Blue Words

Prologue

"Every story must begin somewhere."

Droplets trickled down the outside of the glass. Summer had arrived, the ice didn’t last long enough to savour anymore. It had all but disappeared, eroded away into tiny seeds of chill soon to be no more. The taste of the scotch too had diminished, diluted by the ice’s demise. Footsteps echoed through the dark. Was he agreeable to the meeting? he asked. His hand quivered and quickly began swirling the remnants of his drink; as if to hide it. His eyes never rose. His voice was calm, deep and firm.

No Mr. Drake, replied a considerably sweeter voice. He refuses to meet with any of our representatives, let alone you. He feels that anyone who sits down with you miraculously signs over the deal of a lifetime. ‘Far too many deals and lifetimes to be above board’ to use his words Sir, replied his young assistant as she stepped into the room.

Alicia Carter had bouncing curls of amber-blonde hair tumbling down to frame a fresh, innocent face. Her white dress left little to the imagination, clinging to her body and flowing shadows along her seductive size fourteen curves, oozing womanly charm. It was her eyes though, which truly stood mens’ minds and bodies to attention. Large, deep portals of haunting grey which hypnotised and sparkled more and more the longer one gazed into them.

She was exactly Mr. Drakes’ type, mind numbingly beautiful and round in all the right places. It was only an image though, a facade. Nothing more than a stereotype she had devised as a very effective cover. People often dismissed her upon first meeting, focussing on her appearance and pegging her as a ‘dumb blonde’ or a ‘mindless fashionista’; a fatal mistake. Alicia was ruthless, conniving and brutal. She knew what was required of her and wielded intellect and charm as weapons. Career progression was her goal and failure was never an option. In the early days of her employment Mr. Drake had tried to seduce her, an offer she had flatly refused. That’s not the part of you I am paid to impress, she scolded, Though impressed it would be if it ever got the chance.

He’s intuitive, mumbled Mr. Drake into his glass, still swirling to mask the shakes. Shame. I want that contract signed. If the rhodium deposit is even half the size the geologists predict, it may as well be a never ending bucket of money.

Its price per tonne has been dropping sir, reminded Alicia.

It can still drop by half again and be worth more than anything else we pull out of the ground. Don’t forget, I have the only other major rhodium lease. The customers are simply holding off, waiting for Grovern Industrial to start digging. What do you think will happen to the price once I own his lease as well?

Drake appeared an ageless man; someone time had never seemed to catch up to. His hair was thick and black, his skin smooth, his build broad and muscular. However, his hands were mapped with fine criss-crossing scars and his eyes….his eyes spoke of countless years lived and of heavy burden. His strong hands still seemed to shake too with every drink, as if the glass were too heavy for him.

He gave Alicia a look, a slight raise of the eyebrows over prompting eyes, a silent command. Would you like a vessel brought in sir? asked a nearby shadow. A slim man oozed from a shadowed corner of the room. Alicia gave a jolt at the sudden emergence, but quickly stifled it to no more than a fuss of her hair. She burned a glare at the newcomer. A white dagger adorned the chest of his black security uniform, a pistol and blade hid together in the small of his back.

Who do we have around at this time of night? asked Mr. Drake.

There’s a janitor, a new guy. Douglas, breathed the shadow, his words whispers on the wind.

What do we know about him?

He was chosen for the position with this in mind. He’s part of the re-integration program from the Arthur Gorrie Correctional Centre.

What did he do? asked Alicia.

Convicted of raping two sixteen year old girls in a park. She twisted her face in disgust.

Perfect, bring him up. Mr. Drake turned to his assistant. We’ll take care of it from here, go call Douglas’ facilitator and ask why he hasn’t shown up tonight. He paused briefly. Oh and take care of the cameras. Alicia sauntered out of the room.

The young assistant crossed the moonlit marble floor toward the elevator with the security officer and his silent footfalls close behind. They paused briefly before boarding an elevator car and descending to the office levels below.

Mr. Drake didn’t like electric lights; he was old fashioned like that. He liked night to be night. He relied on the moonlight which drifted through the enormous glass skylight. Standing, he was an intimidating sight to behold. He was dominant and commanding, slick with charisma, but still his hands quivered. He climbed the stairs and stood on the rooftop terrace of his tower, the jewel of an empire he had worked a lifetime to build. An empire to make his father proud. He was a man of great knowledge, a man of great power and a man with a complicated history. Not a history you would read about in any book though.

