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Pandora’s Players ~ The Final Edit
12:07 Jan 26 2007
Times Read: 1,037

Introduction:



Hope had taken human form long ago – having escaped the confines of the box thousands of years earlier.

But, man had never realized, so still had belief.

If those seeking her found her, all would be lost.

So, she had kept the legend of the box alive: and, so involved her Pandora’s Players’ ~ agents specially chosen to facilitate the boxes safekeeping.

She had taken human form, which pleased her: and to her Players, She was Amanda.

As the legend of the box lived, so would She ~ and, so would Hope.

And, there would come a time when man would need her: She knew that.

They were coming.





Pandora’s Players



He’d driven since early morning.

When the sun above beat down directly above him Mark knew he had to find shelter.

It was hot: that’s why his coat was in the boot of his pride and joy: a scarlet T-Bird.

His favourite coat. The one he always wore. After all, it was him.

But, he had a lot of miles still to cover and the midday heat had really got to him. An open-top looks good; and his moved well. But, even so, he’d been feeling the heat, which had caused sweat to run down his forehead and into his eyes.

Furthermore, driving with one’s eyes’ permanently watering wasn’t easy.

He had quickly found that out.

So, when Mark Knight found the Ambleside Motel Bar & Grill, he’d pulled in to book a room, for the night. Not that he needed an excuse, but… he needed a rest. Just to sleep in a real bed; and, not the back of the car, as he had become used to.

He’d pulled into the forecourt and parked the car.

“It’s bloody hard to think pure,” sang Skunk Anansie, her resonant tones striking a chord with his mood.

Everything had gone wrong.

It had supposed be the road trip of a life-time.

It’d been supposed to be his treat, after redundancy, after her.

And now?

Everything had gone wrong. Everything…

He had lost much of his luggage to a car thief in Las Vegas, then mis-read a map and taken a wrong turn.

Now, here he was, in the middle of nowhere, with one hell of a thirst.

A break was needed.

As he pulled up outside the bar & grill, Mark had looked around: there was little; a few petrol pumps; and, a few rooms; as well as the store and motel reception, as well as the few cabins, all of which needed more than just a lick of paint.

Then, eyeing the drinks machine on the porch, just to the right of the entrance to the Motel reception Mark rooted in his pocket for change.

Boy, did he have a thirst!

Slotting coins into the machine, he acquired his Coke and began drinking it down almost immediately.

Mark entered the ‘reception and General Store’ eyeing the fellow behind the desk through glasses that quickly darkened in the bright light outdoors.

Very useful for driving, but he needed them to see with, as well.

From the safety of the glasses he stared at the man behind the desk.

He was a big man, his girth filling the seams of his grey shirt to bursting point.

The apron he wore round him had been white, but was smeared now with something indefinable.

He was a big man sweating profusely.

“You got a room?” Mark enquired.

“”Yeah, several…” the man replied in a gruff voice, obviously annoyed at being interrupted reading his paper.

Mark looked at the flies, stuck to strips of brown paper hanging from the ceiling. Judging from the amount of bodies there, the strips hadn’t been changed for quite awhile.

“I want a room.” He told the man.

A plastic folded plate on the desk gave the man’s name as Delroy.

“Ah, now that’s simple,” the man growled softly, carefully folding his paper and fixing his gaze on the young man.

“You sign the book and it’s ten dollars registration, twenty a night… that alright?”

A stand fan made an attempt at keeping the office cool.

Yet obviously the room didn’t like the fan, as it remained far too hot and sticky in the small office, strips of brown paper dangling from the ceiling, the bodies of hundreds of dead flies stuck to it.

“Yes, sure,” Mark muttered, anxious to be out of the stifling office and back into the heat outside.

Mark wanted a bed and at that minute would have signed his life away for a comfortable pillow and a good sleep.

As it was, he signed his name in ‘the book’ an old accounts ledger; then left the stifling office and got into his car, key in hand.

Mark started up the engine and drove up to cabin number seven.

And he’d slept well: (it’d been good to sleep in a real bed, instead of the back seat of the car, which he’d become accustomed to.)

Then the next morning Mark had gone to the office, realizing that he needed change for the coke machine.

He walked across to the office reception; his mouth dry and his caffeine levels low and asked, “You got change for the coke machine?”

“You see a sign saying, we give change? Eh kid?” Delroy snapped, hardly looking up from the paper he was reading.

“Er, no,” Mark conceded, somewhat quietly, still holding the note in his hand that he’d wanted changing.

“Yeah well. Since you booked a room…” Delroy muttered as he opened the cash register and slowly counted out the change for a ten dollar note: nine notes, all torn, or tatty; and the change he needed.

“Yeah well.” He muttered, “ I was just sayin, that’s all.”

“Here kid,” the big man said, as he handed Mark his change.

“Hot innit?” Mark stated quite unnecessarily.

It was and since he’s left Las Vegas the radio had been his only company.

Mark had wanted company, but it wasn’t hard to realise that he wasn’t talking with Mr Motormouth 2000.

He chugged on his Coke, walking back to the car, muttering, and “Never could understand there were people who preferred Pepsi. I don’t…”

Mark finished the drink and binned it, on the back seat.

“Well, let’s see what the day holds?’ he mused, filling up the tank, so he would be ready for the rest of his journey, after something to eat in the Bar & Grill.

Then as he was crossing the forecourt, walking toward his cabin he heard the sound of a powerful engine nearing. Mark turned his head to look to the road.

In the distance, a speck on the horizon sped toward him, tearing the blacktop up at a fast pace.

As it neared and became a yellow Cobra with black roof, Mark heard the police siren.

On the horizon a second speck appeared.

‘A black ‘n white?’ He’d mused idly.

The Cobra spun into the forecourt doing a fast-spin, just before the pumps.

Dust flew.

And, down the highway the other car halted.

For a moment the air seemed very still.

Then, the drivers’ door opened and she stepped out with style.

First, a well-shaped calf slowly eased out, encased in nylon, a black high-heel on the foot, then his gaze travelled upward, from her calves to her equally shapely thighs.

She wore a sleeveless little black dress and there was a lot of thigh on show.

“She wears that well,” He’d thought, staring.

It was rude, Mark knew, but she did wear it well.

“A-ha, here you are!” She expressed with a relived sigh, which confused him.

“Here, take this,” she had continued, urgency evident in her voice, as she thrust a small parcel, wrapped in brown paper toward Mark.

When he was slow to take the proffered item the brunette barked at him, “Look take it, quick will you? They’re coming for me, so I don’t want to be here any longer than I need, okay?!”

It was evident from the tone of the woman’s voice that the package was important to her.

He looked at it as it was thrust into his hands, then back to those eyes, of the darkest brown.

Then he stared down at the package in his hands.

It was a box, Mark could tell, from its shape and didn’t weigh much, as he held it carefully: About the size of a photograph and about two fingers deep, if you’ve got narrow fingers, he guessed.

And, then she was gone.

The doors had closed.

She had started cars engine and it had screeched away in a plume of dust.



*



Mark had an omelette and a beer, although he had been going to have a whiskey chaser, he didn’t.

Mark knew he needed to keep a clear head.

He had been given the box and asked to look after it.

So, as far as he was concerned, a whiskey might be wanted, but it wasn’t needed.

Mark knew he had to have his responsibility chip fully engaged if he were going to do as he’d been asked.

The ashtray on his bedside locker was soon overflowing and he was still nowhere near making a decision.

Wrapped in brown paper and cross bound with string it sat there on the dresser, defiantly.

Turning the boobtube back on Mark found himself watching a re-run of ‘Gilligan’s Island.’

It didn’t distract him.

So, he raided the room’s mini-bar, all his previous good intent forgotten.

Mark needed distraction, so he could relax.

“Why had there been a police car following her?”

“Why was a police car following her?”

“Just what had she done wrong?”

That was a good question.

They were good questions.

Mark couldn’t relax, he just couldn’t: there was just too much to think about.

Pouring a scotch he found himself musing on the concept of honour versus curiosity.

After all, the box had been entrusted to him.

He sat, picked up the remote and began to surf channels.

Having emptied the ashtray and having consumed five miniature bottles of whiskey, he finally felt tired; and pulled the duvet over himself.

But, Mark had slept fitfully; so that in the morning he was still tired and needed an instant caffeine hit he thought, before even thinking of hitting the road once more.

And, one cup turned into two, then three and still the thoughts that dominated were of the woman’s face, as she handed him the parcel.

“It’d almost seemed like she knew me,” Mark mused aloud, causing the waitress to stare in his direction briefly, before she moved away, as she cleaned another tabletop.





Chapter Two



Wading into shore he approaches the small jetty cautiously, rifle held above the water, his pack strapped at shoulder height.

At the end of the jetty is a small shed: he was sure there’d be guards in there. The beach was floodlit.

Continuing his approach, he switched his goggles to infrared, so as to search for heat signatures.

There were two, so he slid his remaining ammo home and brought the rifles stock to his shoulder.

Sighting his prey through the shed walls, he looked through the rifles scope and gently, gently, squeezed the trigger

It’s a headshot and he fell immediately, his accomplice running back and forth, in seeming confusion.

One down.

Abruptly the shed door opens and all it takes is an accurate headshot and his companion lay dead as well.

And, having altered his perspective, Mark began to view Sam Fisher from third person, whilst he traversed the jungle undergrowth, as he continued his mission.

Abruptly a headshot, from a unseen enemy, brought Sam to his knees, in a shower of blood.

Mark sighed. He’d known they were in the in the underbrush, having played this level many times.

“But,” he reminded himself, “a covert operative I’m not.”

He wasn’t Sam Fisher, the games protagonist; nor was he Tom Clancy, the games writer; or a dedicated gamer.

He was just Mark Simon Knight: and, right now, it was time to call a halt to the game.

The trip of a lifetime was over and Mark was back in his ground floor flat in New Brighton, overlooking the River Mersey.

His redundancy money was nearly gone and soon he’d be claiming unemployment benefit. But, until he had to do anything like that he fully intended to live out his last few weeks of financial freedom as best as possible.

And, today that meant sitting in on a Sunny day playing games on his Xbox.

Mark arose from where he’d sat for two hours, forty-two minutes.

As he stood mark rubbed at his thigh muscles.

‘Sure,’ he thought, ‘it’s a good game, but I still don’t know what prompted me to get it out.’

It wasn’t the sort of game he usually rented.

‘But,’ he conceded, ‘Pandora Tomorrow is a good title.’

Mark walked across the room to the kitchen, briefly looking to “the box”

He smiled.

Mark still hadn’t undone the string that held together the brown paper since he had arrived back home.

The box sat where it did; and somehow (of late) Mark knew it was right to have it in plain sight, as it were.

“Grant you,” he mused, having poured his well-needed coffee, “it was strange the way I got it.”

Then, after Mark had finished his coffee he rinsed his mug clean, as he contemplated what he might do with the rest of his day.

He went into the lounge, picked up the phone handset and with the press of a few buttons, discovered that there were three missed calls listed.

Mark played each in turn:

“You have something of value that isn’t yours…” then; “We know where you are Mark Simon Wright; and we’ll be there soon… Don’t be foolish and run with it, like she did.”

And, finally… a woman’s voice: “Mark, they’re coming for you. You must believe me? I never expected that to happen. I’m so sorry… ”

Mark had listened with growing unease.

The man’s voice in the first two messages was quite anonymously mid-American.

It’d been the menacing tone of the second that prompted his mounting fear.

Yet, when he had heard the woman’s apologetic tone, Mark’s curiosity was piqued.

‘How did she know his name? How did she know his phone number?’

He assumed it was the same woman who had given him the box.

‘After all,’ he thought, ‘given what she’d said, that was a fair assumption.’

Mark left the kitchen and began to pace the hearthrug.

Since he had moved into the flat with the intention of her moving in, that hearthrug had been their place, on a dark night; and day, on many occasions.

It was their special, mock fur rug.

He sat, cross-legged on the rug, his brown furrowed: “We know where you live…” didn’t sound good, at all.

Drawing his knees to his chin, Mark wrapped his arms around them and began to rock back and forth: there was tension tightening his gut and his head felt like it would explode.

This lasted but minutes, but provided Mark with the time he needed to think.

Finally, after several minutes he stopped and stood:

“This is stupid,” Mark muttered, “things like this just don’t happen. Not to me.”

And, a continent away, his desperation was felt.

And then the phone rang.

The phone rang incessantly – as Mark continued packing a holdall with essentials having taken up smoking again a short while after he began, a packet of Rothman’s Royale discovered in a old jacket not worn in months.

The phone stopped ringing and Mark sighed with exhaustion: he’d left the virtual world, to re-enter one that had become radically different from the moderately safe world he had left behind.

Mark found it all very tiring.

He had been drinking cup after cup of strong black coffee, as he made ready to leave, having already decided to take the box with him.

Mark was unsure as to why it felt imperative that he still looked after ‘the thing’ as he had grown to called the small brown paper wrapped cuboid.

Yet he knew it would accompany him, when he left his little comfortable house in Wallasey, overlooking the River Mersey.

But, he had to go, Mark knew that.

So, bags packed, Mark locked the front door, wondering when, or if he would be back.

Then, as he turned to go – the phone rang.

He could unlock the door. Mark could.

He could have answered it, if he wanted, he assured himself as he walked away, to seek his twelve-year-old Ford Escort, parked at the kerbside.

Mark opened the back doors, through his cases inside and opened up the driver’s door. He got in and having seated himself comfortably placed the key in the ignition and turned it.

But, nothing happened. There was no life to the engine.

And panic began to rise, again.

Then, he heard ringing, in the car.

‘A phone?’ A mobile, it was a mobile; he realized.

“But, where is it?” he said aloud.

Mark leant over the seat and listening over the seat and listening for the ring, rooted among several jackets on the back seat.

He found it eventually, on the back seat beneath a jacket that he’d not seen for an aeon, not since she left, without her phone obviously.

“Now what’s that doing here?” He queried aloud as he looked at the display to see who was calling: ‘Number withheld’ it said.

Yet, as it continued to ring, Mark slowly felt compelled to answer it.

And, he did.

“Do you know who I am?” A voice asked, as he pressed ‘answer.’

“Yeah, I guess.” He muttered.

Mark knew who she was: it was the woman who had given him the box: he knew it.

Somehow he knew it, like he knew it’d been her who rang at the flat

And, he still had not asked how she got that number, or this.

Now he asked: “How did you get this number?”

“A lot of things are possible,” she answered cryptically; then added, “you’ll find out.”

There was a moment’s silence, before announce dramatically, “They’re coming!”

“They’re coming?” he repeated.

“The hunters,” she answered, cryptically.

“What! The hunters?” He quizzed, his anxiety levels rising once more.

“You going to repeat everything I tell you? If so, they’ll be here by the time I’ve finished! Lord I do wish you’d shut up!”

He pauses a second, then before he can take a breath she says hurriedly, “If you must know, my names Amanda. I get called Mandy and I don’t like it being shortened to Mand; I come from Ohio and I’m a freelance artist.”

She pauses momentarily, then begins once more, “Now, other than maybe my bra size, I can’t think of much else you could ask me. So will you listen to me, please?”

Suitably chastened, Mark answered, “Okay, point made. I’m listening.”

“You saw the hunters following me…”

“The police-car?”

“Oh, they weren’t the police… they were the hunters. They’re after what I had: what you have. The box.”

Mark Knight was panic struck, at the idea of what might happen if the man from the phone-call was the man who had been in the police car in Arizona, chasing Amanda, who had given him … “The box?” He repeated, momentarily forgetting his surety.

“This all sounds like the plot of a game,” he mused aloud.

“You do have the box, don’t you?” Amanda asked, briefly panic struck at the thought he might not have it in his possession.

With the thought that his life had become no more than a game, like the one he’d been playing earlier, Mark reminded himself that he wasn’t Sam Fisher; and wouldn’t rise again if her were hurt, or worse

“Yes,” he replied finally after a long silence, “of course I do.”

“Good,” she told him, “get it. I think it’s time you opened the wrapping. And then maybe you’ll understand a lot more.”

“Understand what? This all sounds so unreal.”

