Entrenched

ONE

Ruth Florence Alcott was born in 1946 in Taylorville, Illinois, with America still hung-over from the end of the Second World War. Ruth’s father Frank was killed with a colleague in an army jeep that overturned in a watery ditch on a foggy night in Lincolnshire, England in 1948.

Without a father, life was tough for Ruth growing up in rural Illinois. Taylorville itself was a progressive, but small town. It was predominantly white with a population of around 6,000. Its available land mass and fertile soil sustained farming and cultivation, which was also supported by a smattering of small-scale manufacturing.

The troubled Ruth didn’t enjoy school. She found it tedious and loathed the discipline and repetition of learning. Constantly disciplined for being disruptive in class, she revealed early signs of promiscuity by 14, and left school a year later with no grades and no prospects. She started smoking, drinking bourbon and found trouble with the local police. Blessed in the looks department, Ruth was easily the prettiest girl in the County, but attention from local young males was rampant, and she became constantly encircled and found it difficult at times to keep her panties up.

This wild activity fed the local, god-fearing gossipmongers, as they gloated in excited chatter. Ruth’s infamous reputation soared, until she finally left Taylorville branded a harlot. Her mother was so humiliated, that she hounded out her daughter, buttressed by affronted religious apologists, who firstly closed ranks and then finally, their doors.

Aged seventeen, Ruth Alcott stepped off a crowded bus at the Port Authority’s Central Bus Station in Manhattan, with just $14 and 65 cents in her purse. Clutching an old, discoloured suitcase she began the long walk across the city, as she didn’t have enough money for a subway ticket. It was a chilly Saturday night on 23 November 1963, the day after the assassination of John Fitzgerald Kennedy. News of the President’s death in the motorcade on Dealy Plaza reached the speeding Greyhound the previous day, and now Ruth walked down 42nd Street to witness New York’s citizens’ stunned and hollow expressions.

She slept rough on that first night, as her money also didn’t stretch enough for a room and board. A homeless, drunk female found her cowering in Grand Central Station and took pity on her. This hard-bitten woman knew the rules of the unwashed on the streets of the City. So, armed with an ally, Ruth managed to fend off hypothermia and avoid the advances of the wandering low lives and hoboes on that first night. She woke up the following morning unscathed, physically at least – so, on an empty stomach Ruth applied her make-up, straightened her clothes and set off in search of work.

Sitting in a warm lobby in a small hotel on West 36th. Street waiting to be interviewed, Ruth saw the incredible live slaying of Lee-Harvey Oswald by Jack Ruby on TV. Undeterred, she secured her first job as a cleaner in the hotel payment for which included room and board. The hotel’s Turkish manager’s interest in the pretty young dazzler was far from honourable however, and he pestered her for sex – and got it – from the day she started until the day she walked out.

After an endless succession of dead-end jobs, low-level modelling assignments, and failed relationships, Ruth met Alexander Canham, an advertising salesman for the Columbia Daily Spectator. Older than Ruth by ten years, he was self-assured, handsome and rakish. As Ruth’s previous life in the Big Apple had constantly hovered between being simply flat broke and poverty, her life took a sudden, dramatic turn for the better when she met Alex in 1968 in a Bohemian café in Greenwich Village.

NOVEMBER 2001

THE ASPIRE MEDICAL CENTRE, EAST 86TH STREET

Ruth Canham is now fifty-five years old and her fading features belie the beauty of her youth. At five feet nine inches tall she has retained her statuesque figure and slim frame but her gaunt face shows all the tell tale signs of too many cigarettes and too much cirrhosis consuming alcohol. Deep-set furrows are scratched into her flesh, undulating in ripples above and below her lips and around her sallow eye sockets.

From age fifteen, Ruth’s had an unhealthy fondness for unfiltered Marlboros and more recently, a daily bottle of Seagram’s whisky. Her drinking has almost doubled recently.

Looking sad and drawn, Ruth joins the tail of a substantial queue outside a large the Aspire Medical Centre on East 86th Street. New York is drifting into autumn’s early chill, and a cutting wind from the East River punctures through the thin material of her dark coat. Her lean body does not repel the elements as it used to.

She breathes heavily with a perceptible asthmatic rasp, as she fingers a packet of Marlboros from her purse and quickly lights up. She savours the chemical melange as it travels swiftly down her trachea to her bronchial tubes and capillaries. The line of hunched figures in front of her do not talk, and she can hear sobbing from a few poor souls further up the queue towards the door. This doleful sound almost makes her want to cry with them, but she’s determined not to. She will remain strong; she will remain strong for him.

