Can You? (continue the story)

[SilentMute]

I read about this game in a Stephen King book and always wanted to try it. It is called [I]Can You?[I]. I'm going to start a story. I'm going to end it with a cliffhanger. The next person should continue where I left off and develop the story to another cliffhanger--which is taken up by someone else. If someone posts while you are on--then go ahead and put yours down. The next person can decide which one they like best and take it from there. So here goes:

Juno Phoenix was getting ready for an important appointment. She was supposed to meet Mr. Mann at a dingy cafe, where he agreed to give her the much needed information that would help her on her quest. She doubted "Mr. Mann" was his real name. She had no other way of contacting him, so she had to make this appointment. He made it clear he was putting himself in peril by talking to her--and he would not do it again.

However, the electric had went out--and so her electric alarm clock hadn't gone off. Fortunately, the couple fighting upstairs had woken her up. If she rushed, she could make it to the cafe. She was trying to put on her stockings, comb her hair, and hop over to her cell phone when it started to ring. Suddenly, she lost her balance and fell out the window!

"Well, "she grimaced as she got up slowly, "At least I landed on something soft. My cell phone is destroyed, I'm half dressed in the middle of a busy street--but nothing is broken. I guess I'm very lucky."

Suddenly, she heard the click of what sounded like a gun and a man's voice say in a French accent, "Oh, I beg to differ, mademoiselle. I would say you are very unlucky."

[soundofmusic]

Shock overwhelmed Juno to the core. Was she going to die right here, right now, with her holiest pair of stockings and the red thong her exboyfriend gave her! It was too, too horrible. Just then, she noticed that the man in the French accent was holding an empty pizza box and she was sitting on pepperoni. Juno didn't give another thought to her disgustingly soiled dress; she grabbed a bit of pepperoni from her backside and slung it into the Frenchmans eyes.

"Ah! It stings!" he cried out as she darted away down the street. As she turned the corner, she collided into a large burly man, knocking him to the ground.

"Sorry!" she exclaimed as she got up. He grasped her ankle and said, "Yes, you are going to be."

[SilentMute]

He was a policeman.

"I really am sorry, officer," Juno apologized, "I had an accident and I am really late for a very important appointment."

"Well, missy, be that as it may--you cannot run on busy sidewalk. Somebody could get hurt badly--including you."

"I promise I will walk the rest of the way, officer," Juno pleaded, "Can you give me a break and let me off with a warning?"

"Well, I would be willing normally, but there is another problem."

"What is that?" Juno asked, trying not to sound angry.

"You are indecently dressed."

Juno tried to explain, asked to be allowed to return to her apartment--but the policeman refused. An hour later--the important appointment missed--Juno found herself in a jail cell with a 300 pound call girl named Candy who talked incessantly about her eleven children and her toe fungi...and she was being leered at by a drunk in the other cell that had no teeth.

Suddenly, she noticed that all the policemen were agitated. The police chief was shouting at all of them to congregate in the war room.

"I wonder what is going on?"

"Probably out of donuts," Candy snickered.

Suddenly, there was a loud tearing sound. Before Juno could process it, a car had crashed though the double doors of the police station and ran into the cell. The police men were yelling, but the fender prevented the door of the war room from opening.

Candy, Juno, and the drunk stared in dumb astonishment as the car door open and a man stepped out.

[MANICHAEAN]

Tall, in his mid sixties, dressed in faded blue jeans and a white Gant cotton top, he looked around. A cold, restless, impotent desperation, concealed under a polite exterior and a good-natured smile.

Juno and Candy mused. A retired banker, a hit man in between hits, a failed priest? Such is the paucity of people's imaginations when given so few facts to grasp at.

What is that equipose existing in the ineluctable human chemistry that divides the sexes and that, as a result either attracts or repels as abhorrent one to/from the other?

The man looked at Juno, his glance brief but piercing and oppressive. It had the disturbing effect of an indescreet question and might have seemed audacious had it not been so calmly casual.

Juno was in her late thirties with a full bodied figure and a cleavage to die for. Her face, a face of a child rather than of a woman, seemed transparent, for so soft and clear was the skin. She kept her eyelids modestly lowered over her blue eyes; tremulous lids bent and suffused reply at his glance.

"You have me at a disadvantage Sir" Juno said.
"Who are you and what are your intentions?"

The toothless drunk reached for his concealed weapon.

[SilentMute]

But before the drunk could fire, he collapsed in his cell. At first, Juno thought he had passed out--but then blood started oozing from his head. That is when Juno realized that the stranger, with lightening reflexes, had shot the drunk.

He grasped Juno's arm and pulled her into the car, "Hurry! Get in! You are in danger!"

"Why did the drunk try to kill you?" Juno asked breathlessly.

"No idea!" the stranger said, "Never seen him before in my life! I find it disturbing that the cops didn't find the weapon when they patted him down."

"He smelled too bad, so they didn't bother," Candy said as she tried to climb over the broken cell door.

"Glad to know my tax dollars are put too good use, "the stranger muttered.

Juno wondered if she should get into the car with someone she didn't know, but on the other hand a ride would be nice...and she didn't have her purse, so she couldn't hail a cab.

"So, where do you want to go?" the man asked as he backed out of the police station and raced down the street.

"Who are you?" Juno asked, "How do you know that I am in danger?"

"You can call me John Doe. That really is my name, can you believe it? I didn't know you were in danger, I just read that is a good pick-up line to get a beautiful woman to notice you."

Juno looked at him skeptically.

He glanced at her, "Well, you did get into my car, didn't you?"

"Why did you crash into the police station?"

"Um...well, I really hate cops! I have an inoperable brain tumor that is going to kill me in three months...so I said, 'What the heck? Let's give it to the man!'"

Juno wasn't sure if she believed him, but he didn't seem to mean her harm, "Can you take me to the Dark Cafe?"

"Dark Cafe? I know a better place if you want refreshments. Cockroaches swim in the drinks at the Dark Cafe--it's filthy. It is only open because the owner bribes the health inspectors."

"I had an appointment there," Juno explained, "The man is probably gone by now, but I thought I would check."

"Can I be your chaperone?"

Juno hesitated. It was a private meeting...but having a man in the background may be useful--particularly since he had a car. Besides, she was attracted to her rescuer.

"If you don't mind waiting for me at the bar--and coming in a few minutes after me so it doesn't look like we are together."

"Same thing my mom used to say to me!"

"I don't mean to be rude, but it is a private meeting--and the man may be uncooperative if he sees you with me."

"Understood."

Fifteen minutes later Juno found herself in the cafe. She asked the waiter if Mr. Mann had left, and he directed her to a dark booth in the dimmest corner. She couldn't believe her luck.

"Mr. Mann, I am so sorry I am late!" Juno whispered, "I have had the worst luck today, you wouldn't believe! Thank you for waiting for me."

The figure did not respond.

"Mr. Mann?" she touched his shoulder, and the figure fell flat faced onto the table. That is when she noticed the dark stain on the back of the booth. When she touched it, it was wet. When she looked at her hand, she saw blood.

She looked around. John Doe had entered and was looking at the television at a soccer match. Nobody else seemed aware that there was a dead body in the booth.

[MANICHAEAN]

It is said that the love of a savage girl is little better than that of a well-born lady.The ignorance and simplicity of the one are as boring as the coquetry of the other. And yet there is no penance due to innocence.

Thus for John Doe the relationship that evolved out of his car executing a kami kazi manoeuvre on the local cop shop took hold, wheras for Juno the concept of compassion - that emotion which all women so easily yield to - sunk its claws into her inexperienced heart.

At this moment, the seemingly lifeless body of Mann stirred. Lips stained in blood, strained to express a message.

[SilentMute]

"Who did this to you?" Juno asked.

Mr. Mann tried to reply, but all he did was make gagging noises. Juno stood paralyzed, not knowing what to do. When a person watches murder mystery shows, they always wonder why the accused--if they were innocent--didn't behave in the appropriate manner. The fact that they didn't do the right thing is what makes people believe they are guilty of a heinous act. However, when a person is actually faced with a situation, sometimes the appropriate action just does not occur to them.

Juno had known what to do when her grandfather had a stroke, because while it was a surprise--people having strokes is common enough. However, standing besides a man who was bleeding to death in a booth while the patrons of the cafe watched a soccer match, Juno did not think to call for an ambulance.

Mr. Mann tried to speak, blood spewing from his mouth.

"Maybe I should get you a glass a water, "Juno said numbly, as if this would fix everything.

Mr. Mann's eyes widened, he gasped--and then his body did one long exhale before collapsing. Juno touched his shoulder, then felt his pulse. She could feel none.

Her first instinct was to flee, but someone had killed Mr. Mann. That means possibly she was in danger as well. Plus, she still hoped to somehow get the information he was going to give her. It was vital.

She tiptoed to John Doe and gestured to him to meet in a private corner. He smiled as she raised on tiptoes to whisper into his ear, thinking she was going to whisper something romantic or provocative.

"Someone has killed Mr. Mann. I need you to help me smuggle his body out of the cafe."

John Doe looked at her, flabbergasted, color draining out of his face. He was wondering what he had gotten himself into. This would teach him to run his car into police stations and pick up beautiful but trouble-prone women!

"Shouldn't we call an ambulance?" he whispered back.

"It's too late for that!"

"Shouldn't we call the police then?"

"You mean the police--the ones that you ran your car into their station, freed two prisoners, shot another, and sped away...and now you are at a cafe with another man who has been murdered. Yeah, somehow I don't think they are going to believe we are innocent!"

"Well, let's just leave then!"

"I want to search him for clues. He was supposed to give me vital information. If I can learn who he is, maybe I can learn the information I need and why he was killed. I may be in danger."

"What are you involved in?"

"I don't have time to get into that right now!"

Beautiful she may be, but John was tempted to ditch this broad. Things were not going the way he had planned. Still, he had gotten into this situation of his own free will...and it was unlikely he could just walk away now. Besides, it was kind of exciting--and after living a life he was not proud of, at least he was living a life that was exciting. He was a man where consequences no longer mattered.

"They will see the blood if we take him out the front door, "John said, his mind become clear and practical, "We need to search him here."

"We can't do it in front of the others! For all we know, one of them killed him!"

"Let's take him into the restroom. We can do it there."

They went over to the body. John lifted Mr. Mann up, and Juno took the other arm. When the waiter looked over, John smiled, "Our friend here is feeling a little sick."

"Well, the restrooms are in back. Don't let him throw up on the floor."

With some difficulty, they got Mr. Mann into the bathroom.