“Ha!” she exploded, “we could have a debate about the nature of reality until the cows come home, it won’t help this situation, her and now. You can’t trust, can you?”

He thought hard, about his bitterness and her words, ‘trust me, I’m not like all the others.’ She had said that, then proven that she was, like ‘all the others.’

No, he didn’t trust. Mark knew that.

“You need proof,” she accused, “don’t you?”

“I… I don’t know what I want…” Mark responded, having trouble finding any answers, which made sense. Like… “How did you get this number?”

“Take the wrapping off the box and see what’s written there. Alright?”

“Alright.”

He sat back into the front seats and placed the phone next to himself; opened his holdall and found the small parcel, which he began to unwrap.

“But… don’t open the box!” Mark heard shouted from the phone: a small voice, distant; as he undid the string holding the parcel together; and unwrapped the brown paper carefully.

The box looked old, very old.

It was made of a hardwood and possessed two hinges and a clasp made of iron. And, with the box was a small white card.

Mark picked the card up and read the message written on it, in dark blue ink, in a hand that used many swirls and flourishes.



‘To Mark Simon Knight,

Guard this with your life. But, don’t open it.

The fate of the world is in your hands.

~ Amanda’

His eyes wide at the sight of his name on the card, which he’d unknowingly carried with the box, Mark picked up the phone as he heard Amanda speaking once more:

“…can you hear me?”

“Yes,” he replied in a small, quiet voice.

“Do you know what the box is?”

“Er.. I’m not sure…” he replied.

“Well, start the engine and think about it while you drive, okay?”

“Er… like, er… it won’t start,” Mark assured her.

“It will.” She responded, simply.

“It won’t start,” Mark repeated.

“Just have faith, okay?”

“Yes, sure…” he muttered, remembering past pains.

“I’m sorry I drew you into something you don’t seem ready for. But…”

She paused, for long seconds, “…get over it and trust me.”

He turned the ignition key, albeit reluctantly; and the engine fired into life.

“Good,” she told him, “you showed faith in me, thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Mark told her, pleased with his newfound strength.

“We’ll talk again…” Amanda assured him, as the phone connection ceased; and he steered the car into traffic.

And, as he drove, Mark looked to the passenger seat, where the box sat; and, with a little faith, Mark carried hope, with confidence.



*

Pandora’s Players ~ James



As James sat at the table, he stared around. The hairs on the back of his neck had risen: and he knew that there was something different.

There’d been a change, a shift.

And, he knew it.

James looked at his watch, “…two ten.”

It didn’t make sense.

Two ten?

That suggested control and that meant power, which would be picked up by the grid.

He hadn’t been notified of a problem.

So, that inferred this shift might be natural.

Yet James had never known a temporal shift during the daylight hours – not in all his years of experience.

James Lancaster was a Senior Field Operative: nearing the end of his years, his profession.

He wasn’t a small man, nor was he tall.

And, he was balding- albeit he had said once that ‘he just possessed a very high forehead.’

Balding, slowly; with a birthday suit that needed ironing – he knew that.

Yet, even so, he was here Now and there’d been a disturbance in the everyday. It was almost like he could feel such things as a realization of a difference, no more.

He had felt it, then: and, during the daylight hours.

Unheard of – exceptional in his experience even.

Yet, as James reminded himself wryly, “It had happened.”

This was his here and Now and then again; there was what he knew.

James stood; and walking unsteadily toward the bar, he stared ahead, aware of those seated to his left; and right.

They could be anyone: of that he was certain.

“Yet how could that be?” Lancaster asked himself approaching the bar and the attractive brunette standing attentively behind it.

“Yessir, what can I do for you?” She asked him, wearing a smile that he thought belonged on a beleaguered camel, rather than her.

‘Too many scotch,’ he thought, for a moment.

Then James answered the barmaid, saying to her, “Another double scotch. Straight up. Nothing else in it. Thank you.” He always said the same, so he wasn’t asked.

He paid her a tip – even if he didn’t like her smile.

James always gave a tip: he believed hers was ‘a crappy job.’

He thought of the shift.

Granted, there was little he could do – not on his own.

But, he had to do something. After all, that was his job.

And, a young woman caught his eye.

‘Is she looking at me?’ James mused.

She was attractive, to him… bit also kind of masculine – short bleach blonde hair; an athletic body; dressed in baggy blue jeans, worn hanging from bird-bone hips; a boys sleeveless tee-shirt, that displayed an almost flat chest.

‘But, her lips and eyes though are decidedly feminine,’ he mused.

She smiled.

“Who is it?” He asked of himself, taking his seat once more.

He had sat in a window seat – and, now wished he hadn’t.

Suddenly he felt very conspicuous; very self-conscious. James felt visible to his enemy: yet he didn’t know what his enemy looked like.

And, the girl, who had stood by the doorway, was now walking toward him.

“Hello.” She said simply, as she approached.

“Hello, James Lancaster,” she added, as she finally stood before him.

And, James was careful – he didn’t show his shock at her knowing who he was; or, when he was.

“I’m Amanda,” she announced, extending her right hand to him.

He accepted the greeting: and they shook hands.

“Miss…” he began, “we haven’t met and you know my name. What would you like to drink?”

‘She has a tale to tell,’ of that he was sure, in the space it took her to answer his question.

“Tequila,” Amanda answered, a light smile on her face: “for starters.”

Little did he realize how right he had been…



*



Pandora’s Players ~ Jason: A Strong Right Arm



Jason drew back his right arm, his right hand clenched tight.

And, he thrust forward with his hand, his fighting hand.

Each server working a joint functioned correctly.

Power, pure, simple.

And, the wood burst asunder.

The door was no more and Jason had egress.

He smiled, as he put his left hand through the hole, which he’d made, and, he drew back the bolt.

And, Jason smiled.

After the accident they had promised They had promised him a new hand – and boy, had they kept their word.

Then They had told him how much he owed,

And, with the white-coats standing over him, with that bright light behind them …and around; With the help of The Man, he’d felt whole again; what else could Jason say, but ‘yes?’

So, he’d agreed, to all they’d demanded of him – so it was he’d become their man; an industrial agent and spy.

Jason had been with them for nine years: nine long years.

The door opened – slowly, its hinges creaking.

Inside it was dark.

Yet, there was a sound.

‘Breathing,’ Jason reasoned …and, that hadn’t been expected.

The room had supposed to be empty, hadn’t it?

Closing the door, Jason sighed: ‘It’d been a good life,’ he mused turning slowly, expectant of something, anything.

There was nothing.

But, no!?!

There was that breathing again: he knew it.

And, then …he’d heard her voice.

Jason thought his heart would burst …near his ear: In the dark.

No.

This wasn’t right… “Jason…?”

No one had supposed to be here, The Man had assured him of that.

He wanted to say ‘No.’

That was what he wanted – but he couldn’t. He’d answered her, not that he could help it – and, he’d said, “Yes.”

Just like that.

It didn’t make sense.

Jason was in the dark, literally.

No one had been expected to be in the office.

Yet, there she was, in the dark, behind, her voice soft, sibilant.

And, he thought he detected an accent, that wasn’t quite English…

Jason was scared: and he wasn’t used to that and it wasn’t an emotion he was used to.

He had worked for The Man for years – his hand gave him strength others didn’t have.

And yet, that voice, in this small, windowless office, scared him.

She spoke again – and, in the silence, he listened intently to every word: his left hand clenched tightly.

“I need your help …Jason. I need your strength.”

In a tone as soft as hers, he asked, “Who are you?”

And, she answered simply: “I was known as Hope once. Now I’m Amanda …and, now I need your assistance.”



*

Pandora’s Players ~ Nancy: ‘Deep Water’



The short curvaceous redhead looked down into the murky depths. And, as she stared at the oily film floating on the canal’s waters surface, a distorted reflection stared back.

It would be dusk, soon, he’d finish work soon: and he’d return to the apartment to find it cold and alone. It’d be just like he’d become.

And, Nancy couldn’t help but cry, a little. She felt so alone … and almost regretted using his phone: and learning of Karen, who had sent him the texts.

And, as Nancy looked down into the water black depths, she wondered, “Will I be missed?”

Nancy wanted him to think of her, when she was gone.

But, having read all the text that Andrew had kept from his lover, she doubted it.

Just a half hour ago it had been … when she’d read how her partner, if she could call him that, had satisfied Karen, the previous night – when she’d thought he’d been visiting his sick father.

Nancy felt used. And, now she would end it all.

She put one foot forward, to step into the cold, wet tomb … and a hand grasped at her, pulling her back.

Back from the brink of death,’ she thought; and turned angrily toward her ‘saviour;’ only to find herself looking into the most gentle eyes she had ever seen.

And, Nancy couldn’t help but smile, as the slim blonde took both her hands in her own and said, “I would miss you” as if in answer to a lingering question,

And, they embraced, as Nancy cried freely, still smiling.



And, just about a half hour later, they sat over coffee, in a small café in the main high street. And Nancy couldn’t help but start at the feather light touch of the blonds hand upon hers, as she said, “I’m Amanda. And Nancy … I need you …”

The redheads’ curiosity was piqued: ‘how did she know my name?’

Yet, she quickly smiled, as she thought aloud, “I’m needed..”

Amanda just smiled in response, her blue green eyes flashing, as she finally replied, “Oh yes, you are!”



*

Pandora’s Players ~ Mark: ‘So who are you?’



The phone rang, as he drove over the dock bridge. So Mark pulled over, as it continued to ring.

He looked at the screen, to see who was ringing, fearful it might be ‘them.’

‘Amanda,’ it was her!

“But, I didn’t programme that in,” he mused aloud, as he pressed the green button, to receive the call.

“Hello?” He asked, in a nervous voice.

“Is that Mark, my desert knight?”

“Yes,” he responded, groaning inwardly at the pun she’d made of their first meeting.

“Why have you rung?” Mark queried.

“I fancy a coffee…” she chirped brightly, adding quickly: “…and a chat. So are you free?”

“Huh?” Mark puzzled aloud.

And, slowly; and very patiently, Amanda explained, “Get in the car, drive on for about five minutes and you’ll get to a chicken takeaway. I’ll be just outside. Alright?”

“Er yes, alright…” Mark mumbled in response, as Amanda ended the call.

Puzzled, Mark did as she’d asked …and as he drove, Mark thought, ‘It’ll be as said. I know she’ll be as she said. I know she’ll be there. I …just know it.”

She was.

Amanda waited, for him, as she’d said.

“So where are you going?” the woman asked him simply.

She was striking in appearance, yet looked quite different from the last time they’d met – in Arizona, at a motel called, the ‘Ambleside Motel Bar & Grill.’

He watched to young woman walk toward him as she spoke.

She wore an orange tee-shirt, charcoal combats, threaded through with a black studded belt.

She had short red hair, gelled and tufted a little, with a side part to the left.

There were three studs in each ear; and an Ankh worn in each lobe.

She had high cheekbones; and appeared almost androgynous, except for the 34b pert breasts, worn bra-less; and emphasised by her erect nipples.

‘It is cold,’ he reminded himself.

And as she neared him, Mark found his gaze drawn to her eyes:

Green, hazel eyes; seemingly searching, for something, or someone.

Although she looked and dressed so differently, Mark knew her immediately: she had a presence, he felt.

“Wow,” he said to her, smiling broadly, as she stepped round the car; “with directions like those, you’re just as good as Sat Nav!”

And with a broad smile, Amanda retorted, “Nah, I’m better looking.”

Walking to the passenger’s door, she said to him, “So lets get going, eh?”

*

An indeterminate period of time had passed since Mark had left Wallasey.

“Just drive,” she had said.

So, he’d driven.

“So, c’mon,” she said to him after a short period of silence, her tanned, lightly freckled arms crossed, “where are you going?”

Mark thought quickly, then said in return, “Where am I going?”

And he repeated himself distantly, “Where am I going?”

Then once again he questioned himself, saying, “Where am I going?”

He talked loud and fast; breathless and talkative.

It was her: the woman who’d started it all.

And he gasped through his inability to tell her where he was going.

After all, how could he tell her what he hardly knew himself?

He drew breath, without having to be reminded to do so: and told her, “just away from here. They’re after me…”

“I know they’re after you, she reminded him, “I told you that.”

“Yes, dressed real different as well.”

“Uh-huh…”

“And I still don’t know your how you got here, so fast…” He rounded on her tersely.

“How?” He asked, confused.

“The box,” she told him blithely.

“Yes, the box. You gave me the box… and that’s why they’re after me. That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I know. You are right…” she informed him, sounding as guilty as she felt. Amanda hadn’t meant to draw him into this, but had no choice, ‘they’ had been after her: and, she’d needed him.

“…and that box… I’m starting to think it’s alive.” He added.

“ The box is special. But, its what it means really that makes it so special,” Amanda expanded, “but, it can do things… and I think we should talk about that. And other things…”

“Like what?”

“Like I need a drink,” she said, turning and looking up the road, still appearing as if she were searching for something, or someone.

Not looking at him, she asked, “Is there somewhere near here?”

“And if they come?” He queried softly.

Turning back to him, Amanda smiled, “Then you won’t be home, will you?”

“Yeah, I guess…” He muttered.

“So, lets find a place to drink and talk, eh?”

Mark was irked, her accent was different, and he couldn’t quite place it: not American, not quite English.

“Okay,” he agreed.

Mark had taken the motorway and left before the Queensferry Bridge.

“So, who are you?” he asked her, as he drove.

He asked Amanda the same question several times: each in a different way to the last.

And each time she had answered him, the answer made as little sense as the first.

She was a myth – a story.

And the box he had cared for, so carefully, was empty.

But, no-one could know it was empty, or Mankind would race toward Armageddon, with no foot on the brake.

In fact, the way Amanda phrased it, he was the brake …which was stupid.

He was no hero – no Superman, or Spiderman; prepared to risk all to save everyone.

He was just a young man who had lost his way, a bit.

Mark frowned and repeated the other question he’d already asked, “Who was it that phoned…? And, what’s all this about the box?”

“Who phoned? Men. In black.” And, although Mark couldn’t see her face, he knew she was smiling. But, he wasn’t smiling – Mark, couldn’t see what she thought was so funny.

Mark had taken the B roads where possible, then found the main welsh road, the coast route, which were almost empty at…

‘What time is it?’ he wondered: and checked his watch.

Ten thirty, nearly.

“The pubs are still open,” he said, turning his head a little, to glance at his companion.

She was attendant to her surroundings, yet this constant surveillance did not mean she would ignore Mark.

“Yes. You were saying?”

His eyes back on the road, Mark replied.

“I said, the pubs are probably still open.”

Then he added, “And, I really do need that drink now.”

“Well,” she mused aloud, “I’d said I needed a coffee earlier…”

“You can get a coffee in a pub now, if you want.” Mark reminded her.

So, a decision was made: and just a little while later, they sat before a bay window, in a small pub away from the main street.

Mark sat with a pint of a local bitter before him.

Amanda had a coffee.

“Let me talk …and listen. They maybe you’ll hear what you need to?”

She reached across the table, to touch his hand, holding his pint.

“Okay?”

Mark nodded.

“There are those who believe that the end of days is soon to come …and man will live, or die in a conflagration so mighty, that few will survive…”

He listened to her speak in a sibilant tone mesmerized.

“And, there are those who will stop at nothing to ensure that it will not happen.”

Mark adored the sound of her voice, “Man’s Hope is his future …and the box is very much part of that, it’s a symbol of it.”

‘A symbol?’

The box, which had brought home and looked after, was no more than a totem? Mark was mortified at the thought.

She saw the disappointment in his face and told him: “But surely to save a symbol of Hope for mankind is a good thing my friend? And, you wanted to help me …you showed me, that you’re good.”

Mark concentrated on hearing her words.

Yet he couldn’t help feeling as though he’d been a fool.

He couldn’t help it.

Then she added, “Not everyone would have helped a stranger. You did …and, that makes you special …particularly when so few care.”

“And they must care,” she said emphatically, “…or all will be lost.”

A distinct, palpable quiet hung over the table for several seconds.

“I am Hope,” she told Mark Knight abruptly, with an airy wave of her hand.

