A young woman swung by one leg from the branch of a tree. The other leg pointed straight up, instep arched balletically in spite of high-heeled black boots. She wore narrow black trousers and a tight grey sweater. Her dark hair, which usually tapped just below her shoulder blades as she walked, almost swept the ground, leaving her face like a tiny moon in the shadows. Her arms were out horizontally, as if in mid-dive.
The man leaning on the fence a few yards away from the tree raised his eyebrows. He was tall, slender and had black, wavy hair, though he kept it quite short. His eyes were so pale that they looked silver in the moonlight; they gave hisface a hawkish look. He wore a very expensive suit with a white shirt and abrilliant red tie that made him look like a young art dealer, or the juniorpartner in a City law firm, studiously correct but with an edge of flamboyance that he just couldn’t hide. She looked like a gymnast or a ballet dancer, impossibly slender, but packed with controlled power. Neither of them were what you would expect to see in a wooded grove at the edge of a field at night.
“At least circus school didn’t go to waste,” he said. The young woman ignored him and closed her eyes. He studied her for a minute, head on one side as if she were a lopsided painting, then walked over.
He said, after a little more consideration, “Do you know that your mouth”s at the perfect height like that?” She didn’t open her eyes. “It’s more than a little tempting,” he continued. “I could just grab you by the hair – ”
There was still no response. Settling himself, he unfastened his belt and unzipped his fly. At the same time her booted foot surrendered to gravity and her leg kicked out convulsively; it might have been an accident. The ball ofher foot connected with his forehead and shoved him over backwards. He couldn’t save himself because both hands were holding up his trousers; he staggered and landed on his backside in a heap, cursing. Her foot resumed its point skyward. Her arms had barely moved at all.
“I ought to beat the crap out of you,” he muttered, climbing to his feet. Her expression didn’t change, beyond the slow opening of her eyes, which were brown. She regarded him for a moment.
“You’ve been watching cable again,” she said. “If you have to threaten me, at least try to come up with something in your own style. Cable’s not really your thing, is it?”
“I mean it. I don’t have to put up with this from you. you’re quick and you’re strong, but I’m stronger.”
“So what?” she said, eyes again closed.
“So I can take you any time I want to.”
She sat up, clasped the branch with both hands, swung her legs down and dropped gently to the floor. She landed squarely and didn’t stagger in spite of theheight of her heels. Wearing those, she could look him straight in the eye when she turned to face him, and she did.
“Come on then,” she said. “Take me.”
He made a left feint, but stopped when she didn’t move. He laughed; she didn’t and her stance didn’t change. Then he shrugged, backing down from the challenge gracefully.
“It’s not worth the effort.”
Now she smiled. “Oh good. That explains why you’re here, then. Nothing better to do.”
“Well, I do have something better to do, so piss off.”
“That’s not very polite.” His pale eyes blinked out and snapped open again in mock indignation. “After I’ve let you off without raping you. You could at least show some gratitude.”
“Thank you so much for not raping me. Now piss off.” She scooped up her leather jacket from under the tree, but didn’t put it on. He walked back to take up his earlier position by the fence, arms folded. The breeze caught his jacket, blowing it open for a moment to reveal the lining, which was shockingly red, even by moonlight. She glanced at this and gave him a dark look as he turned back towards her, so he grinned maliciously. He knew that she disapproved of the red/black combination, saying it was a pose – she invariably wore muted tones and russet was the nearest she ever got to a brilliant splashof colour. He shuffled against the fence, as if trying to get comfortable for the rest of the night.
“You’ve begun to repeat yourself,” he said. “It shows a lack in your vocabulary. What were you doing while the rest of us were being educated?”
“Screwing.” He assumed a scandalised expression, but didn’t move, so she continued, “And if you don’t go soon, I’m going to have to repeat myself again.”
“What’s the matter?” He stood up from his leaning post very slowly and straightened his tie, smiling at her all the time. “Record got stuck?”
“That’s not a very elegant expression, Richmond. It seems that I’m not the only one with a limit to my vocabulary.”
“Ah! I’m glad to see that I’ve piqued you into a semblance of verbal facility,” he said. She stooped to pluck off a thistle head, shredded it, let it blow away. He was downwind and it blew into his face. “If you’re trying to annoyme, you’re succeeding,” he said, plucking bits of thistle down from his hair.