The column moves slowly as dark, oppressive clouds gather overhead casting an ethereal gloominess over Manhattan, and after a few seconds, small droplets of water begin to fall and then it begins to rain steadily. Umbrellas of different colours and sizes spring up in haste like mushrooms across a field. Ruth did not bring an umbrella as the very idea of a downpour didn’t even occur to her, but she is not thinking clearly and hasn’t for several weeks now. Irritated, she flicks the remaining embers of her cigarette to the damp sidewalk and yanks at the lapels of her thin black coat withdrawing her long neck from the elements.

Moving a few feet at a time, the entrance to the Medical Centre looms closer, but the rain and biting wind has increased in strength, and it drifts across the uneven slabs of concrete towards the bedraggled queue. It was by sheer luck that Ruth stumbled across her boots in her closet that morning. She was going to wear her white tennis shoes, as she knew she might be on her feet for some time today as she loves the softness and comfort of them. Her boots seemed to will themselves to her though, as they tumbled from their shelf virtually falling onto her feet making her decision on footwear an easy one.

After standing for twenty-five minutes, the damp coldness begins to invade her delicate body, and Ruth begins to shiver until her teeth chatter. Her short, bobbed hair begins to weld onto her wet skin. Dyed harshly to a light auburn, it turns almost ebony with the soaking. A layer of foundation and a thin coating of mascara around her eyes had been applied to make herself look presentable that morning, as Ruth still looks into the mirror, and imagines that she’s still the young head-turner from Illinois. The chalky layer on her face has smudged now, and her eye shadow begins to bubble and weep, running in small tear tracks down her crinkled cheekbones. Poor Ruth now looks more like a distressed clown than a proud, well-dressed ex-model.

She becomes unnerved by the constant, noisy succession of herding yellow cabs accelerating and aquaplaning across the saturated tarmac on the adjacent street. Their steaming tyres spew up the dirty rainwater that collects to fill the many potholes. New York is broke, and it has been for thirty years, so repairing the street’s yawning craters is well down on City Hall’s list of priorities.

Ten minutes on she finds herself next to be called inside. This is not the usual infirmary she’s used to, as her local clinic is across the water in Brooklyn. The large, pale building stands above her with its shiny silvery tiles and glass covering the frontal expanse. Now coated with rainwater, they glisten and reflect the busy drama that acts out in the opposing, frantic streets of Manhattan. Above the main door, a large bright blue weather proofed canopy girdles the entrance, and four white pillars support it to give the building an elegant, even upmarket feel, but Ruth knows the experience inside will be very much the opposite.

Any second now she knows she’ll be under the sanctuary of the awning, so she looks up expectantly. Standing next to a hastily written sign is a nice looking black man with a friendly face. He’s wearing a long beige raincoat with an official name badge pinned on the outside. Otis ushers Ruth forward with his index finger, Go right through ma’am, you can take a seat inside, warm yourself up a bit.

Ruth nods in acknowledgement and advances through the swinging doors into the lobby, relieved to be out of the freezing wet street. She stops and surveys the waiting area; it’s bursting at the seams and every spare seat and prime portion of floor space seems to be occupied. For an instant she’s at a loss at what to do, so she just simply stands staring at the dejected faces surrounding her. Refugee camps could not look worse she thinks.

An observant attending gets up from his desk and walks towards her. He’s tall, black and dressed in white pressed medical overalls with a thick blue belt around his slim waist. He smiles to expose a perfect set of white teeth, Ma’am, are you here for the DNA swab?

She nods.

Good, so if you’d like to take a seat over by this desk here. I’ll get you a towel to dry yourself off.

Ruth looks across to the faded makeshift reception desk. This has been placed purposely away from the main greeting area, and away from the other patients and visitors. The table’s varnish has been stripped and the corners chipped away. A dour metal filing cabinet is positioned to one side, and a hard, plastic beige chair is placed next to it with a small metal garbage can close by. She walks tenderly over the slippery floor that has almost turned into an ice rink and sits down with a fulfilling sigh. Loosening her heavy coat, Ruth furiously prods the water away from her face with the tips of her fingers and dabs her hair carefully with the open palm of her hand. Ruth cranes her neck to look around the room and shudders; it was alive with offending sound and mayhem. Above the overpowering smell of dampness and industrial cleaner, the sporadic cries of babies and feral children echo around the lobby. The sobs of adults supplement the desperate bleats of parents and families trying to placate them. The chaotic noise is broken by the lofty, smiling black man, as he’s returned with a fresh towel.

I’d get outa that coat if I were you ma’am. You’re going to catch your death if you keep it on ya he states, as the pearly teeth are given another airing before he sidles around the desk to sit down.

