Part 1I
"Can I get you a cup of coffee?"
It was a cliché, the part of him that remembered that kind of stuff knew that. Also that there should be donuts. The pink, iced kind with the sprinkles, spilling out in a slovenly fashion from a dented Krispy Kreme carton. Here though, there was none of that. Officer Carol Fredrick's workspace was a model of organised efficiency; her stapler and ruler at neat ninety degree angles to her blotter and notebook, her pens colour-coded, her telephone sanitised. Hell, even Carol herself seemed to exude a faint, pleasant aroma of Lysol.
"So..."
Her ball-point, carefully selected no doubt for it's deep-blue sombre hue, tapped out a brusque staccato rhythm.
"This memory loss. Is it something that happened suddenly? Or have there been similar episodes in the past?"
Briefly he considered the question, his brow creasing in a slight frown before he answered her.
"Hard to say really."
Their eyes met and he noticed that hers were the exact colour of maple syrup. She was frowning a little too, empathetically. Smiled with a slight flush of embarrassment and gave a tiny awkward little laugh.
"Oh jeez, of course. Sorry!"
Her pen made the tiniest sound as she wrote, like a beetle walking, but all his senses felt riveted to it. The words curved and twisted as she drew the line out, filling one neat horizontal box after another with her perfectly even hand. Even upside down he could make out the words:
...possibly due to amnesia, but otherwise seems entirely...
"What's that word?"
Her eyes refocused on his, another small awkward smile as she realised what he was doing, before she followed his pointing fingertip.
"...cognisant?"
"Oh. Right."
That was fair. Another glance to reassure herself that he was in agreement and she continued, looping and forming the letters that would make up her report. The clock sitting between them had a loud overzealous tick and he tried unsuccessfully to ignore it, watched the two flies circling the light fitting instead; their soft heavy drone making him think of decay and rot. Of food gone bad and deserted stifling rooms. Wondered why. Wondered whether that was what everyone thought of when they heard a fly.
Officer Fredrick's pen made a full stop, very decisively, and his attention was drawn back. Her last sentence was unclear.
"So basically, what I think we should do now is....make some...ah...further enquires."
A strand of hair had worked it's way free from the elasticated band she had strained it back into, and as she spoke it fell slowly forward, snaking sinuously down from behind one ear. Watching her expression, he could see she had become aware of it almost immediately but was struggling against the need to deal with it.
"In these kind of situations I think it's pretty normal for a person to feel...a little disorientated and to act oddly, so I'm certainly not going to hold the incident this morning against you. And I'm certain no charges will be filed..."
A half inch more, and he was sure the tickle at her jaw line must be almost unbearable by now.
"I'm sure once Phil and Claire know what happened, they'll be happy enough to forget about the whole thing."
God, how could she stand it? Just watching the damn thing made his own face itch. He frowned again and looked away, studied his fingernails as he listened to her pleasant warm, white-bread tone continue her litany.
"All we can really do is hope that someone somewhere has filed a missing person's report with the authorities, because without that we're basically just feeling in the dark, if you get my meaning. At the moment there doesn't seem to be anything fitting your description, but we should know more in a few hours when the officer from County comes...."
Her voice hitched suddenly in the middle and he glanced up, saw her reaching into her desk drawer. She nodded at him with a slightly weary, embarrassed air as she palmed an inhaler, rolled her eyes and took a deep measured pull from it. Her lungs rasped drily, and he waited for a moment for her to collect herself again. The clock ticked. Flies, and the dull distant roar of the air-conditioning.
He wasn't sure of course, but this might very well be his first time in a police station. There was a unique, almost olfactory tension in the air, and an unfamiliarity of atmosphere that he felt sure he would remember if he'd experienced it ever before. As well as which, it seemed as if his face was unknown to the local PD, so if he had once been a career criminal at least that meant he'd been a careful one. Carol Fredrick's search had been a short but extremely efficient one, and he supposed that her inability to find any record of his existence so far had probably frustrated her more than it had him. Despite his earlier optimism, he hadn't expected an instant solution to his predicament, although his spirits did flag a little at the realisation that no one was missing him. At least no one who felt his absence worth reporting yet.
