Part 3 (written 4th January 2003)
Number 32, Ramsay Street. Next Morning.
Anne goes cross-eyed for a moment as a wave of dizziness hits her. She steels herself and gulps back the hangover cure. It may taste like pig's vomit, but at least it'll sober her up. Avoiding falling asleep on-the-job... that's going to be trickier.
"She's up before eight, it's a miracle," Lance quips deadpan as he walks into the kitchen fully-dressed. "What time did you get in last night?"
Anne looks sideways at him. "Before midnight, relax."
Lance leans on the counter. "Funny that, because Lib and I were up 'til midnight and we never saw you."
She looks annoyed. "Fine! One then."
"Anne!"
"Alright, two."
Lance merely stares impassively at her.
"Oh bloody hell! Alright, three. Happy now?"
Lance shrugs. "It's better coming from me than from mum."
Anne is forced, rather grudgingly, to agree with that. "She'd better not find out."
Lance rolls his eyes, then mimes zipping his mouth shut. "So what were you and Dee doing till three in the morning?"
Anne quickly takes another swig of the putrid drink and makes a face. "Buggered if I know what Dee was doing, she never even showed up. I ended up going to Hemisfear by myself."
"'Til three?" Lance enquires semi-dubiously.
"Yeah, so?" she asks defensively. "I met someone, alright!?"
Lance shakes his head. "Why am I even surprised? While the cat's away..." he mocks.
Anne fixes a sudden look of interest to her brother. "Speaking of which, what did you two get up to last night?" She smirks. "Bet Lib was hot for you the second I left."
Lance immediately wishes he hadn't goaded her. "Get your mind out of the gutter."
"Oh c'mon Lance, mum was away, I was away, you had the place all to yourself. Admit it, you were at it like rabbits all night weren't you."
Lance just stares at her, wondering, and not for the first time, whether they're truly related. For twins they couldn't be more different.
Anne sighs. "No, I don't suppose you were. You're both so disgustingly sweet and innocent." She looks at her brother with pity. "Seriously Lance, you need a life. You can't live vicariously through mine forever."
"There's more to life than sex," he says simply. With that said he decides to leave Anne to finish off her drink. "I have to go now, got an early tutorial. See you later, assuming you don't die from liver poisoning."
Anne is left to shake her head bemusedly at her brother's naiveness.
Tyler residence.
Darcy looks towards the bedroom as he hears a groan from inside. Still not knowing what the hell to say, he walks in and settles for a "Good morning!" as he sits down on the side of the bed.
Dee blinks a few times, her head swimming. Where is she? She looks around... seems familiar. "Darcy? Am I at your place?"
"Yes, I brought you back last night. You weren't in any state to be driving and I don't have a key to your flat anymore, so I thought..." He trails off.
"In any... what happened last night?" Dee asked, a cold chill running down her. She couldn't have, could she?
"Do you remember anything that happened at Chez Chez?" Darcy asks warily, thanking good sense that he made sure there are no breakables within stretching distance.
Dee thinks. Usually she doesn't get drunk enough to completely lose a night's memories, but she's drawing a big old blank right now. "Not really," she says slowly.
"Well it wasn't pretty. You picked a fight with me outside, then collapsed." Darcy gives her a highly condensed version of events, not sure how much he should reveal.
"A fight?" she asks, finding that difficult to believe. "A proper fight?"
Darcy shrugs. "I have the stitches in my head to prove it."
"Stitches!?" she exclaims.
"It wasn't too bad. Sheena repaired the ol' brainbox just fine, I don't think anything escaped." Darcy smiles at her, letting her know everything's alright and that he isn't holding any grudges.
Dee half exhales, half snorts. "Except maybe your sanity," she tells him. She stares at Darcy, he looks almost... friendly. She licks her lips, suddenly aware they're very dry, as is her throat.
Darcy gets up and goes into the kitchen. As he turns his back on her, Dee gasps slightly as she sees a faint line of stitches running along the back of his head. What the hell had she done to inflict that? Darcy returns with a glass of water, sitting back down again as she hesitantly accepts it and takes a quick gulp, allowing it to sooth the rawness. "You're being nice to me," she says as if the statement is a complete non-sequitur. "I didn't... did I?"
Darcy catches her unspoken question. "No!" he says hurriedly. "You cried for a while, then went out like a light."
"That still doesn't explain why you're being nice to me."
