger when snow falls that thick. Back in Ireland, when a few inches of snow fell, it was a cause for relaxation. Schools and businesses were closed early and buses were put out of action. I thought that the halt to activity was due to the fact that Drogheda is built entirely on hills, and to drive along these slopes is to risk an accident. Its the same for walking. So most people call it quits in early December and curl up on their couches with woolly socks, hot chocolate, and their box set of Friends. The music started again and I was roused from my trance as Anthony Metzler took my hands and wrapped them around his shoulders. I didnt protest. His arms slid to my waist and held me close as we turned, slowly this time, around the dance floor. Simona breezed by in the arms of a tall, muscled man. Alice! Get up at seven tomorrow! Why? I asked Simona before being twirled around in a circle. I got you a job interview to be Marla Montieros assistant. I thanked her as her dance partner led her away, grinning. Well, looks like you get to be my wifes new assistant! Metzler exclaimed. Good luck.

We lapsed into a comfortable silence, dancing in the centre off the floor. I felt so content and just plain happy in the arms of this lovely stranger. For the first time in my life I considered kissing a married man. Can I ask you a question? I said instead. Why arent you dancing with your wife? Metzler breathed out and drew me closer. Thats a long story. I looked up into his golden-flecked eyes. Ive got time. It turns out we actually didnt have time. I saw him coming before Metzler did. Like Brian earlier, he also appeared to be drunk. His meaty hand took Metzlers shoulder and whirled him around. His other hunk of a hand rose upwards to strike Metzler. The spry writer was too quick, however, and the fleshy fist swung through the air. As a reflex, I flinched back and almost slipped. I caught my balance on a couple behind me who had stopped dancing to view the ordeal. It was only now that I could get a good look at the fighter. He wasnt much taller than me, but he could have weighed twice as much. He seemed to be in his late-thirties, and he was already nursing a large paunch. His beady blue eyes hid behind greasy skin and burst blood-vessels. Mousebrown hair hung limply over his forehead. It seemed as if he had spent a very long time drowning those sorrows of his. He cursed at Metzler, staggering a little.

Metzler raised his hands in a calm down gesture. Hey, Jonathon, Metzler said gently. Take it easy. Dont you tell me to take it easy, you appallingly tedious excuse for an author. Jonathon slurred. It was obvious that he had prepared this speech beforehand, but he looked as though he had a bit of trouble remembering his lines. A man I recognised as the guy who introduced Metzler to the gathering stepped forward and placed his hands on Jonathons shoulders. Jonathon threw him off and continued towards Metzler. This should be my party! he garbled. A sixth grader writes better than you. The announcer stepped forward again. Jonathon, calm down. His hand again made contact with the drunks cheap, crumpled suit. This time Jonathons right hook didnt miss. A portion of the crowd caught their presenter as they had when I lost my balance. A belated chorus of surprise echoed the hall from the onlookers. From across the circle the people had made, I could see blood trickling between the announcers fingers, which were fixed to his forehead, directly above the arch of his left eyebrow. The band took notice and stopped playing to view the outcome. Admit it, Jonathon began to bellow. You only got published because youre banging the head editor. One meaty index finger found Metzlers wife Marla, who had pushed herself to the front of the ring. Her rose-coloured lips

parted in surprise and her eyes widened slightly. Who was this brute? Metzlers eyes sparked and he seemed to morph from a gentleman to a fighter in a matter of seconds. I got published because I stay sober enough to complete my novels. He shot back, a new edge to his voice. And leave my wife out of this. I realised later on that his wife was only an afterthought at that point. And now youve got yourself that little tramp to play with. Jonathon added, swinging his arm in my direction. I could feel my face warming and my eyebrows drawing together, my teeth closing down on the inside of my cheek. In one swift motion I was between the two authors, a hand hovering over each of their chests. Back to your corners.My voice was strong, not loud but I was still heard by everyone in the room. Many times in my life Ive been called an idiot, a bitch, a liar. I never cared. But no-one, absolutely no-one, could call me a tramp without getting a reaction. Tramp, whore, slut, it didnt matter. It was words like those that absolutely ruined me as a teenager. At this point the big security guard Simona and I had passed by at the doors had been alerted. Equipped with an equally-sized bear of a man, they each took an arm of Jonathon and began to drag him backwards, toward the doors. All the way outside Jonathon shouted some very indecent slurs to Metzler about himself, his wife, his novel, and yours truly. But only one of them stuck in my mind:

If you ever cross me again, I will fucking murder you. And something about Jonathons tone made me think that there was a grain of truth in his drunken haze.

Pantsuits and Pantyhose

The rest of the party passed in a nervous fog. People were thanked, couples danced, literature was discussed, and the announcer was taken care of and given a Band-Aid for his trouble. But everybody was shaken slightly by Mr. Jonathons outburst. I queried his presence at the party to an elderly author of a series of crime novels.

Jonathon Spheeris is a drunk and no more. More often than not his work is incoherent due to his lack of willpower and his abundance of money. I remember once when he was a great author, highly respected. But then younger, fresher authors came along to Monsoon Publishing and pushed him out of the picture. He didnt take his early retirement too well. To be honest, it did take me a few minutes to decipher his message, but I understood. Jonathon Spheeris was a jealous and drunken old fool. When the night finally ended and I had peeled off my red dress and tights, snuggled in my bed with nothing to keep me company except my own thoughts, I realised that I had actually enjoyed myself tonight, more than I thought I could. My mood plummeted when I thought of Melony. She would have thrived at a party like that. My heart sank so low I was sure that the old couple living in the apartment below me could see it. I thought back to the moment we met. I was inquiring about a job at a coffee shop, as I always seem to be doing, when I turned around after receiving another rejection and accidently threw my tea all over Melony. She had been mad at first, but after a few minutes, when the tea had been cleaned up and wed spoken for a few minutes, she had asked me to dinner. I was honestly gobsmacked; this gorgeous woman who Id just burned was asking me on a date. My mind unintentionally flashed to the break-up; Why had she been so angry at me? Melony may have been fiery, but I had never know her to be so cruel.

I guess what threw me most was the speed in which she went from zero to max power. A matter of seconds. And the way her eyes flashed at me; it was if I was looking at a Halloween bonfire. She had honestly scared me that night. Maybe it was just as well that things ended there. But through all my reasoning, I couldnt lift my heart back into my ribcage. I couldnt get rid of the horrible pang in my abdomen and the tightness in my throat, the heat behind my eyes. Bear seemed to sense my grief; he leaped from the floor onto the bed in one bound, settling himself in the hollow at the curve of my stomach. I felt the warm fluttering of the cats breath on my arm as he exhaled, almost sighing with me. T brn an domhain orm anocht. I murmured to the cat in Irish. Im very sad tonight. I finally managed to fall asleep with one hand stroking Bears fur, questions rattled about in my mind like nocturnal creatures that simply will not rest. Are you ready yet? Simona called from the sitting room. Do you want me to show up at your workplace naked? I called back, smiling to myself as I pulled on clothes. Simona had arrived at my apartment at seven in the morning and used her key to get in. I had just about woken up. I dressed and Simona and I left the apartment together.

The walk from my apartment building to the subway didnt take long. Along the way, we stopped at a coffee shop. Simona got some fancy concoction of coffee and countless creams and powders, and I got my usual tea with plenty of milk and sugar. I had only ridden the subway a few times at this point, and I made sure to stick by Simona, who made the commute from Manhattan to the Bronx every morning and back again when the workday ended. We strode onto the platform; I kept my head down as I concentrated on not tripping over something or somebody. It wasnt yours truly who crashed into someone though, for once. Simona was jabbering something about how to act in the interview, how I shouldnt make that face I make when Im put off by something. I asked about the face I make. It would seem that whenever I hear something that confuses me, or that I disagree with, or when I hear someone make a mistake, I purse my lips together and draw the right side up in a half-smile, and my right eyebrow draws closer to the centre. I had never noticed before. I accidently made the face when Simona explained this. See? Youre doing it right now. Her body bounced into that of a man who appeared from nowhere. I was too busy trying to see the face I was making in the warped metal surface of the subway. Luckily, her coffee didnt spill.

Hey, watch it she began, then stopped in her tracks. I looked up at the man shed bumped into. He was Simonas age, with straight, blonde hair gelled up and large eyes the colour of the coffee Simona had almost spilled. He may have been six foot tall, and had a strong build. In his arms he carried a heavy cardboard box. Im sure that I wouldnt have been able to pick it up, whereas he made it seem as though the box were empty. Oh my God, Simona. He said. His smile was genuine and astonished, showing straight, white teeth. I havent seen you in... Years. Simona finished. Wow. She was also smiling broadly. I stood watching their reactions and figured that they had known each other a long time ago, probably from school. Simona then remembered that she was not alone; she motioned to me, still smiling at the man. Eli, this is my friend Alice. Al, this is Eli Deacon. He was my, ah, friend, in high school. Oh, her ah-friend. That definitely meant one of two things; her ex-boyfriend, or a fella that shed had a massive crush on in high school. Eli Deacon stretched out his arm. I took it and tried to give it a good shake. To him it probably seemed weak. Nice to meet you, he said. Im sure Simonas much happier to see you than I could be. I replied, sipping my tea to hide a smile.

Simonas lips pursed together and one side curled upwards. You made the face! I pointed out, forgetting myself and how embarrassed Simona would be. Its alright to act like an idiot when theres no-one around, to quote the illustrator. Eli seemed confused; Simona blushed intensely and gave me a look that could only mean Shut up now. As always, I payed no heed. So, Eli, I began, stepping forward. Simona put a hand on my elbow to try and stop me. You obviously have known Simona for a long time, right? Eli nodded, smiling awkwardly. Clearly he did not want to be approached by the weird Face Girl. Yeah, I guess. I mean, weve known each other since we were fifteen. I nodded so vigorously that the soft curls bobbed at the back of my head. Right, and shes lovely, isnt she? Shes smart, and funny, and drop dead gorgeous, huh? What are you doing? Simona hissed. I waved her off. Elis smile was real now and his glance moved away for a second. She is. How would you like to go on a date with her? Alice! Eli looked between the two of us, unsure who to answer to. Sure, of course. He replied, laughing slightly. He seemed to be a little bit nervous. Is tonight alright? Tonights grand, I replied. Do you know the pub Low Places?

Eli nodded. Ive heard of it. Hows eight oclock there? Thats great. Eli replied. Ill see you there. He definitely spoke to Simona that time. Simona nodded nervously, her face flushed with red. Eli checked his watch and told us he had to hurry. When he left Simona turned to me with a face like thunder. Before she could speak, I held my hands out in a peace gesture. It was obvious that you like him, I replied calmly. And I know you; you would never ask him out without a little push. A little push? Alice, you threw me at him! What does it matter? I replied, binning my empty Styrofoam cup and boarding the subway, Simona doing the same. You have a date with your high school crush. She shook her head in annoyance, though I saw the small sparkles in her eyes when she thought I wasnt looking. She really did want to go out with Eli. Over the subway ride, I didnt push Simona to tell me about Eli; she would in her own time. Either that or Link would force her to spill under threat of a violent passing. My moneys on Link. After about forty-five minutes, the subway stopped and we were thrown out with the throng of other passengers, all making their commute. I resisted the urge to grab Simonas hand so I wouldnt get lost. We soon made it up and outside of the subway, and I felt relief at the cool air on my face. Down there had been

cramped, smelly and uncomfortably warm. Simona took off down the block, and I followed without question. After about ten minutes, she stopped and looked upwards. I followed her gaze. We stared at a tall building, the surface of which was reflective. Windows. Windows mean offices. Offices mean pantsuits and pantyhose. Simona pointed up, about six floors off the ground. Thats where I work. As we drew closer, I could see a glass sign drilled into the wall:

Monsoon Publishing
Simona pushed open the glass doors and let me inside. She walked to a shiny marble counter to the left of the lobby. A security guard stood in the right corner, closest to the door. Behind the massive counter sat a frail-looking woman in her mid-twenties. Her auburn hair was combed back and set in a smooth bun at the nape of her neck. I could smell her perfume from three feet away. Good morning, Stacey. Simona greeted. Stacey seemed a little bit surprised that Simona was speaking to her. Im guessing that she walks into this place every day and had never even acknowledged the girl. Good m-morning, Ms. Valentine. Stacey stammered. I wasnt sure if it was the surprise or if she had a stutter. What can I do for you? Mrs. Montiero is expecting to have an interview with Alice ODea. Simona replied, gesturing to me. I smiled anxiously. Oh, Staceys voice was faint. You havent heard?

Simona glanced at me, as if I would know what the receptionist meant. No, I havent heard anything. Mrs. Montiero isnt coming in today. She found her husband dead this morning.

One of Gods Better People

There was a tense silence as Simona and I evaluated this information. Anthony Metzler, the man I danced with, was now dead.

Oh my God, Simona finally uttered, one hand held over her mouth, as if willing the words to stay back. Oh my God. Its horrible, murmured Stacey. Do they know how he died? I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Stacey shook her head. A strand of fox-red hair slipped from her bun and brushed the side of her face. She absent-mindedly tucked it behind her ear. When Mrs. Montiero woke up this morning, she just couldnt get him out of bed. Simona let out a breath shed been holding in. I wrapped my arm around her, knowing how close shed been with Metzler. Simona nodded, indicating that she was okay. Alright, she said, rubbing her hands together. I guess Ill go to work. Ms. Valentine, Mrs. Montiero said its okay if some people want to go home; its been a shock for us all. Simona shook her head and attempted a smile. Ive got a lot of work to do today. Uhm, I cut in, if you stay, how do I get home? Take the subway. I dont know how. I admitted quietly. Of course, I knew how. My reason for staying was partly because I thought Simona could use the company. The other part was the fear of getting lost. Simona glanced at me. Then youll have to stay here for the day. Unless you want to go out; explore the Bronx.

I shook my head. I had an even bigger chance of getting lost on the streets of the Bronx than if I took the subway. She nodded and said goodbye to Stacey, walking to the elevators in the centre of the lobby. Simona led me upstairs to the sixth floor. I noticed that shed used her laminated card to make the elevator move. I asked about the level of security. There are a lot of ideas in the making up here. If anyone were to stroll in and take one, they could turn it into a best seller. And that would cost us, and the real writer, a lot of money. Her voice was beginning to return to normal. But wouldnt the real writer be able to press charges? I mean, intellectual property? Well, it can be very hard to prove who came up with what idea and when. I remember once, a woman was accused of stealing the plot of another author who was pitching their idea that day. As it turned out, she was only visiting her friend and had made small talk with the author. A few months later she published a similar book to the one the man said hed been working on. What happened in the end? It turned out that the woman had made that story all on her own; when she outlined the plot to the guy during their chat he stole it and pretended it was another work of his. The elevator stopped and we stepped out into a large room. The room was dotted with well-sized desks and drawing boards. About twenty people bounced around, sketching on the drawing boards, walking around with sheets

of greaseproof paper, and scrounging for pencils and stencil pens of certain colours. From the way the building was built, I knew that this image stretched in a square around us, with the elevator in the centre. I was surprised to see that Simona was the only person in office-clothes. Everybody else wore casual outfits; jeans, day dresses and Converse flitted from right to left. Simona showed me her drawing board. It was around the corner from the elevator doors, dead centre among the five drawing boards that lined along the windows. I actually envied her position. She had a lovely view of the city from here. I pulled a chair to Simonas board, which I was sure someone would need eventually, and watched as she worked. Her first task of the morning was to finish off her latest cover artwork. This was for a novel about a teenage suicide and the after-effects. Simona had drawn a teenage girl with flowing blonde hair, standing in the sun with her back to us. Her arms were outstretched, and it seemed as if she was about to leap. The background was indeterminate, and I couldnt tell if she was standing on the roof of a building or not. For one solid hour I watched Simona erase lines, redraw them, and erase them again. A little bit of extra shading here and there. Drawing lines of varying thickness with stencil pens. Pushing her glasses up her nose again. Simona resented her glasses, but was terrified of getting laser surgery after watching one of the operations on TV. Most days she wears contacts, but her vision was much better with her glasses. Thats why she only ever used them

for work and for reading. It was incredibly boring, watching her work in silence, but I couldnt seem to look away. I think that was the point of the cover; the gold light of the sun obliterated by the girls shadow, with only a few beams peeking through, making it hard not to notice the heavenly feel to the novel. She finished this, rolled up the picture, and got a small portion of white tape to hold it together. On the tape she wrote the letters HE/SV/PH. I enquired about the strange shorthand, guessing that the middle letters, SV, were her initials. Its short for Heavens End/Simona Valentine/Photograph. Thats the title of the book, the name of the illustrator, and the style of cover it would be. I think it would look much better as a photograph than a sketch. I nodded understandingly. What do you do with that now? I take it over here, Simona took the rolled-up artwork and strolled towards a closed door behind the elevator. In front of the closed door there was a rectangular metal box. Up until now I thought it was a bin. Upon closer inspection I saw other sheets of paper rolled-up and resting in the box. Even from my place at Simonas board, I could see identical stickers to Simonas, each with different initials. And my manager takes the box each weekend to look at the artwork and choose the best for the novels. Simona finished when she returned. Novels? I asked, stressing the plural. You work on more than one?

Of course. Im working on two others and starting another now. See Mark over there, Simona motioned to a man in his early thirties, who was staring at a whiteboard full of words which seemed meaningless to me. Hes been illustrating the Urban Dream series since it began. Right now hes brainstorming for the latest book. Id heard of the Urban Dream series. The author had been on some talk-shows, and I often saw the actual books in stores. I had been about to read them myself, but I realised soon into the first book that it wasnt for my taste. The series would appeal more to fourteen-year-old girls with a longing for stardom in Hollywood. For a while more I watched Simona work, then I told her I wanted to stretch my legs and get some air. She allowed me her laminated card to work the elevator, but only if I promised not to leave the building. I was allowed go to any floor below sixth; any higher was off-limits to me, the civilian. Since I didnt know what any of the floors contained except for sixth, I simply pressed the elevator button for the lobby. Simona told me not to leave; but I would only be gone for a few minutes, just outside the doors. So I figured it would be alright. Stacey the receptionist watched me like a tentative hawk as I ambled outside and sat on a bench a few metres to the left of the buildings doors. I opened my bag to check the time on my phone, and realized that Id left Metzlers book in there. Id forgotten to take it out after the party.

I felt a slight pang as I thought of his death. Hours, literally hours after I considered breaking one of my codes and making a move on him, he dies. Its amazing how much we dont know as humans. We dont even know whats going to happened a few minutes into the future. Not for certain. I held the book in my hands, smoothing down the cover. Simonas cover. She seemed to enjoy the shadow effect; placing a person in front of a source of light so they are immersed in shadow. And I had to agree. Many times similar covers had taken my attention. An image flashed across my mind; Anthony Metzler, holding his first novel out towards me, pen in hand. My first autograph. He had said, smiling broadly. I had a smile to match. Sitting Forrest Gump-style, with my knees together and my feet spread apart, I put the book in my lap and lifted the hardback cover to the very first page. On the inside of the cover slip was a picture of Metzler. The lighting in the picture was excellent; the gold in his hair shone like a halo, and gold flecks in his eyes matched his hair. Alice, a million thanks for making this party bearable for me. You are one of Gods better people. Anthony. I read out loud, barely above a whisper. My heart thrilled; I had never been called such a wonderful thing. One sharp note of laughter escaped my mouth as I realized how ridiculous it sounded. Youre one of Gods better people. It felt so cheesy. But at the same time I melted at the thought of how Metzler had described me, and I forgave him for his corniness.

I flipped the pages until I came to the beginning of the story. I made sure to soak up every bit of information. Every single word was examined. And for good reason; Anthony Metzler was a great author. His words kept me enthralled in this world of investigation he had created. I got lost in the life of Noel Asher, private detective extraordinaire. A look at my phone told me that I had been gone for almost an hour already. Simona must be livid. I placed the book into my bag and trotted into Monsoon Publishing, fearing the onslaught that would soon occur.

Who Wants To Live Forever?

