The hallpass was a waste of time, they cut through the school without anyone asking for it. Outside into the auben coloured afternoon. Cold wind immediately raised goosebumps on Grier's arms. "So. Where are you taking me off to that's more important than my edjacashion?" She said it playfully, but with an edge of seriousness.

Amy was setting a brisk pace along the driveway and out onto the road. Her arms were folded tight across her chest. 'C'mon Grier. You're not this much of a hopeless square. Enough with the supernerd reaction-formation. Deal with some uncertainty.'

'Thank you Freud. I'm serious though, I'm not cutting to go to the mall or something. Getting good grades and a scholarship is my ticket out of this town and all the towns like it.'

Grier heard a small sound come from the girl striding beside her. It sounded like a snort. But the next second Amy turned, grabbed her hand, and said 'Oh sure, I understand. Let's hurry now though, huh? It's really freaking cold today.' She headed up the road then at a truly remarkable pace, dragging Grier along behind. Grier had thought they were walking fast already. But now she was almost running to keep up.

In less than five minutes she was exhausted, gulping in lungfuls of icy air in shallow gasps. She hated physical exertion of any kind. God, why am I doing this? she thought. I should just go home. But she didn't.

A few minutes and what felt like a bad gym class later they arrived in town. Amy pulled her across a couple of streets and finally stopped on the pavement between a 'Toys R Us' store and tiny hairdressers, the kind where men go to get their hair cut for 5 dollars. She dropped Grier's hand.

Grier immediately bent over, clutching the stitch in her side. She could feel Amy watching her, could sense her distate. For some reason it made her feel ashamed. She straightened, trying to make her breathing more quiet and normal. She shot a look at the elevator heading up through Toys R Us. 'Are we at the mall?'

'The one and only one in the Tribune greater area, yep.'

There was something overtly sarcastic and belittling in Amy's tone. But when she headed into the toy store Grier found herself following. 'I've got a jacket on lay-buy I want to pick up. Anyway, don't diss the mall. Malls are meccas of potential learning. Think about it. They're supercomplexes that have gathered within them everything society considers valuable. Sacred and desired artifacts locked in glass cases. Long, brilliantly lit corridoors, everything visible at one glance within them from one end to the other. A sense of abundant choice and luxury paired with a powerful, homogenising sense of security. It's all here.'

Grier's mouth quirked at this monologue. But she only murmured 'I don't wanna be at the mall.' The words died on her lips as she stepped off the smoothly gliding metal steps and looked up. It was a shopping centre of exquisite construction, rising in wide squares over three levels and open in the centre with a huge, glass-domed roof above. One quick scan revealed, inexplicably, the presence of all the boutique brands and chains that'd be found in a very large metropolis. But it was a sight more marvelous that stopped Grier in her tracks. Rising from the ground below through the centre of the squares, almost to the glass roof, was a different kind of structure, a far older one. It was a perfectly cylindrical tower, made of huge hewn-granite slabs; a solid, windowless, doorless, spire.

'Pretty cool huh? It's a heritage building. Over 250 years old. They preserved it when they built this up around it in the 60's.'

'But what is it?'

'A prison tower.' Grier turned to face Amy in amazement. Amy smiled. 'Yeah, a real prison tower. Like the one Richard III supposedly executed his two young nephews in. There is a door, right up at the top, facing the other direction.'

'But-' Grier didn't even know how to voice all the mad objections to this looming finger of stone in front of her.'

'Why'd they ever build a replica of the Tower of London in a little backwoods country town? Who knows. There's no record of who built it, or why. It was used as a temporary holding cell though, through the nineteenth century up until the beginning of this one. Criminals who were to be put to death were kept here the night before their execution. At first they hung them right in front of the tower. Until it was decided by some congressional-comittee that the putting to death of men and women was no longer to be deemed a public spectacle. That seems to miss the point, doesn't it?' Amy was walking again, Grier realised, and she stepped quickly to catch up. 'How can you strike the fear of God's retribution into the hearts of those who would commit serious crimes if they can't see the consequences? It renders the act of execution itself merely another amoral instance of meaningless brutality.'

'No, it merely serves a different kind of morality.' Grier murmered. Her mind wasn't fully focussed on the conversation. 'A more abstract sense of justice. Evil has made an assault on good and the balance can only be reddressed by revisiting the misdeed in kind. A life for a life. A need for cosmic harmony, a careful accounting, a credit and debit sheet. This is a private thing, an elemental thing, it is better done behind closed doors. Later the moral philosophy was refined, it was maintained that there are certain inalienable, inhuman, God-given principles that must be upheld at all costs. The value of life, for example, must be guaranteed by the state, even if the necessary price is the taking of life.'

'Is that what you believe?' Amy asked, glancing quickly over at Grier.

