Project: Leftovers 004

    Chapter 2
   
    Lane standing on wobbly legs looked at her friend in front of her. Her mind was still refusing to put the information it was confronted with into a coherent picture.
   
    "Why are you here?" Lane asked. It was not the first thing that passed through her mind it was however the first thing that seemed to make sense.
   
    "Why are YOU here?" Monica replied. She looked utterly shocked. Not because there were two dead bodies lying on the ground but apparently because she was seeing Lane standing in front of her. "Fuuuuuck!" she complained. "Fuck. Fuuuck. FUUuuuUUCK!" Monica closed her eyes shook her head, opened them again, seeing that Lane was still there. "Fuck?"
   
    Lane had no idea what she was supposed to do, so trying to get her sense of reality back she decided to concentrate on Monica for the time being. She knew her. She obviously did not really know her, but she knew her well enough to see something familiar in her maybe even something comforting if she focused really hard. Besides Monica had saved her life. "Thank you." Lane said. "For saving me." she added for good measure.
   
    "What?" Monica said, still shaking her head, making little steps backwards and forwards trying to decide what to do next. "I didn't save you."
   
    Lane after a moment of hesitation pointed towards the man is white, pink, red now also with a slowly growing edge of brown. "You killed him."
   
    "Yes." Monica answered. At least that was a pure simple fact that they could both live with.
   
    "Thus saving me." Lane concluded.
   
    "Thus? Really? Who says 'thus' at a time like this?" Monica waved with her arms fighting her exasperation. "And I did not save you. For that I would have had to know that you were here in the first place. Fuck. Also, you being here makes me wonder what you are actually up to. La PUTA que lo parió!" Monica had to go back to her native Spanish to properly vent her frustration. "I mean, here we are on a nice little vacation, just us girls trying to leave the SHIT," she waved in the general direction of the dead bodies, "from our past behind us. But oh look! Monica, why don't you go one one last fucking job? You still owe us for that one time in French Guiana. It's easy. The Pale Man is here. Right under our noses. You want to have your revenge and we need him killed. Win-win. Oh and please be so kind as to fucking hurry. He should not kill his mark if at all possible. Sure thing, I say, because I have no other hobbies. But OK, it is a job. I owe the Pale Man a basket full of death. So after that I'll be able to sleep again. But here YOU are. Of all people. With the mark that was supposed to survive very dead."
   
    "What?" Lane asked fury rising again in her. "Are you really trying to say that I am in any way or form involved with... this?!"
   
    "I have no idea. But here you are in an empty street in an suspiciously empty part of the city with two dead people."
   
    "That horrible piece of shit over there," she pointed at the man in blood, "killed who ever this poor fuck is. Who, by the way, just happened to run into me. That fucking wanker over there tried to kill me which you might have noticed. I mean I'm not sure as you were to busy SAWING HIS HEAD OFF!"
   
    "Yeah. That is all very convenient isn't it? But no, I'm really the idiot here. You pretending to be my friend and dragging me into all of this."
   
    "What kind of crack are you smoking?" Lane past both her hands over her head, trying to prevent her mind from exploding. "What you say doesn't even make sense. Also YOU don't to get to act all surprised.  I actually do just work in an office and the biggest sin I committed in my life was letting Martin convince me that he was a decent human being. You on the other hand are obviously a hobby murderer. Why should I work with any of these people? I have no idea who they are! If I was 'after' you or what ever you think my cunning master plan is, why should I be here and blow my cover. I don't even know enough about you to tell you in what million other ways that is stupid!"
   
    "Oh yeah?"
   
    "Oh yeah!"
   
    "So what were you doing here in the middle of the night that is so much more plausible?"
   
    "I was looking for a place to go shopping!"
   
    Monica was dumbstruck. "You were looking for a place to buy shit."
   
    "Yes. Remember? Our deal? How we were going to look for some crazy artefacts? With the one finding the most outlandish one winning?"
   
    "That is your more plausible explanation?"
   
    "Yes." Lane crossed her arms.
   
    Monica snorted. "Really?"
   
    "Really."
   
    And Monica started laughing. At first it was only a tiny chuckle but grew up to become a big unstoppable roaring laugh that shook Monica to her core driving tears into her eyes. At first Lane was irritated by that reaction. But as Monica kept laughing, with the unreality of the situation sinking in Lane could not help but follow suit.
   
    When Monica could finally breath again "Are you OK Lane?"
   
    "Not at all." Lane answered, her laugh transforming into sobs. "People just died in front of me. I have never seen a dead person before. Even when my grand parents died I never went to see them after they were dead..."
   
    "You'll get used to it." Monica said in a soft voice.
   
    "Really?"
   
    "No. You will get better at enduring it though."
   
    Lane took a long shuddering breath, trying to get her emotions under lock down. This was not the time nor the place to break apart. This. this had to wait.
   
    "We need to get away from here." Lane said.
   
    "Yes and we have to do it quickly. After the spectacle that we just produced the police will be here soon. You go ahead around that corner over there."
   
    "Why?"
   
    "Because I have have a few things left to do before we run away."
   
    "I'll stay."
   
    "Are you sure? This is not going to be pretty..."
   
    Lane looked Monica in the eyes. Behind the tears her eyes were growing clear and hard.
   
    "Right." Monica did not even try to convince her, she knew that time was running out extremely quickly and they had to get a move on. While they could not hear any sirens yet that was mostly because the police weren't idiots. They would approach silently and only go into full cop show mode when they had surrounded the area.
    She took a bottle and a spray can out of a deep pocket. She first knelt over the man that had died in Lane's arms. She opened his mouth to spray coolant into it until his teeth were frozen solid. Then she doused the man with liquid from the bottle. Taking care not to touch the liquid she turned the corpse around pouring the liquid over the other side too.
   
    "Want to help me out?" Monica asked.
   
    "Sure?"
   
    "Drag the Pale Man over here."
   
    "o...kay..." Lane walked towards the nearly decapitated man. At first she thought she would be overcome by revulsion. But seeing the face of the man, his mouth half open, she felt a surge of hatred flaring in her. That motherfucker had not only tried to murder her but he was had also had his fun while doing so. What was horrible was his wound. He felt empathy for his mangled body but not for the person that once lived in there. She grabbed one of his legs and started pulling.
   
    "Won't his head come off?" she asked.
   
    "No. The tendons around the spinal column are very strong."
   
    Monica repeated the process with the Pale man. Spray mouth, douse body, flip around putting the Pale Man on top of his victim. "I'm sorry about this pal." she apologized to the victim the precoded to soak the the back of the dead assassin in the liquid from her stainless steel flask.
   
    "Step back." Monica told Lane. She took out a lighter and carefully with her arms stretched out as far as possible ignited her improvised funeral pyre. It instantly went up in blue angry flames leaping up towards the sky.
   
    "Didn't you tell me that disposing of bodies wasn't as easy as in the movies?" Lane asked with her eyes wide.
   
    "This is not supposed to get rid of the bodies but of evidence. In the heat their frozen teeth will break apart and with their skin their faces and their finger prints will disappear. And if I where you I would stop looking."
   
    "It can hardly be worse then this." Lane said with her eyes still wide with horror. Then it got worse. The corpses started to move. They twisted around slowly moving their arms and legs.
   
    "Turn. Around." Monica said.
   
    "How? Aren't they dead."
   
    "They are. Move." Monica turned Lane around with gentle force pushing her away from the burning bodies.
   
    "But how?"
   
    "You know how sirloin stakes shrink and curl around the fat?"
   
    "Yes?"
   
    "Like that."
   
    "Urgh." Lane was about to try to go for another round of vomiting, her body confident that there was something left to throw out when suddenly sirens started blearing.
   
    "Shit!" Monica spat through clenched teeth. "We were to slow. Fuck. Move, run. We might still find a way out." She shoved Lane around the corner.
   