Where the fuck have you been? Simona asked me as I trotted back onto the sixth floor. Her eyes were wide and red marks dusted her cheeks. Just as angry as I had expected. Getting some air. Somehow I figured that that excuse wouldnt be accepted anymore. For over an hour? Well, I got caught up in Metzlers book, I fished the book from my bag. Look what he wrote about me.

Simona glanced at the message as I held it in front of her. Al, you cant just leave my building for an hour and take my card. What if I had to go out for something? You couldve just called me. I tried weakly. Simona let out a long breath. Give me my card. I passed it over without question. Sit over there. I held my arms up in a peace gesture before slipping past Simona and sitting back on the chair by her drawing board. She walked across the room to the opposite side of the square, to the small kitchen area. From the other side of the room I heard her mutter to a guy in an AC/DC t-shirt, Its like Im babysitting a child. The guy gave a laugh and walked off with his coffee. It seemed as though Simona had been sharing our antics with the entire class. I looked then at the book in my hands and opened it to the page I had dog-eared. Noel Asher had just discovered another mutilated body, and I wanted to read on. The rest of the day in Simonas office passed without interruption; Simona sketched and shaded with her coworkers and I read. I became so enchanted by this wonderfully crafted world that I didnt even notice the hands on the clock moving swiftly around. I didnt notice the light of day passing through the sky and settling itself in a bed of clouds, not long before it was hidden completely and darkness ruled the sky. It was only when the final page was turned that I was finally drawn back into reality. I looked up from the book, the muscles in my neck stiff and painful from looking down. I

thought my neck might make the sound of rusty door hinges if it was held in that locked position any longer. I placed the book on my lap and stretched my spine until it cracked. I raised my arms high like a child asking to be picked up. All over my body joints popped and muscles strained. You back? Simona asked me. I had become completely unaware of her presence, and ended up jumping with shock. I nodded, feeling dryness in my throat. How long was I gone? Simona lifted her sleeve to check her watch. Lets see, you started reading at about ten thirtyseven hours Seven hours? Uh-huh. Simona was working on a different picture now. She had only begun drawing the skeletons for the actual work. You must have really enjoyed that book. I leant forward in my seat, almost slipping off of it. I did actually. I replied. I mean, it is so...so... Simona looked at me, her mouth turned up in a crooked smile. For once youre stuck for words. I grinned. Its just so damn cool. I mean, the guys a private detective. How cool is that? I knew I was gushingI felt like a teenager who had been asked on a date. Its just that I had never been so excited at any prospect. Can you imagine being a private detective? I mean, it was essentially like being a cop, right? Except you dont have to conform to their rules and you can investigate as you please. You can pick and choose your cases

and you wouldnt have to get warrants to search a place. I guess searching somebodys house would be illegal, but if its at the cost of lives then who cares? Its very cool. Simona agreed flippantly, shading in something in her picture. I could so do that. The words were out of my mouth before Id even comprehended what I was saying. Simonas jaw dropped as she put down her pencil and looked at me. No Alice, no. Why not? I asked, showing my teeth in a grin. I could definitely do that. Alice, Simona turned to me and spoke as if this were an intervention. being a private detective is a very dangerous job. You could get serious injured or even killed. Its also illegal to investigate without a license. Which you will have to pass a test to get. I could get it. I nodded, my hair bobbing. I had never felt so thrilled in all my life. You failed the physical exam to get into the NYPD. Simona replied, Youre not fit enough for a job like this, Al. I could get fit. Im telling you, I could do it. At this point I knew there was no stopping me. Im very stubborn that way. Once an idea formed that Im eager for, theres no way to hold me back. Simona fixed me with an intense cerulean gaze. Alice...Please dont. I found it hard to resist her pleading eyes. I swallowed thickly. I really could, you know. I added quietly, cocking my head to the side.

Simona dropped her gaze and turned back to the drawing board. She let out one note of defeated laughter. Youre gonna get yourself killed. Oh well, who wants to live forever? She glanced at me and pursed her lips to keep from smiling. You are the stupidest person Ive ever known. I know. I stretched my back again. What time is it? Five thirty. How long until you get off? Just thirty minutes. Simona replied. Then forty-five minutes on the subway, about half an hour to Low Places...Youll have forty-five minutes to get ready for your date! I grinned. Date? Simonas eyebrows drew closer together. Oh, right, you mean the date that you forced me into? You wouldve gone anyway if hed asked you himself. You both just needed some help. I replied, checking my phone. One message from Link; How was the book bash last night, Boo? Get lucky? I couldnt stop myself from smiling. Back in Ireland my friends had been quite conservative and modest. I never had the opportunity to interact with a person like Link. I was surprised at how refreshing he could be. No matter whats happened he can always lead me back to a smile. If not, hell make one appear with considerable force. Pretty soon it was time to leave for home. We repeated the subway trip back to Manhattan. I was home by seven oclock. Since both of us wanted to change our clothes

and get something small to eat, we each went our separate ways and agreed to meet at Low Places at a quarter to eight. I couldnt help but wonder if I had been incredibly stupid to vow to become a private investigator. Fear hit me like a brick. This could be the death of me.

Swing When Youre Winning

I walked into my apartment and took the time to gaze around. I remember the first time Id been here; it was on a tester trip to New York. I went for a week and stayed in a hotel, and while I was there I browsed several apartments. The second I saw this place I fell in love. When you open the front door to apartment 4B, you are accepted immediately into the green- and white-tiled kitchen. To the direct right there is a door leading into a spare bedroom, or whatever you choose it to be. After that theres the kitchen counter, which is attached to the right wall until you come to the large opening into the sitting room, where the counter continues going and blocks half of the empty doorway, creating a sort of divide. Around the counter I placed barstools that the owners of Low Places had given me when they renovated the pub.

The sitting room takes up most of the space in my apartment. I peered in at the cobalt walls and cream carpet. There were two purple couches that I got at a yard sale ten months prior, one three seater and one two seater at right angles to each other. The three seater faced away from the kitchen and towards the TV at the opposite end of the room. The two seater is to the right. The city lights outside stained the dark room shades of orange. I crossed the room, being careful of the wooden coffee table in the centre, and stood in front of the book case to the left of the TV. I pulled Anthony Metzlers novel from my bag and slid it into place on the shelf eye-level to me, right between Harper Lees To Kill A Mockingbird and The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. From my front door, if you turn left you are met with the wall to my bedroom. I crossed my kitchen and left the door to my bedroom open as I changed into a fresh pair of clothes. My worn clothes were strewn on the double bed in front of the door and a fresh pair of jeans and t-shirt were tossed onto it with them. The soft purple fabric made rustling noises as I changed on it. I didnt bother to turn on the lights; I could see well enough with the help of the city. My walls seemed to pale from lime green to mint in the darkness. My bathroom was to the right of my bedroom door, so if you had a birds-eye view of my apartment, the bathroom would be directly behind the kitchen, with doors on either side so that people visiting wouldnt have to go through my bedroom to reach the bathroom, and at the same time I could reach it without going through the kitchen and the sitting room.

I selected a hat from the walk-in closet to the left of my bed. I was always told that hats suit me and that I should wear them more. This fedora was sent from Ireland by my dad on my birthday in May. It was black with white pinstripes and a changeable band. I wore a red band tonight as it matched my aging Converse. I kept the back rim bent upwards, but let the front lie straight. I placed it on the top of my head with a slight tilt to the left, pushing the brim down slightly over my forehead. It surprised me how much time Id spent arranging the fedora. I had time to make and eat a small sandwich before leaving the apartment building wearing my old Converse, straight-leg black jeans, a t-shirt with a black and white cartoon of Charlie Chaplin, my trusty old hat, and a red rubber wristband. It was exactly a quarter to eight when I walked in the doors of Low Places. Simona was already there; she was sitting at the bar with Link. Well dont you look swinging? Link approved as I joined them. I cocked my head to the side in a nod. As always. Without even having to ask, Link had slid a Heineken under my nose. Did Simona tell you about her hot date? I asked, lifting myself onto a barstool. Sometimes I dislike being small. To sit on barstools I have to brace me feet against the side of the bar and lift myself onto the seat. Its the same everywhere.

Link shot Simona a look. Oh have you? he asked in a very interested tone. Oh yes. I replied. We both watched Simona squirm. Mr. Eli Deacon from high school. Ah, from high school? Link continued our skit. Yes indeed. And you know what Link, I drew Link in close but spoke loud enough for Simona to hear. if there had been a gas leak we all wouldve been fucked because the sparks between those two were intense. Alright! Simona spoke, trying to shut us up. I hope you wont act like this when he gets here. Dont worry, we will, sugar. Link replied, not even looking as he served his customers. So, what? Did you guys have a little fumble behind the bleachers? Did you skip third period together? I continued. Simona shook her head. Im sure her smile was only there because of how stupid we seemed. If you absolutely must know, Link and I leaned in close. We dated. For a year. We let out noticeable breaths. A year, Sy. Link said. Thats a long time. He said you met when you were fifteen. Does that make him your first? I asked. Link tapped my shoulder, a sign that that was a good question. Simona opened her mouth in preparation for a lengthy two-against-one battle. Okay, have you heard what Alice told me today? Oh, youre changing the subject.

She told me that shes going to be a private detective. Is that what this is for? Simona flicked the brim of my hat so it slid backwards and dislodged my fringe. A private detective, kitten? Link asked me. I nodded, tipping the fedora back down the way I like it. Yeah, you know. I read that book that the author wrote. Thats whose party we were going to. Sy told me about that, that he died this morning? Im sorry to hear that, love. Sy said you made friends with him last night. I nodded vigorously, not even registering Links condolences. Yeah, and I read his book today, and its just awesome. The guys a private detective and he solves this big murder case. But hes not supposed to because hes not a cop, and then hes got an ex-cop after him who blames him for ruining his career. Its really great, and I think I could actually do that. Solve crimes and the like. My sentences came rushed and tripping over one another as I flustered, again becoming a teen in a matter of seconds. How ridiculous is that? Simona asked Link, gesturing to me. Those are the ramblings of a crazy person. Link looked me up and down. I could almost see the cogs moving in his head as he evaluated the situation. Go for it, hun. What?! Simona burst out. I couldnt help but grin. We had become accustomed to Links decision being the final word. You think so? I gushed.

Of course, Al. You got just enough smarts to know your rights and wrongs, and youre sure as hell instinctual enough to survive. Ive seen you handle yourself in a fight. You could kill a bitch. You have a bit of trouble putting two and two together, but thats what were here for. Link reviewed, cleaning glasses as he went. Link, the girl cant even walk in a straight line without knocking something over. And thats when shes sober. Simona retorted. None of that really matters, Sy. Link replied, pulling a Guinness. She can get along fine. Our Alice is a fighter, you know that. Not the sharpest tool in the shed. But she relies on her heart, not her head. Thats all you really need. A noise very similar to Ahww, escaped my mouth when Link said this. I couldnt believe that this was how he viewed me. Simona downed the last of her bottle, defeated. I dont know how you can support this madness. I dont know how you cant. Link replied, one canine bearing through his lips in a slight smile. Simona began to explain how dumb we all were, when her eyes travelled past me and locked on something at the pub entrance. Okay, hes here. Hows my hair? She ran her hands over her head, smoothing down her hair. Youre golden, angel. Link encouraged. Go get that jock. I put in. I dont want either of you speaking to him. Fair enough. I replied. Link nodded.

Without further delay, Simona breezed through the bar and welcomed Eli. Hes cute. Link commented as we watched Simona and Eli embrace for a second, then walk towards us. I thought she didnt want us speaking to him? I asked before they reached the bar. Link shrugged before walking forward. What can I get you, buttercup? he asked Eli. Eli seemed taken aback slightly. That was a pretty common reaction among straight men towards Link. Eli, this is my friend Link. And you remember Alice. Simona greeted. Eli shook Links hand over the counter and gave a small wave to me. I did the same, scooting over a barstool so I would be directly next to Eli. This way he was blocked between Link and me and the booth behind him. Eli...? Link asked. Deacon. Eli finished, running a hand through his blonde hair. Eli Deacon, okay. Link repeated. What do you work as? Im a journalist Eli Deacon replied. Oh, really? I asked. Like, newspapers or magazines? Have you heard of the Manhattan Chronicle? Link and I nodded simultaneously. I had never read the prominent broadsheet, but I had often spotted it in shops.

I just took up a position there. Thats why I moved back to Manhattan. Eli ran a hand through his hair again. It sprang back into place easily. Where did you live before? I asked. Oh sorry, sweetie. What do you want? Link remembered that he hadnt actually taken Elis order. You got Bud? Link presented Eli with a bottle. Just came up today from Philadelphia. Eli answered my question. Simona cut in. Do you want to get a table? I dont mind. Eli replied, slightly confused by Simonas sudden annoyance. They soon left us to sit in a booth opposite the pool table. Simona shot us a look as she left. I knew it meant I told you not to talk to him. She really likes him. I murmured to Link, who nodded in agreement. It wont last though. I turned to Link. What do you mean? Link paused to collect his words. Theyve already dated. Back when they were fifteen. I nodded, waiting for him to go on. So, theyll both be expecting the fifteen year old they left behind, and neither of them will be happy with the twenty-three year old theyve got now. I understood what Link meant; they would each be expecting to be talking to their high school sweetheart. But people have a tendency to change over the years. Especially over the teenage years.

We didnt have time to expand on the subject though, as at that moment a very awkward situation walked through the door. Ian.

Date Night
It seems silly that after all this time I still dont know Ians last name. Ive known him for about a year, and I still dont know his name. Whatcha gonna do, Al? Link asked. Im gonna see what he does first. We watched as Ian greeted his friends and challenged them to a friendly game of pool. I overheard a tall, skinny man speaking to Ian. I think his name was Gary.

Your round. He said to Ian. Your little honeys already there.` Ian swiped a hand in front of his friends face to shut him up. Be quiet, man. I dont know if she knows we made out. Aw crap. I said. Link turned around from an elderly man known as Ernie who I had never seen enter or leave Low Places. What? Ian knows we made out. Wow, Link replied, leaning on the bar with one hand, placing the other in a fist on his hip. That guys got an amazing tolerance to alcohol. I mean, he was so drunk, and he still remembers. I looked at Link, eyebrows raised. Not the point I was going for, Link. He shrugged and collected money from the old man, who had a tendency to pay drink-by-drink. I turned back as Ian stepped up to the bar and leaned against it. He looked at me for a second, testing the waters. I looked back, unsure of what to say. Hi, Ian finally said. Hi. I replied quietly. There was a moment of silence as we considered our next move. Ian sucked in a breath and let it out. Link conveniently removed himself to change the CD. The Scissor Sisters became the Stereophonics. Link knew he couldnt be away from the counter for long. He walked back up to us and asked for Ians order.

Four Carlsbergs when youre ready, LinkDo you want another Heineken? It took me a second to realize he was talking to me. Um, I replied, gazing into my bottle again. Sure, okay. Thanks. No problem. Drinks were given and the silence crept back upon us. We didnt meet each others gaze. We couldnt. He slipped away wordlessly, his mates drinks clutched in his hands. A sneaky glance backwards told me how hilarious his friends thought this situation was. Link let out his breath and caught my eye. That went well. I cocked my head in a you know it gesture and downed my Heineken, beginning on the one Ian bought me. Know whatll cheer you up? Link gestured behind me with a nod of his head. I turned in my seat and found Simona speaking to Eli. They were both laughing. Shes having fun. I commented. Simona stood from her seat and walked past the stage, into the bathrooms. Link and I eagerly watched Elis movements. He dug an iPhone from his pocket to check the time. Well, hes got money. Link noted. Arent most journalists well paid? I asked. Links reply was a movement of his shoulders. Eli leaned forward in his chair as a girl who couldnt possibly be twenty-one yet strolled by. She walked past him,

swinging her hips to the beat of Superman. We saw the unmistakable leer in Elis eyes as he checked her out. Ooh, thats not good. Link said. Sy wont be happy with that. Simona returned from the bathroom and settled back into her seat in front of her date. Looks like our Elis a bit of a ladys man. Link absently pulled a drink. I sucked in a breath through my teeth. I hoped that Eli Deacon wouldnt take Simona for granted. She seemed to really like him. The next hour passed by without any surprises. Ian returned to the bar every twenty minutes or so to get the next round. Every time he returned to the bar, conversation plummeted into awkward silence until he scurried away. At nine oclock Eli stood from his seat, and he and Simona walked to the door. At the open doorway they embraced, and then Eli Deacon disappeared into the night. Simonas face held a dreamlike quality as she sauntered over to us and slid into the barstool beside me. She signalled to Link for a drink. You look happy. Link stated with a sly grin. Simonas beaming smile confirmed that the date went excellently. Will you be seeing him again? I asked, leaning my elbow on the counter and resting my cheek on my fist. The two consecutive late nights and one early morning were beginning to take their toll. As well as the multiple misfortunes I had recently been recipient to.

Simona bit her lip to contain her joy. Sunday. Were going bowling. I looked at Link in disbelief. Bowling? Simona nodded. Sy, you cant even kick my shoes out of the way in my apartmentHow can you handle wearing rentals? Simonas poker face came into view. She obviously hadnt thought of that. Well, Ill just have to bring my own. You dont have bowling shoes. Link replied. Ill get some. We let it slide, deciding that to ruin Simonas good mood would mean a rather large hissy fit. We left early at half past nine. The pub was just beginning to get busy and I could feel a headache begin to creep its way into my brain. I relished the cool night air, tightening my trench and pushing my hat down. I shivered and closed my eyes, waiting for Simona to get her coat on. We were just about to begin the walk home when someone came to the door of Low Places. Hey, Ian called, leaning against the doorframe with one arm. If its gonna be awkward between us, we may as well be dating. I glanced at Simona, confused. My cheeks warmed despite the cold night and I hid a smile. Okay. Ian grinned, wrapping the arm he was leaning on over his other one. He wore only a t-shirt, and was feeling the cold already. Meet here on Sunday, two oclock? I nodded. Sounds good.

Ian showed his teeth triumphantly as he disappeared back into the pub, and I felt my stomach flutter. I couldnt help it. It seemed like forever since Id been asked out. The last time was when I met Melony. Oh God, Melony. My heart dropped when I thought of her. Her silky black hair and warm brown skin. Beautiful white teeth and night-black eyes smiling at me. It wasnt hard to see why she was chosen to act on her show. I took the pounding in my chest and suppressed it. What am I upset about? She was discerning, unkind, manipulative, and she hated my friends. Of course its better that shes gone, stop whining. But then again...She was wonderful when we were alone. I miss that. Late Saturday mornings lying in bed with her, content with just being there. No phones were allowed at this time, no leaving the bed for any reason other than to use the bathroom. I took a brief pause from my dream to say goodnight to Simona before turning the opposite way to my apartment. 293 Winchester Street, apartment 4B welcomed me like a cold slap in the face. I stripped myself of my clothes and donned my pyjamas, collapsing into bed. Bear was already there, shifting to his other side without opening his eyes as I climbed in next to him. Fatigue took its toll before I could get too depressed, and I soon fell into a restless sleep. In one quick swoop, I had the robbers gun in my hands. I clicked on the safety and dropped it to the marble

tiled floor. He stared at me, unsure how I had even gotten close enough to swipe his gun. But now mine was trained on him. Drop your weapon. I announced strongly, not a tremor in my voice to be heard. And he did; he complied to my orders exactly. On your knees. Hands behind your head. He followed every one of them. But then the hostages of the bank robbery were shouting at me; Melony, Anthony Metzler, Ian, they were screaming at me to run, run Alice, run! But my feet were stuck to the marble bank floors and as I turned I saw Jonathon Spheeris at the vault, shovelling cash into a sack. I shouted for him to drop the bag, but my gun had disappeared and they werent afraid of me anymore. The first robber stood and reclaimed his firearm, pointing it right into my face. The hostages screamed, Alice, Alice, Alice! My breath caught in my throat as the robber removed his ski mask and I came face to face with...nothing. This...this creatures features were morphed and obliterated; I stared at a face. Just a face. The eyes, the nose, the mouth, they were all gone. Just a smoothened and featureless face, like a clay model that had been molested, ruined, destroyed. And it scared me more than the gun it trained on me, more than anything Id ever seen in my whole life. I sat bolt upright in bed, breathing heavily. My tank top was stuck to my back. My hair was slick with sweat. I

blinked in the night and tapped on my phone. The clock on it said that it was four in the morning. My hands were shaking and I gulped oxygen like a landed fish. I stepped from the bed and ran to the light switch. I felt safer in the lit room than I had when it was dark. In the bathroom I splashed water on my face and tried to calm myself. I pushed my mind to think of other things, anything, trying to forget that horrible image. But the more you try to forget something, the closer it sticks to your mind. The fear was like an open wound in my very core. What the hell was that?

