The Choice

Tressna Martin

A book for Renato

The Choice

Chapter 1 - The band

Damp fallen leaves muffled his footsteps as he raced through the forest. He could see his own breath on the cold air, hear his heart beating as his bare feet leapt over roots, saplings. Immediately in front of him, the rabbit suddenly zigzagged and doubled back towards him. With a triumphant laugh, he leapt upon it and in one simultaneous movement, broke its neck. The warm body went limp in his hands. Satisfied, he tied the rabbit onto a piece of raw leather, slung it over his shoulder and headed back to the cave.

Sunlight filtered through the slats but he was used to that. What woke him was the ease of pressure on the mattress, a feeling that someone had risen from next to him. He opened his eyes cautiously, against a throbbing headache, and watched an extraordinary pair of legs disappear into the ensuite. Closing his eyes again, he waited to hear the turn of the door knob to announce her return to the bedroom. He must have dozed because the next time he saw her, she was wearing the cocktail dress that she had presumably come in. She leant over the bed to kiss him goodbye and he winced at the throbbing in his temple. "Later Babe", he managed to say to the rapidly fading tapping of stilettos. As he vaguely wondered what her name was, he reached into the bedside drawer and flipped a couple of panadol into his mouth and grimacing, swallowed them without water.

As the room turned an orange glow from the setting sun, he reawoke. The once-crisp chocolate coloured sheets were crumpled on the floor like he'd kicked them off in a bad dream. Had he dreamt? Was there a girl in the room this morning? He sat up against the pillows and saw a note on the side table. "Thanks for a great night Mike!" it scrawled. Ah, the girl was real. He languidly stretched and scratched the stubble on his face. "I wonder if it was good", he thought.

The shower was skin ripping hot - just how he liked it. He leaned against the Italian marble, relishing in the coolness of the stone contrasting with the heat of the water. For a long while, he just stood there, letting the water hail onto his head and shoulders. Reluctantly, he turned the taps off and grabbed the bath sheet. Party time!

As he walked out of the door, Mike turned back and swallowed a couple more panadols. He still had a headache, but it would go. Hair of the dog. At the last moment, he pocketed the panadols and jumped into his roadster. The engine throbbed and he took off, scattering the stones from the driveway. Headlights cut into the darkness, barely in time for Mike to miss any obstacles but his skill and knowledge of the road compensated for his recklessness.

The party was pumping when he reached the door. Noise and coloured lights flashed from the windows as if the house contained a thunderstorm. The valet had taken his car and Mike took the entrance steps two by two. Wes, his agent met him. "Hard night Mike?"

"Shit mate, just started!". He grabbed a passing glass of champagne and downed it in one and grabbed another before the tray had gone. A woman of about thirty sidled up to him. Her silver gown clung to her breasts and moulded to her hips. Mike wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her buttocks. She jumped in mock surprise but proceeded to melt her body against his. "Get your rocks off honey" blurted across the room, half sung and half screamed by the live band. "I think that's our cue, honey" Mike smiled and led the blonde upstairs. He cautiously opened a door and discovered that the room was already occupied. "Sorry mate", he called out and went to the next. The next room was evidently being used as a cloakroom as the bed was covered in coats and a few handbags. Only the black satin pillowcases were visible below the coats. "This'll do", Mike said and flipped himself on a silver fox coat. "Nice". He pulled his friend across him and slipped his hand up her skirt. She undid Mike's zipper and pulled her dress to her waist, straddling him.

If she expected him to be star in the bedroom, the blonde was disappointed. Mike's usually raunchy demeanour left him and he became subdued as she fucked him. He felt strangely unattached to the scene, like watching some porno on the television. He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. After a few minutes, the blonde faked an orgasm and left the room without saying a word. Thank goodness. The room spun.

The smoke cleared and his CO gave the order to advance. He forced his aching legs to move forward through the mud and grime and glanced at his mate, almost camouflaged by the dirt on his face and uniform. By the time they got to the village, it was empty. Lines of bullets made patterns across walls. The smell of old smoke permeated the air. He stepped around a dead cow and warily walked around the side of a mortar ridden home. In the main square, the results of the battle were clearly visible with bodies strewn on the streets, dying in doorways. They walked through the village quietly, listening for any enemy lurking behind a wall, a door, water tower.... A tiny movement caught his eye and he approached a white bundle in the dirt. The white dress that the little girl was wearing was covered in the grime of the square but the liquid eyes of her little face appealed to him mutely. The movement was from her hand that feebly reached out for him. Her fingers moved in silent appeal. As he reached her, her head lolled towards him , facing him fully and he realized that a huge red grisly gash replaced the other side of her head. Blood soaked down the back of the dress and onto the cobbles beneath her. Quickly he turned away and walked off He missed the dropping of the tiny hand, the glazing of the eyes..

Mike woke with a start. He was sweating, disorientated. His breathing was rapid, the eyes of the girl in the front of his mind. Music throbbed and he realized he was still at the party. "Someone must have spiked my drink, the bastards" he thought.

Staggering to the ensuite, Mike washed his face and joined the party. He avoided the champagne and drank neat whiskey. The crowd had thickened and he squeezed between satin and chiffon clad women on the dance floor, dancing with one, then another. He was

determined to enjoy himself, yet the face wouldn't disappear. Before long, Mike left. For the first time in years, he left alone.

The afternoon sun streamed through the curtains. Mike sat up in bed. How long was he asleep? The clock showed 3pm. Fuck. Maybe he was getting the flu. He took a couple of panadols and went downstairs to make himself some coffee. There were papers on the table. Accounts. He should see to them. He frowned, remembering he had an accountant to do that, then, embarrassed, remembered how he had cracked up at him last week for nothing. He remembered the shocking things he'd accused Max of. Max had been shocked. He'd been Mike's accountant before Mike was famous. God he must have been on drugs? Surely he'd remember? He sat down to write the cheques and realized he couldn't focus. Impatiently he swept the accounts aside. He'd get a new accountant. He looked at his watch and remembered he was meeting Wes for a drink at six. He jumped in the roadster, which was parked haphazardly in the driveway and headed for the city, a few miles away.

Wes was already for him at the bar, with couple of whiskeys. Mike downed the drink and signaled for another. At eight, they decided to get some dinner. The restaurant was popular and full but the maitre de quickly found them a table. They ordered a meal and wine and lingered over it. People looked in his direction. Some waved and he nodded back. They then progressed to a nightclub. Mike was greeted enthusiastically by the doorman, bypassing the long queue. He walked confidently to the roped off celebrity section and joined the throng of revelers. More champagne was brought to the table and Mike was joined by some friends and hangers on. The music throbbed and the subdued lighting made it difficult to make anyone out clearly. "Good for the not so beautiful people", Mike said. "How can you look bad in this light?" Everyone laughed, some a little self-consciously. They watched the dance floor commenting critically on the dancers, occasionally picking out an exceptionally pretty woman. Mike didn't hesitate to get the staff to invite the pretty ones to his table. And invariably, they accepted.

He stood up. "Gonna take a slash" he announced. The good thing about being a celebrity is that you don't have to share toilets with the riff-raff and Mike walked in an associate doing a line of coke on one of the cisterns. "Classy" he joked. "C'mon and join us Mike!" "Yeah ok..."