Darcy sighs. "Maybe I'm just tired of us arguing and sniping at each other." He pauses. "Maybe it's time we wipe the slate clean and start all this again. As friends?"
Dee can't believe it. She causes him actual bodily harm and he wants to be friends? "You're serious?"
"I've let you stay here, haven't I? And we've actually went a full five minutes without insulting each other. I'd say that's progress." He smiles genuinely at her. He won't repeat what she told him last night, he decides, but he'll try to fix this, if it's at all fixable.
"Progress?" Dee repeats. She struggles to take everything in through post-alcoholic haze. "More like a bloody miracle."
Darcy's eyes momentarily lose their focus as he thinks back to his meeting with Chloe Lambert. "Maybe it's the time for miracles" he says enigmatically.
Dee pulls a face, not knowing what the hell he's talking about. But he's right. They're not fighting and it's a definite improvement. "Okay, if you're willing to call a ceasefire, who am I to argue?" She looks at the glass funnily, as if almost remembering something, then shakes her head and puts it on the bedside table before slumping back onto the nice soft bed.
.
Part 4 (written 12th January 2003)
Number 22, Ramsay Street.
"I'm going to see Brett now." Cheryl pauses at the door. "Anything you want me to tell him?" she asks hesitantly.
Darren briefly looks up from where he's flipping through a stack of CDs. "Yeah. You can tell him to burn in hell!"
"Darren, he's your brother" Cheryl says, clearly disappointed.
"A fact that makes me want to throw-up on a daily basis," he answers with mild ire as he returns to his sorting. "Maybe you can forgive and forget, mum, but don't expect the rest of the family to follow suit."
Cheryl merely lowers her head despondantly for a moment, then leaves. Moments later, Lou walks downstairs. "Has Cheryl left?" Darren confirms with a nod. Lou sighs. "I'm trying to understand all this. Brett is her son, but after what he did..."
Darren snorts. "Join the club, Lou. I can't see how she can go there and talk to him as if nothing happened. If I ever see him again, I'll beat the living shit out of him."
Lou lets the comment go. A lot of people feel that way, and if he's being honest with himself, he can't say that he wouldn't let them. "Well, I'm off myself," he says, pulling on his cuffs. "Charlene wants to have a meeting about the garage contract. I think she wants to renegotiate."
Darren smiles slightly. "Watch out for her, she can play hardball with the best of them."
"Don't I know it," Lou grumbles. If there was ever an award to be given for sheer force of personality, Charlene Robinson would win it hands down. "Good luck with the radio slot," he tells Darren as he opens the door.
Darren glances up again. "Thanks," he says as the door closes. As he flips through the CD rack, he stops and pulls one out. Looking at the back, he nods to himself and places it to one side.
Grease Monkeys. Lunchtime.
The waitress hurries over to a table, carrying two trays, one balanced in each hand. As she reaches her destination, she expertly lowers one of them down to the tabletop, and switches the other tray to both hands.
"How you do that without everything crashing to the floor is a mystery," Drew says.
"Well I'm a very mysterious person, it's part of my allure," Penny answers with a small smile.
Drew can't help but smile back. "You're a relentless flirt, Penny."
"Have you seen Dee this morning?" she asks, changing the subject. "She looked wrecked when she came in. It's a miracle Hansen didn't notice."
Drew frowned a little. "Toadie told me there was some trouble at the pub last night. She glassed Darcy apparently."
Penny's eyes go wide. She knew that Dee was feeling down, but didn't expect to hear that. "What happened?" she asked, sitting down in the chair opposite and setting the second tray down. "Darcy didn't call the police, did he?"
"No, actually I think he took her home."
Penny furrows her brow. "I didn't think he had a heart."
"Ease up on Darcy will you?" Drew asks. "He's not the demon Dee's obviously made him out to be."
"I know you're both friends, Drew, but Darcy still has to lot to answer for."
"I just don't think you're getting the whole story," Drew argues. "You know what Dee's like. She sees something and draws her own conclusions. Remember when she thought I was growing marajuana at the garage and called the cops on me?"
Penny shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "I'm not saying she isn't a little hotheaded, but she still doesn't deserve what Darcy did to her."
"Just hear the guy out, that's all I'm asking." Drew can't blame her for defending a friend, it's what he's dong after all.
Penny stares at him. She knows he knows something about that whole mess, but she hasn't been able to get it out of him. "Alright. But only because you asked me to."