Just for a moment, he felt frightened again.

Yet, abruptly the fire left Amanda’s eyes and the vivid green they’d become, slowly faded.

Soon her eyes became a gentle blue – and, as he continued to stare, she touched him physically, with her right hand upon his left, his gaze held.

She acknowledged his self …and Mark felt this, as certainly as he knew himself.

And from her he felt understood.

He was aware.

And as he continued to look into her eyes, Mark briefly thought of a sunrise, with no concern at the thought.

And slowly, Amanda drew her hands away and asked him:

“Do you understand?”

Softly she repeated the question, “Do you understand Mark? Do you know what you need to know?”

They were words of meaning, asked softly, so he would listen intently and understand the questions she asked.

And in the space of time it took, to stare at the contents of his glass; there was quiet.

‘Did he understand?’ Now there was a question.

Mark looked back to Amanda, their gaze as fixed as it had been minutes earlier.

“Yes, I do,” he answered, “I know what I need to.”

She smiled: and he glowed inwardly with satisfaction at being able to answer.

“You’ve grown in a very short time Mark …and soon you’ll be ready, I think.”

He had to ask. Mark was curious: her statement just led him to asking the obvious, “Ready for what Amanda?”





*



Pandora’s Players ~ James: Now and Then



James Lancaster sighed, as he set down his glass. Delaney, his boss had him earmarked for a pick-up in the year nineteen seventy-seven.

“Goddamn, do I hate the fashion then,” he muttered.

He tilted his chair back, so it rested against the air-con: and he looked at his worn shoes, sitting on his desk, his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles.

He ran a hand across the air before him, which began the download.

James was good at adaptation – and, more often than not, abided by Delaney’s rules: ‘But,’ he wondered, ‘what has it got me?’

He looked around his office, sucking on an ice-cube, which irritated the upper left of his mouth.

It was due to fall out: and, for a moment he frowned, as he debated which would happen first.

Would he lose the tooth or retire first? ‘Now, there was a debate and a half…’

“Download complete!” The computer told him, in that annoyingly chirpy woman’s voice he’d grown to hate, as a Colt .45 formed in the air.

He took hold of the weapon, feeling its weight in his palm.

And James brown furrowed deeply, as he recalled the young woman he’d met: Amanda. Androgynous in build, with eyes that had touched a part of him he’d considered long dead – his soul.

He recalled all that she’d told him – and somehow, it all seemed so very normal: her appearance, that hadn’t been measured as a temporal shift; the way she knew him, from sometime unknown; and, all that she’d talked of.

“Amanda.” He said her name aloud, just to hear how it sounded.

‘And she’s our last Hope?’ He smiled a grim smile. at the very idea of man having Hope.

After all, at the agency, he’d seen much of the worst of his kind – as every time someone decided to change the past, he’d had to stop them: and, recently, just recently, he’d been needed more than ever.

Yet, even so, they were going to retire him, soon.

James sighed, again, ‘it wasn’t right.’

“I’m good at my job,” he declared, standing up and walking round his desk, the gun clutched in his right hand.

He needed fresh air, away from the complex, which housed the agency and a myriad different species of man, designed for work in the outer colonies.

They took care of the Now: arranging it so that the everyday was just that, for the general populace, so they could enjoy their creature comforts, while they did what had to be done.

He slipped the Colt into his shoulder – and took his coat from the wall rack.

It was his job to ensure the past stayed where it was, so the Now could exist.

And, as he left his office, James asked himself whether that was why Amanda had come to him.



*



Pandora’s Players ~ Jason: ‘Acceptance’

Jason was of medium height, yet heavily built; and possessed a manner that suggested he was slow-witted. He was not.

He was not prone to self-doubt, generally; or introspection, normally.

But, tonight had been anything but normal – and Jason Sparks had entered his small apartment and poured himself a drink, a deep frown etched on his forehead.

He sat in his comfortable old armchair, its back to the window, the sash open a little a little: and Jason experienced a tiredness the like of which he hadn’t felt for years; as he thought back to the words of the young blonde, as she’d explained to him all about the end of days.

Jason shrugged his shoulders, looking up to the naked bulb, which provided the rooms only illumination.

“What did she want me to say?” He asked of himself, reaching for the bottle and pouring a refill.

“I’m nothing but a strong-arm man for Them. Nothing more. I’m sure that she knew that!”

Jason felt the breeze on the back of his neck and heard the echo of her words: “…I need your assistance.”

And, with eyes heavy, he placed the glass down, by his feet.

“I need to rest my eyes a moment,” he said aloud, standing unsteadily and walking to turn off the lights at the wall.

Then he returned to his armchair and closed his eyes.

And, as he slept – Jason saw his arm as it had been, as he threw a ball, to a son that he’d never known.

And, the scene changed, to a room in darkness and a voice, hers; telling him there was Hope.

Then all was as it had been earlier and her words conjured forth images of all that was, ending, just like that… no more present, with no Hope for a future.

And… Jason woke, screaming. He was sweating profusely, still screaming… when he felt a presence, in his room.

And, just like in the office, Jason knew that in the darkness, Amanda was there. There was Hope.

“Jason?” She said from his right side.

“Yes lady…” he responded, with no concern about her reappearance, which was strange, for him. He felt calm, suddenly very calm.

“I had to go earlier. You understand?” She asked him tenderly, stroking his cheek.

And, in the darkness, he nodded.

‘Of course she had to go,’ Jason thought; wondering at the ease at which he accepted all he had heard.

That didn’t make sense to him.

Yet, accept he did…

And, still Jason felt tired: although not as before.

He allowed her, Amanda, to hold his hand, Their hand; and with her left she gave him support; helping him stand.

“Lets get you to bed…”

So, he let someone help him, as no-one had, for so-many years; as Amanda led him to bed, undressed him; and lay beside him as he slept.



*



Pandora’s Players ~ Jason: ‘Conspiracies and Tequila’



“Rosicrutians, Knights Templar; The End of Days and, a conspiracy theory!”

Lancaster had suddenly found himself at a loss for words.

He had travelled back under orders, to investigate an anomaly in the temporal wave; much like the others that had occurred of late.

He had walked through the vibrant colour of the streets of London in the late seventies; a location device on his wrist, which just so happened to look like a watch.

James had come to a small café, with several small tables outside.

And, although she was dressed differently from the last time he’d seen her: she wore a short tartan skirt, torn black fishnet stockings and a ripped tee shirt, that bore the legend ‘God Save The Queen.’

He’d smiled as he approached, noting the way her short blonde hair was tufted and spiked.

And, there through her right lobe was a safety pin, with a small chain that led from it. To the far smaller safety pin piercing her left nostril.

It’s been the beginning of a fine Spring afternoon and that had somehow made his situation ever more surreal.

James had run a hand across his forehead and through the few hairs covering his scalp, in complete bemusement.

“Hello James,” she’d said brightly, standing and indicating he sit in the one free seat available, due to the many people there, the one at her table.

“It’s an espresso, isn’t it?” Amanda had asked him, raising her slim arm, and clicking together her thumb and forefinger.

He’d sat, as she’d shouted, with a smile on her face, “Garcon!”

And, with his coff before him; and the opportunity to acquiesce to his greatest sin, he’d lit a cigarette, as she had begun to talk.

Smoking was illegal in his timeline, yet in nineteen seventy seven it was not only legal, but encouraged.

He had lit a second smoke, as he’d assimilated all that she had said, of a grand conspiracy and worse, people in his own agency a part of it.

James was incredulous.

“So what’s this got to do with me?” He asked.

And Amanda stood abruptly, her hands on the table, her face flushed.

“What’s it got to do with you?” She thundered.

And, as fast her mood blackened, she was sweetness itself, as she sat once more – and smiled.

“It’s the End Of Day’s I’, talking about here. That’s going to affect us all. It may affect even me, now I’m in human form…”

He’d caught that.

“Human form?”

“Another time,” Amanda told him, then laughed briefly, at her own pun, ‘Another time.’

Yet, there was no ‘another time.’

“Yeah well maybe it will be the End of Days? What will that matter to me, I’m a temporal agent?”

And Amanda smiled sweetly, as she reminded James, “Yes, true. But you’ll have access to time travel soon. You’re due to retire, remember?”

James sat at the table bemused by the chain of events.

And now, he felt he had to ask the obvious question: “If they’re going to bring about the End of Days, aren’t they going to die as well.”

Amanda smiled, “There is a flaw in their Grand Plan. But, to be honest, that isn’t my concern. I just want to ensure they’re stopped.

Above, the blue sky had turned to grey and as a light rain fell, he mused on what he’d heard.

“Do you want to find a drinking hole, where you can order that tequila you’ve been wanting for the last few minutes.”

And James wanted to ask how she knew – but suddenly realised it didn’t matter. It did matter though, that he got that drink.



*



Pandora’s Players ~ Mark: ‘Into the Night’



“The box?” She enquired simply.

And, Mark looked from the froth on his beer to her eyes, a light blue, with just a hint of green; and, said “Yes?”

“Do you have it on you?” She scowled.

And, he smiled.

“Don’t you know?” He asked.

“I could,” she began,” she began, adding, “but I’d rather not do. So I’m asking.”

“Yes, I have,” he answered thoughtfully, “I have. It’s in my pocket.”

“Good,” she said, a broad smile on her face, “then let’s go.”

And, Amanda stood up; moving away from the table, knowing her young knight would follow.

He did.

Mark stood up: and Amanda took his hand, leading him out of the pub and to the car.

And, as he turned the ignition, Mark asked: “Where to?”

Just as she had said to him before, Amanda told Mark, “Just drive.”

He gunned the engine and drove, into the night.

And, as Mark drove, he was mindful of the fact that ‘they’ were after him; and Amanda; or, rather The Box of Hope.



*



Pandora’s Players ~ Nancy: ‘A Little Hope’



Nancy was still rendered incredulous by all that she had heard from Amanda’s lips.

None of it had made sense, she thought: it was just such a fantastical story.

In the telling of her story, Amanda had piqued the interest of the buxom redhead, who up till then had been preoccupied with thoughts of he-who was now her ex-fiancé.

They were the only customers left in the small café and the main high street was quiet now.

She had talked as well.

Having found a listening ear, she had told unburdened herself of as much as there was: and she did feel a little better.

“Oh, I must sound like my Mother,” the redhead exclaimed, sighing loudly, shortly after a brief lull from her monologue.

Now Amanda knew all about the boyfriend; the flat they had shared; and her supposed best friend Karen; and her deep sense of betrayal, which had led to the canals edge.

“And what does you Mother sound like?” the all-too slim blonde queried, seemingly rapt with attention, by every word Nancy had said.

She had listened amiably for just under half an hour, her elbows on the table, chin rested in her cupped hands.

And, a little distantly, Nancy responded, “She’d talked: talked a lot, like me.”

“Is there anyone else?” Amanda questioned gently, her blue-green eyes dancing with reflected light from the street lamp opposite the café.

And Nancy felt quite disarmed by her attention; as Amanda tenderly brushed a tear from her cheeks.

“No,” she replied softly, lower lip quivering, at the memory of Andrew and the flat she shared with him.

She had to go back for her clothes.

And, almost as if she had read her thoughts, Amanda smiled, then asked:

“Do you want to come back to mine, for a night, or two?”

Before Nancy could think, Amanda added quickly, “I’ve got business out of town. You’d be doing me a favour looking after the place for me while I’m away…”

Nancy was delighted with the offer, yet hesitated before saying, “Yes.”

Amanda sensed she had to say more and quickly added, “While you settle in, I’ll go to yours in a taxi and pick up you clothes and anything else you might want, if you want that is. I’d guess you don’t want to return there?”

Again there were tears in Nancy’s eyes’ as she took hold of both Amanda’s hands, saying, “Thank you, thank you.”

So, as the café closed for the night, Nancy watched Amanda get in a taxi, with a piece of paper clutched in her hand, with the flats address on it.

And she looked down at the house key in her hand, the address she’d been given already memorized.

And, Nancy smiled. She’d found some Hope, at last…



*



Pandora’s Players ~ James: ‘Tequila Sunset’



The fine afternoon had given way to an overcast sky – but, James didn’t mind too much. He had a cigarette in his mouth and the company of a pretty woman, as the afternoon became evening and they talked on.

‘What more could I ask for?’ He mused, sipping at his vodka and coke.

Yet, they had served it – but he’d needed a drink, badly.

And, he’d not wanted to go further in his search his drink of preference, when he was back in time: and had the opportunity to satiate his taste buds.

There wasn’t a doubt about it, James was pleased alcohol had been banned in his time. He knew what he’d seen in the past: in fact, he’d made more than a few real faux pas himself, under its influence.

Yet, on his occasion he’d needed this drink and felt it deserved, so under the circumstances, easily decided to go no further than Amanda’s first choice of hostelry. He’d wanted Tequila.

‘And, she’d known I wanted Tequila – that was the curio,’ He’d mused as he purchased a Vodka and coke for each of them.

And they’d sat in the lounge – of ‘The George and Dragon,’ Amanda dressed in a short tartan skirt, torn black fishnet stockings and a ripped tee shirt, that bearing the legend ‘God Save The Queen.’

She’d crossed her legs as she’d sat on her seat across from him, in the very correct setting of a middle class pub: and James had found his eyes drawn to her legs, until she’d said to him, “My mouth and ears are a little higher than where you’re looking James Lancaster. Okay?”

And, after that, he’d chosen to listen, rapidly deciding that he really quite liked the brazen nature of the attractive blonde, who intelligence fascinated him, almost as much as her beautiful, somewhat androgynous looks.

But the, much of what she’d said… Amanda had said, made little sense to him. Except, it was she was conversant with time-travel: and, knew far more, far more than she was letting on to him.

He stared at the ice in is drink, watching it melt; as she had told him of agents within Globe Tec who were seeking her.

And that news caused him to furrow his brow.

‘How could that be?’

And, noting his expression, the blonde punk crossed her arms and her stocking-clad legs and asked him, “Why is this so difficult to take in, James?”

He stared at his drink, poking at the shrinking ice-cube and finally looked up, into her beautiful, blue-green eyes: “You’re telling me that the people I work with are corrupt. So what do you expect?”

She grinned at this.

“No James, corrupt isn’t the word I’d use… and, its not all the people you work with.”

Amanda looked around – as if to ensure they weren’t being overheard.

“In fact, I’d say that most of the people you work with believe in what they’re doing. And, that includes the ones you’ve called ‘corrupt.’ They’re not… they have belief. It’s just…”

She paused, seeking words he’d understand: “They’re just very misguided I believe. And, that’s why I’m here, seeking your help.”

“Why me?”

Again the blonde grinned, as she reached forward to touch him, her right hand gently on his left hand.

“Even with your knowledge of the future and the past, I feel that you’re of still searching for a reason, for your Now…”

James looked at her hand on his, momentarily embarrassed at the intimacy of the gesture and her words.

She knew him, far too well for his liking.

And, he picked up his drink with his free hand, downing its contents in one.

“I need another drink,” he told his pretty companion.

“Yes, I know,” Amanda pronounced, then asked, “have I said too much?”

“Oh no,” he assured her, “but, this is all so-much. And, I do need another…”



*



Pandora’s Players ~ Jason: ‘No Hope’



In the now, his Now, Jason fisted sleep from his eyes – aware of the young woman at his side.

Amanda was naked, as was he – and he couldn’t remember undressing.

That disturbed the big man, normally so in control of his small world – ‘Or,’ as he reminded himself, ‘as in as much control as They allowed.’

Yet, last night something had happened: he’d let someone in – and that didn’t happen.

It just didn’t happen.

And Jason groaned his frustration: an audible declaration that said little, but oh-so much.

Amanda opened her eyes, “So, you’re awake then?” She asked, quite unnecessarily.

“Yes. And naked,” he responded, sullenly.

“Well then,” Amanda chirped, sitting up, blankets falling to her waist, as she quite unashamedly exposed her perfect cone-like breasts to his gaze; “I guess we should et up then!”

“Do we have to?” He snapped curtly, “I don’t normally get up till two, at least.”

