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C H A P T E R 1
Sunday Night.
Stale alcohol infused the
room.
Welcome to Harry’s Tavern.
Welcome indeed.
Harry’s was large and dimly lit; a simple space with dark velour booths,
some tables and chairs, and sticky acrylic carpet. Above the bar, a Guinness
emblem shimmered in electric orange, whilst the crack of balls on a pool
table resonated gloomily throughout.
Luke sat at the bar with Anita, another
hostage to the storm that had closed Chicago’s airspace. He propped himself
up on his elbows and stirred his drink, as he did when going nowhere: little
figures-of-eight turning in on themselves. The remnants of a steak sandwich
sat on a plate nearby. She took frequent gulps of wine and manly drags from
a low-grade cigarette. Every so often, her arm would stretch towards a black
ceramic ashtray, eighteen inches away.
Anita put down her glass and continued:
‘...as I said, no sir, not for me. Just the thought makes my skin crawl.’
Luke narrowed his eyes.
‘I’m not big into those sorts of things,’
she went on. ‘Mind you, I’m all right with spiders.’
‘Yeah, I don’t come across many spiders,’
replied Luke softly.
Anita was not listening.
‘I saw this documentary once,’ she
continued, ‘about these mites somewhere in the jungle. Bolivia? Maybe
Africa? They burrow into the skin, real difficult to get out. You ever come
across anything like that in your work?’
‘No, I don’t tend to see many mites
either,’ he replied, ‘just people.’ |
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There was a delay as Anita reached for her
packet of cigarettes. ‘Well what sort of parasites do you work with then?’
she asked sniffily.
Luke scratched his ear.
‘Err. I’m a para-psychologist,’ he said. ‘I
study the paranormal.’
It took a moment or two.
Then Anita’s features softened and her eyes
opened wide. She dropped her chin to reveal lipstick-marked teeth and a
nicotine smile.
‘Really?’
She sat up straight then swung around in
her seat, knees brushing against Luke’s thigh.
‘Ghosts? Mind Readers? That sort of thing?’
she asked excitedly.
‘Well, to an extent. It’s more the case-’
She cut across him sharply.
‘-Honey. I’ve got one hell of a story for
you.’ She clicked her fingers at the barman and pointed out their glasses.
‘Two more over here.’
Luke gazed across the room. The exit sign
glowed icy neon blue.
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