"Ugh! This place is filthy!" John wrinkled his nose in disgust, "Like anybody would notice vomit on the floor!"

They sat Mr. Mann on the floor, since he kept falling off the toilet. A preliminary search of his pockets revealed nothing except a wad of cash.

"Motive wasn't robbery, "John observed.

When Juno searched had searched the pockets, she discovered something odd near the man's groin.

"We need to take off his pants."

John looked at her, "Why?"

"He has something hidden in them."

"My uncle Elroy used to have something hidden in his pants too, but it us kids learned pretty early it was nothing we wanted to see!"

Juno sighed in irritation, unzipping the man's pants, "Lift him up."

"This is doing nothing for my back, "John grunted as he lifted the man.

Juno found an envelope jammed into the man's underwear, "Let's get out of here!"

"Check his shoes!"

"Why?"

"That is another place to hide things--we might as well be thorough."

Sure enough, there was a security card in Mr. Mann's shoes, along with more cash.

"Okay, "Juno breathed, "Let's get out of here!"

"Yes, let's."

They smiled cheerfully at the waiter as they walked out.

"What about your friend?" he asked, "He didn't throw up on my floor, did he?"

Juno looked at him innocently, "Oh, no. We are going to bring the car around and get him."

They hurriedly exited the cafe--and out into the street that was crawling with policemen.

[MANICHAEAN]

One of these was Detective Inspector T.J.Walsh of Homicide who earlier that day had been leaning back in his swivel chair, bored and frustrated. In the other corner of this office, also in a semi recumbent posture had been Detective Sergeant Fred Schmidt quietly snoring, his premature double chins quivering almost imperceptibly with each expiation of breath.

Fred Schmidt was a good front line detective, but a pain in the butt. A big man of Anglo German descent, he was the type that tried to break your fingers in a macho handshake and whose idea of humour was to stand by the door, drop one & then exit closing the door after him.

When he didn't want to talk, which was often, he reverted to monosyllabic grunts & when he did want to talk, which by some perverse state of equipose, he also did often, you could not shut him up.

Juno & John Doe were moving in too much of a hurry for their own good & thus attracted attention. Like furtive wraiths the two policemen followed.

[SilentMute]

"They are heading for the alley," Detective Walsh observed, "We should split up. I'll follow behind them, you cut them off. And remember, Fred--restraining them doesn't mean you have to give them a concussion."

"Not making any promises, "Detective Schmidt grumbled, "You recognized the man, didn't you? It is that maniac that drove into our police station."

"We're all upset, Fred, but remember the lessons your anger management class taught you."

"I quit! Anger management p#**&* me off!"

Detective Walsh sighed and followed the couple into the alley. He hoped to catch them before Schmidt did. For one thing, he wanted to question the man--and didn't want the answers beaten from his brain by Schmidt. Why did he crash into the police department? Why did he kill the harmless old drunk? Did he kidnap the woman (it hadn't looked like she was unwilling in the surveillance video), or was she in cahoots with him? What was all this about? He shoved the questions into the back of his mind--he had to be careful when following suspects into an unfamiliar alley.

"We're being followed," John Doe murmured, "and the police are blocking our access to the parking lot."

Juno's heart thudded in her ears, "What are we going to do?"

John was quiet for a moment, then said, "Keep going. If I am right, this alley will be blocked by a truck."

"We're going to steal the truck?"

"No, trucks are not very good get-away cars--particularly when they have a flat tire. We're going to shake the policeman following us."

Sure enough, there was a truck with a flat tire blocking the alley way.

"Okay, then. We'll crawl under it."

"That is your plan to escape the police? Crawl under the truck? He can do the same."

"If you have a better idea, let's hear it. He may be leary of following us because it puts him in a vulnerable position. Even if he does follow, it will take him some time, and we can make a run for it and lose him. Now, less talk and more escaping. Ladies first."

Juno inwardly grumbled and crawled under the truck.

"Nice Spongebob underwear."

Juno felt like kicking John in the face, "Now I know why you wanted me to go first."

"Actually, I'm too distracted by the police to appreciate the view...and I had you go first because if we run into trouble on the other end, you'll get it first and I can make an escape."

"I'm impressed by your nobility," Juno replied sarcastically, hearing John's snicker in response.

Finally, Juno rose from under the truck, John following soon after. Suddenly, there was an angry roar, and a large man tackled John--causing him to impact the back of the truck hard enough to make his head spin.

Juno looked around helplessly as the man continued to beat up on John. The cop had totally ignored her. Detective Schmidt was a chauvinist, believing women were too weak to threaten a man physically. He hadn't recognized Juno, though he had leered at her plenty when she had been in the jail cell. He hadn't been looking at her face, though.

Juno looked inside a trash bin and picked up the first thing that looked useful. Schmidt was too focused on beating John to a pulp to notice her come up. She splashed the contents in the carton into Schmidt's face.

"Aaaaaaaaah!" Schmidt reached for his eyes, which were stinging from the turned sweet and sour sauce.

John grabbed Juno's hand and lead her into the back of the Chinese restaurant. The Chinese family who owned the place looked at the two, startled by the intruders. John smiled charmingly, and then pulled Juno to the stairs.

Up and up they climbed. Juno's lungs started to feel exhausted from the effort. Finally, they reached the top floor. John went through a door that lead to the roof. They looked over the edge--there were no adjacent buildings closeby they could jump to. It was too far down to jump to the ground.

"Well, what now?" Juno asked, exasperated.

Love the introduction of the new characters!

[MANICHAEAN]

They went on staring at each other, but it didn't get either of them anywhere.They had both done too much of it during their lives to expect miracles. Her voice faded off into a sort of sad whisper, like a mortician asking for a down payment.

A peculiar stillness came over his face. A peculiar fixed look in his silent black eyes.

"Right. Down this drainpipe to the ledge below" John said.

"One of the windows might be open & we can get in"

"I'll go first & you follow".

"Huh" said Juno "Still want a view of the Paris Underground! ".

"'I'll make the gags" John retorted sharply.

"I'm free, white and thirty-one" Juno said.

"I've seen all the approaches there are. I think I have. If I can't scare you, lick you, or seduce you, what the hell can I buy you with?"

"And with that," she said completely calm, "I believe I must have used up my entire stock of girlish charm."

Having attained the ledge on the second floor down from the roof. the intrepid duo negotiated a loose sash window, opened it slowly and lowered themselves gently into an apartment room below. Breathless from their exertions & cramped behind a heavy drape curtain, she stood so that he had to practically push her mammaries out of the way to get a view into the room.

The little man counting money in the kitchen went nicely with the neighbourhood. The fact that he carried a gun and a knife was a social eccentricity that would cause no comment at all in Idaho Street.

To his left, lounged a large man & wide. Not young nor handsome, but he looked durable. Above the sky-blue gabardine slacks he wore a two-tone leisure jacket which would have been revolting on a zebra. The neck of his canary-yellow shirt was open wide, which it had to be if his neck was going to get out. He was hatless and his large head was decorated with a reasonable amount of pale salmon-coloured hair. His nose had been broken but well set and it hadn't been a collectors item in the first place.

The man in the kitchen sneezed.

"Bless you" said Juno.

[SilentMute]

@everyone who reads this--I'm probably going to submit my story on several posts, as I had a problem submitting the whole thing.

The man with no fashion sense stepped forward menacingly, "What are you here for?"

"Um," Juno started to reply, but she couldn't think of a good excuse.

"We're sorry to disturb you, gentlemen. You see, we lost our keys to our apartment...and we don't have a spare set. We thought this was our apartment because we had left the windown open--but obviously we were mistaken. So we'll bid you adieu and just mosey on out of here if you don't mind and be on our way."

The large man blocked their exit, apparently not believing their story and having no intention of letting them leave.

"Right then," John Doe sighed, then suddenly picked up a statue and threw it at the man. The large man was strong as an ox and and just as slow. It hit him square in the head, leaving an ugly bloody gash. The large man blinked, and for a moment it didn't look like he was going to be badly fazed by the blow. Then he went down with a large THUD--which caused the quarrelsome old lady downstairs to tap on the ceiling and shout, "Quiet up there! I'm watching my stories!"

Juno and John had forgotten the little old man at the table. His friend had been the immediate threat. However, he reminded them of his presence when they heard the click of the gun and saw it pointed at them.

[SilentMute]

"You broke my statue," the old man said, "I liked that statue."

"We are very sorry, sir, "John Doe said, "But when you force people to defend themselves, things get broken."

"Including people," the old man sneered, "Did Mr. Newton send you? I ain't giving you no money. This is my territory--and I'm not letting some two bit hood that snorts his merchandise threaten me!"

"We do not know Mr. Newton--nor are we his messengers. Look, we were running away from some people--people we believe work for Mr. Newton. I was taking my wife here out for a romantic outing. Some of these hoods ambushed us and tried to assault her. I managed to fight them off--though look what they did to her dress! We managed to run away."

The man looked at Juno, his eyes having a gleam of appreciation--he wasn't so old not to appreciate a beautiful woman. Then he looked at John, then said, "Don't move. I'm going to search you."

Juno looked at John, and he gave her a meaningful stare. The old man patted them down and took a step back, lowering his gun, "You aren't packing."

"No," John said simply.

"Why don't you stay here for a while? The people who are chasing you will give up, and then you can leave. I doubt they'll lay in wait for you. Newton's thugs are disorganized and irresponsible. If they worked for me, they would be walking on the river floor with concrete boots."

"We'll accept your hospitality, thank you," John said.

Juno looked at him sharply. Catching her look, he whispered, "We'll definitely get captured by the cops if we go out now. I say it is safer to trust the stranger."

"There is a spare bedroom back there where you can rest and the lady can wash up," the old man gestured toward the hallway, eyes gleaming.

"What about your friend?"

"Ah, just leave him there! He'll wake up. He won't harm you, I promise."

[SilentMute]

A few minutes later, Juno exited the bathroom having tidied up as much as possible. John was peering through a little slit in the dirty blinds. From the intense orangish light of the sun, Juno could tell it was late in the afternoon. She had a very eventful day, and yet she wasn't tired. Her nerves felt tightly strung like a violin.

John sighed, "The police are still crawling all over the place. I wouldn't be surprised if they go door to door. I warned our friend. His name is Mr. Piangi, by the way. He said they won't search the apartment. We should stay in this room, but he says he's been running an operation in this building for years--and the police never got wind. He looks so harmless. The brute woke up and is giving me dirty looks, but Mr. Piangi has him on a tight leash."

