Warnings: Swearing, mention of character death
Chapter 3: Stray Cat
Seeing Charlie put on her stage clothes was one of Dorothy's favorite sight.
First this implied that the bassist was naked, wich in itself was one of the good things of life (about tied with bacon and sunrises on Monument Valley). And this required from the young woman incessant comings and goings between her suitcase and the bathroom. First in underwear then in pants, skirt, pants again before she starts to put on a t-shirt or shirt, get changed, and start all from the beginning again. This amused Dorothy who could recognize her clothes to touch, to dress in the dark and still feel perfectly at ease in all circumstances. It was not something to which she attached a disproportionate importance, and to drive a bus all day in, she did not usually need to make outfit efforts. But to Charlie, the challenge was different.
Being labeled "The Group Girl" automatically put her away in a certain category of people she wanted to separate herself from, or at least not to end up trapped in. Often, reading one of their interviews or an article about the group, she sighed she had not signed on to be their feminine contrast.
She had fully explained to Dorothy why she loved playing bass. This was not only because of the sound, of the deep vibrations of the instrument that seemed to echo all the cells of the body. It was also because of its place in music.
"You see, the guitar is the guitar is the melodic line that speaks to the head. It's the one which tells the song. The drums, it takes you to the chest, it beats inside you as your heart. This is what makes the ground shake and resonate through your body. The bass... The bass speaks to you deep in the belly, it's the one who twists your guts even when you do not pay attention, it is that which maintains the whole song, giving it depth and background. You don't see it and yet it is essential."
"So the bass is the sexual part of the music ?" Dorothy had asked in an extremely serious tone. Charlie had nodded vigorously. It was a year ago at the start of the tour, the first time they had shared a hotel room. Shortly before they had begun to share the same bed.
Charlie took great care of her image and tonight she had a message to deliver. The Internet, where she killed most of her time between concerts, regularly informed her of the most idiotic laws of the states they crossed. She shared it with them at any time of day or night and that morning she had stopped on the prohibition for women to wear trousers in Tucson. Dorothy was convinced that this law had a logical origin but Charlie had not wanted to hear about it. She had decided to apply the law litteraly and nobody in the world except maybe Dean could not have made her change her mind. Sam and Kevin had tried without success until the drummer takes his friend's shoulders.
"After all" Had he said "Nobody will complain to see a half-naked girl on stage."
Charlie had thrown her PC mouse in his face, laughing. But she had held to her decision and therefore was walking around in the hotel room wearing only a black bodysuit and fishnet stockings. All leaving relatively little to the imagination or to any underwear, fact that Dorothy should have not find so attractive. Lying on the bed, the woman was wondering if Charlie's birthday could be a sufficient pretext for an unrestrained sex party later in the evening. Not that they needed a pretext now, but still.
Someone knocked on the door and Charlie yelled from the bathroom where she had obviously blinded one of her eyes with her mascara brush. Dorothy chuckled and got up to open to Dean and Castiel, the first carrying in his arms a large wrapped box with a pink paper that would displease the bassist.
"Who's this ?"
"Batman and Robin." Dean replied by putting the gift on a twin bed of the room. "You two manage to fit in oone of those things ?" He asked to Dorothy. The young woman shrugged.
"And you ?" She retorted.
"Oh yes !" Castiel replied when a second shot at the door announced the arrival of Sam and Kevin, carrying, them a bottle of champagne.
Charlie emerged from the bathroom, a very red eye being too rubbed after the macara attack.
"Happy Birthday !" Sam shouted opening his arms, the champagne bottle passing dangerously close to Castiel who dodged awkwardly. Charlie smiled and put one of her arm around the waist of the young man.
"We don't wait 'til after the show ?"
Kevin shook his head before taking the bottle from Sam. "We'll start over again after. It's been a while since we didn't play without being worse for wear"
"Drunk Kev, the word you're looking for is drunk !" Sam intervented dropping himself on the bed beside Dorothy and the gift box. He was shirtless under a brown pullover with the Stanford emblem and was wearing jeans so old it should had been sold before he was even born. From under the bed he pulled Charlie's suitcase to go through her jewels and accessories until he found a leather collar he handed to Dorothy so she could tie it on him.
"There's only the leash missing" Dean teased. Sam had a huge grin.
"Are you offering ?"