Dan trudged up the hill, leaving the mine behind. They were lucky not having to live in the town, cheek to jowl with the neighbours, all miners like him. Dan hated the little town. The houses were tiny, drains were shared and in the heat, the smell was unbearable. On Friday nights, the drunks came home and you could hear them beating their wives. No, it was worth the walk home.

The hill was difficult after 12 hours in the mine and he had to stop many times as his lungs struggled with the cold fresh air. There was a little brook near the pathway and he stoppedfor a drink and to wash the blackness off his face and arms. As he rubbed

vigorously with a coarse cloth, he heard running footsteps coming down the hill and he straightened up as Ben, his 12 year old son approached, yelling "Da, come quick, Mum's having the baby!". Galvanised into action, he ran up the hill, yelling, "get the midwife ". "Millie's gone to get her", Ben replied, holding Dan's hand and running alongside him, leaping over bushes encroaching the pathway, so as his Dad could get the smoother pathway.

Dan stooped to get through the door. Three of his daughters were in the kitchen, boiling water and tearing up strips of cotton. He nodded and strode to the bedroom. His oldest daughter, Claire was sitting on the side of the bed, holding his wife's hand. He motioned for her to move and replaced her position, taking the frail white hand in his. Jenny looked up at him, smiling faintly. A sheen ofpain induced sweat covered her face. Her skin looked translucent. Suddenly a wave of pain shot through her and Dan gripped her hand, trying to absorb some of it. "Its alright love, the midwife is an her way. Just hold on ". When the pain subsided, Jen closed her eyes, as if opening them was an effort. Her breath was shallow and Dan leant over her in alarm, thinking that the effort had been too much this time. Her fingers squeezed his hand in reassurance.

It seemed ages before the midwife came. Dan agonized with Jen, as each wave of pain got closer, more intense. He gritted his teeth to stop tears from forming as he watched his wife become weaker. Finally old Mary bustled into the room, efficient and cheery. But when she saw Jenny, she stopped momentarily and pressed her lips together. "Best leave me to it, Dan " she said. "Send Claire back in to help me ".

He sat in his old rocking chair and to distract him, Millie, his 14 year old, deposited the youngest into his lap. Little Billy curled into him and Ben bent his head to smell the soft soap-scented baby hair of the two year old. Sensing the drama, Billy was unusually quiet and curled into Ben's chest and sucked the sugar soaked knots of the cloth his sister had given him. Occasionally Claire came out of the bedroom, her face set grimly as she fetched more hot water, more rags. Absently Ben looked up. "Where are the boys? ". Four of his sons were working at the mine and had still been there, chatting to their friends when Ben had left. "They 're staying at friends, since we probably wont be in the bedroom tonight".

Hours passed, andfinally, he heard a feeble cry. Dan jumped up and deposited the now sleeping Billy into his cot. Fearfully, he waited by the bedroom door, for permission to enter. Mary came out, holding a well wrapped bundle. "It's another boy " she said tiredly. Dan looked at the purple face peering from beneath the cloth. "And Jen? " The midwife shook her head and said "we '11 have to wait and see ". He pushed passed her and saw his wife's pale face almost lifeless against the pillow. Her fair hair was plastered with sweat around her.

Mary glared at him accusingly. Eleven babies! The last one nearly killed her. This might be the end. Gently he stroked Jen's brow and saw a splash of his own tears on her cheek. "Just pray for her " Mary suggested.

"Jesus Christ" Mike muttered. He woke up sitting on the lid of a toilet in the Club. "Fuck". At least he was dressed...

The next week was spent in the recording studio. Even rock stars had to work. They'd been putting together some songs for the past eight months and finally had enough to cut a new CD. They were there from 10am to 4pm every day. Playing, listening, editing, getting everything perfect. On Friday Mike decided he didn't like two of the songs and they had to replace them. Everyone was tired. Arguments broke out. But the final album was something that they were all happy with.

At the end of the week, Jimmy, the drummer decided it was time to celebrate. They booked a penthouse suite in the Grand Hotel and Wes leaked the party to the press. In no time, a horde of screaming groupies hovered outside the pavement, hoping for a glimpse of the band. Wes carefully chose eight beautiful women and offered them an invitation to join the cocktail party later that night.

When Mike got to the suite, it was already filled with people. The band members, some members of the press, pretty girls, agents, critics. Alcohol ran freely and he could see one of the groupies hanging on Jimmy and looking wide eyed at the coke laid out on the table. He whispered to Wes to keep an eye on her and Jimmy looked up in surprise. "When did you start to care?" he asked. Ignoring this remark, Mike grabbed a beer and sank into a couch. His head throbbed. "Can we turn the music down a bit?" he asked. "What the fuck?" Jimmy looked at him incredulously. "What's wrong with you man?" Mike scowled "forget it". He got up and walked into the bedroom. A couple were making out - half on the bed and half off. "Piss off will you?" he said. They got up, grabbing various garments and left the room. He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. A young woman walked in and drunkenly tried to make up to him. He pushed her off and she sat on the floor, giggling. His brows furrowed, watching her lay down on the soft plush carpet.

He watched angrily at first, and then helpless as she puddled to the ground, her hair splayed across the slate, swishing slightly at her uncontrollable sobs. He shrugged and sat heavily onto the wooden chair at the table. Her arms were folded under her head as her shoulders heaved in abject misery. He considered kneeling in front of her, pulling her up to him, as he had done many times before. Even thinking about it, he could feel her soft body yield to him as he kissed and caressed her, whispering into her ear that this time it meant nothing to him... But he had done that so many times before. And it was true, they did mean nothing -just a bit of relief from the boredom of another day. He was weak for not resisting the mysteries of another woman's flesh, the taste of her, the firmness of her breasts. No, dammit, he wasn't weak. What did it matter? He didn't love them. He should tell her. Make her understand. Again.

But he was tired. Tired of her crying, tired of the scenes. He didn t want to look into her beautiful face and be beguiled by her tearstained lashes, her lips wet with grief. He didn't want to be seduced by her sorrow. Slowly he lit a cigarette and waited. Her violent spasms quieted down to gen tie sobs and then finally, after a few shudders, she looked up into his eyes. Sooo tempting. So easy just to stay. She was silent now, chest heaving... eyes imploring. He stared at her face. perhaps? She gulped back a tear and he stubbed out his cigarette. Clutching her hair in his hands for a short moment, he tilted her head and kissed her on the forehead. Then he left for good.

Mike shook his head. Christ, now he was dreaming with his eyes open. He walked out the room and pushed through the throng in the main room of the hotel. He could hear people calling him but he ignored them and drove home.

The band had promised to do a charity performance in aid of helping families with cancer. It was a good publicity stunt, Wes had assured them. No, no actual money but the spin off would come in record sales. Mike laughed; why were they still called record sales? He hadn't seen a record in years.