The light from the window highlighted John Doe's features, and Juno never appreciated how handsome he was. It wasn't a face that automatically made a person say, "He is a handsome man." Actually, some of his features weren't very good--the mouth was too soft, the nose just a bit too big, etc. It was more his personality that made the most of his features. Of course, if he had looked like Johnny Depp, she may not have noticed before now...having been distracted by the jail break and dead body.

When Juno didn't reply, John looked back at her. She crossed the room and put a hand on his chest. He could feel the heat coming from her and felt his body respond.

"What is it?" he asked hoarsely, trying to contain himself--after all, the little minx may be a tease.

Juno smiled, licking her teeth, "I was thinking that you haven't been properly rewarded for your vailiant rescue today."

John leaned in closer, "No, I haven't--and you have been so much trouble too. What have you in mind?"

Juno wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on the mouth. His grip around her tightened, forcing her hips against his groin. She moaned.

It was probably a new record at how fast their clothes wound up on the floor. They tore at each other like an impatient child does a Christmas present. The bed creaked noisily, announcing to the men in the next room and to the neighbors what they were doing. The old woman downstairs thumped on the ceiling and yelled. The teenage boy next door smiled and abandoned his math homework, one hand reaching for a well-perused magazine that had pictures of a semi-clad Angelina Jolie, while the other hand undid his zipper.

In the next room, Mr. Piangi's smile widened as he continued counting his money--stroking the bills like he would a beautiful woman. His large friend grunted in disgust and turned on the TV, holding an ice pack to his head. Mr. Piangi told him he should have his head examined, which was taken the wrong way. Art--which was short for Artemis and not Arthur--didn't trust doctors. Of course, Mr. Piangi couldn't blame him. At twelve years old, Art had went in to get his tonsils removed...and when he woke up, he still had his swollen tonsils but was freshly circumcised.

[SilentMute]

Detective Walsh knocked on Mr. Piangi's door. The old man answered, making sure to make himself look more infirmed than he was. Walsh's eyes looked past the man and into the dingy, sparse apartment. The only thing that made his eyes falter was the ruckus in the back room. Mr. Piangi looked disgusted, "Eh! Teenagers! They have no restraint! That boy next door, with hair that is as long as a girl's, he takes his fat girlfriend into his room when his poor mother--god bless her soul--goes to her third job to pay for his private school so he can have a better education and make something of himself! And he is probably going to knock up that fat, pimply girlfirend of his and ruin his future! Bah!"

Detective Walsh smiled slightly, then gave a description of the two people they were looking for. Mr. Piangi's expression didn't change, though he recognized the two people the police were looking for. He promised to keep an eye out, "I always do my civic duty, sir...and I always buy the policeman's calendar every year."

Walsh smiled, a little embarrassed--he hated his picture in the police's calendar, "Thank you, sir. Remember, don't approach these people if you see them. They have been linked to two murders."

Mr. Piangi assured him he wouldn't, going on about how the world had changed and what scuzzbuckets people were now--blah-blah-blah. Walsh managed to free himself from the lonely old man that wanted to talk his ear off.

When Mr. Piangi closed the door, his expression became grim and his back straightened. Art, who had been listening from the livng room, stared back, expressionless--the look he always got when he expected to be ordered to pound someone's head in. He actually enjoyed doing that very much, but people thought you were a bad person if you displayed your pleasure, so he had adopted a flat expression.

"Our friends lied, "Mr. Piangi said with mock regret, "It isn't nice to lie to people, is it, Art?"

Art tightened his fingers into a fist, making them snap.

Piangi gestured, "Not now, not while the police are around. Our friends are distracted. The police will probably up the surveillance of the area, but most will leave by nightfall. We'll take our friends somewhere private and question them. Then you can have your fun. We'll send a message to Newton that he can't threaten Theodore Salvadore Piangi!"

[SilentMute]

The next morning, Juno was woken up by a cockroach crawling across her forehead. She screamed.

John leapt out of bed in a panic, "Wh-What?"

"Cockroach!" Juno screamed, "It crawled on my head! Ehh!"

John looked deflated, "You screamed like a banshee over a little cockroach?"

"I hate roaches!"

John held his hands up, "Okay, okay. I better go tell Mr. Piangi all is well. I'm surprised he nor that brute hasn't borken in here guns ablazing."

Juno looked around, John's shoe in hand, ready to smash the evasive insect.

"Uh, Juno?" John said from the other room, "We have a problem."

"What?" Juno asked, intent on smashing the smart aleck insect.

"Come in here."

Juno sighed and went into the next room. She was about to ask what this was all about when she saw Mr. Piangi leaning over the table. At first she thought he had fallen asleep counting his money, but then she saw blood. He had been shot very cleanly in the head.

"You think the bodyguard killed him?" she asked, a lump in her throat.

John gestured towards the living room. The TV as on, but the sound was muted. The large man was lying supine on the couch, as if he were relaxing while watching his favorite show--only he had a neat bullet hole in his forehead.

[MANICHAEAN]

The two stiffs had turned a waxy colour & the yellow mask of death was beginning to set their faces into rigid lines.

Back in his office Walsh had that empty feeling of having miscounted the trumps. No reason for it he could put his finger on. Maybe it had been the almost imperceptable steely quality about that little man Theodore Salvadore Piangi. No whimper, no smile,the whistling between the teeth,the light voice and the unforgetting eyes. When he had turned to look back into the room, there had been a watchful look on his face. But it had been a watchful face to begin with. He was tempted to shake him, to ask "How do you make your dibs?"

The phone went. It was an outside call. Walsh reached over and pushed down the riser. Held it that way while he fumbled for a cigeratte. He knew they would call back. They always do when they think they're tough.They had'nt used their exit line.

It rang again. A mans voice. It was Newton. "Just between us girls in the powder room" he said. "Try Piangi's place again. In a family like that, there is always dark meat."

"So whats the beef?" said Walsh.

Newton mused "He coulda went somewhere without telling you"
His grammer was as loose as his toupee.

[MANICHAEAN]

The plane to Accra came in on time in one of those rainy season downpours that give you qualms that touchdown with a machine of this size, at that speed will result in one God Almighty skid. But then tyre contact was made, the weight of the moving plane gently lowered & the engines went into reverse to quickly bring the aircraft into a more sedate taxiing across the runway to the terminal.

Mr Doe gently squeezed his companion's hand. His hand with the gold signet ring appeared to Juno as the hand that reached for the wine;it was a hand in which you could somehow sense the latent caresses.

The reader will most probably have noticed how airports vary so much across the globe? Not in the architecture & layout as such but in the atmosphere they evoke as you enter their portals. In Frankfurt, passengers scurry like rats from one side to the other to get connecting flights. In Jamaica you slow down immediately you leave the plane. No Yardie is going to get hypertension for nobody. "Soon Come" is the national standard.

But Mother Africa has an atmosphere that is special. Its the latent tension in the air as if you have arrived for the first time from another planet. For John Doe & Juno, their senses sharpened up & they became so much more aware of that which was around them. That, and the trail of corpses left behind during their escape.

[SilentMute]

Including the two they didn't know about in the trunk of Mr. Piangi's car, which they had taken to the airport. When they had taken the car, they had noticed a faint bad smell. However, the car had been littered with empty cartons of Chinese take-out--and there had been a Mountain Dew bottle filled with what looked like urine. They had attributed the bad smell to that.

In the freak heat wave, the stench was becoming overwhelming--so much so that it attracted the attention of an airport attendant. Detective Schmidt, sweating like a pig on a spit, called Detective Walsh as he looked down on the two bodies crammed into the trunk. They were Newton's henchmen--and unbeknownst to Newton or Piangi, one was an undercover narc cop. If Schmidt hadn't been so furious over the death of a fellow cop, he would probably admire the trunk space that accommodated the corpses of two large men.

In Piangi's apartment, Detective Walsh's phone rang shrilly--disturbing the tomb like silence. Walsh listened to Schmidt report about the discovery at the airport, a handkerchief over his nose as the bodies in the apartment were putting off a bad odor themselves.

Were the murders all tied together? Walsh mused--and were the couple responsible for all of them? He certainly didn't believe they were innocents, but he couldn't figure the motive or how they fit into this puzzle. The only thing that was certain was that the city morgue was going to be overbooked.

The hotel that Mr. and Mrs. Smith had booked was not. They had the whole west wing to themselves. The only other patron at the hotel was a retired hunter who sat in the den, smoking Cuban cigars, drinking whiskey, and reading Rudyard Kipling.

Juno snuggled against John's hairy chest. The room was comfortably hot, and the ceiling fan provided a gentle breeze and a comforting fwap-fwap-fwap noise.

John stared up at the ceiling through the mosquito net. His hand absently stroked Juno's hair.

"I always wanted to come to Africa, "he said, "I dreamed of bagging myself a lion and a rhinocerous."

"Well, Mr. Smith," Juno murmured, stretching in a feline manner, "I think most of those animals are protected."

"Hmmm. Well, you can't have everything," he kissed the top of her forehead.

"Mmmm. Nope."

John sighed. She looked so innocent lying there in his arms like a contented child. When he looked at her now, his feelings were more paternal. Of course, he had other feelings for her that weren't quite paternal. He started to suspect that maybe he was actually crazy about her.

Which made his little suspicions difficult. Was he lying next to a serial killer? Just how normal was it for a person to encounter three dead bodies in a day (if they weren't the forensic pathologist)? She could have killed Piangi and the bodyguard while he slept. That man in the bar--she could have stabbed him. Even if she wasn't guilty for the murders, obviously she was in deep into something.

"So," he said, his hand stopped its motion of stroking her hair, tightening a bit on the back of her neck, "I was thinking."

"Hmmm?"

"I was thinking that since we are traveling together, it might be nice if you filled me in on why you were meeting that Mr. Mann...and give me some idea why everybody that you encounter is winding up dead."

Juno's eyes flew open.

[MANICHAEAN]

Twenty four hours later, the flight carrying Walsh to Accra International was smooth and he had been booked into business class, in deference he thought to his frame, or was his boss Rob Munster actually mellowing to him? After dinner, he eased back on his normal indulgence on wine followed by a large brandy as he had homework to do.

He was puzzled by the fugitives choice of Ghana as a bolt hole. Ghana as he knew, like so many African countries had its fair share of economic and social problems: poverty, corruption, decaying infrastructure, tribalism etc. It also had its own more home grown demons of: scam artists, child prostitution, a growing underground porn industry and the still prevaling belief in ju ju, (otherwise known as marabout mediums and other spiritualists). These were highly feared in Ghanian society for there was a belief that they can wage spiritual reprisals from their dark rooms.