Day One
By Sunday Id partially recovered from my slight breakdown over Melony and I splitting up. All of Saturday had been a me day. I didnt go back to sleep after that hideous dream, but instead settled on the couch with a bowl, a box of Coco Pops and a carton of milk. I turned the TV onto the early-morning cartoons, delighted that they were still

showing Tom and Jerry. By eleven oclock, I switched to my box set of The IT Crowd, and by half three in the afternoon I had taken to The Big Bang Theory. I made sure that I would only watch light-hearted shows in an attempt to boost my mood. And it did work, somewhat. At seven oclock I spoke to my dad on Facebook through a video call. We shared the usual conversation starters before getting into our own things. Every time my mom walked past the computer, Dad would begin to speak in Irish to me, so only I could understand. And my cousin Leigh, of course. My mother and my sister belong to what I call the diluted Irish, otherwise known as people who are technically Irish but do not take part in anything essentially Irish, for example, the language. They just never took to the language like my dad and I did. Leigh spoke only a little, but all youd like is a few words to get you by. My fathers grandmother came from England. She was a stubborn woman who strived to stay as English as possible, despite having conceded to move to County Limerick with my great-grandfather and set up roots in 1940s Ireland. This is why she insisted that her childrens surnames be pronounced Oh-Day instead of the proper OhDee. And in a way, Id have to thank her. I enjoy having such a sunny feeling to my name. They shared three years of marriage together before the lovely Margaret was fatally kicked by a wild horse. Her husband James was so numb with grief that he offed himself within the year of his wifes death. Their only child, a little boy named Jimmy ODea, was

adopted by his aunt and uncle who lived in Drogheda, County Louth. It was in that town in which he grew up, and in that town where he fell in love with the bakers daughter, Lily Anne. Lily Anne and Jimmy lived happily ever after and raised five children, three sons and two daughters. The middle of the sons was my father. He and my mother were neighbours for years, and every Christmas my father would jokingly ask her to marry him. And one surprising Christmas Eve she answered with Maybe someday. And that someday happened exactly four years later, Christmas Eve 1986. Dad questioned about my relationship with Mike. I informed him of our decision to go our separate ways. My parents dont know of my bisexuality. Im not afraid that they would be angry, or disappointed. My mothers just generally disappointed in me, and Dad loves me anyway. Its just...weird. When I think of coming out to them, it just feels weird. I feel like it would be easier to tell them the details of the first time I had sex. And believe me, that conversation certainly would not bode well. Moving swiftly on, I informed Dad of my decision to become a private investigator. He showed mild surprise and good support. Dad was always a fan of Sherlock Holmes, and he wished me good luck in my adventures. We exchanged trivial information about the weather, family and anything interesting in the news, before logging off. I went to bed early to compensate for the sleep Id missed the past few days. I forced my mind to think of sunnier climes, and after a while, I began to fall asleep. It would seem that the fear from my nightmare had mostly

dissipated, though I still felt uneasy whenever the memory crossed the back of my eyes. The next day I found myself in Low Places, waiting for Ian on Sunday. He arrived at exactly two oclock and we left the pub. Link gave a wink and a wave as we left. Where are we going? I asked Ian in the small alley that the entrance to the pub was located in. A calico cat we named Skip, well, skipped past us, a half of a slice of bread gripped in his teeth. I thought we would take a walk in Central Park, Ian answered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. I nodded okay and we began to walk. I have to say, as simple as the date was, it did clear my mind up quite a bit. And I learned a lot about Ian that I never knew before. His name was Ian Cole; he had lived in Manhattan for six years, but originally came from Ohio. He was twenty-four years old. His mother was named Bella, and his father was named Matthew. He had a brother and a sister, both in high school, named Jessica and Richie. Richie had a girlfriend, Sandy. Ian worked as a post man. Well, mail man, as theyre called in America. And he learned quite a bit about me as well; Alice ODea, twenty-one years old, grew up in Ireland. My mother is Fionnuala, and my father is Liam. My sister is Gemma, and she takes after my mother. Our cousin Leigh had lived with us since I was fourteen and Gemma was seventeen. His parents died in a car crash, and being the closest family to him, we took him in. He was only six months younger than me.

Gemmas been engaged to a reticent man named George for three years now, and I didnt think theyd ever tie the knot. I bounced around with jobs but had recently decided on sleuthing as a career path. I was amazed at how fast the time flew; the last time I checked my phone, it was two oclock. When I checked again it was half six. We were in a caf when I realized the time. In my hand my phone rang; it was Simona, calling to tell me to set my alarm for seven in the morning, that Mrs. Montiero had set our meeting for the first thing Monday morning. I enquired about her own date; her voice had already told me that it went successfully, but I wanted details. She said shed tell me on Monday. Ian walked me home like a gentleman, and I invited him in for tea. He politely declined, and we parted ways. Arrangements were made for dinner on Wednesday night. I honestly couldnt wait. I rose at seven oclock with a dark cloud over my head. I wanted to be dead to the world again. Begrudgingly I showered and ate breakfast, walked to the entrance of the subway to wait for Simona. She arrived, and together we made the journey to the Bronx. She directed me to the twelfth floor of Monsoon Publishing, where I would sit and wait for Mrs. Montiero to call me. I was waiting only five minutes before Mrs. Montiero rushed in, carrying a stack of manuscripts. She spoke hurriedly into a headset phone. I stood, hands politely folded over the front of my jeans.

Mrs. Montiero? I questioned quietly. She raised a finger in a one moment gesture. I sank back into my chair and waited for her cool grey eyes to land on me. Youre that girl, arent you? The girl that Simona Valentine suggested to me? I stood again and answered in the affirmative. Yes, Alice ODea. I held out my hand for her to shake. She didnt. Great. You look like a good, strong girl. Take these. She unloaded the great pile of manuscripts on me. My breath was pushed out of my lungs as the stack bumped into my diaphragm. I thought there was an interview? I havent got time. Youre hired. Take those to my office, put them on the desk next to the other pile. Mrs. Montiero dropped a key on top of the pile. I stretched one tentative hand up and took the key. The woman pointed down the hall, and I followed her directions. Her office door had a plaque on the front, which read Marla Montiero, Head Editor. With the manuscripts dropped off, I had a look around her office. Wooden floors and a shiny mahogany desk, a wonderful view. A bookshelf full of books that became bestsellers for Monsoon. I recognized most of them. Bounce, How It Goes, and Wild in the Streets were personal favourites of mine, each with their spot on my own bookshelf. Mrs. Montiero breezed into her office and took her seat behind the large mahogany desk. You can sit over there. She motioned to a chair and a small desk in the

corner which I hadnt seen before. I sat obediently with perfect posture and my hands on my lap. In the meantime, you can type these up for me and email them. The addresses are on the back of each one. She held up a stack of handwritten papers, and I stood up for them. They seemed to be a stack of thank-you cards for the more important guests at the party. There was about twenty of them. Are you fast at typing? Mrs. Montiero asked. I nodded yes and sat back down. Mrs. Montiero? I said tentatively. Im sorry about your husband. I spoke to him at the party. He seemed to be a really nice guy. Im sorry about your loss. Mrs. Montiero glanced up at me through designer reading glances. Thank you, was all she said. Her voice wasnt sincere; it was all business Isnt it a bit early to return to work? Mrs. Montiero shrugged. Things here will fall apart without me. I prefer to keep busy; staying in the house by myself would drive me insane. May I ask, did you find him? Mrs. Montiero nodded as she typed away at her own computer. Yes. Friday morning. Her answers were clipped and solid. Almost emotionless. Have they determined the cause of death? She nodded again. Poisoning. Cyanide. Oh, Im so sorry. My voice portrayed my thoughts perfectly; shock and sadness. But at the same time I felt, more than heard, a voice at the back of my head whispering to me.

You wanted to be a private detective...Go, detect. Investigate. Sleuth. That immediately shut me up. Really? Take up a case? I suppose that even with my gung-ho attitude towards investigation, I had never thought that I would actually do it. Are you sure? Just, what? Begin to investigate the death of the man who had, essentially, set me on this trail in the first place? I guess it is fitting, after all. But could I really do it? Were talking about real humans here, not just characters in a TV show or a book. I could end up hurting someone. Or myself. I could die doing this. I could be involved with a killer. Or killers. They could kill me. They probably would, if I got close enough. Simonas voice of reason flooded my mind; No! This is absolutely insane! What the hell are you thinking? You will die, Alice. This will be the death of you. My thoughts flashed back to that horrible blank face from my dream, and I understood. I would be facing terrifyingly unknown foes if I went along with this. Could I handle myself if I came face-to-face with someone like that? Then again, think of all the good I could do if I succeeded. I could help the people that the NYPD just dont care about enough. Or the people who pay to have their crimes covered. I could exploit them, reveal their true natures. I thought back to my childhood years with Leigh, reading Marvel comics under the cherry blossom tree on the edge of his housing estate, before he came to live with us. More often than not we would be seen racing across the

green field with bath towels attached around our necks with clothes pegs, acting as capes. How many fictional crimes had we stopped? Hundreds, maybe thousands. I know that this wont be as easy as stopping an imaginary bank robber, but Id still be doing good, right? I mean, I could help people. I could save lives. The voice of reason in my mind was cancelled out by both excitement and fear mixing together in an extremely potent cocktail. Ill do it. Ill try it, and if Im any good, well. Welcome to the world, Alice ODea, private detective. Theres a coffee shop down the street; large black coffee, sugar, a blueberry muffin. Marla Montiero stopped me in my tracks. She pushed the appropriate amount of notes across the desk. And I want it back before it gets cold. I took the money and ran my errand. On the walk to the coffee shop, I was euphoric. A new job, possibly a new lover in Ian, a new goal. I was on top of the world. I was so happy that I could barely say Mrs. Montieros order to the barista through my smile. Just for happiness sake, I got myself a chocolate muffin. I spun toward the door, coffee in one hand and muffins in the other, and who should I spot across the coffee shop? None other than Jonathon Spheeris. Square One of my investigation. He had threatened to kill Anthony Metzler a mere hours before his death. Thats definitely suspicious.

I sidled up next to him, taking a few sachets of sugar from the stand. Jonathon Spheeris was mixing sugar and cream into his coffee. Hi, I said. He glanced up, his eyebrows drawn together. Hi? I think I remember you from Anthony Metzlers party on Thursday. Okay, so Im not the greatest at undercover work. Yet. Jonathon Spheeris looked at me properly this time. Oh right. Sorry about what I called you. Youre grand. I said hurriedly. So did you hear about Anthony Metzler? Yeah. Poor guy. Spheeris answered, placing the lid back on his Styrofoam cup. I know. I spoke to Mrs. Montiero. She says he was poisoned. I replied, stressing the word to see his reaction. Spheeris lower right eyelid twitched. He swallowed and nodded. Ill get blamed. This took me back a step. What do you mean? Ive always been fighting with Anthony. And what I said last night...Theyll blame me. Who? Marla Montiero. The cops. Spheeris shrugged sadly. I was drunk and upset. He met me with his watery blue gaze and held it there. I didnt kill Anthony. I swear it. Something inside me wanted to believe him, but I just couldnt. I dont think it was a coincidence that Anthony Metzler died the night Jonathon Spheeris threatened to murder him.

I guess well find out eventually.

The Latest Flame

I trotted up to Link and leaned against the bar. Whats the craic? Link grinned. Arent you chipper today?

I am. I nodded as Link went to get a Heineken. Just a Coke for now. When do you get off work? I wasnt supposed to be in, cupcake. I just opened up. I only just realised that there was no-one else in the pub except Link and myself. It was already half six in the evening; there should be a couple of people in by now. I can go once Jo Ann gets here, and she said shed be over in about ten minutes. Great, I replied. Were going for private detective supplies. I left the bar with my Coke and set up the pool table. Link left the bar to join me, picking up and chalking a cue. I adjusted the hat I wore, a beige train driver hat, which was also given as a birthday present, but from my friend Ciara instead. She had given it to me on my eighteenth birthday. You really gonna do it, hon? Link smiled as he broke the triangle of pool balls. I nodded. I had a good long think about it last night Link, and I really do think this is the best move for me. I carefully potted a red ball. And if Im gonna sleuth, Im gonna need supplies. Like what? Flash light, rope, plastic baggies. I shrugged. The white ball missed its target and bounced on the side, brushing past the black. Whatever I see thatll be useful. And why am I coming? Link said as he easily potted a yellow ball. We played the European standard pool, not the American. European standard uses only red and yellow balls, plus the black and the white. One person breaks, and they

take turns until someone pots a colour. Whatever colour they pot, they must only pot that colour from then on. If they pot the opposite colour, then the other player gets two goes. If they pot their own colour, then they get another go. Because Simona doesnt like it. And youre my only other friend. We didnt get time to finish our game before Jo Ann, one of the owners of the pub, walked into the bar. Jo Ann gave both Link and I a hug, even though we see her every other day. We were soon dismissed as Jo Ann took control of the pub. Jo Ann and her husband Dith were from a village just outside of my hometown. After living in Manhattan for fourteen years, their accents had faded completely. They still knew how to run a damn good Irish pub in any case. By the time wed returned to the pub later that day, we were carrying two shopping bags. Both mine. The days journeying had given us a lovely little penlight, a good long length of rope, a hook to attach to the rope, plastic gloves, plastic Ziploc baggies, tweezers, a pocket knife, sticky tape, duct tape, binoculars, a small notebook and pen, a magnifying glass, a hammer and a screwdriver, and a black backpack to carry it all in. You should have seen the face of the poor teller when she saw all of this. Id also gotten a pair of simple black trainers, black jeans, a black hooded top, and a black ski hat. I was ready. Link asked me why had I bought a hammer and screwdriver, and I carefully explained to him how you could bust open a lock by placing a screwdriver into the keyhole and banging the end of it with a hammer. I told him how

Leigh and I had always broken the lock of my sisters bedroom to annoy her. We had to return to the pub earlier than expected when Link had gotten a call to fill in for the other bartender Dee, who had been overcome by the flu. Simona entered the pub and made a beeline for Link and I. Okay, you have to listen to this. She said with a serious tone to her voice. Since Eli has no friends in New York except me, Ive invited him to hang out with us. Is this Eli the Jock? Link joked. See, thats what I was going to say. None of that. No jokes about him. None of your usual idiocy. Here he is. Eli had managed to slip beneath both mine and Links radar, and he came at us from the bathroom rather than the open door. Hey, he said as he sat on a stool between me and Simona. Can I get a Bud? Course you can, love. Link answered, plopping a bottle in front of Eli. Thanks. There was a slight silence here. It seemed that no one had anything to say. Link broke it after a few seconds. If heres one thing that Link hates, its silence. Did Simona tell you? Alice heres gonna be a private detective. Link smiled. Oh God, Simona moaned. Thats cool. Eli answered. What makes you want to do it?

I can help people, I gave my best politician smile. And I think itll be interesting. Despite the fact that the girl complains when she has to walk up a few flights of stairs. Simona replied, signalling for a drink from Link. Fiona, the pubs third waitress, was also on tonight with Link. Low Places was very busy, the antithesis to earlier in the evening. She bustled about, getting drinks for the customers with the speed and grace of a girl whos been a waitress far too long for her liking. Yeah, Al. You should get fit. Otherwise you might get killed or something. Link showed his teeth to show that he was only joking. Well, if you want, I could train you. Eli put in. I cocked my head to the side. Really? Eli nodded. I became a physical trainer to help pay my way through college. Thats not a good idea, Eli. Simona interjected, a restricting hand on Elis arm. No, its fine. Eli replied. Id like to help. His teeth flashed in a Brad Pitt smile. Eli, the girl sitting here is insane. Dont encourage her. I could see Simona beginning to enjoy herself with making fun of me. I didnt mind; it was nice to see her having fun for once. Let him do what he wishes, Sy. I smiled. Thanks, Eli. Friday night in my place?

I nodded and watched as Eli scribbled down his address on a napkin. It was very near the street we drove through the night of Metzlers party. I wondered if it would be worth risking my life walking through that neighbourhood for a mere training session. Have you picked up any cases yet? Eli asked. I thought Id investigate the death of Anthony Metzler, he was a writer with Simonas company. I replied, emptying my bottle. Link presented me with a new one. Eli nodded in recognition. I reported on his death for the Chronicle. They suspect foul play. I spoke with his wife about it. She said that he was poisoned with cyanide. Do you know what time he died at? The doctors guessing around two a.m. Wow, Simona answered. Who would do that to another person? Thats what Im going to find out. Marla Montiero blathered on about books and business into her ever-present headset. I sat like a good little assistant, typing away on the ancient Dell computer at my teeny desk. Today I was writing letters to authors whose pitches had been declined. Id soon learned to tune out Montieros conversations, only snapping back to the present when a new command was given. I heard the office doors opening. I glanced up, in case Montiero wanted me to follow her. Montiero wasnt leaving the room, however. Someone was coming in.

She strolled in importantly, attention completely focused on the iPhone in her hands. Expensive designer shoes clicked over the wooden office floors. Her long black hair was straight and shiny down the back of her short, trendy padded jacket. Have you decided on what youll wear for the funeral? she asked Montiero in a bored tone of voice. I was sure that she was the same age as me, yet she had the conduct of a common sixteen-year-old girl. Black is classic, after all. Montiero commented with a sigh, wrapping a rubber band around the letters Id typed and enveloped already. She placed the thick mound into a box. I was going to wear the black and white skater dress from Haleys birthday last year. That would look so cute. I gathered from the likeness in them that they were mother and daughter. Their attitudes were far too formal, though. It was like listening to colleagues making small talk. This is my new assistant, Alice. Montiero motioned to me. I stood up hurriedly, smoothing down my t-shirt, which sported the Guaranteed Irish logo, and straightening my teal cardigan. The daughter outstretched her manicured hand, and we shared a cautious greeting. Alice, this is my daughter, Verity. Verity. Seriously? This is the girl? This is who Melony cheated on me with? Jesus. Verity, I stammered. Lovely name.

She allowed a polite smile. Youre Irish? I nodded yes, stuffing my hands into my pockets. My girlfriend used to date someone from Ireland. I bit my tongue. Im going to take a wild guess and say that youre an actor. I replied dejectedly. Veritys jaw dropped in surprise. Thats amazing, how did you know? I havent even finished filming my first episode! Im just very perceptive. I replied, descending woefully onto my chair. Marla and Verity chatted for a few more minutes before they both made for the door. Alice, will you go and get us two coffees please? Im just going to show my daughter the plan for the funeral. Sure, sure. I replied, taking the money Montiero handed to me. What would you like? One black coffee, one mocha latte. I left the office and waited for the elevator. From my back pocket I dug out the laminated card theyd given me, exactly like Simonas, except it had my name printed onto it. Jonathon Spheeris eyes darted upwards when the door opened. He had obviously thought that he was on his own on this elevator ride. I stepped into the elevator and saw that the button for the lobby was already lit. Hey, Spheeris greeted. I returned the favour, and we traded pleasantries on the ride down. The elevator doors slid open at the lobby and we both walked out.

Across the lobby, speaking to Stacey the receptionist, were two men. One looked to be in his late-thirties, and the other was about a decade younger. The older man had brown hair with dustings of grey beginning at the temples. The younger had longer, dark blonde hair. They both wore suits, and neither looked terribly happy. At the sound of the elevator doors, the two suited men turned around. One of them, the older one, began to stride towards us. The other followed. Jonathon Spheeris? he asked. Spheeris nodded, confused. The man pulled a badge from his suit jacket and flashed it at Spheeris. Im detective Scott Tomasoski; this is my partner, Barry Siegler. Wed like to ask you some questions. W-whats this about? Spheeris faltered, shifting his gaze away. Youre wanted for questioning about the murder of Anthony Metzler.