"Hey Mike!" Wes called. "Yeah what?" "I thought we'd auction off your guitar for the charity. What do you think?" "My guitar? Why does it have to be mine?" "Um, because you're the lead singer." "Still, I don't think so" "Its for a good cause, Mike". "That's what we're here for, isn't it? Donating our time?" "C'mon man, you can afford to. It will be great publicity too". "Cant you just get a guitar and say its mine? Im kinda attached to this one". "Yeah, sure we can". Wes turned away, clearly disappointed. "Oh fuckit, take the fucking thing". Mike shoved the guitar into Wes's arms and turned away angrily. "Im too tired to bother, to tell you the truth". He stomped away and suddenly stopped as if he'd been hit by a brick wall.

It was so unfair that he was the one to lead the women and children to the chapel for safety. Just because he didn't have a beard yet, they thought he wasn't capable of fighting. Well he was. He had more of a stomach for killing than Ethan, yet Ethan didn't want to fight. What a girl he was. Why couldn't he lead the other girls to safety. "Hurry up!" he shouted to no-one in particular. He ran towards the front and chivvied them on. "Get to the chapel quickly!" He heard a scream from the back and ran to the end. Johanna was looking at the column of dust further back on the plain. It had started. And he wasn't there! "For heaven's sake, hurry!' he yelled. Maybe when they all got in the chapel, he could turn back in time for the fighting.

Ahead, the stone chapel loomed solidly against the cliff face. They'd be safe here. God would protect them. And if he didn't, the caves at the back of the chapel would. The first women and children in the line of refugees ran into the chapel. Soon they were all pouring in. He breathed a sigh of relief "Come on Grandma!' he cheeked the old woman. They felt the vibrations on the ground even before they saw the cloud of dust looming towards them. "They 're back already! We've won!" Halfproud and half disappointed he'd missed it, he raised his hand towards the oncoming horsemen. Then, with a shock, realised that they were the enemy. He turned and pushed the last of the women into the chapel and he and Johanna barred the doors. Outside, the yelling of men and the neighing of horses was overcome by the smashing of the high windows. He frowned. No-one could squeeze in there! An arrow shot through the narrow opening. It was aflame. "Put it out!" he yelled. Women ran to douse the flames but another arrow quickly

followed the first one. "Get into the caves, quickly!" He ran to put out fires as arrows started pouring in. There was a mighty bang at the doors and they heaved inwards. He ran back and braced himself against them. The children were all in the caves and some of the women had stayed behind trying to stamp out the fires. Pews became alight and the doors were heaving with every blow. "This is a place of worship!!" he yelled to no avail. "Run!" he yelled to the remaining women. Smoke was choking him but he had to hold the doors. It was his way offighting. He drew his short sword. If they came in, he'd kill the bastards! He turned to face the door as it heaved open. He looked a soldier in the eye as he thrust his sword. The soldier looked up. A huge flaming beam fell from the church roof...

Mike was curled up in an unfamiliar bed. He looked around and saw a young woman sleeping beside him. He studied her for a moment. Ah well, if you wake up next to a strange young woman, its good that she's attractive. He tickled her face with his finger and she swatted him in her sleep. Laughing, he kissed her neck. She arched her back languidly and he crawled down to capture her nipple in his lips. She woke, and smiled and playfully wrapped her legs around him, pinning him to her. He rose to the occasion, sighing in relief that this morning was normal at least.

Whistling, he walked outside and hailed a taxi. He wasn't quite sure what part of town he was in. It was 2pm and he asked the driver to take him to Jimmys. Typically, Jimmy was still in bed. Mike made coffee and took his to the basement studio. Jimmy walked in yawning and grabbed the mug. He scratched his unbrushed hair, then his bare chest. "Jesus Jim, you could have put some clothes on". "Hey man, Im wearing pyjamas" "Well half of them, anyway". Jimmy reached for a tin on the mantelpiece and slowly rolled out a joint. He lit it, inhaled and passed it to Mike. "Oh man," Mike said, "Its breakfast". "No its not, its after 2!" "You just got up, therefore its breakfast".

"Do you fucking want some or not?" "Yeah ok, give it here". Mike grabbed the joint and languidly sat with it.

It was a difficult decision to leave his family for this quest. He realised it was dangerous, that he might not survive. Amy was stoic, trying to show the pride without the tears. "You must do what you have to do " she said, kissing him as he left the airport. "But come back safely".

The last few hundred metres took all day. David took huge gasps of the thin air and shook his half frozen hands before grabbing the icy rock in front of him and heaving himself up. He limped to the next, suspecting permanent frostbite but disregarding its as the price of reaching the summit. One more... .He doubled against the force of the wind and pulled out the peg from his knapsack. "For England" he yelled into the wind andjammed the peg into the snow. The clouds parted momentarily and he glimpsed the mountainside and the foothills far below. In the dim distance were the plains, a village... towns, cities., and yet here he was, the highest place on earth. Closer to God than anyone!

Wes rang in the morning, breaking him out of a deep sleep. He walked around the house with the phone, making coffee, taking some aspirin - he'd run out of paracetemol. They made arrangements to see a graphic artist for the album cover. Mike hung up and showered, ready for Wes to pick him up.

The studio was in an industrial part of town in an old red brick building that had been renovated with large windows, with red frames. Inside, it was bright and airy. Mick, the graphic artist was well prepared and had mock ups of the cover and even matching posters. They discussed the mockups and put a few ideas together. Mike was happy with the results and Wes offered to buy lunch. "I don't think so" Mike refused. "Ive got a splitting headache". "Oh come on, Mike. Just a quick one, ok? I'll drive you straight home". Mike hesitated. He was a bit hungry. But his head was throbbing. "Just quickly then".

They sat at the table, and ordered. Mike was aware of Wes rambling on about something but his head was making it hard to concentrate. The waiter came with the bowls of fettuccine and Mike stared into the colourful plate.

No-one could help but admire the tall nobleman on the tundril. His clothes were well cut and despite being dirty and slightly torn from his treatment, he wore them with dignified elegance. He was relatively young and his light brown hair was cut short, not powdered. His clear blue eyes looked ahead defiantly until the tundril caught in a rut in the road. It lurched and a cry escaped the beautiful woman beside him. He reached for her and held

her close. She smiled grimly and leaned against him, also proud and defiant. Ahead they could hear the cheers as the guillotine carried out its grisly executions. He looked into the crowd and was sorrowful to see the hate in their eyes. Hadn't he been a good master? Didn't he treat his servants with civility? Beside him, he could see that his wife had similar feelings. Puzzlement. He squeezed her hand and looked down on her face with love and pride. A tomato was flung from the crowd and he instinctively turned to seek the thrower. He recognised the face. It was a former maid. Former... he racked his mind, happy for the distraction, to remember why she was former... other than the fact that he had been arrested... and remembered. The tart was sacked because she became pregnant. She had wept and made excuses but he could not allow such lax of morals in his house. Realisation struck him. He lookedfrom the maid to the scaffolded platform ahead. And knew.

Mike jumped up, knocking the table flying. The pasta was flung across the table into Mike's lap. A glass shattered onto the floor. He held his temples, doubled over, then ran from the restaurant.

He couldn't remember getting home, but somehow he must have. The headache had subsided to a dull throb. He wanted to continue sleeping but was afraid to - in case the dreams came back. What was happening? He thought about the restaurant. He had been wide awake. The headache started coming back.

