In the early morning, before it was properly light, an inconspicuous cardboard box covered with discarded plastic wrappings was seeing some action. The bottom, carefully concealed, lifted up cautiously. A hand groped out blindly, and reached into the space for a handhold. A second did the same, and a very fluffy haired head and shoulders soon followed. Their owner hoisted himself up onto one elbow, using the other hand to lift up the edge of the covering box. He looked around as much as he could, then called back down the tunnel,
'All clear.'
'You sure?'
'Yup. Gimme a leg up.'
'Alright babe. Be careful.' The second voice was soft and gentle, sometimes hard to distinguish from background noise. This was, of course, very useful when she didn't want to be heard by anyone but the person she was trying to communicate with. The first person climbed out quickly, lifting the rain-softened box to one side. One hand signalled for his partner to wait, then beckoned her up. He offered his hand down to pull her up, and within seconds a pretty, dark face surrounded by three mohicans emerged. As she stood up, she surveyed the surroundings critically. Behind her, trying to keep his skirt out of the mud, her fellow Bohemian re-positioned the slightly soggy box over the entrance to the tunnel they had come from.
'We need to replace that soon.'
'Doesn't look promising.' she held one hand up to her eyes to try and clarify her vision through the early-morning fog. All she could see were large shapes, bulky bits of trash abandoned by a posession-obsessed society. She smiled softly as she felt arms slide around her waist.
'The weather, or our prospects?' She peeled his arms of her, replying
'C'mon you, we've got work to do.'
'Anything special?'
'Brit asked for another wire if we can get one, and Geo's trying to perfect his bottle-blowing technique. No more pebbles, ok?' he pouted. 'I don't care how pretty they are, we've got enough to build several mini-rockeries down there.'
'They do make a nice rattle...' They both laughed, kissed, and started combing the ground and piles of junk for anything useable.
A few metres away from where they were heading towards, Delilah woke up. Funnily enough, it wasn't their voices or he sound of their feet that did it, but something completely different. Throughout the night the rain had been collecting on the top of a sheet of plastic above her. It had been steadily leaking over the edge, but when the storm started up again the rain had intensified and over-filled the bulging container. The sudden increase of weight had proved to much for it, and it had collapsed, sending it's contents cascading over the sleeping girl. She jolted from her nightmares with a small scream, which she tried too late to stifle. She stared around wildly at her unfamiliar surroundings, not yet remembering where she was or how she had got there. She realised that she was not alone when she heard first voices, then rapid footsteps, coming in her direction. She cowered into the back of her hiding place as a hand reached in, and pulled the covering junk away. She covered her face with her arm against the fresh influx of rain with a sharp cry. They'd found her. The police had found her, and they'd take her back and... and she didn't want to think about what would happen to her then.
'Who are you? What did you see?' Cliff demanded. 'How long have you been spying on us?'
'I wasn't, I wasn't!' she sobbed, trying to hide her face. There was just the slightest chance that the man didn't know who she was yet. 'Don't take me back. Please, please, I'll do anything, just don't take me back there!'
'Back where?' he snarled, hauling Delilah to her feet and slamming her against the surface of the junk pile.
'Who's this?' Aretha asked quietly, coming to Cliff's side and ready to defend herself.
'You - you're not police?' Delilah whimpered, a glimmer of hope appearing.
'Anything but.' Cliff snorted. 'I don't think we could be less like the police if we tried.' He let her go. For the first time, she noticed the Bohemian's dress. The woman with the most amazing hair she had ever seen in her life seemed to be wearing... well, she couldn't tell. There definitely appeared to be a skirt, which seemed to be denim, and heavy workboots which looked oddly feminine, but apart from that she couldn't name the rest. The man was wearing what looked like half of a white skirt over one leg of a pair of black leather jeans, and a black hoodie emblazoned with a white skull and red sleeves. She was too panic-struck to notice the thoughtful, searching gaze she was recieving from the woman. Aretha bit her lip for a second then asked
'What's your name, kid?'
'You weren't sent to find me?'
'No. We don't know anything about you. Tell me your name - I might be able to help you.' Delilah looked at her for a second, trying to figure out whether or not she was trustworthy. At least she had stopped her partner from harrassing her. She felt calmer already.
'Delilah@Forbes0772...'
