Orange juice. Thank God Almighty for orange juice. Diana had another long day ahead of her, beginning with a nine o'clock fencing workshop that she'd snuck into her cover schedule. The only one who seemed to notice was David, who just raised his eyebrow at her. Orange juice… cheerios…. Breakfast of champions…. No that's Wheaties, she thought, scanning the refrigerator for the milk.

At least this morning she'd awoken after the sun came up. The day before she'd stumbled around in the dark, hitting the wall every so often. She yelped when she found the kitchen. The cold tile on her feet was horrible. At least this morning she'd had the sense to put on socks before venturing into the kitchen.

All things considered she was surprised she'd gotten any sleep at all last night. The tapping had not returned, but she couldn't stop thinking about how annoying it was, and was certain that when she finally did cool down and fall asleep she'd dream about tapping.

It was so cold outside that morning that the hair on the back of Diana's neck stood up, even with the scarf she had haphazardly thrown about her neck. She imagined she looked a bit funny walking about in fifty million or so sweaters, but it couldn't be helped. She still had no coat, and she'd be damned if she'd walk around this freezing city without something to keep her at least moderately warm.

Trying to keep her mind off of how damned cold it was, she tried to appreciate the scenery. She'd started to notice things now, like how Boston wasn't quite as grey as she'd thought. There was enough colour really, just not nearly as much as in California. It didn't smell quite as off as LA, and when she walked down a certain street she could smell the very sweet smell of roasting almonds. She just wished she could have figured out where it was coming from.

The night was much colder than the morning, and Diana couldn't distract herself nearly as well in the dark. She almost cried in relief when she finally reached her apartment building, and sighed happily as she felt the heating system sink into her bones while she walked upstairs. The newspaper had come after she'd left that morning, and it was laying on the ground in front of her door. She knelt down to pick it up, and noticed that there was a small red book lying beneath it.

Morse Code, History and Guide to Use

Diana made an indiscernible noise of interest. Morse Code? She looked to her left and right, as if wondering whether or not someone would come out of one of the other apartments and claim the book, but no one did. She opened her apartment and walked inside, closing the door behind her and throwing the book and the newspaper on the nearest coffee table.

A cup of tea later, and she was back out in the carpeted living room, picking the book back up. It was, as aforementioned, small and red, and the title was written in small black letters on the front. It looked new, and was a paperback, and it had that lovely glisten that all new paperbacks seem to have. Flipping through, she noticed that the page on which the Morse alphabet began was dog-eared.

After another moment she stopped musing over its purpose. It seemed as though there was a fudged up delivery. She'd take it down to the lobby the next morning and give it to whoever was on duty. It seemed odd that there was no address written on it, or form of postage, but puzzling over it wasn't getting her anywhere, and Diana had learned long ago that when a lead doesn't get you anywhere, best shoot it down and think of something else before the ruddy red herring drives you mad.

A little annoyed with her own inadequacy, Diana flopped down onto her bed and reopened the tempest, learning scene 2 for a workshop she'd have to help teach the following day. It almost hurt being back in school for this sort of thing. There were so many wonderful performance opportunities that she wouldn't be able to take because it wasn't part of her job, and she could hardly pass off late nights at the theatre as a necessary part of her

TAP!... tap tap tap tap…. Tap tap tap tap ……

"Jesus Christ," Diana murmured angrily. Who the hell was it anyway? And what was the point of tapping on her wall?

She lifted the book in her hand, preparing to slam it against the wall, when her eyes fell on the Morse Code guide, still lying on the bedside table.

You've got to be kidding me.

Her curiosity getting the better of her, she picked up her notebook and a pencil, and the book of Morse Code, and started to listen.

About ten minutes later, Diana had finally gotten a message of sorts, and was frantically writing down letters in dots of her own so that she could reply.

S..O..R..R..Y……..A..B..O..U..T……T..H..E…..T..A..P..P..I..N..G….H…E…L..L..O……S..O..R..

N..O….Y..O..U…..A..R..E…….N..O..T……O..R…..Y…O...U…….W..O..U..L..D…….N..O..T…..B..E……D..O..I..N..G…..I...T…

There was a pause after this. And Diana smiled to herself, wondering what the person on the other side of the wall must be thinking. And then there was another message.

R..I..G..H..T…….S..O..R..R..Y…..

And then they stopped. Diana waited a few moments before responding, not sure if they'd lost interest or not.