"WATTS!" a shout comes from the staff only door.
Penny turns and sees the stern expression on her boss' face. He gestures over to where an impatient looking customer is waiting for his order. She winces. "Gotta go, talk later," she says quickly, picking up her tray and rushing over to resume her work.
And still the tray does not fall, Drew thinks, looking after her.
Lambert Corporation, Research & Application of Technology division...
Or RAT as most of the people working there call it. One meeting with the head of division and it's easy to see why, Darcy muses to himself as he walks out of his office. Marc Lambert is a slimy looking piece of work with little understanding of the projects he's overseeing. His only concern is how much money each new technology can make him. As far as he's concerned, the ERP Bridge is a pointless pipedream worth nothing.
Fortunately for Darcy, Chloe Lambert had been more open-minded. She was as good as her word, and as soon as Darcy signed the contract, she'd made the bank transfer. He'd checked his balance at lunchtime and couldn't believe it when seven figures stared back at him. That million is his down payment on the future.
As he enters his assigned lab and moves through it, one white-coated assistant with long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, rushes over to him. "Doctor Tyler, they told me you'd signed on here but I couldn't believe it... wow! I've... I've read all your papers, your work on superstring theory is fascinating," she gushes excitedly.
Darcy smiles. A fan, now there's something he hasn't seen in a while. "Why thank you, Miss...?"
"Scully, Stephanie Scully. But you can just call me Steph if you prefer. Everyone else does," she says nervously.
"Well, thank you for the compliments, Steph. Now, could you do me a favour and introduce the team to me before we start work?"
"Absolutely," Steph says, "no problem at all." She turns around. "Ah... if you'd come this way, Doctor."
Darcy chuckles to himself, taking an instant liking to the nervous and eager to please young scientist. "Please, call me Darcy. I like to keep my lab pretty informal. After all, we are going to be working quite closely together for the next few months, it would be silly to insist on titles." And the closer the better.
.
Part 5 (written 4th March 2003)
Woodridge Prison. Early afternoon.
Brett looks up as the door to the large visitation room is opened. It's mum of course. Who else would it be? The officer waits just inside the door as he walks over to the table, passing a prisoner who's enjoying a visit from his wife and kids. Two more officers are stationed in the room. They don't take any chances here, security has tightened a lot since the ultra-liberal '80s.
Brett looks stony-faced as he sits down at the small table. "So what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" he tells her, a sarcastic edge to his voice.
"I wanted to see how you were doing," Cheryl answers. "Everyone's asking about you."
"Don't lie, mum," Brett tells her impassively. "No-one else gives a stuff about me. You know that, I know that, so why lie?"
"That's not true," Cheryl starts, "Darren and Dan-" But she's cut off.
"Darren hates my guts and as far as Danni is concerned she only has one brother," Brett says, his demeanor more animated. "She made that perfectly clear even before the trial."
Cheryl looks down momentarily. "Give them time, Brett," she replies softly. "They're trying to understand, it's just..."
"Understand what, mum? What's there to understand? Because as far as I can see, I'm in here for no reason other than the slut feeling guilty about cheating on her boyfriend."
Cheryl looks uncomfortable at the growing agitation in her son. "Brett, the bruises-" But she can't get the sentence out.
"Don't give me that again," Brett warns her. "You know you're starting to sound like the prosecuter. She liked the rough stuff! Everything I did to her was entirely consensual."
Cheryl reddens. Hearing the words come out of his mouth is still a shock. It only seems like yesterday she was clapping in the audience at the end of his elementary school's nativity play. Brett was eight and one of the main narrators. She'd been so proud of him.
He leans forward angrily. "What's the matter, mum? Don't you like hearing the truth? Or is it just you can't stand the fact I'm not your sweet, naive little Brettles anymore." One of the officers starts to move forward, but stops as Brett notices the movement and forces himself to relax back into his seat. "Sorry mum," he says more calmly. "You have to realise that I'm an adult now though. And as such I have adult relationships. We all do. You think Danni and Mal sleep in seperate beds at night?"
Whatever Danni does, Cheryl knows it doesn't even come close to what Brett apparently practices. She says nothing though. She can't believe, doesn't want to believe that Brett could be guilty of this. "I contacted Mr Moore," she says, changing the subject. "He's going to lodge the appeal first thing tomorrow."