'She didn't ask for your email address, she wanted to know your name-'
'Cliff-' Aretha cut him short, pulling him away. 'We need to talk for a second.' She turned back to Delilah. 'Don't go anywhere, alright? I promise you, on my life, we will do nothing to hurt you.' She pulled Cliff to a discreet distance, while remaining close enough to Delilah to stop her running, if necessary.
'You know who this is, don't you?'
'Who?'
'Doesn't she look like someone we know?'
'Well yeah, kinda like-'
'Almost exactly like. And she has a Bohemian name.'
'You mean you think it's her?'
'Yes.' Aretha glanced back at the bedraggled Ga Ga girl. 'Yes, I do.' They turned back to her.
'Ok, 'Delilah', turns out you're-'
'Cliff, don't get ahead of yourself.' Aretha said sharply. 'You've run away, haven't you?' she asked Delilah, more gently. She nodded silently. 'Would I be right in guessing you don't have anywhere to go?' The same small nod. 'I think you'd better come with us.'
'Reethie!' Cliff hissed.
'C'mon, Cliff. She hasn't got anywhere else to go.' she addressed Delilah again 'And if you are who we think you are, it could be very important that you do.'
'You won't take me back?'
'No. We're outlaws too.'
'I guess... I have to come with you. I don't really have a choice. But who are you people?' Cliff and Aretha looked at each other in surprise. Runaways who joined the Bohemians usually ran away for that purpose.
'You - don't know who we are?' Delilah shook her head.
'We're Globalsoft's worst nightmare.' Cliff said proudly.
'The people on the edge of the night.' Aretha intoned.
'The ones they really, really don't want you to know about.'
'Which is..?' Delilah prompted.
'We're the Bohemians.' Delilah's eyes widened.
'You're the Bohemians? I was told to find you!'
'Who by?' Cliff asked, a little too quickly. He didn't like the way Aretha was just accepting this girl. She could be anyone, hell, she could be a drone created purely for the purpose of spying. He'd had bad experiences with spies and police, very bad ones. He hadn't fully recovered from the last time he was interrogated. The terrifying thing was that, as a non-person, they didn't have to leave him intact. There would be no questions asked if he was tortured to death - his mysterious disappearance had been years ago. They could do whatever they wanted to him, and the thought never left his mind. If the others hadn't broken out and taken him with them, he was fairly sure he would be a laser-disintegrated corpse by now. They could do anything with those lasers, ranging from light shows through mild nerve burning to complete oxidisation. Parts of his body would never have sensation again. Aretha just wasn't being careful enough for his liking.
'Babe, don't be rude.'
'Reethie, she could be anyone!' his voice verged on panic. 'She might not even be human. We don't know how realistic hologrammes have become since we last checked.'
'Cliff.' Aretha gently took his hands in hers and looked straight into his eyes. 'It's ok baby.' She whispered. She understood. She'd been there, helped carry his unconscious body to the wilderness where they'd been picked up and taken back underground. 'I believe her. When have I ever let you down?' He fell against her, burying his face in the fold between two of her hair spikes. She held him close, rocking him slightly. The sooner they were back home the better. 'It's alright. Just trust me.' She looked back at Delilah. 'They screwed him up pretty bad. You're lucky we found you.' A far-off siren pierced the air. The three flinched simultaneously. 'We have to move.' Cliff jumped and led the way, beckoning impatiently at Delilah who was followed by Aretha. He slithered down the man-hole as quickly as he could, hissing at the girls to hurry up. Aretha helped Delilah slowly climb down the narrow shaft before following herself, pausing only long enough to conceal the entrance.
Delilah was surprised to find herself in pitch blackness. This wasn't what hours of virtual reality arcade games had taught her that underground tunnels looked like, they were meant to be visible but very blue and a bit dimmer than normal, surely? And they made noises. There should be some ominous low tones, a little quiet scuffling and possibly some squeaking. There wasn't. It felt too - well - too real. There was no alt tabbing to get out of this situation. She started to move, then realised that she couldn't see.
'Erm...'
'Shh.' A white bar torch appeared somewhere to her right. By it's limited aura, she could make out Cliff's hair and a short disance of a small passage ahead. It seemed to stop dead after a couple of metres, until the light suddenly sank and another trapdoor appeared in the floor.