He surveyed the heaving sea of lights before him, washing over an army of shadowed spires reaching for the stars, the skyline of the city. Far to the east, over the Pacific, the blue flicker and crackle of distant lighting flashed. Deadly things always seem beautiful at a distance, he mumbled to himself.

The elevator chimed its return to the penthouse. Mr. Drake let out a heavy breath, almost a sigh and descended the stairs again. The quivering had spread. Rebellion grew in his legs and on the bottom step they faltered. His shaky hand thrust out and desperately caught the railing, re-gathering himself; preserving his pride. Drake took a brief and dignified pause before continuing on. Douglas dry washed his hands beneath submissive eyes. He pretended not to notice the slip and followed Mr. Drake into an office.

I really appreciate you giving me this chance Mr. Drake. Especially knowing what I done and all, Douglas grovelled, his hands still wringing and wrenching. Mr. Drake squinted slightly as his eyes adjusted to the room’s artificial light; lit only for his guest’s benefit.

Well you’ve served your time, paid your earthly penance and such haven’t you? he asked in a soft yet commanding voice.

Yes sir, I’ll never even think about doing nothing like that again, Douglas said, nodding his head wildly.

I’ll be blunt, I need a favour of you Douglas, he said, carefully handing the jittery man a picture. He allowed no time to respond. Look very carefully at this picture; lock the face into your mind. Do you know who he is?

Razeik Grovern, Douglas jittered, I seen him on TV, he owns Grovern Industrial. The response received a nod of encouragement from Mr. Drake. Douglas’ rat like features glowed at the praise.

Close your eyes, ordered Mr. Drake. Douglas followed the directions. He was reluctant, but a man like him simply didn’t question a man like Julian Drake.

Douglas twitched as a warm liquid touched his forehead. Only a trickle at first, but soon the flow was heavier. It was thicker than water. The stream split and flowed around his nose before curling and seeping into the corners of his mouth. Douglas clenched his lips tightly, but still he found himself tasting the warm flow. Salty, almost metallic, it tasted like blood. It smelt like blood. Maddened with curiosity, Douglas snapped his eyes open and wiped his fingers across his cheek. They were smeared with a vivid blue liquid. His chest pumped and heaved with anxious breaths. Don’t be afraid Douglas. Hold that face in your mind. You are about to find out what it’s like to be one of the world’s most powerful men.

What? I-I-I.

You will understand soon. Mr. Drake took a deep breath. "Vascustsus." The word was foreign, a blending of a grunt and a hiss.

Douglas threw himself back into his seat as an intense headache stabbed at his skull. The blue liquid ignited into a penetrating glow. Douglas pushed his thumbs firmly into his temples and grated his yellowing teeth. Just as his eyes started to quiver uncontrollably, the glow suddenly fell away and with it went the daggers. As the pain cleared he noticed his vision was wrong. Separated.

It took a few moments to decipher, but he saw two rooms before him, two separate rooms; as if he existed simultaneously in two places. They overlapped each other, but he could still clearly see each one. He could also hear double and feel double; the other room was much warmer. It was as if he was two people at once. Douglas knew instantly whose body he was sharing, he knew immediately what the other man was thinking. He felt the other man’s memories and knew the other man felt his. Disgust rattled around their shared consciousness as the other man felt the things Douglas had done; details none alive but Douglas knew. Douglas began to sweat.

Can he hear me Douglas? asked Mr. Drake, clicking his fingers in front of the startled man’s eyes, Is it Grovern?

Y-yes sir, he replied.

"Mr. Grovern, I gave you a chance to do this the easy way. I put forward a fair offer. You have forced my hand, forced me to use more controversial methods."

He says you can, um…. Douglas paused, fear in his eyes.

It’s ok Douglas, said Mr. Drake.

"He says you can…..um….do your mother."

He can say what he wants; I will get that contract signed. Douglas’ expression changed. What’s he saying Douglas?

Just ranting about how crazy you are. Drake was not fazed. He remained a picture of calm and patience.

Douglas settled under the calm, non-threatening stare of Mr. Drake. He grew ever so slightly more comfortable with his situation, even pondering on what he had heard. Mr. Drake, sir, he whispered, as if it would stop the other man hearing, I am not sure I can make him sign the contract for you. I can’t seem to make him do anything at all.