"Good!" Brett replies. He looks pointedly at her. "You do believe I'm innocent, don't you mum?"
Cheryl nods quickly. "Of course, Brett. Of course I do."
Mother and son continue to talk for maybe ten minutes. Cheryl lets Brett know about the current goings on in the street, although his siblings remain a sore subject. Eventually the bell for lunch goes and Brett is led away.
As he enters the dining area, two prisoners watch him take his position in line from their table. "Are we ready?" one says to the other.
"It's all set up, Mitch" the other replies. "When we're finished, Stark won't even be able to move, never mind scream."
"Good!" Mitch says with a dangerous look in his eyes.
Number 24, Ramsay Street. Late afternoon.
Charlene sits at the table and drinks a cup of coffee, looking completely and utterly fed-up. Papers and files lie strewn in front of her. She's taking a break from her negotiations with Lou. A well-deserved break in her opinion. God, that man could make arguing the toss an olympic event and win it too.
"Look," Lou starts, walking back in from the front-room.
"Don't even think it, Lou," Charlene snaps, not giving him the chance to finish. "I'm not in the mood."
Lou pauses. "I was about to say that we should stop going over the contract and talk about what's really bothering you instead," he continues when he's sure he can get it all out.
Charlene looks up at him. "What?" she asks, not understanding.
"It's obvious from the way you're worked up that there's something else on your mind," Lou offers, sitting down. "I'd like to help, if I can."
Charlene looks momentarily surprised. "I... it's nothing."
"I'm more than your business associate, Charlene, I'm your friend. When Harold died, I promised both his spirit and Madge's that I'd look out for you, and I meant that."
Sometimes it's been hard to see Lou as having been her mother's best friend. But at other points it becomes all too obvious. Does she have the right to unload this on him though?
"Talk to me," he offers. "Is it to do with the family?"
Charlene huffs. "I'm not even sure we are a family anymore."
Lou's eyes widen slightly. "I didn't realise things were that bad."
Charlene looks pained. "They're not really, but... well..." She sighs. "I don't know, I just don't know. You'd think this would be a new start for us, especially after that business with the Herald and..." She trails off.
Lou knows full well what else had happened, but tactfully doesn't finish the sentence.
"Nothing's changed though," she says. "Scott's off on one of his crusades again. He hardly ever spends time at home anymore. I'm... stuck trying to keep this business alive so we can keep the kids fed. It's..." She looks frustrated. "I was never meant to be a bloody accountant. What happened to my life, Lou?"
"It's changed, as everyone's lives do from time to time. Nothing stays the same forever."
"Maybe not the same, but you'd at least think we could stay happy," Charlene complains.
Lou doesn't know what to say to that. It's unfair, but sometimes life is just like that. It throws you a ton weight and expects you to soldier on and carry it. It's happened to him enough times over the years. "Where is Scott now?" he asks.
"Off chasing up a contact for the story he's working on," she says bitterly. "If she's young, blonde and pretty, I'll kill him."
Lou frowned. "Charlene, you don't really think Scott would play away, do you?"
"I don't know," she answers simply, causing Lou to look at her in dismay. "I wish I could be confident enough to say no, but all the time he's spending away from us... maybe it's all just an excuse. Maybe he's looking for something better than this."
Lou just looks at her, feeling at a loss for words. How could such a perfect marriage go so wrong?
Lassiter's Lake. Early evening.
Scott checks his watch and restlessly paces the grass. She's late. Five more minutes, he thinks to himself. Then he sees her near the bandstand, constantly checking to make sure no-one is around to see her. She moves quickly over to him, a manilla folder underneath her arm. "It's about time!" he says a little more sharply than he means. "I was about to call Toadie and ask him where the hell you were."
"No!" she says, alarmed. "I don't want to get Jarrod involved any more than he already is. He's been good to me and Emily and I don't want him to lose his job over this."
"This story is important, Maggie," he tells her, toning his temper down a notch, but still admonishing.
"So is our lives," Maggie says as forcefully as she can muster, defending both herself and her best friend. "I'm doing you a favour here. Do you even realise what could happen to me if anyone finds out I took these?"
Scott forces himself to calm down. "Alright, I'm sorry. Now can you give me what you've got? Unless I'm mistaken you'll have to get these back before anyone realises they're missing, right?"
Maggie thrusts the folder at him and steps back. "I don't know why I'm doing this."
