Prologue

She stands rigid with her knees tightly pressed together in the check-in line at Heathrow Airport in London, collected and calm ready to face the city and what ever might face her in the sleepless metropolitan. She is bracing a leather briefcase tightly as if afraid that someone might snatch it from her. A slight headache from the migraine attack she had suffered the previous night, when she had tried to organize the trip to make it look like she would be visiting old friends, is still vaguely present. She is oblivious to the people hustling and bustling around her, people hurrying in one direction or the other, chatting away and filled with good spirit. The air is extremely humid inside the terminal and her hair clings to her neck after the seven-hour flight across the Atlantic. Her eyes itch from the dry airplane air and she is looking forward to the foggy weather that awaits her behind the sliding doors. She has never liked flying, and particularly hates the inquisitive eyes of neighboring passengers sitting next to her, whose exchange of seemingly intellectual comments while being cramped between the seats and service trays, are wearisome and unwelcome. Regardless, she is already looking forward to returning to the other side of the ocean, getting back to the place she calls home, to the people she cares for, and to the better life that lies comfortably within her reach.  This trip is far from being one of pleasure. She has only one clear thought in her head: he has to be taken care of. Too many lives have been destroyed in the past years; too many people have suffered because of her, because of his immoral behavior. She fights against tears when she thinks about her friend. But the tears that emerge and submerge again soon after have only a trace of sadness in them. Mostly, they are the tears of rage and frustration. Nevertheless, she feels stronger than ever, as she knows that whatever happens during her visit to London, will have a major impact on her life. She is not going to leave England empty handed.

As she flashes her passport at the man on the other side of the check counter, she hears an announcement through the intercom: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, due to the poor visibility caused by the fog, all flights departing from terminal 5 are postponed for the time being. Further information will follow as flights are rescheduled. We ask for your understanding and ask for your patience. You can obtain a voucher for use in all the airport restaurants from the information desk on production of your boarding card.  Thank you.’

She can hear a series of sighs and grunts of disappointment around her and feels sorry for the travelers who will most likely wait in the clammy and stuffy waiting lounges all night. She glances at the departing flights monitor and skims through the destinations: Mauritius 01:15 cancelled, Rio de Janeiro 01:35 cancelled, and so forth. She can share the feelings of disappointment and frustration of the travelers who had probably planned their trips for months and were looking forward to a nice and warm holiday abroad.  She doubts that the drizzle and the light fog are the reason for the delays. It is most likely a bomb threat. There have been quite a few recently as the IRA is not pleased about being ignored. She steps forward to the passport counter and shakes her head in unison with the young male passport officer that already has a few strands of graying hair. He asks his standard question “Business or Pleasure”, to which she replies ‘pleasure’ flashing him her most dazzling smile. He smiles shyly at her as he hands her passport back to her and welcomes her to England.  She nods her thanks to the blushing man, who is probably returning home to an empty apartment with a fridge that only contains a couple bottles of Heineken and a light too bright staring back at him. He will most likely shower, masturbate and fall asleep. He might even fantasize about her when he plays with himself alone in his untidy studio flat somewhere close to the airport. She chuckles at the thought but grows somber again quickly, as the reason for her visit comes back to her like a bee you thought you already killed. Pushing her honey blonde hair away from her eyes, she walks with her small bag through the ’Nothing to declare’ line. That is the only piece of luggage she has with her, that is all she really needs, as she is not planning to stay more than a week. She is not able to be away from her loved ones any longer. She doesn't want to be away from him any longer. She walks with a self-determined stride, holding her head up high and clanging her shoes firmly against the polished linoleum floor that leads to the arrival hall, and continues with unwavering steps out through the sliding doors to fetch a taxi. It is almost midnight and the line for the taxi is bearable. She is able to get one after ten minutes. The humid air does wonders for her eyes and even her headache is almost gone. There is only a slight ticking on her right temple to remind her of its existence, reminding her of what it had been like the day before. She has to avoid getting upset now for it might come rushing back when least expected, leaving her bed-bound for days. She cannot afford to do so. The taxi driver smiles at her and assesses her carefully up and down. She does not let herself to be bothered by this arrogant behavior and pretends that she hasn't noticed his probing eyes on her. With broken English, the driver enquires where she is from. She doesn’t feel like chatting, so she bluntly replies ‘‘the States’’ and refuses to continue the conversation by pursing her lips tightly together. However, the taxi driver seemingly feels lonely and is eager to chat away, despite his weak English. But she takes a cheap airplane novel out of her handbag and stares intensely at it, underlining the necessity of being left alone. The taxi driver seems slightly hurt as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel and asks her curtly, where to. She is uncertain of where she should stay overnight and hesitates before answering. “You can drop me off by Kensington Palace, thank you”

“As you wish lady”, the taxi driver says, and they drive in silence from Heathrow all the way to Kensington. 

She pays for the taxi and stands near the Palace for a long time, breathing in the crisp London air. It is almost one a.m. and she feels that the streets of London have never felt as deserted as on that night. The light drizzle makes her lift up the collar of her cashmere overcoat. But she realizes that she is not shivering from the cold but from the very reason she has returned to England. She pulls a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and with shaky hands lights one. She slowly inhales the smoke and exhales it in an even flow that gradually becomes one with the fog. She has only one person in her mind. She knows that she is the only one able to put an end to all the cacophony that has tormented her and her loved ones for two long years.