The phone rang but Mike ignored it. He turned on the television but there was the Songs of Praise on. He reached for the remote control and stopped as a haze went over his eyes. He shut them, hearing the music in the background, feeling - no hearing - a buzz in his head.

The singing was liftedfrom the mouths of the boys and bouncedfrom the carved stones up into the high curved arches of the cathedral's vaults. The light of hundreds of candles mingled with the pure bright colours of the stained glass windows. Gabriel - a perfect name for the angelic boy - carried his candle along the aisle, his tunic brushing the tops of his shoes. The candlelight glowed against the white of his hair, making him look even more ethereal. The boys walked behind the altar and sat in the quire. Gabriel looked up and saw the back of the cross which was facing the congregation. His voice lifted with his soaring spirits. He could see it rising, transporting him, for the moment, from the real world to the promise of heaven.

Chapter 2 - Diagnosis.

He took a taxi to the Doctors - just in case his head started to explode again but for now it was fine. He wondered if he was making a fuss over nothing.. The waiting room was

quiet, only one other man - a few years older than him. The doctor must be running on time. He felt his temples throb and sighed.

Dr Grieg greeted him heartily, without deference to his "rockstar" status. "Mike, how are you?" "Well not so good - Ive been getting some bad headaches." "How long for?" "A few months now". "Anything else?" "Yes, I seem to be hallucinating". "Right. Tell me when, how bad and what triggers them." After listening carefully to Mike's problems, he gave a thorough physical examination. "Ok, Im going to do some simple tests. Follow my finger with your eyes". Mike obeyed and the test was followed by reflex tests, walking tests ("hey Im not drunk" Mike laughed wryly) and the doctor sat down thoughtfully.

"If you take painkillers, do the headaches go away?" "They dissipate but not entirely. They've never actually gone completely". "And this has been going on for months?" "Well they came and went at first, but now they don't go. They just differ in severity". "It could be just a result of your lifestyle" the doctor surmised. "If you keep it up, you won't live another ten years". "Could be?" repeated Mike. "It could be something a little more serious" "Like cancer?" "More likely a brain tumour", Seeing the panic on Mike's face, the Doctor hastened to add "they are highly operable these days if you get them quick enough. Hang on, I'll make an appointment for you now".

Dazed, Mike watched as the Doctor spoke to a colleague over the phone. He started when he realized he was being asked a question, "what? Sorry" "Are you available this afternoon, Mr West has a cancellation. Two ok with you?" Mike nodded dumbly and waited until the conversation was over. Briskly, Dr Grieg handed him a referral slip with the address and ushered him from the room.

It was an hour until the appointment and Mike stumbled to the nearest cafe and looked at the menu blankly. The waitress recognized him of course and gushed as she took his order. Half an hour later, his coffee untouched, Mike walked the few blocks to the specialist.

Mr West's consulting rooms were tucked behind a dignified brass door straight off the street. Plush carpets and modern downlights, chesterfield sofas and gorgeous receptionist did nothing to calm Mike's nerves.

Mr West shook him warmly by the hand. "Sit down", he offered, pointing to a comfortable leather chair.

"Im going to tell you the format, so you know exactly what's going to happen. Is that ok?" "Yes, very. The doctor didn't really say much". "Well you're paying me a lot more" Dr West joked. "So sit down and feel free to ask any questions.

First, I am going to ask you about your medical history, symptoms and general health. I'll then give you another neurological examination. Depending on the outcome, I may want you to have a few more tests. These may include a CT scan, an MRI, or blood tests".

"Ok, so Ive heard about CT's - but I'm not sure what they are exactly?"

"Sure, ok. A CT scan is a computerised scan using X-rays. It is done because a brain tumour will usually show up on this type of scan. When you have your CT, you will have an injection during or just before the scan. This is something called 'contrast medium'. It is a dye that circulates in your bloodstream to the brain and makes the CT pictures of the brain clearer."

"And an MRI?".

"MRI is a scan using magnetism. It usually gives the clearest picture of the brain of any type of scan and will almost certainly show up a brain tumour. Again, you will usually have an injection of contrast medium to make the MRI scan clearer."

"And what will the blood tests show?"

They're really just to check your general state of health. This will be important if you are diagnosed with a brain tumour because you may need to have surgery or intensive radiotherapy treatment."

Mike nodded slowly, taking it all in. He looked up "Well, let's get started" he said. Mr West smiled "good."

The advantage of being a rock star is that you have money. Mike was fast forwarded through the health system and bypassed a six week wait for his MRI. He spent another thirty anxious minutes in the waiting room, checking off lists and filling in forms. The nurse asked him to remove the earrings from his ears and any other body jewellery. Mike was able to smile. Ah the reputation of musoes! He sat back in the chair and closed his eyes.

Marcus wiped the spray from his eyes and peered into the spume filled darkness, legs akimbo, trying to brace himself against the heaving deck. He gripped onto the huge mahogany wheel, his muscles bulging to wrest control from the weather. "FURL THOSE SAILS" he heard the bosun scream against the wind. The ship lurched and the wheel fought against Marcus. Salty appeared through the sea drenched fog and stood with him, both struggling to right the wheel. Waves drenched

over the bow and sheets of water flooded the decks. Sweat pouredfrom Marcus's brow and was washed with the spray. Salty lost his footing and Marcus reflexively reached out to grab him, barely even seeing him through the storm. The wheel lurched again and the boat listed drastically. Marcus had one hand gripping Salty and the other gripping on for dear life to the wheel. The wheel spun crazily and broke his grip. Both men slid across the deck and hurtled towards the rails. He felt more than heard the renting noise of his sleeve tearing on a nail -felt the pain of the nail going into this skin. Then he heard the muted scream as Salty went overboard. Grimly he reached out and grabbed a banister. The ship veered in the opposite direction and Marcus held on grimly. A huge crack announced the splintering of a mast. It hurtled toward the deck, ropes broken and hanging uselessly. Marcus tried to curl into a ball, hanging at a grim angle across the tilting deck, his arm outstretched, still holding the banister. The fractured mast missed him and he was shrouded by the sail, only the tattoo of a woman on his arm visible through the storm.

The nurse called him and he started. He felt sweat pour from his brow and trickled down his back. He looked up and the nurse smiled at him. He got to his feet unsteadily and was instructed to follow a radiographer into the scanning room. "Hi Mike" the radiographer said. "Its only a head shot so we wont have to get undressed, ok?" "So why did I have to take off any body jewellery? Mike gave a forced laugh. "Oh maybe the receptionist didn't know it was only to be a head shot". Mike left it at that but suspected the nurse was just curious. "I'm going to need you to be as still as possible. If you move, it might blur. If you feel claustrophobic, let me know and I can give you something, ok?" "I'd like something now if that's ok?" "Do you get claustrophobic?" "No, Id just like something". The radiographer smiled. "Let's see how we go".