Fatal human malice is the staple of crime, original sin the mother-fluid of historians. But it is a risky enterprise to have to write of virtue. To Walsh the three main orders of men are: the instinctive, predatory, lustful greedy people; the patient, toiling, stupid, respectful, money-worshipping people; and the intellectual, moral, talented people. Realists must call up their own brand of idealism. The quietist should dress himself in a loud coat- a magical garment, its pockets rattling with the fool's gold of those idealistic illusions. For most people had to be paid in such coin. Apperance, providing it was a successful imposture was therefore an important feature of crime detection. Change the appearance of things and you were a long way to changing the reality. Walsh possessed an immense capacity for carrying that sort of luggage.

Upon arrival, Walsh cleared Customs quickly carrying only a holdall & briefcase, leaving in his wake the inevitable shakedown of returning Ghanians with multiple taped carton boxes & items that most Africans consider as hand luggage like; fold up prams, television sets & even a car windscreen if he was to believe his eyes!

Presenting his passport at the Immigration Desk there was too much eye contact & body language on their part.

"First time in Ghana Mr Walsh?"

"Yes first time"

"Nature of your visit?"

"Business'

At that point he saw her.

Tall, dark, strong profile in the sharp, crisp uniform of a Ghanaian woman police officer.

She stepped forward from whereever she had been standing behind the Immigration desk & spoke gently into the official's ear, as if to say; "I'll take it from here"

The Immigration Officer nodded, gave Walsh another eye contact as if some clandestine pact had been acknowledged & stamped the passport.

Walsh stepped through to meet his benefactor.

"She was cool". That was the first thing he noted about her.

A little shorter than he was, with that cool, striking calmless that some African women carry with such confidence.

"Good morning Detective Inspector Walsh. My name is Police Sergeant Emelia Banfo of the Ghanaian Police & I'm the liasion officer assigned to you"

Long, slender fingers, cool to the touch were extended for a formal greeting.

"Please follow me. The car is outside"

Declining that she carry his holdall, he gave up his briefcase and followed her through the crowds, noting in transit the supurb *** & long slender legs beneath the formal constabulary uniform.

[SilentMute]

"You think I had something to do with the murders?" Juno asked, bolting upright, incensed.

"I didn't say that," John said, "Obviously, though, you are involved in something. It isn't normal for a person to encounter dead bodies eveywhere they go!"

"That is what you are saying!" Juno grabbed the covers, leaving John exposed, "You think I killed those people!"

"That isn't what I'm saying! I'm just saying-"

Juno stormed to the far-side of the room, not knowing whether she wanted to cry or kill, "You were the one that crashed into the police station and killed that bum for no reason!"

"The bum was going to kill me--that is a very good reason," John interrupted.

"Well, you still haven't given a good reason for crashing into the police station! And why did the bum want to kill you?"

"I told you, I don't know! I never saw him before! He was a bum! He probably was crazy!"

"You were the one that entered Piangi's window--that was your idea! You were the one that wanted to stay there-"

"Because I didn't want to get arrested!"

"Here you are accusing me of being a serial killer-"

"No! I'm not! I-"

"And for all I know, you could be a mass murderer! It is just as likely--more likely--that it is you!"

They stared at each other for a moment. John sighed, having to admit she had a point.

"I don't get men," Juno shrugged off the coverings and started to dress, "You don't trust me, though you were willing to sleep with me!"

"Well, I'm sorry to say, darling, that sex doesn't build credibility. Sex is fun, exciting, but it isn't one of those things that tells a person you are trustworthy. In fact, it usually does the opposite!"

"Oh, so now you think I'm a whore as well as a serial killer!" Juno spatted, mouth trembling while eyes blazed.

"NO! Will you please stop putting words in my mouth! I'm just saying-"

"That I'm a whore, that I've been using my womanly wiles to besot you, and I'm a killer! But you don't mind bedding me, and running off with me to Ghana! Men! You prize you manhood above all else--and yet you will stick it in anything! You'd think you'd be very careful with something you always fear will be cut off!"

John blinked, finger in air. He had been about to argue, but her statement had stalled him. He lowered his finger, sighed, the put up his hands placatingly, "Look, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it the way it sounded! Okay? I would just like a little light about what is going on! I figured you had some piece to this puzzle. Do you know why that man you were meeting was killed?"

Juno sighed, "Not exactly. He did claim he was giving me sensitive information that people would kill for. I don't think Mr. Mann was even his real name. I don't know who he is--only that he seems to know something about the Poseidon Cruise Lines."

"The Poseidon Cruise Lines?"

"As for Piangi--I didn't know him! Come on, John! Unless you knew him, it was a coincidence! The man was into illegal activities! He was having a territory fight! Probably it was that Newton guy! We're lucky we weren't killed!"

"Yeah, yeah," John frowned, "You are probably right about that. Can you fill me in about why you wanted to know about the Poseidon Cruise Lines?"

Juno sighed. She was reluctant to tell him, because it was a private matter. Yet, she feared he would leave...and she didn't want him to. She didn't know how she felt about this man. She was certainly attracted to him, but there was something comforting as well...and it was so good to have a friend that seemed to accept her.

She licked her lips, "Three years ago, my sister took a cruise to Antigua. She disappeared without a trace....."

[SilentMute]

"To understand, I have to give you a little bit of my background," Juno sat in the wicker chair, foot folded under her. She didn't look at John, who sat opposite her, leaning forward intently.

"My parents were wealthy. Like most marriages, theirs had been pushed. My father's family had prestige, and my mother's family had wealth. However, my parents genuinely loved each other. However, my mother had several miscarriages. Finally, she found a good doctor--and though she had to stay in bed for several months, she finally managed to bring a pregnancy to term--me."

Juno smiled slightly bitterly, "I sometimes wonder if they regretted it." She paused for a minute, taking a sip of water, "They doted on me. I had the best of everything. I remember those years as being happy, but when I think about it--even then I felt insecure. I probably sound like a brat--but for all they gave me, it wasn't enough. I always felt insecure. All I wanted was my parents, "she looked at John, "I resented the governesses and nannies. I always thought my parents were pushing their responsibilities on them. I wanted my parents to be at my bedside when I was sick--not a nanny. No matter how nice they were, I always hated the help. I wanted my parents to discipline me. I used to pray they would lose their money so we could be a real family."

"As I grew older, I started having more problems socially. I didn't get along with other children. I always said the wrong thing or did the wrong thing. I tried, but I just didn't understand what I was doing wrong. I didn't know what the big deal was. I didn't know why people didn't like me. I looked like my mother as a little girl, but as I grew older I got dark. The kids used to tease me. They said I had been adopted by gypsies. It sounds silly, but I feared that was true. I used to look in the mirror and try to see a resemblance."

"It got worse after my sister was born. She looked like my parents. She had the natural grace that was expected for the social class we had been born in. She did everything right. I hated her. After she was born, it seemed my parents were less satisfied with me. Everytime I had a problem, I could see this look in their faces--the disappointment, " Juno bit her lip and gulped, "I was angry. I had talents, but not in the areas they valued. They paid more attention to my sister--and I began to fear it was true. I wasn't theirs. I was adopted, and they had been happy with me until mom had her own child."

"When they sent me to boarding school, this only proved it. Why would parents send their child away? Everybody knows boarding schools are dumping grounds for children nobody wants. I was so miserable there. The teachers hated me. The students hated me. I told fantastic stories to get people to like me, but it only got me branded as a liar. I use to beg my parents to take me out--but they said it was the best school...and I was building character."

She paused again. The clock on the wall ticked the minutes by. Finally, she started again, looking away from John and at her hands, "My third year, we had a new history teacher. Her name was Mrs. Voncory. Her husband taught the neighboring boy's boarding school. She took an interest in me, and I was so hungry for attention. I ate it up. However, her interest in me wasn't totally...platonic. She and her husband used to do things. They...uh...used to introduce me to their friends. The head mistress at the school never questioned Voncory. I think she was just relieved that I was behaving better--because my grades and behavior did improve. I thought these people loved me. I lived in a world where I was ugly and I did everything wrong. They told me I was beautiful and introduced me to people who acted like they cared about me."

My parents were pleased. They were never suspicious. Things like that didn't happen in their world. I was doing better, so they encouraged my relationship with my mentors. However, Voncory and her husband were playing on my fears. They told me my parents didn't love me. They said I was adopted. They said a lot of things--and over time they poisoned my mind against my parents. The Voncorys hated the wealthy people. They envied what they had. They were into some really bad stuff--and the wealthy were usually the victims. I think they took great pleasure in the thought of ruining someone's daughter."

"When I graduated, I was relieved. I went back home, thinking I could finally be with my family again. Things were very good for a while. My parents seemed pleased with me. Then one night, my father told me he had arranged a marriage with a friend's son for me. I was upset. I had been trying to be so good, and he still wanted to get rid of me--for that is how I saw it. While I liked the guy he had chosen, and he would have been a good husband, I was horrified. The guy loved me--but he didn't realize that I didn't belong in that world. I was picturing our marriage--the day he would find out it wasn't a phase...and having to see that look on his face I have seen on my parents. I pictured him putting on appearance, being brave for the sake of the children. I couldn't do it. My father was furious--he told me I could marry the man or I could be disowned. I don't think he expected me to walk out, but he miscalculated--I had a place to go. The Voncorys gladly took me in--and I was theirs after that."

[SilentMute]

"I tried to get in contact with my parents after a cooling off period, but I never heard from them. I took it to mean they didn't love me, and the Voncorys agreed with that assessment. It was so hard! Particularly around the holidays. I wasn't totally lonely--I had the Voncorys. It still wasn't quite the same. I felt like my heart had been ripped apart. I could never trust people totally...except the Voncorys. I never wanted to be hurt like that again, so I developed a hard shell. I hated the wealthy with a passion. I thought they should all be murdered."

Juno sighed, "Years later, the Voncorys came to a sticky end. An illegal deal that had gone bad. I was a suspect at first--and that is when it hit the fan. It was a very public affair. Everything the Voncorys had done--including what they had done to me--came out."

John recalled the reading the case in the papers.

"It was then my father contacted me. He was all tearful and asking why I never told him what the Voncorys were doing to me. I didn't want anything to do with him at first. I thought it was too little too late. However, the head detective on the case revealed to me that the Voncorys had manipulated me. They had taken my letters I had sent to my family, so my parents never saw them. They also took letters my family had sent to me. They had lied about where I was when my father came to visit. Part of me was so happy and relieved. They did love me. But part of me was so ashamed. I blamed myself for being so stupid! I thought I had ruined our family! I had embarrassed my parents--which seems like the worse thing you can do to rich people. I had ruined my life--particularly since it was no longer a secret."

