John decided he’d be happiest if the lads (and Cyn!) never got wind of this, they’d all be laughing their arses off at the thought of him scrubbing a floor and dusting things with a feather duster!  But he thought the rewards would be worth it!  At least she hadn’t insisted he wear a bloody apron or anything like that!  He finished with the kitchen floor and went to work dusting the radio and end tables in the little living room, musing as he went about his duties.

When he’d awoken and seen Sharon doing those moves on the floor, he’d been instantly aroused.  She’d do something as simple as spread her legs so wide that he was breathless at the position, then she’d hold it, utter concentration in her face, as if she didn’t even know he was watching.  In truth, it didn’t appear as if she had known he’d been watching, and that had excited him even more.  Her plain white knickers had ridden up a bit with her movements, and he was surprised at how exciting he’d found it.  He’d known her intimately the previous night, one wouldn’t think something like that would be arousing, but there it was!  And some of the positions she’d held, well, he’d thought they might be useful when doing something else, too.  She was incredibly limber, but he’d already known that from last night.

When he finished with the cleaning, he went into the loo and had a thorough wash in her little tub, wondering if he dared use her toothbrush to clean his teeth.  It was wet from her earlier use; what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her, could it?  He scrubbed his teeth with brush and tooth powder, then rinsed the brush carefully and put it back in the cup where she’d left it.

Dressed, waiting impatiently for her return, he picked up a magazine to thumb through it, surprised that it was so old, nearly ten years old; it was dated December of 1950.  He’d been a skinny little lad in short pants when it had been published!  Intrigued, wondering why she’d have such an old magazine, he flipped through the pages. 

It was some sort of fancy theatrical magazine that he’d never seen before, and the photographs it contained were pretty gear.  There was a whole spread on some different plays, even a section about the American Broadway.  Well, it wasn’t really to his taste, rock and roll was more in his blood than theatre, but as he was closing the magazine, he stopped and opened it a little wider.  There was a lovely shot of a bird dressed in a beautiful costume, and John stared at the photo; it was Sharon, in full costume for some play that looked like it was set in olden times!  She looked smashing!  How had he ever thought she was an ugly duckling, or even simply plain?  She looked regal in the photo, looking straight into the camera with a slight smile that accentuated her cheekbones, the porcelain ivory of her skin nearly glowing with health and happiness, the silk and velvet of her costume looking rich and luxurious.  She must have been wearing a wig, but it appeared the same colour as her natural hair, curling in gentle waves nearly to her waist.  Maybe it was her hair, maybe she’d worn it long ten years ago?  A stunner, that was for certain!  And the photographer had done a marvelous job with the lighting, it was simply a brilliant photo! 

John turned the page and saw two more photos of Sharon.  In the first, she was posed in one of those ballet costumes, with the short skirt and the tights, her ribs nearly showing beneath the tight fitting top, wearing a headpiece that somehow looked as if it were a bird.  In the next, she had on a flowing costume that reminded him of a mist on a lake.  He wished he’d been able to see her in the three costumes, and wondered what colours the materials had been, if they’d brought out the colour of her eyes?  He looked at the theatre posters on the walls, suddenly realizing they were also photos of Sharon.

John finally read the little advert beside the first photo.

Miss Sharon Castle, seen here in a rare acting role from

Merchant of Venice, received a career-ending injury in a

fall from the stage last month during rehearsal for the new

ballet adaptation of Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet.  Miss

Castle was on track to become prima ballerina for the

London Royal Ballet Company when her partner, Mr.

Theodore Dupree, stumbled and failed to catch her during

one of her leaps.

He turned the page and read what was written on the next page, under the picture of the girl looking somehow like a bird.

Miss Sharon Castle in Swan Lake and (opposite) Giselle. 

Miss Castle’s interpretation of her role in Heinrich Heine’s

ballet was commented favourably upon by the occupants of

the Royal Box in January of this year.  Miss Castle will be

sorely missed from ballet and theatre.  Our most sincere

condolences and best wishes go to her during her recovery

at King’s Crossing Hospital.  Miss Carla Wainscott will be

taking over Miss Castle’s roles for the winter season.

An actress and on track to be a prima ballerina?  Well, he’d been right on the mark with his first impression of the bird, she was definitely a bit posh, wasn’t she?  Or she had been.  But she looked to be doing all right with herself, she had a nice flat and seemed to be fairly comfortable.  He wondered if she missed it, the theatre and that sort of thing?  Too bad about the fall, though, but he thought it must not have been all that bad.  She was still dancing, wasn’t she?  Seemed kinda odd that a little fall could end up in…… what had they said?  He flipped the page back and re-read the print, squinting in concentration; he’s left his damned glasses at the flat and could barely see across the room!  Here it was, yeah, “a career-ending injury.”  What a shame!

John heard the door open behind him and turned with a smile.  When she got close enough that he could read her expression, he didn’t fail to catch her look of surprise, had she thought he’d leave?  Not bloody likely!  He was ready for a bit more of what he’d so thoroughly enjoyed the previous afternoon and evening.  Sharon appeared to go a bit pale when she saw the magazine he was holding, but simply set her basket of fresh laundry down beside him and then calmly took the book from him, closed it and set it back on the table.

“Didn’t expect me ta be ‘ere, did ya?” John asked, curious as to her answer.

“Well, no,” she admitted, “not really.  I thought you’d have enough of the cleaning and simply bolt.  Thank you, you did a lovely job.”

For some reason, she seemed a bit nervous, not quite looking him in the face, and John found that endearing.  He stood up and pulled her into his arms, kissing her thoroughly, happily aware that whatever restraint she was feeling around him was quickly swept away.

“Mmmmm, let me go have a wash, John?” she breathed, breaking away and waiting for his nod.  “I’ll be right back.”

He reluctantly let her go, moved the laundry basket over to the kitchen counter and paced as he heard the sound of the tub running.  He lit a cigarette and tried to wait patiently.

***

Sharon had a quick tub bath, washing carefully.  She was pleasantly surprised to find John still hanging about, she’d seriously thought he’d be gone upon her return.  He must have enjoyed the night enough to wait for her.  Well, he was definitely good for her ego, that was for certain!  And he hadn’t asked about the magazine, either, so that was all to the good.  She didn’t really like talking about her injury.  That was done and in the past, and really, it didn’t bother her much anymore, as long as she did her stretches every day.  And as long as she didn’t stumble on rain-slicked pavement and fall!  She’d definitely have to be a bit more careful in the future, she’d been very lucky.

She left the toilet and checked the clock on the wall, there was enough time for a little romp, but probably only one.  She determined to enjoy it, John would most likely never be back after this, returning to the mates and girlfriends more his age.

John was sitting on the couch, so she joined him there, straddling his lap and kissing him.

“Mmmmmm, you smell good,” he breathed, arms around her and exploring her back through the light summer robe she’d pulled on after her bath.

He smelled good, too, he must have availed himself of the bath as well, what a sweet lad!  She kissed him lightly, fleetingly, moving against him and urging the furthering of reactions that she could already feel expanding beneath her.  Oh, yes, there was definitely something to be said for having a young lover!  She’d have to remember that in the future.

In the midst of a lingering kiss, after a brief pause to ensure her protection from an unwanted pregnancy, Sharon found herself rolled over onto her back with John pressing against her with an urgency easily recognized.  She opened herself to him, welcoming him into her ready heat, sighing with completion when he filled her so thoroughly.   She locked her legs around his hips, moved with him in the ancient dance of fulfillment, anticipated the approaching outcome during a surprisingly gentle coupling.  His thoughtful caresses and kisses ensured her release and she moaned as it swept over her, felt him move into her more forcefully, the power and strength behind his drive sweeping her into a prolonged reaction, trembling beneath him when he finally joined her in the culmination of desire.

Lying together in perfect accord, Sharon stroked her fingers through his silky hair, thinking she liked it much better when he let it go free, than when he had it greased and nearly starched back from his face in the style most boys affected nowadays.  It was unfortunate that he had to move off her to clean up before messy disaster struck, but he was shortly back in her arms, snuggling against her as she smiled in surprise.  She hadn’t expected he’d like a cuddle, but it was lovely.  She eyed the clock with distaste, she’d have to be moving in another five minutes, a quick wash and then off to work.  Well, it had been simply lovely whilst it had lasted, hadn’t it?  She relished the following five minutes, then sighed with regret.

“I have to get ready for work, John.  It’s been wonderful, thank you,” she whispered.

“No.”

“No?  No what?” she asked, perplexed.

“I’m not gonna let ya go.  Call yer boss, tell ‘im yer sick.”  His arms tightened around her.

“I can’t do that, I could lose my job!” she replied, near outrage at his suggestion.  She poked him in the ribs to make him move.