Thank you, but I think the damage is already done. I can’t seem to get warm

He reaches over and opens the heavy sliding door of a grey metal, military style filing cabinet to lift out a form, as Ruth cushions the excess water away from her face with the towel.

Now, I’ll need you to fill out this little declaration here. All I need is your name, address, possible deceased and your social security number.

He hands her a clipboard and a pen. Ruth studies his hands, for they are smooth and without blemish. She runs her eyes across the form as if it were printed in a different language before preparing to fill it in. Leaning forward to begin writing, surplus water from her hair drips onto the top sheet of the carbonated paper filtering through all three thin layers. She tries to write, but the pen frays the top sheet, and with it, her distress levels increase.

That’s OK ma’am. I tell you what, just write on the dry areas. As long as we can read it, we’ll have the details we need. I can fill out the right boxes later.

I’m sorry, she says.

Don’t be, we’ve had the same problem with everybody today and that damn rain. All you need to do is to take a seat and wait to be called.

Ruth returns the clipboard, and still smiling, the attendant reads it. Thank you Mrs Canham. I can’t see a problem with this. I see you’re here for your son, Hunter. Hunter, Ruth’s son is presumed dead.

Are you aware of the procedure ma’am?

Yes…. I’ve seen it done on TV.

Good, it’s simple, lasts all of two seconds. Take a seat out there. I hope you don’t have to wait too long.

He observes her struggle out of the chair and walk towards the lines of seating, all of which still seemed to be occupied. Ruth looks wearily around the crowd for a spare gap amongst the swarm, but feeling aware of herself, she pulls up the lapels of her coat around her neck again and dips her head in humiliation. She finally spots a vacant seat about 30 feet away between an old couple and a young girl and makes a beeline for it, but a few feet away, a young bandana wearing youth suddenly appears out of nowhere and jumps into it, slamming his rucksack hard on the floor beside him. He opens the zip fastener and lifts out a large set of headphones and looks up, gloating. Ruth’s shoulders slump southwards and she feels like bursting into tears, but she remains strong as she promised she would.

She glances hopelessly around the room again, but the overblown families with their vast pushchairs, bags with bottles of formula and toys jabbing out with bulging raincoats and umbrellas makes her give up. An area of white wall beckons next to a large philodendron heart-leafed plant so she walks towards it, and leans against the wall with her shoulder trying to alleviate the weight from her feet.

Are you OK Mrs Canham?

She looks up hearing the kind voice. The caring attendant has returned and he’d witnessed the seat-stealing episode from his desk. Ruth looks at him through drained, crimson eyes. I guess I could do with sitting down.

He winks at her, I saw what happened – let’s get that seat back for you.

Smiling, he leads her by the arm towards the teenager.

Look… um, she says, trying to read his nametag, There’s no need for a hassle, I’ll just lean against the wall. I’m sure there’ll be a seat soon.

Relax ma’am, I’ll deal with this.

Holding her arm they make their way to face the seated young Hispanic who’s now jerking his body to the beat. He stares ahead, pretending not to notice what’s about to concern him. The teenager has a thin pencil moustache hovering above his top lip and wears a pair of ripped blue jeans that are too big for him by about four sizes almost covering his over-sized sports shoes which are open at the tongue with the laces undone. Even though the weather outside has taken a turn for the worse, he wears just a baggy T-shirt printed with ‘Which Gang you with?’. Dangling from his russet-coloured neck is a thick gold chain that droops down to nipple level.

Ruth’s tall guardian taps his knee and waits for the youth to look up at him. As he does so, the attendant gesticulates extravagantly for him to remove his headphones. The teenager hesitates for a moment before rolling his eyes and cussing under his breath. He switches his personal stereo off, and lifts the speakers from his ears slowly and deliberately.

Sir, you look like a strong young man, now this lady ain’t feeling too good, so why don’t you let her have this seat for a while?

The Hispanic kid says nothing for a few seconds until the attitude rolls off his tongue, Hey man… why me? Fuck man… there are plenty of other suckers here, pick on someone else, huh!

Ruth recoils at the confrontation, as the stereo is switched on again and the headphones re-engaged in that order. The tall attendant remains calm and continues to grin giving Ruth a feeling that he’s enjoying this and has been here before. He leans forward and lifts up the speaker from the teenager’s left auricle. Aggressive gangster-rap blares out, polluting the air. He shouts with more purpose into the boy’s untethered ear.

"Yeah….‘Nate Dogg’ man, Good taste brother. However, I want this lady to have your seat, understand?"