"You're disgusting" The older sighed sitting on the opposit bed, watching with a worried look Kevin's tribulations who was attempting to open the bottle. "And you, you're going to be dead sick" He told Charlie watching her naked legs.
"I'll wear a jacket" She replicated sitting beside him to unwrap her gift. Through the fishnet holes, he could see her nails painted in red and the silver anckle chain she hadn't put off since he knew her. A gift from Castiel two years ago. A little lucky angel charm dangling permanently.
The young woman emitted a long whistle opening the box, removing the tissue paper covering the shiny red leather boots. She turned them in her hands, enjoying the length of the rod, the smell of new leather and the shoes's color of fresh blood. They were all watching, enjoying the smile that slowly drew on her lips.
"You just gave me Batwoman's shoes ?"
"Yeup" Dean said.
"Made to measure" Castiel added.
"Based on one of Kevin's drawing" Sam said, handing her a pair of socks that Charlie pulled feverishly before dragging her feet in the boots, not really surprised to find them perfectly fitting. She did not know by what miracle they had managed to find the measures of her feet (and strongly suspected Dorothy being involved !) but she didn't questionned herself for too long. The boots were perfect and she refused therefore to remove them. Kevin handed her the bottle of champagne she took a swig from the neck before handing it to Dean.
"Happy Birthday, Red" Dorothy said by placing a kiss on her cheek.
It was not the real date of Charlie's birthday, they all knew it. But it was the day that she had adopted as the one where she was born into her second life, the most important to her. They respected this. And tonight, it was a special evening. This would not be a concert like any other.
As they went along, it became a habit to do something special during their respective birthdays.
She remembered the day, exactly two years ago when she had met them.
It was raining that day. This was why the song that closed exceptionally the acoustic session began with a stormy noise.
"I found a stray cat wandering outside in the street,
She hissed at me and bared her teeth ,
She clawed at my skin and stuck at my feet,
Like she wouldn't let go of me"
Two years earlier.
The guy had chose a bad day to attempt to approach her. He had taken a bag in the face and had walked away, holding his face with both hands, shouting insults.
It had begun to rain. She had lost the hood of her coffee to go now cold and disgusting. She threw it into a trash can and wrapped her arms around her, she had no umbrella and besides, she had sore feet. She ignored the ringing of her cell for the fifth time. If she had bothered she would have been able to trace the path of the rumor of her dismissal. From her boss's secretary at the coffee machine, from a colleague to another, from a gossip to a talkative... gradually Charlie Bradbury's nervous breakdown would become a legend. The kind of horror story told to new employees to teach them to keep within the framework and not making waves.
She had not realized she had leaned against a wall or that she had let herself slip to the ground, her head in her hands in the relative safety of a roof panel that protected her a bit from the rain. She would have give anything for that day to finish.
"Hey ? Are you okay ?"
She raised her head ready to strike again but the man who watched her was crouched close to her and held out his arm to protect her under a large pink umbrella. She wiped her nose, shaking her head and, curiously, giggled, looking up toward the pink spot lined with frilly which hid the black sky to her. The other smiled, causing his very green eyes to wrinckle. He was nibbling a silver ring he had in his lower lip, looking puzzled.
"What are you doing all alone in the rain ?"
"I don't know" She answered. She believed he would think she was drugged or drunk when it was only five o'clock in the afternoon. But he just sighed and extended a hand holding a crumpled and soaked paper bag.
"Come inside, you're making me feel cold, wet like this"
Years later when she was asked how all had begun, she always thought back to that moment. The exact moment she had sold her soul to Dean Winchester as she accepted his hand to help her up. The only person from the street to have stopped near a wet girl to offer her a refuge.
She had followed her inside the building against which she was leaning against. She had a while to understand that it was a recording studio and it was mostly by seeing a guy with long hair playing drums behind glass she had made the connection. There was a control console under the large window in the room where the man took her as well as a sofa, armchairs and a coffee table very close to each other behind the seat of the technician who was recording the sound of the drums. Two brown boys were sitting around the table overflowing with reliefs of food and coffee cups.
"I have company !"
"A strait cat again ?" One of the boys asked. He had beautiful blue eyes and seemed a little "out of" the studio with his barely wrinkled suit whose he had removed the jacket, distinctly laid on the back of his chair.
"Nope, just someone who'd need a hot thing to drink." Replied the man with green eyes. Charlie felt uncomfortable and her wet clothes began to make her cold. "We wouldn't have a towel or something?" He asked, still tucking his wet umbrella.
