Section 3 of Crimson Snow

Section 3 - A Change in Perception

         When the Snow Melts

Sometimes a simple and innocent event can change your whole outlook on things, on life, on people…

         The sun blazed down on the city, melting the snow with its golden rays. Children ran about, playing in the remaining snow, temporarily erasing the last five days with their cheerful laughter.

         Reagan was watching three children build a snowman, albeit a small one due to the increasing lack of building material. He was sat outside the police headquarters taking a small break from work, it was lunch time and it had been so long since he had not worked through lunch. Too wrapped up in his thoughts he did not hear someone come up behind him. Thud. Icy fingers ran down Reagan’s back as a snowball caught him on his neck, dripping down his spine. Jumping to his feet he whirled round to catch a glimpse of a shadows darting around the corner of the building.

         For a moment he could not decide whether to be angry or amused, merely hovering by the bench and shaking snow from his back. The sound of stifled laughter seemed to make up his mind as he crept over to the corner where his attacker hid. Obviously his stealth skills were failing somewhat as Reagan was met by another helping of freezing snow. This was a matter of pride now. Blindly Reagan tackled his attacker to the ground, the snowy blanket cushioning the impact. Shaking the white veil from his eyes his silvery gaze met the mischievous twinkling green of the other’s. Stunned, he did not move for a second and that was immediately taken advantage of as the positions were changed. Still in shock Reagan barely noticed the snow being messed into his hair by his green-eyed assailant before the other’s weight moved off him.

         The world seemed to shift beneath Reagan suddenly as the sun gleamed behind his attacker, illuminating them so they looked like an angel, chestnut hair glowing with more colours than he could give name to – he had never been very artistic. The ground seemed not to be there anymore and Reagan felt like he was falling deep into the bowels of the Earth. All of this happened in a matter of seconds, broken as a snowball smashed into his chest. Scrambling to his feet Reagan let out a childish war whoop, grabbing a handful of snow and chasing after the other with a laugh.

. . . . .

         ‘No, stop, stop.’ Reagan gasped as he lay in the snow, squirming beneath the other. ‘Deonte, stop it.’

         Deonte merely smirked and finished stuffing snow down Reagan’s shirt, making to get off him before he found himself being slammed to the ground. ‘That w-was c-cold.’ Reagan stammered, shivering as he tried to dislodge the snow from his back, straddling the other to stop him getting away, and not letting his guard down this time.
         Deonte laughed before he caught Reagan’s meaningful gaze and then paled slightly. ‘No, Reagan, don’t please, I’m ticklish.’ he begged through laughter as freezing cold hands shovelled snow down his shirt as he had done to the other. ‘Reagan.’ he whined, breathless with laughter as he struggled to get the grey-eyed policeman off him.
         ‘Oh, now you want to stop?’ Reagan replied, tickling him without mercy. No doubt they were attracting a lot of attention but neither of them noticed, nor did they care particularly, people could stand and watch all they liked.
         ‘Yes, stop, Reagan, please.’ he pleaded, ‘I’m sorry, just stop tickling me.’

         Reagan paused as he looked down at the other, meeting Deonte’s gaze again. That feeling again. That sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He recognised it though desperately tried not to, it was not right, not that the other was a man but that it was Deonte…

         ‘You okay, Reagan? You’ve gone very white, seen a ghost?’ Deonte said, his cold hand touching the other’s cheek as he studied him a joking expression masking his concern for the other.
         ‘I’m fine,’ he replied, his voice somewhat strained though as he jerked his head back from his partner’s touch, trying to make out it was because his fingers were so cold. ‘I just need to go in and warm up, okay?’ he said, his eyes straying to Deonte’s lips although he tried hard to keep them away.
         ‘I’ll come with you.’
         ‘No!’ Reagan cried as he got up, surprise flaring in Deonte’s face, ‘I mean, no, don’t come in just because of me.’ he amended.
         ‘Well, I need to get warm too…’
         ‘Yes, of course. Err… I’ll see you later, then.’ he said, fair near running inside, white flakes flying off him as he left a startled Deonte lying in the snow.
         ‘What’s up with him?’ he asked himself softly as he watched Reagan head back into the building.