The kid glares at him as the speaker is unsubtly dumped back onto his ear, and his facial expression changes as he kills the sound and removes the headset once again, letting them hang and envelope his neck. He visually and mentally scans the 6’4 frame of the medical attendant and the biceps that ripple underneath his tight uniform, and decides that a little forced chivalry would be the healthiest policy. Without saying a word he raises himself and kicks his rucksack along the floor towards the wall and stalks towards it like a spoilt child. The two rows of perfect teeth are revealed again, There you go ma’am, let me help you outa that coat.

You’re a lifesaver… and thank you…. James.

A full hour later, and Ruth has managed to avoid eye contact with the young Hispanic. She cringes at the loud speaker requests for people to step forward, as random individuals, couples and families get up and disappear down a hallway located off the waiting area, their vacant seats seized immediately. She is now craving nicotine, badly, and wrings her hands and purses her lips but dares not move to go outside for a cigarette in case her pew is snatched from her. Finally, her name is called and she is led away down a dour and darkly lit corridor.

Do you think I could go outside for a quick smoke before going in? she asks.

I’m afraid not ma’am, we’re on a very tight schedule. is the sharp reply from the attendant escorting her. They turn left into a smaller ward and stop at a long line of blue screens. Curtain number seven is slid to one side for her to enter. A harassed looking, middle-aged female physician looks up from her notes and asks Ruth to take a seat. She has a round moon-like face with scant make-up and bad skin. Nothing is said for several uncomfortable seconds until the woman turns to her again clutching a clipboard with Ruth’s form, which was now dry but rippled.

Sorry you’ve had a bit of a wait Mrs Canham, we’re pretty swamped.

I understand, although I could do with a smoke.

This is ignored. You’re here for your son Hunter, is that correct?

Ruth nods. It’s even painful hearing his name.

OK Mrs Canham all we’re going to do is take a swab sample of your saliva. I’m going to work this Q-tip around the bottom of your mouth and under your tongue for a couple of seconds, that’s all.

Ruth nods her head again as the physician tears open a fresh pack of latex surgical gloves and punches her hands expertly into the finger moulds. She then peels back a silver foil membrane to reveal a small test-tube and opens a container of Q-tips with large cotton heads, larger than you would normally find in a drug store. Ruth is instructed to open her mouth and the procedure is completed in the blink of an eye.

OK, that’s all there is to it. Now, we wrote to you regarding some items of your son, did you manage to bring anything with you?

Ruth feeds her hand into her bag. Yes, why yes, I did bring his toothbrush and his flossing kit. He never combed his hair, he kinda liked that messy look you know… the kind the kids have these days.

They will be fine, Mrs Canham.

The items are documented and placed on a metal tray.

I’ll send these with the results to the Medical Examiner. I’m sure they will be in touch at some point soon. Thank you, and have a nice day.

Outside again she closes her eyes and inhales a relieved breath. Ruth stands under one corner of the canopy and frenziedly snakes her hand into her purse for her pack of Marlboros.

She lights a cigarette in double quick time and sucks deeply almost to her toes whilst caressing the slim, white stick. Intense craving subdued for the moment, Ruth now contemplates the dreaded journey back to Brooklyn on the subway. She really hates the subway.

VERIFICATION

A few days after Ruth’s visit to the Medical Centre, a fragment of Hunter’s little finger is discovered. Exactly one week after that a tiny charred section of his cell phone is unearthed. The DNA samples taken from Ruth, his mother, and the DNA deposits from Hunter’s toothbrush and flossing thread confirm his identification.

Definitive verification is established and a letter arrives for Ruth at her apartment in Brooklyn from the Surgeon General’s Office in New York City. The letter officially endorses her son’s death.

Ruth never does get to read the letter from the Surgeon General’s Office confirming her son’s demise. She was never informed about his death at all. You see, Ruth wasn’t available, ever again.

TWO

OCTOBER 1999, TWO YEARS EARLIER

Candy is a pretty, fresh-faced girl with a mop of blonde mane. She pads and flattens it behind her ears and wipes some moisture from the side of her heavily made up lips and kisses him fully on the mouth. Her tongue brushes against his pink gums and pearlescent teeth. She withdraws and savours the taste, and then licks the edge and underside of his chin.

The man unbuttons his shirt and frees his belt buckle leaning back against the leather couch. He slides a velvet cushion between him and the cold leather in the space that supports his back and relaxes. Candy reaches across to the table and hands him a crystal flute of champagne. He drains the chilled liquid and she replaces it on the table. She then picks up her own flute and sips at it, being careful not to spill a drop. With the liquid still swilling around her mouth, she works it from her lips to his and swaps it from her mouth into his. Afterwards, she gently moves her partially open lips down, making sure she trails the wet sparkling grape on his flesh, kissing the front and base of his chin to his neck and across his left collarbone leaving the trace of moisture.