Unfortunately, her action prompted a re-action and she found herself in a tickling match that left her breathless, gasping for air.  Wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, she was finally able to roll away and escape to the loo for a quick wash, dressing carefully in skirt and blouse.  She brought her stockings back into the living room and put them on, not missing the fact that John watched the process intently and with rather obvious signs of appreciating the view she was presenting.  It made her feel slightly naughty, and she had to rein back where those thoughts led!

“Come on, lad, you’d best be leaving, too, I remember you telling me you have a show tonight, do you have a rehearsal?”

“Nah, we’re just goin’ on at th’ Grosvenor Ballroom over in Liscard, in Wallasey.  We’re playin’ there ev’ry Sat’aday this month,” he exclaimed, and Sharon hid a smile at his youthful boast.

“That’s wonderful,” she told him.  “Break a leg tonight, John!”

She kissed him at the door and sent him on his way, ignoring his awkward attempts at telling her what a wonderful night he’d had.  And that was that, she thought with a sigh.  But it had been worth it, very definitely!  What a charming lad, and some girl would be extremely lucky to catch him.  Oh, yes, a definite charmer.

The café was busy all evening but Sharon was in a very good mood, teasing and larking about with her customers, surprised at how good her tips were coming in for the shift.  She took a short dinner break in the kitchen during a lull and fixed salad greens for herself, filching a potato in its jacket from the warming tray over the oven and sneaking a small plate of the daily special, sirloin tips in sauce, mmmmmm, fabulous!  The cook looked a bit surprised, Sharon knew he wasn’t very used to seeing her eat in the evening, but she simply smiled her gratitude and finished her dinner.  She’d worked up a nice appetite during the past 24 hours, oh, what a lovely time she’d had!  She went back to work with a somewhat wistful smile; it was a shame her night and morning hadn’t lasted a bit longer, but she’d certainly enjoyed it to the fullest.

***

“Look out!” George shouted.

John ducked away without looking.  Rules were, if something were incoming, a shout told everyone to dodge and you just hoped you’d dodged the correct direction to avoid the missile.  A chair went sailing over his head and landed with a thunderous crash amongst Norman’s drum kit.  John ignored the irate drummer’s cursing and squinted out at the crowd, eyes darting in a desperate search for a bouncer or two to bring order to the ballroom.  Fat chance, he scoffed, knowing his search was fruitless; the crowd was too wild and rowdy, it was a free-for-all!

“C’mon, let’s get outta here!” he shouted to his mates, grabbing up his guitar, unplugging his amplifier and struggling to get it to the little room behind the curtain before the stage was turned into a continuation of the mayhem on the dance floor.

Much later, they surveyed the damages.  They’d got the amps and guitars to safety, but Norman’s drum kit was thrashed beyond recognition.  The drummer was furious.

“You bloody fools, lookit this!” he roared.  “You lot were so fired ta save yer precious guitars ya never thought o’ me kit an’ look at it now!  It’s ruined!  This is a shit band an’ yer a bunch o’ rat bastards, I’m out, I quit, go find yerself somebody else, if ya can even find someone who’ll work with you lot!” he sneered.  “I ‘ope ya lose th’ gig in Germany!  Yer shit anyway, yer never gonna go anywhere, yer hopeless, no talent, ya write shit songs an’ pretend they’re good, well, they’re not, they’re absolute crap!  Yer hopeless gutter trash, simple fools, that’s all.  Good riddance to ya!  Bugger th’ lot o’ ya!”

Norman stalked away, the fury so strong that John could almost see a trail of steam heat following him as he left.  He stared after the departing drummer in silence, his mind working furiously.  They had less than four weeks in which to find another drummer, and he searched and discarded all prospects he’d been keeping in mind.  Jimmy Parker and Gordon Smith were both working for other bands and seemed pretty happy with their positions.  Danny Jones wasn’t good enough, he’d barely got his kit and just seemed content to bang away on it without any talent showing thus far.  The only other person he knew of was that Pete Best, but he wasn’t all that good, either.  He wondered if they could get Pete up to speed in a bare three and a half weeks? 

John turned to look at his solemn mates, saw anxiety and glum expressions all around.

“C’mon, lads, don’t worry, I knew Norm wasn’t gonna work out, kinda figgered it out a week ago,” he lied confidently, wishing he felt as confident as he made sure he sounded.

“What are we gonna do fer th’ gig next Sat’day?” George wanted to know, subdued and anxious.  “D’ya know anyone who’ll sit in?”

“Well, if we can’t get anyone ta sit in, we’ll jus’ go on with guitars, we’ve done it before, no problem,” John replied easily, intent on soothing the lad.  His main concern was Paul, though, the lad looked as if he’d been kicked in the stomach by the drummer’s vitriol.  “You okay, Paulie?”

“Yeah, guess so.  Jus’…… what if Norm’s right?  What if we are a shit band?  What if…… if…… what if th’ songs we’re writin’……”

Paul faltered and stumbled to a halt, apparently not even able to speak his fear aloud.

John shook him, giving him a light slap on the face.  “’e’s jus’ a frustrated song writer, Paul!  Ol’ stormin’ Norman doesn’t have any idear what’s good an’ what’s not!  An’ I do.  Th’ stuff we’re writin’ is every bit as good as what’s bein’ put out on record, son!  We jus’ gotta get th’ right exposure an’ we’ll be there, too.  It’s gonna take a little time, but we’re goin’ to th’ top, lads.  We’ll get there, ya jus’ gotta believe!”

“Well, I believe I’d like ta ‘ave a drink,” Stuart interjected, and John gave his mate a grateful smile for the support and change of subject.

“Yeah, c’mon lads, suits me, let’s get th’ gear stowed an’ I’ll buy,” John added, hoping he had enough money from the aborted gig to pay for drinks.  “Ya worry too much, Paulie, we’re gonna make it, I promise ya, son,” he said seriously, waiting until Paul nodded his agreement.

John turned to the youngest member of the band, hid a grin at how serious George looked, biting his lip like that; the lad was worried too.  He cuffed him affectionately, rocking the skinny lad with a blow to his shoulder, hoping to jolly him out of his mood. 

“C’mon, George,” he said, “gimme a ‘and with me amp, right?  Ya sounded good tonight, kid!”

George brightened at the praise and moved to help with the gear.

It was late by the time they got everything back to George’s house, bless Mrs. Harrison for letting them store everything here!  But things would be a lot simpler if one of them had a bloody car, John thought.  They tried to be quiet and not rouse the household as they set everything down in disarray in George’s room, then sneaked out for the promised drink.

“D’ya really think we’re gonna make it?” George asked, blinking owlishly, two lager and limes under his belt and already showing the effects, John thought with a grin.  “As a band, I mean,” George added with a hiccup.

“Sure!  Why not?  We got ev’ry bit as much talent as any other band in th’ ‘pool, an’ more than most,” John replied easily.  “C’mon, drink up, ‘ere’s ta th’ future!” he added, raising his glass and tapping the others glasses in turn.  “May th’ road ta fortune rise up ta meet us, an’ may th’ birds be spread out along th’ road in great number, eager fer us ta visit ‘em!”

The others laughed and joked about the lascivious way he’d said ‘spread out’, downing their drinks as John thought of a bird he’d like to spread out and visit!  He checked his watch surreptitiously, it was a bit late, but p’rhaps he’d stop by the café on Sunday and see if Sharon was free for the evening after she got off work. 

Damn, he’d nearly forgot, Mims had left word at the flat, asking him to bring Cyn for tea on Sunday.  Well, p’rhaps Monday, or Tuesday.  Soon, anyroad, very soon!

John turned his attention back to controlling the damage the drummer had done to his mates’ egos.  He put all his energy into that job.

“To th’ top, lads!” he said, raising his glass and taking a deep draft of lager and confidence.

***

Sharon sighed as she stretched, attention divided between limbering up and the memory of the play she’d been to yesterday, a matinee performance of King Lear.  Oh, it had been wonderful, even though she’d only seen her way clear to buy the least expensive tickets.  It had taken her years to work up the nerve to creep in to see a play, and she still felt uncomfortable at the thought of going to a ballet, but she’d finally forced herself to do so last Christmastime for the Nutcracker.  She’d loved the few acting jobs she’d taken in the plays and had been pleased with her reviews, but dance had been her first love, and she missed it dreadfully.  But all good things end eventually, and she was pragmatic enough to realize that her dancing career would have been nearly finished by now anyway.  But oh, those ten years would have been wondrous, giving her enough memories to last the rest of her life.

Instead of ten years of wondrous theatre, she’d had nearly a year of hospital, followed by nine years of secretarial or café work.  The strip show had finally given her a tiny bit of exposure to the stage during the past two years, as well as a few luxuries.  Not the best living, but she got along very well, and if she took an occasional lover, who was to call her to task?  She was her own woman, and she lived a...... comfortable...... life.