    "But we are running directly to where the sirens are!"
   
    "It's a trick. They are trying to towards the direction where there are no sirens but most police men. It's easier tu surprise someone who is trying to ambush someone running right into your arms." She shoved Lane again making her run into the general direction of the sirens. Before even reaching the half way point of the short narrow street, they heard another sounds. Barking.
   
    Now Monica's calm started to fade. She stopped in her tracks looking back towards the street they had come from. Still lit in the flames of her improvised bonfire. Apart from the sizzling sound of the fire burning flesh and fat there was only tempting silence, while the sirens had just got company from dogs. It was still a trap, but running into it meant a few more moments of freedom.
    While Monica was deliberating what to do, Lane had finally snapped, she was kneeling in front of a wall scratching the stones.
   
    "Can you wait with going insane?" Monica asked "This is really not the best moment for that."
   
    "I'm not insane." Lane said with a grim voice. "Maybe it wasn't a one way door. What kind of a secret would it be if you could just stumble through it?"
   
    Monica had to admit that Lane's lunacy had a very impressive quality of a calm to it. The wall suddenly swinging aside revealing a big black hole leading into the dark below gave Monica the impression that it was also surprisingly contagious. Maybe it would also work on dogs?
   
    "Don't just stand there," said Lane grabbing her sleeve and pulling her towards the opening. "move. Come on hurry up." With that she pulled her into the dark, the light of the moon, the stars, and the fire sealed away by the wall slamming shut again.
   
   

    At first the dark damp air felt like a gift to Lane. No more horrible things to see, no barking dogs, not the strange disturbing sound of human flesh slowly roasting, all gone. For a moment it was like standing in her bed room, in the night, after some strange dream had woken her up which she had to shake by physically standing up, walking a few paces in her room, trying to reorient herself. The scratching noises coming from the wall behind her followed by the muffled voices of angry men quickly brought her back to what for lack of a better alternative had to be reality. She new that she wasn't far from the stairs. This was after all the way that had brought her into this surreal situation. But where was the fucking light? Her was was lit when she had come up stairs. She pawed the wall searching from a light switch.
   
    "There you are!" Monica said, turning on a small electric torch. The torch produced a bright powerful beam that suggested that it was trying to compensate for its minuscule size. "Light!" Monica said grabbing Lane's arm. "I hope this magic door of yours leads to somewhere safe?"
   
    "I have no idea about safe," Lane said squinting "it will buy us time though. Not much though, not if one of the police men know how top open the door too."
   
    "Well, let's get a move on then. You lead the way."
   
    Lane went ahead down the steps again right into the lower market that was still bustling with activity. She had no idea where to go. But right now every direction was better than standing still or going back.
   
    "What is this place?" Monica asked as she noticed that they had not stumbled into just the metro version of the bazaar above.
   
    Lane shrugged. "I told you I was looking for a place that sold real artefacts, things with deep dark secrets, instead of the usually tourist appeasement crap. Well here we are. You should feel right at home."
   
    "I wish we were not on the run. This place is amazing!"
   
    "I wish we weren't on the run either. But for slightly different reasons..."
   
    "Come on. Let it out." Monica sighed.
   
    "You are a murder!"
   
    "I saved your life.!
   
    "By accident. You said so yourself. Right before giving me the murderer eye."
   
    "Yes by accident. So. You are still alive. I still saved you."
   
    "Coincidence."
   
    "Yes. So? At least I was not going through that whole 'No witnesses!'",  she imitated the Pale Man with a husky voice that sounded nothing like him, "shit and then went on to murder you."
   
    "You looked at me as if you wanted to kill me next." Lane said. With still enough adrenalin in her system to find that infuriating rather then terrifying. Although in one corner of her mind the idea that she was travelling with a cold blooded assassin was starting to grow in different colourful directions. All of them horrible enough to giver her nightmares something to work with for the coming decade.
   
    "I thought you were some kind of traitor or double agent... or something."
   
    Lane stopped turned around facing Monica. "How on earth. Would that make ANY kind of sense whatsoever, Monica?!"
   
    "I doesn't. But seeing you there, in a high stress situation? The mind wanders."
   
    "And if I had been a double agent or whatever. Would you have killed me then too?"
   
    "I don't think I can answer that question in a way that won't make me sound like a psychopath."
   
    "You think?"
   
    "Lane I am sorry. I didn't want to drag you into this. Let's move on the people are starting to look..." she gently moved Lane forward. As she touched her Lane recoiled from her, but clenching her teeth let her touch her and move her into the direction were the general flow of the crowd was going."
   
    "I did not want to get dragged into this." Monica continued. "That was shit from, from another life. One that I thought I had left behind."
   
    "We need to go to the hotel." Lane said shoving her hand under her crossed hands to stop them from shaking.
   
    "What? Why?"
   
    "I'm thinking about this situation. I'm trying to be rational. Analytical. That is the only thing that is keeping me from a class 3 nervous breakdown."
   
    "Class 3? Is that serious."
   
    "Yes that's serious. Really really serious. No listen. We need to get back to our hotel. Get our shit and go away. Far, far away."
   
    "We should get back to the hotel. Where we should get a shower and a good night of sleep. There is no need to run anywhere."
   
    "You just murdered a man."
   
    "There were no witnesses."
   
    "But we left the crime scene full of shit. Hair. DNA. Footprints. The have dogs that sniffed us out."
   
    "They will hardly come looking for us at the hotel. They did not even see us."
   
    "What kind of assassin are you?"
   
    "That came out of nowhere... I don't know. An unhappy one?"
   
    "I mean how comes that you jump from rooftops like some kind of ninja, totally murder someone and then think that walking away is enough to evade the police? That can hardly been the first time that you... did something like that." Lane shuddered. Despite the heat of the lower market she had started to sweat.
   
    "Maybe we should sit down and have a nice cup of tea. Then we can talk all these things through. OK?" Monica said leading ehr towards a stall that served costumers what looked like fancy kinds of iced tea. Served from big bulbous bottles coming in all colours of the neon-rainbow. When she noticed that there were things floating in the 'tea' things like eyes for example, she gently steered Lane into another direction. "Look over there that place looks much better!" Monica said.
   
    "That place sells books."
   
    "Yes but it also looks more comfortable. But you are right. Tea!" She usher her friend further along, now looking more closely at what was sold at the stalls around her. She was only now beginning to notice that the things that were sold her were far beyond curiosities but more the type of things that back in Chile was sold by the brujas, the magos and the more entrepreneurial archaeologists. Her father had always warned her to be extremely careful around these people and never, ever to trust them. She felt her stomach knot together. The sudden wobbling of Lane reminded her that she had bigger problems right now, like her fiend going into shock. Also her father had always been a narcissistic arse. With renewed determination she carefully dragged Lane along looking for a stall that sold tea or coffee. Even witches and Satanists had to like a cup of tea every once in a while.
   
    A dozen or so stall further on she finally found one that seemed to sell tea, normal tea and normal soft drinks. There even was a kind of little back room in form of a little tent that held a few low tables surrounded by big cushions to sit in. On top of the tables stood large crystal hookah's. The tent was empty so she could place Lane on a big cushion far away from the entrance where she could either lie down if she wanted to or lean against a tent pole. Monica had just sat down herself, after making sure that Lane would not fall over when the man whose stand this was entered. He was extremely polite, his friendliness turning into genuine concern when he saw the trembling Lane. Monica explained to him that she Lane had just heard terrible news about a death in the family. She just needed to sit down for a while, drink a tea, things would get better from there on out. The waiter nodded saying that he would make her a special herbal infusion that would soothe her nerves and that if they wanted he could give them a strong weed to smoke to take off the edge from the pain. While Monica was very tempted by the idea of a strong smoking weed, it was neither the place nor the time for that. So just the tea.
   
