and names , plus the addresses of all the buyers, where they’d been placed
around London and beyond. She started up the Cooper and pulled away. On the
road to Winnie’s, she tossed the cell phone’s GPS chip out the window. Melanie
and Nigreda both joined her in a smile as they drove, celebrating their first
kill together.
11
“I
hope you have my car.”
“Fuck,
Win!”
Mel
held Winnie’s face as her eyes darted back and forth, then down. Mel had her
thumbs on the little corner curves of Winnie’s mouth. The gratings flashed. The
blood. The dark haired woman was running through her psyche, stars and blood
splashing with her naked footsteps. Possess Winnie, right now. Take her back...how?
Finally she pecked her on the lips. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I’m
fine, really,” said Winnie.
It
was a taunt. She saw it in the hazel. Mel really wanted to dig into her.
“The
DNA will be similar for all of them,” said Mel. “All the dark ones.” She set
Phillip’s photo on the table. A lock of hair stuck out from the bottom.
“He
was Lian blood?” said Winnie.
“Yes,”
said Mel. “How come you’re not answering?”
“I’ve
just been really busy. My phone died,” said Winnie. Lie.
“I
read the entries, Win. I know about Broadmoor.”
“Let’s
have a drink,” said Winnie.
This
is what Winnie did so well. She played Mel and the game was mutual. It was the
very basis of their attraction. Mel checked Winnie’s files while she poured. Gone.
“What—”
Winnie
bumped Mel with her elbow, handed her a glass of Jack Daniels. “Your favorite,”
said Winnie loudly, trying to persuade Mel into being more casual.
“Win,
don’t hide shit. And the memoir is all one hun percent true—we agreed. Anyway,
how would you even get Lauren out?”
She
gulped her drink, then searched Winnie’s face.
Winnie
winced, lifted her bum cheek, then settled.
“It
is bull isn’t it—the experiments? Besides, they have crazy security at
Broadmoor.” She was feeling the Jack hit her right away and just wanted to
cuddle. Winnie’s little mouth corner curves raised a bit, and Mel found her
irresistible, as always. She reached across and held her hands. She had to
wander into it. She couldn’t help but play with her.
“Is
Alejandra more beautiful? Do you love her more?”
“Yes,
of course,” said Winnie, looking right into Mel’s eyes defiantly.
Winnie
pulled on Mel’s hands and they both stood a bit, reaching across the table.
When their lips met, for that moment, Mel was her again, the woman with the
long dark hair. Fine, bring it on. Mirror images. The woman had driven a stake
into the ground. Into Winnie.
They
drank rum and cozied on the couch. The past evaporated. Winnie moved to jump on
Mel, then she stopped. Her bum hurt too much.
“If
they could bottle what we have...”
Mel
put a hand under Winnie’s shirt. “People would be afraid to even test it out.”
Winnie
was slouched down on the couch and she looked up at Mel, taunting her again.
“What?”
“What!”
said Winnie. She put her hand on Mel’s and made her squeeze her boob harder,
then pulled it down between her legs.
Later,
relaxing with the telly, Mel opened her mother’s diary to the inside front
cover and read:
February 20th, 1997. Dear Diary, I just bought this at
Woolworths for the hell of it. Something to look back on.
She
fanned through the pages and a newspaper clipping slipped out onto her lap. It
was an advertisement for a place in Vancouver called The Soft Rock Cafe. The date at the top of the paper was— Saturday, September 14th,
1995:
The
guitar stylings of...
WALTER WILLOW & BERT FIELDS
8pm | $5 at the door.
"A musician. Now I know one thing about my real dad.” She
looked at the date again. Her face prickled.
“Winnie. My dad’s alive.” She said it nonchalantly like it was
bound to come up.
“How do you figure that?”
“Look at this clipping, it’s
around London and beyond. She started up the Cooper and pulled away. On the
road to Winnie’s, she tossed the cell phone’s GPS chip out the window. Melanie
and Nigreda both joined her in a smile as they drove, celebrating their first
kill together.
11
“I
hope you have my car.”
“Fuck,
Win!”
Mel
held Winnie’s face as her eyes darted back and forth, then down. Mel had her
thumbs on the little corner curves of Winnie’s mouth. The gratings flashed. The
blood. The dark haired woman was running through her psyche, stars and blood
splashing with her naked footsteps. Possess Winnie, right now. Take her back...how?
Finally she pecked her on the lips. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I’m
fine, really,” said Winnie.
It
was a taunt. She saw it in the hazel. Mel really wanted to dig into her.
“The
DNA will be similar for all of them,” said Mel. “All the dark ones.” She set
Phillip’s photo on the table. A lock of hair stuck out from the bottom.
“He
was Lian blood?” said Winnie.
“Yes,”
said Mel. “How come you’re not answering?”
“I’ve
just been really busy. My phone died,” said Winnie. Lie.
“I
read the entries, Win. I know about Broadmoor.”
“Let’s
have a drink,” said Winnie.
This
is what Winnie did so well. She played Mel and the game was mutual. It was the
very basis of their attraction. Mel checked Winnie’s files while she poured. Gone.
“What—”
Winnie
bumped Mel with her elbow, handed her a glass of Jack Daniels. “Your favorite,”
said Winnie loudly, trying to persuade Mel into being more casual.
“Win,
don’t hide shit. And the memoir is all one hun percent true—we agreed. Anyway,
how would you even get Lauren out?”
She
gulped her drink, then searched Winnie’s face.
Winnie
winced, lifted her bum cheek, then settled.
“It
is bull isn’t it—the experiments? Besides, they have crazy security at
Broadmoor.” She was feeling the Jack hit her right away and just wanted to
cuddle. Winnie’s little mouth corner curves raised a bit, and Mel found her
irresistible, as always. She reached across and held her hands. She had to
wander into it. She couldn’t help but play with her.
“Is
Alejandra more beautiful? Do you love her more?”
“Yes,
of course,” said Winnie, looking right into Mel’s eyes defiantly.
Winnie
pulled on Mel’s hands and they both stood a bit, reaching across the table.
When their lips met, for that moment, Mel was her again, the woman with the
long dark hair. Fine, bring it on. Mirror images. The woman had driven a stake
into the ground. Into Winnie.
They
drank rum and cozied on the couch. The past evaporated. Winnie moved to jump on
Mel, then she stopped. Her bum hurt too much.
“If
they could bottle what we have...”
Mel
put a hand under Winnie’s shirt. “People would be afraid to even test it out.”
Winnie
was slouched down on the couch and she looked up at Mel, taunting her again.
“What?”
“What!”
said Winnie. She put her hand on Mel’s and made her squeeze her boob harder,
then pulled it down between her legs.
Later,
relaxing with the telly, Mel opened her mother’s diary to the inside front
cover and read:
February 20th, 1997. Dear Diary, I just bought this at
Woolworths for the hell of it. Something to look back on.
She
fanned through the pages and a newspaper clipping slipped out onto her lap. It
was an advertisement for a place in Vancouver called The Soft Rock Cafe. The date at the top of the paper was— Saturday, September 14th,
1995:
The
guitar stylings of...
WALTER WILLOW & BERT FIELDS
8pm | $5 at the door.
"A musician. Now I know one thing about my real dad.” She
looked at the date again. Her face prickled.
“Winnie. My dad’s alive.” She said it nonchalantly like it was
bound to come up.
“How do you figure that?”
“Look at this clipping, it’s
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