“Ah yes… your night work!” Amanda retorted, a broad grin on her face.

She brushed the blankets away from her lithe body and swung her head round.

“Me? I don’t need too much sleep. But, you did sleep well, didn’t you?”

Jason rolled a little to his right and reached over to the utilitarian locker by his bedside, seeking a cold coffee, a smoke; a hit, anything to kick-start his morning.

Amanda stood and walked across to the worn curtains covering the window.

“It’s a new day y’know Jason?”

She opened the curtains, allowing sunlight to enter his small room.

And, he groaned again.

Then rolling back on his left side, to look at her somewhat androgynous naked body Jason asked, “Tell me… erm, did we?

Her eyes gleamed, and the nipples on her minimal breasts stood out hard and dark and Jason couldn’t help but stare.

She grinned, before answering: “The state you were in Jason, I’m sorry, no Hope!”

*

Pandora’s Players ~ Mark: ‘The Knight Of The Road’



As they drove, Mark realised ‘the old car’ was suffering.

Just recently he’d done more mileage than he had for… a long time.

Well, prior to the holiday he’d paid for with his redundancy, most definitely.

Arizona: it seemed so far away Now.

Yet, Hope was with him: only she’d taken human form and currently sat at his side in the passenger seat, sleeping.

He glanced sideways, wondering briefly at the insane craziness of his life, since he’d met the all-too slim blonde.

And, as he drove, he snatched a glance in his rear-view mirror, wondering, ‘When will the hunters make their play?’

And abruptly, Amanda was awake.

One minute asleep, the next awake: as she ran a hand through her hair, tufting it up, so that he smiled briefly, as her appearance brought to mind a Bush Baby – so cute.

And, Amanda grinned – as if reading his mind, to his chagrin.

‘Could she, would she?’

“I told you I don’t read your thoughts Mark,” she assured him; the softness of her voice hardly disturbing the quiet in the car: “but, your face is a dead giveaway at times, y’know?”

He grinned sheepishly, then asked his companion, “Erm, the hunters, who are they?”

Amanda sat upright – with a frown etched upon her face, ‘the hunters?”

She paused, thinking how to explain this to him.

And the silence drew into minutes, until she said finally, “They’re agents of an organization within an organization, which doesn’t know they exist.”

And, assuming that was sufficient for her knight of the road, Amanda closed her eyes once more, her breathing light; as she allowed her mind to wander to other places and other people, who needed her – who needed Hope.



*



Pandora’s Players ~ James: ‘A Little Time’



James Lancaster sat back in his chair, his cheeks florid, from the amount of the alcohol consumed and from the anger he felt at all he’d heard of a story he considered quite incredible.

He’d sat patiently for well over an hour listening to the young blonde punk telling him about the organization he worked for; informing him that there was a group within it that intended the End Of Day’s to come about, for their own ends.

Now he had been left feeling frustrated at what he’d heard.

If what she had told him was true, he had to do something.

But, what could he do, James wondered and finally pushed his glass away from himself and looked toward Amanda and asked, “So, what can I do? I’m just one man..”

Hands clasped, she leant forward and said in a soft voice, “One man, in the right place can do a lot to make change, if he wants.”

Around the couple, people were laughing and joking, while they discussed the end of all he knew and it seemed incongruous to the man.

James ran a hand through the little hair left on his head and sighed: “That sounds all very well and good, but maybe you’ll explain to me just how I can make a difference?”

Amanda smiled as she stared at the older man, with a deeply furrowed brow. And, noting his expression, the blonde punk re-crossed her stocking-clad legs and said to him, “I have travelled the temporal waves for months now, as I’ve looked for the right people to help me make a real difference. It’s their agents looking for me you’ve been seeing evidence of recently. They want to stop me: they don’t want man to have Hope.”

James leant further forward and in hushed tones, he asked, “So come on, now, enough procrastination, what do you want from me?”

“What are you willing to do, to give mankind the chance it needs my friend?”

Amanda asked in an earnest voice.

And James mind whirled, as he took on board all he’d heard.

Of course he wanted to make a difference: and yet again he found himself asking the same question, ‘What could one man do?’

He was just one man – he couldn’t see how he could make a difference.

Amanda sensed his indecision.

Yet, she could feel his desire to do something – and, it was apparent to her that this was the moment to give him an option and suggest a way that he could help: “Because if you want to make a difference, you can you know?”

The evening had moved on as they had continued to talk.

A bell rang – and a man’s voice called out, “Last orders!”

It was ten thirty and they’d been talking for hours, yet still James felt he had not found a solution that he could identify with.

He stood, with his mind still abstracted, pushed his chair away from the table and said to Amanda, “I’m going to get one more. Do you want another?”

“Yes,” she told him, “I’ll have the same as you.”

He moved toward the bar, pushing his way through the crowd, his head awhirl, with uncertainty.

Retirement was nearing and he wanted to do something. He needed to.

“Yes mate, what can I get you?” He heard the man as if from a distance.

A drink, he reminded himself.

“Erm.. two vodka and coke, please.” James Lancaster needed to concentrate, on his drinks order, on all he had heard, on the future and the changes he might help bring about.

He returned to the table, proffering her drink.

“So tell me pretty lady, what do you need from me?”

Amanda took the drink and grinning replied, “Your time, that’s all.”

He sat and told her, “That’s all I’ve got, before I retire.”

“Yes, I know,” she assured, “and in the grand scheme of this world, that’s all that man has left, if we don’t make change, now.”



*



Pandora’s Players ~ Jason: ‘Hope Awakened’



When Amanda turned away from the grimy window, the smile she had worn left her face quietly. Jason was holding his metal limb with his flesh hand, tears in his eyes.

His broad shoulders were slumped: and as he ran the back of left his hand across his jaw covered in a two-day growth of bristles, he looked every day of his forty-eight years.

“I’m not surprised,” he muttered, “who’d look at a freak like me?”

She smiled gently: unconcerned with her nakedness before him.

“After all,” he continued, looking down at the servo’s and pistons controlling his arm - “I’m not exactly Steve Austin, am I?”

The reference to a television character of nearly thirty-five years previous meant nothing to Amanda.

But, she could hear the man’s pain and said to him: “I was talking of the alcohol, not of a lack of desire…”

Jason’s tears stopped flowing, as freely and he looked up, toward Amanda and said, “You mean..?”

“I mean, I need you Jason.” She told him: and she slid back into bed, curling her left leg over him, feeling his warmth and his arousal.

“Is this sympathy?” He snarled, “Or..?”

“Affection; need; desire. Or, perhaps, a little of each…”

They kissed, nervous at first – and as the kiss continued, she thought, “After all, we all need something…”

She needed to feel.



*



Pandora’s Players ~ James: ‘Just A Little More Time’



As they left the small pub, James and Amanda continued talking.

Finally he rounded on her: “I still don’t see why I’m so useful, that you’d organise this means of entrapment!

Amanda smiled a little.

“What do you mean? She quizzed her companion.

“You allowed yourself to be chased from one time zone to another, while mysterious agents are after you, whom I end up following myself.”

“Why?” She asked.

“To ensure I came after you. Join you maybe? Isn’t that right?” He snapped.

Glibly Amanda replied, “Maybe.”

Then she stopped and turned to stand before him: and Amanda stared into his eyes, placing her hands on his shoulders and she stared into eyes as she spoke earnestly, “But realise – I know you want to make a difference. That’s why you do your job so well.”

There was a long pause, as the only sound of the street was the sound of a passing car – and the sound of the wind, blowing through the leaves of a nearby tree.

“And, you’re due to retire, very soon,” She continued; “Wouldn’t you like to know that you really did make a difference?”

James Lancaster was tired – and, drunk: yet he still found sense in the blondes’ words.

He thought, carefully, as carefully as his alcohol sodden brain would allow.

“Yes, perhaps I do have to help you, I guess,” he responded slowly, before turning his gaze from her eyes of green.

She was passionate about what she believed – that much was obvious to him.



*



Pandora’s Players ~ Mark: ‘A Knight On The Road’



Nancy looked out the plate window down to the street, where she saw a battered old Ford Escort parked at the kerbside.

Standing by the vehicle was a young man, with Amanda.

The blonde looked up and waved, smiling broadly.

Amanda spoke into the phone she was holding and said, “It’s me Nancy, Amanda…”

“Oh, hello.” Nancy replied to her friends greeting, ever-so pleased to hear her voice again.

“Well, are you going to let us in?” Amanda asked, looking up smiling, “you’ve got my only set of keys, remember?”

Nancy recalled and smiled.

She’d felt safe, thanks to Amanda. Now, she was back.

Down on the street, Mark stood next to Amanda exhausted. The rigours of travel had left Mark feeling drained, while Amanda still seemed quite alert.

Yet, she still said to him: “We’ll need some milk. Will you be a sweets and get us some?” As she finished speaking Amanda blew him a kiss.

“Yes, okay!” He sighed, walking back to the car, to get in.

“Anything else?” He asked over his shoulder, watching her enter the hallway, going upstairs. No answer.

Mark closed the door and turned the ignition, trying to remember were the shops where that he’d passed getting here.

While Nancy opened the door to Amanda, Mark steered the car into the traffic, to head for the all-night shop he’d recalled just two blocks away.

He could have walked, but it’d started to rain: ‘and anyway’ he thought, ‘it’ll give ‘em a chance to gas about me,’

He turned his windscreen wipers on.

‘After all, I’ve heard a lot about Nancy and how cute she is.’

And Amanda smiled at her young friend, as the redhead ushered her into the flat, smiling warmly.

“Do make yourself at home,” she said, gesturing to the sofa; and abruptly recalled, ‘it is hers, you fool.’

Nancy blushed and Amanda laughed.

So, they embraced, each pleased to see the other, as less than half a mile away, Mark argued that milk cost far less in Wallasey.

“Well mate,” the girl serving him reminded, “You’re not in Wallasey now.”

He wanted to reply, “Yes I know; people are nice there’ – when the young assistant added, “Well, do you want the milk, or not?”

Mark blushed. He did that often nowadays; it was becoming a habit.

But, he felt intimidated.

He felt..

“Well, do you want the milk, or not?” The assistant snapped at him, drawing Mark from his reverie.

“Yeah, er.. yes.” He muttered, thrusting a pound into the startled girls hand.

“Keep the change!” He told her over his shoulder, as he opened the door and left.

Mark couldn’t help but wonder whether they were talking about him.

He was right, they were.

“And you know Nancy, he’s been a marvel, just being there for me, when I needed him.” Amanda was extolling Marks virtues; yet she was still delightfully pleased when the young woman said to her, “Like you did, for me.”

But, at the moment Mark left the shop, a hand appeared, as if from nowhere.

The hand was formed into a claw – and strong fingers clutched at his throat, as the young man was thrust against the wall.

Mark choked, staring into malevolent eyes, set within the pale face of a tall bald man, dressed in a black suit.

“We’ve been looking for you – and the box, a long time,” he intoned in a deep gravely voice.

Marks feet were off the floor, as his eyes widened, the rain falling on his face.

“Can’t breathe..” he choked.

The big man looked over his shoulder, toward a large black vehicle parked at the kerbside.

“He’s having trouble breathing,” the man shouted toward the open window and the occupant, who looked and dressed very like him.

“You could try mouth to mouth?” The man in the drivers seat called back, laughing.

And Mark thought, ‘Oh God, no,’ as the giant of a man began patting him down.

‘Oh God, no,’ he screamed inwardly, ‘the box, he’ll find the box!”

Mark was aware he would soon lose consciousness: He could feel it.

He stared into the dark eyes, knowing he had to act now, while there was still time.

‘What can I do though,’ Mark thought, panicking.

All he had to fight though was what was in his hands; the milk in his left hand, his car keys in his right: ‘The car keys!’

Instinct kicked in.

As in a desperate act, of self-preservation: Mark slashed his keys upward in an arc toward his adversaries face, as he swung the bottle of milk on top of his skull.

And Mark ran to his own car, as the big man fell to his knees, his hands holding his face as blood poured freely through his fingers.

He opened the door, got in, locked the door and looked in the rear-view mirror, all in one action.

“They’re coming,” he muttered, watching, as bright light filled the mirror, as the driver of the large black SUV started its engine.

“They’re coming..” he said again turning the ignition on and pulling out from his parking space and into the traffic.

Mark was panic struck.

Amanda and he had been talking of what would happen if they got to him.

“Protect the box,” she’d said.

“Sure miss, that I can do. But, who’ll tell me how to do it?”

Again Mark looked in the mirror: the SUV was directly behind him.

It’s lights, bright and getting brighter as it neared, the ominous nature of his fate loomed large in his minds eye.

Mark put his foot down, harder; and his old seemed to protest, as he shunted the clutch home.

“Come on baby, come on,” he entreated.

Mark couldn’t head for the flat, he knew that: he couldn’t lead them to Amanda.

As the vehicle neared further still his terror grew.

And, Amanda stood back from Nancy, as she felt his emotion, with her eyes closed, lids flickering, her arms outstretched, as if she were clutching a steering wheel.

Abruptly she opened her eyes – focussed not on Nancy, standing in front of her, but at light, blinding her, as they closed in, toward her/Mark.

She called calmed her heart and mind, so touching his heart, his mind.

And briefly she smiled – pleased that Mark could still feel her, Now.

“How do you get rid of a tail?” Mark mused with unexpected humour, as he approached the brakes, hard, as he turned right: and, he grinned, as he pushed his car to the limit.

There was purpose to his madness, so the theory went.

“How do you get rid of a tail?” He laughed, weaving madly between car after car.

“You could.. turn right.. and carry on straight.”

And, he swung the car in another right turn – a tight one, taking him into a side-street he suddenly knew of, Canal Street.

And, still the SUV drew nearer.. and the rain fell.. As, just for a moment time began to slow down, as Mark took his foot off the accelerator; and applied a handbrake stop, swinging the car the car to the left.

And, still the SUV drove on, its driver unable to match the manoeuvrability of the smaller, lighter vehicle.

And Mark didn’t look in his rear-view mirror. He didn’t need to.

Somehow he’s known the canal was there.

And, with a light smile on his face, Amanda embraced Nancy tightly.

As she drew away, she held the redheads hand, leading her to the sofa.

It was only ten minutes later that the doorbell rang; and both women went downstairs to greet Mark.

“You’re wet,” Nancy said, quite unnecessarily.

“Yes,” he responded, grinning toward Amanda, as he said, “but there are those who won’t get dry as quickly as I will!”

In his right hand he held his car keys, in his left the milk, which he’d obtained on his way back from the chase.

“So you’re back for your change?” The assistant had challenged, then looked dumbfounded, as he’d bought another pint.

“We’ve guests over,” he’d retorted, prior to leaving the shop once again.

And, as Mark sat facing the two women, the gas-fire on full, and his clothes out to dry, he smiled.

“He do you get rid of a tail?” He asked Nancy, adjusting the towel round his waist.

And Amanda just smiled: she knew this one.

“It’s easy,” he teased.

“I don’t know,” Nancy assured him, “How do you get rid of a tail?”

“Evolve!” Mark exclaimed, laughing.

And he laughed for awhile, until Amanda leant forward, with hands clasped, and said to him; “It wasn’t that funny!”

It wasn’t: he knew that. But the anxiety he’d felt earlier had dissipated and he needed to lighten his mood somewhat..

“And,” she added, “that was the nearest they’ve come to acquiring the box, since Arizona.”

Nancy felt the tension in the air after her comment – it was almost palpable.

“Box? Arizona? Please, tell me what’s going on?” She pleaded.

Mark looked to Amanda, feeling he should say something, yet couldn’t find the words, any words.

And then Amanda began to talk of their meeting; the box he’d been given to guard; and those who sought it – and why.

Her features abruptly contorted by a frown of pained anguish, Nancy froze, as her brain tried to rationalize all that she’d heard:

Nancy felt compromised: and once more she fell into a fugue state, similar to that she’d been in when Amanda had found her at the canals edge.

“Nancy?” Mark called to her anxiously, his words hardly heard.

“My friend,” Amanda began, taking Nancy’s hands in her own: “You’re safe.”

“Trust me,” she continued gently, her words soothing, “you’re safe.”