Her hands prise his shirt away to reveal more of his chest and abdomen, and she sets about smoothing her tongue along his nipples and down to his taught stomach tickling the tiny, soft blond hairs that form a sprinkled line to his naval and below. She noisily swills out the small hole of his belly button and is prodded in the cheek by the man’s erection that stretches and strains at the material of his Italian suit bottoms. For the first time her long fingernails gently manoeuvre over his hard muscle, pounding to escape its confinement. Teasing him, she picks up her glass and sips the champagne again, swallowing only a little and replaces it slowly, and intentionally on the table. She stops his hands, picking at the clasp of his pants, replaces his with hers and begins stroking the shape of his shaft through the fabric.

The man lets out a soft moan knowing what is to come, and gently, purposefully, she unclips the toggle, draws his zip fastener down and pulls his pants apart. She then leans back, catches the top of his pants and the elasticated surface of his briefs with her long fingers and pulls down. The man raises his hips to help the smooth undressing operation to reveal a glistening, ridged rod. She stares at it, studying the length and its girth and takes it between her fingers, pulling at the stretched, circumcised skin, and fingering his clear discharge in a circular motion around his helmet. Carping, he reaches into his shirt pocket and brings out a small phial, which he hands to her. Candy grins when she sees it, and she studies the properties, tipping the powder for consistency until her long fingers gradually disengage the top. Once again her attention turns from the phial to the man’s penis, and she scrapes the sticky liquid from the top with her free hand. The other taps the rim of the phial, her forefinger tipping the white powder onto the top of his helmet covering the slanted Jap’s eye. Holding his erection tight, she reaches behind her, being careful not to dislodge a single grain, and her fingers locate a straw. She turns and snorts every powdery granule up into her perfect nostrils and throws her head back in ecstasy, the hit from the cocaine making her jolt and spasm.

I told you it was good shit, the man says, smiling and admiring her fingers clenched around him. Snorting up and licking the remaining remnants from his hood, her eyes seem to glaze over and redden around the rims. This is the best fucking Charlie I’ve ever had. I’ll have to take your cell number. I’ll fuck you for free as long as you keep me supplied.

The man smiles, It all depends on what happens next babe, he says, gesturing down to his erection.

God, what a fucking hit…. what did you say your name was again?

Hunter, honey, Hunter Canham. Now do what you do best and I’ll think about getting you some more of my special shit.

The girl stares at his rigid cock and begins jerking his skin up and down expertly. Buckle up, I’m going to blow you like you’ve never been fucking blown before.

She stares into his eyes before nodding down and fellating him. Hunter pushes his hips upwards as his shoulders slide back against the couch. Looking around him, his office colleagues were mostly all butt naked, swallowing champagne, snorting coke, some even having unprotected sex with other hookers. Every girl will be passed around and shared as this is Hunter Canham’s usual after hours Friday orgy in a private room in an exclusive club in Manhattan.

Without taking his eyes from her bobbing head, he picks up the telephone located on the wall above, orders another ten bottles of 15 year-old Perrier Jouet and replaces the handset. He grunts and watches his erection disappear into the her red lips and presses the top of Candy’s bobbing head down with his hand to apply the necessary pressure for her to deepen her efforts and to swallow more. This, she does willingly.

THREE

BANGKOK, THAILAND: PRESENT DAY

Faith Borrett is on her honeymoon. Pelham is her new married name if she decides to engage it, but she wants to think it over for a while as she’s very fond of the surname she’s carried with her all of her life. Her wedding to Joseph Pelham was like a fairy-tale. It was performed on the beautiful Island of Koh Samui, the second largest Island off the east coast of mainland Thailand. They were married on the beach at sunset along with Faith’s daughter Sapphire, aged eight, in attendance from a previous relationship.

Faith is thirty-three years old and from Mansfield, Ohio. She’s attractive and labelled very pretty by many, but often not classed as ‘beautiful’ by the pretentious, westernized measuring-stick. She’s average height with light brown, mid-length wavy hair and delicious fern green eyes. Men have always pursued her for her winning assets, her hypnotizing eyes and hourglass figure.

For many years Faith has had to conceal a crop of ferocious scars that strafe across the rear of her arms, her lower neck including her shoulders and the middle portion of her back. Even her wedding dress was purposely designed to cover these noticeable mutilations.