    The tea came, the waiter went away again to leave Lane to her grief. Monica sat close to her, holding her in one arm patiently waiting for the sobs to subside. He Lane's shiver were receding only shaking through her every few minutes Monica made her drink a few sips of tea. It was difficult to tell the flow of time in the lower market, Lane had learned to measure time without the help of a watch or the sun. Instead she listened to the world around her. When they had arrived it was late but the lower market was still bustling. Sooner or later the crowds would change, maybe more people would come tempted by the night to go and look for the supernatural lurking below their city, maybe they would just return home as even warlocks and grave robbers had to sleep, liking to wake up at an hour when the shops and banks with the most annoying opening times were still open. Time would tell.

    The market never grew silent but it grew more quiet. With the markets nervous activity also went Lane's despair. She had gone through the events of the night endless times. Her desperate brain repeating all the most horrible details over and over again. The exploding skull, the sudden strange smell of cordite and what had to be the smell of the brain. Initially this was like scratching an itching wound, breaking of the scab, pulling open the wound, slowly ripping it wider open. Whenever she thought that now, this time she had remembered everything there was to remember, some gruesome detail sprang right back up in front of her minds eye and it started all over. In time though the horror lost its bite. She became numb to what had happened while she started to notice her surroundings. She was sitting in a tent. On a big comfortable cushion, with her back leaned against Monica's body. She was given a sip of tea by the woman she had though of as a friend.
   
    "Who are you?" Lane asked, her voice dull and creaking.
   
    "That, is a long story."
   
    "You said that we could take our time." Lane's body twitched a bit as the thoughts of why they should hurry made another surprise appearance in her consciousness.
   
    "Yes. I said that. Where to start." Monica leaned back her head looking up at the fabric forming the tents ceiling. She bit her lower lip deep in thought. "Well I think the starting point for all my problems would be my father. My father is an arsehole."
   
    "It's not that he is evil," Monica continued, "not at all, he tries to be as good a man as he could possibly be. But when god was giving out the gift of the dick he put a massive amount into his personality and seeing that I'm an only child little elsewhere..."

    "I'd like to blame him more. It's hard though. I knew that his parents were old school 'abuse a child until it comes out right' kind of people. The shit he had to go through everyday through all his early years never broke him but they certainly cracked and bent his personality to a point beyond repair. Even back then he tried to control his shitty personality. It even led him to study law. He wantd to become a lawyer to bring a bit more justice into the world. That went to shit with the rise of Pinochet. Democracy went out of the window. It was all the rage back then in South America. So far for justice. My father became even more angry more bent. Partially because even now that he had fought his way out of the grasp of his parents there would still be no justice, he would not have not have his independence or power. In part he also hated him self because he kept his head bowed. He may have gritted his teeth but her certainly was not risking his neck by opposing the junta. He told himself that people who rebel openly vanish. But he knew that he was simply afraid like all the others.
    Something broke that day in his soul. His bitter idealism changed into something more sinister. He decided to turn himself into a sort of vigilante. He told my mother about his plan. She backed him up. To her Pinochet and the others were worthless scum. Petty little bullies who had punched their way into power, little pricks who now that they had power kept punching, because that was as far as their ambition reached. Violence with the sole purpose of gaining power. Nothing else. Her contempt even today has not lessened a bit. She still hates force used for its own sake."
   
    Lane had turned around, now sitting upright again, her hands clamped around her still warm cup of tea. The events of the day slowly being pushed out of her mind by Monica's story.
   
    "So they worked out a plan. My father was in the dirt already. He had clients who were from questionable background already. These were the easiest cases. It usually ended with a judge caring more about his new car more than the law. My father started courting these people. Soon he became one of the most despised lawyers in the country. Quite the feat considering the times. What people did not know was that he got to know most of the top of the line criminals and more importantly the information they would not tell even their own mothers. He used that knowledge. Very carefully. To orchestrate little accidents. Moments were things went wrong in strange ways. Prodding the criminals to lunge at each others throats. It worked. The underworld started to turn more and more against it self, often angering the corrupt government that did not care about crime as long as it did not come near the people in power.
    As time moved on my father and my mother both started to work as assassins. Don't ask me how that happened. I asked them myself. They just shrug telling me that it was just the thing that they had to do. The next logical step. They would choose among their targets. They would always get the job done. There were never questions asked. There was just the mission. Another thing I can't understand. There you have two obvious mercenaries who could not give less of a fuck about who they kill yet the crime lords loved them. My parents were so reliable, so unpartizan. So off they went killing key players. They always choose the guilty. People with enough blood on their hands to make their deaths a mercy..." Monica paused for a moment. "Do you want another tea? I need a drink."
   
    "Yes another tea would be nice." Lane said mechanically. For the second or was it the third time this evening she did not know how to react. Even her feeling were a mess. She watched Monica leave the tent. She saw her old colleague, her friend. However there now where all this disturbing things she knew about her which did not fit that person at all. Monica looked perfectly normal, she behaved perfectly normal, she talked like a normal human and yet, and yet the was a murderer apparently from a family of murderers. They seemed to have a code of ethics, their criminal hunting ways had a Batmanesque quality to it, but that only made it worse. It was such a well reasoned gentlemanly form of violence that made it look even more deranged.
    Monica returned with a small water glass filled with a dark green liquid in one hand and a teapot and a tea glass held in the other.
   
    "So where was I?"
   
    "You parents took money from criminals to kill other criminals..."
   
    "Yes. Right. More tea?"
   
    "er... yes please."
   
    "So there they went killing people. I think one of the things that made them such a myth was that when they killed people they remained unseen. Cars went without breaks on mountain roads. People go some serious food poisoning after a banquet. Or they just died of a sniper bullet in their heads when they were relaxing during their holidays in their supposedly secret retreats.
    Into the middle of this I was born. Pinochet still much a power corruption never stopping. From when I was child I was raised to become part of the family business. I got my first rifle when I was five. I executed the first criminal when I was 10."
   
    "That's horrible!"
   
    "Not as bad as you think. I did not know what I was doing back then. I walked up to some guy who looked like a nice old man to me but according to my parents was a monster who had the lives of hundreds of people weighing on his conscience. I had to cry about my teddy bear. That was easy as my father had ripped off its arm. I had to ask the man to help me and as he did I had to make sure that he pricked his finger on a safety pin. A week later the man died of a strange fever...
    I was twelve when I first pulled the trigger on a person for the first time." her drink that had sat untouched in front her since she had arrived. Now she took the glass draining it.
   
    "That was a shit day. Pulling the trigger was easy. I had done than a million times in the shooting range. But I saw through my scope what happened to my target and two of his bodyguards who had the misfortune of standing behind him. That is a something that still haunts me today. My parents were ecstatic. They praised me for my enormous skill. I even got a pony...
    To make this story a bit shorter. I got used to the killing. Before I went my parents told me exactly who was my target. What they had done. Often showing me pictures and testimonies of their victims. It was easy to hate them. After I was done they praised me, it was easy to feel proud. When I went into full puberty it became even worse. The injustice of it all. The weak being oppressed the strong getting away with murder. I became a zealot. I became even more famous than my parents. I turned into a legend. Me and Linda."
   
    "Linda?"
   
    "My rifle."
   
    "Why did you come to England? Is there a target there?"
   
    "What? No. I went to England to leave all that shit behind. It took me a long, long time but in the end I realized that I was not a fucking bit better than my targets and that my parents weren't doing anything to make the world a better place. Fuck them."
   
    "What changed you mind?"
   