         Dressing to Kill

The Maine household was near silent at this time, the curtains drawn tightly across the windows of the three-bedroom terrace, making it seem almost deserted as the drapes blocked out the sun’s unfeeling gaze and prying eyes. Mrs Maine slept soundly in her bed with dreams of her son comforting her, the only time she had with him now so it was no surprise she spent a lot of the day asleep. Nicole, on the other hand, had busied herself with some activity up in her room, the door locked fast against intruders.

         A small patch grass served as the front lawn edged with a few flowers to add colour, it was a ‘developed’ city after all, to have a lawn out front was a miracle in itself. However, this rare splash of green amongst the concrete jungle had been trampled into a muddy brown by the many feet of cold-hearted reporters who cared more about a good story than the family’s feelings. One or two remained still, waiting to catch a glimpse of anyone emerging, trying to get comments, but most had been sent away by the police with threats of fines, lawsuits and overnight stays in Her Majesty’s hotel. Upstairs a shadow moved about in a room, their figure cast against the curtains but the reporters could not get any answers from the silent spectre, though not through lack of effort…

         Three o’ clock, plenty of time to get ready, she had another five hours, four and a half if you allowed time to get there and everything. Plenty of time she had thought. Well, that had been the theory and putting theories into practice does not always work out quite as one wants.

         Nicole held another outfit to her body as she looked herself over critically, turning to the side slightly to get a better view, lit by the artificial light above since the curtains kept out the sun. With a scowl she dropped it in a crumpled heap with the many others on the bed, a mound of colours and fabric which hid the white duvet far beneath. Only the odd empty hanger swinging on the rail occupied the wardrobe now, the doors flung open so Nicole could look in the full length mirror that adorned one. ‘No, no, no.’ she muttered disapprovingly under her breath as she moved to stand at the foot of her bed, hands on slender hips, her body still rounded with adolescence. Her shadow was now thrown up across the walls that were splattered with the colours of the rainbow, the multi-coloured confusion summing up Nicole perfectly. ‘I have to look older.’ She frowned suddenly as a thought occurred to her. ‘All male…’ she whispered mysteriously, an idea firing up in her vibrant eyes as she unlocked the door.

         It might seem strange that someone so young, or of any age, was so intent on revenge so soon. There had been no period of grieving for her; Mrs Maine did enough for the both of them. Perhaps it was because her brother had been the only person she could always talk to, he had always been there for her. But when he needed her, where had she been? She had not been there for him, she should have realised, should have pushed him to tell her what had happened when things had began to change. So many things she should have done and had not, she blamed herself for his death. Maybe that was why she was so focussed on catching his killer, it would not change the past but at least then Christopher could rest in peace and she could lay her conscience to rest. Glancing swiftly up and down the landing to check for her mother she slipped through the closed door of the room next to hers.

         ‘I’m sorry, Mum, Chris, but this is for you. I promise I’ll return it.’

         There followed the sound of another door opening and the rattle of hangers, accompanied by the rustle of material as she pulled something, an outfit, out from the wardrobe in there. ‘Perfect, just perfect.’


         Confessions of a Broken Heart

Going home was out of the question, too many memories. In fact, so many places held too many memories now. Without a thought about where he was going he walked down the street once again. Fortunately, the cars on the roads were going slowly because of the ice, otherwise he may have ran into a little trouble. Enough boys had died already and the hospitals were full at this time of year, so maybe it was a sign of God watching over him that he ended up outside the Cathedral.