"Sorry about that."
Officer Fredrick took another deep breath, and finally pushing that strand of hair back, secured it.
"So....when the officer from County comes on duty I'll be able to find out a little more. Until then I suggest you maybe just make yourself comfortable in our waiting area, and I can arrange for the doctor to come see you in a little while."
She was a nice woman, he tell that. Kindness was evident in her every movement, even in the careful, measured way she sipped coffee from her Styrofoam cup. She was obviously used to dealing with the confused and chaotic, and it occurred to him that that's exactly what he was. Confused and chaotic; a brain that had simply short-circuited.
"Is there anything else you'd like to ask me?"
Her eyes were maple syrup, warm and full of sympathy. Idly, he considered the idea of kissing her. She thought he was crazy anyway, and her lips were very pretty even if her face was long and a little equine. Dismissed it.
"So I just...wait?"
A fly made a slow, noisy pass of his ear and he swatted it away irritably. A few desks away, a balding cop at a typewriter tracked it's erratic movement with sudden interest, although his fingers never left the keys.
"Would you prefer to come back later?"
The phone on her desk trilled insistently, and he stared down at it. Her hand didn't move though, just rested calmly and neatly next to the other on top of her report.
"I could tell Dr. Hunter you'll be in to see him around noon? How'd that be?"
Trill, harsh ring of the phone and still she didn't even register it, just looked back into his eyes with her steadier than steady gaze and small summer-warm smile. He could feel a tick beginning in his left eye, the very corner of it, a tiny insistent jumping of the muscle, synchronous with the sound.
"Noon. That's fine. I'll be here."
He stood up and she reached for the receiver at last, lifting it and covering the mouthpiece briefly.
"I'll tell him you'll be waiting downstairs, at the front desk."
Smiled again, because she knew damn well he wouldn't be.
"Good luck. I hope everything works out for you!"
* * * * ** * * * * * * * * *
Maybe it would, and maybe it wouldn't. He'd decide later if he even wanted it to, or what everything could be. Right now the sun was high in the sky, and he was bone tired and thirsty from a night without sleep and a morning answering question after inane question; trying to find answers in a brain that felt like one big empty, echoing room. Unwrapping his last stick of gum one, he folded it into his mouth and forced himself to think of something else, concentrate on something he did know.
The name came back to him again, and what was that? The name of a place here in Barstow that he had remembered, that he'd been to at least once, had to have because of the memory of that ice-cream. The bright mint green scoops that he could almost picture, could definitely still recall the texture and flavour of. Tipped his head to one side, and when the picture wouldn't clear up enough for him, touched the arm of a passing stranger.
"Sorry mate, Fosters? Do you know where that is?"
* * * * ** * * * * * * * * *
It looked unremarkable enough. A torn, striped awning that had probably once been considered quite posh and the name picked out on the plate glass in that fancy, scrolling hand that places like this always seemed to favour: Fosters Ice-Cream Parlour.
Parlour.
His memory of what that was seemed to dovetail a little oddly with the idea of this rather shabby little snack bar, and he half smiled at the thought of what a parlour really was, really should be. A place that smelt of beeswax and old tea-leaves. Dark, heavy furniture and a window hung with deep green curtains. Just for Sundays, not weekdays.
He blinked, surprised at the clarity of the image. Hm. Dismissed it.
Not this anyway. Shiny white and chrome and pictures of movie stars, and red and white checked tile and cracked linoleum. Two overly large pre-teenage girls, wearing matching Calico Ghost Town baseball caps and t-shirts, sat facing each other in a booth, spooning into the biggest damn sundaes he knew the place had to be capable of making. He tried not to stare but one of them caught him anyway, shot him a sharp practised glance of hatred before whispering something to her friend. He turned away, but not before she had darted him a similar glare; like it was any of his business what they clogged their arteries with.