'I'm not sure I believe there are absolute spiritual truths. I think believing in them is like believing the clear blue day-sky is the cap of the universe, almost close enough to touch, and ignoring the huge galaxy of lights, unimaginably far away, that night brings. But I do think life in all its complexity and with all its flaws is the only meaningful receptacle, in all the infinite chances of the world. It is the only pattern former, the only pattern breaker. The only surely sacred thing, maybe; the bloodflow, the delicate and perishable network of arteries and veins, of thoughts and sensory information. I don't think extinguishing that is the answer. I don't believe in simple, elegant, brutal concepts like the death penalty.'

'You're a humanist then.' There was something almost laughingly mocking (or was it bitter?) in Amy's voice that bought Grier out of her reviere, her eyes off the tower and onto the girl's face. But she'd turned towards a large Bennetton shop. 'I have to duck in here and grab that jacket.'

They went in together, past rows of conservative wollen pants and well made, colourful shirts. Grier wondered again how a brand-shop like this could survive in a little place like Tribune. Amy paid the last installment on a long and lovely black suede jacket, modelling it for Grier before the shop assistant wrapped it in tissue and put it in a cute, elasticised carry bag.

They walked out together, Amy swinging the bag energetically. Grier chuckled at the childlikeness of this behaviour, in spite of the tension between them. 'Jaunty' she said, one eyebrow raised.

Amy grinned in return. 'Let's go get a coffee.'

She led the way up two more escalators to a comfy and tacky looking Starbucks. Grier got a long black and sunk down ona free bench, next to a cheesy yellow couch occupied by a bunch of young kids, obviously cutting school as she herself was. Several other people were patronising the place, mostly older, professionally dressed types. Amy tottered over, carefully carrying a Vienna coffee with a huge swirl of whipped cream rising over the mug it was in, almost as tall again as the mug.

They sipped their coffees in silence. Grier had so many questions swirling around her head she didn't have a clue where to start and Amy seemed content to give all her attention to her cup, only sometimes glancing Grier's way through lowered eyelashes.

'Do you like Starbucks?' Grier said finally.

'Sure. You want any kind of coffee, they'll make it for you here.'

'Mm.. but it's such a.. franchise. The places I've lived, people avoid them like the plauge. They're strictly for country tourists. The same might be said for most of the shops you have in this complex actually....'

'Well where do you think you are honey? Tribune is about as deep country as you can get. The nearest city is like 400 miles away. Many of us have never been to a city at all. Don't begrudge us a few nostalgic luxuries.'

'But it's so strange, almost against the grain of reason, having all these places here. What about local traders? How do they survive? And who could afford to buy the rights to all these franchises?'

'You might think of us as country hicks Grier but don't make the mistake of thinking of us as poor country hicks. Most of us here have money. There are some here who are extremely wealthy, indecently so.'

'Oh.' Grier said. As if that explained things. It didn't, it only deepend the mystery. They lapsed into silence again for a while. Amy had put her spoon down on her saucer and was shoving her purse into the plastic bag when Grier ventured one last question. 'And you? Are you going to travel, see other places? After this year, after school's finished, maybe?'

'Can't. My family needs me here.' Amy snapped immediately, standing up. 'Besides, like I said, the city's here. Don't need to leave.' Her smile looked bleakly ironic.

Grier stood up too, feeling uncertain. The tension between them was stronger, more ominous, than ever.

'I've got one more place I need to go,' Amy said evenly. 'But you can go home now. If you promise to visit me tonight.'

'Where else do you have to go?' Grier asked, stalling for time, not sure she wanted to do anything else ever with this girl.

'The tower shop.' Amy smiled at Grier's look. 'It wouldn't interest you. No execution paraphenalia. It just sells ointments, bath oils, herbal cures, that sort of thing. Against the rational grain you know.' They'd walked out of Starbucks, in an anti-clockwise direction back to the elevators. 'So will you come over tonight? I think we can be friends. You'll need some friends here. New girl.'

They'd reached the opposite side of the square. Grier stared in fascination at the lone door, sticking out of the side of that ugly black tower, with a steel mesh bridge linking it to the elegantly modern third story balcany. Beaded strings hung over the entrance, hiding what was inside. 'Ok' she said. She was afraid, moreso now than before, when she hadn't admitted to feeling it, but had felt it more and more throughout the day. *Afraid*. But she was intrigued too.

'Great. I'll just give you my address.' Amy haphazadly tore a piece of paper from one of her textbooks, scrawling the street name and number above some algebraic exercises. Grier put it in her pocket. She looked at the tower again. Yes that was some kind of flower painted over the door. In black.

'It'll be fun. We might rent some dvds. I'll get some snacks. Come about 8 and don't be late. Some other people are coming too.'

'Who?' Grier called after her, suddenly paying attention again. Amy said over her shoulder; 'Alex, Naiad, Jewel and Russ. My best friends.'