"But my parents took me back. It was...awkward, and yet I finally felt like we were a family. I felt at peace."

[SilentMute]

"My sister had just graduated. She decided to take a cruise to Antigua. One day, we didn't hear from her. We weren't concerned at first. We thought she was having fun. However, several days went by and we didn't hear from her. The day we went to pick her, the ship came in--but she wasn't on it. We contacted the authorities. At first, they didn't take us seriously. They figured some rich brat had decided to take an impromptu trip to Switzerland or something--which had been in our heads too. Except my sister wasn't like that. She was always good about keeping in contact."

"The staff claimed she never boarded the ship on the return trip. Then one of the waiters claimed that she had last been seen in the company of two men she had met on board. The men claimed they had partied--but she had returned to her cabin. However, surveillance cameras didn't back up their story. Then the police found out that one had been arrested for sexual assault and battery. They believed he killed her and dumped her body in the ocean. They said the currents could take the body to another country. They couldn't find other evidence to link him to a crime--and so they had to let him go. My parents were devestated. It was bad enough to not know, to think the worst but never know--and this man, who was very cocky and insulted my sister's memory by making her out to be a whore, he may have gotten away with murder."

"For three years, we didn't know. My father hired a private investigator, but he turned up nothing. We assumed my sister was dead, because we couldn't believe that she wouldn't contact us if she were alive. Finally, my parents gave up. I don't think their hearts could handle it anymore. They had a gravestone made and had a private service. It was after that, I heard from Mr. Mann. He had read about it in the paper. He told me that my sister was alive."

Juno fell silent for a moment, seeming to be reliving the past. Then she continued, "I was skeptical. I thought he was some kook. We had plenty of those--psychics claiming they knew where my sister was, that she was being held somewhere and being tortured. They never helped and only increased my parents agony. But he sent me a photo--a photo of her after her disappearance. She was crying--her hair had been cut...but it was her. She was scantily dressed."

"Do you think Mr. Mann as responsible for her disappearance? Could have he been trying to get you--perhaps as a ransom?" John asked.

Juno shook her head, "I don't know. Mann didn't tell me much. He said it was very risky for him to meet me, but he wanted to help. All he said was that the Poseidon Cruise Line was a front for all sorts of smuggling activity. He claims that there have been several disappearances over the past few years--passengers who supposedly had fallen overboard after getting drunk. However, he claims that was not the case. The women, who were attractive, were probably sold into white slavery--that is what he believes happened to my sister. However, he claim that sometimes people are harvested for their organs. He claims that the staff is involved. That is all he told me. He said he would tell me more when we met."

John was quiet, thinking how horrible it was. He thought he would rather have a loved one dead than to think they were being forced into prostitution...even if they had been murdered.

"Someone must have found out," Juno said.

John sighed, "If that is the case, you are in danger. Why didn't you go to the police?"

Juno made a face, "I don't exactly have a good reputation with the police."

"Oh, yeah," John smiled wryly, "Did you tell your parents?"

Juno shook her head, "I thought I would see if Mr. Mann gave me a good lead before I brought it up again," she looked at a painting on the wall, "I want to find my sister. It isn't just that I want to rescue her--but I want to bring her home to my parents. I figure that if I can do this, then it will make up for everything--all the grief I had caused them."

"Redemption," John said, filling both their glasses with something stronger than water.

"Yes."

He clinked his glass to hers, "I think that is worth pursuing."

[MANICHAEAN]

The liner "Absalon" bucked and lurched its way through the immense troughs & cliffs that comprised an intense storm on the Bay of Biscay. It was en route from Florida via the West Indies to a luxery tour of the Mediterranean, the evolving tourist locations of West Africa & down to Cape Town. Hardened drinkers, drunk and sensitive souls became even more sensitive as they reached even further into their stomachs to spew over the ships handrails in rhythm with each rise & fall of the turbulent seas.

Captain Talal Mhanna sat devoid of company for lunch, glad of the chance to let slip the mask of affability & charm requisite of someone in his position. A Lebanese by origin, he had by some unpercieved ability risen the greasy pole of Poseiden Cruise Lines corporate structure to attain captaincy of the Absalon. Expressionless eyes either side of a hawk-like nose at an angle such that it appeared to be cleaving the air scenting trouble.

In his cabin below, tied to the bed was the Duchess of Cleaveland. Nice girls always dally with danger. Now she had arrived, with her card called & no aces in her hand, the pulse racing as she feared the night that lay ahead of her.

[MANICHAEAN]

It was Walsh's first day in Accra. He had checked into the Labadi Hotel and then proceeded after a shower through the turmoil of traffic to make contact with the senior Ghanaian police officer who was Emelia's boss, Inspector Kwesi Jay.

The latter was a bit depressing. Jay was the type you see so much in uniform in third world countries, all appearance and very little substance. Big office, smart uniform, chest big enough to adorn with a box full of ribbons and medels & the usual platitudes of what was being done to get things resolved. Rob Munster would have loved him! But you could see he was not front line, had been promoted too early and sense it was almost like a rerun of the film "Casablanca" & "Round up the usual suspects!"

"The two fugitives" he informed "had passed through Immigration at Accra Airport, been granted 21 days visitor visas, booked into one hotel, booked out & then gone to earth. Walsh was depressed. He looked to Emelia for solace, but all he could think was " Did she scream or moan when aroused?"

[SilentMute]

Cynthia--which she preferred to be pronounced ken-thee-ah--strained against her bonds. Her skin chaffed and eventually started to bleed.

Outside, the sun was setting on another fun-filled day for most passengers. Just this morning, Cynthia had been one of them--enjoying a day of snorkling and buying souvenirs in the quaint little shops. That seemed like an eternity ago.

Tears stung her eyes as she thought about the possibility of what might happen to her. She might never see her parents again. She might lose her life after undergoing some horrible degregation or torture. She closed her eyes and forced the thoughts back. If she had any chance, she could not succumb to hysteria.

Sweat drenching her face, she twisted her arm desperately. The light was dimming in the room. Her captors had left no lamp on.

To think she found herself in this situation because she was trying to listen to the advice of her friend. Cynthia had always been responsible--a rare trait for someone born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Her father, though, had done his best to instill the value in her and had succeeded. He didn't want his daughter becoming frivolous, not appreciating anything that came to her.

But she was always aware that she was the "un-fun" girl at parties--when she went to them. Her friend Demi always chided her--told her to live a little--that one day she was going to regret always doing the right thing. Demi certainly took her own advice--and she didn't seem to suffer horrible consequences.

Everybody liked Cynthia. Guys seemed to admire her. Yet, she never had a date. She had never been kissed. Her diary was so boring that she made things up. It bugged her.

So, she had made a vow on this cruise to "live a little." Demi had said to her the night before she left, "When you come back, I want to hear that you at least made some move towards getting devirginized."

Initially, there seemed no chance of that. She had chosen the wrong cruise. Captain Mhanna had been very attentive and kind to her, inviting her several nights to sit at his table. However, most of the passengers were older people and not even attractive ones.

On the third night, the captain had introduced Romeo--a breathtakingly handsome man a few years older than Cynthia. He was the dance instructor and choreographer. Captain Mhanna had thought Cynthia needed some "congenial" company.

Oh, Romeo was certainly that. Handsome, charming, funny, gentle...rather common, but she wasn't looking at him as marriage material. No, he stimulated her first feelings of lust. She wanted to bed him, particularly when they danced and he'd grind against her--she could feel his bulging passion...and it wasn't a cod piece. That was pure Romeo.

He certainly had invited her several times to his quarters. She had enjoyed very titillating make-out sessions with him, but she had always stopped short. He had been very nice about it. She wanted him, and yet part of her wanted to be a virgin on her wedding night.

"Oh, for goodness sakes!" Demi had sounded exasperated when Cynthia had called her, "Don't be so Victorian! It is good to have a little experience! Being a virgin on your wedding night does not guarantee a good marriage. My mom was a virgin, and she has had five husbands. Besides, you can always get your hymen fixed."

So when she had met Romeo while shopping, she had agreed to let him buy her a drink. She had whispered into his ear that she wanted him when he had handed her the drink. He had smiled in a way that made her melt, then encouraged her to down the drink. The liquor was a native drink, coyingly sweet but warm as it went down your throat. She felt very relaxed and giddy. When her head began to swim, she thought she was drunk. Romeo had laughed and picked her up, amusing the other patrons saying, "White girls can't hold their liquor."

She started to realize, though, she wasn't drunk--he had drugged her. She had wondered why, because she had been willing.

[SilentMute]

Nobody had been concerned about her when Romeo walked through the very public corridors of the ship. She was a girl that had gotten a little drunk partying--it was a common site. If Romeo had a threatening demeanor, hadn't been so handsome and amiable, perhaps there would have been some concern. But he wasn't, and he was recognized as one of the staff...and why would a staff member risk his job to take advantage of a woman?

Cynthia did not generally drink and had never taken drugs. However, she was not particularly sensitive to them due to a freak metabolism. She was never totally unconscious, not even totally incapacitated. However, she pretended she was--hoping he would feel too confident, giving her an opportunity to escape. She didn't think her chances were very good unless she could surprise him, for he was very strong.

She regretted not trying to flee when she realized that he wasn't just a date rapist. The situation was more serious than that. He had taken her to quarters that weren't his own. Then she had heard him talking to a very familiar voice--and when another man loomed over her, she realized it was Captain Mhanna.

Mhanna had tied her to his bed with a very elaborate knot. Cynthia tried to hold her hand in a position she had read about years ago in a book from an escape artist she had admired. She prayed it would work--the position was supposed to give you a little wiggle room to escape.

Mhanna had removed her underwear and did what seemed like a gynecological examination. She had held her breath, expecting to be raped. However, he merely smiled in satisfaction, "I knew it--a virgin. We will get a lot of money for her."

"A rare find with American girls, "Romeo commented.

"Hmmm."

They had left her alone, icy dread plummeting in her stomach.

She had been working on wiggling from the knot since--each minute more desperate as she began to wonder if it wasn't going to work. Sometimes it seemed as if the knot tightened.

A few tears escaped. How could she have been so stupid?

And then, suddenly, her wrist slipped out to the palm. She stared at it in disbelief, then started to wiggle again. She started learning the rhythm that was gradually loosening the knot, and then her hand was free.

She put her head back and sobbed a thank you. However, she didn't have time to be too grateful or to rest. Her other appendages were still tied. Fortunately, they weren't going to be as difficult. Captain Mhanna had a nice sharp knife in the night table next to the bed. Though it was awkward, and she had to strain, she was free of her bonds within ten minutes.

