Author's note.

Hello all. Here is just the usual warning. Steal our characters and we shall hunt you down, trap you, conqueor your land, steal your serfs and burn your houses. These characters belong to the very, very talented Aranka and I, and this is a collaborative work. That is all.

A mental institution? Ha ha! What a funny little creature Lynn is. I don't regret at all

calling on her day after day. I rang her doorbell this morning, and she met me with a

scream.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," I replied quite calmly. "I'm just checking on you…to see if you're alright." I

glared at her, merely hinting at what I had planed for her.

"H-how did you get in? The doors are locked downstairs."

I laughed. The gentle sex is so funny when frightened. What wonderful creatures they

are! Like the puppies and kittens I used to play with when I was a lad. Delicate and

fearful, they always know exactly who their master is. That is far more than I can speak

of Ms. Lynn. She's far below a dog - a bloody whore.

"That doesn't matter, does it? All that matters is that I'm here now."

I peeked inside. A handsome lover called for her from her plush crimson couch.

"Do you mind?" Was his curt reply to the intrusion.

"Oh – dear – sorry about that. I just remember when I was there."

He rose from the couch a surprisingly petite little scrap of a man. I had to giggle. That

Lynn of his is a practical Amazon, although I'm certain that wouldn't, shall we say,

hinder him from his planned activities for the night. It is a funny thing, how we men

operate. Presenting one member of my sex with a woman – more or less attractive – clad

in a red dress seems like waving a red, juicy steak in front of a starved dog and poor old

thing that woman had in her talons was absolutely skeletal.

I know that in a matter of days he would be precisely where I am now, so I did not kill

him. Although, looking back, I wish I had. He was not a very pleasant fellow at all.

His very face exuded every aspect of the average male I dislike. Pride oozed from every

pore, its mixture with overly - masculine hormones formed proud little prim pimples all

over his body. What a lily like his woman was doing with him would be beyond most,

but not me. A comb-over iced the inferior cake, making him look as through he could be

her father.

"Get out of here."

I didn't budge. What would that frail little woman do?

"Are you crazy? I said get out of here!"

"Go." Her man re-enforced in a tone most firm, contradicting his passive demeanour.

"Alright, I'll go. You two have fun now. See you soon. Very soon."

I couldn't resist milking their suspicion for all it was worth. From the corner of my eye, I

saw him ushering her back into the flat, comforting her, coaxing her back lovingly into a

state of calm. Poor man. I could tell she tried her best to make a scene for him.

"On your way back, check yourself into a mental institution!" Lynn exclaimed. I could

hear the ring of their laughter at me as they closed the door. Mental? She hadn't seen

anything yet. The pair, in fact, reminded me of Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant from

that picture "Charade".

It was a favourite of mine as a child. An inspiration as it were. When Tex lights his

matches and hurls them onto poor Audrey's lap, I am sure he must have felt like a god.

I wonder what that would feel like? Omnipotent as that one stain you can never quite get

out of your shirt. What if I was that stain? Oh how I long to be it. Perhaps left by wine or

chocolate?