‘You’re safe.’ Nancy needed to hear that. She needed to know it was true; she had to feel safe.

And once more, Mark blushed, watching the two women hug, each resting their head on the others shoulder.

Mark felt very alone in their presence: ‘Safe,’ he mused, ‘will I ever feel safe again?’





*





Pandora’s Players ~ Jason and James: ‘...the search for Hope’





Having satisfied a need, Jason had slept soundly, to awaken feeling quite refreshed and at peace with himself and the world.

It was only then did he realise that he was alone in his bed. Amanda was gone.

He looked at the indent in the pillow and the creases in the linen where she’d lain. Both were cold.

Evidently he had slept on his own for awhile.

It was then that he saw the folded piece of paper on his locker.

Jason picked it up, unfurled it and read a note, to him:

‘Jason, I need you. I need your help.’

That was it. There it was, all of it – except for the address in the top right corner.

Jason stood and began to dress. He liked the idea of being needed – and wanted to help her.

He looked at the address once more – it wasn’t far to travel: ‘not to help someone who needed you,’ he thought.

Yet, even as Jason decided to act, he was entirely unaware that the temporal agent, James Lancaster, was thinking along similar lines; as he entered the grey edifice, where he’d find his boss.

James had returned to his time with too much to think about and a brain that hardly functioned.

“Too much booze,” he murmured in the elevator that took him down, level after level.

James couldn’t tell Delaney what he knew, as he didn’t know whether he was one of Them.

Simply put, he didn’t know whom he could trust any longer.

And, at the very moment a bleary-eyed James Lancaster shuffled into his superior’s office, Jason rang the bell to the flat.

Neither Amanda, nor Nancy heard its shrill alarm – but Mark had.

The early morning birdsong had woken him first, the sunlight shafting through the gap between the pair of curtains, falling on his face and keeping him awake.

And then the doorbell rang.

He threw the sheets off himself and then stood.

Mark was just wearing his jeans – but that was enough to answer the door.

He padded downstairs and peered through the spy-hole in the door: a man.

‘One of Them?” Mark wondered briefly, as he stared at Jason.

The was of an average height, with broad shoulders and looked as though he’d slept in the clothes he wore – light blue cotton zip-up jacket; a green polo-neck; brown cords and brown loafers on his feet.

Recalling how the agents he’d encountered dressed; Mark doubted that the next to come for him would dress as a reject from the seventies.

He watched as the man looked at a piece of paper, prior to ringing the bell again.

And Mark decided to risk it – he opened the door.

Yet, in another time and another place, another door had opened and James stood before his boss: a little man in a big office, Delaney sat with his hands resting on the desk before him, the fingers interlaced.

It was apparent to him that Lancaster was still suffering from the previous night.

And, as James finished talking, Delaney told him: “I’d said to lay off the booze, hadn’t I?”

Lancaster was sweating and he blamed the bright light.

“Yes, I know. Sorry.”

What else was there to say: according to his version of a reality – he’d traced a temporal anomaly to its source. He’d then encountered a second signal, which he’d decided to trace – which was when a man had accosted him, demanding that he tell him what he knew of ‘Amanda.’

James had watched Delaney long and hard for any sign of recognition at his use of Her name. There had been none, which had pleased him.



*



Pandora’s Players ~ Mark and Nancy: ‘…work in progress’



Mark felt the phone ringing in his pocket – he patted the bulge in his other pocket. It was still there. He still had the box.

He listened to the women talking, aware only of the ringing – vibration in his pocket.

Amanda held the redhead in her arms, cradling her head and upper body as if she were a child, as she comforted the overwrought young woman.

And, in his pocket the phone was ringing.

“I thought you said I was safe?” She wailed plaintively, “Just look what happened to you friend!”

Amanda stroked the redhead’s hair and gently caressed her uppermost shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” she soothed, “it’s all in order.”

She said as a statement, still caressing her friend’s hair.

And, Amanda meant it to, the pieces were coming together and her players would soon be in place, as a line of defence, as she made the next move.

Mark reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone.

He looked at the screen display – ‘anonymous.’

But, curiosity took over, as he knew that it would and Mark pressed ‘receive.’

“We know where you are,” a hard sounding man intoned, with a southern accent; “You were lucky before. But, we’ll be there soon. Don’t run again. We will find you and it’ll just be all the worse then when we do...”

He ended the call.

Mark stood and threw the phone to the floor, drawing both women’s eyes toward him. He was suddenly very frightened.

The last time that Mark had received a call like that was just prior to his leaving Wallasey.

“Amanda!” He exclaimed, with wide eyes, panic evident in his voice.

“They’re coming for me, like they did you…”

Two were dead, drowned in the canal – ‘But,’ there are others.’ He thought: ‘of course there was. And, they’re coming for me.”

Amanda helped Nancy to sit upright and said to her; “I think we could do with that cup of tea now, if you don’t mind?”

Then she added, “After all, we do have the milk now, don’t we?”

And she winked.

Nancy smiled wanly, stood and smoothed the creases from her skirt and sniffed meekly, before replying, “Sure, I’ll see to that.”

As Amanda rose, she paused in the doorway a moment, before saying, “Will you both be staying the night? ‘Coz if you are, I’ll make up the spare room and…”

She was interrupted by Mark, “How can it be called Paranoia, you know there’s after you?” He questioned with sardonic wit.

Whilst he appeared almost near hysteria, Amanda seemed calm; almost as if she were in control, Nancy mused.

“Yes,” Amanda answered, as she walked toward Mark; as if in answer to the question asked; and, the question unasked.

Abruptly, Nancy felt much calmer and she left the room, to go make the tea: leaving as Amanda took the young man in her arms and held him tight.

Mark shook uncontrollably and cradled his head to her shoulder.

“It will work out. Amanda assured him.

He closed his eyes, just listening to her voice; and the thump of his heart, as he shook a little less.

“It will work out,” she continued, “Just don’t worry my young friend – everything is progressing well…”

“How?” He asked softly.

“We’ll just sleep on it…” she said in a faraway voice, as they parted from their embrace: “Events are moving in a way you don’t yet understand.”

He stared at her blankly.

“So,” Amanda suddenly chirped brightly: “Who gets the couch?”

And, momentarily thrown by the change in topic, Mark paused a second, then said, “I’ll take it!”

Amanda smiled at him, saying to him: “As ever, my young Knight!”



*



Pandora’s Players ~ Jason and Mark: ‘Finding Hope’



“Is Amanda there?” James asked stiffly. He hadn’t expected a half-naked young man to answer the door: Certainly not one as young as this one anyway.

Marks hair was tousled from his night sleep – and he couldn’t help but yawn.

‘A real bad move if this mans a killer,’ he considered for a millisecond, as he appraised the man before him.

Mark was wary about what to say; but even so he answered, “Yes.”

Then the man sighed and said, “Good. Can I come in?”

Mark hesitated, before answering.

“I am expected,” Jason assured him.

“Yeah, okay then…” Mark muttered, standing aside a little, so Jason could pass him, to walk up the stairwell to the flat.

“She been here long?” Jason asked, as he trod the worn carpet.

Thinking he was talking of the flat, Mark answered, “Awhile, I guess.”

Oblique as his answer was, it was sufficient for Jason, who oh-so looked forward to seeing Amanda again.

On the landing were four doors: two straight ahead and one to the left and right.

“Door on your left mate,” Mark told him, following quickly behind.

Jason entered the living-room, turning the light on – even though he didn’t need, the light that entered the gloom was enough to tell him the young man had slept alone.

Mark pulled the sheets off the couch and folded them.

Then having set them down a nearby occasional table, Mark turned and offered his hand and said: “I’m Mark Knight, Amanda’s friend.”

“I’m Jason,” he was told as his hand was taken and they shook hands firmly.

“And I’d guess I’d say I was her friend as well.”

Mark was puzzled: “She didn’t tell me about you…” He said, frowning.

“Well, she didn’t say anything about you either…” Jason responded, a light smile on his face. He’d shaved, looking forward to seeing her again… looking forward to seeing Amanda. Jason liked her, really liked her.

“So,” he asked, “where is she?”

“Still sleeping I guess. I’ll go check in awhile. But, I need a coffee… do you want one?”

A coffee.

Jason had endured a train journey in the company of far too many early morning commuters.

He would have preferred something stronger, but told the young man, “Yeah, I’d like that. Thanks.”

Mark turned to walk out of the room, then back again to ask, “How do you like it?”

“One milk, one sugar.”

He went to the kitchen, his mind going triple-time.

“What to do?”

There was a man here who did seem to know Amanda, who lay asleep, two doors away, Nancy at her side.

And, they had seemed to hit it off…

Abruptly, he decided to wait awhile before waking his Lady.

So he finished making two mugs of coffee, which he placed on a tray with a plate of biscuits.

And, he breathed deeply, before picking the tray up and re-entering the living-room:

“Okay coffee,” he announced unnecessarily, as he set the tray down on the low coffee-table between his armchair and the sofa.

It was at that very moment James shimmered into existence, near the curtains: a coalescence of small lights unifying into human form.

Mark looked on, mouth wide, while Jason watched with interest.

“Matter transportation?” He mused thoughtfully, idly picking up his mug with left hand and downing its contents.

Jason knew there were companies who dreamt of such technology: which was why an industrial spy like him existed.

“Well fella, at least I rang the doorbell. Although his way has some real style.”

“Yeah, doesn’t it!” Mark responded still in open-eyed wonderment, as James Lancaster took form.

He looked at Mark, then Jason.

And, his first words were, “Is Amanda here?”



*

Pandora’s Players ~ ‘Giving Hope’



James stared at the slightly built young man, staring at him with him with wide eyes and then to the heavier set man sitting opposite him

“So, is Amanda here?” He repeated.

Jason looked from him, to Mark, and then said; “I guess you’d better wake her up now feller!”

Mark rose, his eyes on James, as he walked round Jason and past James, muttering, “Yeah, okay.”

And, he walked down the short hallway, to stand outside the bedroom door, where he knocked, firmly.

“Okay Mark,” he heard Amanda call, “We’re coming!”

So, having done as he’d been requested to do, mark returned to the living-room and his armchair by the window, to watch the two men, staring at one another.

Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, he said, “I’m Mark, this is Jason…” whom he indicated with a small wave of his hand: “And you are?”

“James,” their guest informed him: “I’m here to see Amanda.”

Jason smiled, mumbling, “Isn’t everyone?”

He was quite unconcerned by the killing stares he received for saying as much.

And, silence filled the room, until the door opened again.

Nancy entered the room first – a sheet pulled tightly round her curves.

“Morning,” she said, surprised to see that Mark had company.

Marks head whirled round at the sound of her voice.

Behind her, stood Amanda, dressed all in black shirt; skin-tight jeans and knee-high boots, with practical low heels.

Amanda stared round the room at her guests and pronounced, “Coffee perhaps?”

Frowning slightly, Mark glanced toward Jason: “I know…” he felt like saying.

“I’ll get it going,” he assured Amanda.

James looked at Amanda, dressed so ordinarily, in contrast to the punk he’d last met.

And Jason stared, recalling her body, as he had last seen it, naked, inviting.

Both mean were at a loss for words.

Nancy eased into armchair Mark where had sat moments earlier, drawing her legs beneath her, tightening her grip on the sheet, as Amanda walked to the curtains which she drew apart with a theatrical flourish.

“We don’t need the lights on anymore… I’m here.”

She turned from the window, a grin on her face.

Her grin broadened, as she glanced at first Jason, then James and back again.

“Mark will be back in a minute with the coffee… and we do have the time to enjoy, before we intervene in the unfolding events.”

Both men now sat, James in the armchair to the left of the settee.

There was a vacant seat next to Jason, yet Amanda chose not to sit; aware that Nancy’s eyes followed every step she made, as she paced back and forth, hands clasped behind her.

She was also cognisant of James, standing at the young redhead, eyes drawn to her bare, lightly freckled shoulders.

“We have time for a coffee James, nothing more…”

Suitably chastened at the inferred admonishment, James crossed his legs, face pale.

“Get dressed,” Amanda expressed, as an order.

Blushing, Nancy stood and left the room.

Moments later, Mark entered, tray in hand, on which five mugs stood, a bowl of sugar and a plate of biscuits.

“I passed Nancy,” he said: “She didn’t look good.”

Grinning Jason muttered, “Well, James here don’t agree…”

Tension had filled the room while Mark made the coffee; tension which was almost palpable.

“Coffee anyone?” He asked brightly, as he set the tray down.

“Thank you Mark,” Amanda said, tight-lipped.

Each of them took a drink, leaving one on the tray, for Nancy; with Jason levelling sugar into his.

James too took sugar and heaped three spoonfuls into his – like cigarettes; sugar was banned in his time. But, he liked sugar: it was sweet, like he found life here, in the past.

“So, tell me Amanda, why are we all here?” Jason asked.

“Not one for long hand, are you?” James retorted, to which Amanda smirked, noting Jason’s expression.

Abruptly the smile left her face, as he pulled his right arm from his jacket – metal glinting as he did so.

Amanda could sense his mood – but powerless to prevent the ramifications of human will, she watched transfixed as he stood and turned toward James Lancaster.

A look of thunder on his face Jason snarled, “Funny man, you want me to squash your face?”

And James gulped, staring at the small pistons driving the fingers, opening and closing.

“I didn’t know…I didn’t know….” He said hurriedly.

Finally the fist was closed, and then brought down, hard on the arm of James chair.

Wood shattered and material tore, as the chair broke inward with the blow: “I didn’t know…I didn’t know….” He repeated, “I’m sorry.”

“Jason!” Amanda shouted, “Sit down, now.”

Glaring at James, Jason stood back slowly: “Okay Amanda I will. But, another funny from smart arse here and I won’t be responsible for what I do!”

He sat, clasping his bionic hand in his right, between his knees, as Mark looked from him to Amanda; then to James, ashen-faced.

“Okay boys,” Amanda said with a smile, “play nice, the real enemy will be here, soon.”

Mark stood, trembling and looked to Amanda: “Are they coming, for me?”

He was sweating, with fear.

And Amanda walked across to the young man and held him, stroking the back of his head.

“Not you my friend,” she assured him, “they’ll be coming for the box.”

The reason didn’t matter to Mark – they were coming: and he was scared.

“Shush, my young Knight,” she said softly, “don’t worry, it’ll be over soon. Okay?”

“Yes, okay,” he sniffed, as Amanda continued to stroke his hair, offering reassurance with her touch, her presence.

“Enough already,” James snapped tersely, “Maybe you’ll explain why I’m here. What’s my part in all of this?”

Amanda stood away from Mark and turned to James, eyes green, a reflection of her anger.

“You are a little man, inside, aren’t you?” She spat out.

“I… I…” he stuttered in reply.

At that very moment Nancy re-entered the room, wearing blue-jeans, tee-shirt and trainers.

“Is everything alright?” She asked anxiously.

“It will be,” Amanda answered, ushering Mark by the shoulders toward Nancy.

“Join her in the box-room, then wait, to you’re called. Okay?”

“Okay,” the young man mumbled, walking toward Nancy in the doorway.

“And Mark,” Amanda said, “Thank you.”

He paused, looking toward her and frowned.

“That sounds like a goodbye,” he said to Amanda.

She smiled in response and assured Mark: “It’s not a goodbye my friend my friend. It’s a thank you, a simple thank you.”

Mark smiled wanly, not noticing the look exchanged between Jason and James.

Both men felt otherwise – yet refused to say so, in front of him.

But, once he and Nancy had left the room, Jason asserted his belief with a statement:

“He was right, it did sound like a goodbye.”

Amanda turned away, before retorting automatically, “Hope never leaves you – but you can lose hope.”

James stood, “This is all too much mystic mumbo jumbo. I deal with what I know…”

Jason smiled, as he looked at him and said sardonically, “And then you met her?”

Following his comment, silence reigned once more, as for a very long minute, Amanda looked out the window.

“Jason – they’re here, now.” She told him, looking over her right shoulder.

He stood and asked, “So what do you want me to do?”

“Be my strong arm, please?”

Jason raised an eyebrow.