"It's a studio here, not a daycare !" The technician grumbled removing his headphones, turning in his chair to shoot a stern look on the three others. He stood up and held out his hand to the girl. "I'm Bobby Singer"
"Charlie. Charlie Bradbury." She articulated laboriously squeezing his hand.
The blue-eyed boy handed her a coffee which she vaguely wondered where it emerged from. "I Castiel, I'm here as a tourist."
"Kevin." Introduced himself the second boy in the room raising a hand. He had asian features, a spacer in one ear and a cello carefully stored in a case next to him at the end of the couch.
"Dean." Said the man with green eyes pointing himself from the thumb. "The moose behind the glass is my brother, Sam."
"The moose says fuck you !" Sam grumbled coming out of the recording room, stretching his long arms above his head to be able to hang on to the door frame and smiling at Charlie.
That was how she had met the four boys. On a rainy day. And she had never left.
"I found a stray cat, far away from home
She curled on my pillow and ate my food,
She told us stories of a faraway kingdom
Like we were the only ones who understood"
Kevin's cello began to reel off his deep and slow notes, accompanied by Sam's muffled drum which maintained a steady, hypnotic rhythm. Charlie clenched fingers on her borrowed guitar. She was not used to the instrument, and had only learned to play the necessary bars for this song, the weight of her bass was lacking, a bit like if her balance point had been removed. Two years earlier after eating donuts, having a little dried and drinking coffee, she had attended her first recording session. Without anyone had asked questions. Without even Bobby asks why a girl dripping wet from the rain had let herself invite by a stranger. As if it was normal for them to retrieve stray cats found in the rain. As if it was normal that Sam had put an arm around her shoulders two hours later and asked her if she knew where to sleep at night.
"She won't sleep with you, pervert !" Kevin had grunted, throwing him the bag of donuts empty and crumpled into a ball to the face.
"I'm not ... I have an apartment in fifteen minutes by." Charlie had mumbled.
"Need a taxi ?" Sam looked concerned.
Seeing him the first time, she had recoiled. He was very tall and the drums alone could not be responsible for the muscles in his arms. He was wearing a white tank top that had seen better days and showed an impressive amount of tattoos. All his left arm was a huge bunch of colorful flowers. She had thought that someone wearing as proudly as many colors and petals could not be inherently evil.
She had shook her head. "It's gonna be okay"
"That's what people say when they feel bad but do not dare talk about it." Sam had said.
And Charlie began to cry. Like that, suddenly, without harbinger, plunging the entire studio in a awkward silence only broken by the sound of her sobs. She had felt an arm go around her and Sam approach his chest to rock her. None of the five men had said anything.
In retrospect, it was probably because each of them knew there were no words to put on a great distress. No word of comfort that was effective. And that didn't matter, after all, why she was crying. She hadn't return home that night. Three days later, she was still wandering in the small apartment of the Winchester, in jeans loan from Kevin wich was still too big for her, and an old shirt of Dean which could have been a dress for her. A month later, a bass was delivered to the apartment she had finally return. The card that came with it was signed by Dean, Sam and Kevin.
"If you need a job, we need a bassist"
"Stray cat had a lot of demons,
She was fighting alone and the rain was pouring,
We nursed her into oblivion,
Until we could see her smile and hear her laughing"
The song was soft and rhythmic, Dean singing eyes closed, automatically playing the simple chords that accompanied the words evoking the time they had spent together.
That first evening when she had refused to talk to them about her problems. After all, one does not entrusted to foreigners like this. The first days when she had refuged herself, in the early morning on the Winchester's couch, a bass on her knees she had began to play muted so she wouldn't wake them. She had only stopped by seeing Dean coming into the living room smiling. His eyes were dwarfed by sleep and his hair were tousled.
"Who taught you ?"
"No one" She replied with her head bent on the instrument. "I found the bass of my favorite band on Ebay a few years ago... I took some courses, the rest... I've always said bass sounds soothe the soul."
"Does that work ?"
"A bit, yes"
He had made her coffee and toast. She had wondered if he did that with all the stray cats he encountered. She had only had her answer much later as a nod from Kevin. "Only those who are special. The other cats, he kicks them."