Born into a wealthy family, Faith’s mother inherited a sizable fortune from her dead parents, and Faith’s father is a successful, but now retired Industrialist. He sold his Plastic Mouldings business for 79 million dollars before retirement, as Faith showed no interest in taking up the mantle and no sibling had been born to pass it on to. With the family money, Faith was educated to a high standard attending Delaware University in Newark and moving across the water into New York after graduation.

Her intelligence and quick wit has leapfrogged her to Deputy Editor for a popular national housekeeping magazine. This heady role was short-lived though, as Faith fell pregnant and was hospitalized because of the terrible injuries that almost caused the premature death of her baby. Once recovered, she relished being a single mother and decided not to return to her Editorship.

The perceptual trauma of what happened still haunts her to this day, even though it was almost ten years ago. Her parents were not exactly jubilant when news of her pregnancy became definite, and her father was furious that she was throwing away such a promising career. Her mother put a huge burden on her to abort, but Faith would not be deterred, and her own motherly instincts overpowered all outside influences.

Faith’s parents rarely met Sapphire, and infrequently communicated with their daughter, but their conscience dictated that they send enough money for her and their granddaughter to have a comfortable life.

Faith had known Joseph for six months before they decided to book a last minute holiday to Thailand and the ‘quickie’ wedding. They’d met at a dinner party at a mutual friend’s house. Joseph is three years older than Faith, and is the Founder and Managing Director of a small, but successful software company. He hails from Hoboken across the Hudson River on the West side of Manhattan. He is balding and slightly overweight, but Faith immediately fell for workaholic Joe’s piercing blue eyes and sardonic sense of humour. She felt that she’d met her intellectual equal, and as a bonus, her daughter Sapphire adores him and Joe adores Sapphire.

Sapphire is a bright, tall and brown haired girl with a glint in her round eyes, and whilst in the top stratum at school, the little fireball can be mouthy and disruptive. Faith is a good, conscientious mother, but over the years, suffered low-level psychological problems. This has covertly led her to lavish too much love and material possessions on her daughter to mask over the deep-rooted issues and substance lacking in the family of two.

They had arrived in Bangkok two days previously after spending a week snorkelling and sunbathing after their wedding. The oppressive heat, spicy food and choking pollution have taken their toll on poor Joe, though. His constitution is not the strongest, so he’s otherwise engaged in his sickbed at their hotel after naively sampling some fish from a local street vendor.

Bored of the four walls of their hotel room and hungry for culture, Faith and her daughter stroll around the monolith that is downtown Bangkok. They spend time at the Famous Wat Pho Temples, and walk around the opulent gardens and grounds of the Grand Palace for another hour. Eventually though, the overbearing noise, stale air and Bangkok insanity forces them down the famous Khao San Road in the Banglamphu District of the city. This is one of the main tourist areas, and it’s filled mainly with unwashed backpackers and hippies, and teeming with raucous bars and restaurants. With the temperature hovering around 38 degrees with high humidity, the two weary travellers crave comfortable seats, a cool drink, and the most important resource, air-conditioning.

Mother and daughter stroll hand in hand along the bustling boulevard with its rows of kiosks and small stalls that line the main arcade. Faith suddenly feels uplifted, and she feeds off the organic energy and aromas of the frantic locality, unable to pull herself away from the chaotic rows of food vendors, trinket and ornament souks and travellers’ porticoes, which are mainly full of longhaired and whiskered beatniks.

Sapphire is spent though, and she tugs at her mother’s sleeve pleading for them to sit down for a drink. Faith reluctantly gives in, and they look for somewhere to rest. They spot an upmarket restaurant and bar next to a small, but quaint, hotel surrounded by tall, embedded palm trees, exotic flowers and peddlers’ stalls. A gutter with open running sewage spews out its gut wrenching odours near the exposed canopy of the bar, which is located too close to the outside seating area, so Faith decides to sit inside to allow the air-conditioning to wash over them.

Sipping her beer Faith suddenly freezes. As if in slow motion she rests her glass back on the table as her eyes hone in on a man across the street. He’s sitting under a large parasol by the roadside in a busy bar named the ‘Heave Hoe’. He sips a tall, exotic iced cocktail and buffs the long leg of a beautiful young Thai girl sitting next to him. The girl seems quite besotted by him, and hangs on to his every word. Faith’s eyes widen as if she’s seen a ghost, and the more she stares at him, the more she becomes transfixed. Sapphire tries to gain her mother’s attention. Mommy what’s the matter? she asks, turning to look at the subject of her mother’s stare. Faith doesn’t answer, so the little girl reaches over and tugs at her flowery silk skirt.

Mommy, mommy! What are you looking at?

Faith doesn’t snap out of her trance, but somehow acknowledges her question. Oh…sorry sweetheart…. I think I know that man sitting in the bar over the road.