Freedom from a Tramp

There was a moment of palpable silence as Jonathon Spheeris comprehended this information. Mr. Spheeris, will you come to the NYPD quietly, or do we have to use force? Detective Scott Tomasoski asked through thin lips and squinting eyes. Spheeris took a step back. I did not kill Anthony Metzler. We have nothing to talk about. Mr. Spheeris, if you do not cooperate then we will have to handcuff you and escort you out of the building. Will that be necessary? Tomasoskis partner Barry Siegler spoke. I had to hold back a nervous tremor of laughter, as he reminded me of Scott Caan as Danno in the new remake of Hawaii Five-0. Spheeris took another step back. I told you, I didnt kill him. I have nothing to say about his death. Okay, Tomasoski unclipped a pair of handcuffs from his belt. Turn around with your hands behind your head. Spheeris threw up his hands, but not in surrender. Im not gonna put my hands up, buddy. Put your hands behind your head, Tomasoski spoke in a firmer tone. And we will escort you out of the building. Can you move along please? Siegler asked me. I skittered to the side of the lobby but didnt leave. Not just yet. I watched Jonathon Spheeris get arrested and led out of the building, into a cop car parked outside. Theres no way I was even near Metzler when he died! Spheeris argued as he was forcefully brought from Monsoon Publishing.

You got an alibi to confirm that? Tomasoski asked. Yeah, I do! Really? Who? Well give them a call when we get to the NYPD. Siegler answered mockingly, pushing Spheeris towards the car. Myself, Stacey, and the security guard stood by the doors watching. At that question, Spheeris lips parted and his face flushed. The air rushed from his lungs in a single breath and he suddenly looked haggard. What could cause this reaction to the thought of his alibi being called upon? Unless his alibi was an unreliable character. Something was up. I just knew it. I rushed to the coffee shop and got Marla and Veritys coffees. I made sure to spill some of Veritys outside; thats what you get for stealing my girl. With the coffee delivered, I asked Mrs. Montiero if it would be an alright time to take my lunch break. Luckily, she agreed, telling me that she wanted to sort out funeral arrangements with her daughter. When I was finally free of all work entanglement for the next hour, I realized that I had no idea where the fuck NYPD were situated in the Bronx. I stood outside and asked strangers for directions. The third person I asked directed me five blocks south, two blocks east, and three blocks south again. It took almost no time to get there, mainly because I ran, knowing that the walk would take up most of my lunch hour. Thank God the stranger I asked hadnt played a cruel joke on me.

I burst into the doors of the NYPD, breathing hard. Several cops looked up at me, but I ignored them. I spoke only to the cop at the desk. Id like to speak with a man that was just brought in, Jonathon Spheeris? Youll have to wait for the detectives to finish speaking to him. The cop answered through his Tom Selleck moustache. How long do you think thatll take? He shrugged. Depends on how much hes got to hide. You can sit there. I shuffled to the bench he gestured to and sat down, still trying to catch my breath. Looks like I wont be getting back to work just yet. I glanced at the time on my phone; already twenty minutes had passed. Regretfully I opened up my contacts and selected Mrs. Montiero. She answered on the first ring. I informed her that I had been called with an emergency concerning my apartment, and that I had to rush home, and probably wouldnt make it back to work for a long while. She sounded kind of pissed off, but understanding at the same time. I settled into the bench, expecting a long wait. It actually wasnt as long as I expected it to be. Tom Selleck motioned for me to follow him after about twenty-five minutes. He led me down some hallways until we came to a locked door. He unlocked it and allowed me inside. Knock when you want out again. The door was shut behind me.

Jonathon Spheeris was sitting at the only item in the room, an old metal table which was bolted to the floor. I was strangely relieved to see that he was no longer cuffed. His eyebrows drew together in confusion when he saw me. What are you doing here? I sat in the metal chair across the table from Spheeris. Came to see how you were doing. Well, I wasnt totally lying. How do you think Im doing? Spheeris asked, a sharp note of sarcasm in his voice. I told you Id get the blame. I glanced down at the marks in the metal table from raucous people who sat there beforehand. Did they call your alibi? When I looked up again, he had the same face he had when Siegler suggested calling his defence. Why dont you want the cops to call them? I enquired, my voice quiet and knowing. I didnt actually know; I had just thought that the reason he didnt want the cops calling this person was because this person wasnt particularly liked by law enforcement. Perhaps a drug dealer. Spheeris looked down at the table as I had. The silence grew loud enough to hear. I didnt push him to tell me, but I still held my gaze firmly on his head. Finally, he spoke: I was with a hooker. And to be honest, I was taken aback. I was completely expecting him to admit to a drug deal. In comparison, being with a hooker wasnt that bad. But then again, in the eyes of the NYPD, it was all the same, right?

Why didnt you just say that? I asked. I would take solicitation any day over suspicion of murder. His troubled eyes met mine, and I saw a fresh pain within their blue depths. My wife is sick. The cancers spread to her liver. His eyes dropped again. I cant let her know that Ive slept with somebody else. Especially not a prostitute. Thatd kill her. His voice was soft and caring, the exact opposite of his usual manner. Something in me believed Spheeris enough to thank him for his time and begin to leave. I thought now that he was just a regular man who needed something that his poor wife, who was in the process of dying, couldnt provide anymore. Common sense stopped me, however, and with careful coaxing, I was able to get the prostitutes name and hang out. I just have to confirm Jonathon Spheeris story, and then I can rule him out of the suspect list. I left the NYPD, wishing Spheeris all the best, and followed his directions exactly as described. Four blocks north, three to the east. Outside the old bakery. Spheeris told me that she would be there despite the daylight, though she would be sitting casually on the steps to the abandoned bakery. I took my time walking to the bakery; this woman would be there no matter how quickly I walked. I found myself on the street after about twenty-five minutes. Three women were sitting on the steps of the bakery. One was a girl around my age with flaxen hair to her hips. The woman in the middle was older, in her thirties, with

long brown hair tied in a braid. The woman sitting closest to me had reddish-brown hair cut to her shoulders and spiked out at the bottom. I guessed that she was in her late twenties. All three wore slap-on makeup in harsh colours, with an abundance of sticky mascara. Excuse me? I enquired. The womens heads whipped around to face me. Im looking for Azrael? Spheeris told me that the prostitutes real name was Carla, but she went by Azrael during her day-and-night job. The blonde stood up. She was taller than I expected, and towered above me. Who wants to know? Ah, Im a friend of Jonathon Spheeris? The woman with the long braid stood up also. Im Azrael. Sit down, Sondra. She had a thick New Jersey accent. The fair-haired prostitute sat down again. Why are you here? she asked me. Id like to ask you some questions. Azrael stepped off the steps and came to me. Youre not a cop, right? Shes too tiny to be a cop! the woman with shorter hair called. Sondra chuckled. Shut up, Tandi. Im tryina talk to the lady. Azrael replied. She pulled a cigarette from her pocket and lit it. What do you wanna ask me? A plume of smoke blinded me. I shook my head to try to clear my vision. Its about Thursday night. I coughed. At around two in the morning? Dont really remember that night. Azrael chanced. Refresh my memory?

I bit my tongue. Well...theres only one way to get a hooker to do anything. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the only note I had. I handed her the five dollars. Fine, but thats all I got. Will you answer my question now? Azrael took the note and examined it, her green eyes sliding up to look me over. Sure, whatever. Were you with Jonathon Spheeris at that time? Azrael nodded. Yeah, I was with im. Came here, what, around one thirty? Went to the motel two blocks up. Left about an hour later. Sweet guy, a bit clingy. Think he said that his wifes sick or somethin. And you were with him the whole time? He didnt leave, and you didnt fall asleep or anything? I asked just to clarify. Azrael shook her head. No, he was definitely with me the whole time, girl. She dropped the cigarette to the ground and rubbed it into the cement with the toe of her boot. That it? I nodded and watched Azrael join Sondra and Tandi again. Turning around, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans. I left my coat at Monsoon, and the sun was beginning to dip from the sky. Each night was colder than the last, and darker a little bit earlier than before. That proves it. If Azraels word was anything to trust, then Jonathon Spheeris couldnt possibly have slipped Metzler the poison. This case is no longer about implicating a murderer; its about freeing an innocent man.

The First Rule of Fight Club...

Thursday came and went as unnoticed as a mouse. The NYPD let Spheeris go because they had nothing solid to keep him in for more than twenty-four hours. Anthony Metzlers funeral was held, leaving me with nothing to do at Monsoon. My widowed boss came in from nine until eleven, then left with her daughter and a handful of people who knew Metzler well from getting his novel together. I spent the rest of the day in Simonas office, my hands warm on a mug of tea. Since I didnt have to leave to get premium gourmet coffee for Montiero, I could just cross Simonas office to the small kitchenette area. Im telling you, Jonathon Spheeris is innocent. I told Simona. His alibi checks out. Yeah, his alibis a hooker, Al. You gave her five dollars. Shed have told you that she was entertaining Elton John if youd asked her. Simona replied, her hand steady as she delivered gentle brush strokes to the picture on her board. I sipped from my tea. Spheeris was at the top of my suspect list, Sy.

Who was on your list? Well, I guess it could really only have been Spheeris or Marla Montiero. But I dont see how she would benefit from killing him. Shes the one with the money. Crime of passion, maybe? I shook my head. This murder was planned. She would have had to get the cyanide and put it in his drink or whatever. Im sure a woman like her would own a gun. If it was a crime of passion then wouldnt she have just used that? Simona shrugged. At this stage she seemed to have calmed down about my intense stupidity at investigating the murder. She was now quietly defeated, knowing that I was too stubborn to take her word for it that this job was far too dangerous. Had to be Montiero. I muttered. Do you know who her daughter is? Simona nodded. Verity. Thats who Melony cheated on me with. No way? Simonas arm dropped down. She shook her head and re-dipped her brush. Very rude girl. That was the end of that conversation. Friday came and I was glad that I had the weekend off. Montiero didnt have to work on Saturday or Sunday, so neither did I. Running after Montiero had tired me to a new extent. Everything had to be done at the click of her fingers. Remembering the conversation Simona and I had the day before, I figured that now was a good time to get some information from Montiero.

Mrs. Montiero? I asked across her office from my desk. Just out of curiosity, what was it like, finding your husband...like that? It must have been terrible. She nodded absently. It was. I had no idea that hed passed until the morning. I took my hands off the desk and turned my chair to face her. But how could something like that happen? Was there anybody in the house? She shook her head. Just us. I dont know how he was poisoned. Where were you? When it happened, I mean? She lifted her head as she thought back to that night. I was in the living room making a phone call. I must have been gone for only thirty minutes, but by the time I came back he had already passed. So Mrs. Montiero also has an excuse. Well then... Who were you calling? Marla Montieros eyes narrowed at me and her rosy lips tightened. Two red spots appeared on her cheeks. Thats not any of your business, Alice. She replied with a sharp edge to her voice. I chose my next words carefully, knowing that this would have to be my last question unless I wanted to get fired. Is there any chance that he did it himself? Her grey eyes bore into my own. Of course not. Her voice was stone cold. How could you even ask me that? I shut my mouth, realizing that Id stepped on a nerve. Of course that was a horrible thing to say to a widow. Stupid Alice. I let the conversation hang in the air.

Of course, she could just be lying. Theres definitely a possibility that she killed Metzler. And there was no way that I could let this slide. After work I made a quick stop at home to change my clothes and grab a sandwich. I was just about to head out to Elis apartment for our training session. The walk there was briskly paced. Eli lived in the bad streets of New York, and a young, well-dressed blonde woman like me was a highly-priced target. Elis apartment building was cold and damp. He had texted me his address the day before. I pushed the button on the elevator for the third floor. It made a rickety noise as it opened, and I briefly wondered for my safety before stepping in timidly. As the doors were closing I heard a voice from outside. Hold the elevator! I stuck my hand between the metal doors and they retracted. Peering out, I watched a man in a wheelchair coming from the front door. In the gloom of the tight lobby, all I could tell about him was that he was around twentyyears old. In his lap he carried a bag of take-out food. He wore a pair of jeans, trainers, and a grey hoodie with the hood up to keep the cold winds from his face. Thanks, he said to me when he wheeled into the elevator. No problem. I smiled.

He reached for the button but stopped, seeing that the third floor button was already lit up. You visiting that guy Eli? I nodded. How did you know? He showed me straight white teeth. Theres only two apartments to every floor. Elis my neighbour. Very quiet guy. Hes new to the city. I explained. The wheelchair-bound man nodded and pushed his hood off his head, revealing straight black hair messily gelled up. He scratched at his short black stubble on his face. It held contrast to his skin, which was lighter than the New York usual. His large blue-green eyes gazed up at me. Are you Simona? Eli mentioned a girl named Simona when we spoke. No, I replied, holding my hand down to the man. There was something strangely charming about him. Im Alice. A friend of Simonas. He took my hand. He wore black fingerless gloves. Im sure they were designed to protect his hands from wear and tear while he wheeled around. Benny. I lived across from Eli with my brother. The elevator doors opened and Benny glided out. He handled his wheels swiftly and keenly, almost graceful. He turned around to me. Elis place is the one on the left. We went down the hall and came to our respective destinations. Benny pulled a set of keys from his jeans pocket and opened his door. I knocked on Elis.

Nice meeting you. Benny called to me. When I turned he wore a close-mouthed smile, giving his face an almost boyish quality, despite the beard. You too. I smiled back. He put me in mind of Charlie Day. Eli opened his door as Bennys closed. Ready? he asked as I walked in. I nodded, taking off my coat. There was very little to say about Elis apartment, except that it was a dump. It was cramped and smelled of damp. Cardboard boxes of Elis belongings were pushed against one wall, and the centre of the room had several pieces of sports equipment lying about. Have you ever done any fitness classes before? Eli asked, locking his door. He motioned for me to put my coat on the couch. I used to do karate when I was a teenager. I replied. So you know how to throw a punch? I nodded. Youve taken a punch? I nodded again. Well, if youre gonna be a private detective then youll have to know how to take one properly. That way you wont take as much damage. Alright, I answered. I stepped into the centre of the room, facing Eli. How do I do that? When youre in a fight with someone, keep watching their shoulders, not their face. Youd just get distracted looking at their face. Eli slowly motioned a punch. I made sure to take note of his stature; right foot back, his weight level between both legs. His chest was slightly turned,

hands fisted. When someone throws a hook at you, youd want an easy way to throw off their arm and knock them a little bit off balance. Move your right leg back and raise your arms. I did as instructed, moulding easily back into my karate state of mind. I only took part for two years, but in that time I learned a fair amount of tactics. Good. When I throw a punch, I want you to block with your forearm, like this. He demonstrated an overhand block for me. Each punch he threw increased in speed and strength. We did this for some time until, according to Eli, I was perfect. He showed me several other ways to block a punch before moving on. Okay, thats good. Eli said. I want to teach you how to take a punch now, in case youre in a situation where you cant block it. He pretended to punch me. When somebody punches you, youd want to follow in the direction of the punch. Dont try to keep your balance. Why would I go with it? I asked, leaning backwards as his fist slowly swung past my face. If you tried to keep your head steady then you could injure your neck. Plus your face would take a larger impact. When you follow through, you may fall down, but at least youll take only a fraction of the damage you could have gotten. Whats the most important thing to do when in a fight?

Well, theres a lot of things that are helpful, but I think the most important thing to do to win a fight is to not be afraid of the pain. Your adrenaline will be sky high, so you wont feel anything until after. But if you spend even a second worrying about the pain then thatll be a second distracted. A second is all your opponent needs to take you down. My father trained boxers, and he would put the willing novices against bigger, stronger opponents. The bigger guys would help build up the novices tolerances to beating. Your dad would get boxers to beat up teenagers? I asked, deflecting Elis next blow. Eli smiled. It sounds terrible, I know. But my dad trained the best boxers in Philadelphia. Rocky? He grinned. Lets put it this way, with my dads method his fighters could take a beating from Rocky and live! We sparred for another twenty-minutes before Eli glanced at his watch. Eight thirty. Wanna call it quits for now? By now I had worked up a sheen of sweat over my skin. We had been training for almost an hour and a half. Sure. Low Places? He nodded. Same time next Friday? He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with two bottles of water. I agreed and accepted the offered refreshment. Slowly we made our way to Low Places, enjoying the nippy

air on our skin. It took about twenty-five minutes to go from Elis building to the pub. Low Places was packed that night; the weekends always brought in people looking for a pick-me-up after a hard days work. Link was in the middle of a song on the stage when Eli and I entered. George Michaels Kissing A Fool. We could hear his unique, familiar voice from outside. Link had pulled a barstool onto the tiny stage and was sitting on it. The lead from his microphone was wrapped in a large loop, held in his left hand. The teleprompter was turned off. Simona was already sitting at the bar. Fiona served us and we watched the rest of Links performance. It was a wonder to me that hed never been signed onto a record company. He had never even attempted to get noticed, as far as I knew. He was certainly capable of it. As the final, belting lyric was sung, the pub patrons began to clap. Link gave a polite bow of his head and placed the microphone on top of the teleprompter, picking up the barstool to bring back. That was class, Link. I commented as he slipped back behind the counter, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. Thank you, angel-girl. He grinned. Hows the sleuthing? I quickly told the gang of the ins and outs of my investigation, hopping off my stool at the end to go to the bathroom.

My body collided with that of another human when I stepped off the stool and turned around. Looking up, I found myself in Ians arms. And suddenly I remembered; I had a dinner date with him on Wednesday night. Which I didnt show up for. Oh, fuck. I voiced that last thought out loud. I completely forgot about Wednesday. I am so sorry, Ian. I jabbered. He stopped me in my tracks. Hey, its fine. My fault really, I shouldve called to double-check. He gave a smile. I cant say it was fun sitting alone at the restaurant... I pulled at a strand of my hair. At least let me get your drinks tonight. He shook his head no. Then please let me buy a game of pool. Ian considered this offer. Alright. That seems a fair price. I quickly used the bathroom and ran back to set up the table for Ians game. He asked me to join him, seeing as I paid for the game. The game sort of became a date to make up for the missed one. Several more games, and drinks, followed after the first. I think that by the end of the night, we were both very, very drunk. Thanks for walking me home. I faltered in my inebriated state as we stood outside of my apartment. Ian smiled and I found it just so damn cute. Before I had stopped to consider the consequences, I had my arms behind Ians neck and my lips on his.

Mm, he said in surprised. But his own arms rested on my hips, drawing me closer. His back bumped into the doorframe and we could go no further. After a few soft, moist minutes we broke apart to catch our breath and open my apartment door. Ians fingers slid up and down the curve of my spine as he waited. With the door open we came back together like the north and south poles of two magnets. We slid into the dark of my apartment, all hands and lips. Bear ran out of the way to hide under the couch as we burst into the bedroom. I sat Ian on the bed and straddled his waist, my hands in his hair, crushing the dried gel between my fingers. With one hand I lifted his shirt over his head and threw it to the floor. His warm breath spread over my face, and mine on his. I kicked off my Converse, barely hearing the thud they made as they hit the carpeted floor. His hands were everywhere, on my hips, in my hair, brushing my thighs. My skin tingled through my clothes and I pushed myself against the hard bulge of his jeans. I pushed him down into a lying position on the bed, on top of him. Ian kept one hand on my rear, holding me firmly close to his hips. His other hand worked my t-shirt up and over my head. That also fell to the floor. I rushed my hands to his jeans and pulled at the zipper, heart racing. But then...nothing. Ians hands came away and his lips stopped moving.

What is it? I breathed, moving my lips to his jaw. He pulled his head away and sat up, rolling me off of him. What? Ians eyes were concentrated on my midriff. I followed his gaze and saw nothing of importance. Only my tattoos. When I was sixteen I got tattoos as a sort of birthday present slash reward for doing well on my Junior Certificate. On the inside of the bone of my right hip there was a pair of cream-and-gold angel wings. In the centre of the wings there was flowing, elegant script. It read, Sa gna na haingil, meaning In the arms of the angels in Gaelic. That was my favourite song, and it was played at almost every funeral in our town. Ian swallowed. You have tattoos. Yeah, I replied, feeling like I was stating the obvious. So? Ian bit his lip. Its just...tattoos kinda freak me out a little. I sat up, folding my legs under me. What? I have never, in all my life, known anyone to be afraid of tattoos. I wondered to myself if this was a joke. Ian tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace. I just...I find it really weird that anyone would pay a stranger to draw on them with needles. I was speechless. The mood had completely evaporated at this point. I didnt think it was achievable after this, but I tried nonetheless. Well, would it help if I covered it? I asked, holding one hand over the ink.