'It has to be hard to navigate.' Aretha explained to Delilah in her trademarked low, background-blending voice. 'The more false ends, the less likely it is anyone can find their way down.' The light suddenly went down and disappeared. Delilah carefuly edged forwards, and could see a slight glow from down the trapdoor. She climbed down dubiously towards it, into a low tunnel that she couldn't stand up in. She was one of the generation that considered it fashionable to be tall, but her original DNA already placed her at 5'8", so there was no need to alter it. It didn't often work, anyway - nowhere near as often as the medical division of Globalsoft advertised. Out of her friends, only Melanie had successfully increased her height. Stacey's had actually reversed - but she was generously compensated for the failure, and wore a lot of high heels. Only over the last week had she been forced to wear trainers instead, until the boots had come into fashion.
Back in the city, on the surface, a story was being processed to explain the disappearance of a mostly unnoticeable Ga Ga girl. The explanation was more complex than usual, as the computer had to take into account the fact that the girl's father had 'disappeared' also. The fact that the brother was left was awkward. The most obvious solution appeared to be to remove him as well, and claim that the apartment life-support had been shut down by a tampering teenager. This was rejected. The board of teenage management was sending worrying reports of kids questioning where their friends had gone, and the more they asked, the harder they were to control. And as they became harder to control, more had to 'disappear'... it was a self-perpetuating problem, and they were having a hard time controlling it. So the boy had to stay. Fortunately, he wasn't intelligent, and could be very easily convinced that his father and sister had left his life with perfectly legitimate reasons. After a few second's new calculations, the excuse programme had decided. Mr Forbes had been arrested on charges of adding undue influences to the music he programmed, and was held indefinitely in custody, awaiting trial. People would forget long before he had been gone long enough for them to notice. They were programmed to. The girl had stormed out, following a heated argument, and had been brutally murdered by rebels when she strayed from the boundaries of town. That would serve well as a warning.
Inspector Ajax had taken over the case of the missing schoolgirl. Officially, it would be good for his career if he found and brought to justice a new rebel. But privately... it bugged him that she had got away. He was determined to find her, and... well, other young, helpless rebels who'd been under his custody could tell tales of what was likely to happen then. The man was ambitious, and hoped to one day take over as head of the Secret Police. He had the drive, the cunning, and the ruthlessness required - this case might prove that he was good enough. Khashoggi had been in charge far too long, in his opinion. He was starting to lose his touch. Ajax would show them. He'd get the girl, and the others.
In the tunnels, the Bohemians were taking a short break. Delilah tried very, very hard not to think about how far below the surface they were. They were all sitting down, Aretha offering a bottle of water around. Delilah accepted gratefully - she suddenly remembered that she hadn't had anything to eat or drink since the previous afternoon. Most girls her age wouldn't have known what water was, in it's pure form, but she remembered her mother encouraging her to drink it when she was still with them. Something to do with there being less chemicals in the stuff than normal drinks, though she couldn't fathom how that was an advantage. She carefully drank only a few sips, instinctively knowing that they still had a long way to go. Cliff took a swig, then they sat in a slightly uncomfortable silence for a few moments, each expecting one of the others to break it. Delilah spoke first.
'So... how did you two get your names?'
'Well... it's to do with what we believe in.' Aretha started to explain, but Cliff butted in.
'Y'see, Delilah, there was a time when real music wasn't just allowed, it was actively encouraged. It was created and performed by real people, the same people. It used to be a scandal if an artist had someone else writing their songs for them. And it wasn't done for the money - rock music was done for the glory of itself.'
'These artists were respected people - heroes. We try to keep their memory alive by taking their names as our own.'
'So, what, Cliff Richard and Aretha were rock singers?' Delilah asked.
'Not exactly.' Aretha answered. 'Aretha Franklin was from before rock, as far as I can gather. But you see it's not just rock - there's more, much more, but it's all been lost. There are names, and a few words, but we hardly know anything about the others.'
'And Cliff Richard wasn't a rock singer.'
'He wasn't?'
'No. Cliff Richard was a rock legend.'
'There's one thing I don't really understand...'
'What?'
'What do you mean by 'real' music? I mean, I've been listening to music all my life, it seems real enough to me...'
'Music made by people.' Aretha said, standing up. 'Brit explains it better than I do. We'd better get moving, they're expecting us back soon.'
'Who?'
'Well... the other Bohemians.'
'You mean there's more of you?'