    "Anya the one of the Vodka and the gherkins and Javier. My first proper friends. As you can imagine it was a bit hard for me to get close to the kids at school. Sure we would hang out but I could hardly tell them that I was an assassin, right? So the first time I really connected to other people was when I got to team up with them. Anya worked for the Russians and Javier was from Columbia. We became some kind of dream team of assassins. The Russians wanted to expand after the fall of the Soviet Union while Javier was mostly there to earn money for the FARC. So off we went murdering our way through Latin America." Monica smiled at the though. "Those were great times. Not the killing mind you. But having people who actually understand you. Who you can get close too..." tears were now welling up in Monica's eyes.
   
    Lane waited for a while watching Monica who was not openly crying but was caught up in a painful memory. Every once in a while a single tear would roll silently over her cheek. "What went wrong?"
   
    "Nothing really. Monica was working for the Russian mob while Javier was part of a military group that claimed to be a rebelion but passed their time with terrorism, drug trade, kidnapping and other things my parents frowned upon. Turns out that they were keys. Keys into their organisations and once those doors were wide open my parents decided that enough was enough. So they became targets. They were killed. Because that is what happens to murderers. They die violently."
   
    "Did you..." Lane asked with here eyes wide.
   
    "No. No it wasn't me. It was the Pale Man. He killed them."
   
    "I thought your parents killed them?"
   
    "Do you really think that they are so stupid as to kill them themselves. They were under their protection after all. No they chose the pale man because he was at least back then the executioner of one of Brazil's most powerful crime syndicates. They were growing in power, slowly uniting the Brazilian underworld under their iron fist. My parents had calculated that this hit would have the best possible impact. The Russians would be rather pissed about this as would the FARC who always were strong trading partners with the Brazilian criminals.
    The Pale Man does not like witnesses so much so after killing my friends he went after me. My parents bless their twisted souls had warned me when the hit happened that something had 'gone wrong' and that I should watch my back. So after Anya and Javier died I was prepared enough to get away with a large scar and one of the Pale Man's eyes."
   
    "And your parents?"
   
    "Nothing. When I was back they told me about the plan. I went ballistic and they grounded me for a month."
   
    "They grounded you? How old were you?"
   
    "23"
   
    "And they grounded you like, don't leave your room grounded?"
   
    "Yes. Parents in Latin America are different than in Britain. Trust me. Also after they had my best friends killed. People I had worked with, who they new I truly cared about for over 6 years, I was not going to take my chances with them. So I used the time to calm down and think about my future. Because this ridiculous game of theirs was not going to be part of it.
    That led to another grand discussion ending with me getting something of a severance pay. They called it my last allowance and getting an ultimatum for when to get out of the house.
    After a few twists and turns I landed in England slowly and surely leading me to our common workplace. There I thought that I had finally left my old life behind me and found a place were I could stay and start a new life.
    But well... here we are."
   
    "Fuck."
   

Project Leftovers 003

Chapter 2
   
    Lane standing on wobbly legs looked at her friend in front of her. Her mind was still refusing to put the information it was confronted with into a coherent picture.
   
    "Why are you here?" Lane asked. It was not the first thing that passed through her mind it was however the first thing that seemed to make sense.
   
    "Why are YOU here?" Monica replied. She looked utterly shocked. Not because there were two dead bodies lying on the ground but apparently because she was seeing Lane standing in front of her. "Fuuuuuck!" she complained. "Fuck. Fuuuck. FUUuuuUUCK!" Monica closed her eyes shook her head, opened them again, seeing that Lane was still there. "Fuck?"
   
    Lane had no idea what she was supposed to do, so trying to get her sense of reality back she decided to concentrate on Monica for the time being. She knew her. She obviously did not really know her, but she knew her well enough to see something familiar in her maybe even something comforting if she focused really hard. Besides Monica had saved her life. "Thank you." Lane said. "For saving me." she added for good measure.
   
    "What?" Monica said, still shaking her head, making little steps backwards and forwards trying to decide what to do next. "I didn't save you."
   
    Lane after a moment of hesitation pointed towards the man is white, pink, red now also with a slowly growing edge of brown. "You killed him."
   
    "Yes." Monica answered. At least that was a pure simple fact that they could both live with.
   
    "Thus saving me." Lane concluded.
   
    "Thus? Really? Who says 'thus' at a time like this?" Monica waved with her arms fighting her exasperation. "And I did not save you. For that I would have had to know that you were here in the first place. Fuck. Also, you being here makes me wonder what you are actually up to. La PUTA que lo parió!" Monica had to go back to her native Spanish to properly vent her frustration. "I mean, here we are on a nice little vacation, just us girls trying to leave the SHIT," she waved in the general direction of the dead bodies, "from our past behind us. But oh look! Monica, why don't you go one one last fucking job? You still owe us for that one time in French Guiana. It's easy. The Pale Man is here. Right under our noses. You want to have your revenge and we need him killed. Win-win. Oh and please be so kind as to fucking hurry. He should not kill his mark if at all possible. Sure thing, I say, because I have no other hobbies. But OK, it is a job. I owe the Pale Man a basket full of death. So after that I'll be able to sleep again. But here YOU are. Of all people. With the mark that was supposed to survive very dead."
   
    "What?" Lane asked fury rising again in her. "Are you really trying to say that I am in any way or form involved with... this?!"
   
    "I have no idea. But here you are in an empty street in an suspiciously empty part of the city with two dead people."
   
    "That horrible piece of shit over there," she pointed at the man in blood, "killed who ever this poor fuck is. Who, by the way, just happened to run into me. That fucking wanker over there tried to kill me which you might have noticed. I mean I'm not sure as you were to busy SAWING HIS HEAD OFF!"
   
    "Yeah. That is all very convenient isn't it? But no, I'm really the idiot here. You pretending to be my friend and dragging me into all of this."
   
    "What kind of crack are you smoking?" Lane past both her hands over her head, trying to prevent her mind from exploding. "What you say doesn't even make sense. Also YOU don't to get to act all surprised.  I actually do just work in an office and the biggest sin I committed in my life was letting Martin convince me that he was a decent human being. You on the other hand are obviously a hobby murderer. Why should I work with any of these people? I have no idea who they are! If I was 'after' you or what ever you think my cunning master plan is, why should I be here and blow my cover. I don't even know enough about you to tell you in what million other ways that is stupid!"
   
    "Oh yeah?"
   
    "Oh yeah!"
   
    "So what were you doing here in the middle of the night that is so much more plausible?"
   
    "I was looking for a place to go shopping!"
   
    Monica was dumbstruck. "You were looking for a place to buy shit."
   
    "Yes. Remember? Our deal? How we were going to look for some crazy artefacts? With the one finding the most outlandish one winning?"
   
    "That is your more plausible explanation?"
   
    "Yes." Lane crossed her arms.
   
    Monica snorted. "Really?"
   
    "Really."
   
    And Monica started laughing. At first it was only a tiny chuckle but grew up to become a big unstoppable roaring laugh that shook Monica to her core driving tears into her eyes. At first Lane was irritated by that reaction. But as Monica kept laughing, with the unreality of the situation sinking in Lane could not help but follow suit.
   
    When Monica could finally breath again "Are you OK Lane?"
   
    "Not at all." Lane answered, her laugh transforming into sobs. "People just died in front of me. I have never seen a dead person before. Even when my grand parents died I never went to see them after they were dead..."
   
    "You'll get used to it." Monica said in a soft voice.
   
    "Really?"
   
    "No. You will get better at enduring it though."
   
    Lane took a long shuddering breath, trying to get her emotions under lock down. This was not the time nor the place to break apart. This. this had to wait.
   
    "We need to get away from here." Lane said.
   
    "Yes and we have to do it quickly. After the spectacle that we just produced the police will be here soon. You go ahead around that corner over there."
   
    "Why?"
   
    "Because I have have a few things left to do before we run away."
   
    "I'll stay."
   
    "Are you sure? This is not going to be pretty..."
   
    Lane looked Monica in the eyes. Behind the tears her eyes were growing clear and hard.
   