She put her ear to the door. No sounds outside. She unlocked it and carefully looked out. There was noone in the hallway. Taking the knife, she quickly went down the corridor, using a compact mirror to look around corners. At one point, she heard footsteps coming her way. She quickly ran down the corridor and ducked into another hallway. The person passed, and in her compact mirror, she was certain in was Romeo.

For a few minutes, she didn't dare breathe. As the footsteps faded, she dared to return to the hallway. She had just made it to the stairs when the service elevator dinged, and the doors opened. A Spanish maid exited, and Cynthia froze. The woman smiled pleasantly if a little quizzically and continued down the hall. She didn't seem to be a part of this--hadn't came after Cynthia with a broom...but Cynthia didn't know who to trust.

Cynthia headed towards the stairs. She figured elevators would be more dangerous--more likely to open into very public areas, more likely to be used by her captors. The stairwells had doors with windows that she could peer through.

A side stitch bothered her as she made her way up. She was surprised such a small thing bothered her. Finally, on the top deck, she peered out. A few passengers were on the deck but no staff. Of course, passengers may be involved too--but it was unlikely she would find an area that didn't have anyone...at least where she could escape. She tried to act casual while trying to be vigilant.

She made her way to the kiddie jungle. It was dinner time--and the kids had been collected by their parents. The jungle was empty. Looking around to make certain she wasn't being observed, she ducked into the little castle.

Heart thudding, she waited for darkness to fall and for the remaining stragglers to go to dinner. Her heart stopped when one of the staff came by, sweeping the deck. He swept near the castle but did not look in.

Finally, she was alone. She emerged from the castle, feeling cramped and stiff. She peered over the edge.

She had thought of taking a life boat, but she realized that she would need another person to lower it. However, the sea was rough. From this height, if she jumped, she might die on impact. Water could be as hard as cement if you fall on it wrong. What were her chances of surviving the rough waters? What were the chances she would be found? She had hoped they were near an island, but she saw nothing in the distance except vast blackness.

Yet, she doubt she could remain hidden until the boat docked. Eventually, the captain or Romeo would discover her escape. She didn't know who to trust. She would rather risk death than the fate Captain Mhanna was selling her to. She grabbed a life vest and put it on, then took the life saver.

With a brief prayer, she climbed up onto the railing. Trying to keep her body straight, she jumped.

She expected the water to be warm, but it was cold. She flung her arms and managed to surface, though she swallowed water as the waves beat at her. She watched the ship move away from her until it was a dimming light...which eventually was snuffed out.

Shivering, trying to stay afloat, she focused on surviving the night and tried not to dwell on wether she was going to die a rat's death at sea.

[MANICHAEAN]

It was a strange day in Hell.

Grimy flagstone steps led down to a lower chamber & the air was rancid with a whiff of sulpher & rotten eggs.

Chalked on the floor in a circle were: the twelve signs of the zodiac, the twenty two signs of the cabbala, the keys and the gates, the four elements, the three beginnings and the seven spheres. A roaring fire was in evidence in the grate & above it the great sign of Makropozopus.

Wall to wall plasma screens emitted endless repeats of: CNN, Fox News, BBC, Sky News, The Greatest Loser & the Larry King Show. Raquel Welch was currently promoting her latest book & her chest.

With their hands clutched to their ears, a rag tag group of men absorbed their perdition.
Mr Mann, a toothless drunk with no name, Theodore Salvadore Piangi, Artemis (call me Art), Mr Newton & two henchmen (one of whom claimed loudly to whoever would listen that there had been some dreadful mistake as he had been a former undercover cop, & thus a good guy).

The Prince of Darkness entered.

[MANICHAEAN]

Captain Talal Mhanna & Romeo were as yet unaware of the escape overboard of the Duchess of Cleaveland.

Even when being assessed in an unseemly manner for an opening in white slavery, she had insisted on her full title and refused to acknowledge Romeo calling her "Cynth". She realised now that her first impressions had been wrong. Even if this latter individual was a hefty, dark handsome lad with fine shoulders and legs, sleek dark hair and white teeth; he was the type whose arms would hold you close, but all his brains were in his face. Or ,(one might surmise), in other unmentionable appendages. "Mummy would be so upset if she found out. And Daddy would soon take a shotgunto the bounder!"

But I transgress, for our heroine was now in deep water (literally), as she trod the ocean water endlessly endeavouring to survive.

By daybreak, the sea had calmed and from the distance came the sounds of incoherent shouts in a strange dialect. A dark boat hove to. It was the "Mogadishu Enterprise" crewed by Somali pirates. Two months previously they had stormed an American ship off the Horn of Africa carrying a cargo of Wild Turkey bourbon. The Mother of all Party's had ensued and the winds and currents of Divine Providence had subsequently carried them south round the Cape & then north to their present location.

The Duchesse of Cleaveland was spotted and hauled aboard half dead & comotose.

The captain, Alhaji Abubaker Tafala Bewala had her carried to his cabin where he looked down on her limp body.

"Hmm" he reflected "She has a smooth ivory skin & rather severe eyebrows"

Prising open her eyelids he noted the large dark eyes that looked as if they might warm up at the right time and in the right place.

[SilentMute]

Juno and John drove down the residential street. John felt a little disoriented. When one went to a foreign country, they expected to see a different way of life. He was in Ghana. He expected to see people in native garb walking barefoot or maybe riding on camels. He expected grass or mud huts with no electricity or indoor plumbing.

He did not expect to be driving a 2006 Nissan Sentra that had airbags, alloy rims, CD Player, and tinted windows. He did not expect to see houses that resembled the houses in the States--luxury homes of bland decor except for the wild colors they were sometimes painted that never reflected their owners personalities...never said "I am the home of the Perez family."

He pulled into a driveway behind a maroon Landrover. The house was off-white with tinted windows--a fish bowl that had a secret. The yard lacked any foliage or decoration--the grass was a little overgrown...if it was grass. It seemed to be grass's gnarled, deformed brother.

Juno and John got out of the car, regarding the house. Juno felt her test tighten. John felt his bladder get hot. Dropping in unannounced was never a good idea, but while they knew an address--they didn't know the phone. John caressed the concealed weapon in his jacket.

Juno sighed and went up to the door. She knocked. Waited. Knocked again. Just when they were about to give up, the door unlocked and opened. A bald white man, tanned from years of being sunburnt by the African sun, opened the door. He had a scar that went down his left cheek. The eye, where it seemed to originate, was milky from what probably was an injury caused by the very thing that had caused the scar. The eye was blind, but gave you the impression it could see into your very soul. The mouth was set into a thin line and very grim.

"What do you want?" the man asked gruffily.

[SilentMute]

"Mr. Wallace Sader?" Juno asked nervously.

The man grunted, looking at them suspiciously.

"My name is Juno Phoenix. This is John Doe," the man glanced at Doe sharply, as if he couldn't believe the gall of this man choosing an obviously fake name.

"That really is my name," John explained, "My parents thought it was a joke."

Wallace Sader regarded him with a hard, unbelieving expression...then turned to Juno, "I didn't ask who you were. I asked what do you want?"

Juno licked her lips, feeling she had to say the right thing if this man was going to help. He was not one moved by a pretty face or nice body, "Mr. Sader, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I need your help."

"What kind of help?"

"Well," Juno paused, "to tell you the truth, I'm not really sure. You were referred to me by Mr. Mann."

"I don't know a Mr. Mann."

Juno's heart sank. What was she going to do now?

"We suspected he wasn't using his real name," John said, "However, we found your name and address in some papers he had with him."

"These papers, did he give them to you?" Sader cocked an eyebrow, his eyes so piercing that it was painful to look at him directly.

It was John's turn to flounder.

"No," Juno said, making Sader's head whip back to her. She knew she risked losing him, but she decided to tell the truth, "Look, whoever this man is, he's dead. He was murdered. We found his body and took the papers. I was going to meet him after he promised to give me some information regarding the disappearance of my sister--who disappeared while taking a cruise on one of the ships of the Poseidon Cruise Line. However, someone got to him first. We searched him and found the papers--we assumed maybe he was going to give them to me anyway."

Sader looked at Juno and John for a long moment, then said, "How do I know you didn't kill this Mr. Mann?"

Juno sighed, "Look, I can't prove that. I can understand why you don't want to trust us. I'm equally afraid of trusting you. However, I do need help--and you seem to be another piece of the puzzle in helping me find my sister."

He studied her for another moment--one of the few men she had ever met that only looked at her eyes and didn't travel further down. Finally, he exhaled and said, "Okay. I'll trust you. I think an enemy would come up with a better story anyhow. However, if you are going to enter my house, I must insist on one thing."

"What is that?" Juno asked.

"That your friend hand over his gun," the man grinned, "Both of them."

[MANICHAEAN]

In spite of Sadler's weathered appearance he looked like a drinker. He had the thickened and glossy skin, the too noticeable veins, the bright glitter in the eyes. He sat looking at them, his large hairless hands clasped comfortably over his stomach. He had large ears and one friendly eye and his jaws munched slowly. He looked as dangerous as a squirrel and much less nervous.

"Fancy a beer?" He did not wait for an answer but got to his feet by grasping the arms of his chair and deftly kicking it back from under him. Standing up he was a big man and hard. The fat was just cheerfulness.

The beer distributed, he adopted an air of imperturbable insouciance. An avid observer would however have detected a premonitory creasing around the good eye.

"In New Town, Accra" he said "There is a dive called the Congo Junction Hotel. Your sister was last heard of there doing a turn on stage. But its not exactly a convent outing, so be prepared"

[MANICHAEAN]

"The Devil is a gentleman" is a common saying in the Western World. He did his best not to be noticed; his manner and bearing was that of a prince disguised among these new souls, taking great pains to appear one of them. "Prince" is in fact Satan's rank. He is called in the gospel the "Prince of Darkness, Prince of Death and the Prince of Cherubim".

[SilentMute]

Her head pounded something awful. The sound of machinery--the boat's engines, made it worse. At least the sea was calmer and the boat didn't rock as much. Rocking soothed her as a colicky baby, but now it made her want to yack.

Someone dabbed a cool rag on her moist brow. She found the boy's presence comforting--though she wondered what happened to the child. He had no legs--but it didn't look like a birth defect. He understood English, but he couldn't speak. When she had first asked him a question, he had shocked her by opening his mouth--revealing no tongue.

She was still weak, still feverish. However, despite her ills, questions were beginning to filter up in her mind. Where was she? What had happened to her?