“Good. You”ll be going, then?”
“No, I don’t think so. you’re too keen to get rid of me.” He smirked and sat cross-legged on the ground, utterly careless of his suit. “That’s bad tactics because it makes me curious. Not many things interest me; now, however, interest is switched on.” He grinned again.
“Why do you want me to go? What do you have planned, Megan? Could it prove fruitful? Could it provoke – a frisson?”
Megan shook her head ruefully and put her jacket on. Richmond looked her up and down, then nodded: apparently he approved of the narrow trousers, the boots, the long jacket. For some reason, this seemed to annoy her. “Whatever it is will be much too prosaic for you, I’m sure, Richmond.”
“I don’t know,” he drawled. “Your wanton display of acrobatic skill was quite entertaining – though I know it wasn’t for my benefit, since my gallant offer was so rudely pushed aside.”
“Do you mean the offer to let me fellate you, while I was hanging upside downfrom a tree?”
“The very one. It seemed too good an opportunity to miss.” He slapped his hands on his knees. “Though, clearly, you disagree.” He let his head drop forward so that his gaze came to rest on his groin. “It seems that these days, my little sweetmeat, we have so very little in common.”
“Why the plethora,” she raised an eyebrow, “of endearments? We aren”t usually on such intimate terms.”
He sniggered. “Not verbally, at any rate.”
She sighed and kicked at a fallen branch. “And we haven’t done THAT for ages.” It sounded almost like a complaint and he looked up in surprise, but by then she had her back to him, stalking away a few steps so that she could turn round and come back again to say, “you’re becoming predictable, Richmond.”
He clutched at his heart. “Not true! I am renowned for my unpredictability.”
“Not from where I’m standing.” He kept his eyes on her face while he gave this some consideration, gnawing on his fingernail for a second. “Careful,” shesaid. “You’ll ruin your manicure.”
“I suspect that we have reached a stalemate,” he announced around his finger. “You’re trying to provoke me into leaving, to disprove your assumption that I will stay. But whether I stay or go, I will be doing what you expect – and that’s not good.”
She didn’t respond. He smiled, then shrugged gracefully. “So I’ll break the stalemate,” he said. “I’ll take you with me.”
Then he shot her.
Two nights later, Richmond was outside a certain Art Nouveau apartment block, as Megan left. It was where she lived.
Her right arm was held across her chest in a sling. Richmond held out a bouquet of flowers and wore a contrite expression with his lovingly tailored suit (the lining matched the cloth, this time) but she ignored him until he stood in herway. They performed a dance – every time she moved, he blocked her, holding outthe flowers like a blessing. Finally, she took them in her good hand and dumped them in a bin. He bowed, laughed, still blocked her way. In exasperation, she swung her hand to slap him. He caught it and planted a kiss in the palm. She slapped him anyway. He laughed again and kissed her mouth. She kicked him inthe groin and walked away.
Richmond leaned on the railings, rather enjoying the consternation that his groaning, huddled figure caused. When the tears had cleared from his eyes and the pain finally eased to a throbbing ache he walked off, carefully, round the corner to his car – a Ferrari F40. He drove away slowly, ignoring the engine’s protests, watching all the while for long dark hair tap-tapping at a point just below a young woman’s shoulder blades, though he had to drive almost half a mile before he saw her. She wasn’t easy to spot in the shadows. Megan was wearing dark brown, tonight, a long, flowing skirt and wraparound top that made her lookmore ballerina-like than ever. Only the high, spiked heels of her boots belied the appearance.
Richmond pulled up and opened the passenger window. “Get in. You can’t just keep walking.”
“I don’t need favours from you,” she said, but she didn’t carry on walking.
“I know. Get in anyway,” he said. To his surprise, she did – she disapproved of the car even more than his suits, on the grounds that it was too conspicuous. He’d expected much more of an argument and said so.
“It seems that this week is full of surprises,” she said.
“Oh, the kick in the groin wasn’t a surprise.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Oh you mean – ?”
“It’s called shooting, Richmond. You shot me, you bastard.”
“Yes. One to me, I think.” By now he was driving through wooded countryside, gently rolling, idyllic. He looked around and nodded approvingly as a tight right-hand bend came up. He took it at speed. She wouldn’t speak to him, so he said, “Do you have to keep your arm strapped up like that?”