    "Right." Monica did not even try to convince her, she knew that time was running out extremely quickly and they had to get a move on. While they could not hear any sirens yet that was mostly because the police weren't idiots. They would approach silently and only go into full cop show mode when they had surrounded the area.
    She took a bottle and a spray can out of a deep pocket. She first knelt over the man that had died in Lane's arms. She opened his mouth to spray coolant into it until his teeth were frozen solid. Then she doused the man with liquid from the bottle. Taking care not to touch the liquid she turned the corpse around pouring the liquid over the other side too.
   
    "Want to help me out?" Monica asked.
   
    "Sure?"
   
    "Drag the Pale Man over here."
   
    "o...kay..." Lane walked towards the nearly decapitated man. At first she thought she would be overcome by revulsion. But seeing the face of the man, his mouth half open, she felt a surge of hatred flaring in her. That motherfucker had not only tried to murder her but he was had also had his fun while doing so. What was horrible was his wound. He felt empathy for his mangled body but not for the person that once lived in there. She grabbed one of his legs and started pulling.
   
    "Won't his head come off?" she asked.
   
    "No. The tendons around the spinal column are very strong."
   
    Monica repeated the process with the Pale man. Spray mouth, douse body, flip around putting the Pale Man on top of his victim. "I'm sorry about this pal." she apologized to the victim the precoded to soak the the back of the dead assassin in the liquid from her stainless steel flask.
   
    "Step back." Monica told Lane. She took out a lighter and carefully with her arms stretched out as far as possible ignited her improvised funeral pyre. It instantly went up in blue angry flames leaping up towards the sky.
   
    "Didn't you tell me that disposing of bodies wasn't as easy as in the movies?" Lane asked with her eyes wide.
   
    "This is not supposed to get rid of the bodies but of evidence. In the heat their frozen teeth will break apart and with their skin their faces and their finger prints will disappear. And if I where you I would stop looking."
   
    "It can hardly be worse then this." Lane said with her eyes still wide with horror. Then it got worse. The corpses started to move. They twisted around slowly moving their arms and legs.
   
    "Turn. Around." Monica said.
   
    "How? Aren't they dead."
   
    "They are. Move." Monica turned Lane around with gentle force pushing her away from the burning bodies.
   
    "But how?"
   
    "You know how sirloin stakes shrink and curl around the fat?"
   
    "Yes?"
   
    "Like that."
   
    "Urgh." Lane was about to try to go for another round of vomiting, her body confident that there was something left to throw out when suddenly sirens started blearing.
   
    "Shit!" Monica spat through clenched teeth. "We were to slow. Fuck. Move, run. We might still find a way out." She shoved Lane around the corner.
   
    "But we are running directly to where the sirens are!"
   
    "It's a trick. They are trying to towards the direction where there are no sirens but most police men. It's easier tu surprise someone who is trying to ambush someone running right into your arms." She shoved Lane again making her run into the general direction of the sirens. Before even reaching the half way point of the short narrow street, they heard another sounds. Barking.
   
    Now Monica's calm started to fade. She stopped in her tracks looking back towards the street they had come from. Still lit in the flames of her improvised bonfire. Apart from the sizzling sound of the fire burning flesh and fat there was only tempting silence, while the sirens had just got company from dogs. It was still a trap, but running into it meant a few more moments of freedom.
    While Monica was deliberating what to do, Lane had finally snapped, she was kneeling in front of a wall scratching the stones.
   
    "Can you wait with going insane?" Monica asked "This is really not the best moment for that."
   
    "I'm not insane." Lane said with a grim voice. "Maybe it wasn't a one way door. What kind of a secret would it be if you could just stumble through it?"
   
    Monica had to admit that Lane's lunacy had a very impressive quality of a calm to it. The wall suddenly swinging aside revealing a big black hole leading into the dark below gave Monica the impression that it was also surprisingly contagious. Maybe it would also work on dogs?
   
    "Don't just stand there," said Lane grabbing her sleeve and pulling her towards the opening. "move. Come on hurry up." With that she pulled her into the dark, the light of the moon, the stars, and the fire sealed away by the wall slamming shut again.

Project: Leftovers 002

    'First thing tomorrow' it turns out was trying to get up from bed, setting the world into mad, spiralling motion. For one moment Lane thought that she would have to vomit violently just from that sudden attack of vertigo. She was saved by the dormant alcohol left in her blood waking up calming down her panicking animal brain.
    It took her a while to carefully, slowly, slide out of her bed in a way that her legs were mostly on the floor while her upper body remained mostly on the bed, all of that while not putting any kind of pressure to her moribund stomach or her raging liver. It took her ages to move to shuffle to the toilet where she attempted to maker herself look marginally presentable again. She gave up after a while deciding to take the long trek down to the hotel dining room. She thought about getting a coffee and a bowl full of aspirin delivered to her room. Decided against it though as her nose started to pick up the smell of alcohol and stale sweat in her room.
    The dining room it was.
  
    At least it was empty. Apart from one table. There Monica sat with her head resting on the table, her dark hair spilled out around her, the right hand outstretched with one finger resting on the rim of a coffee mug. She looked like someone who had crawled the way all through the desert dying of thirst almost making it to the saving glass of water but failing at the very last most tragic moment. Lane smiled at that thought until she noticed that smiling was a movement that was much to hectic for her upset stomach. She carefully moved over to Monica sitting down in front of her.
  
    "Are you still alive?" Lane asked.
  
    "I wish I wasn't." Monica answered in a deceptively clear voice.
  
    "You do sound suspiciously chipper."
  
    "Just my voice. My head is killing me."
  
    "From vodka? I thought that's impossible."
  
    Monica moved her head a bit so that she could cast a glance at Lane through bloodshot eyes. "Me, too. But what can I say. My head is a rebel." her she let her head sink back to the table.
  
    "You remember last night?"
  
    "Mostly."
  
    "The puzzle box. The one that tried to drink my blood and open a gateway to hell."
  
    "What about it?"
  
    "I remember that sometime, I think about two thirds through the bottle I went up to my room to get it."
  
    Monica's head made a nodding motion rumpling up the table cloth. "That happened. Yes. You showed that thing to me and then we carried it over to the reception."
  
    "OK. So I didn't dream that." Lane paused for a moment. "At the reception, did I give it to the concierge so that he could put it in the safe, or to put it in the mail so that it gets send back to England? Back to Martin? So that he gets to cut himself on it and the tormented by demons from another dimension.?"
  
    "You sent it to Martin."
  
    For the first time that day Lane smiled. A tiny little smile. "That's good." she said. She slowly lowered her head down to the table joining her friend.
  
    They remained there motionless and in silence for a while.
  
    "How about breakfast?" Lane asked.
  
    "Urgh..." said Monica.
  
    "When I say breakfast, I mean, maybe a glass of water."
  
    "That could work."
  
  
    *       *       *
  
  
  
  
    It took then nearly an hour to get to the point where they were able to move in a form resembling human motion. The day before they had planned to move back in into the heart of the city, starting a little competition about who could find the most outlandish artefact in the labyrinthine markets of the Marrakesh.
    They changed the plan very quickly when they noticed that the rout they had chose would lead them right through the butchers district. As the first smell of meat, blood and all manner of cleaning chemicals wafted towards them they instantly turned around both fighting their lonely battles against their post-vodka nausea. Once they had escaped to a street where they could breath through the nose again without the risk of turning into very offensive living fountain statues they decided that the desert was very nice this time of the year.
  
    A while later they were sitting on top a dune watching the Atlas mountains. They stood there standing guard over the desert, stoically enduring the eternal wind currents that were slowly grinding them to dust. Lane was not sure if it was because of her obstinate hangover, but those mountains looked more determined than other mountains. Waiting for the land around them to be ground into fine powder taking with it forbidden secrets. The hills themselves standing on the most horrible remnants, crushing them with their weight until they too would be nothing more than a tiny portion of an endless dessert.
  