“Okay Miss,” he told her lightly, “it’s done.”

And, as he left the room, Jason looked back a second, at the woman who’d offered him something different from the life he’d become accustomed to.

“Mark had been right,” He said quickly, leaving James and Amanda alone together.

“So that now?” James asked pensively, knuckles white as he gripped his knees.

“What now?” Amanda teased; “Now we wait until it’s your turn to help.”

This wasn’t like any mission he’d been on previously and Jason felt very ill at ease.

So, he began to talk: and Amanda listened, as James told her about Delaney.

As he told her about the last meeting he’d had with his boss, they heard a loud crashing sound, as downstairs the front door burst inward.

And Jason smiled: Here was something he understood.

The door had burst inward, shattering wood and bursting the door lock from its mount.

He still smiled. And, as he stared at the two bald strong-looking men, in black suits, the smile became a laugh.

This was his first time feeling useful, in so many years – and, a chance to help Amanda, as she helped others.

Yet all these were but fleeting thoughts, as he thrust forward his right arm and ripped at the throat of the man nearest him.

Blood erupted from the gaping maw in the man’s neck – as he pulled his hand: and the man fell to his knees, mouth open.

As the man gargled on the blood spewing outward, his comrade stepped over his body – toward Jason, a gun in his hand.

Adrenaline pumped hard, activating many neural networks in his right hand as the remaining adversary advanced, levelling the weapon toward him.

“You’re dead,” he snarled.

“No fella, you are” Jason calmly informed the man in black as he clasped the leading hand and the weapon he held.

He exerted a lot of pressure and crushed the gun and the large weapon holding it, slowly, taking pleasure in the act.

Jason was doing this for himself he realized – staring into the other mans pain-filled eyes. He was what They had made: and this was his payback.

He had taken control – instead of being controlled.

Jason liked that and his smile became cold as he let go of the crushed hand, watching intently as the man went for the fallen weapon.

As he did, Jason arced his right hand upward to gain momentum for the killing blow, which snapped the man’s neck, as if it were a dry twig.

Jason continued to smile – as he stepped back from the bodies, his handiwork.

Abruptly he paused and grasped each man by the neck with his right hand.

He turned, feeling satisfied, to go back upstairs and Amanda.

Still smiling, Jason walked up the stairs, dragging both men with him, their bodies thumping heavily on each step as he did so.

Finally he deposited the two corpses on the landing, and then returned to the living-room panting, a little.

“And?” James asked, noting the blood splatters on Jason’s jacket.

He had heard everything, but wanted confirmation.

He did.

“They’re gone,” Jason told Amanda resuming his place on the settee.

She smiled, walking toward him.

“Thank you,” the blonde told Jason, stroking his face.

“And now what?” James blurted out, “More of them will come. You know that!”

“They won’t,” she told him lightly, “not if you play your part.”

“Huh?” He questioned, “What do you mean?”

Amanda sat, holding Jason’s left hand in her right hand as she told James patiently, “You’re taking our unwanted guests back to their makers. Then you’ll explain who they are and what they were after…”

“You?” Lancaster queried.

“No,” she responded lightly, “the box.”

James Lancaster was confused.

Slowly, patiently, Amanda began to explain.

“Their trips back in time, its what they searching for.” She paused a brief moment, so he could follow what she was telling him: “And, you say you trust Delaney. So do as I ask.”

Lancaster ran his right hand through his thin hair as he contemplated all he’d heard.

Finally he responded, “I don’t want to appear churlish, but what about Jason and you?”

Amanda crossed her arms and glowered: “Once you’ve removed those two, Jason will look after Nancy and Mark…”

Jason was surprised: ‘was that she wanted him for, a baby-sitter?’

“…you see,” she added, as if reading his thoughts, “I trust him to do that for me.”

He liked that: Jason liked to feel needed, useful.

Burning with curiosity, James asked, “And you Amanda, what will you be doing?”

She smiled.

“I’m taking the box to the future. After all, The End Of day’s need Hope. Don’t you agree?”





*

Pandora’s Players ~ ‘Giving Hope’
14:47 Jan 25 2007
Times Read: 1,045

James stared at the slightly built young man, staring at him with him with wide eyes and then to the heavier set man sitting opposite him.

“So, is Amanda here?” He repeated.

Jason looked from him, to Mark, and then said; “I guess you’d better wake her up now feller!”

Mark rose, his eyes on James, as he walked round Jason and past James, muttering, “Yeah, okay.”

And, he walked down the short hallway, to stand outside the bedroom door, where he knocked, firmly.

“Okay Mark,” he heard Amanda call, “We’re coming!”

So, having done as he’d been requested to do, Mark returned to the living-room and his armchair by the window, to watch the two men, staring at one another.

Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, he said, “I’m Mark, this is Jason…” whom he indicated with a small wave of his hand: “And you are?”

“James,” their guest informed him: “I’m here to see Amanda.”

Jason smiled, mumbling, “Isn’t everyone?”

He was quite unconcerned by the killing stares he received for saying as much.

And, silence filled the room, until the door opened again.

Nancy entered the room first – a sheet pulled tightly round her curves.

“Morning,” she said, surprised to see that Mark had company.

Marks head whirled round at the sound of her voice.

Behind her, stood Amanda, dressed all in black shirt; skin-tight jeans and knee-high boots, with practical low heels.

Amanda stared round the room at her guests and pronounced, “Coffee perhaps?”

Frowning slightly, Mark glanced toward Jason: “I know…” he felt like saying.

“I’ll get it going,” he assured Amanda.

James looked at Amanda, dressed so ordinarily, in contrast to the punk he’d last met.

And Jason stared, recalling her body, as he had last seen it, naked, inviting.

Both mean were at a loss for words.

Nancy eased into armchair Mark where had sat moments earlier, drawing her legs beneath her, tightening her grip on the sheet, as Amanda walked to the curtains which she drew apart with a theatrical flourish.

“We don’t need the lights on anymore… I’m here.”

She turned from the window, a grin on her face.

Her grin broadened, as she glanced at first Jason, then James and back again.

“Mark will be back in a minute with the coffee… and we do have the time to enjoy, before we intervene in the unfolding events.”

Both men now sat, James in the armchair to the left of the settee.

There was a vacant seat next to Jason, yet Amanda chose not to sit; aware that Nancy’s eyes followed every step she made, as she paced back and forth, hands clasped behind her.

She was also cognisant of James, standing at the young redhead, eyes drawn to her bare, lightly freckled shoulders.

“We have time for a coffee James, nothing more…”

Suitably chastened at the inferred admonishment, James crossed his legs, face pale.

“Get dressed,” Amanda expressed, as an order.

Blushing, Nancy stood and left the room.

Moments later, Mark entered, tray in hand, on which five mugs stood, a bowl of sugar and a plate of biscuits.

“I passed Nancy,” he said: “She didn’t look good.”

Grinning Jason muttered, “Well, James here don’t agree…”

Tension had filled the room while Mark made the coffee; tension which was almost palpable.

“Coffee anyone?” He asked brightly, as he set the tray down.

“Thank you Mark,” Amanda said, tight-lipped.

Each of them took a drink, leaving one on the tray, for Nancy; with Jason levelling sugar into his.

James too took sugar and heaped three spoonfuls into his – like cigarettes; sugar was banned in his time. But, he liked sugar: it was sweet, like he found life here, in the past.

“So, tell me Amanda, why are we all here?” Jason asked.

“Not one for long hand, are you?” James retorted, to which Amanda smirked, noting Jason’s expression.

Abruptly the smile left her face, as he pulled his right arm from his jacket – metal glinting as he did so.

Amanda could sense his mood – but powerless to prevent the ramifications of human will, she watched transfixed as he stood and turned toward James Lancaster.

A look of thunder on his face Jason snarled, “Funny man, you want me to squash your face?”

And James gulped, staring at the small pistons driving the fingers, opening and closing.

“I didn’t know…I didn’t know….” He said hurriedly.

Finally the fist was closed, and then brought down, hard on the arm of James chair.

Wood shattered and material tore, as the chair broke inward with the blow: “I didn’t know…I didn’t know….” He repeated, “I’m sorry.”

“Jason!” Amanda shouted, “Sit down, now.”

Glaring at James, Jason stood back slowly: “Okay Amanda I will. But, another funny from smart arse here and I won’t be responsible for what I do!”

He sat, clasping his bionic hand in his right, between his knees, as Mark looked from him to Amanda; then to James, ashen-faced.

“Okay boys,” Amanda said with a smile, “play nice, the real enemy will be here, soon.”

Mark stood, trembling and looked to Amanda: “Are they coming, for me?”

He was sweating, with fear.

And Amanda walked across to the young man and held him, stroking the back of his head.

“Not you my friend,” she assured him, “they’ll be coming for the box.”

The reason didn’t matter to Mark – they were coming: and he was scared.

“Shush, my young Knight,” she said softly, “don’t worry, it’ll be over soon. Okay?”

“Yes, okay,” he sniffed, as Amanda continued to stroke his hair, offering reassurance with her touch, her presence.

“Enough already,” James snapped tersely, “Maybe you’ll explain why I’m here. What’s my part in all of this?”

Amanda stood away from Mark and turned to James, eyes green, a reflection of her anger.

“You are a little man, inside, aren’t you?” She spat out.

“I… I…” he stuttered in reply.

At that very moment Nancy re-entered the room, wearing blue-jeans, tee-shirt and trainers.

“Is everything alright?” She asked anxiously.

“It will be,” Amanda answered, ushering Mark by the shoulders toward Nancy.

“Join her in the box-room, then wait, to you’re called. Okay?”

“Okay,” the young man mumbled, walking toward Nancy in the doorway.

“And Mark,” Amanda said, “Thank you.”

He paused, looking toward her and frowned.

“That sounds like a goodbye,” he said to Amanda.

She smiled in response and assured Mark: “It’s not a goodbye my friend my friend. It’s a thank you, a simple thank you.”

Mark smiled wanly, not noticing the look exchanged between Jason and James.

Both men felt otherwise – yet refused to say so, in front of him.

But, once he and Nancy had left the room, Jason asserted his belief with a statement:

“He was right, it did sound like a goodbye.”

Amanda turned away, before retorting automatically, “Hope never leaves you – but you can lose hope.”

James stood, “This is all too much mystic mumbo jumbo. I deal with what I know…”

Jason smiled, as he looked at him and said sardonically, “And then you met her?”

Following his comment, silence reigned once more, as for a very long minute, Amanda looked out the window.

“Jason – they’re here, now.” She told him, looking over her right shoulder.

He stood and asked, “So what do you want me to do?”

“Be my strong arm, please?”

Jason raised an eyebrow.

“Okay Miss,” he told her lightly, “it’s done.”

And, as he left the room, Jason looked back a second, at the woman who’d offered him something different from the life he’d become accustomed to.

“Mark had been right,” He said quickly, leaving James and Amanda alone together.

“So that now?” James asked pensively, knuckles white as he gripped his knees.

“What now?” Amanda teased; “Now we wait until it’s your turn to help.”

This wasn’t like any mission he’d been on previously and Jason felt very ill at ease.

So, he began to talk: and Amanda listened, as James told her about Delaney.

As he told her about the last meeting he’d had with his boss, they heard a loud crashing sound, as downstairs the front door burst inward.

And Jason smiled: Here was something he understood.

The door had burst inward, shattering wood and bursting the door lock from its mount.

He still smiled. And, as he stared at the two bald strong-looking men, in black suits, the smile became a laugh.

This was his first time feeling useful, in so many years – and, a chance to help Amanda, as she helped others.

Yet all these were but fleeting thoughts, as he thrust forward his right arm and ripped at the throat of the man nearest him.

Blood erupted from the gaping maw in the man’s neck – as he pulled his hand: and the man fell to his knees, mouth open.

As the man gargled on the blood spewing outward, his comrade stepped over his body – toward Jason, a gun in his hand.

Adrenaline pumped hard, activating many neural networks in his right hand as the remaining adversary advanced, levelling the weapon toward him.

“You’re dead,” he snarled.

“No fella, you are” Jason calmly informed the man in black as he clasped the leading hand and the weapon he held.

He exerted a lot of pressure and crushed the gun and the large weapon holding it, slowly, taking pleasure in the act.

Jason was doing this for himself he realized – staring into the other mans pain-filled eyes. He was what They had made: and this was his payback.

He had taken control – instead of being controlled.

Jason liked that and his smile became cold as he let go of the crushed hand, watching intently as the man went for the fallen weapon.

As he did, Jason arced his right hand upward to gain momentum for the killing blow, which snapped the man’s neck, as if it were a dry twig.

Jason continued to smile – as he stepped back from the bodies, his handiwork.

Abruptly he paused and grasped each man by the neck with his right hand.

He turned, feeling satisfied, to go back upstairs and Amanda.

Still smiling, Jason walked up the stairs, dragging both men with him, their bodies thumping heavily on each step as he did so.

Finally he deposited the two corpses on the landing, and then returned to the living-room panting, a little.

“And?” James asked, noting the blood splatters on Jason’s jacket.

He had heard everything, but wanted confirmation.

He did.

“They’re gone,” Jason told Amanda resuming his place on the settee.

She smiled, walking toward him.

“Thank you,” the blonde told Jason, stroking his face.

“And now what?” James blurted out, “More of them will come. You know that!”

“They won’t,” she told him lightly, “not if you play your part.”

“Huh?” He questioned, “What do you mean?”

Amanda sat, holding Jason’s left hand in her right hand as she told James patiently, “You’re taking our unwanted guests back to their makers. Then you’ll explain who they are and what they were after…”

“You?” Lancaster queried.

“No,” she responded lightly, “the box.”

James Lancaster was confused.

Slowly, patiently, Amanda began to explain.

“Their trips back in time, its what they searching for.” She paused a brief moment, so he could follow what she was telling him: “And, you say you trust Delaney. So do as I ask.”

Lancaster ran his right hand through his thin hair as he contemplated all he’d heard.

Finally he responded, “I don’t want to appear churlish, but what about Jason and you?”

Amanda crossed her arms and glowered: “Once you’ve removed those two, Jason will look after Nancy and Mark…”

Jason was surprised: ‘was that she wanted him for, a baby-sitter?’

“…you see,” she added, as if reading his thoughts, “I trust him to do that for me.”

He liked that: Jason liked to feel needed, useful.

Burning with curiosity, James asked, “And you Amanda, what will you be doing?”

She smiled.

“I’m taking the box to the future. After all, The End Of day’s need Hope. Don’t you agree?”

Pandora’s Players ~ James: ‘Just A Little More Time’
18:13 Jan 17 2007
Times Read: 1,057

As they left the small pub, James and Amanda continued talking.

Finally he rounded on her: “I still don’t see why I’m so useful, that you’d organise this means of entrapment!

Amanda smiled a little.

“What do you mean? She quizzed her companion.

“You allowed yourself to be chased from one time zone to another, while mysterious agents are after you, whom I end up following myself.”

“Why?” She asked.

“To ensure I came after you. Join you maybe? Isn’t that right?” He snapped.

Glibly Amanda replied, “Maybe.”

Then she stopped and turned to stand before him: and Amanda stared into his eyes, placing her hands on his shoulders and she stared into eyes as she spoke earnestly, “But realise – I know you want to make a difference. That’s why you do your job so well.”

There was a long pause, as the only sound of the street was the sound of a passing car – and the sound of the wind, blowing through the leaves of a nearby tree.

“And, you’re due to retire, very soon,” She continued; “Wouldn’t you like to know that you really did make a difference?”

James Lancaster was tired – and, drunk: yet he still found sense in the blondes’ words.

He thought, carefully, as carefully as his alcohol sodden brain would allow.

“Yes, perhaps I do have to help you, I guess,” he responded slowly, before turning his gaze from her eyes of green.

She was passionate about what she believed – that much was obvious to him.

A Very Naked Lunch
23:15 Jan 16 2007
Times Read: 1,060

This story contains some Adult content ~

..and more than a grain of truth.





*





She had looked out the plate glass window, bored beyond belief. Gazing at the Wirral in miniature, the many pinpricks of man-made light gave the visata below the appearance of a starlit sky...