“It seems so.”
“The bullet went straight through? It was supposed to, but you can never besure – and you moved a bit.”
“Oh, I’m SO sorry.”
He ran his hands over the steering wheel. “So can I see it?”
“Go on. Just to look.”
“Perhaps you should have had a look when you did it.”
“Oh, I did, but you were bleeding quite a lot, which was a surprise, so I didn’t get a very good look. And, of course, help arrived.”
She turned slightly in the seat to look at him. “You know about that, then?”
“I was there, remember?”
She kept her dark eyes on his face then took a deep breath before saying, “Oh, you were there, alright.” It was Richmond’s turn to check her face for clues, but there weren’t any. He replayed the scene in his mind – her hand reaching for the wound, the blood pouring between her fingers. As he flung the car into another fast left/right combination of bends, he saw her outraged look at his face, then her knees gave way and she sat down heavily. Then she passed out. That had been a surprise, too. As he’d knelt over her to inspect the wound, there had been a noise from the nearby path. Human footsteps. Richmond had melted into the darkness just as a vaguely familiar man, wearing a plaid shirt and jeans had stepped out of the trees. His thinning fair hair exaggerated the consternation and shock on his round face and he’d immediately run towards Megan.
Richmond’s mouth dropped open in surprise. A light bulb should have come on just above his head. “Wait a minute – ” Megan raised her eyebrows. “You knew that he was coming. You were waiting for him – the one who helped you.”
“don’t be ridiculous.”
“You were.” He narrowed his eyes; it made him look feral, in spite of the suit. “I wondered what brought on your urge to go into the sticks; rural landscapes have never appealed to you. He lives out here, doesn’t he?” Megan was silent. “But why were you waiting for him?” He glanced over at her; she was staring out of the passenger window and he could only see her in half profile. “Come on -tell me. You never wait for anyone. you’re always the one who makes the move. Always.”
Megan looked back from the window; but she didn’t meet Richmond’s eyes. She sounded defensive. “I wanted a change.”
“Are you going soft? You WANTED that … non-entity? That do-gooder?” He had to look away from her to take the next series of bends, but his outrage was obvious in the way that he did it; he changed down the gears as if he were carving up a body.
There was the briefest pause, then Megan dropped words from her mouth as if they were pebbles. “I think he liked me.”
Richmond looked as though she’d presented him with a bucket of saliva. Finally, he spat out: “Rubbish.”
“It wasn’t just – the usual. He was really concerned about me, even before this.” She waved her good hand vaguely towards her wounded shoulder. “No-one’s been concerned about me for ages.”
Richmond gunned the engine and took the next corner dangerously close. “Thanks very much.” Megan turned further round to look at him more closely, then made a strange, half-apologetic shrug. She winced and put her good hand to her shoulder. Richmond noticed, but only said, “And how did you thank your saviour for making such an expert job of bandaging you up?” He laughed, though it sounded more like a bark. “I think It’s so romantic, by the way, that he tore up his shirt to staunch the bleeding – It’s hardly what I”d want to do on a first date, especially if I was as pudgy as that.” Megan’s mouth twisted in ahalf smile, but she didn’t comment. Richmond kept his eyes on the road. “You WERE losing a lot of blood, though…” The sentence tailed off in the air. Then he said, “You did it, didn’t you?”
Megan shuffled. “What if I did?”
“Were you always going to -?” He sounded suspicious.
“I might have been.”
“You ARE going soft. I can’t believe that you’d choose someone like him.” He flung the car into another corner as the light bulb came on over his head again. “God – you didn’t do it all, did you?”
Megan snapped round in her seat to glare at him. “Of course I didn’t do it all! If you’d left me alone, I might not have done ANYTHING. I had no reason to rush until you decided to play silly buggers!”
In frustration she kicked his car and Richmond looked shocked, though he tried not to. He also tried – surreptitiously – to see if any damage had been done.
“I TOLD you that I wanted some time by myself,” she shouted. “But did you listen? You didn’t. You followed me. You hung around. YOU SHOT ME.” She rubbed her foot over the spot she’d kicked; she looked embarrassed by her display of temper. “And now you expect to just carry on.”
“Well, nothing has happened, really.”
“YOU SHOT ME, RICHMOND.”