Ian considered this for a second. He then began to shake his head. No, no. Im sorry. No, its fine. I lied. Of course this is not fine. I am being refused sex because I have tattoos, like millions of other people. I think I should go. Ian said, pulling on his t-shirt and getting up from the bed. Sorry. With that, Ian left my apartment, asking if we could still be friends. I agreed, though I didnt mean it. I would still see him in Low Places, Im sure. Things would just be quite awkward between us. For, lets say, the rest of time. I flopped down onto my bed, asking myself what the hell just happened.

Trippin
Milk, eggs, bread, razors, cat food...What else? I know theres something else on that list. I perused the aisles, hoping something might jog my memory. I had all of my other items in my basket. What the hell was on that list? There was practically no one in the shop today. I suppose its early yet, no one really does their shopping at

ten in the morning. Except people who couldnt sleep and then realized that they had no food in the house. Namely, me. It was that damn dream again. The faceless person. Things had changed slightly this time; the hostages wore wings on their backs and flapped them crazily every time I looked at them. I think that could have been influenced by Ians sudden departure last night. Afraid of tattoos? Seriously? I had done some research on my laptop after he left; apparently there wasnt a name for the fear of tattoos, but there was one for the fear of needlesTrypanophobia. I suppose that the two would be very closely related. A woman bustled past me carrying her shopping. It would seem that she had been too lazy to get a basket. She was looking down at her groceries, trying to keep the edible Jenga game upright. Her elbow smacked into my ribs as she past. It didnt hurt, though she had enough momentum to make me lose my balance for a second. I grabbed the shelf to steady myself, my body still turning. Sorry, she murmured without looking up. Youre grand. I said to myself in a low voice. Bitch, was my real thought. You know how when you turn around, and while youre turning you catch sight of something? Without even getting a good look at it, you know that its a person youve met before? My head whipped back up as it completed its turn. I scanned the area. I definitely saw someone I knew.

Whoever they were, they had gone ahead into one of the aisles. I walked down the centre, glancing into each aisle. The second aisle on the right held more than frozen meat and poultry for me. Verity Montiero was leaning against a trolley, gazing at the fridges full of frozen meat. I wondered to myself, why is this wealthy young woman in the same food store as me? Surely what this shop sells isnt good enough for her? My explanation sauntered around the corner of the aisle, carrying low-fat butter and skimmed milk. She wore new designer jeans and wedge heels, carrying a brand-name handbag. Well, I can definitely see why Melony left me for Verity. Fucking gold-digger. Over the past week and a half Ive been trying to hold myself together. Its not that Im sad anymore. Im just so angry. I mean, she dumped me for that rich tramp because Verity Montiero could buy things for her. What did she do with all the gifts I gave her? The silver and pearl necklace I got her for her birthday got lost. The blue dress had coffee spilled on it. I was there that day, I saw her tip the mug. Goddammit. I said to myself as the seeds of a plan settled in my mind and began to bloom, beneficial to both my need for revenge and my investigation. Probably more for revenge. Melony put the butter and milk in the trolley and left again. I think I overheard her say ice cream. Probably that weird coffee and hazelnut flavour she likes that only this shop sold.

Verity waited with the trolley, eyes forever focused on her iPhone. Hi, I said as I got closer. Verity looked up at me, her grey eyes clouded in confusion. Hi? She didnt recognise me. Im Alice. Im your moms new assistant. She still didnt get it. We met on Wednesday? Oh right, Alice, Verity said. I still dont think she recognized me. I was thinking we could go out sometime. I lied, stepping closer. I looked her up and down and tried to seem sexy. Verity stood to her full height and stepped back. Im with someone. She told me, her voice hard and mean. Who, that girl? I asked, nodding to where Melony had stood. Verity nodded. I let out one note of fake laughter. Shes not good enough for you. And you are? Verity asked spitefully. I nodded once to her. You wouldnt believe what I can do. I added in a low, soft voice. I leaned in slightly closer than I had before. Verity took another step back until she was against the freezer. Keep dreaming, leprechaun. For once I let something like this slide. I also leaned back. Okay, I smiled evilly. I guess Ill have to find somebody else to share my hash with. I turned around and began to walk away. Any second now...

Hey, I stopped in my tracks and smiled to myself. I turned to face Verity again. Yes? You have hash? I began to walk back slowly. I nodded. Mm-hm. See, somebody tipped off my guy to the cops. Luckily he got word of it in time, and he gave me almost all of his stash for practically nothing. Yknow, so the cops wouldnt find anything. Veritys lips tightened as she considered this offer. She breathed in, out. Averted her eyes. Fine. Okay. I smirked and took two steps closer. When do you want to meet? She glanced warily at her phone. Tonight. My apartment. I smiled nicely. Okay. Directions? She scribbled down her address on an old receipt. Anytime after seven. Shell be gone by then. I knew she meant Melony. You sure now? I asked, folding the receipt over and sticking it into the pocket of my bag. Verity nodded and turned back to her trolley to wait for Melony. You are one evil girl, I thought to myself as I walked away to complete my shopping. Toothpaste! Toothpaste is exactly what was one the list.

Alice, you cant just show up at somebodys apartment with marijuana! Simona announced, avoiding bumping into the kitchen counter. She handed Link and I our mugs of tea before returning to the kitchen for hers and Elis. No, no, no, I said quickly. You got it all wrong. Im not gonna show up with hash. Im gonna show up with brownies. Simona momentarily froze beneath the doorway arch. Brownies? I nodded. I dont believe this. What? I asked, my hands up. Its simple, Ill go to the apartment with my brownies and tell her that theyre hash brownies. Then I do a little snooping, see whats what, and then I get outta there. It does kind of make sense. Eli commented, warming his hands on his mug. Dont encourage her, Simona replied. I sat on the couch with my legs crossed beneath me, preparing for a long conversation. I think itll work. Link said. Its not gonna work. Simona replied, shaking her head. Can you tell the future now? Come on, Ill be in the apartment for like ten minutes. You are going to my boss apartment to give her drug-abusing daughter fake hash brownies. There is no way youll breeze through this. When are you leaving, hon? Link asked. I checked my phone. Uh...Fifteen minutes. Her apartment is about thirty minutes away on the bus. I stood

up and went to the kitchen. Donning oven gloves, I opened the door of the oven and pulled out the baking tray. The ovens heat rolled against my face and made it difficult to breath. Standing quickly, I dropped the hot baking tray onto the counter. The slab of brownie mix was a little bit burnt at the edges, but it was fine. I cut it into two inch by two inch cubes and put them into a plastic baggie. Im not entirely sure how this plan was supposed to work out or what it was meant to accomplish. Im pretty sure it was just a way to blow off steam. But since I came back from the shop Ive been formulating an actual plan to snoop around in the apartment and hopefully get something solid. I should have been even a little bit nervous, I suppose. But I felt regular. Not as if I was about to use drugs to convince a girl to let me into her apartment so I could paw through her belongings to find clues. I left the gang in my apartment and headed for the bus stop. It would seem that Elis becoming a permanent fixture in the gang. To be honest, I preferred when there were only three people. But Eli was a nice guy I guess, so I would just have to put up with him until he and Simona broke up, or he goes his separate way. I spent the thirty minutes of journeying to the city outskirts thinking about my plan. It was pretty simple, really. Go to the apartment with the brownies, pretend to go to the bathroom, and then search the rooms. The black backpack I picked up last Tuesday carried my kit. Maybe I was being paranoid when I thought of it, but I had the small pocket knife secured against my ankle. Just in

case I was in a fight and I couldnt get the bag. Of course, this would only be used as a last resort. Thirty minutes were spent gazing out the window. The bus finally stopped and I got off. Verity had specified to get off here and walk north two blocks. Then I would come to a swanky apartment with one wall of glass. There. One tall, beautifully built building with one glass wall. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly feeling dry. Here we go.

If These Walls Could Talk

In the lobby of this amazingly expensive building, I went to the front desk. An ageless woman sat behind the counter, her face greasy with makeup. I asked to speak to Verity Montiero in apartment 8. Verity had told me that the only way to get past the lobby was to ask the receptionist to call ahead and ask if you should be let up. The woman pointed me in the direction of the elevator after Verity gave the go-ahead. A suited man in the elevator pressed the button for me. So this is how the other half live. The elevator opened up directly into the Montieros apartment. In front of the elevator doors there was a fantastic floor-to-ceiling canvas artwork depicting the New York City lights on a small partition wall. Hello? I called as I stepped onto the marble floors. My Converse let out one sharp squeak, as if they were terrified that they would scuff the polished marble. In here. Verity called from the right. I followed her voice into a wide rectangular sitting room. She was sitting at the desk at the other side of the room, turning off her computer. Did you bring it? I held up the bag. Verity stood and crossed her arms. Brownies? she asked contemptibly. Really? I put the bag onto the glass table. Yeah, I had to hide the hash from my roommate, I lied swiftly. Hes a recovering addict. Its just easier to make them in brownies than to smoke them cause the smell irritates him... I trailed off. He makes a big deal about it. I added quietly,

nervousness finally hitting me. I looked downward and to my left, trailing the toe of my right shoe over the floor. Alright, Verity murmured, sitting down on the couch. Its better than nothing. I stayed standing, my mind a blank. What was the next step of my plan? Oh fuck. Come on, come on! Whats next? Arent you going to sit down? Verity asked, curling her legs up on the couch as she reached for the bag. Black designed tights were in contrast with her pale legs, and she wore no shoes. I perched on the edge of the couch, my mind racing. Step two, step two... Ah! Pretend to go to the bathroom! Thats step two! Can I use your bathroom first? I asked. Verity nodded and pointed in the direction of the bathroom. It was at the end of a hallway completely blocked from her view. The hallway had two doors on opposite walls. One was open. I went to the bathroom first and turned on the tap. The water trickled into the drain slowly and I left it like that, sneaking quietly to the open door. Each footstep was placed with careful consideration. I didnt want to repeat that noise I made at the entrance. I became aware of the beating of my heart in my ears. I swallowed and peered into the room before entering. The light was off. Reaching over, I pushed down on the light switch slowly so it wouldnt make a loud clicking noise.

The room flooded with light and it took a second for my eyes to adjust. When they finally did, the room seemed perfectly normal. Its was Veritys. Not my target. My target was Marla Montiero. I turned off the light and went to Marlas door. Praying for a break, I pushed on the door handle. Please, please. I didnt have my screwdriver and hammer handy, and I didnt know how to pick a lock with a bobby pin. To my relief, the door swung open easily. I flicked the switch and found myself in a beautiful, modern bedroom with built-in wardrobes and an en suite bathroom. In the centre sat a huge double-bed. The bed that Anthony Metzler died in. My feet stopped moving. I stared at the bed. Anthony Metzler died here. I found myself thinking about his life before he was famed with death. Which side of the bed had he slept on? Did he stay up reading for a while before lying down to sleep? Did he dog-ear his book and put it in his drawer for the next night, leaning over to turn off the bedside lamp? Would he hold his wife close to his body before sleep overtook him? My eye was caught by an object glinting under the bed. I bent and pulled it out. A laptop. Is this where Anthony Metzler wrote his book? Is this where Noel Asher was born? Oh God, I whispered. I pushed the laptop back under the bed. I was hit harder than I thought I could be; this

is where a man died. This is where a young author was murdered. What happened in his final moments? What did this room see that no one could ever truly prove or disprove? If these walls could talk, what would they say? Would they tell of a cruelly jilted woman punishing her young husband? Would they speak about a depressed author who just wanted it all to stop? Or would they tell of an even more horrific tale? I shook my head and rubbed my right eye. A painful throbbing had begun just behind the socket, radiating outward behind my skull like a spiders web. Now is not the time to get sentimental. I have work to do. I opened the drawer of the nightstand nearest to me. Inside I found three dog-eared books. Three books which Metzler will never complete. Enough! If this bothers you so much then you shouldnt even consider being a private detective! No. No, I can do this. Why do I even care? I dont cry when I watch the news. I dont cry when I see of the horrible conditions in Afghanistan or Ethiopia. How is this any different? Just another person I didnt know. Okay. My breathing steadied. Thats good. Detach yourself, Alice. Good. I picked up the books and tossed them on the bed. Underneath them sat a brown leather-bound book. It had no title or any kind of print on it. A pen was stuck into the elastic latch at the side. A journal. Wait! Wait, what was that?

My heart doubled in its number of beats per minute as I forced myself to be silent. I didnt breathe. Mom, I have company. Veritys voice called from the sitting room. I just have to grab some manuscripts and Ill be gone. Marla Montiero is home.

The Truth Is Out There

Holy shit. Looks like Simona was right; I wouldnt get through this plan without some kind of a complication. The click of Montieros heels came ever closer as I stood in her room like an idiot, not doing anything. My body moved automatically, beyond my control. One hand shoved the three books back into the dresser. The other clutched Metzlers journal to my chest. I pressed the light switch and bolted for the build-in wardrobes. I slid in amongst Marla Montieros designer clothes and huddled in a ball on the floor. I slid the door of the wardrobe closed just as the light of the hall crept along the floor as the door opened. Montieros heels clicked. The light went on outside, leaving a thin trail of light on the wardrobe floor. At least with Anthony gone we can be together. A male voice said. Where did he come from? He must have been behind Marla the whole time. We can be together? Wait...Was Marla Montiero cheating on her husband? Her young, vivacious husband? If anyone in that relationship was cheating on anybody I would have assumed that it was Metzler on Marla. I heard a feminine sigh. I know. I just wish it didnt have to happen like this. He was my husband, Cal. I loved him, despite our deal. Deal? Interesting.

There were some rustling noises. I guessed that Mrs. Montieros lover had embraced her. Maybe if I hadnt distracted you that night then he wouldnt have been poisoned. Distracted her that night? The phone call! When I asked Montiero who she was talking to on the phone the time Metzler was given the cyanide, she shut down completely. She had been talking to her lover! Mm, Montiero murmured. Clothes rustled and heels clicked. Papers were moved. Come on. I cant stay in this room any longer. I listened as Montiero gathered up her manuscripts and the two left the bedroom. Through the closed bedroom and wardrobe doors I heard them say goodnight to Verity. In the dark wardrobe my mind began to sway. I felt dizzy and sick, clutching onto the coats hung around me. This whole time in the wardrobe listening to Marla and Cal I hadnt been breathing. The noise of my breath would block the goings-on outside. The excitement of the situation had gone to my head. I slowly let go of Metzlers journal and sat it on my lap. My nails had left marks in the leather cover. I took it and shoved it into my backpack. There could be something usable in here. I escaped the darkness of the wardrobe and skittered into the bathroom to turn off the tap. I had been gone longer than I expected. Verity would think I was seriously ill in her bathroom.

Hey! Verity called. Ah, Irish girl. I stepped out of the bathroom and took a deep breath to steady myself. I walked back into the sitting room. Verity was standing up, her arms crossed. The bag of brownies was open and a half-eaten cube sat on the table. There are no drugs in those brownies. She determined, her jaw set. She looked absolutely furious. Why dont you tell me what you think youre doing? I knew I looked like a deer in the headlights; thats exactly how I felt. Suddenly, a new escape plan hatched in my mind. I whipped out my phone and pretending to check the time, a worried mask on my face. What? I asked. Look, I dont have time to talk. I have to go. Theres an emergency. I bustled to the elevator doors, but Verity got there before me and blocked the shiny doors of freedom. Stay the fuck outta my business! she yelled. Oh, so she did know that I was snooping around. Thats not good. Time to high-tail it outta dodge. In one quick swipe Id managed to reach behind her slender figure and press the elevator button. The doors slid open behind Verity. Her head whipped around at the noise and I took this opportunity to dart by her into the elevator. The suited elevator guy looked at me, waiting for the floor number. Reaching past him, I hurriedly pressed and

held the close doors button. I then held down on the button for the lobby. Im onto you. I added menacingly. It didnt really mean anything; it was just supposed to scare her. Silver doors shut out Verity Montieros enraged expression from my view. I kept both my thumbs on the two buttons. What are you doing? the man asked. No stops. I explained simply as the elevator slid uninterrupted to the lobby floor. I stepped out of the elevator, trying to act casual. The receptionist had the phone she used to call up to the Montieros apartment for me in her hands, the receiver pressed to her shoulder as she spoke to a security guard. As I watched, the receptionist turned to the elevator and saw me leaving. She raised one hand and pointed to me. Thats the girl. She said to the security guard. He began to stomp towards me, a mean and dangerous look in his eye. I thank God at this moment that Im small and quick. I was always the fastest in Physical Education at school, and nobody could ever catch me in a game of tag. Without a second thought, I was running as fast as the wind for the doors. The sound of the guards heavy footfalls followed me. Cold wind whipped my hair around my head and rain pounded on my face. Seriously? Like I need rain at this moment. The guard crashed through the apartment buildings doors a mere second after I had.

Blinded by wind and rain, I ran down the street as fast as lightning, backpack bouncing against my back. Metzlers journal kept bashing against an uncomfortable spot near my spine, almost always the corner. My feet pounded the pavement and the blood vessels in my eyes began to thump with the rhythm of my heart. People darted out of my way when I went past, but there were the unlucky few who didnt see me coming and ended up on the ground because of it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of yellowI made a sharp turn to the right and dashed onto the road. My fingers reached blindly against the cold wet cab until they found the handle and pulled. I threw myself into the cab, shouting at the man Drive, drive, drive! He did as told, and I got to watch the security guard standing drenched on the footpath, staring at me with a death glare. Where to, lady? the cabbie asked, surprisingly calm for a man who had just been commanded to drive by a drenched woman running away from a beefy security guard. Two ninety-three Winchester Street. I panted. Sure thing. He said, pulling out onto the road. The streets were clear, one thing I thought I would never see in Manhattan. I was sure on a lucky streak if I found an empty street in New York. Marla Montiero had been speaking to her lover at the time of the poisoning. Unless they had prepared that little stint for me to hear beforehand, which I severely doubted, then Marla Montiero is innocent.

Then who the fuck killed Anthony Metzler?

Busted
I arrived home that night, completely soaked through with rain. It fell heavy tonight. My shoes squished with every step. The elevator to my apartment was still broken, so I had to climb the four flights of stairs to my floor. I rounded the corner on the fourth floor and passed apartment 4A. That was when I saw it.

One white cardboard box was sitting on the floor outside my front door. My name was scrawled on it with black Sharpie. My eyebrows knitted together and I pushed my wet fringe back off of my face. I picked up the box and rested it on my hip, unlocking my door. Dropping the box on the counter, I noticed a pink Post-It on the counter: We locked up at eightSimona. I crumpled up the note and tossed it in the bin. Getting myself a can of Coca-Cola, I sat on my sitting room floor with the TV on Comedy Central, legs crossed. I placed the box in front of me and briefly considered the possibility that it held a human head. Upon opening, however, I realised that it was just everything I left at Melonys apartment. She had said that she would send it all back. Everything seemed to be in perfect order; it looked like just about everything I left at Melonys were there. Ah, the official end of a relationship. I thought that I should pack up everything that Melony left here and send it back the same way. After a quick scan of my apartment, I realised that there was nothing belonging to Melony here. She didnt even trust me enough to leave a toothbrush here. Well, thats a happy thought. I wanted her back. It would be a lie to say I didnt. But it was stupid to think that we would get back together. She was with Verity now. Verity. What was her part in all this? Daughter of a successful leading editor of a publishing company. Shes had

everything she ever wanted in life. The stepdaughter of a recently deceased author. I was sure that Verity had a part to play in all this. But what? So what happened at the house? Eli asked the next day as I sat at the counter of Low Places. Link got me a Coke and waited for my answer. Simona simply rolled her eyes. I filled them in quickly on the happenings of last night. I told you it would be dangerous, Al! Simona said exasperatedly. Yeah, but it was useful. I replied. I got Metzlers journal. Where is it, angel? Link asked, cleaning glasses. At home. Im going to flick through it tonight. I was too tired last night after all the running. Ian came by the bar for drinks. We werent exactly nervous, though there was a definite stillness between us. Link was the first to pick up on it. I see things didnt go well on Friday? Link asked, grinning cheekily. You guys left in a hurry that night. Simona commented. Yeah, I replied reservedly. That was a weird night. What happened? Eli asked, smirking a little. Nice to see that hes settling in with the gang.