Behind the counter a tall dark-haired girl stood off to one side, speaking on the telephone. Her head was pulled in close to the receiver and he caught a low husky laugh as she twisted the cord between her fingertips. Without meaning to he caught a word or two of her conversation,
"Well, you better be wearing them when I get home...that's all I can say..."
And then another laugh. His eyes drifted around, noting the clean orderliness of the little kitchen area to the back, the neat row of sundae glasses on the shelf behind her. Up high, toward the ceiling fan, a faded picture of the shop sign outside and the awning - bright and shiny new - hung like a forgotten memory. Next to it, another in which an old man with a moustache held up an enormous dessert, grinning like a madman. The frame was old and a little chipped, but the glass was free of dust; the old bloke must still be alive.
"That's my Grandpap."
The girl's voice startled him, he hadn't heard her hang up the phone or seen her step any closer but suddenly there she was at his elbow, resting her hip against her side of the counter. She squinted, pushed chocolate-brown bangs out of her eyes, looking up.
"And that's my Mom in the bassinet in the next one. Her and Grammy Foster. She's dead now though. Died last Spring."
He opened his mouth a little and then shut it again, unsure of how to answer that one, glanced at her to make sure. Her nose crinkled,
"Ah, she's not missed. Sour as vinegar, and rich as damn Midas."
Nodded at the next one, a small white frame crowded with people.
"That's us at the wake, the whole clan. First damn family party she didn't spoil with all her damn moaning and whining."
Grinned warmly at him; freckles and white, white teeth.
"Funny, we kind of missed it though!"
He laughed, and it felt strange to. Realised that it was his first, the first he remembered anyway. Smiled back at her gratefully, feeling the easy familiarity she wore warm him like the sun.
"Often the way with the grumpy ones. They're always the most entertaining."
Her eyes glowed, and she leant back, shook long straight dark hair off her shoulders.
"Yeah, she sure was that! Momma used to say she could take paint off a fence just by looking at it."
She narrowed her eyes to slits, imitating the old woman's gimlet glare and then waved her hand and gave a loud, sweet laugh. The sound of it alone made him want to join in, pull up a chair and bathe in her light. She batted her eyelids, joking with him.
"Ah, I shouldn't really. She was good to me. Left me enough to buy my place, put on an extra room for Tommy."
"Tommy?"
Gave her head a little forgetful shake as if in apology, nodding back toward the phone.
"That's my little boy. He's two now."
She smiled, eyes suddenly dreamy and unfocused, with the special glow reserved only for mothers talking of their babies.
"He's growing so fast though. Going to need someplace bigger soon, maybe with a garden."
She laughed again at the thought of a garden, that she could have one of her very own, reached over to take the scoop out of the jug of water she had it resting it and turned back to him.
"So what'll it be? Mint chocolate chip, right?"
And the words didn't even register for a moment, didn't impact like they should have done. Didn't even make him start and stutter like the next ones she said did. The words she said with a friendly casual questioning air; one hand digging deep into the soft, minty cool of that delicious ice-cream he'd felt certain he could recall the exact flavour of, the exact texture.
"Hey, and tell me...how's Dawn doing?"
Grinned again, slipped the ice-cream expertly out of the scoop and into his glass. Pushed it forward across the counter. Winked and slid him a spoon.
"Will you tell her I said hi?"
* * * * ** * * * * * * * * *
Dawn.
It was a plain name. Just one syllable. And the way she spoke it, as if it were nothing at all made it's effect on him all the more miraculous. If his mind really were that empty windowless room then the sound of that name was like the opening of a door, the spilling of warm light into shadow, sending dust motes spiralling to life. And even stunned as he was, the irony of the simple, single word was not completely lost on him.
"Dawn?"
The girl turned, surprise and a touch of uncertainty suddenly, guilty finger caught mid-lick. Licked it clean and frowned.
"Yeah? Your sister? Right?"
She gave a small shrug,
"I wouldn't remember except for I still have that goofy little note she wrote me stuck on the corner of my vanity."
