He was gone on a boat. The sentence jumbled itself, reorganized again and again in her tired brain.
�Tell me about it,� Scarlet whispered to her. �Tell me all about what happened.�
She looked hungry, Scarlet. She sipped her martini and looked at the fading apparition before her with hungry black eyes. �Tell me again.�
It was only a little scrape. He�d read about what your brain does when it sees a wound: it goes into hysterics and imagines more pain. So he didn�t look at it; just kept walking. It�d be OK.
She saw it first: a crumpled mass of man with blood running thickly. His eyes were dead.
Water dripped. He could hear it, permeating the dun-colored walls of his mother�s home. She was in there, too.
(He searched.)
Bones rotting, her teeth fossilized in a glass. Sweat beading on his forehead. Looking everywhere, dreaming he crawled through the walls and found it. A broken pipe, and next to it her wedding dress�.
He wet his lips delicately, with the tip of his tongue. Everything was ready.
�Can I help you?�
A bright smile. His eyes closed, perfectly, subtly. She would fall for the bait and everything was ready.
�A chai tea, please. Large.�
She chirruped away, imagining things. She came back and he was gone: �Sir?�
�Sir?�
His voice was clownish. It went up and down octaves, never staying in one place. He didn�t like it. He didn�t speak.
�What are you reading?�
He looked up, gesturing.
�What are you reading?�
He showed her the spine.
�It�s good?�
Her eyes, flashing: dappled sunshine. Over a path.
He smiled and did not speak.
�Do you think they understand us?�
�No, of course not; don�t be silly. How?�
�They�ve been watching us closer.�
The dolphins flashed in the midday sun. Smiling, the blonde held out a fish. It shone wetly.
�And even if they could, what harm would come of it?� He scratched his head, thoughtfully. �They�re just dolphins.