         Nathaniel looked up with surprise as he found himself outside the city’s Cathedral, the golden spire reaching high up into the heavens of the dusky sky, winter meant that night drew her wings over the city earlier than usual. There were two churches actually, well, this one was a Cathedral and the other was a small chapel on the outskirts of the city, on top of the hills that lay some distance from the houses. It was only small, left abandoned and derelict now in favour of the larger place of worship that had been built nearer the heart of the city, the slowly crumbling walls waiting to be knocked down to make room for the ever increasing need for expansion. The building was a grand structure, the work of skilled architects that had turned it into a true House of God, decorated with awing stained glass windows that all the local schools had contributed to, and a tasteful abundance of gold that blazed in the sunlight, statues of angels frozen in flight as they worshipped God from the heavens with songs of praise. Or were their sculpted mouths open in silent screams of never ending pain?

         Strangely, he found himself fighting back tears at the sight, he had never been particularly religious and he had never felt moved by looking at the Cathedral before. He put it down to being emotionally unstable, only he used kinder terms, and debated going inside. After all, he was here now. Maybe he could sit there and seek comfort in the saints or God, perhaps. Hesitantly he pushed open the door, wincing as it grated on the stone, it felt wrong to disturb the hushed silence inside and he glanced about apologetically to see if anyone was glaring at him.

         No one had noticed, it seemed, they were used to the door by now but Nathaniel only ever came once a year for the Midnight Mass and all the noise then drowned out any sound the door made, and so only the statues gazed down upon on him disapprovingly in his eyes. The Cathedral was even bigger inside, actually, that was not true, it merely seemed that way to Nathaniel, and he felt small and insignificant now as he shuffled inside. There were very few people anyway, an old lady knelt before a crucified Jesus and a man sat somewhere near the back, his head bowed in prayer, there was also a young looking priest moving about and collecting hymn books. Cradling the books in his arms he walked past Nathaniel, smiling warmly on noticing the boy’s unease. ‘Don’t worry about the door, it always makes a dreadful sound when it gets opened.’ The priest assured Nathaniel, beckoning him inside.
         ‘Oh, it does?’ Nathaniel answered as he followed the priest nervously, his voice little more than a whisper.
         ‘Yes, you don’t have to whisper either. We don’t bite here, although I can’t vouch for them.’ The priest said with a soft laugh, gesturing to the two old people. ‘What can I do for you?’ he asked as he placed the hymn books in their correct place before turning around to face Nathaniel, brushing his hands together.
         ‘I know that… I’m just here to think, if that’s okay?’ Nathaniel replied, blushing softly although he was quickly feeling at ease with the priest and he soon fell to studying him. ‘You’re awfully young for a priest.’ he said, the other couldn’t be more than twenty and he was a priest. He had always thought priests were really old and twisted, maybe he should start coming to mass more often…
         The priest laughed softly. ‘Everyone tells me that, no doubt you’re wondering why I chose to throw my life away and put myself in the hands of God?’
         ‘Well now you mention it… You’re probably really bored of telling people by now.’ Nathaniel murmured, not meeting the dark purple gaze of the priest’s. ‘I should go do some thinking for a while before it gets too late and too dark…’
         ‘If you need to talk I’ll be around the Church and I’ll be happy to chat with you.’ The priest said. ‘What’s your name?’
         ‘It’s Nathaniel, Father.’ he replied, looking up to watch the coloured light play across the other’s pale skin and his golden hair.
         ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Nathaniel.’
         ‘And you, Father.’

         The priest nodded to him and then turned away, leaving Nathaniel alone as he returned to tidying the cathedral. Nathaniel felt strangely sad that their conversation had ended but shook his head, forcing his hands deep into his pockets and walking to one of the pews. Sitting down he had to remove his hands from his pockets again, clasping them together and bowing his head over them silently, praying to himself.