A long time after with the help of many beers, the two brothers had asked her what had happened the day they had met. She had told them, always with the help of alcohol. Told the car accident that took her father and plunged her mother into a coma when she was twelve. Told the wandering during her late teens and how she would sneak into the hospital to read stories to her mother. Told the day she had decided to end the medical assistance. How she had woken up that morning with the sensation of drowning in her own saliva. How a small remark from her boss had made her explode. How she had been fired the day of the death of the last person on earth she cared about.
They hadn't taken her in their arms this time. They had handed her a new beer and then another until she was drunk, then they had taken her back to the tourbus and had tucked her in her bunk. They had never talked about it again because some secrets, some pains aren't to share. Yet, often, one or the other clutched her shoulder when they saw her sad or thoughtful.
"Stray cat is like the little sister
I never wanted
Stray cat made me wonder
Is life even real ?"
Dean had refused she heard the song before tonight and he had been wrong. Because she wanted to laugh and cry. Wanted to take him in her arms and call him an idiot. She wanted him to shut, to not reveal it to any fans and yet, there was nothing more important than sharing it with them. Free Will was a blended family made of broken people who supported each othe. People who listened, who came to their concerts were like them somehow. Although the lyrics were vague, and probably wouldn't evoke much to the fans. But the four knew who she was, the meaning behind every word of Dean and the smiles he threw to her between verses.
"She plays queen and crowned me king
Of a faraway kingdom which I know nothing
And she thinks we're all wariors and heroes
When I though we were all survivors and zeros"
Charlie smiled, tried to focus on her guitar chords but she was too filled with emotion to know if she was playing correctly or not. She had removed her headset and her hearing protections to hear Dean singing. She was close enough to discern the air rattling in his throat when he breathed, the rustling of his mouth on the mic, yet she heard his voice amplified a hundred times by the speakers around them. It was like two distinct people were talking about her to a few hundreds of strangers.
"She has demons sitting on her shoulder
Just like me
But she fight everyday harder
And she's stuck with me
Because I love her
And I hope she loves me."
The last cello notes died away half a second after Dean's voice. Nobody in the room could see Charlie's eyes even though the light was pointed at her, but everyone could see that she was crying. She had stopped playing after missing several notes but nobody had paid attention. Sniffing, she bent over to pick up the microphone.
"I love you" She said as clearly as she could. She had no time to put the microphone away before sniffing again, triggering some laughter in the audience. Dean nodded gently, smiling.
"I know" He whispered just loud enough for only her to hear.
When they left the stage, in the backstages, she hugged him in her arms.
For a long time.
##
"Hey" Sam said tending a helping hand to retain an amp that threatened to fall from the sack truck on which it was.
"Hey" Replied the girl with a big smile. She had long eyelashes and very pronounced cheekbones and very high. "Thank You"
Sam smiled and gently pushed the amp to stabilize it. "Are you new ?"
She nodded. "Obviously"
He held out his hand. "I'm Sam"
"Madison" She answered, shaking his hand. "Any idea where these babies are supposed to go, sir ?" She asked, pointing the crates from the chin. Sam told her in which hardware truck to store the amp then gave her specific instructions on the handling of his drums. Madison smiled gently watching him unscrew a cymbal from its shelf and place it in a storage box.
"Is it precious ?"
Sam nodded touching the bass drum from the tip of the phalanges. "It cost me two years of savings, the first who damage it..." He didn't finish his sentence, just shook his head and smiled at the young woman. "I'll show you how to take care of it, the other roadies already know the procedure. Then I promise I won't get under your feet, it's just that ... I care about it."
Madison nodded. She almost regretted not having a notebook on her to write down instructions, but remove the drums did not require special diploma and the major advice (repeated at least thirty times by Sam) was to treat it with gentleness.
"It's silly you tap on it for hours every day !"
"This is why you need to treat it carefully when I'm not there." Sam smiled. "And there's no "sir" here. Civilities are reserved for opera and classical music"
Madison chuckled unscrewing one of the attachments of the little boxes Sam had designated as the "toms". "The rock does not tolerate courtesy ?"
"Courtesy ? It's no longer fashionable since the Middle Ages ! It's even been years since I've heard that word." Sam said, amused.
She looked at him puzzled. She did not expected him to place courtesy in the good time, nor even him to know exactly where the term came. He smiled and leaned over a box of equipment, arms crossed in front of him.
"What ? That surprises you that a guy who makes music has also an education ?" He teased, rolling the Floor Tom from front to back.