Very astute Douglas, complimented Drake. You have no control over him, just as he has no control over you. But your minds are now intrinsically entwined, inseparable.

Grovern wants to know how long this will last? A lie, it was Douglas who asked that question.

Once the connection is made, it cannot be broken. You are of one mind now. Douglas’ face drooped.

So I’m gonna be stuck in his head for the rest of my life? Douglas slumped like a beaten dog. The other man cringed, seeing Douglas was far from rehabilitated.

Yes, answered Mr. Drake placing a sympathetic hand on Douglas’ shoulder. But all is not lost Douglas. It won’t be a long life. Douglas’ colour deserted him. Should anything happen to one of you it would leave the other’s body nothing more than a dead husk.

Douglas began to murmur and beg so fast it was all but indecipherable. You have done a service to the world today Douglas. This is not personal. As for you Mr. Grovern, don’t think us fools. We know you fund the militants which continually attack my African facilities, not to mention that accursed Half Man and his Pack. I have ignored it out of respect, but for far too long. My sources tell me that your second in command is much more open to dealing with me. Let him have his moment in the sun.

Douglas leapt from his chair and desperately scampered for the door. The stranger in his head drove this dash for survival, Douglas still pleaded loudly for his life. Mr. Drake turned to his security officer and waved two fingers toward the terrified, blubbering man. Dagger.

With that the man in black drew his pistol and with one single shot silenced Douglas’ begging and ended Grovern’s fight. He collapsed with a slap onto the elegant marble floor. Take care of that. However you feel best, I trust your judgment, he said waving a hand at the body. Dagger nodded a reply and went to work.

Drake returned to his rooftop garden where he slid into a deck chair and drew a string of laboured breaths. He enjoyed the wafting scents of the city below until Alicia reappeared at the doors. It’s all taken care of sir. The car is waiting in the car park to take you to the airport. We have begun the shutdown of the South African facilities. The remaining security teams will be reassigned over the coming months. He simply nodded as he rose and headed towards the elevator, Alicia at his side.

The hum of music filled the space as they descended the numerous floors. You look lovely tonight Alicia, said Mr. Drake. His hands seemed steadier all of a sudden.

Thank you sir. I... The elevator car began to shudder and creak. The lights flickered. The two glared at each other uneasily as it settled and continued on its way. All was silent for a few long seconds.

Get the service guys in to look at that tomorrow. It’s been happening for days now, Mr. Drake said as he fumbled with his tie. Scares the crap out of me every time. Alicia nodded and plotted a note into her tablet. Has the car park been swept? Those tattooed savages have been bold lately.

"Yes sir, the others are down there now. Dagger will remain here with a few men to guard.....it." Alicia licked her lips uneasily.

The Relic my dear. The Relic.

The doors glided open and the pair was met by three hard looking men and a woman whose gaze could crack stone. They displayed a calm exterior, but the way they held their weapons whispered of coiled taipans ready to strike. Their uniforms mirrored Dagger’s, but all bore different symbols in place of his white namesake.

The squad escorted them to a black limousine. The woman climbed in with Alicia and Mr. Drake while the men followed out of the car park in a second vehicle.

Part I

A New Beginning

"Even the most jagged of pasts can be atoned for if given a second chance."

George raised her head and glared suspiciously at the alarm clock. It had to be playing games with her. For what felt like hours she had lain awake anxiously rehearsing the coming day and time had barely moved. Now after resting her heavy eyelids for what felt like seconds it had surged forward hours. Five A.M. already. Tabitha would be up soon.

She had recently developed a need to watch the sunrise with mummy every morning. George had found it cute at first, but the early starts had quickly bludgeoned that cuteness from existence. She had driven herself to the brink of madness trying to put a stop to the early morning intrusions, but still the two year old woke like clockwork at a quarter past five every morning. Mummy was eventually forced to accept it as part of her morning routine, although it would be lying to say that a slide bolt on the outside of Tabitha’s door had never crossed George’s mind.

Begrudgingly she switched the alarm off, forgoing her last fifteen minutes of precious sleep, and dragged herself out of bed. George slipped her gown on and tied back her long, black hair. She stared at her face in the mirror, poking and stretching at the darkened bags under her eyes. She grumbled something under her breath, gave the reflection a disapproving glare and set about preparing breakfast for Tabitha and herself. In the background the television mumbled and gossiped of events which had occured as she slept.