More importantly, who was she?

[SilentMute]

Wallace Sader rescued people. In his youth, he had considered being a doctor or a fireman. During his stint in the military, he became aware of the slave trade going on worldwide.

In his wallet, he still carried a piece of paper from his drawing pad of two little girls he had known in Cambodia. Their parents had sold them into a children's brothel. He had tried to rescue them--begged the parents to give them to him. He would bring them to the States, give them a good life. He didn't offer as large of a sum as the pimp, but also he thought the parents didn't want their children going out of the country. They could work off their debt to the pimp, they figured, and come home.

Oh, but it never worked out like that. Srey Na, the eldest child--reserved but sharp as a whip, she was strangled by a customer. The pimp had been indignant, but only because the customer had killed his biggest money maker. Makara, only four years old, sweet and full of laughter...she got a disease. She was sent home when she got too sick--her body wasting away until it could no longer support life.

He was haunted by them--sometimes by memories of them laughing as they danced, as he remembered them in better times. Sometimes he chased their forlorn ghosts through deserted factories and dark streets, never catching up...or when he did, when he embraced them, their bodies would collapse into a decaying ooze.

Ay, he did drink...he drank to suppress the images. He had found his calling, and he had managed to rescue many people over the years. He had many grateful families...but what about the people he rescued? Some were grateful, but did their experience damage them? Could they ever have a normal life after that? Others weren't pleased to be liberated. They had been running away from their homes--feeling unloved, perhaps abused, desiring wealth, the countless reasons--and often those were brainwashed into believing their pimps loved them, or they enjoyed the bobbles they received for selling themselves.

He peered at Juno above the rim of his glass. He knew about the Poseidon Cruise Lines, of course. A very powerful crime syndicate with deep pockets and very good connections was behind that bold operation. Only they could pull something like this off. A smaller operation would never dare abduct daughters from wealthy families.

But he wondered...was the family prepared--if he rescued this girl--to deal with the problems she would have from her experiences.

[SilentMute]

Wallace cleared his throat, "You need to understand something. This is purely a rescue mission."

Juno frowned, "Yes, I understand that. What else would it be?"

Wallace stared at her, "It means that we aren't here to punish or get justice for those who have done this to your sister. There are too few of us to bring down something this large--and it is already extremely dangerous. While I have had more success than most in rescuing people, I have had more failures. This is not going to be easy. If I was a betting man, I'd put my money on our failure, on being corpses that wash up and being buried in unmarked graves."

"That is encouraging," John replied.

Wallace sighed, "Just so you know what we are up against. If we are going to have any success--we go for the girl only. Rescuing her probably will involve bartering with the very people who hurt her, but believe me when I tell you that this is usually the best way. These girls are assets to these pimps, and the pimps guard their assets like any good businessman."

Juno gulped down her anger, not liking how Sader was referring to her sister. Wallace noticed her look and said, "Don't like it? Get used to it fast, lady! For your sister's sake, you are going to have to act like you are buying a piece of furniture."

Juno sighed, "I understand."

"You better. If you can't handle it, you best stay home."

"Mr. Sader," Juno asked, "You know so much about all of this. Why isn't more done to stop it? You know the people involved. Aren't there authorities who take care of this? Some of these countries are in the United Nations--you would think that the UN would frown on this sort of thing and try to stop it."

Wallace coughed, "There are authorities. It is frowned upon. There is an effort to stop it. Yet, it is like trying to establish world peace. For all the valiant efforts, for all the people who desire it, there are still wars and hatred. Slavery is a very profitable business, particulary the sex trade. And the victims are people that would get lost anyway--the unseen ones. This operation behind Poseidon Cruise Lines is bold, but most prey on the poor. No disrespect to your sister, but even the people behind her disappearance...even the people they choose, though they are wealthy, they are the type of people that fall through the cracks. Innocent souls are so easily given up as lambs for slaughter. Criminals have instincts. It isn't just a pretty face they are going for--they know who can disappear."

Juno looked down at her glass, swirling the liquid as if trying to foretell the future. Actually, she was trying to hide her upset. John reached over and squeezed her hand. She was grateful, but she didn't look up--afraid her tough facade would break if she did.

Wallace Sader leaned back and closed his eyes, "Focus on getting her out alive. Put everything else out of your mind."

[MANICHAEAN]

Her name was Joy and she had a safety pin through one ear. Strange that the apex of recollection in this instance should revolve around an artificial and somewhat absurd adornment.

The Congo Junction Hotel was for a white man like John normally a bit beyond bounds in terms of going there for a casual drink, especially when busy in the evenings or on a weekend. But this was mid morning during the week & a foretaste of apprehension overcame any sensible reservations he might have nurtured. Juno was left in Sadler's care. Just one drink, assess the place & out.

The borrowed pick-up truck parked, John entered. It was built like so many African beer parlours. A central courtyard with metal tables and chairs surrounded by a two storey, somewhat seedy and faceless accommodation. Empty was the courtyard and the small stage.

Out came the said Joy. A hint of a smile in the eyes and teeth. Igbo by tribe with small doe like features and of course the improvised earring. Perhaps the genuine article was inserted when the real customers came in during the night?

John ordered a beer and engaged in small talk when it was brought. He tipped well. Obviously too well for what she was used to.

By the time of the second beer, an urgent "Psssst" was heard from one of the courtyard doors. There she was beckoning him inside. Once drawn into these scenarios; absurd with a labyrinth of possibilities you do not know how they will develop.

Her room was cramped with two beds curtained off and behind one, basic cooking apparatus. Drawing the curtain on the bed adjacent to the outside wall she indicated for him to lie down. No lack of taking the initiative on this girl's part! So in jumped John fully clothed. Shuttered window to the left, curtain to the left, stove behind his head, into the Valley of Death rode the singular representative of Britian's calvery. Lord Cardigan would have been proud!

After a suitable period of contortions on a horizontal plane, both sets of clothes came off. Perhaps one should explain at this juncture that John's sexual arousement was not at its greatest in such circumstances i.e. stark naked with a negress in the middle of an Accra back room.

He was full of murmured apologies. She was undaunted.

But this original and appreciative seminar was soon to take an unexpected turn.

Someone entered the room and soon the heaves and grunts of crude unimaginative rutting were heard emanating from the, also curtained off second bed two feet away.

This first movement of the Congo Junction Symphony in B minor was followed by cooking being undertaken somewhere behind John's head to the accomplishment of soft singing.

The final unbalance of John's mental equilibrium was attained by a loud knock on the shutters in a dialect unknown and forceful, asking something of Joy.

Reassured that it was only her boyfriend and sustained by a distaste to being hacked to death by a machete, he panicked. Although the "voice" had gone, she was ready to resume diplomatic relations and he writhed like a python endeavouring not to shed a skin but to assume one as he forced first one leg, then the other into some semblance of respectable attire to his lower half.

A heavily improvised retreat ensued.

Back at the house Juno asked; "Well, how did it go?"

[SilentMute]

"Why come here?" Walsh asked Emelia over drinks that night after her shift.

They were at the Congo Junction Hotel. Emelia had been there earlier responding to a call. A woman who worked there named Joy had been found in the alley behind the hotel badly beaten up, safety pin ripped out of her ear. The girl refused to reveal who her attacker had been. Emelia had her patched up and didn't press the manner. An incensed relative, pimp, or john--what fist beat her became as anonymous as the parts she caressed. Emelia, hardened by the facts of an unjust world, did her best to keep Hell from taking over totally...but didn't try to put out the flames. It was for the same reason as Sader's--there were too few people on the side of justice to stand a chance against a corrupt world.

Walsh, though, had a stroke of luck. One of his two fugitives had been spotted in the woman Joy's company and had left shortly before she was attacked.

Emelia smiled, "Do you mean this hotel--or why did they come to some sh**-hole country like this?"

Walsh looked flustered, "I didn't mean that! I do wonder why they chose to come to Ghana, yes. Most fugitives go to Mexico, Tahiti, Switzerland. It seems rather obvious why my fugitive came to the hotel."

"Is it?" Emelia asked, smile sly with knowledge and face enigmatic.

"How come I get the idea you know more than you are telling me?"

Emelia slid her glass around, "What I know can easily be seen, Detective Walsh. Corruption is not hidden here. It isn't swept under the carpet. It isn't confined to certain neighborhoods. The corruption stinks of spilt blood, Detective. It attracts the predators who come to lick it up--even as far off as the States."

She took a long sip of her drink. Walsh watched the small bump in her neck spams as she gulped. She looked at him over her rim, and then her eyes glanced at something over his shoulder.

He turned to see what she was staring at. At the bar, there was a beautiful blonde girl sitting between two men. She did not look like a tourist. One man was stroking her hair, which would have seemed very gentle if the other hand wasn't roughly grabbing her breast. His friend had both of his hands up her short skirt like he was prospecting. The girl looked like she was enduring rather than enjoying it.

Another man came up. Walsh had noticed him earlier at a back booth. It was hard not to. A light purple silk shirt, very brash, and lots of gold jewelry: several chains around his neck, large rings on most of his fingers, gold bracelets, anklets, earrings--in several places besides his ears--and even gold teeth. He looked like a victim of the Midas Touch. Walsh had thought him another customer, though he had paid for their drinks in what seemed like a slimey courtesy. Emelia had allowed him, not thinking there was any conflict of duty in accepting a drink. Walsh had mistakenly thought the man was her boyfriend, which had earned him a hard stare from her.

Mr. Gold, as Walsh nicknamed him, said to the two men, "Hey! Enough sampling! Either pay to use the merchandise, or move on!"

The two men looked as if they were considering arguing with their fists--but three large bodyguards seemed to materialize from the floor to protect the pimp.

"How much?" the prospector asked.

Walsh didn't hear the quote, but apparently it was considered extravagant.

"Hey! She worth it! Just where are you going to find a pretty white girl like that around here?" the pimp said.

The two men agreed. Currency was exchanged. The girl lead the two men behind the curtain, her face stony.

"Sin is embraced like a brother here," Emelia commented, "It never has to use the back door."

Detective Walsh was staring at the curtain. That girl...she looked awfully familiar. Where did he know her from? Somehow, he knew he had to remember the answer to this question--for he was certain it tied into his case.

He had seen a photo of that girl, he was certain of it. He remembered her innocent, smiling face...not the sad girl who looked like she was mentally escaping to her happy place she was now--but it was the same girl. He knew that.

But who in the devil was she, and how did she fit into his case?