'You didn't think we were the only ones, did you?' Cliff half-laughed.
'Well...'
'You're in for a surprise, Delilah.' Aretha caught Cliff's eye. 'A very big surprise.'
I know, the suspense is killing the few people who actually read this... TBC.
'All clear.'
'You sure?'
'Yup. Gimme a leg up.'
'Alright babe. Be careful.' The second voice was soft and gentle, sometimes hard to distinguish from background noise. This was, of course, very useful when she didn't want to be heard by anyone but the person she was trying to communicate with. The first person climbed out quickly, lifting the rain-softened box to one side. One hand signalled for his partner to wait, then beckoned her up. He offered his hand down to pull her up, and within seconds a pretty, dark face surrounded by three mohicans emerged. As she stood up, she surveyed the surroundings critically. Behind her, trying to keep his skirt out of the mud, her fellow Bohemian re-positioned the slightly soggy box over the entrance to the tunnel they had come from.
'We need to replace that soon.'
'Doesn't look promising.' she held one hand up to her eyes to try and clarify her vision through the early-morning fog. All she could see were large shapes, bulky bits of trash abandoned by a posession-obsessed society. She smiled softly as she felt arms slide around her waist.
'The weather, or our prospects?' She peeled his arms of her, replying
'C'mon you, we've got work to do.'
'Anything special?'
'Brit asked for another wire if we can get one, and Geo's trying to perfect his bottle-blowing technique. No more pebbles, ok?' he pouted. 'I don't care how pretty they are, we've got enough to build several mini-rockeries down there.'
'They do make a nice rattle...' They both laughed, kissed, and started combing the ground and piles of junk for anything useable.
A few metres away from where they were heading towards, Delilah woke up. Funnily enough, it wasn't their voices or he sound of their feet that did it, but something completely different. Throughout the night the rain had been collecting on the top of a sheet of plastic above her. It had been steadily leaking over the edge, but when the storm started up again the rain had intensified and over-filled the bulging container. The sudden increase of weight had proved to much for it, and it had collapsed, sending it's contents cascading over the sleeping girl. She jolted from her nightmares with a small scream, which she tried too late to stifle. She stared around wildly at her unfamiliar surroundings, not yet remembering where she was or how she had got there. She realised that she was not alone when she heard first voices, then rapid footsteps, coming in her direction. She cowered into the back of her hiding place as a hand reached in, and pulled the covering junk away. She covered her face with her arm against the fresh influx of rain with a sharp cry. They'd found her. The police had found her, and they'd take her back and... and she didn't want to think about what would happen to her then.
'Who are you? What did you see?' Cliff demanded. 'How long have you been spying on us?'
'I wasn't, I wasn't!' she sobbed, trying to hide her face. There was just the slightest chance that the man didn't know who she was yet. 'Don't take me back. Please, please, I'll do anything, just don't take me back there!'
'Back where?' he snarled, hauling Delilah to her feet and slamming her against the surface of the junk pile.
'Who's this?' Aretha asked quietly, coming to Cliff's side and ready to defend herself.
'You - you're not police?' Delilah whimpered, a glimmer of hope appearing.
'Anything but.' Cliff snorted. 'I don't think we could be less like the police if we tried.' He let her go. For the first time, she noticed the Bohemian's dress. The woman with the most amazing hair she had ever seen in her life seemed to be wearing... well, she couldn't tell. There definitely appeared to be a skirt, which seemed to be denim, and heavy workboots which looked oddly feminine, but apart from that she couldn't name the rest. The man was wearing what looked like half of a white skirt over one leg of a pair of black leather jeans, and a black hoodie emblazoned with a white skull and red sleeves. She was too panic-struck to notice the thoughtful, searching gaze she was recieving from the woman. Aretha bit her lip for a second then asked
'What's your name, kid?'
'You weren't sent to find me?'
'No. We don't know anything about you. Tell me your name - I might be able to help you.' Delilah looked at her for a second, trying to figure out whether or not she was trustworthy. At least she had stopped her partner from harrassing her. She felt calmer already.
'Delilah@Forbes0772...'
'She didn't ask for your email address, she wanted to know your name-'
'Cliff-' Aretha cut him short, pulling him away. 'We need to talk for a second.' She turned back to Delilah. 'Don't go anywhere, alright? I promise you, on my life, we will do nothing to hurt you.' She pulled Cliff to a discreet distance, while remaining close enough to Delilah to stop her running, if necessary.