She felt herself blush from embarrassment without any good reason and looked down. "It shouldn't but... Yeah, a little."
Sam just smiled, his long hair fell before his eyes and he had to watch her fight with a pedal's attachment through his wisps.
"Do I have to conclude that the rock is for coarse characters ?" Madison asked.
Sam started to laugh. He had dimples and a little childish glint in his eyes that made her smile.
"And the cheeky girls." He replied, nodding.
"I guess neither of us is really in his propper place then ?" She put the attachment in place and Sam told her the order in which store the toms.
"We probably all have a reason to want to be elsewhere than in our place." He said when they had closed the last box.
Madison smiled. "The grass is always greener elswhere, and all that stuff ?"
He nodded. "I like the color of the grass here. I don't know if it's my place, but it's not worse than elsewhere."
"I agree."
The agitation had calmed down around them, they piled the last boxes in a hardware truck. They were almost alone except for a few roadies who shared a pack of beer further. At the end of the parking lot, under a lamp, Charlie and Kevin were talking with fans whom one had a European flag around shoulders.
"You should go." Madison said by designating them from the chin. He lowered his eyes at her, waiting for her to develop her thought "This is your place."
He smiled and walked away towards the circle of people under the streetlight. He stopped a few steps further and turned back.
"Madison ?"
She was in the same place, hands in the pockets of her jacket and was looking at him moving away. Even from afar, he saw her lift the chin to signify that she heard.
"Thank you for the conversation."
"It was a pleasure." She said, pretending to reverence, arms outstretched as if she was stretching the folds of an imaginary dress around her. That made him laugh, he joined her in three great strides and, taking her hand, raised it to his lips without taking his eyes off her. It was dark but he could have sworn she was blushing.
"My Lady..." He greeted her. Then he walked away toward Kevin and Charlie without turning back.
##
It did not become a habit right away, to discuss like this at the end of concerts, but from time to time they did. It was always nice, always pleasant. One evening as another, Sam advised the sports bag Madison put on the last box of material and raised his eyebrows.
"Laundry." She replied laconically.
"We're in the middle of the night! And the trucks won't wait for you."
"There is a laundromat not far from here, I have a book and I'll take the night bus that passes in three hours to get to Atlanta. Perfect timing."
Sam frowned, raising the material crate to slide it in the truck as if it weighed nothing.
"There will be one at the hotel tomorrow."
Madison rolled her eyes in annoyance. "I wanna be alone for a while. You might like it, but the life in community starts to weigh upon me."
He took the bag from her hands. "Where's your laundromat ?"
"What are you doing ?"
"I'm coming with you. It's simply out of question for me to let a girl alone at night in an unfamiliar town. We'll take the night bus together."
Madison frowned and tried to regain her bag. Unsuccessfully.
"Sam ! "
"This is not negotiable!" He warned her. She followed him into the tourbus where he retrieved his jacket and briefly explained to Dean where he was going. The singer looked away from a spaghetti meal that seemed to require his whole attention and winked at them.
"Don't forget the love glove." He simply said.
Sam rolled his eyes and sighed and took Madison's shoulders to lead her off the bus. She tried again to regain her bag but he held it above his head so high she couldn't even touch it by putting herself on tiptoes.
"Sam!" She protested "What you do not understand in the sentence "I wanna be alone?""
"The possibility of finding you slaughtered by a maniac tomorrow morning. I'm coming with you that's all. I will do as if I did not exist but I'll stay with you !"
She continued to protest all along the way to the laundry but Sam returned her bag only once they were against the washing machine. She charged the machine and retrieved a book in an outside pocket of the bag before sitting down next to Sam who began to read over her shoulder. It was a love story and he had nothing better to do. She quickly get used to question him with a growl before turning a page to make sure he had ended up at the same time. They read in the monotonous and comfortable noise the washing machine under the harsh lighting neons.
When the spin cycle ended, Madison rose to transfer her clothes in the dryer and then returned to the adventures of her hero whom she had entrusted the care to Sam. Nothing in the world would have made him confess, but after an hour of reading he had a vital need to know if George would finally overcome his amnesia and remember that he loved the beautiful Ann to insanity.
"Wait ..." He came back to the page that Madison had just turned, without really believing what he had just read."She's gonna marry Grant ?"
"Yes. To retrieve the legacy !"
"What a bitch !"
Madison laughed, unable to resist to Sam's disgruntled and amused expression.
"Admit that you love it !"