"Are you going out tomorrow?" Her flat mate had asked from the open doorway to his bedroom, "because I've got a delivery expected tomorrow and I need someone in the flat."

"No, I don't think so..." she had said distantly, as she watched the rain begin to fall from the living-room window of the thirteenth floor flat that they had shared together. Then, she had paused a moment to idly wonder; 'I wonder who he is cooking for tomorrow?' And turning from the window, she had said aloud, "Sorry, I can't say I'll be in ... I might have plans." "Like what?" he had asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Well," she had begun, picking up her old black leather jacket, the one that he had given her, "I'm off to the phone..."

She had put the jacket on and said, “So, I'll let you know in about five minutes. Okay?”



As she had gone down in the lift, the young woman had considered her ex ... yes, certainly she had known his reputation when she had asked him out: she had been told that he was a flirt, stubborn, irrational and it had not taken long for the young woman to find that the warnings had been accurate. Though no-one had warned her about the baggage he had carried with him - the baggage from his two previous failed relationships.

'Yet,' she had thought, as the lift had reached the ground floor and the doors had opened, 'all that said, he hadn't been boring.'

She had walked in the rain towards the nearby phone-box and dialed his number with speed, for this had to be done whilst the mood was upon her... And, though he had been surprised to hear her voice, he had then told himself, 'I shouldn't be...'

for it had been the petite half South-American who had asked him out, who had taught him so much of love and through herself and all that they had shared together, much about himself;

'... and then to finish with me, she sends me a Dear John letter. No, I shouldn't be surprised to hear from her at all. Not at all... "You want to know if I'm cooking for anyone? Why?" he had said, more than a little indignant that she had presumed to ask.

"Because," she had replied, "it you're not cooking for anyone else, you might like to invite me? And, if you do want me, to come for lunch, then ... well, we could play games?"

He had gulped, before asking, "Like what?"

"Well," she had said, in an encouraging tone of voice, "I thought that we might play that one you like ... girlfriend?"

He had gulped a second time, then had asked her: "Would you like to come, for lunch tomorrow? ... Say about noon?"

She had gone back to the flat and dug out her little black dress, whilst thinking to herself, 'I'm not staying in tomorrow. I'm off to have lunch and then ... play games.'



It is twelve-minutes past twelve; he knows, for he has looked at the clock virtually every thirty seconds, since eleven fifty-nine.

Then the door knocker sounds twice and he rises to answer the door, quite breathless, at both seeing her again and how perfect she looks; as the wind catches her long dark hair, that she ever-so elegantly sweeps away from her face, whilst her perfume, Anais Anin he thinks, drifts on the light breeze. Then she breaks the spell he is under, by asking of him directly:

"Well, are you going to ask me in, or what?"



As he cooks lunch the couple chat amiably enough, although as she asks, 'What have you seen on t.v. of late?' his mind is not on the topic of her conversation, but rather, the reason for her being there and his answers to any questions asked display his distraction and she smiles at his apparent discomfort.

Then when they sit to eat, he finds his eyes drawn to her pert breasts, pressing against the bra and white blouse that she wears and he notices that her nipples are very hard.

"So how come you're here?" He asks, while they eat their breaded Hoki, garlic and onion mushrooms with a little pasta in a cheese sauce. "To play games and enjoy a good dinner." She replies. "And, this is good." His heart beats faster with her answer and he smiles, blushing a little. Then, after they have finished eating, she tells him: " I'm going to freshen up. While I'm in the bathroom you'll do the dishes, won't you? Then come to me?"

"Of course..." the young man tells her.



When he enters his bedroom, with two mugs of coffee, she hands him a carrier-bag and flashes him her brightest smile, saying, "Put these on in the bathroom, so when you come back we can play 'girlfriends."'



Looking in the mirror he finds pleasure from his reflection and runs his right hand over his chest and taut nipples, already hard with anticipation. Then he leaves the bathroom, his heart beating a little faster once more. He returns to find his ex waiting for him on his bed, with her legs drawn up, music playing, volume turned low and the room illuminated by a single candle. “You look nice, Wendy," she tells him, as he stands before her, in the little black dress ... beneath which, she knows, he is wearing the black lace garter belt and black nylon panties; whilst on his legs he wears the sheerest of stockings.

He has even made up his lips carefully in the shade, a light pink, that he knows, she likes him to wear. And he sighs inwardly with pleasure, to hear her use his feminine name and he thinks, 'it sounds so good, to be accepted by her like this. Oh - so - good.'

"Well give me a twirl," she tells Wendy, who instantly responds and turns. delighted to here, with her once again.

"Oh yes," the young woman says rising from the bed, "you do look nice." Then taking Wendy in her arms, they cuddle, with their lips hardly touching and he wants to cry, as she finally kisses him.

And Wendy melts into her girlfriends arms as their tongues mesh, the young woman sliding eager hands over her lovers body as they kiss, toying, just occasionally with Wendy's nipples ... and his manhood hardens, with desire for her touch; that always has him feeling very wanted; as he finds from her, both approval and affection.

Her mouth coaxes and caresses, teasing him with an urgent pressure, that is also as delicate as the touch of rose petals. She plunders Wendy's lips with a kiss that is all that he had hoped for, tender and intimate, hungry and very demanding. And he watches in the mirror fixed to the wardrobe the two women kiss, as the brunette runs drifting hands down Wendy's curves, to glide over the sleekness of her hips, to embrace her lover tighter still; so that the young woman can feel the evidence of his arousal.

Wendy kisses at the sensitive areas behind her ears, nipping her earlobes gently and she shivers all the way doen to her toes. She moves her hands upward as Wendy kisses, to nylon-clad legs, then higher still ... and he gasps his pleasure, until she parts from him and he stands waiting. As the brunette withdraws from their embrace she trails the fingers of her left hand, in a feather-light touch, down Wendy's right cheek, bringing her heavily-coated lips closer, as she says to her trembling girlfriend, "You like being my girl, don't you?" And as she backs away she hears the answer, 'yes,' murmered very quietly, as if said from a great depth. She smiles, looking at Wendy, who she wants to see before her, staring up, knowing how wet she is for the pleasures that they will share and the brunette says, "I want you to undress me."

Sitting down on the bed once more, the young woman swings her legs round, placing her feet on the floor after which she takes one pillow and puts it at the pit of her back and standing the second against the wall, she then lays back into the pillows and saying to her lover, "Start with my boots,' as she indicates her Doc Martens, 'take off my boots."

And he does, kneeling before her, taking each boot that he works on and then sitting it's heel on his hard, nylon-covered cock.

Finally both boots removed, she says, "Now my socks ... and remember, be very gentle, you know I'm ticklish

Her feet naked, he looks to her eyes. "Please me,' she tells him, smiling as she grasps at his erect right nipple, through the material of the dress he wears, with forefinger and thumb; 'Please me ..." she says again, as she draws him to her, with the hold she has upon him; whilst her other hand works the belt, zip and button of her coal black jeans.

She smiles at his discomfort, that she knows he adores to endure for her "Now,' she tells him, 'stay on your knees."

As he kneels before her, she sits back and slips from her jeans and pants, so that her shaven vagina is unveiled to his eyes.

'Oh my, ' the young man thinks, 'I'd almost forgotten how good it looks. So neat and so, perfect ...

He is enraptured, as she slowly opens her thigh's ... to his ever - so hungry eyes and she says to him, one more time, quietly, "Please me ... She lifts her hips up to his face - and with eager tongue, he parts her glistening folds, slurping and sucking at her liquid essence.

He draws in the smell of her, as he begins to kiss ... the inside of her thigh's, first right, and then left ... and slowly upward

He laps at her luscious, succulent flesh, as she runs languid fingers through his hair. Her closed eyes flutter, with her mouth forming a near perfect '0' as the young woman gasps aloud her pleasure.

He runs his tongue through her, till he finds the nubbin of flesh, that she had so wanted him to ... and he draws back the hood of flesh away from the clitoris, very gently.

As he licks at his ex, he presses himself against her mons, till his face is smeared with her fresh lubricant and pleasurable sensations flow through the woman, as he finds a rhythm that suits her and she begins to hump his face ... grinding herself against him, as he tries to meet her need.

'Oh yes,' she thinks, her passion rising, 'this is just what I wanted.' And as she begins to writhe in the ecstasy of orgasm, she draws his face against her moist, aromatic sex ... and she 'cums,' bucking herself wildly against him, moaning loudly in the frenzy of passion that he has arisen. Suddenly she sighs and collapses, like a rag doll, unable to move her arms, legs or head and finally sated ... she replaces the pillows, removing her blouse, then bra and she crawls beneath the duvet, saying to him:

“Well, you can cuddle with me," as he looks at her dolefully, "if you want." He gets in bed with her, and holds her to himself, her long lustrous hair in his face, his erect cock trapped in the crease of her buttocks, through the clothing that he wears and he presses his hardness against her, in an effort to find stimulation ... and she turns her face to his and says, "No, not like that, you're my girl aren’t you?" She rolls over to face him and stroking her lovers hair says, "So lie on your belly." He does. The young woman slowly slides the hem of the little black dress up exposing his thigh flesh, stocking-tops and then his panty-clad buttocks.

And, moistening a finger-tip with saliva, the young woman tells her lover, "I know you want this ... don't you, Wendy?"

He moans his assent into the pillow, as she pushes the panties aside and slides the finger deep into him ... and he looks back, to see the look of deliberation on her face as she wonders, 'How many can he take?"



Come ten 0' clock that night, the young woman creeps from the bed and dons her clothing quietly, occasionally looking down at her ex, as he sleeps, sprawled amidst the crumpled duvet, the panties round his knees and the stockings laddered and torn. There is a look of contentment on his face. Then before she leaves, the woman writes out a note and stands it by his bedside locker:



Thanks for a pleasant evening. - Lunch was really good. So, I'd like to book a table for next Saturday. Ok ?



- Val



Ps: I do hope that Wendy is available, to serve me ?

Enrick’s Resolve
12:38 Jan 12 2007
Times Read: 1,073

Some mild Adult content contained within ~



*



Enrick had known his name was old; but not that it was as old as it was; until he’d looked in an ancient tome in the main library in town.

He had found a seat, at a small table, located between the ends of two long shelves of books.

Enrick had been looking at a copy of ‘The Law Of Demonicus: it’s theory in pryncyble,’ as part of his own personal research into the occult.

He had sat engrossed in the book from nine-thirty that morning, till two-thirty in the afternoon.

Enrick had wanted to take the book weeks ago, when he’d first chanced up upon its name in a book of demon lore and old magyck. But, it had been ‘reference only,’ so he had arrived every morning, just after the staff, then left, just before they did, day after day.

And the, this day, as the clock on the panelled wall read two-thirty, he saw his name, hidden deep inside a paragraph, deep within the book pages.

For Enrick, it’d read ‘Henryck’ and he supposed it may have been early Anglo-Saxon: but, it’d been the names use and contest that had fascinated the young man.

With an emaciated looking body, a gaunt face; and with the habit of dressing all in black, the dark-eyed, tall young man reminded many of a character from the works of H.P. Lovecraft, which secretly pleased him, greatly.

His colleagues at work saw him as an earnest young man, always ‘a little too dark’ they’d say, but when he wasn’t present: after all, he made them uneasy, always seeming to be where and when he wasn’t wanted, like at the Christmas party: when he’d stood apart from them, seemingly staring into the distance, all night.

But, although he knew what was said of him, Enrick didn’t mind – it didn’t interfere with his work, or his interests.

And, for quite awhile now, this book had become virtually his only interest: that was, aside from Jean Allison, in Accounts.

He had adored the curvaceous redhead from afar – across the long room, divided into small workstations, since shortly after he’d begun working for the firm.

“Ah Jean,” he sighed softly, staring with distant eyes at the words before him, which blurred somewhat, as he stared at them too long.

“I should have worn my glasses,” he said to himself, rubbing at his eyes, the invocation he’d just read still fresh in his mind.

The words had been written in the twelfth century, so an accompanying research pamphlet had told him – yet, even now, they still resonated true power, as he’d said each word aloud, slowly, as he’d read it.

Enrick rubbed at his tired eyes once more – and stood.

He walked, a trifle unsteadily to the main desk and return the book, to the utter astonishment of the dour Mrs. Carfax, who’d looked up at him as she returned his library card, saying blithely, “You’re leaving early today.”

And for a moment, a very brief moment, Enrick was tempted: tempted to tell the old woman, who spent much of her day knitting, that he’d found what he’d been looking for – a spell that would help him attain his hearts desire.

But, he didn’t – instead he walked home and eaten a frugal meal, accompanied by the remainder of a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. Then he watched the boob-tube and nothing, until his eyes grew heavy and he sought his pillow and bed.

And, later that night, he had repeated the invocation he had read many times, prior to sleep, as instructed.

Then, when Enrick awoke he learnt the true meaning of his namesakes warning, now his to comprehend.

Jean Allison’s arms were tight round the androgynous brunettes slim body, who stared at the ceiling aware it wasn’t the one that tired eyes had seen, just the night before, as they had closed and old words had been quoted – unleashing a very old magyck.

Jean kissed the brunette softly, her full lips as soft as Enrick had imagined.

Then she moved downward to kiss at the oh-so sensitive nipples, causing Enrick to squirm with delight.

“I’m glad you’re here and in my life,” Jean told the brunette, before moving further down, to part warm thighs, to taste the glistening folds of warm skin.

Enrick moaned: “This isn’t fantasy,” he said softly, “this is real, oh-so real..”

He had wanted to be all that Jean would want in a partner. Now Enrick was, she realised raising her legs higher; and parting them wider, so Jean had full access to her sex, as she seemed to enjoy so.

And, Henryck’s warning rang in her mind, as an eager tongue swirled at the nub of flesh, causing Enrick sweet pleasure.

“Beware what you wish for – for as every action has a reaction; each spell cast will be true – yet mayhap will produce far more than you wished for…”

And, Enryck closed his eyes to the ceiling above, as Jean raised her face, her chin sticky with all she had tasted and said, “You taste beautiful..”

‘I had wanted to be all that she’d want in a lover,” he mused, “how was I to know the office stories about her were true – and that she’s a lesbian?”

Yet, as Jean returned to her task, enjoying bringing her thrall pleasure; Enrick began to think that maybe, just maybe, this sex-change wasn’t such a bad thing…

An evening invitation to call
15:28 Jan 11 2007
Times Read: 1,078

A true story: of Adult content



I suppose time moves in a linear fashion, even if memory does not.

So, I’ll start with the Friday, when I’d received a phone call in the late evening.

“There’s something wrong with the computer, will you come round?”

And I known I knew the voice, if I’d not been able to place it: and said, “who is this?”

“I’m next door…” she’d said in a in a slurred, teasing voice.

‘Ah yes,’ I’d thought, ‘I do know that voice!’

It was my neighbour: a blonde, on her own, a few years older than me.

“Will you come round and look at it for me?”

“Now?” I’d asked, noting the time: it was nine in the evening.

“If you don’t mind?” she’d responded and added, “I’ll leave the front door for you.”

I live in a detached bungalow with a small privet hedge dividing our property from next doors property at the front.

“Yes, okay.” I’d told her, gathering up my keys and pulling on my shoes.

I left by the front door, nipped over the hedge, then walked to the front door, which sure enough, stood just ajar.

I’d entered her home and as I stood in the small hallway, called out, “It’s me!”

Then closing and locking the front door, I’d opened the door to the living-room. There was a dining-room table by the window, the tv on a stand, a sofa and opposite the tv, the armchair in which she lounged, with legs dangling over the arm.

“I’m glad you came round,” she had said, as I’d noticed the glass in her hand and a half-bottle of scotch to her left, by the magazine rack, near the fire.

“You sit down,” she’d said, as she had stood, on unsteady feet: indicating that I sit on the sofa, the added, “I’ll get you a glass.”

And how she had got to the kitchen I don’t know, walking as if she were on a ship, rolling from side to side on a choppy sea.

But, she had; and made it back, with a glass, which she had half-filled; and passed to me. She knows I drink it straight; I’d enjoyed a Christmas drink with her previously.