         ‘God,’ he began in his head, ‘I know I’ve never been a devout Christian or particularly good in my lifetime but I found myself outside and well… If you’re meant to be omnipresent like they say in Sunday school then you know already but anyway, Christopher died and I’m lost without him. I know you condemn homosexuality and everything but if we truly loved each other then that surely it wasn’t so wrong?
         I don’t know what to think anymore, God. My thoughts are all in turmoil right now. Can’t you give me some guidance? A sign to show you’re looking out for me. Just a clue or a hint to show me what to do next? Can’t you ease the pain? You’re meant to be all powerful, surely you can mend my broken heart. You’re meant to perform miracles all the time, can’t you do something so small? It hurts so much, God…’

         ‘Here.’
         The softly spoken word cut through his thoughts like a knife and he felt his cheeks being wiped gently, the smell of spices drifting over him. Stormy eyes, blue with tears, opened quickly to meet a gaze the colour of black roses.
         ‘You were crying.’ The owner of the dark eyes explained, pressing a tissue into his hands.
         ‘Oh,’ Nathaniel whispered, staring at the tissue for a moment before drying his eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’
There was the sound of the other rising again beside him and Nathaniel looked over at him slowly. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
Nathaniel shook his head and then nodded. ‘I don’t know.’ he cried in the end, bowing his head again, hiccupping into the tissue. It had been so long since he had last cried and now he could not seem to stop. ‘No, not yet…’ He was not ready, the wound was still too fresh.
         ‘When you do come and find me, I’m usually here most of the time. Sundays are a busy day though, we don’t get a day of rest here.’
         ‘Father?’
         ‘Yes, Nathaniel?’
         ‘I have two questions…’ he began.
         ‘Feel free to ask them, I don’t mind.’ The priest replied, sitting down again and watching Nathaniel.
         Nathaniel swallowed and then let the words tumble out. ‘Well, what’s your name, first?’ he asked, not sure whether that was a question he was allowed to ask.
         ‘It’s Eros, a strange name for a priest, I know. My mother was a romantic at heart. And your second question?’
         ‘Does the Bible really condemn homosexuality?’
There was the sound of a soft exhalation of air from beside him, a sigh as Father Eros shifted and got a little more comfortable, hard though that was on the wooden pews. ‘Well…’
         ‘Please, I need to know!’ Nathaniel begged, grabbing Eros’ shirt suddenly, gripping the black material with his fingers tightly, staring deep into the other’s eyes although his gaze was hazy with tears. ‘You have to tell me, please…’ The final please barely passed his lips and he fell against the priest, sobbing heavily whilst Eros stroked him gently, letting the boy cry, after all, tears were the best medicine. ‘It hurts so much, Father. Why did it have to be Christopher? Why him? Did God curse us because we loved each other? It hurts…’

         The priest gave him no answer. He had no answer to give to those questions, none that Nathaniel would want to hear, and his answers, if he had them, would be lost on the hysterical boy. Instead he held him, letting him cry out all his pain.

         They stayed like that for a long time. Nathaniel curled up against Eros’ chest, his shoulders rising and falling with his sobs. The priest’s hand tangled in the other’s black hair, golden strands entwined with the raven locks as the distorted coloured light bathed them gently. Angels’ blessings, but such displays of human emotion were lost on them and they did nothing to ease the pain. The cathedral was empty now, save for the two of them and the saints, the old people had left long before the time that Nathaniel finally raised his head reluctantly to gaze into Eros eyes.

         ‘I’m sorry.’ Nathaniel whispered shakily, ‘I should go.’
         Eros nodded, disentangling the other from his arms, Nathaniel still tightly clutching subconsciously at the priest’s shirt, seeking comfort from him. The priest helped the other male to his feet, taking most of his weight since Nathaniel felt too drained from the many tears he had shed to support himself.
         ‘Thank you, Eros.’ Nathaniel said softly as the other helped him to the door. He just wanted to sleep. He just wanted to close his eyes as he leant against the priest. To lose himself in the faint, spicy fragrance of the Cathedral’s incense, the scent clinging to Eros, and to give into the warmth of the other male’s arms.
         ‘It was no problem, that’s what I’m here for. Are you sure you’ll be able to get home safely?’ Father Eros asked, opening the door, watching Nathaniel wince again at the sound and shiver at the blast of icy winds that stripped the warmth of Eros’ arms from him and sent the fragrance dissipating back into the Cathedral.
         ‘I’ll be fine. Thank you for everything.’ Nathaniel said, pulling away from the other, trying to hold the fast fading warmth of his touch to him but it was like trying to hold onto a dream, slipping from his fingers.
         ‘If you’re sure.’ Eros replied doubtfully, ‘Feel free to come by anytime if you want to talk.’ His dark eyes followed Nathaniel as the other stumbled out into the evening, a thoughtful expression shadowing his features. Waiting until the other disappeared from sight he finally shut the door against the winds, letting a smile curl up the corner of his lips as he turned back to the Saints.