[MANICHAEAN]

As the Duchesse of Cleaveland awoke in the Bay of Biscay in the unfamiliar cabin of a Somali pirate ship. she gradually brought into visual focus the swarthy face of its captain; Alhaji Abubaker Tafala Bewala.

She was frightened, but she was both British & an aristocrat. On the previous liner from which she had only 24 hours ago escaped, she had maintained her "sang froid" under the most intrusive & ungentlemenly behaviour of the captain of that particular vessel. She had no reason to expect her horiscope to improve.

"Sir, you have me at a disadvantage, but I presume that like the rest of your naval ilk, you intend to take advantage of my situation?"

"Nothing could be further from my mind M'aam" he responded.

"If anything, I am at a disadvantage in not knowing where I am. I am also interested in your views on global warming".

Alhaji was not your normal Somali pirate. Back in Mogadishu he had a wide ranging library of 600 books & 10 wives. One might surmise from the number of his contributions to the Lit Net Forum & the size of his family that they were in place for usage rather than ostentation.

[SilentMute]

There are many misconceptions about Hell.

One, it is not a place of fire and burning for everyone. Hell is catered to the individual sins of its inhabitants. For an someone who had murdered their family by setting the house on fire while they slept, yes--they would burn and choke as the fire ate up their oxygen. For the abusive boyfriend that had splashed acid in his girlfriend's face that had left him, his skin would burn as it was eaten away by a corrosive substance.

In Hell, we suffer the consequences of our actions--and we suffer them as our victims did in life...for all sin has its victims. The suffering is magnified. Some inhabitants are amazed when they wind up in Hell, not thinking they deserved to be there. Such as a man named Harold Burgess. He had went to church, had been a Red Cross volunteer, donated to various charities...but he had been verbally abusive to his wife and children. He never laid a hand on them, but he never realized that his verbal insults were just as damaging. In Hell, he frantically tried to cover his ears--but he couldn't escape the voice inside his head that constantly put him down. He never had any reprieve.

Some of the inhabitants try to attack what they believe is the source of their suffering. People rarely take responsibility for their own actions--and even in Hell they still blame their victims. They go to strike at the image of a victim, only to have it crumble into ash. Harold Burgess drove a take into his ear to silence the voice, but it did not kill him--and the voice got louder. Every attack only increases their suffering.

Another misconception is that Hell is permenant. While it is true that most of the inhabitants don't ever leave its dwelling, it doesn't have to be permenant. The landlord, of course, does everything in his power to make sure no one leaves--but his power is limited. Just as there are forces that wish to feed on our suffering and destroy us, there is a powerful force that oversees all--and this force loves its children. Flawed its creatures are, but it never gives up on us--and there is always a chance for redemption.

The Prince of Darkness, of course, does his best to keep his tenants in the depths of helpless despair. He is usually successful. Every so often, though, there is a soul that is strong enough to break free.

One such soul was named Aurelius. He had been in Hell for an extremely long time. He had been a soldier during the time of Nero. He had rounded up Christians, raping the women--then laughing as he condemned whole families to be mauled by dogs. He had hated Christians with a passion and never tired of the executions like many of his countrymen. His friend Cassius had once complained that Christians were no sport--and had written a letter to his mother during an execution.

The empire he had lived in had fallen. The Colloseum was a ruin, a tourist attraction. Nero was a villian in plays and movies. Aurelius had been poisoned by his wife and found himself in Hell, where he had suffered the consequences of his actions over the centuries. He could never run away from the hounds that tore at his flesh. The screams and plaintive crying of his victims could not be shut out. And behind it all, there was an audience that watched--some cheered, but most looked bored...but his suffering didn't affect them at all.

Most inhabitants go insane and have their will broken by their suffering. However, Aurelius--when he felt himself weakening--remembered the girl. She had been a beautiful child of nine years old. Normally, Aurelius may have spared her--she would have made gotten him a few gold coins. However, this child--a mere girl--had a power that had scared him. The Christians had congegated in her father's small shop to hear her preach the Christian religion. She had been found out because she had been so successful at converting people. When she had been captured, she had regarded him with calm eyes that seemed full of pity. He had hated her for it! When she had been executed, she had not cried. It had been eerie--something that had disturbed all that watched, including Aurelius. He started drinking heavily after that to squelch the image--which is how his wife got the best of him.

However, it was the image of the girl that saved him in Hell. Whenever he was at the brink, her compassionate face would appear before him. She would whisper, "All men are worthy of redemption, no matter what they have done." He hadn't believed her at first, but it gave him hope. And one day, he decided he wanted to redeem himself--and suddenly the hounds dissolved into ash, the voices silenced, and the crowd disappeared. Instead, there was a white light--a beautiful, peaceful light. He felt free of his bonds, and he floated up to it.

Beneath him, he heard the furious roar of the Prince of Darkness. Aurelius knew that the creature could no longer harm him--imprison him.

[MANICHAEAN]

Back in Hell's basement facility Theodore Salvadore Piangi crossed the flagstone floor and kissed his former henchman.

A man kissing a man cannot but allude powerfully to the most famous male-to-male kiss in Western civilisation: the kiss with which Judas betrays Jesus. The archetype of the false friend: Judas feigns affection in the act of betrayal.

The meaning. Take this one. Take him and crucify him.

The Prince observed and was gratified. He had lost Aurelius but this new entrant to his domain showed promise. And without any education being undertaken. For the traditional means by which the Christian devil or Antichrist subverted souls was through cunning argument or false exposition of the Scriptures. Evil is clever, good foolish. That was Eve's view when she accepted the apple; cleaverness or "subtlety" is the serpent's distinguishing feature.

"He shall be his own God, knowing good and evil" (Genesis 3:5)

[SilentMute]

Michael Townsend had always wanted a motorcycle. His mother always replied, "Over my dead body."

His father always reminded his wife that he had owned a motorcycle when they had been dating--in fact, that is what had attracted her to him. She used to sneak out of her house, because her father certainly hadn't approved, and they would ride in the moonlight.

"We didn't even wear helmets."

"Yeah, well," his wife said irritably, "I used to drink milk and blow it out my nose when I was six. I don't want him to do that either!"

Mary Townsend was a traditionalist, believing the man controlled the household. Therefore, despite her ire and objections, when Michael turned sixteen his father bought him a motorcycle. Michael, of course, was overjoyed.

"Don't worry! He'll be fine!" Frank Townsend assured his wife.

Mary had watched her son zoom down the road, stomach gnawing with worry and unconvinced. An hour later, a police car had driven up into their driveway. A grave officer had reported that there had been an accident. Michael had collided face on with a car. Both had been speeding, as people were apt to do on lonely roads. Michael had been tossed into the air. Despite his helmet, half of his skull's contents had wound up on the road.

Michael Townsend became a vegetable on his sixteenth birthday. His parents' marriage suffered--for of course, Mary blamed her husband. It was because of his own guilt that Frank agreed to leave Michael on life support, though there was no hope. However, Mary could not let her son go. She prayed over his body every day--praying for a miracle. Frank did not believe that miracle would ever come, but he let her have Michael because the last time he had overruled her, it resulted in their son's condition.

At 3:15 a.m., during the change in shifts, Michael Townsend woke up. It seemed as if Mary Townsend had gotten her miracle.

Michael didn't recognize his parents, nor remembered the circumstances of his accident. He didn't remember his past--or rather, he didn't remember events from the life of Michael Townsend.

"He has suffered a traumatic injury," the doctor reminded the overjoyed parents, "Some of it might come back. Some of it might not. However, it is certainly more than what we expected. That is something to be grateful for."

Michael continued to improve physically. Mentally, he did not regain his memories. He could speak English, but he spoke with an accent he hadn't had before--and he spoke as if it were a second language.

Some things he remained insistent on. Nobody could convince him otherwise.

One, he was not seventeen years old--he was thirty-one. And his name was not and never had been Michael Townsend.

It was Aurelius.

[SilentMute]

Alhaji stood, silently staring at the woman. The hair was blonde and straight, not red and curly. The skin was as pale, but it was not freckled. It was a pretty face, not homely. The eyes were a soft brown, not green with a laughing twinkle in them. The voice was certainly different.

And yet, he saw a woman who had been dead for seven years.

Though a pirate and a smuggler, Alhaji had stuck to non-human cargo. He wasn't as successful as some of his contemporaries, but then again he did not suffer some of the ghastly fates as those that were involved in that business. Mainly, though, he could not stomach the slave trade--particularly when it came to the children.

This was not the first time he had rescue a woman from the water. Seven years ago, he had picked up a red-headed woman treading water. Her name was Gilda. She was an environmentalist who had been kidnapped by slave traders. She hadn't been beautiful, but she had a nice body--and in some parts of the world, some men would pay good money to lay white flesh...even if it wasn't attractive. She had been clever, though--and she was also a black belt.

Alhaji had nursed Gilda back to health. He had informally adopted her as his daughter. She had been taken into his home, considered a daughter by his ten wives and a sibling by his countless children. They all thought she was rather strange in the head. She never reacted the way they expected to things.

For instance, when rescued from white slavery, the first thing she had asked him when she was able, "I am interested in your views about global warming."

Gilda had always been foremost an environmentalist. It was something he had mentioned at her funeral, when she was killed by the same slave traders when she tried to rescue a group of village children. She had saved the children, but she had been killed.

And now, once again, he heard that strange question. The woman grinned at him. Could it be?

"Gilda?" he asked, amazed.

"Hello, pappy," she smiled warmly, using the affectionate term Gilda had for him, "It is nice to see you again."

"H...H-How is this possible?" he asked, amazed--and yet convinced of the truth, "You are dead."

"I am," she said calmly, "but I was able to possess this girl. She is only too glad, at the moment, to escape her predicament...and I have come back for a reason."

"Let me guess," Alhaji said, crossing his arms, "The oil spill."

Gilda smiled slightly, "No."

"No?"

"No, "she repeated, eyes growing serious, "There is a great battle that is always waged, pappy, between the forces of good and the forces of evil. The balance has started to shift in favor of darkness. I have come back to shift it back, but I need help."

"You know I will always help you," Alhaji said.

She nodded, eyes brimming, "I knew I could count on you. We must find someone. He is very useful, but he is also in danger."

"Why?"

"Because he has done what so few have managed," she replied.

"And what is that?"

"To escape Hell."

Alhaji's eyebrow rose, "Is this someone we really want to recruit, Gilda."

She smiled, "Yes. A redeemed man, pappy, is even more dangerous to the Dark Prince's cause than a virtuous man. A redeemed man has fallen but has learned the way back to the path. His wisdom is more valuable to humanity than a good man's, for he can truly save people from the Dark Prince's domain."