Warm and loose, she got to her feet and was happy to realize that she didn’t even feel the stiffness of her back injury any longer, and the bruise on her hip was quickly fading.  She tried out a few ballet positions and smiled at the memories they evoked, surprised at how fluid she felt.  She was still smiling when she caught sight of Toby watching her where he stood near the door to her dressing room.

“Hullo, Toby, did you have a nice weekend?” she asked.

“Yeah, baby, it was all right.  You?”

“Oh, yes, it was lovely!” she replied.  “I saw King Lear yesterday, the matinee performance, it was wonderful!”

“Ya look pretty ‘appy today, baby, must ‘ave been good.  Ya sure that’s all that’s put th’ sparkle in yer eye?”

She tried to control the blush, but it was a losing battle.  Without answering, she just smiled and went into her dressing room to change into her first costume.

“Errrr, Sharon?”

She turned in surprise, the swarthy club owner had stopped the door from closing and was bashfully peering into her inner sanctum.

“Yes, Toby?”

“Hope ya found somebody nice, baby, ya deserve a bit o’ happiness,” he blurted and then let the door swing shut.

Toby was so sweet!  Sharon had a hard time wiping the smile off her face as she checked her makeup and pulled on her costume.  She felt marvelous throughout her routines, her back didn’t bother her a stitch and there was only a small lingering stiffness in her hip. She let “Janice” drop over her only lightly, maintaining enough awareness to enjoy her time on the small stage.  Janice and Sharon, Siamese twins, joined at the brain, a medical marvel, one body and two brains, she thought with a laugh.  P’rhaps she no longer needed Janice to get her through her days.  Sharon realized she hadn’t felt this good in years, simply years!

Her euphoria carried her through her work at the café in the evening, and she slept deeply, waking on Tuesday with a continuing smile.

She was deep into her final act on Tuesday when she saw a familiar face in the audience.  It took all her concentration, all her summoning capabilities, to continue and finish the routine.  Thank God for Janice, she took over and did the job without missing a step, but everything crashed down around Sharon.  The happiness she’d been experiencing since the weekend faded away without a backward glance no matter how desperately she tried to hold onto it.  What was he doing in the audience?  How had he found her?

She’d washed off her makeup and changed clothes when the expected knock came at her door.  Resigned, she checked her reflection, sighed and then opened the door.

“Well, well, Theodore Dupree and assorted cronies, what brings you slumming?” she asked mildly.

Toby was hovering near the edges of the group of four men, and she smiled at him, he probably thought they were old friends.  That was certainly what Theodore had told the club owner, or he’d have never let them back here, Toby was very protective of her.  But Theodore was very persuasive.

Sharon was surprised when Leonard and William came backstage, she’d have thought them already gone to their evening jobs in the city!

“Ya all right, Shar?” William asked with a glare at Theodore.  How sweet of the guitarist, Sharon thought, appreciating his support.

“Want us ta get rid of these blokes, luv?” Leonard growled, an eager bloodlust in his eyes, his hands clenched in fists, the drummer’s muscles rippling in his shoulders and biceps beneath his shirt. 

Sharon felt a bit uncomfortable; the lads had never before exhibited any protectiveness towards her.  But come to think of it, Toby had never allowed anyone backstage before, either!  She supposed they were somewhat of a family here, after working together like this for two years.

“Errrr, Sharon……?” Toby asked, unease sliding through his eyes like a fish under the surface of the water in the Mersey.

“It’s all right, Toby, thank you, Leonard, William, I appreciate you asking.  But I know these…… gentlemen.  Everything’s fine, you can leave us alone, thank you.” 

She gave them a reassuring smile.  Toby left with many backward glances of concern, Leonard and William shrugged and followed the club owner after favouring Theodore and his lackeys with a few grim looks.  She nearly smiled, realizing she had more friends than she knew.

“Nice to see you, Sharon, love, and so nice to see nearly all of you,” Theodore smirked.  “That was a lovely dance, simply marvelous.”

Sharon decided that his upper crust English accent was as exaggerated as when she’d seen him last, almost nine years before.  He’d been so concerned, so sympathetic, so apologetic over stumbling like that and missing her leap, but Theodore had been the one to draw her close to the edge of the stage for a last minute practice, and she’d stupidly obliged him.  Crocodile tears shed for his adoring audience, he’d become bored with visiting her after she’d been in hospital for only a month, leaving her to struggle alone through the next eleven months as she’d learnt to walk again.

It was only after the back brace had finally come off that she’d found out he’d been engaged in a passionate affair with Carla Wainscott, the understudy.  He’d deliberately caused her injury, deliberately stumbled and let her fall.  Her shock and pain had gradually lessened over the years that had followed, but her loathing had never faded.  I reared up in full force now.

“How is dear Carla?” she asked sweetly.

Theodore made a little face, his thin lips drawing up in an affected smile, his handsome features looking a bit more puffy than she remembered.  She looked closely and realized he was wearing makeup; she smiled in genuine amusement for the first time since she’d seen him in the audience.  The makeup made her think of him as an aging clown, and it was difficult to remember that he was dangerous…… not that he could cause her any more damage than he’d already caused!  But his words could cut; she knew that far too well from having experienced their sting on many an occasion.

After all, she’d been married to him when her injury had occurred.

What a foolish girl she’d been back then, falling in love with such a shallow egotist, but her eyes had been dazzled by her first impression of his beauty and grace, her ears had been filled with his protestations of undying love.  The marriage had lasted precisely two years, and she’d celebrated her emancipation from a year in hospital by divorcing him, an action that he thankfully hadn’t contested.  The only nice thing he’d ever done for her!

She’d been foolish, he’d been nearly murderous.  A dangerous man indeed, she mused.  She began to feel a touch uneasy, and she wished she hadn’t sent Toby and her musicians away so quickly.  She thought she could have used their moral support.

“Does that mean you’re not with Carla any longer?” she asked when he didn’t reply.

“I grew bored with Carla,” he replied, flicking his fingers as if ridding them of an unpleasant touch. 

Sharon wondered rather rudely if he’d killed the girl when he’d become bored with her.  He’d certainly done his best to get rid of her! 

“But I’d rather talk about you, my dear,” he continued with an insincere smile.  “A…… mutual friend saw you at the theatre yesterday and followed you.  Such hard times you’ve fallen on, dear girl, tell me how this has come to pass.”

She smiled without a trace of humour.  She thanked God that she hadn’t had time to go to her flat on Sunday prior to coming to work, and she wished she’d gone directly to the café instead of stopping here at the club to use the loo after she’d gotten off the train.  Well, she supposed it wouldn’t have mattered, here or there, he’d still have found her.

She favoured Theodore with a smile that matched his for insincerity.

“I’m so sorry, dear Theo, but I don’t have the time or desire to speak with you, I must be on my way.  It was…… interesting seeing you.  I devoutly hope our paths don’t cross again for another ten years.  Or preferably much longer,” she added under her breath, turning smartly towards the back door.

He moved to block her way.

“You know, my sweet little ex-wife, I’ve been trying to find you for years.  I’ve never forgiven you for telling the theatre manager that I missed your leap on purpose.  That and how you managed to get my name bandied about in that theatre magazine.  Mr. Theodore Dupree stumbled and failed to catch her during a leap, did you enjoy reading that little article in print during your year-long convalescence?  That hurt me deeply, my dear, although no one save yourself ever read such an obscure magazine,” he added with a nasty smirk.

“Get out of my way,” Sharon hissed, anger boiling to the surface and breaking through her veneer of calm.

How dare he be ‘hurt’ over a little article in print, something she hadn’t anything to do with?  And he’d memorized it as well, he must have read it thousands of times just to see his name in print and to let his vitriol grow.  As far as his comment of telling the theatre manager, she’d never said a word to him, or to anyone, for that matter!  No one would have believed her, and, after a year of convalescence, no one had cared a whit about her once she’d realized what Theodore had done.  She’d been forgotten, a non-entity, of no importance; she couldn’t dance, she was nearly a cripple and no one cared.  She’d worked hard to regain her mobility, and she suddenly realized that she was proud of her ability to dance, even if at a mere lowly strip club.  The doctors at hospital had told her she’d never walk again, let alone dance.  She’d proved them wrong!

This was ridiculous, Theodore was keeping her here and making her think of the past, but she didn’t want to think of the past, she wanted to think of the present, of the future!  Enough, she’d wasted far too much time on this...... this bastard in the past, she wasn’t going to waste another minute on him!  Sharon tried to push past him, but he snapped his fingers and the other three men closed in threateningly.

His smile grew wider.  “Oh, I don’t think so, Sharon.  You see, after finally locating you, after seeing you perform today on that sorry little excuse for a stage, I’ve decided that I’m going to take you again, to see if it’s as I remember.  I’ll be rough, just the way you always liked it, I’ll hurt you, I’ll hurt you terribly, my dear.  You’ll enjoy it, I’m sure.  And if you don’t enjoy it well enough, I’ll hurt you some more.  And after I’m done with you, my friends will each take a turn.  They’re anxious to try such a legend, a failed prima ballerina fallen to stripper, a mere whore in the world of entertainment.”

