The Dark Star - Aftermath Pt. 09

"It's not yours Simon."

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The phone call cut short I shake my head as I step out of the car and look up to the flat situated above the Chinese Takeaway. Chloe's old flat that we'd kept on for the pittance of a rent despite never having required it until recently. The smell wafting from the premises below the flat stirs my ravenous hunger. I realise I've not eaten in near 24 hours.

Darkness fills the late afternoon sky the colour of which is fast fading as twilight takes hold of the bleak looking street.

In the upstairs window I see the curtain twitch a little a pale hand drops the curtain as it falls back into place.

My phone in my hand I drop it to the floor and stamp the heel of my foot onto the glass screen repeatedly and heavily. No need for any of the contacts any longer, the messages the emails or pictures on the device all already belong to a former existence. A new phone with a new sim registered to a new identity sat in the suitcase on the back seat of the car. By time I'm done the phone is smashed and barely held together by its aluminium casing. Picking up the phone I drop it into a bin overflowing with the detritus of take away wrappers and a semi opaque bag that contains a dog shit.

Before me a solitary dirty white door, its letter box slightly askew, opens silhouetting her against the light of the carpeted stairway behind her. A plethora of junk mail and takeaway menus at her feet.

She rushes to me flinging herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and simultaneously legs around my waist. Bracing, taking her weight I clutch the backs of her tight covered thighs just below the line of her tiny denim shorts. Her lips embrace mine and with abandonment she kisses me passionately.

Breaking the kiss, I look into her green eyes, stark even in this pale light her hair scraped from her face behind a black beanie hat.

"You left the door open and the lights on."

"Fuck that old man ... I'm glad to be seeing the back of that shit hole."

I smirk lowering her to her feet, my hands slip up over her waist on to her sides under the oversized black hooded top she wears. She grimaces and then seethes audibly.

"You alright?" I enquire genuinely concerned.

"Yeah um..." she half smirks "...next time you need my blood for the sake of convincing people I've popped off my mortal coil ... let's think of an alternative to stabbing me in the side of my stomach".

"Does it need attention?" I ask with as much concern as my first question.

"Nothing a few ibuprofens or a joint won't solve" she smirks.

"Good..." I finally darkly smirk, "And you'll be glad to know Emily Grainger that there won't be a next time."

"Emily Grainger?" she bites her lip cheekily cocking her head to the side in consideration "Ooh I do like my new name."

"Then let's get in the car Emily... we've a flight in little over two hours."

I can't help but watch her near skip away around the front of the Mercedes, despite her heavy flat soled Doc Martin boots as she slips into the passenger seat. As I clamber in alongside of her behind the steering wheel, she's excitedly flicking through the pages of the freshly acquired passports I'd picked up on route to her.

"Aww..." she pouts as I pull my seatbelt across my chest, "...but you didn't take my suggestion on your name."

"Seymour is an old man's name." I state firing up the engine. "Besides, I thought Andy and Emily Grainger sound quite the perfect couple."

"But Andy..." She giggles, and I know what's coming, "... You are such an old man."

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6 months later;

I sit in the bright sunshine of the terrace outside of the La Sureña restaurant on the Paseo de la Farola overlooking the Yachts gently bobbing in the relatively still waters of the harbour. A touch of envy at the luxurious lifestyle they'd provide. Such wealth well beyond my means. I don't need such trappings though.

Looking down at the paperwork sat on the table in front of me. My hand reaches out as a warm late May breeze whips of the Alboran Sea, setting my hand firmly on the papers as they threaten to blow away.

Another day of late twenty-degree heat, it wasn't that I could get used to this heat, I had already gotten used to this heat. Rising to my feet I pick up the papers and slip them into a leather laptop case that I sling over my right shoulder. I finish the last of the glass of excellent local Red Wine and fold over a twenty euro note slipping it under the little side plate the receipt for lunch had been presented on. Walking along the esplanade lined with bars, cafes, restaurants, and shops I turn my face to the early afternoon sun, as shopkeepers make ready to close their business for their afternoon siesta.

Looking down the street ahead of me I see her heading towards me. Her form unmistakable, she had as presence, an aura.

I stop and watch her approach. Passing two idle Waiters who hover in a restaurant doorway as she confidently steps towards me. I watch them watching her, a smirk playing out across my face knowing that whatever they're thinking, whatever they'd desire of her, she's mine.

"Hey, you..." she offers from a distance, "...All sorted?"

"All sorted ... all finalised," I respond with a grin.

A sheer white summer shirt wraps around her upper body. Bare foot with tiny pale blue denim cut offs sat at tops of her legs, through the opacity of the shirt I can see a tiny electric pink bikini top and the detail of the tattoos that decorate her pale skin.

Her once red hair now dyed a platinum blonde sits beneath an oversized bohemian looking floppy sun hat she's taken to wearing for shade when out and about. Those piercing green eyes all but obscured by silver rimmed large dark sunglasses.

"So, when do we get the keys?" Hetti asks excitedly.

"I can pick them up whenever we want."

"Now... now... I can't wait," she excitedly bounces as I step close and kiss her soft lips.

Breaking the kiss, I look her up and down once again.

"How about you ... did you get done what you wanted to get done?"

"Well..." she bit her lip flashing me a playful glance over the top of her sunglasses "...While you were off dining with that tedious little lawyer completing your boring business ... on our exiting new bar ... I took the time to get the finishing touches on my tattoo."

"Did you now?" I state, "Do I get to see?"

My hands slip to the neckline of the loose shirt wrapped but unbuttoned I realise around her body. Pulling open the shirt my eye is immediately caught by the stylised image of a Wolfs head that she'd previously had tattooed across her chest and the tops of her breasts, coloured with vivid purple and pink shadow detail, his nuzzle pointing down between her cleavage and the cups of her bikini top.

I smirk at the fresh stark black letters that now adorn the colourful design.

"You approve?" she smirks.

"I approve," I say my eyes scanning the freshly etched letters clearly discernible beneath the applied protective film.

"Well, I am, aren't I?"

"You are..." I reply "...You are."

My eyes scan the words once more.

'Logan's Girl.'

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Logan Hughes May Return

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