"No ! No, I would not say that, but... He took the book from her hands and pointed to the dryer. "Get your clothes I'll read the rest aloud to you." Madison smiled as she rose and retrieved a load of her clothes she carelessly threw on the table that adjoined the benches while Sam quickly turned the pages by reading key passages. Once he looked up on her to make sure she was listening. She was holding up a blue satin panties and she saw him blush. It was a lovely and unexpected sight. This large tattooed body in leather pants, sitting with his elbows on his knees in a launderette, holding in his hand a book with an unequivocal front cover. And was blushing at the sight of a panty.
She had done it on purpose, a little revenge for disturbing her tranquility, and she continued to expose her lingerie until everything was carefully folded and stored in the sport bag. At this moment, George, at the wedding of Ann remembered the night they had spent together shortly after their first meeting.
"You skipped the sexy passage" She accused.
Sam nodded. "You'll read it yourself." He retorted holding her back the book. The weather was cool compared to the stifling heat of the laundry and he was happy to slip into the bus sheltered from the cold when they reached the bus station. He stretched his legs in the deserted way while Madison settled, shoulder wedged against the window in the seat next to his and reopened the book.
"You act like a tough guy outside and you can't even read a sex scene aloud.." She grumbled reading the pages he had skipped.
"I'm not acting tough, it's only the opinion that people have about me because I play some rock." He defended himself.
"It's more the tattos that are misleading, not really the job" She said. It was strange as with him the flimsiest conversations always deviated on more psychologiacl thoughts, obscured by all the things they didn't know yet about the other but that they both seemed quite unable to not mention it.
"It's nothing but a little ink, people who stop at that are idiots. It represents me, but it doesn't define me." Sam said raising the armrest between them to lay his head on Madison's knees. She cringed a little and he straightened immediately, apologizing.
She shook her head. "No, it's ok."
He laid back and closed his eyes. "Read" He demanded.
"You already read that passage."
"Read even though."
The bus drove off, covering a little embarrassed throat scraping from Madison. She forced herself to ignore the young man's head resting on her thighs, his shoulder which touched her hip and the desire she had to pass his hand through the drummer's hair to see if they were as soft as they looked like. She began to read with a voice as monotone as possible, as if images didn't come to disturb her vision in regular intervals. Images where Sam predominated but not his clothes. Somewhere deep inside her, she thanked the nature to never have anyone with the power of telepathy. Or empathy because otherwise he would have felt the warmth that overwhelmed her with every jolt of the bus, with each of his movements, with each of his smiles when she stumbled over a word or stammered. He had closed his eyes, his long eyelashes were shadows on his cheeks, and he fell asleep gradually. For a long time she did not dare move for fear of waking him and eventually she slipped into sleep after setting the alarm her cell phone twenty minutes before the scheduled time of arrival in Atlanta.
They awoke at the next stop and didn't manage to fall back to sleep despite the soothing hum of the engine and the smooth scrolling of streetlights they counted like so many bright sheeps. Sam had removed his jacket and folded his arms across his chest, he saw the night sky between two streetlights whitened his vision for a few seconds.
"Do they all have a meaning ?" Madison asked, patting the tattoos on his forearm. "Or is it just that you like make piercing your skin with needles ?"
Sam laughed as low as he could to not disturb other sleepy passengers. "Is this a roundabout way of asking me if I like feel pain ?"
"You didn't answered my question."
"Neither you did." He smiled. He stopped looking at the sky for a moment just to see her rolling her eyes sighing. "I'm not a needle fan. There are some I just found beautiful, and others... let's just say that there are things that exprime better with a permanent drawing than with a four minute song."
"Like The Woman in White ?"
"How do you know that ?" he grunted straightening himself and sitting. He ran a hand over his face as if to chase tiredness.
Madison shrugged. "Your brother looks at you when he sings it, every night. And you have her name tattooed in white on your phalanges."
Sam instinctively clenched his fist to shirk his fingers from the young woman's look. "I don't want to talk about it." He said caressing with his thumb the almost invisible marks on his knuckles. Four luminous letters under black light at the exact spot where the rings would be accommodated by an American fist if he still had one. He felt vaguely trace of ink under his skin as a persistence of a life that was not anymore for a long time.
Madison opened her mouth as if to say something but immediately closed it. She took the book and put it between them so that they could complete their remaining fifty pages and find out if Ann and George would end up together.