Memories of how rough he’d gotten during their short marriage flooded her brain and paralyzed it, leaving her shivering in revulsion.  He’d never understood that her little fantasy, her fetish, hadn’t been for reality!  John had understood it almost immediately, but Theodore had never comprehended it; she’d put up with his ever-increasing violence because she loved him.  How had it ever been possible to love a monster such as he, she wondered?  He was dangerous, deadly, a poisonous snake, and she tried to hide her fear.

She moved to back away from him but couldn’t, there were too many bodies around her, lean and hard, strong hands on her shoulders and arms that she couldn’t shake off.

“Not even you would be so vile,” she spat.

Theodore snapped his fingers again and a hand came over her mouth to block her scream before it could be uttered.

She was dragged out the back door and into a waiting car in the small alleyway, pushed into the back seat of the auto and held in place by far too many rough hands.  Sharon was screaming inside, her throat raw with absolute terror, her heart pounding so hard that her vision blurred. 

Don’t you dare faint! 

She held her breath to focus her concentration, bucking against their hold as her skirt was pushed up around her waist and her knickers torn off her in a single, brutal movement.  She bit the hand over her mouth, tasted blood, metallic and sickening, then rocked from the blow to the head she received in response.  She felt rough fingers pushing into her without benefit of moisture, violating her tender skin, the fear and outrage rising in her throat as bile. 

“How’s this, wife?  Do you like it?  Oh, yes, it’s what you want, isn’t it?”  His voice became rough with excitement; she recognized the signs of his imminent arousal even after ten years.  “You stupid bitch, you should have never walked again after that fall!  I’d have been the subject of love and sympathy, staying at my bedridden wife’s side, I’d have had my pick of any girl or boy in the theatre, I could have been king!  Oh, you deserve this, you whore, taking your clothes off for strange men, bitch!  This is all your fault, you asked for this, you slut!”

Sharon winced in pain, gasping in shock at the rough intrusion that continued and grew worse with each sentence the hated voice spoke.  Tears of pain and anger sprang into her eyes as she realized Theodore was growing more and more aroused by his treatment of her. 

How can he do this to me? 

It didn’t matter how, she had to get away.  Without conscious thought, Janice swept into her with stunning force and took control of her limbs, weighting them as if limp with fear, her eyelids drooping shut.  Her struggles stopped and she lay quiescent, waiting, waiting, waiting for the right moment.

The moment arrived; the cronies eased their grip, apparently convinced of her submission by her lack of fight; perhaps they thought she’d fainted.  The first would certainly be Theodore, eager to show his leadership; she felt his heat drawing near, opened her eyes and quickly gauged his position, then struck a desperate blow for freedom.

With all the force she possessed, with 25 years of power and strength in her legs from constant dance, with every bit of loathing and terror in her soul, she brought both knees up as hard and as fast and as brutally as she could. 

It felt …… awful. 

She’d never tried to physically hurt another human being, and it felt horrible, disgusting, sickening.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion.  His hated face over hers, a slow gasp that came out as a mere trickle of breath, the skin slowly turning an incredible shade of purple, the hands that held her relaxing in utter shock.  The look in his eyes just before they rolled back in his head……

Time sped up and suddenly moved at a breakneck pace.  Theodore collapsed onto her, a dead weight, and she struggled out from under him, scrambled out of the car over a body or two, reaching back to grab the neck of the closest one.  Her fingernails pierced his skin as she drew the startled face level with hers, the blood running unnoticed down his neck as she gripped him fiercely, not allowing him to struggle.

“Tell Theo if he tries anything like this again, I’ll cut his stones off with a serrated blade and feed them to the fish in the Mersey.  Understand?” she hissed.

The neck under her clutched fingers swallowed convulsively as the face went nearly white; a bare nod was her only reply.  She stood up, brushed herself off and straightened her skirt one handed, then walked back into the club through the alley door.  Janice vanished as the door closed behind her and Sharon went to her knees, shuddering and staring at her bloody hand, the red viscous fluid staining her long fingers and palm, making her skin crawl as it dried in the cool interior of the hallway.

“Sharon?  I heard th’ door......  Oh my God, what happened?  Are ya okay, baby?”

She scrambled to her feet on legs that didn’t seem to want to hold her upright, trying to control her breathing, trying to keep from gagging.

William and Leonard rushed past her and she shied away from them, holding onto the wall for support, dangling her bloody hand as if broken.  She heard the door open behind her and heard their footsteps racing down the alley, the sound of an auto squealing away, shouts.

“I’m fine, Toby, just fine, I ...... I just ...... I ...... I just cut my hand ...... errrrr ...... outside, on a ...... on a ...... a bottle ...... I’m fine, I just ...... just need to wash, I’m fine,” she stammered, keeping her eyes off the stricken face of the club owner, rushing past him and into her dressing room.  The door didn’t have a lock and she felt defenseless, vulnerable.

No, stop it, there’s no time for this!

She had a job to go to, work to perform.  Sharon looked up into the mirror and saw blood on her lips, tasted it in her mouth and gagged, bringing her un-bloodied hand to her face to try and control the reflex.  She washed her hands, shuddering and looking away from the bloody water running down the drain, bent over the sink and rinsed her mouth, brushed her teeth with violence and spat, nearly losing her breakfast when she realized it hadn’t been her blood. She swallowed her nausea with difficulty, washed her hands over and over and over again until they felt somewhat cleaner.  Shivering with revulsion, she lifted her skirt and saw blood on her thighs from the rough treatment, but there wasn’t a lot and a check with a hand mirror revealed no injury besides a few scratches that might have been caused by a ring or a broken nail.  Thanking her lucky stars that she’d gotten off so easily, Sharon washed her hands a few more times, barely resisting the temptation to lathe her skin from the bones with hot water and soap.  She scrubbed her teeth again, compulsively brushing until she saw blood, her own, and finally forced herself to stop.

As she dried her hands and face, she paused when terror flooded her again.  What if they were waiting for her outside?  It didn’t matter if it was broad daylight or not, they could drag her into the car without a soul noticing in this neighbourhood! 

And no matter the brave face she’d presented …… well, the brave face Janice had presented…… Theodore would be back, she knew it as easily as she knew it would rain sometime during the next few days.  If he’d wanted revenge before, she shivered to think of his attitude now.  What could she do?  Who would believe her?  She was a stripper, she deserved whatever she got, it had been her fault for enticing him.  She couldn’t even bring charges against him or his cronies, they hadn’t done anything and it would be her word against theirs.  Attempted kidnapping?  Attempted rape?  The police would simply laugh and Theodore would say she’d gone mental after her injury, or that she was merely a jilted lover.  He’d probably have her confined to an institution!  Could he do that?  Of course he could, he was a man and he was her ex-husband!  Sharon hung her head in despair.

A knock on her door froze her where she stood.  Janice gave her a rough mental shake; that lot wouldn’t be knocking, they’d simply break down the door.  Sharon took a shallow breath, working hard to control her shaking and suppress her terror.

“Y......yes?”

“It’s me, Toby.  Are ya all right, Sharon?”

The concern in his voice nearly undid her, and she took a somewhat deeper breath and swallowed again, barely getting past the lump of nausea that seemed to be lodged at the top of her throat.

“Yes, Toby, thank you, I’m fine.”

There was a pause.

“Are......are ya goin’ t’ th’ café , luv?”

She swallowed again and forced herself to open the door.  She flinched back with sudden fear when she saw three bodies, relaxing only slightly when she realized that Leonard and William had returned and were flanking their employer, murderously grim and flushed with their recent, apparently fruitless, race.

“Yes, I have to go to work.”

She tried to look him directly in the eyes, but it was difficult, the concern she read lying in his dark eyes was readily apparent.

“I’ll walk ya thur, I kinda feel like havin’ a ...... a ...... a cheese san’wich.”

“Yeah, Shar,” William said, more gently than she’d ever heard him speak.  “Len an’ me are comin’ along, we fancy ‘avin’ a san’wich, too.”

“Not really ‘ungry meself...... ooooofffffff,” Leonard grunted when William elbowed him sharply.  “Why’d ya......?”

“Shaddup, idiot,” William whispered, soto voce.  “We’re walkin’ th’ gurl t’ th’ cafe!”

“Oh, right, okay, then......”

Sharon blinked twice and nodded tightly, afraid to even open her mouth for fear she’d spew.  Or sob or laugh hysterically.  Or faint.  Bless the men, though, she needn’t fear leaving the club.  Not today, anyway.  She couldn’t resist the compulsion to wash her hands once more, unable to rid herself of the notion that her skin was crawling with something dirty.  She wanted a bath desperately, but it would have to wait.  She dried her hands and picked up her purse with a determined nod.  They walked through the darkened club and to the front door; she stood close by Toby as he locked the door, with Leonard and William on either side of her.  She held strict control on her nerves and didn’t flinch away from them.  The café was only ‘round the corner, and, as they all walked into the restaurant, Toby touched her on the elbow and she jumped despite all attempts to the contrary.