He remembered to breathe at last, took several just to be on the safe side, because she was looking at him a little oddly now, her head cocked slightly to one side.
"You OK? You seem a little shaken up?"
And he nodded, remembered how to do that as well. Tried to compose his expression somehow, make his eyes stop doing that thing that was obviously convincing her that he was a total nut job. Tried to think, tried to imagine what he might say to someone who asked after his sister in a reality where he actually had one, or knew even the slightest trivial fucking detail of his own life at all.
"Uh..."
OK. Uh was good. Noncommittal and non-threatening at least. Now maybe some other words, a verb, couple of nouns perhaps. Her eyes were still wary, unsure of him and suddenly he realised that if he didn't immediately put her at ease those might very well be that last words he got out of her. He frowned and somehow, fuck knows how, he managed to take hold of that spoon his fingers had been hovering over for the longest sixty seconds ever and lift it. The small gesture seemed to be enough and he saw her shoulders relax, a smile appearing again as she watched his apparent indecision over where to begin. Slid the spoon in, took a tiny sliver of the dessert from the side and moved it to his lips, slowly pushed it inside. A moment, and then he even remembered to chew.
Watching him his new friend smiled, laughed warm and easy.
"You'd forgotten how good it tastes, right? Hits you right down there in the taste buds!"
And that was pretty funny, because then he wanted to tell her; No. That through some entirely implausible quirk of fate he'd actually forgotten every other detail of his life except that one tiny sliver of information, and the date of a completely meaningless English battle. That, until she spoken that name to him he'd had no conception of ever having had either a sister, brother, mother or great bloody uncle Harry. And on top of which he had know idea who in hell she was or how she'd come to know the first thing about him or his life, and what did she think she was doing anyway dropping a name like 'Dawn' on him - fifty ton weight out of a clear blue sky - without even an introduction, explanation or an excuse me, and then just sauntering back on out to the kitchen to wash her ice cream scoop up?
The tap ran and she hummed softly to herself, and while he sat there still desperately trying to formulate some non-threatening line of questioning, she started to obliterate his world.
"S'funny you coming in today really, 'cause only yesterday I was telling my friend Joey about that night."
She gave a a little rueful laugh, tossed a look at him.
"Though maybe it isn't 'xactly a coincidence" a shake of her head, "I mean I must have told that story a million times to pretty much everyone I know."
She finished washing up, and dried her hands on her apron, frowned.
"Not that any of them believe me though."
And she rolled her eyes at him,
"I mean who would right? Sometimes I think maybe I dreamt the whole thing up after one too many, you know?"
Her face looked much younger suddenly, a touch of doubt in her eyes. Reached a hand up to fuss with her hair, pulled out a grip and studied it.
"But then I see your sis' note sticking there, and I know it happened."
And then the chin came up, and she was strong again, calm.
"So it doesn't matter that everyone thinks I'm a kook, does it?"
She smiled small and hopeful at him, and he finally gave up trying to look casual, like everything she'd just said made perfect sense, planted both his elbows on the countertop in front of her and he told her that no, it didn't matter a bit. That people thought he was crazy every time he told the story too, and that the memory she had of that night - with him and his sister Dawn - was probably just as it had been, but maybe if she were just to tell him exactly what she remembered, perhaps it would help them both to understand.
Her eyes were wide and molasses brown, staring back at him as he spoke. Her skin smelt of sunshine and vanilla as she darted a glance over at the two Sundaes by the window, and then pulled in close to him.
"O.K. It was a Saturday night. I always remember that because Poppy had just been in to get the day's take and he only does that late Saturdays."
She screwed up her nose,
"OK, so it must have been just after ten then. I was out back stacking up the washer 'cause we'd been busy all day, being school holidays an' all. Lissa was up front serving still, even though we should have been closing up ar..."
"Lissa?"
He didn't want to stop her, but every detail suddenly seemed vitally important.