"Because it's the right thing to do," Scott tells her absently as he opens the folder and pulls out a stack of papers, scanning their contents. Several names catch his eye, the Mayor of Erinsborough just one of them. "This is good stuff," he murmers as he flicks through the stack. There's accounting receipts, internal memos, everything. "I knew Lambert was crooked."
"I don't buy it," Maggie says, causing Scott to look back up at her.
"It's all here in black and white, Maggie."
"And I'm telling you I don't believe it. Chloe Lambert may not be a saint, but she's the most considerate employer I've ever had."
"Means nothing, Maggie. It's all a front, to throw off suspicion."
"I still don't believe it."
"Then why did you give me this?" he asks, looking pointedly at the uncomfortable lawyer-in-training.
"I don't know."
"Well, while you're thinking about that, I'm going to get these photocopied. Don't wander off anywhere, okay?"
"Are you kidding?" Maggie exclaims. "I'm too scared someone will see me with you. I'm staying right here." She points firmly to the ground.
Scott nods and leaves the lakeside, walking rather than running so as to not draw attention to himself. Anyone passing by would simply think he's taking a shortcut home from work.
.
Part 6 (written 12th April 2003)
The Erinsborough News Offices. Early evening.
Scott half walks, half jogs through to the main office. Good, there's no-one here to ask any questions. The Erinsborough News isn't exactly a big metropolitan, so people rarely work late if they can help it, but occasionally you'll see the odd reporter finishing off a story they're stuck on.
He walks into the copy-room and goes straight to the large photocopier, placing one of the papers from the file Maggie had given up him on the plate and hitting the green button. As the copy slides out of the the machine though, the sound of the door opening again is heard. Scotts snaps his head to the side, but relaxes a little as he sees who it is. "What are you still doing in here?" he asks questioningly.
Anne blinks as she looks at him, her hand still on the doorhandle. "Guess I fell asleep at my desk. That thing woke me up."
Scott shook his head slightly. "Again? Too many late nights, Anne, it's catching up with you." He turns back to the copier, replacing the first sheet with another from the file.
"Such is the glamourous lifestyle of a gossip columnist, what can I do?" Anne says playfully as she stifles a yawn. "I have to be sociable."
"Sociable, that's what you're calling it now is it," Scott replies with a smile. "I don't think Mike agreed when you handed him your expenses form last week. A two hundred dollar drinks bill? Are you trying to give him a heart attack?"
"Some sources require more encouragement to talk than others, s'not my fault," she tells him with mock indignation. "Anyway, you don't have the excuse I do, so what are you doing lurking around?"
"I just need to copy these files. I've got to get them back to a contact asap."
"Oh!" Anne says, understanding. "The big story huh?"
"Yeah!" Scott says absently.
"The big story that Mike expressly told you not to work on anymore?"
Scott goes quiet for a moment and turns his attention away from what he's doing to look at her. "Er... yeah, you do know not to mention this to anyone, right? Especially Mike."
Anne scrunches up her face in thought. "Mmm, now I don't know about that. This information could help me out when my expenses come up for review."
"Anne!" Scott threatens.
"What?" she replies in all innocence, putting a hand to her chest. "I'm just being conscientious. You've been a very naughty boy, Scott, going behind our beloved Editor's back like this."
Scott deflates, looking resigned. "Alright Anne, what's your price?"
Anne saunters up to him and slips a hand inside his shirt, running her fingers over his bare chest. "I think you already know my price."
Scott's breathing becomes short. He can't say he isn't tempted, Anne is beautiful. But what about Charlene? What about her? he tells himself. All they seem to do now is fight. God knows he's trying to do the best for the family, but she never acknowledges that. Things are always his fault. She never lets him forget.
Does that give him the right to do this, though?
"Don't look so pensive. It's not like I'm asking you to leave her," Anne tells him, guessing at the cause for his hesitation. "Call this... a business transaction. I have the information, you have the currency." She can see him wavering, but he isn't biting. This is no good, she'll have to reel him in. She slips her hand out and takes a step back. "It'll be a shame to see you leave the paper, not many spunks like you work here. Oh well!" She turns her back on him.
"Wait!" Scott's voice calls her back. Damn it, he can't afford to lose another job. Not this soon. He makes a decision. If he's going to be blamed for everything anyway, he might as well actually do something to get blamed for.