“If I see them fellers ‘round again, baby, I’m gonna call th’ police.  I won’t let ‘em in th’ club,” he promised quietly.

“If we see ‘em first, th’ police won’t ‘ave ta be bothered,” William promised, and Leonard smiled unpleasantly, almost eagerly. 

Their stories of their recent vacation trip to Italy and the gangsters they knew took on an added dimension in Sharon’s brain, and she nodded, her throat tight with emotion.  She tried to speak but couldn’t get any words out past the constriction.  She fled to the kitchen.

The routine got her through the night, smiling at her customers, collecting their orders, acting as cashier for their meals.  The routine and Janice, anyway; her alter ego was cooperating and took charge of her body and brain, allowing Sharon’s inner self to cower deep inside.  Monday nights were slow and the café owner was locking the door by eight o’clock.  Knowing he took the same bus, Sharon walked with him to the bus stop and stood chatting until the bus arrived, sat beside him until her stop and then waved goodbye when she stepped off and began the trek up the hill to her building.  As if it was a normal day.  She could feel cold shivers down her spine as phantom terrors came to roost on her shoulders, jumping at every sound she heard.  Reaching her building, she raced inside and up the stairs.  The door unlocked under her trembling fingers and she rushed inside, slamming the door behind her in disregard for her neighbours’ sensibilities. 

Only when the door was locked, only when she finally felt safe, only then did she let out the emotions that she’d successfully kept so tightly contained throughout the agonizingly long afternoon and evening.  She rushed to the toilet and vomited until she thought her insides would come up, then sat on the floor beside the w.c. and rocked in blank misery.  Theodore would be back, and he’d be out for blood now. 

Sharon nearly retched again at the thought of blood, swallowed convulsively and tried to focus her thoughts.  Theodore had intentionally nearly killed her ten years prior, in full view of the entire dance troupe and theatre owners and stage hands.  For what?  To be king, he’d said.  Or because he’d wanted to spend more time with his latest conquest.  It didn’t matter, did it?  Today, he’d lost face with his cronies and she’d hurt him physically, in the worst way a man could be hurt.  She nearly gagged again at the thought of her knees impacting his body and she quickly suppressed the memory with a shudder. 

How much worse would it be on her now?  He’d gotten away with everything ten years ago, he’d get away with this as well.  And the topper was that she’d somehow asked for it, somehow deserved it.  A tiny voice inside insisted it wasn’t true, but how could she believe it?  She obviously gave men the wrong impression with her little fetish, the way she stripped for a bit of luxury in life; it all added up, didn’t it?  She deserved everything that had happened.

She was too numb for tears, so she rocked until her legs fell asleep, then struggled up and filled the tub with water as hot as she could stand it, washing and scrubbing herself over and over until her skin felt raw.  She finally climbed from the tub when the water turned cool and the taps wouldn’t spit out any more hot water.  She brushed her teeth with care for her already abused gums and combed her hair, pulled on her fluffy robe and went to sit by the radiator.  She was cold, so cold, and she didn’t think she’d ever be warm again.

As she sat huddled by the heater, her thoughts went round and round in circles, spiraling inwards until she was locked in a panic so complete that she couldn’t break free.  She was at fault and Theodore was coming, he’d be here and he’d never let her go, he’d kill her this time, but he’d make her suffer so much first.  It was certain.

A knock at the door made her jump to her feet in alarm, heart thundering in her chest.  Was this it, then?  Sharon went to the kitchen and pulled out her biggest carving knife, fitting it comfortably in her right hand.  She dug through the drawer again and found the second biggest knife, holding it awkwardly in her left hand as she waited for him to break down the door. 

A sudden thought caused her to search the drawer again and replace the second knife with another, one with a serrated blade.  She’d keep the promise she’d made if it was the last thing she ever did, and he wouldn’t take her without a fight.

***

John knocked again.  Where was she?  He thought it was a bit too late for Sharon to be out on a shopping spree, but he supposed she could have gone to the corner pharmacy or the little market at the far end of the block, he thought it stayed open ‘til nearly ten.  P’rhaps she was visiting a friend?  He grimaced in disappointment.  He’d stopped by the café, but it had been locked up tighter than a snare drum head and he’d just figgered she’d be at home.  He wondered how long it would be before she arrived.  Well, he’d just wait a bit, p’rhaps she’d be back soon.  He turned ‘round and sank down to squat with his back against the door, trying to make himself comfortable, wishing for a chair.

He waited.  And he waited.  He waited nearly half a bloody hour and finally grew bored, standing up to stretch.  He wondered if Cyn were still awake.  Or maybe he’d go and do a bit of painting with Stu, there were always canvases and paint ‘round the flat, maybe he’d get some kind of inspiration.  On impulse, he knocked at the door once more.

“Sharon?” he called quietly, didn’t want to disturb the neighbours!  “Sharon, it’s John, are ya in, luv?”

He put his ear to the door, was a radio playing?  No, but he was certain he heard ~some~ kind of sound.

“Sharon?  It’s John, luv.”

“John?”

The voice was muffled, but it was definitely Sharon.  And he’d been in the bloody hallway, waiting forever for the bird!  He tried to stamp down his anger, p’rhaps she’d been in the loo and hadn’t heard his first knocks.

“Yeah, it’s me, luv.  Lemme in, please?”

There was a long pause.

“Sharon, ya there?  It’s John, lemme in?”

“N……no, I don’t…… I don’t feel like seeing anyone.”

He barely caught her words, they was spoken so quietly, muffled by the door between them.  What the bloody hell was wrong with the bird?  She was running hot and cold like no judy he’d ever known before!  First she’d been all over him, then nearly kicking him out of her apartment moments later.  After that, she’d taken him to bed with every evidence of enthusiasm and enjoyment, and now she was just pushing him away again!  Bloody hell, he didn’t need this shite!

“Sharon, lemme in,” he insisted, the anger rising up in his chest and leaching into his voice.

“Go away!”

Was there a bit of a tremble in her voice?  Was she just playing games with him, like she’d done the other night, when she’d wanted him to pretend he was …… well, forcing her?  That’s what it had been, hadn’t it?  A bit twisted, but he’d enjoyed it and he’d known she had as well, as long as it hadn’t gotten rough, he’d enough sense to realize that!  Was she just wanting a bit more of that?

“Ya don’t want me ta come in there an’ hurt ya, do ya?  Open th’ bloody door,” he commanded, keeping his voice low but allowing a little threat to creep into it as he had a grin of anticipation.

“No!”

The reply was shouted, didn’t she care ‘bout her neighbours hearing?  He started to growl another command when he realized she’d sounded serious, and…… frightened?  Had he crossed the line?  How?

“Sharon?  Sharon, are you all right, luv?  Is everything okay?” he asked.  When he got no reply, he tried again.  “Sharon, luv, c’mon, please open th’ door, yer neighbours are gonna complain, lemme in, please.”

He tried twice more and received no reply to his pleas.

“Sharon, luv, I’d like ta see ya, luv, an’ talk ta ya, right?  So…… why doncha lemme in?”

Another half hour passed and John’s slow burning anger erupted.

Why was he doing this?  What did it matter?  She was just trying to wrap him ‘round her finger and keep him guessing, wasn’t she?  Stupid bloody games, a real cock teaser.  Well, he wasn’t gonna play, was he?  No, he didn’t need anything like this, he didn’t have to beg for it!  But why had she sounded so frightened?  Nah, she wasn’t scared, she was prob’ly just playing games with his head, wasn’t she?  She liked the pretense thing, she was just doing some more pretending.  Hell, no, he wasn’t gonna play along.  Bloody mental bitch!

“Sharon, I’m leavin’, I’m not playin’ yer freakin’ games, ya got that?” he growled to the blank door.  He turned on his heel and stalked down the stairs and out the building.

He fumed through the bus ride and slammed the door upon entering the Gambia Terrace flat, searched through the piles for a semi-clean canvas and set up an easel with enough violence to crack the stand.  There were paints everywhere, and he picked at random, began painting something dark and angry onto the canvas, trying to let his anger control his brush strokes.

“That’s not gonna help.”

John turned face his friend.  “’ow d’ya know that?” he sneered.

Stuart shrugged, not backing down in the face of John’s anger, and John grudgingly admitted to himself that his friend’s aplomb was part of the reason he respected Stu so much.

“I been doin’ this a lot longer than you, John.  Anger can get ya a good canvas, if it’s done right, but it’s not easy.  She’s a gentle Mistress, John.”

“What are ya freakin’ talkin’ ‘bout?” John demanded. 