“Only technically.” He rubbed his forehead, a gesture that he only used when he was puzzled. “It was just a ploy, an attempt to get us going in a different direction.”
“The fact that I wasn’t going to die doesn’t make it any better, Richmond.” She glared at the horizon for a minute, then she snapped, “Stop the car.”
For once he didn’t argue and the car stopped. She climbed out and walked a little way away from the road, heading towards a small copse. He unfolded himself from the drivers seat to follow her as she spread her arms as best she could, walking backwards to say,
“Hardly a raging success, your ploy. We’re back at the scene of the crime.” She sat down cross-legged and put her chin on her good hand, glumly studying the tree where she’d been a couple of nights before.
He scuffed his immaculately shod foot on the ground; it was his turn to look embarrassed. “You have a point there. A very good point.”
She said, “I know.”
Getting to her feet and turning in one swift motion, she stabbed him.
“I think we can say It’s one-all, now,” she said.
The next time that Richmond appeared outside her building Megan came to the window and beckoned him to come up. The interior matched the exterior – all of the original Art Nouveau features were unchanged. As she opened her front door and let him into the cherrywood panelled hallway, she looked him up and down; the pristine line of yet another expensive suit was unimpaired. This time the lining was peacock blue and his tie sported a peacock-feather pattern. Her soft jersey dress was charcoal grey.
He followed her along the hallway into the drawing room, where an open fire blazed. A thick, fur rug lay on the hearth and Tiffany lamps stood on a sideboard between two large windows; the room was brilliant with the colour and warmth that she denied herself in her clothes. Richmond saw an open bottle of wine, two glasses and a tray of canapes on a low table and regarded them with suspicion. He said, “You were expecting me?”
Megan smiled to herself, but she didn’t say anything beyond, “You’ve healed?”
He unbuttoned his silk shirt. Bandages glinted white around his middle.
“Ah,” she said. “I thought it was quick.”
“I have my advantages,” he said, “but I’m not Superman.”
She motioned him to sit down. She said, “Does it hurt?”
He hitched up his trousers slightly to sit on a Charles Rennie Mackintosh chair that stood against one wall not far from the fire. He winced. “Yes. It hurts a great deal, actually.”
“That’s rather unsympathetic.”
“You didn’t believe me. You implied that I didn’t need to keep my shoulder strapped up.”
“Well, I was careful not to endanger any major organs. A precaution you didn’t observe.”
“Rubbish. I aimed for your spare tyre.”
“I don’t have a spare tyre. I go to my club three times a week.”
“And eat there at least twice.” He sat back and gave her his most wolfish grin, acknowledging that he’d risen to the bait. “You know very well that what I meant was, I was SURE that I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“And you were wrong. Nothing has ever hurt me this much.” She hesitated for a moment, then poured the wine and handed him a glass. He pulled a wry face, but took it and had a drink.
“Not bad, for wine,” he said. “The hurt – it’s interesting, isn’t it?”
“‘Interesting’, he calls it.” Megan prodded him in the ribs; he winced again. “Just checking,” she said. “Sometimes I think that we’re not really even – shooting seems so much more brutal than stabbing.” There was a slight pause ass he took another drink, then she said, “Why did you shoot me, anyway?”
“For the same reason that you stabbed me.”
“I stabbed you to pay you back. What were you paying me back for?”
“I was bored.”
“Oh, that’s alright, then.”
Richmond grimaced. “Well, we were going nowhere. I never expected it to really hurt you.” He looked up at her; it might almost have been an appeal.
“Well, you did. This really, really hurts.”
He began to shrug, then changed his mind. It may have been that he didn’t want to seem uncaring. Or maybe it was just the pain from his wound. “This may be normal. Perhaps we don’t heal instantly – it may be a cinematic conceit.”
Richmond sighed and took another sip of wine. “It only happens in the movies.”
“Other things have healed instantly.” Megan sounded indignant.
“Cuts, grazes, scratches. The usual.”
“Yes, but they’re only surface things. This is rather more significant.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“It’s a GOOD thing, though.” Megan snorted and got up to pour herself another drink; he shook his head and put his hand over his glass when she offered him one. “Do you know how long it is since we’ve had something to think about? To show that life isn’t just ‘chase them, eat them, they die.’ Or that other thrilling variation, ‘attract them, eat them, they die’?”