         ‘We will meet again, Nathaniel.’


         Twilit Soliloquies

The snow had melted entirely now, leaving a distorted world reflected in the pools of water that were lit by the dusky evening and the neon illumination of the street lamps. Though, the artificial light failed to tread the deepest and darkest paths of the city where the shadow court reigned supreme. Night was drawing in and unveiling the sensuous curves of the full moon, the black expanse a lovers’ bed, scattered with a million eyes that never blinked, only fading as the sun came up. Watching and waiting, all seeing, all knowing. Winds whipped eerily through the towering blocks of flats and offices, bearing promises of ice in its freezing fingers, people pulling their coats tighter about themselves in vain attempts to keep out the cold’s caress.

         One was glad of the wind. It embraced him in its lifeless arms and he let it without resistance. It bore away his thoughts and sighs as it howled through the city like a wild animal. Quickly, it grew darker too and he was thankful for it. Night meant he could hide away in the darkness, slip away unseen by all but the moon and her companions until the morning. Morning meant it would start all over again, a never ending cycle of tormented thoughts and desire whenever he saw him. He could not avoid him forever, could he? If he could then he could forget all of this, forget it ever happened. A mistake.

         Lying, he was lying to himself and he knew it, but knowledge and admittance were two different things and he was proud. Too proud to admit he was falling in love... His hands slammed against the railing that surrounded the balcony in a cage of twisted iron alloy, the metal ringing out in alarm.

         It was that word again. Love. Just four letters but it meant so much. He was not falling in love, it was just a phase. How could he fall in love with… with him? He could not even bring himself to think his name, for it was indeed a ‘he’, a cacophony of emotions ranging from yearning to something that bordered hatred flaring up when he did. But who did he feel the hatred for? He had no answer to that question. A phase, just a phase.

         A bitter laugh echoed under the darkening sky. A phase? That was a joke if there ever was one.

         Another sigh, of growing, albeit reluctant, acceptance this time slipped from his lips, a plea to the twilit lovers of the sky. Accepted, maybe, but it did not mean he had to do anything about it. That was the answer. He would never tell his young, naïve, idiotic, asinine, beautiful and funny partner about a thing… Beautiful and funny? When had those two words slipped into his thoughts? Idly he shaded his silvery grey eyes, scanning the city that lay at his feet. Somewhere, somewhere hidden in the maze of black alleys and shaded doorways, somewhere in the concrete labyrinth the killer was preparing to strike again. They were no closer to finding them than they had been before and all he could think about was those vivacious green eyes meeting his own, filled with such life, such hope and such innocence. He wanted to protect that, whatever it took.

         There was a second bitter laugh. Deonte would not want someone like him. He would be thirty-two, he looked older still, next year and Deonte was only eighteen. It would never work. He was not so very old in the grand scheme of things but he had lost his childhood fantasies long ago, real life had shattered them viciously and nearly fourteen years in the police force had hardened him to most things. Not this though.