'You know who this is, don't you?'
'Who?'
'Doesn't she look like someone we know?'
'Well yeah, kinda like-'
'Almost exactly like. And she has a Bohemian name.'
'You mean you think it's her?'
'Yes.' Aretha glanced back at the bedraggled Ga Ga girl. 'Yes, I do.' They turned back to her.
'Ok, 'Delilah', turns out you're-'
'Cliff, don't get ahead of yourself.' Aretha said sharply. 'You've run away, haven't you?' she asked Delilah, more gently. She nodded silently. 'Would I be right in guessing you don't have anywhere to go?' The same small nod. 'I think you'd better come with us.'
'Reethie!' Cliff hissed.
'C'mon, Cliff. She hasn't got anywhere else to go.' she addressed Delilah again 'And if you are who we think you are, it could be very important that you do.'
'You won't take me back?'
'No. We're outlaws too.'
'I guess... I have to come with you. I don't really have a choice. But who are you people?' Cliff and Aretha looked at each other in surprise. Runaways who joined the Bohemians usually ran away for that purpose.
'You - don't know who we are?' Delilah shook her head.
'We're Globalsoft's worst nightmare.' Cliff said proudly.
'The people on the edge of the night.' Aretha intoned.
'The ones they really, really don't want you to know about.'
'Which is..?' Delilah prompted.
'We're the Bohemians.' Delilah's eyes widened.
'You're the Bohemians? I was told to find you!'
'Who by?' Cliff asked, a little too quickly. He didn't like the way Aretha was just accepting this girl. She could be anyone, hell, she could be a drone created purely for the purpose of spying. He'd had bad experiences with spies and police, very bad ones. He hadn't fully recovered from the last time he was interrogated. The terrifying thing was that, as a non-person, they didn't have to leave him intact. There would be no questions asked if he was tortured to death - his mysterious disappearance had been years ago. They could do whatever they wanted to him, and the thought never left his mind. If the others hadn't broken out and taken him with them, he was fairly sure he would be a laser-disintegrated corpse by now. They could do anything with those lasers, ranging from light shows through mild nerve burning to complete oxidisation. Parts of his body would never have sensation again. Aretha just wasn't being careful enough for his liking.
'Babe, don't be rude.'
'Reethie, she could be anyone!' his voice verged on panic. 'She might not even be human. We don't know how realistic hologrammes have become since we last checked.'
'Cliff.' Aretha gently took his hands in hers and looked straight into his eyes. 'It's ok baby.' She whispered. She understood. She'd been there, helped carry his unconscious body to the wilderness where they'd been picked up and taken back underground. 'I believe her. When have I ever let you down?' He fell against her, burying his face in the fold between two of her hair spikes. She held him close, rocking him slightly. The sooner they were back home the better. 'It's alright. Just trust me.' She looked back at Delilah. 'They screwed him up pretty bad. You're lucky we found you.' A far-off siren pierced the air. The three flinched simultaneously. 'We have to move.' Cliff jumped and led the way, beckoning impatiently at Delilah who was followed by Aretha. He slithered down the man-hole as quickly as he could, hissing at the girls to hurry up. Aretha helped Delilah slowly climb down the narrow shaft before following herself, pausing only long enough to conceal the entrance.
Delilah was surprised to find herself in pitch blackness. This wasn't what hours of virtual reality arcade games had taught her that underground tunnels looked like, they were meant to be visible but very blue and a bit dimmer than normal, surely? And they made noises. There should be some ominous low tones, a little quiet scuffling and possibly some squeaking. There wasn't. It felt too - well - too real. There was no alt tabbing to get out of this situation. She started to move, then realised that she couldn't see.
'Erm...'
'Shh.' A white bar torch appeared somewhere to her right. By it's limited aura, she could make out Cliff's hair and a short disance of a small passage ahead. It seemed to stop dead after a couple of metres, until the light suddenly sank and another trapdoor appeared in the floor.
