“You know how mosquitos fly through the rain…?”
She was just a girl. A girl with long legs and an even longer memory. And the skinny guy- fading from the corners of her vision like a puddle disturbed by a footstep – was a nurse. They called him “Mr Sweetdreams” on the night shift because his use of topical anaesthesia was legendary.
She could still hear voices on the wind from the past – talk of dames, plot holes and dry towels, of laughter, longing, loss and a shadowy character spoken of in whispers as ‘The Moff’. Why did he enjoy inflicting pain on those who loved him? Was he a misanthrope? A genius? Or just a really twisted scotsman?
What ever he was, she knew she had to get out of town – and fast. But where could she run from that creeping grey menace? Was it ageing or angels that she feared? Was it even fear at all – or the urging of something even more primal – that drove her forward. She shut her eyes – stretched out her pale hands – and gave chase.