Chapter 43: Mr. Steele Sends His RegardsSitting in the chair K has used I could still smell her lingering st. Thinking of Agent K, and then of Harry Longman and doctor Scooter, I waited to be summoned intery. Mostly I thought about dy Belmy and my mind wound itself through the dark recesses of memory and lost itself in fusion. fusiohan a day ago I was getting it on with a guy, in some kind of misguided effort to preserve a half-fotten memory. And then: pying a role somewhere between male and female with an inscrutable woman, a broken and bitter agent I somehow knew I could trust utterly. Beh all this fluttered the faint memories of the women from my past: Akiko and Muna and Amanda. Their presence fell over the events of the st few weeks like the trembling shadow of anxious moths beh a pale light at night.

  Persephone. Ghosts of the past. Her half-fottey underscored everything in my life. For years I had tried to ignore what had happened between us even as I desperately failed to burn every single moment to memory. Those early days after the courthouse; these weeks at the Asklepios ic; st night with Harry and this m with K: somehow everything happening in the present was bringing ba unwele recolle of the past. For years I had tried to live the part of David Saunders, normal human being, all-around-jerk, corporate climber and dies’ man.

  A few weeks as the dy had torn that illusion away. It’s a good thing today was the end. Once I was firmly ensced in the new persona K had devised for me, I hoped I could trick myself into being a ‘nice guy’ again.

  A trick was the best I could hope for. I’d never be a nice guy. But hopefully I could pretend, for the rest of my life if need be. I took some pleasure in knowing that K never got to see the real me. I had dy to thank for that. Hopefully the twenty-year old minx could help me be a nicer person iure.

  “Has it really been that bad, being a girl?” K’s voice echoed in my ear, so loud and real I nearly opened my eyes to see if she was standio me. How could I ahat question truthfully to a woman I felt impossible feelings for?

  Of course it hadn’t been that bad.

  It’s amazing what a human being endure when necessary. The fear of humiliation be one of the stro motivators a person will ever enter; but it’s not the stro, not by far. Take a real maan and point a gun at his head and give him the choice between wearing a dress or a bullet to the brain--yeah, you bet your ass y-nine pert of them will wear the dress. Pain. Hunger . . . especially hunger. Loneliness. These are the fears that motivate people. And even they be endured. pared to those--what’re a few weeks in high heels?

  The clothes were unfortable. Makeup and the fascism of fashion, the style of helplessness, boishism in t heels and hobbling skirts and distrag d straps that ran all over my body . . . God, it was all such bullshit. But it wasn’t worth dying over. Yeah, I couldn’t wait to get away from it all. The thing is, if I was to be pletely truthful with myself, I’d have to admit that half my hurry was because. . . .

  Goddamn if I hadn’t felt the terrible allure of it all, and that I couldn’t bme on the drugs.

  For as long as I could remember my life has been hard and difficult. Always on edge, always on guard, challenging, frontational, in charge and in your face--yeah, that’s me. A real tough guy.

  But dy . . . she could rex. She could rely on others. She could let her guard down. Shit, but I’d love to rex, just once, and everything about her was so delightfully soft, and easy, and happy. To let myself be taken care off—protected, in the arms of another: yeah. There was a seductive allure to that.

  I thought of st night with Harry and too much of what happened skirted dangerous close to my own core. Had it beeirely an act, dy enjoying Harry’s strong arm across her shoulders, encirg, trolling, safe? That passionate, desperate kiss uhe tree and the night sky. If I was brutally ho with myself, had that been all dy?

  Who the hell was she, really, this dy girl?

  dy didn’t hate herself. I did.

  God, did I ever hate myself.

  Goodbye, dy.

  It’s too quiet.

  With a start I snapped out of my useless mencholy. The Asklepios ic, as a whole, was a quiet pce but his quiet. The normal background bustle of the hospital was missing. Other than the sound of my owhing and the rhythmic hum of the equipment in the room, I was surrounded by a profound and uling silenbsp; Even the faint thrum of ventition had silenced.

  Every instinct shouted that something was seriously wrong. I wasn’t safe here, no matter what K and Scooter thought.

  I leapt to my feet, shouldering my purse. The cliy heels rang unnervingly loud as I walked from the room. I cursed the tight skirt that hobbled my stride and forced me to take short ming steps. I reached out with every sense. The hallway stretched in both dires. Fluorest lights hummed overhead. There was no one else around. My corseted breath roared in my ears as I forced down my ay. It robably nothing, just like when I found Larry chasing after me.

  What if Larry had been right and this pce wasn’t safe?

  Where the hell was Scooter? What was that message K received?

  With hurried steps I rushed down the corridor towards the er. I had barely left the room before I heard a single, solid footstep behind me. A familiar male voice called out.

  “David Saunders?”

  I tur the sound of my name.

  Stupid, stupid fug rookie mistake.

  “Hello, Mr Saunders.” Agent Foster’s stepped around the er and stood at the far end of the hall. His face split in a thin, pleased smile. “Mr. Steele sends his regards.”

  Author's Notes:

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