He positioned Mike on the scanning bed. "Would you like earplugs? Or headphones? You can listen to music if you like?" "Really? That's kinda cool. Yeah". A pair of headphones was positioned on Mike's head and he lay down and closed his eyes. Even so, he wasn't prepared for the noisy clanging of the machine and fought the impulse to move. Over the music, he heard the radiographer give soothing instructions. He relaxed. After what seemed ages but was really only half an hour, Mike was helped from the bed. "Now what?" he asked. "Go home. Catch a taxi, don't drive. And drink lots of fluids". "So when will I know? "A couple of weeks maybe." "Fuck, that long?" "Depends on your specialist. He'll call you".

Mike went to the reception desk and signed some more forms. He lingered, chatting up the receptionist and then turned to walk home. The door burst open and the radiologist exclaimed "oh good, you're still here. Could you please take a seat. I want to discuss your results with your specialist". "So soon?" Mike blanched and dropped into the nearest chair. "Actually I feel a bit queazy". "Angela will make you a cup of tea. Please just wait here Mike?" "Sure."

"Bhikkhu " the children called. "Come play with us!" "First children, tell me three of the noble truths ". Dukkha!! Called out a little nut-brown boy with a big grin. "Indeed, and what does dukkha mean? " "It means, Bhikkhu, that life is suffering" "Yes, we feel pain, we get old and sick. We are afraid, angry or disappointed. These are all sufferings. And then we die. " He paused and the children were silent as if in reflection. With a twinkle in his eye, he asked "and what is the Second Noble Truth? " "Samudaya:! There is suffering for a reason. " Yes, suffering can take many forms: the craving for fame; the wish to avoid unpleasant sensations, like fear, anger or jealousy.

So children, What is the Third Noble Truth? " "That there is an end to suffering. Nirodha!" "Yes, If let go of our craving and learn to live each day at a time without dwelling in the

past or worrying about what the future might bring, then we can become happy andfree. When we are content, we have more time and energy to help other people. This is Nirvana. " He beamed at the children.

"Now can we play Bhikkhu? " "One more thing, children. There are seven of you and only four questions answered. So three must tell me what are three of the precepts to live by? " "Do not take the life of anything living. " "Yes, very good". "Do not take anything not freely given. " "That is right. Do not kill. And another? " "Refrain from untrue speech!" " Very good. Do not tell lies " The children beamed. "Now can we play Bhikkhu? " The old monk smiled "Yes! Now we can play!"

Mike was surprised to see Mr West come through the door. "Hi" he smiled uncertainly. "What a surprise".

Dr West wasn't smiling. "Mike, we're going to get you to hospital now. We just need to do some exploring. Is that ok with you?" Mike, speechless and groggy from his dream, nodded.

In the car, Mr West explained "We found an anomaly in the MRI. We're not sure what it is yet, so we're going to do a biopsy." "And then what?" "During the biopsy, cells will be removed " "How?" "The surgeon will take a sample with a needle". "I mean how will the access it? Won't they need to open my head?" Mike panicked. "Yes, but this procedure is done every day, very successfully". "But they'll open my head!!" "Mike, I cant tell you there are no risks.." "I might die!" "Well if its not removed, you might die anyway". "Fuck". Mike rested his head in his hands. "I'm not ready". "You have to be".

The next hour rolled in a blur. Mike remembered people talking to him, getting undressed and putting on a hospital gown, an injection... Then he was on a gueraey, looking up at the white hospital ceiling. Watching the fluoros flicker past - no, it was him moving. Towards the operating theatre. People were talking but he couldn't understand them. A surgeon looked down and Mike laughed at the beard poking from under the surgical mask, before losing consciousness.

He heard music. A note, clear and sharp. Another. He was in blackness and with each note, a white light flashed through the sky like a comet. The notes became closer and the whiteness lasted longer, chords played and bands of light propelled towards him, A melody played and another, clashing with it. Suddenly a million melodies played inside his head, the sky was a blazing whiteness. He tried to close his eyes but the whiteness penetrated his eyelids. The noise was bewildering, a cacophony of noise. He put his hands over his ears and pictures flashed in the beams - a soldier walking past a dying woman, a man at the birth of his child, a boy clutching a freshly killed rabbit, a buddhist monk.. .He watched micro shots of their lives, their goodness, their unbelievable cruelty, their love, their hate. He was moved beyond reason. They were familiar.. He knew these men. He knew the women... The memories. He knew their memories. He felt extreme pain, the guilt, the remorse, pain of birth, pain of dying, pain of the memories.

Their faces blended in, no longer separated by light beams but merging into one person. The features turned into a child and progressed into adulthood - the same eyes... the same mouth. He screamed. It was him! The light burst behind the face, exploding it, turning it into a rainbow, then shattering into a million drops of colour. The noise became a pealing of bells, the colours moving to the sound and then it became the most beautiful melody Mike had ever heard. A haunting, seductive tune beautifully lilting, the notes

sweet, sharp, clear. He felt his heart lift, an inexplicable happiness. He was filled with love, with knowledge of truth and love. The face of the man was in his memory but he couldn't see him. He reached out his hand, hoping to find someone. It was caught by a soft hand, feminine, gentle. He knew the face without seeing it. He held on tightly and the music quietened, a lilting but enchanting melody. The drops spun from him and once again were replaced by a quiet darkness. He was calm, at peace with himself. He held onto the hand and the darkness subsided. The melody lingered.

"Shit Mike, you gave us a scare". "What happened? I flatlined didn't' I?" "Its ok, you're with us now. Let's talk about the biopsy, yes?" "The biopsy showed a brain tumour". Mike blinked. He blinked again. "Fuck". "The surgeon removed the tumour but tests have to be done on it." "What sort of tests? What for?" "We have to ascertain the grade of the rumour. That will determine how fast the tumour cells grow, how likely it is that it will return. You will have to take some medication. And come back in month for more tests." "What about work?" "You're a rockstar arent you? Take a break. Keep the fans keen" Dr West smiled. "How much of a break?" "A few months. We'll do tests and then we'll see." "So Im ok?" "No, not necessarily. We have to see how it responds to the therapy. In a few months we can give you the verdict." "So I still might die?" "Best case scenario, you'll live as long as the rest of us, with annual checks to see if its kept in check." "Worse case scenario?" "You will have maybe a year", Mike lay back on the pillow and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Mr West was gone.

Mike called his agent who was in the hospital within the hour. "Wes, you've got a lot of work to do". "Anything Mike, what do you need?" "I have to write my memoirs - leave a legacy." "There won't be any need for that, mate. You'll be right as rain". Mike stared at Wes intently. "We don't know that. I want to be prepared". Wes sighed. "Ok. What do I do?" Find me a cottage. Near the beach. Away from everyone. I want to be alone". "So do you want to be alone or near the beach?" "Ok, mountains then." "Fine. How long shall I rent it for?" "Urn., four months. No, twelve months. No. Fuck it, just buy it".

Wes was unexpectedly nervous as he drove Mike up the narrow hillside track to the cottage. Mike glanced at him sidewards and frowned. "What's up?" "I hope you like it mate. Its not your normal style". "What do you mean?" "Its not a modern sortof place, ya know? It's a cottage. Stone walls, fireplace sortof thing". "So?" "Well I don't want you to get your expectations up. Its hard to find a house in the blue mountains. Especially one overlooking the sea." "Wes?" "Yeah mate?" "Was I really such a prick that you would think that I'd be angry?" Wes hesitated. "Yeah mate, you were".

