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Dressed in a black cloak from head to toe with a masquerade mask that had a long beak on it the figure stood for a moment tilted its head, looked back into the room and then looked back the two of them. The trainee peered into the room. She saw a woman curled into a ball on the floor shivering. She was completely naked except for the collar on her neck. Inside the room there was a metal table with two clamps hanging off the edge. There were wires attached to the metal clamps which resembled a set of jumper cables.The trainee's heart sank and she realized what this place was all at once. She realized she was in REAL trouble. She looked up at the figure with anger in her eyes.The stranger pushed her behind him as he stepped up to the figure. "brother, how was she?"The figure nodded quickly"Good man, we are on our way to the cells" the man said in a casual tone.The figure stretched out an arm toward the end of the hall. Turned, and entered the room and slammed the door shut."We cant. I hadn't grown up to be a classically handsome man- I was tooshort, at 5'8, with a body that ran to slim, a face that was a little toofeminine to be anything but beautiful, and skin that was far too pale; myeyes, though, were something I partly built my career on. Large andexpressive and an unusual grey-blue colour, perfectly complementing thehoney-blonde of my hair.All-in-all, though I was never leading man material, I'd made myself agood career out of playing the main side-character, be they the bestfriend who spurs the protagonist to declare his love, or the brother whotells the sister to go out and live life. Sometimes I was Irish,sometimes American- I'd even, briefly, been an Australian in a bit-partin some TV period drama. The point was, whilst I'd had a moderatelysuccessful career, I'd never enjoy anything more. I'd never be a sterlingactor, never be an A-lister, never win an award for anything I did,though I knew I had the skills, the talent, the ability. If only I'd beenable.
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I just simply enjoyed her smiles paying little attention to the detail of her conversation. An hour later we ate having finished a bottle of wine. The meal was superb! We adjourned to the lounge room and fired up the stereo. Grateful for the company I opened another bottle and we chatted casually about all the crazy shit that happens in life. We reminisced about Jane, her mother – some good, some not so. I pressed the point about Patrick. “He’s no good, Dad,” I was told. “How so?” “Apart from being a demanding ass and no good in bed, he cannot accept me the way I am, cannot accept my career, doesn’t respect me….” she trailed off. “Ah,” I said. Sally could be difficult to live with. Heaven knows I had first-hand experience of it! But as a teenager, she was no worse than any other. She was driven and focused on whatever it was she was into at the time. “Perhaps…” “The only way he can make me scream, Dad, is to annoy the crap out of me!” she interrupted. “Do I really need to know this?”.

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