She’d answered without taking her eyes from him. Sapphire begins scanning the people in the bar. Which man mommy?

Silence.

Mommy! Which man… is it the handsome guy with the pretty girl?

Huh? Oh nothing honey, finish your drink, will you? replies her mother with a snap.

The man exchanges words with a couple of local Thais that pass by the bar. Faith’s eyes are still cemented across the narrow street and her mouth opens about half an inch until she decides to reach down and fish in her bag that lies on the floor next to their table. She yanks out her cell phone and begins focusing to take pictures. She snaps away a dozen or so times, and then adjusts the application to begin filming. Faith talks to herself as she points her cell.

Come on, look this way…. It is you…I know it’s you, you son of a bitch, I know it’s you…. come on look this way!

She lowers the phone and thinks for a moment. Damn! I need to get closer.

The man suddenly turns his head towards her so she raises her cell once more. Alas, the shot lasts only a second or two as he shifts away from her direction again.

Darn it, we’ve got to get closer…. we’ve got to get closer. she repeats to herself.

Mommy, you’re acting weird, cries Sapphire, screwing her face up, almost into a snivel. Faith looks away from the man for the first time in minutes, and down at Sapphire’s glass.

Have you finished your drink?

Not yet replies her daughter, defensively now.

OK, well just leave it and come with mommy, honey.

The glass is still half full. Mommy…. I’ve still got some left, I’m thirsty.

Just leave it! I’ll buy you another later, OK! Faith bites, as she tosses some money on the table, gathers up her bag and clasps Sapphire’s suntanned arm almost dragging her daughter across the café as they leave.

Outside in the stifling heat Faith diverts further up the road and ducks behind some parked tuk-tuks and their resting drivers next to the flapping canopy of a fish seller. The stench and annoying flies from the kiosk make Faith wish she were back near the open sewer, but making sure they remain out of his peripheral vision, they cross the street quickly with Faith still leading Sapphire firmly by the arm. They walk swiftly but carefully along the curb and enter the façade of the Heave Hoe Bar. They manoeuvre around the tables into a perfect, concealed position between some bamboo stools and a tall plant located about twenty feet from where the man is sitting. 60’s music drones out from the speakers, and with the bar three-quarters full, it has a fruity atmosphere. Faith squats and establishes a clear, unimpaired view of the man. She pulls Sapphire by the skirt and directs her to squat behind her.

But Mom…

SHHH! What did I tell you?

Her stern eyes drill into her daughter’s as Sapphire almost bursts into tears.Not a damn word, is that understood?

A waiter appears and momentarily blocks Faith’s sight line, as the two men share a joke for a minute or so before slapping palms until he is called away. With her perfect observation point restored, she raises her phone again and begins clicking away. After a minute or so of this, she adjusts the setting and begins filming him again.

She has a clear profile of the right side of his head, and an occasional frame of the front of his bronzed face when he turns her way. He’d aged visibly but very well, with small flecks of grey blended into his dark brown hair that had receded a little into his high forehead. She remembers his attractive muddy green eyes and prominent thick eyebrows. He is still very good looking man and appears slightly slimmer than she remembers. He is wearing a fitted blue polo shirt with the collar extended around his neck, and his arms, chest and shoulders are muscular and defined. He had obviously been working out and looked fit and lean. Wearing some fashionable Khaki shorts, Faith notices his tanned, and well-developed legs that are devoid of any body hair, and his dark feet and toes have manicured nails. His look is finished off with a pair of expensive looking beige leather sandals, and Faith can’t help but conclude that he looks as though he lived there, a local perhaps? Many native Thais seemed to know and acknowledge him, and the deep-bronzed colour of his skin was definitely not acquired from a two-week vacation.

She continues to film freely whilst he concentrates on his delicious Thai girl, and both are oblivious to what is going on. After a couple of minutes, a much older, more filled out Thai woman arrives at his table with a young boy of about three or four. The man turns around excitedly when he sees him, and cradles and kisses the boy lovingly, who looks mixed race, half Thai, half Westernized by the colour of his hair and the shape of his eyes. He is beautiful though with perfect olive skin. The man lifts the boy and places him on his knee. Reflecting, Faith softens for a moment, she lowers her phone and looks around at Sapphire to smile briefly at her before resuming her homemade film.

The older woman smirks, her sallow face creasing with contours before she bends down stiffly to kiss the boy and exchange words with the man and the girl before walking away to leave the bar. Faith stops filming and replays the footage to check the quality. She smiles. It’s perfect.