Not this again!  Stu and his ruling passion, his painting and drawing, you’d think it was his life!  The lad was wacked, that’s all there was to it, referring to a driving force like that as his ‘mistress’.

Stuart took the brush away from him and picked up another can of paint, adding a few strokes to the canvas whilst continuing the conversation.

“C’mon, John, you know Her, you’ve felt Her touch, too.  She touched me when I was a lad, an’ She’s really my life.”

He stepped back and looked at the canvas, then selected another brush from the pile on the floor, picked another can of paint and stepped back to the easel. 

“Yeah, She called on me an’ I knew it instantly,” he continued, his eyes dreamy and distant, his brush stroking the canvas as if the body of a lover.  “Swear ta God I’m Her slave; She expects total concentration and complete absorption from Her disciples an’ that’s a small price to pay to follow Her.  John, lad, ya know Her, but ya jus’ flirt with Her, play a bit with Her, ya don’t know th’ joy o’ lettin’ Her rule ya, it’s life, it’s passion, she’s a Goddess, I swear, man.  Nothin’ else comes close, not birds, not music, nothin’.”

“Yer a daft bugger, ya know that?” John asked with a reluctant smile. 

As many times as they’d been through this conversation in the past, John thought he understood a little bit of what Stu was saying.  Hell, he felt the same way ‘bout music sometimes, that it ruled his life!  But he couldn’t let anyone know that, not even Stu, it was too personal, too private, and a bit embarrassing at the same time.  He looked at the canvas as Stu made a few more strokes, changed paints and added a touch more.  Shit, it was turning into another bloody masterpiece, his mate had more talent in his little finger than John thought he’d ever have in his entire body!  Stuart Sutcliffe was a miracle worker.

“Not bad,” he grunted when Stu stepped back to examine the painting.  Bastard, he thought affectionately.

“So what’s wrong with ya tonight?” Stu asked, wiping his hands on a rag, looking at him with that clear intensity of purpose that always made John feel a touch uncomfortable.

“Ah, it’s this judy I been seein’, well, not really seein’.  Just ‘ad an incredible night with ‘er on Friday an’ now she’s just…… she’s actin’ mental, like.”

“Yeah?  Like what?”

John sighed and pushed a few cans of paint off the broken down sofa in the center of the room, settled and made himself comfortable.  “I dunno, she’s just……  Well, first off, she acts like she doesn’t want anythin’ ta do with me now.”

“Well, did ya make sure she enjoyed ‘er night with ya?” Stu asked reasonably.

John snorted.  “’course I did!  Ya think I’m daft?  First thing I learned outta th’ startin’ gates, if th’ bird doesn’t enjoy it, sure as hell yer not gonna get any more!  God, she was fantastic, too!  Christ, I’ve never met a girl like ‘er, she really wanted it, an’ she didn’t play coy.  But now……”

The anger had faded and depression was setting in.  He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong; when she’d shouted at him tonight, she’d really seemed frightened.  He tried to think of any reason for her to be frightened by him, but couldn’t come up with any idea.

“I dunno, Stu, she just…… she acted mental,” he said slowly.

“How’d she look?”

“How’d she look?  I…… I dunno, she wouldn’t open th’ door ta me.  I mean, she wouldn’t even lemme in ‘er flat!”

“Well, what happened on Friday?  By th’ way, I wondered where ya were that night, guess I know now, don’t I?” Stu asked with a lazy grin.

John ignored the sly dig.  “Jus’…… jus’ some incredible sex, ya know?  Believe me, I know th’ bird enjoyed it, couldn’t miss that reaction!  Real limber, gorgeous body, willin’ ta try anythin’…… an’ I mean anythin’,” he said with a lascivious grin at the memory of the night.  “She even wanted ta play a game.”

“What kinda game?”

John wondered fleetingly if Stu were digging for details to fuel his imagination, for a chance to play voyeur.  A glance at his friend told him Stu was slightly bored, just asking questions for the sake of conversation on a quiet Tuesday night.

“Well, ya know, just a bit twisted, nothin’ bad, she jus’ wanted me ta play like I was gonna hurt ‘er.”

“Oh, yeah, common fantasy with th’ girls, a bit o’ force an’ a bit of a threat.”

John grinned and pushed his mate in the shoulder.  “Ya soft hapath, ‘ow th’ bloody ‘ell would you know, when’s th’ last time ya had some off a bird?”

Stuart smiled mysteriously.  “You’d be surprised.  Th’ judies like me, an’ don’t ferget all th’ nudes I been paintin’.”

“Mr. Sutcliffe, you lecherous bast’id,” John exclaimed in admiration.  “Ya been gettin’ a bit o’ Posh an’ Becks off yer models?”

Stuart just smiled without answering, and John laughed, shaking his head in mock dismay.

“So…… who’s this bird ya had such incredible sex with?” Stuart asked, lighting a fag and taking a drag. 

John grabbed the pack and pulled another stick out, plucked Stu’s ciggie out of his mouth and lit his off the glowing end of his mate’s ciggie before handing it back with a nod of thanks.  He wondered suddenly if Stu would think him a soft lad for seeing such a plain girl?  Well, she’d been nice looking when she’d smiled, hadn’t she?  And not all the models that posed for Stu were gorgeous.

“Well…… ya ‘member Janice?  Th’ stripper bird?”

“Don’ think I could ferget ‘er!  Ya mean……?”

John nodded.  “Yeah, but ‘er name’s Sharon, an’ she doesn’t really look like th’ bird on stage.”

“Short blonde hair, a bit plain, ‘bout my height, had a limp fer a bit?” Stu asked casually.

John was dumfounded.  How……?  Oh, right, the girl on the street each day outside the club, he should have known Stu had seen her.  That artist eye never missed much!

“Stage name, then?” Stu continued.  “So…… what’s it like boffin’ a stripper?”

John grinned and gave a low whistle.

“So, what d’ya think happened?” Stu asked after a comfortable silence.

John shook his head in bewilderment.  “I dunno, man, I really dunno, she’s just blowin’ hot an’ cold like I’ve never seen before.”

“So tell me what happened tonight.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Stu countered reasonably.  “We got nothin’ better ta do this evenin’, do we?  No money fer th’ cinema or th’ pub, doesn’t look like yer gonna call ‘round on Cyn.  C’mon, John, tell me yer story, I like a good puzzle.”

The conversation was desultory, the friendship and ciggies shared late into the night.  By the end of the evening, Stu admitted he didn’t really have any answers for John, and John decided to put the bird out of his mind, he didn’t need a mental girl in his life!

“D’ya think she’d pose fer me?” Stu asked suddenly.

“She’s mental, outta ‘er ‘ead!” John replied in astonishment.  “B’lieve me, ya don’t want anythin’ ta do with ‘er.”

“I don’ think so, John.  I dunno, can’t really explain it, but she didn’t seem mental ta me when we were workin’ with ‘er.  But there’s somethin’ ‘bout ‘er, maybe it’s th’ Sharon an’ Janice thing, there’s this duality to ‘er nature, I wanna see if I can’t capture it on canvas.  Will ya introduce me to ‘er?”

“Ya want me ta go back there?  After th’ bird wouldn’t even open th’ door ta me?  She’ll call th’ coppers on us both,” he complained, sighing in dismay upon remembering that his friend never let anything stand in the way of his art.  He resigned himself to taking Stu to see the girl the next day.  But that was it, he swore to himself, he’d never see her again after that.

It was Thursday before John reluctantly took Stuart to the bird’s flat.

***

Sharon wasn’t exactly sure how she was getting through the days; she certainly wasn’t sleeping.  She sat on the sofa each night with the knives beside her, cowering and trembling, waiting for anything to happen.  The first night had been the worst, and John’s attempted visit had scared her, even though she’d felt relieved that it hadn’t been Theodore and his lackeys.  She’d been unable to eat, although the smell of food hadn’t made her queasy.  Thank God about that, it would have made working in the café intolerable!  But the very thought of eating simply turned her stomach; she’d barely been able to keep water in her belly, and that only by sheer force of will.

Really, the only way she got through the days was Janice; Sharon simply let Janice take complete control whilst she remained passenger in the back of her mind, watching everyone as Janice danced and strutted in the club, then took orders and delivered meals in the café.  Toby and the lads insisted on walking her to the café, for which she was grateful, but once again, the long walk up the hill to her flat loomed on her horizon and she wondered how she’d survive it again.  Did Theodore know where she lived?  She didn’t know, and the fear had been threatening to choke her nearly all day.  She sat next to the café owner on the bus, chatting as if everything were normal, acting as if nothing was wrong, holding her hands tightly in her lap to keep them from trembling. 

She had to force herself to get off the bus at her stop and trudge up the hill, her eyes in constant motion, searching for danger.  Was that someone hiding in the alley?  No, it was just a shadow.  That man by that storefront, lighting a fag, was he watching her?  No, he turned away and went into the shop.  She shivered and quickened her pace.  She was nearly running by the time she got to her building.  Once inside, she raced up the stairs and burst out of the stairwell, intent on reaching her door before she was caught by the phantoms that chased her. 