"Mining magnate Razeik Grovern was found dead in his home overnight. Police have ruled out foul play citing natural causes as the probable cause of death."

Right on time the munchkin emerged from her room. Morning sweetie, said George as she filled two tall glasses with orange juice. Tabitha smiled and ran straight over to the large front window of their apartment where she excitedly threw the curtains open and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. George carried the tray of breakfast to the couch and took a seat. The two year old ran over and leapt up onto the couch beside her mother, bouncing a splash of orange juice over the lip of the glass and into George’s lap.

Their apartment was nothing special to look at; dinted walls, flaking paint, stained carpet and a faint but persistent wet dog smell (despite never actually owning a dog). However, it did have an amazing eastward facing view of Brisbane. As much as George dreaded the early rises, there was no denying that she loved snuggling with Tabitha. She was also painfully aware that these experiences wouldn’t last forever and were something to be treasured while they were an option. So she smiled and patiently endured her sticky lap. Mother and daughter watched as the golden, pink rays of fledgling sun light crept their warming fingers through the high rises of the city and across the river.

George was not a woman who glowed with maternal instincts. In fact George herself never believed she would ever be a mother. Very much a tomboy in her youth, she had never really been a baby lover; despite working with small children for a living. Before Tabitha had come along George had revelled in her reputation as a party girl with a very fiery temper. Her uni days had been a haze of wild, drunken nights dancing and drinking, followed by long, painful days sleeping and purging.

A relentlessly competitive spark within meant that she enjoyed staying fit, but an equally relentless desire to reject mainstream culture meant she preferred self defence classes at the local community hall to the city gym which most of her friends attended. The clientele there were far more accepting, with a wider range of ages, backgrounds and personalities to mix with rather than the name brand Barbies at the gym. She felt that her diverse training partners were far less judgmental and, well....bitchy; important to someone like George who so frequently rubbed others the wrong way.

George could have happily sat and soaked in the morning sun for hours with her daughter, but unfortunately there was no time to linger this morning. Today was the first day of her new job. George had been forced to desert her career as a primary school teacher after Tabitha was born. She loved teaching, but the wages alone simply weren’t enough to support her and Tabitha. So, like many other teachers in recent years, she left education and sought out a position in the state’s highly lucrative mining industry. Today George started her new role as the training co-ordinator of Drake Mineral Resources. The hours were longer, but the income was nearly double that of her former salary.

The change had not a been a simple one, but after hours of soul searching George had concluded that there was not much point in having a few extra hours a week to spend with Tabitha if she couldn’t afford a home to spend them in.

George quickly washed and dressed Tabitha before carefully fitting her favourite pink bows into very precise points amongst her curls. Failure to get that right could signal a disastrous morning for all concerned. Tabitha twisted her head side to side in the mirror before accepting her mother’s work. George exhaled a relieved sigh and plonked her in front of the television, so the morning cartoons could babysit.

George opened her closet to reveal the outfit she had wasted hours fussing over the night before, all meticulously hung out before her. A conservative, black, knee length dress formed the outfit’s core with a newly purchased pair of shoes, which cost far too much, adding accent. She gave the mirror a wry smile, pleased with her selection, and began unsteadily applying her make-up.

Make up was not something that George often wore, not since Tabitha had been born anyway. Her deep, blue eyes and jet black hair were a striking combination and her faintly freckled cheeks added individuality. It was a natural, early twenties, girl next door beauty which blessed George, one which really didn’t lend itself to heavy make-up. Normally she wouldn’t have even bothered, but George decided she should make an effort; at least for the first few weeks of the new job. Finally she slipped a gold, delicately inscribed locket over her head. George placed a gentle kiss upon it before letting it fall and dangle gracefully between her breasts.

The clip-clop of high heels drowned out the television as George frantically gathering essentials into both her and Tabitha’s bags respectively. Then, resembling an over laden pack mule she deftly swooped Tabitha up, flicked the cartoons off and slipped out the door; all in one fluent motion.

Once in the hall George only had to lug her load a few doors before she stopped and knocked at apartment 402. Muffled sounds were struck up from the other side of the door before a cheerful, white haired old lady appeared, her face alight with excitement. Good morning princess Tabitha, she said with genuine enthusiasm. Tabitha giggled, her legs running wildly as George lowered her. The moment those feet touched ground she mumbled some gibberish and shot straight through the open door, not giving her mother a second thought.