Anyway, I’d taken my drink and sat down on the edge of the sofa, my glass in my hands, as she began to talk – to tell me of her son, who had stranded her in Wales, miles away from home, just days earlier.

And as she had talked I had found my eyes drawn to her legs, casually resting over the arms of the chair: and as she spoke, downing her drink; I quickly realised that if I moved, just a little, I could easily see up her skirt, to where her tights covered her and the white panties she wore.

I recall she had smiled, as she noticed where I’d been looking: finished her drink, then said to me, “Would you like another?”

“Sure,” I’d responded, downing the contents of my own glass, then hading the empty glass to her.

She reached across to take it from me, her blouse gaping open, her unfettered, perfect breast mine to look upon.

And, with unsteady hands she had filled our glasses, before handing me one.

“Here,” she had told me, “enjoy.”

I had. I’d enjoyed looking at her, as I listened.

And, after a little while, she had taken me through to where her computer was set up, her bedroom.

All pink and fluffy and decidedly feminine, I’d begun to realise, somewhat slowly I feel, that it wasn’t the computer I was there to see, as she had peered over my shoulder, her lips close to my left ear.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” She had asked, as I had looked at a beach scene of Florida and her, in a white bikini.

It hadn’t been the beach I’d been talking of, as I’d answered, “Yes, you are.”

And I turned my face to hers and we’d kissed.

We’d stood, still kissing. Hands caressing: searching.

I’d stood away and we’d both begun undressing, eyes locked together.

And, I’d finished first, to lie in the middle of her wide bed, watching as she struggled out of her tights.

Finally she was naked and I had looked at her with longing.

A little cellulite on her thighs and a little extra flesh than I’d expected, but my, my neighbour looked good for her age. She’d excited me - and her own arousal was also apparent, from her dilated eyes and breathing.

But, her breasts, conical with small hard nipples, were perfect, too perfect, I decided, as I suckled on them, drawing her to me.

Laughing, she’d explained, “Made in America.”

Then she had asked, “Do you like them?”

My mouth full, I’d just said, “Mmmm…” as she had stroked my hair: and I’d enjoyed the feel of her fingers, encouraging me to hardness.

I recall that I had drawn her to the middle of the bed, moving downward, to part her thighs and press my face to her grey hair covered pubis, already moist, opening easily to my questing fingers: and I had parted her labia, lathing her sex with my tongue, licking upward, toward her bud-like clitoris.

I slurped and slathered at her, enjoying the taste as she began to moan, thrusting her hips up, pressing herself hard against my face.

Oh how I enjoyed listening to her moan with pleasure, as I tongued her, enjoying the rich cream she awarded me, for my efforts.

And realising she was ready, I knelt back, parted her thighs, appreciating her body, to the full. Then I had lain upon her, sinking deep into her warmth, slowly at first, until I’d entered fully: and she had wrapped her long legs round my thighs.

And kissing her full, eager lips, which she parted to accept my tongue, I had increased my movements, sawing back and forth, as her eyes had stared into mine; as I’d looked down at my lover, enjoying the pleasures of her body, bestowed up on me that night.

She had three boyfriends; and didn’t know which to choose; yet that night, had chosen me, to share her body with.

And with laboured breathing I had pulled out and said, “I want you doggie.”

She had manoeuvred herself into the position I wanted, her back mine to caress and kiss as I entered her moist warmth from behind, enjoying the sighs that came from her lips, as I piston my stokes.

I had clasped her buttocks in hand, moving slow awhile, parting them, to look at her anal rosebud, which served to inflame my senses even more.

The room smelt of her. Sweat dripped from me. Yet, still I pumped in and out, wanting the moment to last, but it wouldn’t, it couldn’t.

Soon I had been driving in and out quite fast, my entire length in her at times.

I’d been gripping her harder about the waist now, thrusts rougher as we had fucked, with growing urgency.

And, as I held her buttocks tight, my thighs tensed, as I shot my seed deep in her. And, she too had groaned.

Then, as I began to wilt, falling from her sex, I’d asked, “Turn over, please?”

She had: and I had parted her thighs, to lick her clean, before seeking out her clit once again.

Finally, she had shuddered, pressing her thighs tight against the side of my head as she began to climax.

After that, we had cuddled awhile, before I’d kissed her and said, “I’ve got to get home.”

“Do you have to?” She had purred, turning over, and pulling the sheet with her, exposing her legs and sweet derriére.

“Yes,” I’d assured her, “I have to. I’ll see myself out.”

I had done so. And then on the Saturday, my neighbour hang rung again, to say softly, enticingly, “Would you like to come round and have a look, at my computer?”

Pandora’s Players ~ Jason: ‘Hope Awakened’
22:48 Jan 07 2007
Times Read: 1,084






When Amanda turned away from the grimy window, the smile she had worn left her face quietly. Jason was holding his metal limb with his flesh hand, tears in his eyes.

His broad shoulders were slumped: and as he ran the back of left his hand across his jaw covered in a two-day growth of bristles, he looked every day of his forty-eight years.

“I’m not surprise,” he muttered, “who’d look at a freak like me?”

She smiled gently: unconcerned with her nakedness before him.

“After all,” he continued, looking down at the servo’s and pistons controlling his arm - “I’m not exactly Steve Austin, am I?”

The reference to a television character of nearly thirty-five years previous meant nothing to Amanda.

But, she could hear the man’s pain and said to him: “I was talking of the alcohol, not of a lack of desire…”

Jason’s tears stopped flowing, as freely and he looked up, toward Amanda and said, “You mean..?”

“I mean, I need you Jason.” She told him: and she slid back into bed, curling her left leg over him, feeling his warmth and his arousal.

“Is this sympathy?” He snarled, “Or..?”

“Affection; need; desire. Or, perhaps, a little of each…”

They kissed, nervous at first – and as the kiss continued, she thought, “After all, we all need something…”

She needed to feel.

Acceptance
14:31 Jan 03 2007
Times Read: 1,092

With long black and an olive complexion, her face framed brown eyes, a pert nose and full lips; she was of slim build, and a petite five, five.

Although attractive, it had taken her years to find the approval she sought from her peers: years of developing friendships with the right people – those who could help with her ambitions. And, she was ambitious.

She had followed several fads – each a step toward another group of friends whose company would supply the prestige she sought.

Now she was drawn to someone; and could see nothing to gain from her attraction to him. But there it was – she couldn’t help it: every time she saw him at the photography class, her heart began thumping hard, like with no other. She couldn’t explain it.

He was on the dole, had no prospects, as such: yet, she found such pleasure in his presence. It didn’t make sense.

He was friendly enough, yet never flirted with her, or gave her the attention the other guys did on the course.

She hated to admit – even to herself; but Marielle found Mark Simons attractive; and quite intriguing.

And, for a moment, as she lay her head down to sleep, Marielle wondered briefly, ‘is he gay?’ – That would explain it.

But, the next Tuesday he seemed more aloof than usual: and she had to know why. She had to!

So, as class ended, she approached him, asking, “Do you want to go for a drink?”

It wasn’t the first time she’d asked a guy out: her rationalization being that if she didn’t, then maybe she miss out on a prize catch – or, the prize catch might not catch her.

He’d turned to look at her, a sneer on his face, as he said: “Yes, but most assuredly, not with you.”

And, a Mark awoke, he recalled his dream..

“Freud would love me,” he muttered, “wish fulfilment they call that sort of thing dream, don’t they?”

It was Tuesday: and tonight Marielle would be there in class.

And Mark couldn’t help but wonder if tonight she would notice him.

Pandora’s Players ~ Mark: ‘A Knight On The Road’
15:24 Jan 02 2007
Times Read: 1,097

Nancy looked out the plate window down to the street, where she saw a battered old Ford Escort parked at the kerbside.

Standing by the vehicle was a young man, with Amanda.

The blonde looked up and waved, smiling broadly.

Amanda spoke into the phone she was holding and said, “It’s me Nancy, Amanda…”

“Oh, hello.” Nancy replied to her friends greeting, ever-so pleased to hear her voice again.

“Well, are you going to let us in?” Amanda asked, looking up smiling, “you’ve got my only set of keys, remember?”

Nancy recalled and smiled.

She’d felt safe, thanks to Amanda. Now, she was back.

Down on the street, Mark stood next to Amanda exhausted. The rigours of travel had left Mark feeling drained, while Amanda still seemed quite alert.

Yet, she still said to him: “We’ll need some milk. Will you be a sweets and get us some?” As she finished speaking Amanda blew him a kiss.

“Yes, okay!” He sighed, walking back to the car, to get in.

“Anything else?” He asked over his shoulder, watching her enter the hallway, going upstairs. No answer.

Mark closed the door and turned the ignition, trying to remember were the shops where that he’d passed getting here.

While Nancy opened the door to Amanda, Mark steered the car into the traffic, to head for the all-night shop he’d recalled just two blocks away.

He could have walked, but it’d started to rain: ‘and anyway’ he thought, ‘it’ll give ‘em a chance to gas about me,’

He turned his windscreen wipers on.

‘After all, I’ve heard a lot about Nancy and how cute she is.’

And Amanda smiled at her young friend, as the redhead ushered her into the flat, smiling warmly.

“Do make yourself at home,” she said, gesturing to the sofa; and abruptly recalled, ‘it is hers, you fool.’

Nancy blushed and Amanda laughed.

So, they embraced, each pleased to see the other, as less than half a mile away, Mark argued that milk cost far less in Wallasey.

“Well mate,” the girl serving him reminded, “You’re not in Wallasey now.”

He wanted to reply, “Yes I know; people are nice there’ – when the young assistant added, “Well, do you want the milk, or not?”

Mark blushed. He did that often nowadays; it was becoming a habit.

But, he felt intimidated.

He felt..

“Well, do you want the milk, or not?” The assistant snapped at him, drawing Mark from his reverie.

“Yeah, er.. yes.” He muttered, thrusting a pound into the startled girls hand.

“Keep the change!” He told her over his shoulder, as he opened the door and left.

Mark couldn’t help but wonder whether they were talking about him.

He was right, they were.

“And you know Nancy, he’s been a marvel, just being there for me, when I needed him.” Amanda was extolling Marks virtues; yet she was still delightfully pleased when the young woman said to her, “Like you did, for me.”

But, at the moment Mark left the shop, a hand appeared, as if from nowhere.

The hand was formed into a claw – and strong fingers clutched at his throat, as the young man was thrust against the wall.

Mark choked, staring into malevolent eyes, set within the pale face of a tall bald man, dressed in a black suit.

“We’ve been looking for you – and the box, a long time,” he intoned in a deep gravely voice.

Marks feet were off the floor, as his eyes widened, the rain falling on his face.

“Can’t breathe..” he choked.

The big man looked over his shoulder, toward a large black vehicle parked at the kerbside.

“He’s having trouble breathing,” the man shouted toward the open window and the occupant, who looked and dressed very like him.

“You could try mouth to mouth?” The man in the drivers seat called back, laughing.

And Mark thought, ‘Oh God, no,’ as the giant of a man began patting him down.

‘Oh God, no,’ he screamed inwardly, ‘the box, he’ll find the box!”

Mark was aware he would soon lose consciousness: He could feel it.

He stared into the dark eyes, knowing he had to act now, while there was still time.

‘What can I do though,’ Mark thought, panicking.

All he had to fight though was what was in his hands; the milk in his left hand, his car keys in his right: ‘The car keys!’

Instinct kicked in.

As in a desperate act, of self-preservation: Mark slashed his keys upward in an arc toward his adversaries face, as he swung the bottle of milk on top of his skull.

And Mark ran to his own car, as the big man fell to his knees, his hands holding his face as blood poured freely through his fingers.

He opened the door, got in, locked the door and looked in the rear-view mirror, all in one action.

“They’re coming,” he muttered, watching, as bright light filled the mirror, as the driver of the large black SUV started its engine.

“They’re coming..” he said again turning the ignition on and pulling out from his parking space and into the traffic.

Mark was panic struck.

Amanda and he had been talking of what would happen if they got to him.

“Protect the box,” she’d said.

“Sure miss, that I can do. But, who’ll tell me how to do it?”

Again Mark looked in the mirror: the SUV was directly behind him.

It’s lights, bright and getting brighter as it neared, the ominous nature of his fate loomed large in his minds eye.

Mark put his foot down, harder; and his old seemed to protest, as he shunted the clutch home.

“Come on baby, come on,” he entreated.

Mark couldn’t head for the flat, he knew that: he couldn’t lead them to Amanda.

As the vehicle neared further still his terror grew.

And, Amanda stood back from Nancy, as she felt his emotion, with her eyes closed, lids flickering, her arms outstretched, as if she were clutching a steering wheel.

Abruptly she opened her eyes – focussed not on Nancy, standing in front of her, but at light, blinding her, as they closed in, toward her/Mark.

She called calmed her heart and mind, so touching his heart, his mind.

And briefly she smiled – pleased that Mark could still feel her, Now.

“How do you get rid of a tail?” Mark mused with unexpected humour, as he approached the brakes, hard, as he turned right: and, he grinned, as he pushed his car to the limit.

There was purpose to his madness, so the theory went.

“How do you get rid of a tail?” He laughed, weaving madly between car after car.

“You could.. turn right.. and carry on straight.”

And, he swung the car in another right turn – a tight one, taking him into a side-street he suddenly knew of, Canal Street.

And, still the SUV drew nearer.. and the rain fell.. As, just for a moment time began to slow down, as Mark took his foot off the accelerator; and applied a handbrake stop, swinging the car the car to the left.

And, still the SUV drove on, its driver unable to match the manoeuvrability of the smaller, lighter vehicle.

And Mark didn’t look in his rear-view mirror. He didn’t need to.

Somehow he’s known the canal was there.

And, with a light smile on his face, Amanda embraced Nancy tightly.

As she drew away, she held the redheads hand, leading her to the sofa.

It was only ten minutes later that the doorbell rang; and both women went downstairs to greet Mark.

“You’re wet,” Nancy said, quite unnecessarily.

“Yes,” he responded, grinning toward Amanda, as he said, “but there are those who won’t get dry as quickly as I will!”

In his right hand he held his car keys, in his left the milk, which he’d obtained on his way back from the chase.

“So you’re back for your change?” The assistant had challenged, then looked dumbfounded, as he’d bought another pint.

“We’ve guests over,” he’d retorted, prior to leaving the shop once again.

And, as Mark sat facing the two women, the gas-fire on full, and his clothes out to dry, he smiled.

“He do you get rid of a tail?” He asked Nancy, adjusting the towel round his waist.

And Amanda just smiled: she knew this one.

“It’s easy,” he teased.

“I don’t know,” Nancy assured him, “How do you get rid of a tail?”

“Evolve!” Mark exclaimed, laughing.

And he laughed for awhile, until Amanda leant forward, with hands clasped, and said to him; “It wasn’t that funny!”

It wasn’t: he knew that. But the anxiety he’d felt earlier had dissipated and he needed to lighten his mood somewhat..

“And,” she added, “that was the nearest they’ve come to acquiring the box, since Arizona.”

Nancy felt the tension in the air after her comment – it was almost palpable.

“Box? Arizona? Please, tell me what’s going on?” She pleaded.

Mark looked to Amanda, feeling he should say something, yet couldn’t find the words, any words.

And then Amanda began to talk of their meeting; the box he’d been given to guard; and those who sought it – and why.

Her features abruptly contorted by a frown of pained anguish, Nancy froze, as her brain tried to rationalize all that she’d heard:

Nancy felt compromised: and once more she fell into a fugue state, similar to that she’d been in when Amanda had found her at the canals edge.

“Nancy?” Mark called to her anxiously, his words hardly heard.

“My friend,” Amanda began, taking Nancy’s hands in her own: “You’re safe.”

“Trust me,” she continued gently, her words soothing, “you’re safe.”

‘You’re safe.’ Nancy needed to hear that. She needed to know it was true; she had to feel safe.

And once more, Mark blushed, watching the two women hug, each resting their head on the others shoulder.

Mark felt very alone in their presence: ‘Safe,’ he mused, ‘will I ever feel safe again?’