    "What do those mountains look like to you?" Lane asked.
  
    "Like Rocks." said Monica.
  
    "No shit? I mean what impression do you have of them? How do they feel to you when you look at them?"
  
    "hmmm... They look old and tired to me."
  
    "Really? To me they look very resolute to me. They look like they are in a staring contest with time itself. They know they can't win but they'll be damned if they give up first."
  
    Monica cocked her head a bit squinting at the mountains. "You think so? To me they appear to be used up. Standing there in the desert, doing their job long after anyone has stopped caring. What else are they going to do? They are mountains. They can hardly get up and immigrate to Switzerland."
  
    "Why Switzerland?"
  
    "Because that sounds like a nice place to go when you are a mountain. Look to retire. You get a ski resort, maybe a nice little tunnel to get over your mid-life crisis to show the young hills that you still have it in you. People will come. Pay you respect and take photos of you. It certainly is better than to be left her in the middle of nowhere waiting for the world to end."
  
    "Bah. I bet after the world has ended these mountains will still be standing here looking all smug. They have seen the rise and fall of civilisations, they remember ages long since forgotten. They probably remember ages that only they can remember because no one else was around. I look at them and see mountains who no matter what happens will go on. When everything else crumbles those guys over there will still be standing."
  
    "You think so?"
  
    "of course. Just look at them!"
  
    Monica snorted. "Maybe you're right. They have been through worse after all. And who knows? Maybe one day they do get to move to Switzerland."
  
    Lane and Monica spent a good while on their dune looking at the mountains talking, thinking, moving very carefully to see if the hangover had got bored and left. When they were both finally feeling better they decided to return to the city.
  
    "It's not that late." Lane said, "We can still go on our scavenger hunt."
  
    "I'd love to but there is still some business that I have to attend to."
  
    "Business? Don't tell me that the wankers back home contacted you during your holidays."
  
    "I wish." Monica said with a smirk. "No this is family business."
  
    "In Marrakesh?"
  
    "Yep. Turns out that acquaintance of my cousins also had a message for me. I still have a few obligations that need to be taken care of."
  
    "You told me yesterday that you family was dead to you."
  
    "They are. Now more than ever. But I'm a professional. I do take care of my shit. It's what I do and in a way it's what makes me better than them. This will be the last fucking time though."
  
    "I would raise a toast to moral superiority, but that would remind me of alcohol."
  
    "Why did you have to say alcohol?"
  
    "I don't know..."
  
    So in the end they decided to split up. Lane could go exploring again. Find the most promising parts of the seemingly infinite bazaars, so that the next day armed with that knowledge they could go hunting.
  
    It went really well until everything went catastrophically wrong.
  
    They had parted ways as the sun was setting. Monica had returned to the hotel to get into more appropriate clothes, Lane just went right back into the markets. At first she was careful not to stray from the parts that sold only things made out of wood and metal, not trusting her stomach to decide to go on a revenge trip for what she had done to it last night. She slowly approached the spice markets, not unlike one would dip a tow in water that was looking suspiciously cold. Taking in all the smells without it feeling like a punch of the gut was work, but it did not turn into paralysing nausea. So slowly she made her way deeper into the parts of the bazaar that were not only filled with an untold number of exiting things but also with exiting smells.
    She even went so far as to approach the butchers district which was still bubbling with business. If it had slowed down at all that day then only to turn on the lights to keep the night at bay. It was here in the neighbouring markets where many food stalls were situated turning the raw materials from the other food districts into proper meals that Lane's stomach told her that while it still hated her and her stupid face, that it could be moved into peace talks if provided by some decent food.
    It took a few bites, but soon after they were the best friends again tasting their way through the exiting variety of dishes. Lane remembered her original mission only when she was sitting a little stall drinking spiced tea out of a little glass. Night had now taken over completely. When she looked up past the many coloured cloth covers that formed the irregular ceiling of the bazaar she could see a a black sky adorned with a dazzling array of shining stars. From where she was sitting she could even see the pale veil of the milky way draped over part of the firmament.

    Sitting around enjoying the very sensation of being alive was all well and good but she had come her with a goal in mind. So far though she had only wasted her time. Well not wasted. She had to relax her batteries and get her body back into functional shape. But now she was feeling OK again. It was time to move on especially as Monica was counting on her, and Monica had not had the luxury of relaxing for a few hours but had instead to do her family some kind of odd favour. She had hardly ever spoken to Lane about her family and when ever the topic drifted into conversation she usually commented it only with a dark hard expression and let it drift past.
  
    'All right!' Lane thought. 'I'm not only doing this for me. But also for Monica. Tomorrow I'll show her some of the strangest most fascinating things that she has ever seen in her life. That will take her mind away from her ungrateful family and focus her back to being on holidays. That's what we came here for anyway. To leave the shit from out former lives behind, gather our strength and start a new chapter in our lives.'
  
    She dove right into the depths of the market looking for the dark corners where one could buy things far removed from the ordinary. First she went to look for the 'grave robber' who had sold her the puzzle box, but try as she may she could not find the stall any more. She was rather sure where it had been, but the bazaar was folded in itself in complex fractal ways that made it incredibly difficult to navigate as a newcomer. That many parts of it changed sometimes as often as every couple of hours as some merchants left and others arrived, sometimes opening new paths while sealing off others further complicated things.
  
    Lane had been standing at a crossroads for a while trying to decide in which direction to go next. Down one path was a large stall selling all kinds of birds local and foreign which she remembered having past on her way to the grave robber, but in another direction was a little island of jewellers which she could have sworn were also on the way but she remembered being further away. It was at that moment when she remembered her last trip with Martin, calling that a holiday would have been like calling a morning visit at the dentist followed by days of pain a couple of days off. The trip had been a giant exercise in frustration and simmering rage slowly building into hard cold resentment. One of the things that now stood out in Lane's mind was Martins constant refusal to ask for directions ever. God fucking forbid that he asks someone, coming into contact with one of those strange people that mad that unknown place they were visiting their home when he could as well keep misreading his fucking map instead. Because that had worked out so perfectly up to that moment.
    So. Fuck Martin. Lane walked from one stall to the other, and approaching the people wandering around in between them trying to find out where the grave robber might have set up camp. While she did not find the man, she got to talk to several people who were mostly really friendly. Some tried to help her locate the spot where she most probably had found him judging from her description, while others pointed her to other places that would sell similarly strange artefacts.
  
    One of the best hints came from a man she had not asked. She had passed right past him as he looked like the type of man Lane would not have even asked for the time. A tall European type, but scruffy to the point of looking shabby who even at a distance had the smell of alcohol following him around like an olfactory warning sign. While his chest was actually rather impressive, the fact that Lane could see his chest because he wore his shirt almost completely open made him look even less trustworthy. This should have been enough, but that man certainly had gone the extra mile to make his dangerous alcoholic madman look a bold statement about his pathetic life style. The skin he exposed was decorated with all kinds of scars. They came in all shapes and forms, only a few of them from the manly impressive variety while most others looked more like monuments to moments of great misfortune and even greater stupidity. The scars were also impressive in that they made the tattoos peaking out from below the man's shirt look even more cheap and shady. This all was crowned of by several golden chains around the man's neck and wrists every one holding some kind of talisman, cross, pentagram. He looked like the after-shave advert version of a occultist hobo nerd.