So things were going cool, right? Things were fine, we were making out, and we went into my apartment Did he have trouble? Link asked jokingly. Kinda, I replied, nodding. Apparently the guys afraid of tattoos. Tattoos? Simona asked. That is weird. I nodded again. I know! He totally freaked out and left when he saw it. Wheres your tattoo? Eli asked. I forgot that we would have to explain things to him until he knew our life stories. I lifted my t-shirt to show him the wings. We didnt have time to continue this discussion. I saw them coming before everyone else. Detectives Scott Tomasoski and Barry Siegler stepped up to the bar directly beside us. They looked only at Link, flashing their badges and announcing themselves. What can I help you with, detectives? Link asked, his voice hollow. Were looking for Alice ODea. Tomasoski replied. All eyes turned to me. I was just as confused as they were. Tentatively I lifted my hand to the detectives. They walked around the bar and stood one on either side of me. Alice ODea, youre under arrest. What?! I yelled, my voice becoming high-pitched in my confusion. Tomasoski took my hands behind my back and handcuffed them together. Siegler then took hold of the cuffs with one hand and placed the other on my shoulder. He almost lifted me off the barstool.

What are the charges? Simona asked, her eyes wide. Breaking and entering, harassment, and wed also like to question her on the murder of Anthony Metzler.

Smelly Cat
The NYPD was similar to the branch at the Bronx when I visited Jonathon Spheeris, only it was so much scarier this time. I was sitting in a room identical to the one Spheeris had been held in. My wrists were handcuffed to the table. Okay, so I may have freaked out a little bit. The cops felt that

I should be restrained to make the questioning easier on them. I remember from watching cop shows that the detectives like to make the suspect sweat before talking to them. I told myself this as I waited for someone to show up so I could tell them I was innocent. Finally, after about thirty minutes, Tomasoski and Siegler showed up. Siegler sat down in front of me and Tomasoski leaned against the wall, hidden among the shadows. Siegler had a notepad and a tiny tape recorder. When can I go? Was all I could think to say. When were done. Siegler replied, turning on the recorder and setting it down between us. He asked me to state my name and date for the record before he began. You were at the celebratory party for Anthony Metzler on September 6th, werent you? I nodded. Yeah. My friend Simona works at Monsoon, she invited me as her plus-one. Simona who? Valentine. I replied. Siegler wrote her name on his notepad. We have witnesses who say they saw you dancing with Mr. Metzler. Is this true? I answered affirmatively. Had you ever spoken to him before the night of the 6th? I said no. Do you have an alibi for that night? Tomasoski cut in. Im glad he spoke; he looked menacing standing silently in the corner. Uhh... was all that came out.

Miss ODea? Answer the question, Miss ODea. Siegler added. I took the subway home with Simona, and then I went back to my apartment. Thats it, I was there for the rest of the night. Was there anybody with you? I shook my head no. I had been all alone. Okay, Siegler wrote down some more things on his notepad. Lets talk about last night. Mrs. Marla Montiero and her daughter Verity are claiming that you broke into their apartment and harassed them. Do you have anything to say about this? I considered my options. I could either stay silent and be accused of B & E and harassment, or I could fess up and tell them that I offered Verity marijuana, and then get busted for possession with intent to sell. Neither option was flattering. Assessing my bewildered silence, Tomasoski pointed up to an ancient TV bolted to the ceiling of the room which I hadnt seen before. Why dont you take a look at this, Miss ODea. He said before reaching up to turn the TV on. He took the remote from the top of the TV and switched to the appropriate channel. I was guessing that whatever they wanted to show me was in a DVD player outside of the room. He found the right channel and I gazed at a grainy black and white image. It appeared to be the lobby of the Montieros apartment building. Tomasoski hit play. On the screen a small blonde woman entered the building and walked up to the front desk. Me. The tiny on-screen Alice walked to the elevator and got in.

Well just fast forward that by ten minutes. Tomasoski said slyly. He hit play again and the speeding images slowed. The elevator slid open again and Mini Me strolled out. The receptionist pointed at me and the guard walked my way. That was when I started to run. Tomasoski paused the image. Thats a bit suspicious, right? he pretended to ask. You, fleeing the scene of a murder investigation like every demon in Hell was on your tail. I swallowed but said nothing. My mouth felt as though it was filled with cotton and my t-shirt grew uncomfortably sticky with sweat. What were you doing, Miss ODea? Siegler asked me. I swallowed again. I was... I let out a huge sigh. Yeah. I broke in. Why? I looked down at the shiny metal table. I needed money. I work for Mrs. Montiero as her assistant. I knew she was rich, I thought she wouldnt even notice a few trinkets missing. I called ahead at the receptionists desk to ask Verity if I could come up, that her mom called me to pick up some manuscripts for her. I didnt get anything though; Verity caught me. Siegler asked me to repeat my story from top to bottom once more. Okay, he said when I finished. The two detectives packed up their stuff and headed for the door. When do I get to go home? I called. They didnt answer.

I stayed in the interview room for what seemed like hours. They took my phone the second they brought me in and there were no clocks in the room. It must have been nearing midnight at this point. I lay my head on my arms and shut my eyes for a while. A headache had come upon me and I was hungry. I wanted to just go home and curl up in bed. As I was just about to pass into sleep, the door opened again. Its your lucky day, Miss ODea. Sieglers voice said. I lifted my head groggily. I dont feel very lucky. Mrs. Montiero has decided not to press charges. Tomasoski explained coldly. Although you will have to sign a restraining order and pay a fine. I sat back on the seat, my arms still attached to the table. How much is the fine? Two thousand dollars. What happens if I dont pay it? I asked. Thats a lot of money. You get jail time. Siegler answered. I agreed to pay the fine and sign the restraining order. There was no way I would spent forty days in prison for something I didnt even do. I was uncuffed and escorted out of the room. At the entrance I saw Marla and Verity sitting on benches with a man in a suit, whom I guessed was their lawyer. When the detectives and I neared they all stood up. Miss ODea, well need you to sign this. The lawyer said, handing me a legal document. It states that you will

not come within five hundred feet of Marla Montiero, Verity Montiero, or their home. I barely listened to the lawyers jabbering as I signed. It was also agreed that I would send the fine in the form of a check to Marla Montiero at Monsoon Publishing. I was sure that I had some money saved up, and a bit more leftover from when I came to New York. In Ireland I had been lucky enough to come across a certain money outlet. Well get to that sometime later though. And, even better still, I lost my job because I cant be someones assistant when Im legally forced to stay away from them at all times. The detectives assigned a beat cop to drive me home. I almost fell asleep in the backseat, I was so exhausted. Well contact you if we need you. Siegler said as I climbed into the cop car. The young cop dropped me off outside my apartment and wished me a good night. I could barely make it up the stairs to my apartment. That damn elevator. Bear, I called as I fell inside the door. Tar anseo. Bear? C bhfuil t? Flicking on the light switch I stood in my kitchen, looking. Maybe he went out the fire escape again? No, he doesnt like it any more since he almost fell off. Where could he be? I tossed my bag on the counter and walked into the sitting room. There you are. I said, spotting his thick brown fur behind the couch. Why didnt you come, huh? As I stepped toward him something squelched under my feet. The carpet was wet, and I could see a bottle of

water open on the ground. Bear, I called. Did you knock over the water again? I bent by the cat and rubbed his fur. He didnt move. Bear? I placed a hand on his chest and turned him over. The cats green eyes were still and open, staring at nothing. His muscles were tight and unmoving. There was no doubt about it; Bear was dead. I jumped back from the body when I made this realisation. Mo Dhia... The cat had died lying on his side, half-curled into a ball, as if he had a pain in his chest. His claws were still gripping the carpet. Wait, what is that smell? There was some kind of smell coming from the puddle of water; I leaned in close to smell it properly. It smelled...I dont know. Like those cookies my grandmother used to make, what were they called? Bitter almond cookies, thats it. Why would water smell of bitter almonds? My mind tracked back to some cop show I watched one day when nothing else was on. Somebody had died and there was a smell around the body of bitter almonds. That smell...what did the cops say it was a sign of? Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. The smell of bitter almonds is a sign of cyanide poisoning.

Keep the Faith

Theres only one way that a cat can get cyanide poisoning in a locked apartment; somebody had to have broken in and given it to him. But the cyanide was in my waterHow could they possibly have know that Bear would tip it? Unless it was meant for me. Holy shit. Somebody tried to kill me with cyanide. But who? My apartment was undisturbed when I walked in. The locks were completely intact. I grabbed at my phone and selected Links number. My hands were shaking and tears streamed down my cheeks. Not just for Bear, but for everything. Why did I take up this stupid notion anyway? Me, a private detective. Its just insane. Theres no way that this could have turned out the way I wanted. And now somebody had tried to kill me; this dream had become too real.

Link answered almost straight away. Honey! Were all here, are you alright? The music from the pub hummed in the background. I guessed that loudspeaker was on. I nodded to myself. Yeah, I got away with a fine and a restraining order. They must have heard the tears in my voice. What did they want? Simonas voice cut in. Just to ask some questions about Metzler and last night. Thats not why I called though. What is it, sweetheart? Link asked. I sniffed. I just got home. My voice finally broke into a teary, incoherent whine. And the place smells of bitter almonds and theres water everywhere... There were a few seconds when all I could hear from the phone was the music from the pub. Uh, I dont think we got that, Al. Can you repeat what you just said there? Link asked. My cat, Bear. I blubbed. I came back and hes dead. Oh, Al... Simona murmured. The apartment smells of bitter almonds and theres water all over the floor. I repeated. Bitter almonds is the smell of cyanide. Somebody tried to kill me. At this point I broke down into sobs. My chest heaved and my throat burned. My hands pressed against my eyelids in an effort to staunch the flow of tears. There was a small click as Link pressed the button to turn off loudspeaker. I heard the noise of the pub fading as he stepped outside into the alley. Hey, angel, you gotta calm

down, okay? Shh. Its fine. Okay, we can fix this. Just calm down, shh... I drew in a large breath and stared at the body in front of me. Okay. I said in a steadier voice, looking away from the mound of fur. Okay. Alright. Do you want me to come over? Do you think you could do that? Of course. Ill tell Dee to cover the bar. After about ten minutes Link let himself into my apartment. He found me sitting against the wall with my arms wrapped around my knees, staring at the mess in front of me. Hey, he said quietly, kneeling down next to me. You okay? I nodded and wiped at my face. Do you want me to take him away? He meant Bear. I nodded again. Link managed to get me onto the couch, curled in a ball. He then went to get rid of the cats body and to do something about the smell. I must have fallen asleep after that. I woke up at midday the next day in my own bed. Link had carried me to the bed after I fell asleep on the couch. I stood up from the bed and ran a hand through my hair. In the bathroom I showered quickly and brushed my teeth. Fifteen minutes later I was in fresh clothes and was brushing back my wet hair. Link was standing in the kitchen, making scrambled eggs. He looked up when I opened my door. I tried to make

them sunny-side up, but they always turn into scrambled eggs. He said softly, trying to lighten the mood. I sat on the barstool beside the counter and poured a glass of orange juice. Are you feeling better? I nodded, staring down into my glass. Im sorry for dragging you over. He let out one note of laughter. What are friends for? He emptied the eggs onto two plates and sat on the stool across from me. Can you just fill me in on what happened last night? Its a bit sketchy. I told him of my time at NYPD, of being on the suspect list for Metzlers murder, of the restraining order and losing my job, and also of the fine I would have to pay. You certainly had an eventful time. Link remarked as we washed and dried dishes after our breakfast. I know. Im beginning to regret this. What? All of this, being a private detective. Simona was right; it was the stupidest idea Id ever thought of. Hey, you cant give up, kitten. Youre just getting started! Its too hard. I admitted, dropping the tea towel I held. Im not able for it. Link picked up the towel and quickly dried his hands. I dont believe that for a second. He said, wrapping his arms around me. I know you, Alice. Youre capable of anything. I shook my head. No. I cant do it. Theres only certain people in this world built for this kind of work, and

Im not one of them. I dont know what I am. I never raised my head, feeling my eyes begin to heat up again. My throat throbbed and my nose began to run. It was exactly true; I had no idea what I was made for. For a long time I thought it was to help people, but I see now that that was just the influence of Marvel Comics and far too many cop shows. Link turned me so I was facing him directly. You are Alice Bridget Grace ODea. He said, every word burning in his brown eyes. He was deadly serious. You were built to help people. I opened my mouth to try and counter his argument. No, listen to me. He cut off. This apprehension that youre feeling isnt caused by you being afraid that youre doing something wrong. Its there because you think youre doing something right. I took a step back from Link. What? What does that mean? Youve spent your whole life expecting to do wrong, and now youve accepted that as the norm. Going through jobs like teabags, Alice. You know you werent made for that. You were made to help people. And that scares you. And youre right to be scared when you think of that, because its a dangerous job. But thats why youre supposed to do it. Al, this is your life. This is who you are. I looked at Link, I mean really looked at him. He really felt that this was who I was supposed to be. No, he didnt feel it. He knew it. Beyond a reasonable doubt, he knew it. And he made me believe it as well. His eyes turned pleading.

Alice, you cant tell me that this doesnt fit like a glove. From the moment this idea crossed your mind youve been happier than Ive ever seen you. That was true. I had been so happy this past week even just thinking about doing good. I told myself I could be the stuff of legends. I didnt believe it truly, but each time the thought crossed my mind it sent a little shiver of excitement through my core. Sherlock Holmes, Nancy Drew, theyre not real. But I am. And I can do this. I really, truly can. I drew in a deep breath and steeled myself. A tiny voice whispered, Dont do it, Alice, but I smothered it. Standing to my full height, I looked up at Link with a new gleam in my eye. Just keep the faith, I told myself. Get me a notebook.

Racing Mind
Link and I sat on the couch, the coffee table pulled to our knees, the notebook open on a blank page in front of us. I held a pen in my hand. Lets go from what we know of everyone involved. I said, writing Anthony Metzler on the top line. He was married to Marla Montiero and he was Veritys stepdad. I wrote as I spoke. He was a first-time author, and he died of cyanide poisoning. He pissed of Jonathon Spheeris because his book got published. Link added. Exactly. Spheeris believes that he was published because hes married to the lead editor, Marla. On the next line I wrote Marla Montieros name. Shes the head editor of Monsoon Publishing. She was married to Anthony Metzler and is Veritys mother. And when I spoke to her about Metzlers death, she didnt seem too broken up about it. But when I overheard her conversation with her boyfriend, she seemed pretty upset. What do we know about the boyfriend? Maybe he killed Metzler. I shook my head. He was speaking to Marla on the phone at the time Metzler died. Also you take cyanide through a drink usually. This makes me believe that Metzler was given the drink by someone he knows and trusts.

What about a waiter? Couldnt someone have poisoned him at the party? Link asked. Cyanide poisoning only takes a few minutes to kill. Metzler would have had to have brought a drink from the party home with him, and waited until he was in bed to drink it. Thats very unlikely. Okay, I get it. Link replied. So it would definitely have been one of the Montieros. I wrote down Veritys name. Veritys the daughter of Marla Montiero and the stepdaughter of Anthony Metzler. Shes an actress and a drug-user. In her apartment she told me, very clearly, to stay out of her business. Maybe shes got something to hide? Exactly what I thought. Is the fact that Veritys dating your ex relevant? Link asked, nodding his head at the cardboard box Melony had delivered my stuff in. I was about to say no when something flashed across my mind. A sudden thought which came too quickly to register. I sat, eyes glazed and seeing straight through the box, as I tried to recover the thought. Alice? Link asked after about twenty seconds. My lips tightened as the thought resurfaced. How could I have been so stupid to miss this? Melony. Shes involved in all of this. How do you know? She still has my key. That was the only item that didnt show up in my box. God, I didnt even think of the

damn key! The bitch used her key to get in and poison my water. Why would they try to kill you? They knew I was getting close. Link sat silently as my mind raced. Melony was closely connected to Metzler. She was dating his stepdaughter. Why would Melony kill Metzler? The journal! The goddamn journal! How could I have forgotten about it? I leapt off the couch and bounded into my bedroom. Link called after me but I didnt answer. I pulled my backpack from the wardrobe and unzipped it. I upended the contents onto my bed and snatched at the journal as Link walked in. He sat on my bed next to me as I hungrily opened the journal and went straight to the final entry. September 3rd. I finally broke things off with Verity today. I know it was wrong in the first place, but when I first married Marla it was only for our deal. I had no idea that I would begin to have feelings for her, and she for me. Verity had just been a way to relieve myself, and I never meant anything by it. It was only sex. Verity didnt take this news lightly, and we fought. I read from the book. Metzler was sleeping with his stepdaughter. Link confirmed. But what is this deal they keep talking about? Marla mentioned it to her boyfriend as well. I loved him, despite our deal. I quoted. Links eyes focused on a far-away place. Jonathon Spheeris was right. He said solemnly.

I met him with a questioning expression. Anthony Metzler married Marla Montiero to get his book published. Link continued, his chocolate eyes gleaming. And to keep himself happy he was sleeping with Verity. But then he and Marla began to have feelings for each other, and he broke it off with Verity. And she killed him for it. I finished. But what does Marlas boyfriend Cal have to do with it? Maybe she was also trying to keep herself happy by sleeping with someone else. So Metzler and Marla were both cheating on each other? I wouldnt call it cheating; it was a fake marriage. Link replied. I shrugged and stood up, holding the journal in my arms. That only leaves one suspect left. Verity Montiero. Link grinned. Were not finished yet, Link. I smirked. We need evidence. How are you going to get that? Im going back to the Montieros apartment.

Breaking In, For Real This Time

Why did you call us here, Alice? Simona asked, her arms crossed. After my session with Link, we waited until long after the sun went down to call Simona and tell her to grab Eli and get to the apartment now. We solved the case. Link announced, a smile lighting up his whole face. Simonas jaw dropped slightly and her eyes widened. So who did it? Eli asked, one side of his mouth turned upward. Verity Montiero. Why would Verity kill her stepfather and then try to kill you? Simona finally found her words. Even from the beginning she hadnt expected us to actually try, let alone solve the case. Breathlessly Link and I imparted our thought process and how we had managed to solve the murder. By the end both Simona and Eli were speechless. Okay, Simona finally said. Why are we here? We need Eli. Link replied. What can I do to help? Eli asked, placing his elbows on his knees and leaning forward in his place on the couch. Were going to break into the Montieros apartment and find evidence. I replied. Alice! Simona cried. You cant break into their apartment! Why not? Ive already been charged for breaking and entering, I may as well actually do it.

Simona put her hands to her face and rubbed at her eyes. This is insane. You cant possibly be considering this. Im not considering it. I replied. Im doing it. Cmon Eli, lets go back to your apartment and get you some proper breaking in clothes. Why are you taking Eli with you? Simona asked. Hes the strongest. Lets go. Eli hopped up eagerly. Simona made an attempt to stop him. If it solves a murder then Im in. He defended, trying to reason with Simona using his Brad Pitt smile and Labrador puppy eyes. I changed quickly into the all-black ensemble I picked up, as well as repacking my kit into the backpack. Link wished us goodbye and good luck, agreeing to stay and calm Simona down. With Eli dressed and prepped on the operation, we got a cab to the Montieros apartment. Luckily our clothes werent too conspicuous, and we just came off as gothic people. Standing outside of the Montieros apartment building, we each took a moment to prepare ourselves. Their apartment is on the eight floor, I said when we were both ready. I figure if were really quite, we can make it through the vents. You sure? Eli asked, running his hand through his hair again. I suggested that he wear a hat like I did so we could hide our blonde hair, but since he had nothing that was completely black we decided to just leave it.