Anne smirks before she turns back to him. Hook, line and sinker.
.
Part 7 (written 21st April 2003)
Lambert Corporation, Research & Application of Technology division. Night.
Steph momentarily takes off the small pair of glasses she wears for close-up work, rubbing the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger.
Darcy spots the action and puts down the resistor he was holding. "You're tired, Steph, go home."
Steph shakes her head slightly as she puts the glasses back on. "We've still got a lot to do," she murmers. "This deadline-"
"Can wait" Darcy interrupts. "You and the others have put in a lot of work today, you need a rest."
She looks up at him. "You don't know Marc Lambert like I do, Doctor Tyler. If we don't make an impression at the presentation on Friday, he'll sideline this project so far it'll never see daylight again." Steph is frustrated at the ludicrously short deadline they've been given to prove themselves. Six days... what does he expect them to do in six days? This morning she'd hyped herself up into thinking that this may actually happen, now all she sees is the project falling from favour, taking her with it.
Darcy ignores that she's just used his formal title again. "The Corporation have spent a lot bringing me in, I'm sure they're not going to waste that money."
She looks away back to the archway in front of them. "You don't understand."
"Look, I'll finish up here and give you a lift home. Things will look better in the morning."
Steph just glances back at him and seeing he won't take no for an answer, nods reluctantly. She's too exhausted to really argue. Sitting on the edge of a lab bench, she folds her arms and closes her eyelids, just for a moment...
"You're the first Scully t' really make it in the world. I'm proud of y', luv."
"You're very beautiful, Steph. No-one knows that more than I do."
"I love you."
"I can't believe this is happening!"
"I've gone along with your wild ideas for long enough. This is fantasy, Steph, it's never going to happen."
"I can make this work."
"Never going to happen."
"It's my life, Marc."
"NO!"
"Steph?"
Steph's eyes shoot open as a hand touches her shoulder. She flinches away.
Darcy looks curiously at her. "Are you okay, Steph? You seemed to doze off for a bit there."
She looks around herself and breaths a sigh of relief. "I'm... I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" Darcy is concerned. For a moment she looked almost frightened. Even now she's skittish. She just nods mutely at him. "Are you ready to go?" he asks.
Steph notices he has his jacket on, a funny looking green thing made out of what appears to be snakeskin. It looks so absurd, she can't help but emit a nervous giggle.
Darcy's brow furrows. "What?"
Steph stifles her amusement. "I'm sorry. Um... your jacket..."
"Ah!" He smiles at her. "Didn't you know, green is the new black?" Steph stifles another giggle as she begins to look more composed. Darcy guides her towards the exit and looks once behind him as he switches off the lights. Six days nothing! They'll finish this and blow Marc Lambert's mind.
Number 30, Ramsay Street. Night.
"Ever felt that there's something missing from your life?" Drew is in a rather introspective mood as he sits on the couch. A football game is on TV, but he can't get interested in it.
"Yeah, right now it's a family-size pepperoni pizza and a can of beer," Toadie quips. "Aw, c'mon ref, foul!"
"I'm serious, Toadie," Drew tells him. "The last few weeks now, I've been... I don't know, restless I guess."
Toadie nods sagely. "It's just a side-effect of living in Dumpsville, mate," he says, not taking his eyes of the TV. "Geri was a babe, but she was totally the wrong chick for you. It's better you found out now than further down the track." At the silence he gets, Toadie turns his head. "Do you really want her back?"
Drew glances irritatedly at him. "Cheating bitch can rot for all I care."
"That's m'boy!" Toadie smirks, turning back to the TV.
"What if I don't find anyone else though?" Drew asks.
Toadie sighs. "Here's an idea. How about you stop looking for the one person you're going to marry and just have fun? Play the field! Say yes to one of those bazillion and one propositions you get on a regular basis."
Drew looks uncomfortable. "I don't get that many."
Toadie slowly turns back to him with a serious expression on his face. "Drew, if I got even half the offers you've turned down, I'd be able to have my very own orgy. Just try it, okay? Hell, Penny'd volunteer to be your first guinea-pig if you'd let her."
"Penny's not interested in me like that" Drew affirms as the front door is opened.
Toadie shakes his head as he turns his attention back to the game. Blind as well as crazy.
Penny steps into the lounge and leans over the couch, her arms resting on the back. "Hey guys, did I just hear my name being taken in vain?"