Sharon stopped abruptly with her heart in her throat upon seeing two men at her door, instantly recognized as John and the artist fellow who’d played bass in the band.  She put her hand in her pocket, feeling the comforting weight of the knife she’d filched from the café.  It wasn’t very big, but perhaps it would buy her time to get away.  She’d have to be very careful on the stairs, though, a fall could cripple her if she wasn’t careful, and she’d been close enough to that in the past.

What did they want?  She’d thought John wouldn’t return after she’d denied him entrance yesterday…… no, it was the day before yesterday, wasn’t it?…… did he think that she’d wanted reality?  She’d given him the wrong impression, hadn’t she?  She should have never said anything about her little fetish, he hadn’t understood either, hadn’t known that her desire was merely a fantasy, not something she really wanted to do!  He’d asked her if he wanted him to get his friends, let them take a turn with her, just like Theodore had suggested yesterday…… no, that had been Tuesday, not yesterday.  She was so confused, her head spinning with lack of sleep and food, her body exhausted, her mind in a whirl.

And now John was here, with his friend.  Oh, God, where could she hide, how could she get away from them?

***

Stuart turned when the door to the stairwell banged open, the smile on his lips fading when the blonde bird stopped abruptly and simply stared at them.  He knew that the eyes were mirrors to the soul, and her eyes showed the depths of hell. 

Something was seriously wrong. 

He wondered why John hadn’t seen it the other day, then remembered his friend hadn’t seen her, just heard her voice.  That should have told him, but he knew his friend wasn’t as sensitive to emotion as he himself was; Stuart nearly saw emotion as colours at times, he could delve into them so deeply.  It was all part and parcel of his enslavement, his Mistress giving gifts to her disciples.  He brought his attention back to the girl, saw the instincts for flight in her eyes, flight and fear…… no, not fear.  Terror.

Working on instinct and the little voice that sometimes led him, he slowly moved away from the girl’s door with his back to the wall, sliding down it until he was sitting on the floor, trying to appear harmless.

“Si’down, John,” he said quietly, never taking his eyes off the bird.

“What……?”

“Si’down beside me…no, other side, further from ‘er door,” he instructed.  “Do it now.”

He could nearly taste the confusion his friend was feeling, it was so strong.

“Now shaddup, an’ don’t move,” he said, his lips barely moving with the words.

Raising his voice just a bit, keeping his tone very gentle, he continued, speaking to the girl as she stood frozen in the little hallway.

“’evenin’, Sharon, d’ya ‘member me?  It’s Stuart from th’ band.  An’ ya know John, luv.  We jus’ stopped by ta say hullo, maybe ‘ave a cuppa tea with ya.  Nothin’ ta be ‘fraid of, Sharon.”

He watched her pull herself together, in awe of what appeared to be another person pulling itself from the depths of her soul and taking charge.  When she spoke, her tone was frosty with indignation, and her words were directed to John.

“You obviously have the wrong impression of me, young man.  I’m not interested in anything like…… this,” she spat.

Stuart slid a glance to his friend, taking his attention off the girl for only a moment.  He almost grinned at his friend’s bewildered expression.

“Sharon, I dunno what yer talkin’ bout,” John replied.

Sharon didn’t reply, and Stuart put a warning hand on his friend’s arm when John appeared to be ready to continue.  John subsided and Stuart took over again, watching the girl closely.

“Sharon, could we come in fer a cuppa?  We ‘ad ta run fer th’ bus, got really dry throats from it.  That’s all we’re askin’, luv, I promise.  Just a cuppa tea.  Please?”

Her eyes moved to focus on him and Stuart nearly flinched.  The girl was holding on by a thin thread of sanity, and it was stretched to the breaking point. 

Only once before had he ever seen the likes, a girl who’d been boarding with his parents; he’d had a bit of a crush on her.  She’d been caught by a band of young toughs and his Mum had offered to let the girl convalesce at their home once she’d got out of hospital.  She’d been a tragic figure, creeping ‘bout the house, starting at any little noise, flinching whenever anyone came too close.  Mum had said she needed tincture of time to heal, and that once she’d stopped blaming herself for what had happened, she’d finally start down the road to health.  Mum had been right, the tragic figure had gradually faded, the girl’s eyes had gradually lost their expression of despair and terror.  The same expression he now saw in the eyes of the girl before him.  Maybe not ‘zactly the same, but close, far too close.

The words were out before he could stop them.

“Sharon, luv, I know what happened.”

He darted to his feet as all colour bled from her face, reaching for her and barely catching her as she fell to the floor in a faint.  John was only a bare step behind him, having been caught by total surprise at the suddenness of the girl’s collapse.

“Get ‘er keys, open th’ door an’ help me get ‘er in, John,” he instructed his friend.

“What th’ bloody hell’s goin’ on, Stu?” John asked, opening the girl’s purse and searching out the keys to her flat.  “What d’ya know, why’d she faint?”

He looked upset, and Stuart knew his friend was worried for the girl, despite his protestations of her being ‘mental’ and not wanting anything to do with her.  He shifted his grip on the girl and realized he’d need some help in carrying her.

“Gimme a ‘and, John, let’s get ‘er inside ‘fore ‘er neighbours come out.”

They carried her in and laid her on the sofa.  Stuart knelt beside her and brushed the feathery bangs from her forehead, put his fingers on her wrist and was relieved to feel a steady pulse.  He looked about the little modified bedsit, saw the posters on her wall that were instantly recognized as the girl herself, noted the knives sitting on the table and added it to the list of clues he’d been gathering.  She’d been feeling vulnerable, had felt the need to protect herself and with violence if necessary. 

Stuart knew he was right, all the clues fell into place and the puzzle was nearly complete.  If she hadn’t been raped, it had been a near thing and it had frightened her badly.

“John, would ya make some tea?  I think she’s gonna need some when she wakes up.”

“What’s wrong with ‘er?” John demanded, his voice rough with suppressed worry. 

Stuart nearly smiled, John tried so hard to hide his emotions, but they were easily visible to him, and really, to anyone who had eyes to see.  John was a tough-seeming lad with a soft heart that he tried with great zeal to keep hidden from everyone and everything.  If only he’d put that much effort into his schoolwork!

“How d’ya know what happened?” John continued, his voice growing rougher, the demand stronger.  “What happened?  Why aren’t ya tellin’ me, an’ what aren’t ya tellin’ me?  Why’d she faint like that?  ‘s she mental or what?”

Stuart shook his head.  “Nah, don’ think so.  But I think she’s ‘bout at th’ end of ‘er rope.  Bet she ‘asn’t been eatin’ or sleepin’, either.  We’re gonna ‘ave ta let ‘er tell it, John.  I dunno ‘zactly what ‘appened, but I can guess.  I can see it in ‘er eyes.  But we gotta wait fer ‘er ta tell us.  Ya gotta learn some patience, son.”

To the obvious and utter disgust of his friend, Stuart refused to say any more, but merely settled himself on the floor beside the sofa, never taking his eyes off the girl as John clattered about in her kitchen.  Poor broken bird, he thought, brushing her hair with his fingertips.

***

Sharon wasn’t sure exactly where she was.  What had happened?  She’d been on the way home, had she fallen into a trance and let Janice take over completely?  She was obviously lying down, and she heard voices.  Memory flooded over her, she’d been in the hallway outside her flat…… and there had been two men at her door.  John?  And Stuart?  She’d let Janice take over, afraid to run for fear of falling on the stairs.  So Janice had stood her ground.  But then Stuart, the artist, had turned that incredible deep, soul-searching look on her, looking into her so deeply that he pierced her heart, and he’d said he knew what had happened.  How could he?  It wasn’t possible!  Then…… nothing.  And now she was lying on a soft surface and she heard a kettle whistling.  She kept her eyes shut and listened intently.

“I dunno where th’ sugar is.”  John’s voice, complaining, from across the room, in the kitchen.

“Why doncha look in th’ sugar bowl?”  Stuart, mild, amused.  Very close.  Next to her.  Her heart rate kicked into a race as she tried to avoid flinching.

“Oh, yeah, didn’t see it.”

Near silence, just the noises of someone bumbling about in the kitchen.  She must be in her flat, she must have fainted.

“Sharon, luv?”

She flinched.  The voice was soft, gentle, only feet away.  Far too close.

“Sharon, luv, I know yer awake, yer breathing changed a bit ago.  It’s all right, luv, nobody’s gonna hurt ya, I promise.  D’ya feel like sittin’ up an’ havin’ a spot o’ tea?  John doesn’t make very good tea, but ‘e tries hard.  ‘e makes th’ best jam butties in Liddypool, though, feel like havin’ somethin’ ta eat?”