"Lissa? My cousin? Remember? Great big curvy redhead? You act like you're making the moves on her every time you're in here? You always make some dumb joke about our names rhyming?"
She double blinked at his confusion, like; duh?
"Mel-lissa? Ma-rissa?"
And gave a short derisive snort of laughter,
"Our Mom's had this big thing about it making us like sisters. My other cousin's called Roxy though. Maybe my Aunt Peg couldn't think of anything else that rhymed."
Marissa. Her name was Marissa, so at least that was one more awkward pause in conversation he could avoid. Played with the name and turned it round in his mind. Marissa. Rissa. It didn't have the same resonance as Dawn certainly, although watching her pretty animated face he felt sure that he would never forget this young woman's name again.
"Then what?"
Her eyes move unconsciously to the doorway behind him,
"Then the bell goes, and in you both come."
And without knowing why he found himself turning too.
Outside the day was brighter that bright, azure and sand-red, sidewalk simmering in the noonday heat, but suddenly he could almost see it. A purple sky, shading to dusk, the soft rasping of cicadas and then, from nowhere, the doorhandle turning, the harsh metallic jangle as they entered.
He breathed out. Tried to see himself.
"What was I wearing?"
Rissa gave a loud barking laugh, like he'd just made the biggest funny he could. Raised an eyebrow at him and when he didn't rise to it, frowned.
"Ah...the same thing you're wearing every single time you've come in here for the last five, six years? Same thing you're wearing right now?"
She grinned like she knew she was being a smart ass, then tilted her head to one side, peering over the counter suddenly.
"Although I can't believe you're missing your coat today."
Wrinkled her nose at him,
"What's with that?"
Shrugging, he decided to skip over that one, although the idea of a long coat did seem kind of appealing. Big, black, billowy thing maybe, something with a bit of pounce and swagger. Snapped out of it, tried a different line instead.
"And Dawn? Was she..."
He stopped, suddenly stumped with wanting to ask her a million things at once. Not least of all where? Where is she? That note, is there a number? An address? Do you know where she lives, where I live? Is she tall, short? Thin? Pretty and smart? Is she funny? Does she make people laugh? Realised that his hand had made themselves into fists and with a conscious effort relaxed them, tried to think of just the right thing to ask.
"Does she look like me?"
Rissa's expression showed confusion, amusement.
"Do I think...she looks like you?"
Frowned and looked away to the right, and if he could only see the face that she was seeing now as she silently conjured Dawn from her memory. His phantom sister, his lifeline. Shook her head finally, decisively, as she looked at him,
"No, she doesn't at all."
and as she said it, seemed to make a connection,
"But then maybe you have different daddies right? What with her being so much younger I mean."
She gave him a warm smile,
"She sure looks up to you though. You can see that."
The door jangled noisily and an elderly couple entered, towing a small dog. Rissa's face altered instantly she saw them, became more adult, and she dropped him a rueful nod as she went to them. First the polite reminder; Dixie back outside please, and then the friendly 'ok folks, what can I getcha?' The shape of her back as she bent down below the counter seems such a familiar site, he found himself wondering just how many times he's been in here before, that she should know him by sight, know his flavour. That had to mean that his home wasn't far from here didn't it? Less than a day's drive maybe, not far if he'd brought a kid along for the ride.
Customers dealt with Rissa moved back along the counter toward him, cleaning up as she went, and he half smiled as he realised that she was flirting with him a little, taking her time coming back to pick up their conversation. Reaching him she dropped her chin down on her hands, rested her elbows just an inch or so away and gave him that hot fudge smile again, the same one she'd probably given him every other time he'd ever walked in here.
"So where were we? You were coming in right? Ok..."
She rolled her eyes, crinkling up her nose again just because she knew how damn cute it was, and tried to see it for him.
"You asked for mint choc-chip like always and you're all surprised when I remember 'cause I think it'd been about a year maybe since the last time you'd been in, but I told you I never forget a face and a flavour, never, 'cause I don't! Only this time you're not alone and you buy....wait...you buy strawberry swirl for Dawn even though first of all she thinks she wants the rum and raisin."