    Lane did not simply not look at him, she ignored him with the fierce determination that allowed her not only to fade that guy out of her reality but also make it very clear to the one being ignored that he should do everything to make himself even more invisible.
    Which is why Lane was extremely surprised to find him standing right behind her after she had talked to a local man about where to find stalls that sold artefacts, preferably ones that did not sell any that had 'made in Thailand' engraved somewhere, or at least ones that went through the trouble of filing those engravings away.
    Lane was a bit scared. Mostly from the shock of having that nutter standing behind her all of a sudden but also because the pale dull eyes in his face were possessed by something that looked suspiciously like madness. Lane did not show her fear though. She worked at an office with a highly competitive atmosphere every day. An office mostly filled with men. She was used to them by now. She knew that the majority of them worked on the same level of sophistication as a badly trained dog. That meant that she could not show weakness, constantly projecting calm strength. It was the only way to train them to proper behaviour.
  
    So instead of taking half a step back as her initial surprise advice her to do, she slowly breathed in taking a full step towards the man.
  
    She arched an eye brow and asked, "What?"
  
    The man took a half step back. Lane allowed her self to relax a bit now that her alpha status had been established.
  
    "I overheard you talking to that man." the after-shave hobo said.
  
    "That is considered bad manners."
  
    "You talked, my ears just heard. You want people not listening to you, you might want to keep your voice down."
  
    "Your manners keep getting worse."
  
    "Sorry. That's not what I mean to say."
  
    "Go on then. What do you have to tell me." Lane actually wanted to tell him to fuck off, but she thought it would be easier to listen to him rambling for a while. That way he could tell her what ever was on his mind and then hopefully bugger off. They were standing in the middle of a well frequented part of the market so any kind of attack from his side was unlikely. She hoped.
  
    "I heard what you were asking. You are also asking quite a few people. And you are rather specific about what you want."
  
    "So?"
  
    "So. I am wondering what it is that you are looking for."
  
    "Artefacts. Strange things. Interesting stuff."
  
    "Which you can find in many places here. All fine choices for the discerning tourist."
  
    "I'm not a tourist." Lane lied. "I'm here looking for the good stuff." What the fuck was she telling that guy? Bah. If she was going to talk to a crazy man in the middle of the night about were to buy occult items she could go a bit crazy too. Why let the madman have all the fun.
  
    "Are you? You are... Why?"
  
    "That is not your business."
  
    The man looked into lanes eyes. His own going a bit clearer. He rubbed his face with his hand , trying to clear his mind.
  
    "None of my business." he said. He now looked anxious. "Right. It's just. This place here. Well there are dangers."
  
    'Yes' Lane thought, 'like ranting, drunk lunatics bothering people.'
  
    "Also, the way you are doing things here. That's not how it works in Marrakesh. You will hardly get what you want and you will attract the attention of the wrong people." the corner of his mouth twitched.
  
    "I attracted your attention..." Lane said.
  
    "True. Maybe you're lucky? Who knows..."
  
    "Are you going to help me find what I need or do I have to tell you to piss off?"
  
    The man remained quiet for a moment struggling with what whatever it was that was going through his mind.

    "I am going to help you." he said looking deeply upset about it. "I can tell you were to go."
  
    "Go on then."
  
    "Up here you will hardly find anything worth your attention. You might find a few grave robbers or curio pedlars who will sometimes stock proper artefacts. But finding them is hard, not letting them sell you any old shit is harder and because they usually have no idea what they are doing, buying random things from them is dangerous. More dangerous than buying an artefact is in the first place." as he said that the man rubbed an old round scar of his, that disfigured most of the lower half of his left forearm.
    "You need to find a a way into the lower market. Go to one of the main markets, there you will find an entrance. They are marked by special signs. Here, I will draw you a list." the man started to search his pockets. It took Lane all of her years of office hardening to not take a step back now. She scanned her surroundings with here eyes. She saw that several of the people around her were pointedly ignoring her and the madman but were doing so in a very deliberate way indicating that they were going to step in should something happen. That or run away.
  
    The man produced a crumpled piece of paper a receipt of sorts and started drawing on it with a stub of a pencil that looked almost as used up and pitiful as he did.
  
    "Here." he said handing the piece of paper to Lane. "The upper row shows you the markers for the entrance to the lower market. The signs on the second row is what the merchants will use to identify the kind of wares they have. Relics, talismans, artefacts, occult technology, remnants of the ancient civilisation, components for alchemical and other occult purposes, key and portals and the last one identifies items with unknown properties but which have killed those who tried to unearth their mysteries. Please," he said his eyes almost focused on the world outside his head now, "what ever you do. Keep away from the last ones. They aren't worth it."
  
    "Right." Lane nodded. "Thanks for the information. And the warning."
  
    "That," the man said pointing at the paper, "is generally not worth it. It seems like a great idea. But in then end it is a lottery where you pay a heavy price every time you lose."
  
    "I will keep that in mind. Thank you."
  
    The man looked at her for a while, his eyes clouding over slowly again as Lane just looked at him waiting for him to go away. He slumped his shoulders and turned around. "Please, take care." he said before he wandered off into the night. Lane pretended to be interested in a bit of pottery to make sure that the strange man had properly gone away instead of trying to follow her from a distance.
  
    She looked at the piece of paper shaking her had. At first she wanted to throw it away but then decided to keep it. So far this was the most interesting thing that happened during her voyage. It was also the closest thing she had come to a proper adventure so far. So she decided to keep it, it would make a great souvenir.
    She was still looking at the signs scribbled on her new treasure map trying to make sense of them, maybe they were some kind of vagabond code, when she noticed one of the signs engraved low on a wall of a coffee house. She felt a shiver go down her spine. What if that drunk idiot had actually told the truth. She had snorted when she realised how sill that sounded. In a way it was fascinating to see that even the mad ramblings of a drunkard could plant the seed of hope in the soul of someone. Well at least she knew that the signs were more than just gibberish. Maybe not the keys to untold treasure they were at least part of a secret alphabet used by vagrants to communicated with each other. Now she wished she had asked man to write down what the signs actually meant. Was this one a warning? Or did it show a place where a hungry man would get fed, or even be offered a place to stay the night.
  
    Well only one way to find out. Lane went into the coffee house that was bustling with customers despite the advanced hour. They were drinking the aromatic coffee heavy with cardamom and clover that was popular here. Many eating the sticky sweets that were traditionally served to accompany the bitter drink. Lane moved through the many small rooms of the place looking for an empty table when she discovered another one of the signs worked into the carvings of a door frame. Now that was some sophisticated hobo artistry...
    The door frame did not hold a proper door but instead a curtain of beaded strings. She looked left and right and then gathering her courage she parted the curtain with her hands, revealing a short corridor that had just enough room to hold three richly decorated doors on each wall. Looking around a last time to see whether anyone would protest of her sticking her nose where it didn't belong she moved past the curtain.
    It took her a while to make sure. Only one of the doors was marked with one of the signs of the list. She tried to open the door but it was locked. Of course. She was about to turn back to give up on this silly thing. She could get a coffee and then return to the Hotel. It was late enough as it was. At least she would have something interesting to tell to Monica. What held her back was that she was half way into a real, proper adventure. Of course soon enough it would burst like a soap bubble, but right now she was following a secret trail to a forbidden market. If she gave away now, it would for ever be down there under Marrakesh taunting her for not following through with her intention to go on an adventure. Of course the door would not open and even if it did she would probably find the most hobo friendly storage room, but then she would know for sure. There were no sweet possibilities left to taunt her.
  
    "What would get me through this door if this was all real." she asked the note in her hand. "Seems pretty obvious now that I look at you." she stretched out her hand to touch the sign that had been worked into the door. She almost shrieked when the sign gave way under her fingers, the door unlocked with a soft 'click' noise swinging open. Before her she saw a spiral staircase hewn out of a grey stone that looked nothing like the brown stone that was used to build the house surrounding it. Warm moist air wafted up from below carrying with it the smells of burning candles, strange aromatic oils and coal fires.
  
    "Fuck. Me." Lane said before stepping down the stairs.
  