"Drew was just wondering-" Toadie starts, but he's interrupted by Drew who knows what he's about to blurt out.
"I was just wondering what you're doing back so early?" he asks nonchalantly. "Where's your shadow?"
"Anne cancelled," Penny says glumly. "She called my mobile about twenty minutes ago, said something had come up at the paper. So I guess you guys have the pleasure of my company tonight." She smiles sweetly. "Any ideas what we can do?"
"Well," Toadie starts, but earns himself a glare from Drew before he can say anything more.
"What?" Penny asks, noticing the exchange.
"Nothing!" Toadie says innocently. "Hey, does anyone want pizza?"
"Love one" Penny grins as she walks around the couch and sits between the two men.
Drew looks sideways at him. "Yeah, I guess" he says slowly.
"Great!" Toadie jumps up and grabs his jacket from the other chair.
"Aren't you going to phone it in?" Drew asks quickly.
"Nah, I fancy a walk. Let me know how the game goes. Bye." Toadie hurries out of the door before Drew can think of another reason to stop him.
"So, it's just us then." Penny smiles endearingly at him.
"Guess so," Drew says, not at all sure what Toadie thinks he's going to accomplish with this set-up. Like he told him, Penny's not interested. Not like that anyway. He doesn't notice Penny carefully edging closer to him.
.
Part 8 (written 26th April 2003)
Woodridge Prison. Night.
"Lights off in ten minutes," a voice comes over the speaker down the corridor.
Brett sighs as he lies back on his bunk, one hand behind his head, a book in the other. It wasn't necessary to put him in isolation. Sure, words were said and threats thrown around, but he knows the scum in here are all talk. They can't touch him and they know it. The Governor though thought differently. As a sex offender, he's deemed at high-risk, so here he is. He just wishes isolation isn't so damn boring.
A jangle of keys alerts Brett to the presence of a guard entering the block. The security gate is shut and the guard's footsteps echo ominously down the corridor. Yeah, like that's really going to bother him. Simple accoustics designed to intimidate simple minds.
The guard appears in the open doorway. "Lights out time, Stark" he says calmly.
Brett doesn't even look at him. "Watch running fast, Officer Jenkins?" he answers boredly. "There's ten minutes yet."
The guard smirks. "I wasn't referring to the overheads."
More footsteps are head. Brett furrows his brow slightly and turns his head to the doorway. His eyes widen as he sees Mitch standing there with his ugly gorilla of a mate. "What?"
"I thought I'd let your friends pay you a little visit, just for tonight." The guard glances at the two other inmates. "Enjoy yourselves boys. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
Mitch smirks himself, knowing something that Stark doesn't. That Jenkins is about as straight as a u-bend. The officer casually walks away, back to the gate. "Well old buddy, old pal" Mitch drawls, wandering into the cell itself and shutting the door behind them.
Brett shifts his legs off the bed and stands up. "What do you want, Mitch?" He tries not to sound nervous, but he hadn't expected this turn of events.
"Just paying back what I owe you, Stark."
"I told you what happened, she-"
Mitch leaps forward like a tiger and grabs Brett, slamming him against the cell wall. "I don't care what sick crap you get up to with other women, Stark," he snarls, "but Marnie was my sister."
Brett's heart is thudding in his chest now. "Look, I didn't do anything that she didn't want me to do." But his attempt at explanation only serves to anger Mitch even more. He throws Brett into his well-built, shaven-headed accomplice, who proceeds to lock Brett's arms behind him. He's now visibly panicking. "Alright Mitch, I admit it may have got a little out-of-hand, but I swear-"
"Shut up, Stark," Mitch orders as he moves menacingly over to him.
"But I-"
Mitch slams a fist into his gut. "I said shut! The fuck! Up!" More blows serve as punctuation.
Brett's face turns red as he doubles over, struggling to breathe. "Mitch!" he gasps. His only reply is another thump, and another. The gorilla throws him against the door and he collapses to the floor in a world of pain. Brett looks upwards through hazy vision to see them advancing again.
"Look at him, Dunc," Mitch sneers. "The brat's blubbin' already." He lays a boot in, making Brett cough and choke with the pain. Mitch goes down onto one knee, roughly yanking him upright by his throat. "Suck it in, Stark, 'cause this is only the beginnin'. I'm gonna do to you exactly what you did to Marnie."
Brett can only look at Mitch in utter terror.