parents are better off without having me around. Whoever they are, and wherever they are, I hope they're happy.
Chapter Two
New York.
It starts with a phone call in the middle of the night. Incessant and loud, it breaks through into my nightmares and pulls me back up into the conscious world. Emerging from a deep sleep, I groan as I reach out to the bedside table, fumbling for the phone; after a moment my hand knocks it to the floor, where it continues to ring. Sighing and still kind of drunk from last night, I decide to just let it ring out. I mean, what kind of person phones someone in the dead of night and expects them to answer? It's inhumane. Finally the ringing stops and I'm left in peace, but moments later it starts up again. The light on the front of the phone is flashing, lighting up the whole damn room. Why won't this person let me sleep? Sighing, I stare up at the dark ceiling and wait until the ringing stops. There. There's no way they'll try again. And yet - moments later, the phone starts ringing again ! I take a deep breath, determined not to answer. This person has to learn that you simply don't phone people at 3am, 4am, or whatever time it is. The ringing stops and I wait, and the room stays silent. Well, that took long enough. I roll onto my side, close my eyes and try to get back to sleep.
"You should have answered that," says a voice nearby.
I literally leap out of bed, running over to the window before turning and looking across the dark room. My heart pounding in my chest, I finally see a dark figure standing on the other side of the room. Realizing that I'm at a distinct disadvantage, I cautiously step over to the bedside table and reach down for the drawer. Fumbling around for a moment, I manage to find the small gun I keep in there for emergencies. After quickly removing the safety catch, I switch on the bedside lamp, raise the gun, and turn to find a guy standing there. He's younger than me, probably early twenties, and he's smiling at me with a bemused expression.
"Do I need to introduce myself?" he asks.
"Depends," I reply. "Are you what I think you are?"
He nods. "I take it you were expecting us".
"Yeah," I say. It's kind of true. For the past sixteen years, I've known that they'd turn up eventually. "You could have knocked, though".
"You wouldn't have answered".
"Not in the middle of the night, no. Call me crazy, but that's when I like to sleep".
He smiles. "Sorry. I just wanted to make an impression".
"Job done," I reply. "In case you haven't noticed, it's four o'clock in the fucking morning".
"How are you doing, Shelley?" he asks.
"I've been better," I tell him, putting the gun on the bedside table and walking over to the door. "Give me a minute, okay?" I head into the hallway and then through to the bathroom, where I switch on the harsh white light and turn to look at myself in the mirror. Damn it, when did I get old? I mean, I look good for a thirty-six-year-old woman, especially considering I've got a fucking hangover, but I'd kill to get rid of these faint wrinkles and the rings under my eyes. Grabbing a dressing gown to put over my pajamas, I turn on the tap and splash some cold water onto my face before walking back to the bedroom.
"Hey," I say, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the table in the corner.
"You smoke?" he asks.
"Yep," I reply, lighting up. "I also eat red meat, drink wine and whiskey, have unprotected sex and wander alone through dark alleys. Sometimes, all in one night".
He smiles. "Well, you're a real bad-ass, aren't you?"
"Shut up," I reply. "What do you want?"
He pauses for a moment. "Benjamin sent me".
This is the moment I've been waiting for - dreading - for so many years. I knew it would come, but I tried to ignore my fears by getting lost in a chaotic life of drink, drugs and parties. Still, no matter how drunk I got, I was never able to forget that somewhere out there, there were people like Benjamin doing their work, and one day they'd come
Chapter Two
New York.
It starts with a phone call in the middle of the night. Incessant and loud, it breaks through into my nightmares and pulls me back up into the conscious world. Emerging from a deep sleep, I groan as I reach out to the bedside table, fumbling for the phone; after a moment my hand knocks it to the floor, where it continues to ring. Sighing and still kind of drunk from last night, I decide to just let it ring out. I mean, what kind of person phones someone in the dead of night and expects them to answer? It's inhumane. Finally the ringing stops and I'm left in peace, but moments later it starts up again. The light on the front of the phone is flashing, lighting up the whole damn room. Why won't this person let me sleep? Sighing, I stare up at the dark ceiling and wait until the ringing stops. There. There's no way they'll try again. And yet - moments later, the phone starts ringing again ! I take a deep breath, determined not to answer. This person has to learn that you simply don't phone people at 3am, 4am, or whatever time it is. The ringing stops and I wait, and the room stays silent. Well, that took long enough. I roll onto my side, close my eyes and try to get back to sleep.
"You should have answered that," says a voice nearby.
I literally leap out of bed, running over to the window before turning and looking across the dark room. My heart pounding in my chest, I finally see a dark figure standing on the other side of the room. Realizing that I'm at a distinct disadvantage, I cautiously step over to the bedside table and reach down for the drawer. Fumbling around for a moment, I manage to find the small gun I keep in there for emergencies. After quickly removing the safety catch, I switch on the bedside lamp, raise the gun, and turn to find a guy standing there. He's younger than me, probably early twenties, and he's smiling at me with a bemused expression.
"Do I need to introduce myself?" he asks.
"Depends," I reply. "Are you what I think you are?"
He nods. "I take it you were expecting us".
"Yeah," I say. It's kind of true. For the past sixteen years, I've known that they'd turn up eventually. "You could have knocked, though".
"You wouldn't have answered".
"Not in the middle of the night, no. Call me crazy, but that's when I like to sleep".
He smiles. "Sorry. I just wanted to make an impression".
"Job done," I reply. "In case you haven't noticed, it's four o'clock in the fucking morning".
"How are you doing, Shelley?" he asks.
"I've been better," I tell him, putting the gun on the bedside table and walking over to the door. "Give me a minute, okay?" I head into the hallway and then through to the bathroom, where I switch on the harsh white light and turn to look at myself in the mirror. Damn it, when did I get old? I mean, I look good for a thirty-six-year-old woman, especially considering I've got a fucking hangover, but I'd kill to get rid of these faint wrinkles and the rings under my eyes. Grabbing a dressing gown to put over my pajamas, I turn on the tap and splash some cold water onto my face before walking back to the bedroom.
"Hey," I say, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the table in the corner.
"You smoke?" he asks.
"Yep," I reply, lighting up. "I also eat red meat, drink wine and whiskey, have unprotected sex and wander alone through dark alleys. Sometimes, all in one night".
He smiles. "Well, you're a real bad-ass, aren't you?"
"Shut up," I reply. "What do you want?"
He pauses for a moment. "Benjamin sent me".
This is the moment I've been waiting for - dreading - for so many years. I knew it would come, but I tried to ignore my fears by getting lost in a chaotic life of drink, drugs and parties. Still, no matter how drunk I got, I was never able to forget that somewhere out there, there were people like Benjamin doing their work, and one day they'd come
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