I...T...I..S……O..K

She waited, smiling, for another message, and to her amusement, she was not disappointed.

WELCOME TO THE BUILDING.

THANK YOU. IT IS NICE HERE.

YOU MUST BE JOKING. THIS PLACE IS A SHITHOLE.

TRUE. BUT I HAVE A WORKING SHOWER, TOILET, AND KITCHEN. I CAN DEAL.

GOOD. LOOKS LIKE WE WILL GET ON FINE.

INTERESTING WAY OF INTRODUCING YOURSELF.

BUT CREATIVE, AGREED?

AGREED.

IF ANNOYING.

YES, VERY.

SORRY.

YOU SAID THAT ALREADY.

DO YOU STILL MIND?

MAYBE.

I COULD STOP.

MIGHT AS WELL TRY TO REDEEM YOURSELF.

CAN I DO THAT THROUGH A WALL?

I GUESS WE WILL SEE.

I GUESS SO.

YOU MUST BE A MAN.

HOW DID YOU GUESS?

CALL IT INTUITION.

SURE, AS SOON AS YOU TELL ME WHAT IT IS.

I BET YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS AND ARE PLAYING DUMB.

I PREFER TO THINK OF IT AS PLAYING POSSUM.

BRAINDEAD THEN?

YOU ARE GOOD. WHAT IS YOUR NAME?

I AM NOT IN THE HABIT OF GIVING MY NAME TO THE MAN ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL.

YOU DO THIS ALL THE TIME THEN?

SURE.

AH, A WOMAN THEN.

WHY DO YOU SAY THAT?

MEN DO NOT SPEAK THROUGH WALLS.

YOU DO.

LET ME REPHRASE. LIKE EVERYTHING ELSE, MEN DO IT WHEN WOMEN WANT THEM TO.

WHO WANTS YOU TO TALK TO ME THROUGH THE WALL?

ADMIT IT, YOU ARE HAVING FUN.

STAYING UP LATE TO TALK TO SOMEONE I CANNOT SEE?

YEP.

PRETTY SURE OF YOURSELF?

NOT SO MUCH. SURE THAT IF YOU WERE NOT HAVING FUN, YOU WOULD HAVE GONE AWAY BY NOW.

GOOD POINT.

ARE YOU GOING TO TELL ME YOUR NAME?

NO.

THEN WHAT WILL I CALL YOU?

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO CALL ME ANYTHING. NO ONE ELSE LIVES HERE, AND EVEN IF THEY DID. IT IS DOUBTFUL THAT THEY ARE IN THE HABIT OF TALKING THROUGH WALLS.

GOOD POINT.

I KNOW. NICE TRY THOUGH.

CAN I COME OVER?

NO. IT IS ONE IN THE MORNING.

YOU ARE STILL UP.

BUT NOT DRESSED.

OH….

YOU ARE THINKING ABOUT ME NOW ARENT YOU.

NO

NO

A BIT.

YOU SHOULD HAVE STUCK WITH NO.

I CANNOT LIE. IT IS A SIN.

A SIN?

YES, SOMETHING I SHOULD TRY NOT TO DO.

I KNOW WHAT IT IS. WHAT ARE YOU, A PRIEST?

A SAINT.

SAINT.

YEP.

IS SAINT BOSTON SLANG FOR COCKY BASTARD?

DO NOT TALK ABOUT ME MUM THAT WAY.

SORRY. MY GOAL WAS TO INSULT YOU, NOT YOUR FAMILY.

THAT IS OKAY. I FORGIVE YOU.

HOW DIVINE OF YOU.

SAINT.

RIGHT.

SO WHAT ARE YOU?

ACTRESS.

MOVIES?

SHAKESPEARE.

SHALL I COMPARE THEE TO A SUMMERS DAY. THOU ART MORE LOVELY AND MORE TEMPERATE.

AND YOU CAN TELL THAT THROUGH A WALL?

I TRUST MY INTUITION.

SORRY. WHATS THAT?

FUNNY.

IT IS FOUR IN THE MORNING.

FUCK.

DO NOT SWEAR AT ME THROUGH THE WALL.

SORRY.

OK.

BED THEN?

I HAVE CLASS IN FOUR HOURS.

BED.

YES.

GOODNIGHT.

GOODNIGHT.

TOMORROW?

GOODNIGHT.