Use your big girl words honey, George cried after her. Thank you so much Edna, I will try not to be late home. She handed Tabitha’s bag over. Edna was one of her friends from self defense class.

Don’t even think twice about it dear, I love having her. Bring a nice bottle of red over this afternoon and fill me in on how things go. George waved goodbye and trotted down the hall to the elevators.

Footsteps echoed and danced through the concrete parking basement as George scurried over to her car and fussed with the keys to get in. She briefly paused as if ticking boxes on an imaginary list then turned the ignition.

Click, click, click, click.

The theatrics began instantly. No, no, no, please, not today! she pleaded.

Click, click, click, click.

Arrrrrgh! she screamed, slamming her fist into the steering wheel. The horn squealed in response startling her. George looked down to see Tabitha’s portable DVD player on the floor, joyfully looping the Toy Story 3 DVD menu. She traced the cord through the seats to find its end plugged into the car’s outlet. Woody and Buzz smiled mockingly at her and her misfortune.

Now, George had never reacted well in a panic; a personality flaw she was all too aware of. In fact she usually flipped out and started throwing punches at anyone stupid or ignorant enough to be within reach, but today was not an average day. Today was a day to keep her cool. So, George drew in a couple of quick breaths and talked herself down a little. There is still plenty of time, she reasoned out loud to herself. This is not the end of the world.

Calmly she climbed out of the car and gathered up her belongings. George took another breath, much deeper this time. She checked her reflection in the window and shot off like a mad woman across the parking basement. Now, there is nothing elegant about running in heels. In fact, as she scuttled along she actually resembled a hyperactive penguin, but at that stage George’s urgency far outweighed her pride.

After being coughed over during the bus ride, awkwardly rubbed against on the ferry transfer and running more than she had in the past two years combined, George finally arrived at the Drake Mineral Resources building. The brand new, neck craning behemoth sat right on the edge of the winding Brisbane River. It towered above the neighbouring high rises, greedily obstructing their view of the lush waterway. At the peak of the concrete mountain it proudly touted the company logo in full neon splendour ‘D.M.R.’. A dragon’s tail wrapped from behind the R, settling around the bottom of the letters.

George entered the lusciously appointed lobby. A cavernous space absorbed her; alive with people shrouded in habitual morning routines, teeming in a seemingly infinite number of paths. Littered amongst the rabble were beautiful artefacts from throughout the world, all incarcerated in decorative glass cabinets. It was in one of those display cabinets that George briefly caught her reflection and flinched. A combination of the warm Queensland morning and all that running had caused her makeup to run and streak. Grrrr…It looks like I have just staggered home from a dirty night of clubbing, George mumbled, raising eyebrows from passers by. Frantically, she searched the lobby for a restroom. In the far eastern corner she spied her salvation. George trotted through the crowd, past the elevators and into the bathroom.

A much, much more refreshed and collected woman emerged. She slipped straight into the nearest elevator, which sat empty, its doors open wide as if awaiting her arrival. Finally her luck was changing for the better. About time too! she thought.

Unfortunately, George had failed to notice a small black sign elegantly framed in gold. It sat but a few meters out from her private elevator.

"Service in progress.

Please use other Elevators"

As the doors glided closed George scanned the buttons. The numbers glowed in the soft, mood lighting of the lift, as the dulcet tones of elevator music hummed in George’s ears. There were ten basement levels below the building and fifty odd floors above ground. The first twenty levels were labeled with the departments housed on them, while the next twenty had more obscure descriptions. From what George could gather, they were inhabited by board rooms and big wigs. The remaining floors were accessible only with key card permission and had no labelling at all.

George located the training department on the nineteenth floor and pressed the button. Nothing. She pressed the button again. Still no response. George sighed and mashed the ‘Open Doors’ button and the ‘Emergency Call’ button repeatedly as her frustration grew. Once again her efforts were met with absolutely no response. "Ok don’t panic. Be patient. I’m sure help will be along anytime now," she silently assured herself.

