Chapter 1
He pushed the door gently. Grissom was not one who wanted to arouse suspicion or attention to his entry.
It swung gracefully to his touch. The smoke of the bar stung quietly at his eyes, but he knew he had reason to be here. A purpose.
He scanned the bar, the usual crowd, he could see, but they would not see him, their eyes were focused on their drinks. Even if they did, they would not know him. This was his way.
Aside from these, it was moderately full. Most faces fixed towards a stage he couldn't see and had rarely seen in the two years he had been frequenting it.
He was faintly aware of singing, a woman, her voice was subtle and sensual. He had heard the type of singer before, however not here. This was his haunt, his haunt to sit in the darkness and be washed over by the subtle melodies and deep throaty beats of Pink Floyd.
The words of the song he was not familiar with, however they seemed to invite him to listen. Her voice was deep, adventurous, raw but beautiful. She was obviously talented, she felt the emotions of the song she was singing, he heard the pain in her voice, the need to cry.
He had come for a collection, however this could wait, he took his eyes away from the blushing lights and looked towards his sleeve, pushing the soft material gently up his arm, allowing him vision of his watch.
9.48
He wasn't due to meet his accomplice until 10, this gave him 12 minutes to listen.
He chose his favourite spot, far away enough from the bar itself to avoid the crass mood lighting behind it, but also too far from the stage to see the musician. This was how best to enjoy Floyd and he was content to listen to this young woman in the same manner.
He heard faint movement and hands from the audience, she had finished her song. He had been so caught up in his thoughts of the voice, he had missed her finish.
He felt embarrassed, his longing had allowed him to miss something quite unusual, until
he heard the strum of a guitar, very similar in resonance to the last song: Middle of the road with a hint of country.
He heard a man whistle. A song was beginning.
The voice came back, gently, cautiously this time, after a few moments he realised this song meant a lot to her. He listened to the words as they fell over him, showered him like petals.
"You
were the question
I needed answered
You'd never know how scared
I was
Falling in love
You would talk softly
You are a
riddle
And I felt so innocent
standing in your eyes"
He felt his fingers tingle, the follicles on his arms reacting to his nervousness at the words.
He stroked them softly, almost like calming an animal, it did no good, he was no longer controlling his bodily reactions to the voice.
"So
hear me now
I'll scream out loud
Can't figure out
how you
entered into my world
And I fall down
You are the
vision
I'm always seeing,
And being alone right there with
you
Left me satisfied
You're all I need in life"
The young woman on stage may have begun to cry, as her pitch faltered slightly. Her breathing became heavier, shallower, her voice deeper yet more controlled. She may have sung this song a thousand times but the feelings were still the same. She felt them.
He felt them. His body responded to them.
"So
hear me now
I'll scream out loud
Can't figure out
How you
entered into my world
And I fall down
And I fall down.
And
now what can I say
I'm so far away
waiting for the day when
I'll be standing in your eyes
In your eyes
So hear me now
I'll
scream out loud
can't figure out
how you entered into my
world
And I fall down
Ooooh.
And I fall."
He heard her soft breathing again over the microphone as she ended the song, a small sniff before the rest of the bar began to applaud veraciously.
He applauded quietly to himself, before a sound distracted him and suddenly he felt his personal space invaded.
"Always cries that one, good little singer and a good looker but she really goes along with the song. Someone somewhere must be a hard ass with that one."
The gentleman now sent on the seat beside Gil, looked approximately 45, tall, good skin, enough stubble to look rough, but his hair was soft enough to look handsome. His name was Robin and was a lead singer in a group who covered Pink Floyd tracks. He had known Grissom for some time. Grissom didn't know how to reply.
"So, Griss, I managed to pull it!" He continued, "Don't ask me how, some kid sat in their broom cupboard too long, now with square eyes," Gil snorted at the idea of a young boy with square eyes, "But, what does it matter? You now own a copy of our rendition of Floyd alongside The Oz! Does it get much cooler than that?" Grissom smiled, he had been waiting almost four months to see this.
"How about... a drink to say thank you? Whisky Sour with a dash of soda right Robin?" He was grinning from ear to ear.
"The only way to get it any better is to make it a double," he said with a sigh of joviality in his voice "But, yeah that'd be good thanks. What are you having?" He smiled, revealing his perfect white teeth, already knowing the answer.
"Good old faithful Robin, Good old faithful." He smiled, stood and turned towards the bar.
It was a nice gesture but Gil needed to move, get the adrenaline out of his system. It was just a biological response, he knew, he saw it every day. But what had triggered the endorphins? The woman's voice? Her sincerity? Her heart?
He was aware of a question being posed as he leaned at the bar, not fully comprehensive of anything.
"Double whisky sour, with a dash of soda and a water, no ice." He paused, glanced towards the waitress to check her recognition. Thinking again for a second he called, speaking to her back "Make it a two on the whisky's please." She nodded, head still turned away from him.
He could not flush the energy impulses surging through his body, he thought that the alcohol may numb it for a short time. He rarely drank whisky, and certainly not doubles, they were reserved for lonely nights when his life hit him. However he was aware of the effects it had, and he knew as long as he would be walking home and drank plenty of water before leaving he would be ok.
He rubbed his left arm again, the follicles calming themselves but leaving a slight stinging sensation on the surface.
The young waitress returned, placed two large shot glasses of dark, fulsome liquid and one large glass of pure, clear water. He shook seven dollars out of his pocket and passed it over the counter. "Thanks," he replied. He had decided to drink his shot at the bar, not to allow Robin to see his lapse in control.
Taking one of the shot glasses, cradling the thick base in his hand for a second, then lifting it towards his mouth. He allowed a very small sip to pass his lips, the warmth intensifying the beat in his throat. He paused, looking at the promise of the fiery liquid, before putting the glass once again to his lips, allowing the totality of it to sweep into his mouth.
"Grissom?"