She grins at him wide-eyed as she says it, because how about that? That she remembers the flavour he bought for his kid sister as well?
"Then you both go sit down..."
She looks around and then points to the two end stools,
"...over there, and we're all chatting and getting on fine like always, and then we hear the bikes."
And there's no noise in the little shop now except the mumbling of the two old dears in the corner and the drone of some country song from the radio, but now he remembers. Hears the sound just like it was, soft roar building to a deafening full-throated snarl, and knows in his gut that even though a bike is a bike that that noise means something bad is about to happen, and that his...that Dawn is in danger here and that he should never have brought her.
"Four of them."
He says it without even realising his lips have moved, but Rissa nods so he knows he must have spoken.
"Just bikers I think, and they're trouble enough. But these ones..."
She shudders, and now he can he can see their faces through the darkened plate glass, hear the wood splinter off the door jamb as they kick it inwards. Feels his fingers tighten against the edge of the countertop as he turns to look at them, and calm as you like stares into four of the meanest faces he thinks he's ever seen. Scars and tattoos and chains where no sane man would ever think to hang them, and a low, bone-chilling laughter that sends both girls scurrying back towards the kitchen.
"You were pregnant."
And he sees her then; shorter hair and her face not quite the freckles and her belly standing out a mile as her hand covers it, splayed fingers and eyes like a frightened rabbit, and then now.
"Yeah."
She rubs the same place, now smooth and flat,
"Almost ready to drop. Shouldn't even have been on that night but Lissa was on her own and it was only the washing," and a shake of her head, "She felt so bad after, but it wasn't her fault. I needed the extra money, besides..."
Her eyes strayed to the closed door,
"We never had trouble before, and no more since. And anyway..."
and she reached out a hand, suddenly tentative, to touch the back of his own,
"Could have been a whole lot worse if you hadn't been here."
She carries on talking then and he's still half listening of course, still catching the odd sentence here and there as the words just keep spilling out; garbled sometimes like she can hardly believe her own voice. Hears her say; 'I was so scared. Damn! Don't think I've ever been so damned scared my whole life', but he's not looking at her now. Head down, he's seeing it playing behind his eyes, single frames, jumping rusty at first like the projector's worn out, but then she'll say something else and it gets clearer, smoother, until it's spinning through him like silk. Sees his own fist as he draws it back, a young girl's voice calling for everyone to;
"'Get the hell out of here!'"
Rissa's face now, and then, jumping back and forth, her mouth slightly open as she tries to burrow into the wall somehow, get behind her cousin, anything.
"Oh Jesus, please! Please, don't. Don't let them hurt my baby."
And then it's only black and red and sharp, splintering and screaming, and he knows the light was broken because it's dark and he can feel the hot glass crunching under his palms as he hits the floor. Another voice. A name being called again and again, someone's lost their dog or something. Then soft little hand on his cheek, a terrified hissing urgency.
"You've got to get up! Can you hear me? Get up!! They've got the two girls and they're taking them out back."
And now he knows who it is who's speaking, because the mix of fear and love and pain is unmistakable and overwhelming. She's his precious, his charge, and she's in danger here, he's put her in danger.
But then it's all getting fuzzy and black again because she's worrying at him with her hands in the dark, dragging on his lapels.
"You've. Got. To. Get. Up!"
And then that name again, a sob and her lips next to his ear, sweet warm breath like raspberry jelly.
"They're going to kill them! You've got to stop it!"
He opens his eyes, and Rissa's stare back at him. There's a hint of pink under each of her eyes and for the first time since she started to speak he realises that she's holding his hand. Tight. Tight. Soft little mouth quirking, on the edge of tears as she tells him;
"You saved my life. You saved both our lives."
And he doesn't know how to answer that, even though he knows it's true. Just nods, half nods like he's only just waking up now. Sees the faces again as they turn out of the shadows cast by the dumpster, away from the two weakly struggling girls, mouths smeared with their blood, eyes glowing yellow in the dim light of the alley. Their teeth jagged, making wounds of their faces.