  
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    Lane spent more than two hours in the lower market. Walking through its endless stone halls carved out of the bedrock below Marrakesh. Some of the halls were larger than an entire city block, the ceiling supported by giant columns many of which had been carved out to house storages, cafés and stores that needed extra protection. She had wanted to explore the place but was to overwhelmed by the strange sights and smells and sounds of the place that all she could do was to wander through the place working hard just grasping what she was seeing. Everything that was on display here looked strange. There were things that looked beautiful in a strange alien way that made them deeply compelling but at the same time repulsive. There was a store that sold what looked like a collection of stones. Not precious stones or carved stones but stoner that were so plain that they would have been rejected if they had been looking for a job on a gravel path. When Lane got near to them she could feel the aura of the stones, pulsating with a power bordering on violence. In another place little lizards were sold that could breath fire or that lived in solid ice, moving through it as if it were water.
    On and on the lower market went its wonders never ceasing. When ever Lane thought that she could not be surprise any more she came across something that was even more unreal.
  
    She felt a rush of relief when she turned a corner to find a doorway in a column marked with one of the signs of entrance. In this case Lane hoped it meant exit. At least that was what she hoped. Finding a deeper even more exotic level below this one would be incredibly exciting but right now she really needed to get back to the hotel. She had to sleep and she had to tell Monica everything about her discovery. Definitely not in that order.
    She entered the door way walked down a curved corridor to find after a few steps an equally curved stairway. Lane felt a massive surge of relieve washing over her carrying her all the way to the surface.
  
    The relief started to drain quickly from her when she came out in some dark side alley somewhere in the city, lit only by the half moon and the stars above. Her relief turned into a quickly evaporating puddle around her feet when she noticed that the door she had come through was a one way door that was now shut closed again, looking like a rather uncooperative wall.
    Her relief gave way to creeping terror when she heard stumbling footsteps and an inhuman wheezing howl hurrying towards her.
  
    She looked left and right. There was nothing but empty street to both sides. She decided to run. Sure she had no idea where she was or where she was going but moving into the direction opposite of the what ever that horrible thing was that moving towards her seemed like the best alternative.
    An added bonus to running away was that her footsteps did cover a lot of the horrible sounds that were getting closer to her. This turned out to be quite the disadvantage when she noticed that she had misjudged the direction from where the sounds were coming because of the echoes caused by the walls of the buildings. Instead of of getting away she had been rushing towards what ever it was that was stalking the night streets of Marrakesh. She turned leaning against her momentum, her feet skidding over the dust covered street, slowing her down, but not enough to prevent her from sliding past the corner that was the last thing between her and the monster.
  
    She was already running again, her feet trying to find traction on the slippery ground when the wheezing monstrosity hit her with full force sending them both stumbling to the floor. The thing on top of her was still making its keening cry. Lane tried to shove it off of her but the creature was covered with a strange slime that was slippery to the touch but quickly turned sticky in her hands. The creature stack of dirt and iron. Actually, Lane knew that smell. It was the smell of blood.
    She finally managed to push the figure aside. The 'monster' was a wounded man. The strange noise came from small but vicious looking wound in his chest that was seeping blood and rhythmically producing blood foam. The eyes of the man were wide in terror. At first he tried to push Lane away, his legs pushing feebly against the floor as he attempted to crawl away. He quickly realised that he was not going to get far any more. He changed his tactics. He tried to pull himself towards Lane or Lane towards him. His lips quivering. He was trying to say something. Lane realising what was happening was paralysed and did not resist the man. She tried to make out what he was saying but whenever he tried to draw a breath his chest wound made a slurping sound and when he tried to speak it made that horrible wheezing sound that would stay with Lane until the day she died.
  
    Lane pressed her hand against the wound of the man. The next time he tried to draw a breath she could feel how the wound started to suck the palm of her hand with its moist edges, it did help the man to take something close to a proper breath. At first it was just a feeble little thing, as he noticed that he was getting air again, he sucked in more air. After taking three or four more rattling mouthfuls of air he started talking. Lane did not understand a word. She did not even know in what language the man was talking. She was about to ask him to slow down when the side of the wounded man's head exploded.
  
    "I am sorry." said a cold voice.
  
    Lane turned towards it. Down the alley from where the man that now lay dead in front of her had come another man was standing. This one was wearing an immaculate white suit with a matching hat and coat against the chill of the desert night. Lane could not see his fade, it was obscured by the shadow of his hat, she cold see his white teeth bared in an sincere smile and the glint of the reflected light in one eye.
  
    "This is not personal my lady." the man in white said. "But this is a strict no witnesses operation."  he moved the gun he was holding in his white gloved hand pointing it at Lane. His smile never left his face, as the gun moved towards its new target it slowly filled with emotion. Lane's brain went into overdrive. She knew she was fucked. Her life was about to start to parade in front of her when it was kicked aside by her survival instincts which she had inherited from her ancestors a 4 billion year long line of organisms had furiously fought to live another day. Time slowed down to the bare required minimum. She went through dozens of escape plans, rejecting all of them working on new ones while the others were still falling to the ground. The ground! She clenched her teeth, grabbed hold of the dead man, pulled him up in front of her like a shield while she ducked. That was not going to save her life. But it would give her more time to think. A bullet exploded out of her corpse shield above her, sending bits of flesh and fragments of bone flying. Some of the bone shrapnel embedded itself in her scalp. 'I hope that guy doesn't have hepatitis... or worse.' though the most optimistic part of her mind.
  
    The man in white laughed. "I was going to make your death painless anyway, no need to amuse me, but the though is appreciated. Once I have sent you to your Creator I shall send a prayer after you so that you may find mercy during your judgement." he kept his pistol aimed in Lane's general direction. He could have shot through the corpse, he would have hit his target, maybe not with his first shot but he had enough ammunition to make sure that he hit. But that was not the proper way to do his job. The lady was an innocent bystander and she deserved at least a clean death." He moved forward trying to find a clear line of sight.
  
    "Fuck you!" shouted Lane filled with adrenaline, fear and fury.
  
    The man moved closer. Lane was still focused on finding a way to get out of this situation alive. She decided to move her cover and her self closer to the man in white. Maybe if she got close enough she could get hold of his gun? The man reacted to her manoeuvre with a gleeful chuckle. It made Lane furious. It was clear that there was nothing she could do to save herself, the realisation filled her with even more anger. Tears welled up in her eyes. As she blinked them away she thought she saw a shadow fall from above, lading behind the man in white. Initially she thought that she had just imagined that but the smile of the man in white turned into smirk. A thin silver line flashed above his head in the moonlight. As the wire constricted around his neck the smirk in his face turned into a silent scream. He pulled up his gun pointing it behind him past his shoulder. The wire around his neck constricted further cutting past his skin through his veins, his throat, his arteries, grinding to a halt when it bit into his spinal column. Blood exploded from the cut, the man let go of the gun trying to press his hands against the wound to stop his the bleeding. His hands just pressed into the wound opening it further. He sank to the floor slowly making whistling noises as he breathed through his now open neck, flopping on the ground for a while before he became unconscious because of a lack of oxygen in his brain.
  
    Lane watched this for what for a few seconds that felt like an eternity. Then she started vomiting. Long and hard. Right now vomiting was better than anything else around her. She barely registered the figure that had killed the man in white. Things probably had just gone worse. But she did not care right now. Now she was puking her guts out. She was hoping that she could puke out the memories. That she could puke away the last 5 Minutes of her live. Purge all of it. Wash out her mouth, brush her teeth and go on with her life.
  
    It didn't work. She was dry heaving now with nothing around her having changed. There was still a dead guy next to her. The man in white was still occasionally shuddering his way to the next world while the other assassin was still standing over him watching him go.
    'Pretty small for a killer' Lane thought watching the newcomer. She noticed that it was a she.
  
    The woman with the wire looked up.
  
    "Fuck." said a familiar voice. "Lane?" It was the voice of Monica. "Fuck!"
  
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