They both sighed.

The cottage was charming. Nestled in the side of the mountain, it was built of blue stone A huge chimney took up most of the side of the building and as they drove around, Mike saw white woodframed windows and a bed of flowers welcoming them. The walked around and Mike was delighted to see that the cliff side of the house had a huge balcony and large tinted windows dominated the face of the house. Inside it was furnished with modern furniture but with concessions to the character of the house. He sank into a large cream leather sofa and closed his eyes. "All modern kitchen" said Wes. "Gas cooker". "Cool".

"The fridge is full". "Great". "Ive put contact numbers near the phone". "Mad". Wes sighed. "What?" "A thanks would be nice" he said quietly. "Shit". Mike leapt up "Wes, sorry. Thanks". "What would you like me to do? Cuppa?" "Hey, I really appreciate your help, but you can go now. Go see your family". "Well you've got your mobile phone. Call me if you need anything ok?" "Sure. Thanks." Wes left and Mike waved him off. He flicked open his mobile phone and turned it off.

During the next few days, he wrote lists of things he was going to do. He would phone his friends and family, tell them how he felt about them. Maybe they could send him photos for his memoirs. That's another thing he'd have to start. Wes had left a laptop and Mike took it out onto the balcony . It was slow to start. Every time he wrote something, he fell into a reverie which led him to more memories. Most of them flew past without

him writing it down. He thought about the memories in the operating theatre. Was that a dream? Or was it a shift in the fabric of time? He shivered and went inside and lit the fire.

Chapter 2 - Elaine

The day that he first saw her was unaccountably warm and bright for the season. It was nearly 1 lam but he was sitting in the window seat with the first of his early morning coffees, looking down into the valley. The flash of yellow through the trees caught his attention and as he focused upon it, he realized that a young woman was striding along a pathway as yet unexplored by him. The path turned towards his cottage and at first he swore under his breath at the unwelcome intrusion. But a sudden gust of wind whipped at the hem of her dress and revealed a shapely leg. Mike leaned against the window pane as she grappled with both skirt and the basket she was carrying.

As she approached the house, Mike met her at the front door. She smiled in a friendly way that suggested a hidden shyness and proffered the basket. "Hi, Im Elaine, your nearest neighbour. I thought you might like some local produce". He took the basket and offered his hand, "Thanks, that's very considerate. I'm Mike". He watched her face carefully, thinking that perhaps they had met before. Perhaps she was a journalist..but she showed no signs of having recognising him. Inwardly he sighed with relief. "I'm just having a coffee, if you'd like to join me?" Elaine accepted and he brought a mug to the outdoor setting. "You've chosen a brilliant spot here" she smiled. "Away from the rat-race". Mike glanced at her sharply but realized that she wasn't referring to his career specifically. "Yes, I needed to go somewhere to refresh my mind" he offered. "Oh? Refresh from what?" "My job as an accountant", Mike lied. "Ah I see". He scrutinised her face and was satisfied that she had accepted his lie. She wrapped long, elegant fingers around the mug and closed her eyes to take the first sip of the fragrant brew. She appeared to be in her mid 40's, high cheekbones, weather worn a bit, nice skin. She looked up and caught him staring and in spite of himself, he reddened. "So" he asked, "what do you do?" She smiled. "I come and bring fresh produce to new neighbours". His face twitched annoyance and added "for a living". "I have independent means", she replied. "It's enough to live on".

A car horn blared from beyond the trees and she jumped up. "Oh, thank you for the coffee. I must go". "Come again, anytime". She threw him a questioning glance and he smiled "Really, I mean it". Strangely he did.

The next day, he saw a flash of white through the trees and knew it was Elaine. Quickly he put on the coffee and hunted for something to eat. Shortbread. Well that will do. By the time she reached the porch, the coffee had brewed. It was warm outside and the white sundress almost glowed against the tan of Elaine's arms. Unaccountably, Mike

was excited to see her. They took their coffee to the porch and whiled away a few hours chatting about nothing in particular. The sun started dipping towards the horizon and Elaine rose to leave. "Oh, I forgot to bring the eggs I had for you" she admitted. "That's ok, you can bring them tomorrow", Mike smiled. "That is, if you're coming this way". She pretended to think. "I'll see what I can do".

Mike woke early. He hardly ever did that in the city. He felt fresh, bright - healthy even. Smiling, he went to the bathroom and was brought to earth by the medicine box, sitting on the bench top. He took his pills and sat down to write.

It was just after lunch when he saw Elaine coming through the trees. She was dressed in snug blue jeans and a white cotton t-shirt. He inhaled sharply. He laughed to himself, thinking of the young girls who spent hours trying to impress him at parties and here was this simple woman in jeans and tshirt, taking his breath away. She came up to the porch and looked at him quizzically. "What's so funny?" she smiled. "Ah nothing that would interest you". "Ok. I thought you might like to have a look at the countryside while you're here?" "You want me to come walking?" She laughed "Can you manage that?". "Sure I can, let me get my sneakers on".

The day after was cold. Clouds scooted across the sky, getting increasingly darker. He drove down to the town to get some fresh bread and milk. When he got back, there was something on the doorstep. He stooped down to pick it up. It was a book, "Bluebeard" by Kurt Vonnegut". He read the review, tucked inside the front cover "Written as the autobiography of Rabo Karabekian, of course with Vonnegut's own war experiences drawn upon as inspiration to the aging artist who narrates his own story. It is a hilarious take on abstract art, and takes jabs at both the inflated self-importance of the artist and the people who simply refuse to look beneath the surface." Mike frowned. Was this a personal reference. Had she discovered who he was? He took it to the kitchen and made a coffee, still frowning. He suddenly realised that he wasn't upset that she might know who he was - he was upset because he missed her.

The days grew colder but Mike wasn't in a hurry to leave. Every morning he woke up and was reminded by the medicine box how sick he was, but as each day passed he thought of Elaine more and more. He had been absorbed in his writing all day and with a sigh, rubbed his forehead. Time to pack up and think about dinner. The computer shut down and Mike peered into the fridge. There was a knock at the door. He looked at the ominous clouds and thought that it couldn't be Elaine, this late, with a storm approaching. He opened the door and she was standing there with a foil wrapped tray. "I hope you like lasagna" she smiled. He grinned "Perfect! And what's that?"

"Oh this is my brothers. Take this". She handed Mike the tray and picked up the acoustic guitar. "I thought you might want something to do when it gets dark". "Thanks" he said blankly. "I don't really play". "That's ok, sometimes its just fun messing around. Besides who is here to hear you?" She picked up the guitar and put it against the sofa, while Mike put the tray in the kitchen. "Have you had dinner?" he asked. "Oh no, I haven't, but I better hurry before the storm hits". A flash of lightning and a god-almighty clap of thunder preceded a deluge. Elaine watched from the windows in dismay. "Too late!". "That's ok, have some dinner with me and wait until its over" he suggested. "Ive got lasagna. I'm assuming you like it?".