         They say love is blind but this is plain ridiculous, he thought to himself. Deonte’s a child, he may be an adult under the law but in the real world he was still little more than an infant. Now, do not get Reagan wrong, he loved Deonte as he was and he did not want to change that, which was why he was better off leaving his partner alone. With a sigh he wiped his palms on his uniform blue trousers, suddenly realising they were sweating despite the cold chill of the wind that seeped through his jacket. The wind tugged at the material, playfully pulling his black hair, which was free of any grey for now. But he did not join in their joyful cavorting, sighing again and leaning on the balcony railing heavily. Staring deep into oblivion those two green eyes came back to haunt him as they had done since he had fled Deonte earlier, Reagan could not get the other from him mind. They always said that you should not get too personal with your partner, and now he knew why…

         Behind him the soft light of the empty office bathed the shallow puddles that lay at his feet, the shadows looming up across the walls as inanimate objects grew in disproportionate sizes. He was still at work, keeping out of Deonte’s way with lame excuses and false errands ever since that moment at lunch. Some part of him, buried deep beneath his fears and pride, told him that he was being stupid but it made no difference. He could not, would not tell Deonte any of this. Surely it would pass with time?

         Slowly the green eyes receded from his thoughts for a while, only to be replaced with his concerns of the killer’s next victim. Perhaps Olivia Carr was right, perhaps they should do more. Perhaps it really was the police’s fault. Rational thought argued that they could not be blamed for it but he was not listening to rationality that evening.

         Grey eyes flicked over the city once more, the neon lights of the club, Dionysus, dancing under the stars silently, some distance from the police station. It was an eerie sight of unnatural beauty, the beams licking like coloured flames over the melted snow, the strobe illumination like a man-made version of the Northern Lights. The queue outside it stretched off into the distance, being a new club it was very popular and numerous people were drinking away the horrors of the murders, seeking their Christmas spirit in the bottom of a glass, losing themselves to the thralls of the music. Slaves to the dance. But then, we are all slaves to something, are we not?


         False Hopes Break Easily

Clumps of hair drifted down silently into the bowl, the water reflecting a hazy image of a person, their gender lost in the fragmentation. No tears now, they knew what they had to do. Silver flashes and more hair tumbles down like autumn leaves. Scissors set aside and the person rises, their image disappearing from the water. One flush and all evidence is lost, hair and water swirling in a contained whirlpool before vanishing completely and then settling, the person long gone.

         The cold bit at his skin as he pulled up his sleeve to check the time again, stamping his feet in a futile attempt to keep warm as his breath clouded in front of his eyes. Bright lights from the club showed it to be 8 o’clock. She should be here by now. He nearly had not come at all and now he was standing around for nothing. After he had stumbled home in an ongoing battle against the winds he had taken a hot bath, a phantom fragrance of roses and ghostly incense clinging to his thoughts while he soaked, staying there till the water turned lukewarm around him. His stormy gaze had happened to chance upon the clock, eyes widening in a sharp shock of remembrance; just under half an hour to get ready and get to the club. In a flurry of water and towels he had dried himself, glad then that he had never been particularly vain as he grabbed a pair of black jeans, a white shirt and a warm jacket. He had gotten dressed as quickly as possible, running a comb through damp hair before slamming the door for the second time that day as he ran down the front path, still tugging on his coat as he went.

         And, it seemed, all for nothing. Night air numbed his fingers as he pulled his jacket tighter around his body, shivering as his teeth chattered amongst themselves. A childhood story sprang to mind; where the wind had challenged the sun to a bet that he could get the man to take off his coat to prove he was the stronger of the two of them. But no matter how hard the wind blew the man merely tugged his coat more firmly around him. Admitting defeat the wind had allowed the sun to take his turn and the sun had shone as brightly as he could. The man was far too hot then and took off his coat, meaning the sun won the bet. He could not remember what the story meant but he longed for the sun right then. Icy drops slithered down his back from his still damp hair and he wished once again that he had had time to dry it. It was freezing.