Tea had sounded wonderful, she was parched and ever so cold, but the thought of food started her gag reflex again.

***

Stuart watched as Sharon swallowed convulsively, a look of nausea on her face as she opened her eyes, a memory crossing through her eyes like quicksilver.  A bad memory.  He could see fear and pain and sickness.  She took a breath and closed her eyes again, obviously trying to compose herself, but locking him out from seeing into her depths.  The latter might have worked, but the composure bit didn’t; he leaned back as she leaped to her feet and rushed down the little hallway, disappearing behind a door.  Stuart heard her retch and shook his head, wincing in sympathy. 

He got to his feet with a groan and followed her path without looking at John.  Sharon hadn’t taken the time to shut the door and was kneeling in front of the w.c., shivering and sweating as the spasms wracked her.  Stuart stepped into the room behind her, pulled a cloth off the towel rack and wet it with cool water.  When it appeared she was done, he sat on the floor next to her, wedging himself into the small area with a bit of difficulty.  From the looks of it, she hadn’t anything in her stomach to get rid of, but her stomach had done its best to insist on the purge.  Working on instinct alone, following the guidance of his inner voice, he gently pulled the shivering woman into his arms, moving her limp form so that she leaned on him with her head on his chest.  He used the cool wet cloth to wipe her face and mouth, then held her loosely, arms around her but not restraining or constricting her, and he was glad that she appeared too tired to struggle, but merely lay against him quietly.  Then he waited, not asking any questions, knowing he had the patience to wait all night if need be. 

Stuart saw movement and noticed John settling on the floor in the little hallway.  He shared a look of concern with his obviously worried friend, but tried to tell him with his eyes to be patient, they were almost there.  At least John had sense enough to keep quiet as they both waited.

Stuart felt the girl’s hot tears soaking into his shirt as she began crying helplessly, her hands clutching his arms in desperation.  Well, Mum had said tears were a girl’s liquid swear words, so maybe this would be helpful.  He kissed her on the temple and waited.

***

Unexpectedly, the words spilled out much as the tears had done.  Everything tumbled out in a rush, her fear at how they’d held her, her disgust at the way they’d touched her, the sickness that continued to gag her over how she’d purposely hurt another human being, her relief over escaping, her terror that Theodore would come for her again.  Once the flood started, it didn’t stop until she ran out of words, holding back nothing...... except her conviction that she’d caused it, that it had been her fault.  He wouldn’t understand, no one would understand, and she was so ashamed.  It helped that she kept her eyes closed, couldn’t see his face, that her head was below his and he couldn’t look at her with that strange intense gaze that stripped her soul bare. 

It helped that he was a virtual stranger.

“Don’t tell John,” she whispered, felt his chest raise under her ear with a breathy chuckle.

“Why not?” he asked quietly.

She swallowed more tears.  “I don’t know,” she lied.

“D’ya think ‘e’s gonna be disgusted with ya?”

The tears leaked out and she couldn’t reply around the constriction in her throat.

“Are ya afraid he’ll think it was yer fault?”

She flinched and the tears continued to fall.

“Ya know what I think, Sharon?  I think ‘e’s gonna think you were damned brave.  I know I do, luv,” Stuart continued softly.  “Ya coulda just given up an’ let ‘em do whatever they wanted.  But ya fought ‘em an’ ya got away.  Listen ta me, girl, it wasn’t yer fault.  Ya gotta believe that, it wasn’t yer fault, sweetheart.  An’ as far as how ya feel ‘bout hurtin’ human bein’s like that, luv, it just shows yer more human than them.  They were monsters, they’d ‘ave hurt ya bad without a second thought.  Ya had ta protect yerself, Sharon, an’ ya did it however ya needed to.  There’s no fault in that.  It wasn’t yer fault, an’ yer not ta blame.  As far as th’ bast’id comin’ afta’ ya, we’ll jus’ ‘ave ta figger out somethin’ ‘bout that, luv.”

She lay quietly in his arms, accepting the comforting words and the comforting heat of his body.

“Ya know what else?” he asked gently.

She barely twitched her head in the negative, too tired to do more than that.

“I think ya oughta ask John what ‘e thinks ‘bout it.”

“I can’t go through telling it again,” she whispered, felt the chest beneath her ear rise with another chuckle.

“’e’s been right ‘ere all along, Sharon.  ‘e didn’t run away in disgust, luv, an’ ‘e knows it wasn’t yer fault.”

She opened her eyes, startled, saw John sitting on the floor just outside the bath.  He nodded briefly.

“Stu’s right, it wasn’t yer fault, Sharon,” John said.  He made a face, a crooked smile that was almost a wince.  “Gotta admire ya, luv, even though it’s not very easy fer a feller ta hear ‘bout another feller gettin’ his nuts kicked in.  Kinda makes me squirm a bit, ya know?  Wouldn’t wanna be in th’ bastard’s ...... errrr ...... shorts.  ‘e might o’ had ‘is last chance at bein’ with a bird, if ya get what I’m sayin’.”

She couldn’t laugh, it was still too close, too immediate.  But she nodded and settled back against Stuart’s chest in exhaustion.  She hadn’t any idea of the time, but it had to be extremely late.  And she had to work in the morning.  The show goes on, she thought dispiritedly, but she was too lethargic to move, so she simply lay where she was.  She thought vaguely that she should be horrified at her position, a 34-year-old spinster lying on the floor of the loo with her head on the chest of her lovers’ teenaged friend whilst her teenage lover sat in the hallway nearby.  She nearly giggled as she wondered what her neighbour, old Mrs. Busybody, would think.

She finally sighed and raised her head.  “I need to brush my teeth, my mouth tastes awful,” she admitted.

Stuart laughed.  “I think yer gonna ‘ave ta ‘elp me up, don’t think I got any feelin’ in me legs,” he confessed.

John groaned as he tried to get to his feet.  “Too bloody right,” he swore.

There were many groans as they all got up from the floor.  Sharon brushed her teeth and washed her face, swallowed a cupped handful of water and hoped it would stay down.

“Ya oughta eat somethin’, Sharon,” Stuart suggested, but she shook her head.

“Can’t,” she replied shortly, clenching her jaw, swallowing to dislodge the nausea that rose at the thought of eating.  She didn’t think she could eat until she purged her mind of the thought of blood drying on her hand, of the squishing feel of the impact between her knees and Theodore’s body, blood in her mouth……  Every time she thought of it, her stomach protested the memory.  She resolutely turned her mind from her thoughts. 

“But I’ll fix you lads something if you like?” she offered, grateful for their presence in her flat, grateful for their friendship in her life this dark night.

They both demurred.  She stood awkwardly for a few moments, then decided she’d no secrets from either of them any longer.  She crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to keep them from seeing how her hands shook.

“I don’t want to be alone.  And I’m afraid the busses must have stopped running for the night.  Do you think you’d ...... mind staying with me tonight?” she asked humbly.

Extra pillows and blankets were pulled from the closet and Sharon folded out her bed, crawled under her covers fully clothed and huddled in sudden doubt.  She hoped they’d understood her invitation but what if they’d gotten the wrong impression?  She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw them both settling on the floor, trying to find enough room for comfort.  Tears of gratitude stung her eyes.

“Thank you, boys,” she managed to say.

“’s all right, Sharon luv,” John replied with a yawn.

“We’ll be right ‘ere, Sharon, jus’ call out if ya wanna talk or anythin’,” Stuart added.

Sharon closed her eyes and tried to put everything out of her mind, eventually sliding into an exhausted slumber, sleeping for the first time in several days.

Vague dreams chased her sleep and she was groggy and disoriented when she awoke.  Memory returned to her only when she saw the two bundles of blankets and bodies on her carpet.  She’d have to do her stretches at the club today, there wasn’t a lot of room in her little flat with the two bodies on the floor and she felt uncomfortable at the thought of stretching with a possible audience.  She crawled out of bed and performed her morning toilette, dressed and then started tea and toast for them.  She shook her guests awake when everything was ready, then folded and stored blankets whilst they took turns in the loo.  Leaving the flat, Sharon merely returned the frosty stare Mrs. Busybody gave her when chancing upon the threesome in the hallway.  The lads, still half asleep, insisted on accompanying her to the club, and she accepted their offer with gratitude.

“Seriously, boys, I can’t thank you enough,” she began when they stopped at the club door.

“A pleasure,” Stuart replied easily, another definite charmer, Sharon thought with a slow smile, her first one in days.

She gave them each a kiss on the cheek and sent them on their way, wondering how she’d survive the day and night ahead.  And the days and nights after that.

Go Read Part Four!

C.A.Jones is a long-time fan of The Beatles, but was never lucky enough to see them together in concert. An avid reader since childhood, C.A. only recently tried her hand at writing and now has another hobby with which she consumes her all-too-little spare time. She lives in the Western United States with husband and pets and computers.