He lit the fire while she dished out the lasagna, along with some salad she coaxed from the fridge. A bottle of sangiovese was opened and she grabbed two glasses and poured the contents into them. The rain turned into hail and the sky became pitch black, punctuated by flashes of lightning. Another bottle of wine was opened. "I should get back" she said sleepily. "Its getting late." "You can't walk home in this!" "I can't stay!" "Why not? There are spare rooms. They're made up too. Just stay the night." She hesitated. "Oh what the hell. My reputation can only be ruined if someone sees" she laughed. He led her to the guest room, lent her the shirt of a pair of pyjamas and she bid him goodnight.

An hour later, he peaked into her room. She had half thrown the doona off herself and was lying spread across the bed, her arms flung above her, her long hair splayed across the pillow. He considered covering her over but it was warm in the cottage. Her mouth was slightly open and he had an overwhelming desire to kiss her, just once, tenderly. Shaking his head he turned. Best leave her. Smiling, he wondered into the lounge room and watched the storm through the windows. He was restless and paced the room. Idly he picked up the guitar and strummed it. The strumming turned into a melody and before he knew it, his hands were playing a song. For hours, he played, watching the storm abate and the darkness take over. In the morning he awoke on the couch, the guitar still in his hand.

He peeked into the guest room. She was gone. Faintly disappointed he took his medication and went to make breakfast.

It was raining all of the next day. Mike tried to concentrate on his book but his eyes wondered to the window, hoping to get a glimpse of her coming through the trees. Finally, restless, he decided to drive down to the small town nearby. He stocked up on supplies of milk, bread and chocolate and drove home. The rain was bucketing now and

he almost regretted driving along these narrow country roads in it. Near his driveway, he cursed as he passed a car, tucked into the side of the road, and then stopped the car in surprise as he saw Elaine, running up the driveway, soaked to the skin. He leaned over and opened the passenger door and she jumped in. "What are you doing in this rain?" he asked. "My car broke down!" "Oh. I saw it". He admitted. "I didn't realise it was yours". The car pulled into the carport and they both made a dash for the door. Mike grabbed some towels from the bathroom and tossed one to Elaine. "Come by the fire" he suggested. Elaine stood in front of it gratefully. Very soon, her clothes were steaming. Mike stepped up to her and started toweling her hair. Their faces were very close. He could feel her breath on his face. "We better get you out of those clothes" he said softly. Slowly he unbuttoned her blouse. She gave no resistance and he peeled it off her shoulders. Elaine undid the clasp of her skirt and let it fall to the ground. Mike pulled aside a bra strap and stroked her creamy shoulders. She gasped and his lips met hers... softly, exploratory at first, then deeper, more passionately, crushing her lips beneath his. She responded eagerly, searching his mouth with her tongue. They both dropped to then-knees, in front of the fire. He felt her body quiver against his, and he held her tightly, stroking, caressing her porcelain skin. She arched her back and he bent down to kiss her breasts, feeling his passion awakening truly for the first time for so long. He was inexhaustible in his desire for her and her responses were shy at first but so passionate, that he wondered how she managed to keep the fire from consuming her.

He woke during the night. She was tucked up in front of him, her hair spilling on the rug, her lips open, swollen slightly from the pressure of his lips on hers. Gently he brushed a lock of hair from her face and watched as her long lashes fluttered and rested. The fire had burned down and he quietly placed another log on it, before grabbing a blanket from the bedroom. He covered them both over, then tucked his arm around her waist and fell asleep.

When next Mike awoke, Elaine was in the kitchen. He smiled as he realised she was wearing one of his shirts, the sleeves rolled up many times. "Coffee?" she asked, smiling. He walked up to her and took her by the front of the shirt. "In a moment", he replied, kissing her softy. She wrapped her arms around him and moved closer. His hands cupped her buttocks and squeezed and Elaine jumped in mock surprise. He pulled her forwards again and felt the warm hardness of her breasts against his chest.. "Mmmmm" she murmured. "Coffee can wait.."

It was nearly lunchtime when they remembered that Elaine's car was still on the side of the road. Elaine rang the garage in the town and arranged for it to be towed in and fixed. "You can always stay here the night", Mike offered, grinning. "Or I can walk home, now the rain has stopped", she laughed back. He looked crestfallen and she grabbed his chin between her thumb and fingers.

If Mike had found it hard to concentrate the day before, it was doubly so when Elaine left. He closed his eyes and tried to analyse his feelings. Normally after a night of

passion, he was .. well, actually, indifferent. But he imagined he could still smell Elaine on his fingers, he could recall every word, the lilting laughter, the toss of her dark mane. The more he thought about it, the more he realised that Elaine had been on his mind for quite some time. Restlessly, he went outside and walked through the forest. He followed trails through the trees and realised before long, that he was going to get himself hopelessly lost. He retraced his steps, taking a wrong turn in a few places and ended back at the cottage a lot later than he expected.

Later that night, he went to bed alone, nonplussed that she didn't call him. Perhaps it was a mistake, last night. Perhaps it had ruined their friendship. Mike felt a headache coming on and panicked slightly. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. When he opened them, the sun was streaming through the bedroom window.

The phone rang and Mike ran to pick it up. He tried to hide his rapid breathing as he answered it, but it was only Wes. "Hey mate" Wes shouted jovially down the mouthpiece. "How are you?" Cautiously Mike answered "fine, Wes. Fine. What do you want?" "I'm hurt! I'm just calling to see how you are?" "Oh. Sorry. I thought you wanted something". "Well seeing you asked, I need you to come in and sign some documents". "No." "Only for a day". "I'll need an evening there too. I wont get back until late otherwise". "Ok, but I'll put you up at the best hotel." A seed of an idea germinated in Mike's mind. "Ok, but Im bringing a friend, right?" "Sure, whatever you want. I'll send a car over on Saturday". "What time?" "Say, 4pm? Then you'll get here before dark". "Fine". Mike hung up. Now for stage two of his plan. After breakfast, he set out into the forest again. This time he had taken better notice of his direction and he stuck to one trail. He realised he didn't know how far Elaine came when she walked to his place. He decided to stop at the first house and ask there.

But as luck would have it, he met Elaine on the trail. He grinned in delight and she grinned back, then laughingly pulled twigs and leaves from his hair. "I was just making my way to your place", he blurted. Elaine raised an eyebrow, "You know which is my place?" "Er.. well., no". She laughed again. "Well it looks like I've saved you a trip. Was there anything you wanted in particular?" God, Mike thought, this girl was very ingenuous or very cool. "Well I was wondering if you'd like to come to the city on the weekend? Saturday actually. We could catch a show or go to dinner, or.. ." "That sounds lovely" she smiled.

"I've booked a place to stay". Mike continued. "Urn., separate rooms of course". "Ok." "Ok?" "Yes, sounds lovely. So I'll see you the day after tomorrow then." "Great!" He thought for a moment and added "but you could come over now for coffee. Seeing you're halfway".

Saturday morning, he heard a crunch of gravel in the driveway and looked to see Elaine alighting from her Jeep. She turned around and took him by surprise. Somehow he hadn't expected to see her look elegant. She wore a Chanel dress and jacket, with dark stockings and high heels. Her long hair was swept up in a chignon and she was wearing makeup. He whistled and she smiled at him.