Can't say the words because now his brain is telling him no, that this part can't be right. No such thing, and even if there were how could he say that to...
"They were vampires weren't they?"
And when he looks at her again he sees that she's pulled her hair right back, exposing her neck, to show him the marks, and her face is calm now. her eyes are a million years older and a thousand miles away from that other girl's. She smiles and he's reminded of the Mona Lisa,
"You never said, either of you. But I'm not stupid. I know what monsters are."
and lets the curtain fall back, covering herself. He starts, stops, opens his mouth again.
"I'm sorry. It's just..."
::their bodies erupt into ash, sift away under his hands::
"It's just...so hard to believe."
::and he hears his own laugh, recognises it as his, but it's cold, different. Hears her laugh too, Dawn's, bright with relief, her hand slipping inside his::
"Wow! Four onto one! Pretty hot stuff! Just wait till I tell the others!"
"You're telling no one. Bloody skin me alive they would!"
"You're telling me?!"
Rissa again, shaking her head,
"I always leave out that part. Only me and Lissa know it, and I think she's pretty much convinced herself she didn't see a thing."
Her hand had never left his the whole time, but now she squeezed it once gently and released him. Seemed to suddenly remember where she was, who she was, brushed down her apron and checked her watch, grimaced.
"Oh jeez. Where's Joey got to? I have to go pick up Tommy."
Blushed as she caught his eye,
"Sorry. I don't mean to be..." touched his finger gently, "It's good to see you again. I was starting to think you'd never come back in, and I never really got to say thank you properly. And I know Liss would want me to thank you too. She'll be in later if you want to say hi."
He nodded, made as if to finish his icecream. Saw her reach under the counter for her bag, pull a few bills from her purse, and didn't even have time to protest before she was pushing them into his hand. She stepped back, refusing to let him return them, laughed at his annoyance.
"Hey! I'm not broke anymore, not by a long shot! And you look like you could do with it. Go get yourself a haircut, get those roots seen to or something! Don't like seeing you looking less than your usual big beautiful badass self!"
The door sounded and a slim tawny-haired girl slipped inside. Half scowling, Rissa tapped her watch at her impatiently before turning back to face him again.
"That's my cue, so I gotta go."
She grinned again, blushed, and then a sudden quick impulsive dart forward and soft feather-light lips brushed his own, pressed in closer and then were gone. He blinked and she gave another bright, startled laugh.
"Sorry! I just..."
Her cheeks flushed a deep coral under her tan,
"I promised myself that if you ever came back in here, I'd do that," she grinned, "and I always keep my promises."
She turned away and her bright yellow sun dress flowed out behind her, making him forget for a minute, the most important thing of all. Jumped to his feet and caught her just as she made it out the door.
"Rissa...sorry!"
She seemed a little startled at his using her name, and he dropped his hand from her arm, stepped back a pace. Frowned.
"Dawn's note, you said you still have it."
She nodded, puzzled, cocked her head at him.
"You want to see it?"
He swallowed, not wanting to ask but needing too.
"Is there...did she write a number on there? An address?"
Rissa's brow was creasing now, confused.
"No, like I said, just her being goofy and something about neither of you being in a hurry to ever visit Barstow again. It was with my things when Poppy came to get me from hospital." she shrugged, "I figured you'd been with her 'cause the nurse said a girl and a guy in black leather had left it."
He nodded. Of course. Stepped back to let her go again, watched her take a couple of paces and then turn back. A slight worried frown.
"She's OK is she? I mean...she wasn't home when it happened?"
He blinked, her meaning lost to him completely.
"When...what, sorry?"
"When that thing with the mine shafts happened?"
She cocked her head at him, frowned deeper and when he didn't answer, took a step back. Shaded her eyes.
"That thing that happened up there last week?" shook her head in confusion, "You do still live up in Sunnydale, right?"