I nodded. Once when I was fifteen, a band that I was a huge fan of came to our town. The pub they played in carded people and I couldnt get in. So my cousin Leigh and I snuck out of home and busted into the pub through the vents. We got to stay for most of the show as well, until they spotted us and threw us out. Do you think I could fit? Eli asked. I took notice of his buffed physique. I bit my lip. Itll be a close call, but maybe. Just try to keep all of your weight even over your body. Ready? Eli nodded. We crept to the back of the building. On the buildings rear there was a big air duct. Its cover was screwed on. From my backpack I drew the screwdriver and began to unscrew each of the eight screws that held the cover on. With each screw safe in my backpack, we could easily lift off the cover. I climbed into the vents first so that Eli could tell what I was doing. He climbed in behind me and pulled the cover over the opening. Pulling my penlight from my bag, I switched it on and stuck it into the flap of my hat, smiling encouragingly to Eli. In the shadow of the vents he looked a little bit sick. The entire bed of the vents was covered in dust. Several spider webs hung in the corners and I swallowed nervously. Here we go. The vent was quite small, so we had to slide on our stomachs and pull ourselves forward with our elbows. Turns were especially hard.

Time to go up. I whispered to Eli, sitting in the space that the opening above me provided. I stood up and, bracing my back against the vent wall, I used my elbows and knees to shimmy up. It was a long and arduous task, leaving both Eli and I winded by the time wed reached horizontal metal again. Only seven more floors to go. What do you think of Simona? I whispered. The first floor had taken us ten minutes each; may as well get some conversation going. Shes great. We havent seen each other in so many years, its good to have a familiar face in Manhattan. Eli whispered back. She really likes you. I replied. I like her too. Link and I were having a conversation, I replied. and he seems to think that things between you two wont last. Why does he think that? Eli grunted as he tried to get around a pretty tight corner which even I had struggled to slip through. You both would have changed so much since you were fifteen. You cant say that you werent expecting someone different. Well... Eli conceded as we began another ascent. I suppose I was expecting her to be the same as when we were in high school. But shes still Simona at heart. We let conversation drop into a preoccupied silence as we scoped the building. It was hard work; by the fourth floor my top was stuck to my back with sweat. I was glad Id

brought a pair of black gloves, because my hands were completely soaked. Just... I began again after two more floors were surpassed. dont break her heart. There came no reply from the struggling Eli. I turned my head to make sure he was alright. As I tilted my head a loud metallic screech hurt my ears. The metal under Eli had begun to buckle. Keep your weight even. I whispered to him. We should go faster. Eli nodded and we picked up speed. After a sweltering eternity we stopped. Eight floor. I whispered. On every floor there had been an open portion of slats. I peered into the one of this floor, and recognised the sitting room of the Montieros apartment. The lights were all off; everyone was sleeping. Carefully, quietly, I pulled the screwdriver from my bag again and began to unscrew the cover. Last chance to back out. I whispered to Eli. He smirked and stayed put. This cover popped off easily and I placed it against the wall of the vent tunnel. Laying on my stomach, I slipped easily out of the opening. Bracing my hands on the back of the couch, I lifted my bottom half through the opening one leg at a time and slid onto the couch cushions easily. After Eli did the same, I pointed him in the direction of Veritys room.

There was no light coming from under Veritys door. She was either sleeping or was out. I glanced at a clock on the wall. Half past three in the morning. Pushing down on the door handle, I peeked into the bedroom. Her bed was empty. I peered behind the door and found only a closet. Cmon. I whispered to Eli, slipping inside the dark room. He shut the door behind him. What exactly are we looking for? I had to think about my answer. What are we really doing here, Alice? Finally I replied, Anything that can tie Verity to Metzlers death. I pointed Eli to the closet as I crouched in front of a bedside dresser. The top of the dresser was strewn with hair brushes and accessories. I sifted through them and found nothing of interest before moving onto the drawers. The first one held only make-up brushes and various perfumes and lotions. I shut it carefully and attempted the next one. Some books, a notepad, and a medication bottle. I flicked through the notebook; it was a dream-diary. The sticker on the medication bottle read, Verity Montiero. Prescription Indomethacin. Dr. Gerard Webb. Eli, I whispered. Whats this? He brushed by me and I held up the bottle so he could see. Indomethacin. He replied. My mom took it. Its for migraines. An ever-growing itch presented itself in the depths of my mind. I had felt its presence before, when the

opportunity to investigate Metzlers murder had presented itself to me. Steadying myself, I stared at it through a magnifying glass, searching for the message I was trying to receive. What does it look like? Its blue. Eli shrugged. No, the shadowy itch breathed, No its not. I pushed on the child lock and opened the bottle. Spilling the pills onto my hand, I stared at them in the circular beam of my flashlight. These were yellow and orange, not blue. I held them up to Eli. He shook his head. Thats not Indomethacin. I shut the lid and shoved the plastic bottle into my bag. The itch was scratched. I didnt have time to question this sudden knowing of information. I could hear the swish of the elevator doors opening, shutting. I glanced at Eli to make sure he had heard it too. Hide!

Fear Itself
Human adrenal glands are situated immediately anterior to the kidneys, and are encased in a connective tissue capsule which is usually partially buried in an island of fat. They secrete three hormones; adrenaline, noradrenalin, and corticosteroids. The first of the three, adrenaline, prepares the body for fight or flight. We feel the rush of adrenaline as many effects to our bodies. Our breathing gets quicker and deeper, our heart rate speeds up, and the force of muscular contraction improves. All of that simply means that we become prepared. In a matter of seconds we are faster, stronger, better. We feel no pain. Our bodies become more resilient to the chaos around us. Our bodies prepare for battle, while our minds prepare an escape route. My thoughts were not as organized as this in that moment. That moment when all I could feel was fear. Deep animalistic fear that made my head spin and my skin burst into sweat.

I leapt for the wall, heart racing and breath deep. My movements were quick and easy; I no longer commanded my own body. That primordial instinct to survive, the fight or flight response, took over. Before I could even assess the situation, I had unscrewed the vent cover of Veritys room faster than lightning. I slid straight into the opening like a frightened mouse, pulling the cover over the gaping hole in the wall. Turning around, I lay flat on my stomach in the vent, fingers clutching the rim of the cover to keep it in place. Peering through the slits, I watched a confused Eli slide under the bed just as the bedroom door opened. Come on, we have to hurry. Verity was saying. I could feel my heart beating in every part of my body. What are we doing, Vee? Why are we here? Melony was wearing only fluffy pyjama bottoms and a thick coat. Her hair was mussed and strewn about her head, and I recognized that cute, sleepy-eyed expression. She had only just woken up. We have to go. I have to stay in your apartment for a while. Verity threw a gym bag onto her bed and began to stuff clothes into it. Why? Melony asked, her eyes growing more aware with every second. What happened? Verity didnt answer. She was pacing the room back and forth, taking clothes from closets and drawers. I thanked our lucky stars that neither Eli nor I had been hiding in the closet.

Hey! Melony said, stopping Verity by holding onto her shoulders. Her brown eyes bore into Veritys grey ones. What happened? Verity stared back, and for the first time since I had first seen her, she looked scared. She was onto me, Mel. I had to. She was going to tell the cops. She was onto me. Veritys sentences came swiftly and stumbling over each other. Vee, Melony stopped her, her voice as smooth and polished as a gemstone. Who? Verity swallowed thickly and clutched a t-shirt in her hands, wringing it between her fingers. Mom. Melons hands dropped from Veritys shoulders and the atmosphere in the room grew as thick and heavy as New York snow. Her hands flew to her face and she pushed back her messy black hair, running it through her hands. Jesus, Vee! she yelled after a few seconds of staring at nothing. Sitting on the bed, she rubbed her eyelids. She was shaking. Verity stared at her before sinking onto the mattress. Her hand touched Melonys back. We can fix this. Verity murmured. No! Melony exclaimed, leaping from the bed and crossing her arms. No, Vee, we cant! Why not? Verity stood from the bed also, dropping the t-shirt she had been squeezing. We fixed it the first time, and the second. You murdered your own fucking mother! Melony screamed, the pressure finally overflowing. You killed your

stepfather! Her eyes were red with anger, and hot tears spilled over her cheeks. You killed Alice! My heart almost stopped. They thought I was dead. They really thought that I was dead. Marla Montiero. Verity killed her. My stomach recoiled. What drove this woman to such extremes as to murder her mother? My mothers a pretentious bitch, but I still wouldnt kill her. Veritys grey eyes darkened and she took a threatening step towards Melony. Dont pin this all on me. She growled through clenched teeth. Dont forget that youve got a hand in all of this. Youre an accessory to murder. If Im going down, youre coming with me. It was like watching fire and ice battle. Two extremes, each as powerful as each other. No way to tell the victor yet. The room was still for what seemed like an eternity as the two girls competed in silent combat, each trying to get their point across with merely their stare. After a thousand years or so, Melony averted her eyes and stared at the ground. Her breath came out thickly. She was defeated. Tears made dark spots on her coat. My heart went out to her. I dont want to make you number four. Veritys voice came from an unknown plain of existence. There was something unnatural about the calm in her voice. There was a...a deadness in that voice.

I didnt know it at that point, but I would soon come to intimately know and fear that deadness for the rest of my life. When Melony looked up, her eyes were spiderwebbed with bright red veins. She was so frightened, pleading to be spared. Verity stared ruthlessly at her. Even though both girls were the same height, Verity seemed to tower over the submissive Melony. A fierce hatred grew in my gut for Verity. Melony sank down onto the bed, and I could tell that she was scared, too scared to do anything about it. Where is she? Melony asked quietly after a few minutes. Who? Verity asked, packing away jeans into her bag. Your mom. Verity nodded towards Marlas room. Shakily, Melony stood and left the room. I assumed it was to pay her respects to Marla Montiero. Verity zipped up her bag and left the room, flicking off the light switch. I heard her call for Melony, and then the whoosh of the elevator doors opening and closing. They were gone. After a few minutes I watched Eli come out from under the bed. He looked straight at me through the vent. Shit, was all he said. I let the vent cover fall as I climbed out from the metal tunnel.

Theres a dead body in this apartment. I breathed. The adrenaline rush had dissipated and my body was beginning to quiver. We should go. Eli nodded and I screwed Veritys vent cover back onto the wall. Even though we could have taken that way out of the building, we at least had an inkling of where to go from the sitting room vent. There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. The body count just increased.

Certainty
Simona and Link had stayed in my apartment to wait for Eli and me. When I checked the clock on the wall I discovered that it was five oclock in the morning. Sometime after we left the two had fallen asleep on the couches. Moving quietly, Eli made coffee for himself and tea for me as I pulled out my laptop and set it up on the bed. Digging out the pills we required in less than legal ways, I typed into Google Images the simple words cyanide pill. Images shot up of different coloured pills. One image had a picture which matched the orange and red pills I held in my hand. Eli sat on my bed next to me, placing the mugs onto the bedside table. Looks like a match to me. I said, holding out the bottle of pills and turning the laptop screen to face Eli. He nodded, biting his lip and running a hand through his hair. We have evidence. I said, my voice sounding faraway. We can go to the cops. Eli shook his head, eyebrows drawing together. Youve gotten arrested for breaking and entering once this week.

Heat flashed over my face as I realized this. Then how the fuck do we get Verity arrested? My hands balled into fists, gripping the duvet cover in my hands. Id worked hard to get that bitch locked up, and now the whole plans gone to ruin. Eli took in a breath and let it out slowly. He threw his hands up into the air. He didnt have an answer for me. I cant go to the cops with the evidence, because then theyd know that I broke into the Montieros apartment, for real this time. One thought came to mind, but it was pure asinine. A death sentence. I let out a deep breath and flopped onto my back. A death sentence, but my only option none the less. Theres absolutely no way that I could just pretend like I didnt know the truth. I couldnt go back to the way things were. I was in far too deep to get out now. Okay. I said when I had finally been able to silence the one bit of smarts in me and let the need for justice take over. You should stay here tonight. Theres a spare bedroom next to the sitting room. Eli looked at me in the light of an ever-growing dawn. It was a new day already. Would it be my last? I know what I have to do. I said sombrely, reaching to pull down the laptop screen. I turned so that my back faced Eli, who was walking away to the spare bedroom. Tears ran freely down my face, making a wet spot in the pillow. Catching a killer is a very dangerous thing to do. I understand that now.

 Thanks to last nights adventures, I feel asleep easily and deeply, though not without my worries. Simonas voice became a permanent fixture in my head, telling me of how stupid and insane all of this was. I found it hard not to agree. I slept in until late afternoon. I was only roused from my dreamless slumber by the sound of my shower and the smell of Links brunch, of course. I swear, all that boy can ever make is scrambled eggs. Anything else gets scorched. When I woke I spent a long while lying in bed, thinking intensely. When the smell of brunch could no longer be ignored, I rose and dressed slowly. I felt strangely hollow, but whether it was because of the adrenaline rush or because of my conviction to go ahead with this ludicrous plan, I didnt know. What time did you guys get home at? Simona asked when I crept into the kitchen and glided onto a stool. Her hair was still wet from her shower. Five or something, I murmured into the cup of tea Simona had pushed under my nose. I took a gulp from it, wincing as my tongue burned. Find anything good? Link asked, plopping buttery eggs onto a plate by my elbow. He tilted his head in such a way as to suggest he had hurt his neck while sleeping on my couch. From my pocket I pulled the bottle of poison and dropped it on the table. Link picked it up and opened it.

Dont sniff it, lick it, or swallow it. I warned, pushing the eggs around my plate so that they left a wet yellow trail. Is everything alright? Eli walked in, rubbing his tired eyes. Without being prompted, he began to tell an intricate tale of our quest. When he finished, Simona and Link were filled with questions. Luckily Eli was capable of answering all of them, except for one. What do we do now? Links eyebrows were drawn together as he asked this question. Eli looked to me. Alice? I pushed away my half-empty plate and stood from the barstool. I know what Im doing. We dont, Simona replied. Whats going on? I shook my head and disappeared into my sullen and forlorn bedroom to shower and dress. I was certain; my only option was possibly the most dangerous one. I had to confront Verity Montiero.

Fallen Angel
I didnt say a word to the gang about where I was going. They would only try to stop me. The only things I brought with me were the pills and my pocket knife, safely secured in my sock. Its unfamiliar weight pressed against the bone of my ankle as I walked. The sky was darkening earlier and earlier these days; twilight had already reached us. Melony Hartigan lived approximately twenty-two minutes away from my apartment building. Sixteen minutes before I get there. Every part of my body wanted to stop, just stop. I knew I couldnt. Whether I liked it or not, this was something that I had to do. I had to talk to Verity. I had to let her know that Id uncovered her dirty little secret, and that I was going to tell the world. But why? The question came so faint that I scarce was sure Id heard it. Why was I doing this, exactly? I racked my brain for the next seven minutes. And the truth was, I didnt know. I didnt know why I had to do something so reckless, so foolish. But at the same time I knew that if I let this go, I would never forgive myself. I could not let someone get away with murder. But why confront her? Why not just go to the police?

The police would know that I broke into their apartment again, for one thing. But what could I possibly accomplish by having conversations with a killer? And then it hit me: I needed to come face to face with Verity Montiero. I needed more than anything to see the fear in her eyes when I tell her how I will expose her for all she is. I needed to feel her fear. I needed the pleasure of it. I always knew that there was something different about me. Something...controlling. Perhaps the beast inside me who wishes to feel the fear is no different than Veritys. But my trouble is relatively harmless. Ive never murdered anyone before. Not yet. That feeling again. The one I got when I found the cyanide pills, when I first decided to look into Anthony Metzlers murder.. That insistent, sinister itch at the bottom of my mind. Why are you here? I screamed mentally at it. No answer. Times up. I stood outside Melonys apartment building, looking through the doors. Last chance. Taking in a deep breath, I let it out in a big sigh as I pushed open the doors. Apartment 3C filled me with memories as I stood on the public side of the door. All of them supposed to be

happy, but each and every one of them filling my centre with a deep longing. Seo a thann aon rud, I whispered. Here goes nothing. I carefully knocked on the door, and waited. The door opened with a swish, and Melony stood in the doorway. She looked as if she had been crying. At the sight of me she began crying all over again. Her eyes were wide with fright, and she held a hand over her mouth. She choked out a word which I assumed was supposed to me by name. Thats right. They thought I was dead. I had no sympathy for her. She was the one who let Verity into my apartment. She was the one who overlooked Veritys extra-curricular activities. She was the one who broke my heart. Clamping down on my tongue, I pushed past her into the apartment. Melony followed, shutting the door after her. Alice! she gulped through the waterfalls rolling down her face. Oh God, Alice! I thought you were I know what you thought. I said coolly, folding my arms over my chest. How could you? How could you try to kill me? Melonys lip was trembling. Her hands shook. I know what youre up to. I said, my voice as hot and smooth as a soldering iron. I know what Verity did. Another tear slid down her face and plopped onto her t-shirt. What? she asked.

Dont play dumb. I replied sharply. My own hands were shaking from pure anger as I pulled the cyanide form my pocket and showed it to her. Verity Montiero killed her boyfriend, her mother, and you both tried to kill me. Melony was shaking her head back and forth, making her hair bob from right to left. Im not going to rest until I see both of your sorry asses in prison. I growled. At that point Melony did the most surprising thing she had ever done; she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me, hard and passionately. I struggled to get away from her grip, but my will wasnt strong enough. I had wanted her back. And now I had her, even for just a moment. Enjoy it while it lasts, Alice. The anger in the pit of my stomach melted, and in its place came lust. Its easy to forget how much you hate someone in a moment like that. The moment when you receive something youve been wanting, been needing, for what had seemed like forever. The pills were shoved into my pocket once again, forgotten. Melony guided me, but I still knew the way. Through the sitting room, past the kitchen, into the bedroom. I found the ceiling above me and the mattress below me. I didnt think, I didnt worry, I just lived. Living in the moment, thats what youre good at, Alice. Never mind this sleuthing thing. This is what you were built for. You were built for Melony. Her long black hair brushed along my face and neck, enveloping us in a dark, loving world of our own. Her scent

overcame me with a giddy desire. She took my wrists and gently stretched my arms up to the bed frame, her touch like an angels feather. My human angel. Her touch turned. In a matter of seconds my human angel had fallen from grace and became a fiend, a demon. My wrists were pulled tight together, and when I tilted my head backwards I could see a belt snaring my wrists to the bed frame. Melony lifted herself up so that she was straddling my waist. She looked down at me; her eyes were still red, but there was something strangely similar to Verity in them. Mel? my voice came from a weak and faraway place. Im sorry, Alice. Melony whispered, her voice raw, as she tied a scarf around my head, gagging me. She lifted herself up and gracefully stood from the bed. I let out a straggling whine after her as she shut the bedroom door with a click. I screamed into the gag. Stupid fucking needy whore. Why would you ever trust her? Fucking idiot! It was in that moment that I cursed myself for all eternity. How could you? How could you even have thought about doing that with a woman who tried to kill you? Do you have some sort of a death wish? Weak, clingy idiot. Fuming, I pulled at my bounds until my wrists were raw. I bit down on the scarf. You thick sentimental fool. You let your heart take precedence over your head, and youre going to die. Do you hear me, Alice? You are going to die for this.

I screamed again, pulling with everything I had at the belt. I twisted again, and this time felt a small bit of leeway. Looking back, I could see that the belt had begun to split. When I yanked again, it didnt budge, and I only managed to leave a gash on my wrist from the buckle. Screams became sobs, and sobs became screams again, until the two mingled as one. You will die tonight if you do not get out. Something from outside my chamber drew my attention. It was Melony, talking on the phone. Telling someone to come home right now, I need you. Probably Verity. How long ago was it that you needed me, Melony? How long had she been seeing Verity before she told me? A week, two? Longer? Had I ever been her one and only? Once Verity gets home, Im dead. Shell murder me. If not with cyanide, then with something else. A knife, a pillow, this belt acting as a noose. I wrenched at the belt, tearing deeper cuts into my skin. The fake leather split again, this time almost halfway through it. I cried out against the scarf as a buzzing in my pocket told me that someone was trying to call me. Simona probably, wondering where I ran off to. The phone buzzed for ages before the call finally ended. As the phone quietened down, I could hear the front door open. What is it? Verity asked, slightly annoyed.