The limo pulled up behind them and Mike grabbed his overnight bag from the hallway. The chauffeur took the bags and opened the doors. Sitting next to Elaine, Mike was unaccountably excited. Its not as if he hadn't ridden around in a limo before - hell he'd even had quite a few intimate moments in some. But the proximity of Elaine had him on the edge of the seat, just the smell of her perfume did something to him. He couldn't remember what they talked about but realised they'd arrived pretty quickly at the Hilton.

They walked up to the reception and Mike signed in and was given the room keys. The porter ran ahead with the bags. Mike was hoping that Elaine was impressed but she looked pleased but impassive. Perhaps she was trying to mask her excitement. Mike recognised the hotel manager coming to greet them. Ah, this was sure to impress her. The Manager was bound to recognise him. But to Mike's surprise, the Manager walked straight up to Elaine. She held out her hand and he bowed low over it. "A pleasure to see you back, Madam". "Thank you" she smiled. He continued. "I trust everything is to your liking and we hope to see more of you". He nodded curtly in Mike's direction and turned away. Mike was dumbfounded. He was the rock star! He stared at Elaine who smiled and said "I think we're losing our porter". She followed the young man with the bags towards the elevators and Mike had no opportunity to quiz her. His second surprise was the suite they had been given. It was the penthouse suite and spectacular views of the city were visible from every window. They walked from window to window together, gazing out at city, sea and mountains. Elaine slipped her hand in his and he squeezed it tightly. He turned towards her and held her face in his hand, gazing into her eyes. Elaine's eyes were shining as she looked back at him. He leaned towards her and.. KNOCK KNOCK "Hey Mike, its me Wes. You there?". Elaine laughed softly. "I'll go get ready for the show". Cursing, Mike opened the door for Wes.

Emerging from his own room, an hour later, Mike struggled with his bow tie. "Let me" Elaine offered. He looked up and she floated towards him in a full length velvet

sleeveless dress. Her neck was adorned by a simple diamond choker. He held his breath, watching her and was almost surprised at the brisk way she fixed his tie.

They returned from the show a little tipsy, kissing in the elevator, laughing at scenes from the show, members of the audience. Once in the room, Mike closed the door and gently pushed Elaine against it. He kissed her. Softly at first, then with increasing pressure and passion. She slid from under him and ducked around, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the windows. Slowly she reached behind her and unzipped her dress. It fell to the carpet with a soft rustle and the gorgeous lace corset she had underneath hugged her beautiful figure. Mike was speechless. But not for long...

In the morning, they were sprawled across Elaine's bed. He watched her dark lashes flutter against her cheeks as she dreamed. Smiling, he kissed her cheek and her eyes opened. Her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him down to her..

She was nestled in his arms and without looking at her, he said simply. "Im Mike Hennesy". "mm? I know" she replied dreamily. "No, I mean I'm Mike Hennesy. The rockstar. Um.. musician". "I know that". Mike was nonplussed. He frowned, not knowing whether to be angry or surprised or ..what? "So who are you?" "Me? I was Chantelle Shaw" "Yes but who are you? How did the Manager know you?". "Oh Mike, its too complicated." "Please Elaine, um Chantelle. I need to know." "Its Elaine now. Why do you?" "Because I might be dying and I need to know everything". She sat up and looked at him, determining whether this was some elaborate ruse. But the look in his eyes told her he was telling the truth. She sighed. "Ok. I used to be a model - many years ago. Not in this country. But I fell in love with a very charming and charismatic man." "And what happened?" "I discovered that I was the only one he was charming to. He was a ruthless and brutal man." "In what way?" "In every way. He was wanted in three countries for murder, conspiracy to murder and lots of smaller charges. But I didn't believe it. I only knew him as a handsome and generous man." "So what changed your mind?" "A detective came to my door one night and showed me a video of my husband slitting the throat of a young woman". "That's awful!"

"Yes, but then a thousand pieces of jigsaw puzzle came together in my mind. Id been hiding it from myself. I knew all along but refused to believe the evidence of my own eyes. Suppressed my intuition." "So what did you do?" "I testified and was put in witness protection." "How long for?" "That was ten years ago." "And you dared to come back to the city?" "My husband died in jail nine months ago. I have no reason to hide anymore". She looked Mike straight in the eye. He could see that her experiences were still a cruel memory in her past. He leant forward and kissed her. "Thank you for telling me. I can see that it was hard". "Now you must tell me what you are running from". Mike looked at her surprised. "Oh but..." "No, you must. It's the rules. I told you my deepest darkest secret. Now you must tell yours". He laughed and quickly sobered. "I'm dying. Well. Maybe. I have had a brain tumour removed. I still have to await the verdict. Whether I live or die". "We all die" she said simply. "Yes, but I might only have a year to live. And.." he hesitated. "And?" "I've seen things. I've seen the past. I've seen eternity. I've stood at the abyss and looked over. I have decisions to make." "What decisions? " "What to do with the rest of my life. How to live it to the fullest. How do I make the best of it? Fulfilling every last pleasure? Every desire? Or do I use it for the good of mankind?" He gripped Elaine by the shoulders. "Should I make a difference with my last year? How will people remember me? For my music? Or for something I contribute to society? Do I need people to remember me at all?" His voice rose into a shaky panic but Elaine remained calm. "You must do what you have to do" she replied. Mike looked up sharply. She had said that before. When? He racked his mind. No, it wasn't Elaine. It was His mind fogged. It was the woman in his dreams. But no. It was Elaine. He suddenly realised that they were all Elaine, just as all the men were him. The realisation brought him to his knees. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed.

He awoke on the bed. The smell of Elaine beside him. He turned to look at her and she smiled down reassuringly. He held her hand. "Sorry" he said. "No, No, you had a shock. I think it was just letting things out". "Yes perhaps. Elaine. Would you help me?" "What would you like me to do?" "I have to decide what to do if I only have one year left". "Mike, darling. Only you can decide that". "No. I need help".

"I think" said Elaine, slowly, "that you should decide what you want to do, irrespective of how much time you think you have left." Mike looked at her, drinking her words. Why had he not thought of that? He reached over and held her close, his mind racing. She could feel his heartbeat, booming against his ribcage. "Yes, you're right. We never know how much time we have left to us."

They sat hand in hand, waiting for the phone to ring, two cups of coffee untouched. "Darling" she said, "they may not ring for hours. Sitting here won't make it ring any faster". Irritated, he stood up and paced the room. She remained seated, folding her hands and sighed. He stopped and stood by the window and stared at the scenery for what seemed like an eternity. "I know" he said simply. "You do?" "I know what I'm going to do, if they say its not clear. If I have a year to live my last life, I know what I'm going to do with it. But I also know what I want to do regardless. Suddenly I feel direction."

She held her breath but he continued staring out of the window, smiling resolutely. Silently she stood next to him and gently touched him on the shoulder. "Would you like to tell me?" she smiled.

"Yes." He looked at her, eyes glinting feverishly, excitedly. "I 'm going to " and the phone rang shrilly.