LITMIR.BIZ

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with a message, and without thinking I tap out a genial reply. I also take another phone out of a drawer, and quickly, while I think of it, send a message to someone else.

       Cofiwch fi

       Remember me

      I wish I’d thought of this years ago, but in retrospect maybe now is when it all comes together. This was meant to happen, and I am in total control of the blood rush that will inevitably follow. I chuck the phone back with a dozen more I bought especially for this purpose.

      I check my emails, logging quickly into my secret accounts, adding a few pictures to my regular forums. Of course, I always hide my true identity, using the latest software to cloak and mask my addresses, my names. In most cases, depending on the customer, I am neither male nor female – a nameless, faceless entity, but a powerful one. People rely on me to deliver what they crave. I have rich customers, young, old and male and female. They all share that same dangerous taste, and they all know I deliver for their delectation.

      I knew it would be a while before I got some new pictures, so I’ve been stringing these out. She has long dark hair, and a full, curvy body. I went into town, hunting, with the venue and guests all arranged. Behind the screen I can do anything, as can my guests. The questions and requests all come at an alarming speed during my parties, and I enjoy the challenge of fulfilling them. This time, as we talked, I felt that throb of excitement. She was the one. My own body fizzed with energy, and suddenly I was back in a world of bright colours and endless possibilities. She would never have considered me a threat, because that would be laughable, so we chatted for long enough for me to know what I would do with her. It’s important to know what they enjoy, and what will bring them to the edge of that hellslide. It is always a risk, but luckily, occasionally, there are others who are willing to take risks for me. They also have to hide their predilections from the world. I am lucky to have cultivated such contacts. I do it for the money and the thrill, they do it because they have to. It is their obsession, their sickening guilty pleasure, and I have them all hooked. When I play a game like that, every sticker-fingered invite is treasured, and every payment is made promptly.

      I fed them fit to bursting with the pictures of her dusty bare legs, and pink painted toenails. It was business of course, but still worth it for the fun and the money. She was sprawled across the floor, brown eyes dull and glazed with defeat. The dark, glossy hair, that attracted me earlier that evening, was now greasy with sweat. I watched the blood pool, and dipped a fingertip into the gooey redness. It was pleasant on my tongue, but missing that special sweetness that comes with reality.

      My clients believe what they see, because they want to, but for the two of us, in our little hotel room, it is all mirrors and smoke. I paid her well, but for me, she wasn’t special. She asked for my number, and I gave her a fake card.

      I would never contact her.

      We both knew it.

      I drift back to a type of reality, and open a drawer, considering the line of keys inside, neatly labelled. Nearly time to make my next move.

      Mrs Birtley has always been too polite to say what she really thinks of me, so she was happy to let me in for a chat. She’s a boring, jumped-up bitch, but as she scurried off to get the cake, it was simple to snag the spare keys off her rack. I copied them, and slipped them back the next day when I delivered that history book she wanted. I always try to plan ahead for the big games.

      Now Ava occupies one of the rooms and the private investigator hired by the poor, deluded Smiths will soon be snug in the same building. It’s time to start playing. I should feel a little sadness that this is the last time, but instead I am overwhelmed with excitement. I need to keep up appearances, so I give my face a quick wash to get rid of that sheen of sweat, drying it with a soft towel. See what this does to me?

      There are voices outside, so before anyone else can disturb me, I lean down to the cupboard, and take out the board. Drawing a long breath, I shake the two dice in my right fist, pause to kiss my bunched fingers, and release the dotted cubes.

      They fall with a clatter, soothing my thundering heart, as they have so many times before. A double six. Of course, it would be. I pick up Ava’s piece, caressing the wooden curves as though it was her flesh, and move her out onto the board.

      ‘Wyt ti’n barod, Ava Cole?’

      ‘Are you ready, Ava Cole?’

       Chapter 8

      When Ava walked into the pub later that evening, she stopped conversations and drew stares. The chatter resumed almost immediately, but she could feel many eyes upon her. It was like being the new kid at school, but far worse. Ellen was everywhere – laughing at the bar, downing shots at that corner table, sneaking out to the toilets with a bag of pills… Everything and nothing had changed. She was an hour late, missing out on Penny’s invitation to chat before the others arrived.

      ‘What are you drinking, love?’ Rhodri was beaming from a large table set for eight. He was sitting next to her ex-husband, who stared down into his pint, ignoring her. His square face was set and sullen, a good-looking playground bully who had never grown up. Penny, her blonde hair a shimmer of silk tonight, was on his right, and Leo was draped casually over the bench seat on the other side of the table, glass in hand.

      ‘Hi, Ava. You’re really late. Is everything okay?’ Penny seemed genuinely concerned, but Leo had that annoying smirk that said he was up to mischief.

      ‘I said to Pen just now, that you’d probably be late. Some things never change, do they?’

      Rhodri laughed, and even Paul cracked a smile. They watched her like a pack of wolves, bound by their secrets, scenting that she might cause trouble. She was back to being the outsider from America, a face that didn’t fit.

      ‘I’m fine, thanks. Just had to answer a few emails from home. I share an apartment with some friends, and they wanted to catch up.’ She spoke without thinking, but noticed something change in their faces. Was it relief? Hell, what were they expecting her to do?

      ‘Must be hard not having your own place,’ Leo said. ‘Sounds a bit like student accommodation. I hated sharing when I was at uni.’

      Fuck, it really was like a school reunion. Bubbles of hysteria rose in her throat, and she took a quick breath, trying to control the slamming of her heart. ‘I’ll get a round. What does everyone want?’ Ava said, crossing the sticky carpet, and slamming her money on the bar with unnecessary force. Could it get any worse? She decided it probably could. After all, Stephen was missing, and if they were going for a full reunion, Huw and Jesse should have been present too. Except Jesse was out of it now – released from whatever torment he had been going through. And surely he must have struggled, as she had, with the memories.

      She ordered the drinks and waited whilst the sour-faced bloke behind the bar made a big show of loading up the tray. Jesse had been a nice kid, obsessed with his football and his movies. Why would he rock the boat? He’d been right there at the scene of the crime, hunkered down there in the woods, black hood pulled down over his thin face. Rhodri had been right next to him when they started the game, the firelight making ghostly patterns on the ground as he offered round the grubby cloth bag. He had been as obsessed as anyone with their game. ‘True Lies’ was an extension of the old favourite, ‘Spin the Bottle’, and they had pushed it to the limit. That night, it had been Ellen’s name picked out of the scrunched pile of paper slips in the bag.

      Then Leo’s as ‘The Liar’, and finally Ava, who had to discern the truth to save her friend from paying a forfeit. It had been her fault. Whatever she told herself, it had been her choice, her answer that made Ellen do that dare. She could still hear Leo’s mocking voice, even after all these years…

      * * *

      ‘You’re wrong, Ava. Now you know what has to happen.’

      She

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