Melony launched into a tearful, incommunicable roundabout explanation which didnt seem to make much sense. Straightening my hands out, I pulled down on the belt. Just a little more...Ah! The belt inched around the thickest part of my hand and slid off of my fingers. Free! Tearing at the scarf, I leapt from the bed and snatched at the door handle. I threw the door aside with all the strength and fury of a hurricane, and came face to face with the killer herself.

Blaze of Glory
Verity Montiero stood with her legs braced, her arms crossed. Her eyes widened at the sight of the living, breathing girl she had poisoned, before going dark. Eyes ablaze, she took her anger out on Melony. Why is she here? she yelled to the poor frightened Melony, slamming the apartment door shut behind her. Melony wept as she tried to explain, but Verity cut her off. Why is she in the bedroom? When Melony didnt answer, Verity took a threatening step toward her. Why is she in your fucking

bedroom? she asked again, her voice rising with impatience and growing wrath. Im here, I spoke as I stepped forward, placing each foot as carefully as if I were on a mine field. because I am going to see you fall. My voice gave no indication of my internal turmoil. Veritys eyes slid onto me and held as firm as steel. She did not speak. I whipped out the pills again. Eyes like stormy weather devoured the image; the girl who would end it all. History will always repeats itself. Her reign of terror would only be over through execution. I may have drawn evidence on her, but she drew something far more deadly on me. From her bag, Verity Montiero pulled a gun. Albert Einstein theorized that time does not truly exist; that every hour, every minute, every second, is just a collective figment of the human imagination which we invented in order to add some order to our lives. I wont even pretend that I completely comprehend this theory, yet in this moment, I began to understand. Time slowed down to an impossible pace as I stared at the heavy, glimmering weapon. In Veritys hands it seemed unnatural, yet when I met her eyes again I knew that the gun and her were made for each other. A weapon just as deadly as its human counterpart. Sit. Was all she said. And I complied. I couldnt be reckless now; now was the time to use my head.

Verity was blocking the door. The fire exit was behind me, and I wouldnt get there quick enough without losing my head or some other valuable part of me. There was no escape. Melony sobbed in her corner. A streak of anger flashed across my mind concerning her. Its not enough that she had to cheat on me; she had to sign my death sentence as well. Verity barked at her to shut up, and she did. It surprised me how much control Verity had over her girlfriend. She had reined in such a fierce spirit and beat her down into a snivelling puddle of weakness. I thought to myself, if Im going to die, Im going to know why she did it first. Isnt this the part of the movie where you tell me your master plan? I asked plainly. Shut up, bitch. Verity growled, taking two precarious steps closer. I shrugged. Im just asking because I dont really get it. Why did you kill Anthony Metzler? Why did you kill your boyfriend? Verity crossed the room until the gun was at a dangerously close distance to my head. I told you to shut up. I will, dont worry. I replied, my voice taking on a steely tone. Just answer my questions first. Verity took in a deep breath but didnt answer. So why did you do it? I asked again. Verity made a noise which could really only be described as a huff. She

dropped the gun and walked over to the kitchen counter. She ran her hands through her hair before turning back to me. That bastard deserved everything he got, she replied in a hoarse tone. He cheated on me with my tramp of a mother, and for what? To publish his book? I know how it feels to be cheated on. I said coolly, my indicating eyes landing on Melony. With my fucking mother, of all people! Verity continued as if I hadnt spoken. Alright, so you killed him because he cheated on you. I get it. I lied through my teeth. And your mom? Verity spluttered. She went along with it! She married my boyfriend because she couldnt get anyone on her own! I nodded. My mothers a bitch too. When she smiled I saw the glint in her eye of a person on the verge of snapping. So you get it? You understand? I nodded again. Oh, I understand. But that can never justify your actions. I leant forward menacingly in my seat. My mother may be a right stick up the arse but I would never murder her. At least I have values. The gun found itself in my direction again. Dont you dare think that youre better than me, bitch. Oh, what? I asked, my voice rising. Should I feel sorry for you? Youre a fucking heir to a pretty sizeable throne. Youve had everything youve ever wanted in life, and youre still not happy.

The only two people Ive ever cared about abandoned me for each other! I dont blame them. Verity crossed the room and delivered a rock-hard punch to my face faster than anything Id ever witnessed. Luckily Elis training had come back to me and I rode with the punch. I stared down the barrel of a gun as she told me, Youll die for that. You tried to kill me before. I replied, my left eye stinging and blurring with unwanted tears despite Elis advice. It didnt work. Verity crossed the room again, probably so she wouldnt hit me again. She gently touched her bruising knuckles and winced. Melony stood between the two of us, against the wall, petrified. She was the image of a deer caught in the headlights. So tell me this, I began again, rubbing at the tears which had gathered on my lashes and regretting it as the pain flared up. If your choice of weapon is cyanide, why do you have a gun? Verity gazed down at the weapon in her hands. Her eyes glazed as a memory filled her. She shook it away. Your knuckles must hurt, I said as my thoughts finally tracked down an idea. You should put some ice on them, so they dont swell. Verity nodded to herself and turned to the kitchen. God, how could she be so stupid? I launched out of my seat and ran at the murderer. Well, I more or less ran through her. She bounced against the

kitchen counter with a winded sound. With my arms holding her to the counter, I kneed her hand against the tiled surface until I heard the sound of the gun hitting the floor. Verity gave a strangled cry as her only weapon escaped her grasp. Her fist rose again and smacked me, much harder than before. My feet slid from under me and I fell onto the floor. Verity jumped on me and held me down. She was so close that I could smell her hair. Again she raised her fist and brought it down on me. And again. I strained for the blade in my sock but I just couldnt reach it, no matter how hard I tried to stretch. Luckily, Elis training came back to me once again, just in time for me to save my face from further damage. My block came up and halted her punch. She tried again, and I blocked her. With pride somewhat restored, I delivered a perfectly executed punch of my own to her face. She had not been trained by Eli, so she didnt know how to ride with the punch. In that split second that her balance faltered, I had pushed her down to the floor and kept her there, my hands around her throat. I did not intend to kill her, because then I would be no better than her. And I am better than her, dammit! Ive never killed for the sake of killing. Ive never intentionally hurt the people I love. I came to realize at this point that my fingers had grown fatally tight around Veritys neck. Her bulging eyes darted to the horrified Melony, and she choked out one word: Gun. Carefully, each step cautious, Melony walked to and picked up the gun. She held it like someone who had only

ever seen guns while watching CSI. Her hands shook as she held the weapon, glancing at Verity for instruction. Shoot her, Verity choked out. Almost in slow motion, I watched as Melony slowly raised her arms, gun clasped between her trembling hands. Mel I started to scream, my hands freeing Veritys throat. She coughed thickly and stayed flat on the ground. And with the booming clap of what I had mistakenly believed to be thunder, I fell onto my back on the floor, unmoving.

Exit Wounds
Beep...Beep...Beep... Look at her; she looks so peaceful. When do you think shell wake up? Any minute now? A little while later? Beep...Beep...Beep... Do you think shell still want to do it after this? Ive always thought that she was a little bit of an adrenaline junkie. I dont think shell even consider stopping. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Well find out one day, I suppose. Beep...Beep...Beep... Light flooded my vision and I needed to shut my eyes again. The talking stopped. This time I let my eyes focus and get used to the light. The harsh, bright lights I had always associated with hospitals. Hospital? Why am I in hospital? Oh.

I remember now. The gun, the girls. The fear. The searing pain in the slight hollow below my right breastbone. Whirring blue and red ambulance lights. People in green sanitation suits leaning over me, saying all sorts of things I didnt understand through white masks. Fragmented memories sewn together with deep periods of exhausted blackness. I felt as thought Id been sleeping for days, yet at the same time it was as if Id never slept at all. I was shattered yet rested. As my blurred vision finally cleared I could see the faces of my faithful friends gathered around the hospital bed I was lying in. Simona stopped speaking to Eli and Link and looked at me with kind eyes. She was still concerned with my wellbeing, even after I went ahead with my idiotic plan and got myself shot. Hey sweetie, Link spoke quietly, as if the slightest rise in decibel levels would shatter my poor fragile ears. How are you feeling? I swallowed against the dryness in my mouth. Tired. Raising my left arm, I rubbed at my heavy eyelids and recoiled at the pain in my face. Touching gently, I could tell that the flesh around my left eye was swollen and black and blue from Veritys iron fists. Thats fine; go back to sleep if you want. I shook my head and didnt attempt to move. What happened?

You got yourself into a bit of trouble. Simona said, her hand on mine. But everythings fine now. You fixed it, Alice. Eli smiled warmly. Fixed what? Everything. Link took over in the explanation of what Id missed. When Melony shot you, her neighbour heard the bang and called the cops. They came, found you on the floor with a hole in your chest, Melony having a panic attack and Verity packing for an unplanned vacation. They also found the pills in Veritys medicine bottle and connected the dots. There are some holes in your story, kitten, like how you got hold of those pills. Ill bet some cops will be here later to ask you about that. But otherwise everythings okay. Verity admitted to poisoning Anthony Metzler and her mom, and Melonys being charged with grievous bodily harm. Its all over? I asked, a little bit slow on the uptake. Could you blame me? I had enough pain killers in my system to knock out Mike Tyson. Link nodded, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. He glanced at Simona. Now? Simona nodded yes. Link grinned and I heard a bag rustling. What? I asked. Well, we thought that since you did such a good job we would all chip in and get you a present. Sort of a getwell-soon-and-well-done-on-your-first-case thing. Link placed a carefully-wrapped rectangular box on my lap. I grinned at him. Its not going to be a stack of Nancy Drews, is it?

Simona shook her head. Even better. Watch your arm. With my left hand only I opened up the wrapping paper and was left with a plain white box. Lifting the lid, I couldnt help but smile broadly. In the box sat a perfect new pair of Converse. They looked to be made out of sapphire-blue denim, with white laces and toe caps. Thank you, I said to them all. Best present Ive ever gotten. We cant have you chasing down bad guys in that ratty old pair. Simona replied. Have you come to our side? I asked her. Simona glanced down and took in a huge, thoughtful breath. Well, if its what makes you happy then I cant possibly stop you. Lord knows Ive tried. Thats the spirit, I murmured, my eyelids growing heavier still. The two fellas smiled to themselves. Obviously they had some part in this new way of thinking. Are you tired, angel? Link asked tenderly. I nodded, and before I could muster a response the world was blocked from me again and I fell into a pit of morphine-induced sleep.

Closure
Over the next few days I was allowed to recuperate at the hospital. My gunshot wound slowly began to heal; it had gone straight through, so there were no worries about getting a bullet removed. The only problem was that as it smashed through my chest it managed to take with it a small, circular piece of bone from my right clavicle, which I was told would never completely heal. It wouldnt hurt me, but I would always have a small fingertip-sized hollow in my breastbone. As for the cuts Id received on my wrists from the belt which Melony had used to trap me, I would be left with minor light scars from a choice couple; the rest would heal in about a week. When Detectives Scott Tomasoski and Barry Siegler showed up, I was prepared for their onslaught of questions. I told them that while I had broken into the Montieros apartment the first time, I had snatched Veritys bottle of meds because I too suffered from migraines and was too cheap to buy pain-relief for myself. When I noticed a funny smell off of them I tested them with a stray cat, and when it died, I confronted Verity about why she had poison. A stupid

move, but nonetheless I helped catch a killer. For that heroic act, the charge of theft was dropped out of the goodness of Tomasoskis heart, wherever it may be. As the detectives decided it was time to leave, Tomasoski requested that he have a second alone with me. I was set on edge; I didnt know what to expect from a man like him. At first it appeared as if he was trying to organize his thoughts. Then he said to me, Vigilantism is illegal. You know that, right? I nodded. I knew where he was going with this. It may not be illegal in Ireland, but here, in New York, it sure as hell is. I understand. I replied sullenly. Tomasoski turned for the door, turning back just once to say to me, Leave the crime-solving to the NYPD. Well, today Ive made a new enemy, I thought to myself before becoming somewhat immersed in daytime television. That Sherlock Holmes movie with Robert Downy Jr. Was on later that night. How ironic. A few days passed and before long I found myself packing for home. My right arm was in a sling, and I had two huge bandages on both the back and the front of my shoulder. The nurses shoved boxes of bandages and painkillers into my one working hand, each telling me to get better real quick and solve more crimes! Over my few days in hospital I had thrilled the staff with my treacherous escapades.

As I left the hospital early Saturday afternoon, I quickly dropped my stuff at home. Simona had helped me home, as both Link and Eli had to work. While I was hospital-bound, both Melony and Verity had been placed in cells in a Manhattan branch of the NYPD, awaiting their trial. I was hurt by Melonys actions, both physically and emotionally. For a few blissfully unaware moments I had believed that she wanted me back. I was so, so wrong, and I will forever have the mark of the bullet she delivered to me imprinted on my skin and my bone. I needed closure; I needed to tell her how much she had hurt me. Of course, I will come out of this with some glimmer of hope. This imperfection, this flaw Id received will act as both a trophy for my victory in catching a killer, and also as a reminder to hold onto my heart and use my head. I suppose Id have to thank her for that. And that first scar became the first of many, each with a memory and a lesson of their own. The NYPD had never changed since my last visit; there were still people bustling about the place, still people sitting on benches, crying for whatever reasons. They allowed me in to visit Melony. She lay on the thin mattress in her cell, staring up at the ceiling. It would seem that she was all cried out. She was now thoroughly defeated. She gave up her life for a woman who could buy her the moon if she asked. Let me ask you now Melony; was the moon worth it? I wouldnt think so.

Hartigan, the portly desk cop called. You have a visitor. Unbothered by this occurrence, she continued to stare up at the ceiling. The cop looked at me and shrugged before shutting the door. I was in a thin, short hallway with four cells on either side. Melony was in the second left. Only two others were occupied, one by a strung-out hooker and the other by a sleeping giant of a woman. Melony. I called softly. Her ears seemed to perk up like a puppys. She sat up in the bed and swung her legs to the floor. Standing, she let her hands touch the metal bars dividing us. Oh, Alice... Was what she said to me when she saw my sling, I am so sorry. I didnt reply; I let my expression speak for me. You know I only did it because I was scared; I was so scared of her, Alice. I knew shed kill me if I did anything to stop her. I didnt want to hurt you Alice, I love you so much, please forgive me, Ill never do anything like it again Thats right, I cut her off. You never will do anything like that again. On anyone. Youre going to prison, Melony. You are going to spend the rest of your twenties, and possibly longer, in the confines of Bedford Hills. I couldnt help but laugh. Dont feed me that bullshit. You knew what you were doing when you stayed silent after Metzler died. You know what you were doing when you let Verity into my apartment. And you knew exactly what you were doing when you shot me. So dont say that you were

absolutely defenceless in this whole mess; you had every opportunity to end it from the get-go. Melony shook her head madly. No, no, thats not true This bipolar love affair just isnt working for me anymore. I cut in sharply, my word as true as ever. Im going to leave now, and if I ever see you again without a set of metal bars between us, you will know exactly what it means to be utterly defenceless. With my head held high, I left the NYPD with my pride fully restored and without a trace of guilt in my blood.

The End Where I Begin

I think I might get a dog. A dog? Really? Yeah, Id like to have a dog. Since Bear died its been kinda lonely here, and Ive never had a dog before. I replied to Simona through a mouthful of pizza. With all the crazy shit that happened the past few days, I was in sore need of a relaxing night in with friends. On the agenda tonight was pizza and whatever crap was on TV. Dogs are hard work, Link replied. We had a dog. Simona raised her hand slightly to signal that she had something to say on the matter. Swallowing her mouthful, she said, That brings up another interesting question. Why dont you ever tell us about when you were little? All we know about you is that you grew up in Kansas and that you had a dog. Simonas eyes widened as she realized something. Wait...I think I know your secret. The room silenced as all eyes flew to Simona. Links eyes held something quite close to...Was that fright? Are you the actual Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz? Eli and I burst into laughter. Even Link cracked a smile, despite that odd alarm I witnessed in him. Its a long story. He said.

Weve got time. Eli said as he returned from the kitchen with four sealed cans of Coke. Oh no you dont. Link replied with a slight, nervous laugh. Im a private detective now; I will find out one day. I said to him, pretending to be serious. I really will, I added to myself. So youre keeping that up? Simona asked. My eyes still on Link, I saw his shoulder relax as the conversation moved away from him. I thought you were fine with it? Eli asked jokingly. Simona raised her hands in an I surrender position. Hey, I can learn to live with it. But that in no way means that I will like it. I turned to Eli. What do you think, Eli? You still up for training me? He ran a hand through his hair; it was obviously his signature movement. Sure, if you want. I do want! Your training helped me to protect my face from getting even more busted up. I pointed at the fading bruises on my left eye. Eli laughed. Sure. Every Friday? Sounds like a plan. I sipped from my can of Coke. I made a murmur as I remembered something I had been meaning to ask. When I was talking to Verity, I asked her why she had a gun if she killed with cyanide. She got this really weird look in her eyes, like she was afraid of something. What do you think it was?

Simonas chewing grew slow. She nodded uneasily. Was this the gun that Melony shot you with? I nodded. The police asked her how she got it. Apparently it was her mothers. Okay, I guess that answered my question. Thats not all. Eli added, shaking his head. Verity told the cops that her mother had got it to kill her father with. This threw me for a loop. What? Eli looked down at his plate. Apparently Marla Montieros first husband died of a gunshot wound to the head. The killer was never found, and Marla claimed a massive life insurance payment. Verity witnessed the whole thing. I guess thats why she became the person she was. Simona mused. I shook my head. No. Theres no way that her actions can be justified. Well, she was only seven at the time, Al. Something like that changes a child for the worst. I continued to shake my head. I would much rather believe for my own sake that Verity Montiero killed her lover and her mother because she didnt get her way, rather than she killed because someone hurt her, and they hurt her because someone else hurt them, and on it goes. I would rather believe that shes just an unfortunate break in the system than the fact that hate breeds hate.

There was a moment of silence as the gang received the feelings which I poured out of my heart. You dont really believe that though, do you? Simona asked timidly. I have to. Conversation lulled as everyone tried to think of something to say. What about you guys? I asked Simona and Eli, breaking the silence. What are you gonna do? Simona and Eli traded a glance before Simona said, I think were going to take it slow. Really slow, Eli added. Friends-for-now slow. I smiled but didnt continue the conversation. It was their business and I had no right to interfere, after all. What kind of dog are you getting? Link asked. He seemed to have recovered from his slight bout of trepidation. I chewed on my slice of pizza for a second and considered this. My uncle had a husky. I always loved that dog. Will your building let you have a dog that big? I nodded. Ill ask, but Im sure were allowed to have anything from a fish to a St. Bernard. Theres a lady on the second floor with a seeing eye dog; huskies are the same size as Labradors, right? Eli nodded. I think so. You should train the dog to track bodies. Link laughed.

I joined in with the jokes, but I did have to think to myself about this. Was I really ready to take on such a huge responsibility? The surname ODea can be traced to the Irish deaghdh, which can be translated to mean good luck. And I guess I had been lucky...this time. But what about next time? Or the time after that? Would I get away as relatively unscathed as I had on this case? Would I walk away with my life? But in the time I have on this earth, dont I have a responsibility to do as much good as I can? And if this is what the future holds for me, how can I possibly ignore it? My grandfather was a smart man. I had always looked to him for advice. I wondered to myself, what would he say in this moment? And I knew the answer straight away; If you can do good, you do it as much as you possibly can, no matter the cost. So thats settled? A private detective? An electric chill ran through my body, and a smile became stuck to my face. Welcome to wherever you are, Alice. Through the energized aura of my whole self, a delicately dangerous whisper wafted through the fabric of time and space and spoke to me in a voice so soft that the only indication that it had ever truly existed was the prickling aftershock of being addressed by this existential being. We have work to do.