'It has to be hard to navigate.' Aretha explained to Delilah in her trademarked low, background-blending voice. 'The more false ends, the less likely it is anyone can find their way down.' The light suddenly went down and disappeared. Delilah carefuly edged forwards, and could see a slight glow from down the trapdoor. She climbed down dubiously towards it, into a low tunnel that she couldn't stand up in. She was one of the generation that considered it fashionable to be tall, but her original DNA already placed her at 5'8", so there was no need to alter it. It didn't often work, anyway - nowhere near as often as the medical division of Globalsoft advertised. Out of her friends, only Melanie had successfully increased her height. Stacey's had actually reversed - but she was generously compensated for the failure, and wore a lot of high heels. Only over the last week had she been forced to wear trainers instead, until the boots had come into fashion.
Back in the city, on the surface, a story was being processed to explain the disappearance of a mostly unnoticeable Ga Ga girl. The explanation was more complex than usual, as the computer had to take into account the fact that the girl's father had 'disappeared' also. The fact that the brother was left was awkward. The most obvious solution appeared to be to remove him as well, and claim that the apartment life-support had been shut down by a tampering teenager. This was rejected. The board of teenage management was sending worrying reports of kids questioning where their friends had gone, and the more they asked, the harder they were to control. And as they became harder to control, more had to 'disappear'... it was a self-perpetuating problem, and they were having a hard time controlling it. So the boy had to stay. Fortunately, he wasn't intelligent, and could be very easily convinced that his father and sister had left his life with perfectly legitimate reasons. After a few second's new calculations, the excuse programme had decided. Mr Forbes had been arrested on charges of adding undue influences to the music he programmed, and was held indefinitely in custody, awaiting trial. People would forget long before he had been gone long enough for them to notice. They were programmed to. The girl had stormed out, following a heated argument, and had been brutally murdered by rebels when she strayed from the boundaries of town. That would serve well as a warning.
Inspector Ajax had taken over the case of the missing schoolgirl. Officially, it would be good for his career if he found and brought to justice a new rebel. But privately... it bugged him that she had got away. He was determined to find her, and... well, other young, helpless rebels who'd been under his custody could tell tales of what was likely to happen then. The man was ambitious, and hoped to one day take over as head of the Secret Police. He had the drive, the cunning, and the ruthlessness required - this case might prove that he was good enough. Khashoggi had been in charge far too long, in his opinion. He was starting to lose his touch. Ajax would show them. He'd get the girl, and the others.
In the tunnels, the Bohemians were taking a short break. Delilah tried very, very hard not to think about how far below the surface they were. They were all sitting down, Aretha offering a bottle of water around. Delilah accepted gratefully - she suddenly remembered that she hadn't had anything to eat or drink since the previous afternoon. Most girls her age wouldn't have known what water was, in it's pure form, but she remembered her mother encouraging her to drink it when she was still with them. Something to do with there being less chemicals in the stuff than normal drinks, though she couldn't fathom how that was an advantage. She carefully drank only a few sips, instinctively knowing that they still had a long way to go. Cliff took a swig, then they sat in a slightly uncomfortable silence for a few moments, each expecting one of the others to break it. Delilah spoke first.
'So... how did you two get your names?'
'Well... it's to do with what we believe in.' Aretha started to explain, but Cliff butted in.
'Y'see, Delilah, there was a time when real music wasn't just allowed, it was actively encouraged. It was created and performed by real people, the same people. It used to be a scandal if an artist had someone else writing their songs for them. And it wasn't done for the money - rock music was done for the glory of itself.'
'These artists were respected people - heroes. We try to keep their memory alive by taking their names as our own.'
'So, what, Cliff Richard and Aretha were rock singers?' Delilah asked.
'Not exactly.' Aretha answered. 'Aretha Franklin was from before rock, as far as I can gather. But you see it's not just rock - there's more, much more, but it's all been lost. There are names, and a few words, but we hardly know anything about the others.'
'And Cliff Richard wasn't a rock singer.'
'He wasn't?'
'No. Cliff Richard was a rock legend.'
'There's one thing I don't really understand...'
'What?'
'What do you mean by 'real' music? I mean, I've been listening to music all my life, it seems real enough to me...'
'Music made by people.' Aretha said, standing up. 'Brit explains it better than I do. We'd better get moving, they're expecting us back soon.'
'Who?'
'Well... the other Bohemians.'
'You mean there's more of you?'
'You didn't think we were the only ones, did you?' Cliff half-laughed.
'Well...'
'You're in for a surprise, Delilah.' Aretha caught Cliff's eye. 'A very big surprise.'
I know, the suspense is killing the few people who actually read this... TBC.