She looked up. She was frowning. “They don’t have to die.”
He looked back at her. “That doesn’t work for me. I know it sounds uncouth but- once I’ve started, I can’t stop. I’ve always been a binge drinker.”
Megan giggled and shook her head. “Well, you can always turn them.”
“Oh, that’s right. I can turn them. And have them wandering round after me for decades, whingeing on: ‘How I lurve you… You SAVED me,’ until staking them is the only way I can get a minute’s peace.”
Megan watched him with a smile still on her face. They both knew why Richmond wouldn’t turn anyone else, now. A police car went along the road outside, sirens wailing. Abruptly, Megan said, “They’re not very observant at your club, are they?”
“What?” The change of subject seemed perplex him. She knew that he’d been thinking about when they first started out together and the promises they’d made. Promises they no longer held each other to, but they kept them anyway. She shook her head in mock exasperation, but her voice was gentle as she said:
“I mean, they’ve never noticed that even when you use the gym, you avoid the sunbeds. Or that you don’t go there until after dark.
“It’s a gentleman’s club, Megan. Nobody goes there until after dark. Nobody worth knowing, at any rate.”
“So who is worth knowing? Apart from you, obviously.”
“Well, there’s-,” He stopped as Megan went back into the kitchen. He called through to her. “Stop trying to change the subject.”
“Actually, It’s the same subject – how we live.” Her voice drifted back from the other room. “haven’t they noticed that their staff don’t stay very long?”
While she was out of the way, Richmond’s curiosity got the better of him and he sneaked one of the canapes; he nibbled on it, but without enthusiasm, like a hawk that’s been given a marshmallow. “The wages are terrible,” he said in a loud mumble. “There was a problem with staff turnover long before I joined.”
“And no-one’s noticed that you don’t age?” Megan came back from the kitchen carrying another bottle of wine.
“I’ve only been there just over a year, Megan. Exactly how much ageing do you think people do in that time?” He put the half-eaten canape back on the tray. Megan ignored it.
“You take my point, though,” she said.
“Actually, I don’t.”
“You’re bored. Are you also being careless? you’re trying to live like one of them.”
Richmond’s gaze took in the room, the wine, the food. “Yes. It’s not a crime.” He forced down another mouthful of wine. “Anyway, the real issue is that these wounds aren’t healing quickly. We always took it for granted that we were invincible – the usual warnings aside – but now we can’t. It needs to be tested.”
“How?” She sounded almost scared. “You aren’t doing any tests on me; this hurts like hell.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that; WE”RE going to be conducting the tests. We’ve done that before.” He gave her a mischievous look and laughed.
Releasing a dozen plague rats in a little village called Eyam, (‘Just to see what happens,’ he’d said) was something else she hadn’t approved of; she’d called it wasteful. She hadn’t stopped him, though – back then, she’d indulged his whims.
He said, “It’s just a question of finding a subject. We could make someone, I suppose, but a newborn’s not really a fair comparison. They’re so frail.” He tapped his fingers against the side of his glass. A ring made a clinking noise. “We’ll have to find someone else; someone nearer to our age.”
“Oh, no. Absolutely not.”
“Word gets out, Richmond. Always. I am not going to be lumped with you for the rest of time as the Burke and Hare of the undead.”
“But I’m not doing it for money. Or out of a sadomasochistic compulsion. It’s in the spirit of rational enquiry.”
“I don’t care if it’s in the spirit of Christmas past, you’re not doing it.”
He stood up. “And who’s going to stop me?”
Megan stood up, too, barring the way to the door. A small, silver tube was in her hand, like the darts they use to sedate lions. “I am.”
Richmond came round. His head felt heavy and fuzzy, as though it had been stuffed with a combination of suet and wire wool. The wire wool seemed to be conducting a weird, electronic hum right into the centre of his brain. He closed his eyes again. He remembered Megan tying his hands and feet then carrying him into her bedroom as he’d drifted into unconsciousness. ‘We’ll talk about this later,’ she’d said. Then there was a noise – the doorbell? – and she’d left him. There had been a murmur of voices and something that might have been glass breaking, but he wasn’t sure, he’d been pulled down into blackness, then.
He opened his eyes again. The lights were very bright. Wherever he was now, it wasn’t Megan’s place. Or his. He realised that he was naked; he was also strapped down. Richmond tried the straps on his body for looseness, for any kind of give. There was none.