That patience lasted for around two minutes. Hello! screamed George as she bashed on the tightly clamped doors. Unfortunately the loud bangs were all but impossible to hear from the outside of the shaft, lost amongst the noises of a busy Monday. Scrambling through her handbag George found her mobile and began trying to dial anyone she could think of. Alas the signal was all but nonexistent inside the elevator car and any calls she did manage to connect were nothing more than two people repeatedly shouting, Can you hear me? at each other. Defeated, George sent a confusing text message to her best friend and slumped onto the floor in the corner of the elevator car where she sat for what seemed like forever.

The power continued to run in the lift, so the lights shone; though it proved to be a mixed blessing. The power also allowed the music to chime ceaselessly and it soon evolved from a gentle hum to a screech with all the melodic pleasure of Chinese water torture. Before long, George found herself pining to be sitting in a pitch black and silent elevator car.

"Ok relax. This is not my fault," George told herself in silence, once again talking her blood down from its boil. "They will understand. Won’t they? It’s not the end of the world. Is it? Stay positive."

Always try to find the silver lining, a counsellor had once told her.

"Find the silver lining." George looked around, but struggled to find even the tiniest skerrick of anything positive about her current situation.

Oh, at least I am stuck on the ground floor, she mumbled out loud, desperate to hear something other than the music.

"I could think of nothing worse than being stuck in a malfunctioning elevator hundreds of meters up." Although it was nothing really, that one small thought did make George feel better. In her current mental state it was probably for the best that the existence of the ten basement levels below had escaped her reasoning.

Upon finishing her thought the elevator car suddenly whirred to life and began steadily climbing. Why do I even bother opening my mouth, George groaned. She hastily leapt to her feet and began randomly poking at buttons again. Still the elevator seemed to be running on its own agenda. It climbed on to the nineteenth floor, where her only chance to salvage the job lay, and it continued. It moved on through the corporate floors and up into the restricted levels without any sign of hesitation. Finally at the very pinnacle of the building George came to rest and the elevator doors heaved opened.

She hadn’t realised how hot and stuffy the elevator car had become until the fresh air from outside swirled in. She breathed the sweet chill deep as it beckoned her forth from the moving prison. Cautiously George looked out of the elevator doors and into a palatial penthouse. It was a level of luxury which George had never seen before, the kind of thing reserved for movie stars and royalty. I should not be here, she whispered, poking her head further out the door. The elevator doors began to move again, and before she even had a chance to think, George instinctively leapt out. There was no way she wanted to be stuck in that tiny, dangling death trap again.

Once out though, George immediately regretted her instincts. Up until now she had merely failed to show up for her first day of work. Now, in an instant, she had managed to escalate it to trespassing in what appeared to be her new boss’ home. How the hell did I manage this? George thought. Her heart leapt into her throat with each nervous beat. She turned and quickly hit the elevator call button again and again. Still it misbehaved.

She crept awkwardly through the large entrance room, each step echoing through the space. Marble floors shone, reflecting the light pouring down through the massive glass skylight above. Small blue tiles inlaid into the floor caught that light and made it dance. They glimmered a geometric design woven of ancient, flowing characters spiralling in a circular pattern.

The artefacts and artworks which dressed this massive space defied belief and made the ones in the lobby downstairs resemble trinkets from Nanna’s mantle in comparison. There were stairs running up to the next floor on each side of the room. The stairs were linked by a long balcony which regally overlooked the first floor lobby on one side and on the other opened through imposing, glass doors onto a rooftop garden. Under the balcony were many ornate arched doorways which led into the other decadently appointed rooms on the first level. Overall the dwelling was spectacular, as if someone had raised an ancient palace to the top of a skyscraper. Hello! George called shakily, Is anyone here? The elevator isn’t working. No answer came.

George set about exploring the penthouse in search of a stairwell or something which would allow her to escape and maybe even salvage the disaster of a morning. Most of the rooms were nothing really of interest to her. The first she ventured into was a bar. It was lined with shelves and stocked to the brim with every kind of booze you could imagine. Its walls were scattered with an eclectic mix of mantiques and assorted memorabilia. Running off that was a library, filled with hundreds of hardcovers, paperbacks and even leather bound tomes. Through the library lay an office. It was large and luxurious like everything in the building, but with nothing out of the ordinary, other than a speckled blue stain beneath one of the leather chairs. Enough! George realised her curiosity was getting the better of her. I am trying to get out, not critiquing his taste.

George returned to the main hall and continued along, glancing into doorways as she passed. The remainder of rooms seemed to consist of a large media room and a disturbing amount of bedrooms,