         Nathaniel glanced around for Nicole again, jigging about on the spot, getting a few curious looks from others waiting in the queue but none of them could say anything, all as cold as he. Where was she? It was gone 8 now and he could not see the girl anywhere. But you only see what you expect to see, and he did not expect to see this…

          ‘Nathaniel!’ A boy cried, much to Nathaniel’s surprise as he looked at the person who had called his name. ‘Over here, I’ve been waiting for you for ages, where have you been?’
          ‘Who… Who are you?’ Nathaniel asked, his voice breaking slightly as he studied the boy, messily cut brown locks falling across their forehead, obscuring a green gaze flecked with gold, the colour of a forest. No… It could not be…
          ‘Oh, you won’t recognise me. It’s…’ They stopped and came closer to Nathaniel, whispering in his ear. ‘It’s Nicole.’

         He no longer noticed the cold around him, everything inside him being shattered for a second time, collapsing into dust. False hopes could be broken so easily. Ice seemed to run through his veins before he grabbed the boy-girl, pulling them away from the crowds more viciously than he meant to.

          ‘Hey! Now we’ve lost our place in the queue.’ They protested, pouting slightly as they met Nathaniel’s gaze. So like Christopher that it sent an ache throughout his body, memories flaring up painfully.
          ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he hissed at the other angrily, meeting defiance.
          ‘The killer only kills guys, remember?’ Nicole replied, ‘So I’m Nicolas now.’
          ‘We’re not out to get you killed.’ Nathaniel whispered sibilantly.
          ‘No, but we have to lure the killer…’
          ‘By dressing as Christopher?!’ he asked, interrupting her, a lump in his throat as he looked the other over. It was the same outfit which Christopher had worn to the club last time. When Nathaniel had last seen him alive…

         It seemed God had not listened to his prayers at all. That tight black shirt and black jeans, brought it all back. She had even borrowed Christopher’s cologne! Tears pricked his eyes and the lump in his throat refused to budge as the wind blew the scent straight into his senses.
          ‘Yes, well, I don’t have any male clothes do I?’
         Did it have to be those ones though? Any outfit but that one… ‘We’re meant to be only looking about, not dangling bait on a hook and seeing who bites.’ Nathaniel argued. ‘I’m going.’ He could not look at her in that outfit. Did she have any idea what it was doing to him?
          ‘You can’t leave me here, I’m a minor…’ Nicole, or Nicolas, began.
          ‘All the more reason to take you home then.’ Nathaniel retorted, turning away.
          ‘You’d leave poor lil’ ol’ me by myself in the big bad world? What if the killer does find me, huh? I’m only a poor helpless damsel in distress.’ Nicolas said, arms akimbo.
         If you’re a damsel in distress then I’m the Queen of Sheba and married to my monkey’s uncle. She looked so much like Christopher, what if she did get killed? Then it would be all his fault. ‘Fine,’ he conceded, ‘I’ll stay, but if we don’t get in then we’re leaving right away, you’re not to drink, not to dance with anyone and if anyone strange approaches us then we’re leaving, okay?’ Nathaniel replied.
         Nicolas huffed, blowing a lock of brown hair from their eyes, only to have it flop right back down again. ‘Yes, mom.’ they drawled, disentangling themselves from Nathaniel’s grip and joining the queue at the end, muttering under their breath as Nathaniel joined them reluctantly, shivering from the cold again. Wrapped up in trying to keep warm neither of them, like Nathaniel and Christopher before, saw a golden haired man pass them by, glancing at them curiously with dark eyes, the colour lost to the night and soon, he was too.

.....

         Nathaniel had wanted the doorman to turn them away. To say they were too young, which they both were, and then they could go home and leave all this to the police. But after a cursory glance they were waved inside, the man did not even ask to see their ID. Why, when he wanted to be turned away they were waved inside? Obviously whoever was up there watching down on the world had a twisted sense of humour. He had almost turned around and told the bouncer they were too young but Nicole was strong for a fourteen year old and he had been dragged into the music that swelled up to meet them, wrapping them in its seductive rhythm.

         The memories also swelled up to meet him…