A man’s voice said, “Glad to see that you’re back with us,” and the speaker moved so that Richmond could see him.
The do-gooder smiled down.
“Don’t look so shocked,” he said. “Meggie as good as told you that she didn’t always kill.”
“Megan, if you prefer. Meggie is my pet name for her.”
Richmond tried to look around the room to get his bearings, but all he could see was whiteness and bright light. Even so, he didn’t feel threatened, not by this geek. “Megan – your pet? I don’t think so.”
“No? She didn’t kill me, did she?” The do-gooder watched closely for Richmond’s reaction to this. “My father always told me that the club would be useful. ‘One can make contacts,’ he said. I don’t think that you two are what he had in mind, but it works for me.”
Richmond jeered, “You’re a member of the club? They must have let their standards slip.” He carried on trying the wrist straps, but they held fast. “I thought that you looked familiar, but you hardly stand out from the crowd, do you?”
“Unlike you,” The do-gooder folded his arms. “I’ve been watching you for sometime, now. And recently, thanks to the transmitter I put in Megan’s shoulder, I’ve been listening to you, too. I was afraid you’d see it if you examined her wound, but luckily, she put you off when she implied that you were morbidly curious – which you were, of course. I think you even wanted to watch what she did to me.”
Richmond got a glimpse of a large window, but couldn’t tell whether it was on an outside wall. He wondered how easily it would break, as he snapped,
“Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t think that she’d do anything to you – bland isn’t her taste. She only touched you because she was hurt.”
“Thanks to you.” The do-gooder looked at his watch, compared it to a wall clock nearby and took it off to make an adjustment. “It took a lot of self-control for her not to finish me, you know. Admirable, really. I wouldn’t even have known what she’d done, if I hadn’t already known what she was.”
“Oh, yes, for a long time, now.” He smiled complacently. “I know a lot about you and Megan.”
“So where is she?” Richmond half-expected Megan to come in, to bring something familiar to the scene, confirmation that their game was still continuing. “I think we can say that she’s won this round.”
The do-gooder looked surprised. “Oh, this little scene wasn’t Megan’s idea – it was planned for her, not by her.” He looked intently at Richmond’s face and touched him, as if checking for a fever. Richmond snarled and he flinched, then laughed again. “Down, boy.” He took out a notebook out and began to scribble, as he said, “Then I heard that you were with her and probably helpless, so I decided to try and take both of you. It’s a pity that we couldn’t.”
Richmond laughed and said, “Who’d have thought it? But Megan realised what you were up to and she got away.”
“No.” The do-gooder’s smile was satisfied, but his eyes were cold. “She didn’t.”
“But she’s not here…” The other man”s expression didn’t change, though he gave a tiny nod of assent. “You killed her?” Richmond’s voice was soft, wondering.
“We had no choice, in the end, even though we took her by surprise.” He made a sound that might have been a laugh. “Incredible, isn’t it? That she should fight, when she had the chance to run.” He paused for effect, before he said, “Do you know – I think she was trying to protect you… It was her fault that you were in no position to look after yourself, I know, but I never expected her to fight for you like she did.” He leaned over so that he could peer into Richmond’s eyes, as if he wanted to record every expression; his voice dropped to a confiding murmur. “She made quite a mess, I can tell you.” Then he snapped back upright. “Still, it’s not a lost cause – a bird in the hand, and all that.”
“But I don’t -”
“Understand? But you should – it was your idea. You just didn’t understand that you wouldn’t be doing the tests.” He walked around the bed where Richmond lay. “This may hurt – I know now that you can be hurt, but it’s not my intention. Really.”
The do-gooder put on a white coat. Richmond saw the banks of monitors and cameras behind him, the trays of surgical instruments.
“This is all purely in the spirit of rational enquiry.”
(c) Sue Stewart, All Rights Reserved
Tags: 'Playing Games', Bloodlust-UK, Dracula, Short Story, Sue Stewart, Vampire, Vampire Fiction, Writers
- 'Weekend Vampire' by T. P. Keating
- 'Hunan Fare' by John Hayes
- 'The Gumshoe Bat' by T. P. Keating
- 'Me Love You Long Time, Ten Dollar' by Helen C. Murphy
- 'A Cure for Terror' by Stephen Minchin