Relieved, she stands up and stretches her legs, thinking about her next move. She knows she should perhaps leave it at this, but this discovery is too profound, too enormous, and Faith is too skittish, and too impatient…. so she decides that she is going to confront him. She turns to her daughter and commands her to Follow Me!

With her hands trembling a little now, she raises her cell phone again and continues filming the man as she walks towards his table to stand directly in front of him. He looks up sensing a presence. Faith’s cell in his face is the first thing he sees.

What the hell is this? he cries, with a rich American accent, his voice is deep and clear, educated and strangely familiar. His sense of shock soaks his features as Faith lowers her phone. She continues pointing the camera at him, still recording.

You’re Hunter aren’t you…. Hunter Canham God damn it! Saul Capiro was right. He always suspected you were still alive!

She looks closely into his eyes, his pupils clearly expanding at the mere mention of Capiro’s name. Faith glances across his features staring directly at his right ear lobe, which has a pale but clear vertical scar running down the centre to the curved bottom. The man does not answer immediately. His mouth opens a fraction and his body seems to stiffen. After a couple of seconds he slurs a response, Huh? I…. I…. beg your pardon lady?

Hunter…it has to be you…. it’s me… Faith!

The man shakes his head and looks into her hypnotic eyes and then at the stretched fabric of her linen blouse housing her breasts. She latches onto his glance.

Don’t come it with me Hunter. I know you remember me, it’s written all over your face.

He wraps both of his arms around his son’s waist and pulls him tightly against his torso. Faith notices that part of the little finger of his left hand is missing. She’d studied anatomy at University, and it had been severed just below the intermediate phalange. She reflects that they had found a fragment of his finger in the rubble, which helped confirm his DNA identification, and she remembers it as if it were yesterday.

Lady, I…I have no idea who you are and what you’re talking about. Who did you say you were again?

Faith sighs in frustration. He hadn’t changed. Pathological lying was his forte. The astonished Thai girl’s eyes flick from hers to his, clearly wondering what the hell is going on.

Faith Borrett… your ex-girlfriend…. ring any bells?

He says nothing for a few seconds, but she’s certain he recognises her. She can almost see the cogs in his brain scrambling to escape this mess. You must be on drugs or something, honey he shrugs. You can buy some pretty strong shit around here and it sounds as though you’ve hit the jackpot.

You’re supposed to be dead Hunter, or have you risen from the grave or something?

Look, I don’t know what planet you’re from, but you’re mistaking me for someone else.

Blanching, he looks at his Thai girl who was looking more puzzled by the second.. What’s my name, honey?

Woss, she replies, shrugging her shoulders, her long, glistening black hair undulating with the movement.

That’s right… Ross Cooper, he says conceitedly, looking up at Faith and waiting for a response. He’s surprised it doesn’t come immediately, so he makes use of the tiny moment of silence. Yeah, I must remind myself to bring my passport next time I venture out, in case I run into a nutcase like you. Now…. I don’t know who this…what was his name…. um… ‘Hunter’ is, but you’re barking up the wrong damn tree. Good day to you, honey!

He turns and looks away and smiles weakly at his girlfriend, whose eyes are now wide with bewilderment. Faith is bizarrely familiar with the name of Ross Cooper, but on the spur of this particular moment she can’t remember where from.

"Ever the actor, it even sounds like you and by the way… how’s the ear? Remember the fight we had when I caught you out being unfaithful? Hunter’s hand instinctively reaches for and strokes his ear lobe.

I split your ear open with that stupid earing and I’m looking at the scar right now exactly as I remember it.

He lowers his hand, his face becoming a little pinker. God you don’t stop, do you? Skiing accident… 8 years ago…Jesus! Why am I even talking to you?

He puts his son on the floor and delves into his pocket and throws some Baht notes on the table before standing and stretching, trying to look unruffled. Come on Mya let’s get out of here. Let’s leave this stoned woman to go and bother some other unfortunate shmuck.

Faith stabs him in the shoulder with her finger and he glares at her before looking away again.

You want to take a look at something, huh?

He ignores her, but Faith seizes the material of his polo shirt until she forces him to glance her way. From around her neck, she strips down one side of her blouse, the material ripping until it hangs off her arm.

See these! she stresses, pointing to the mutilations across her shoulder. See them!

Hunter tries everything but to look but in the end he remorsefully runs his eyes across the raised scar tissue.

Guess who did this?

He doesn’t answer.

Your buddy Saul Capiro. Yeah, I’m sure you remember him. He got his gorillas to hold me down and he whipped me like a dog all because of you, you cowardly son of a bitch.

Years before when he was a successful stockbroker on Wall Street, Hunter Canham got himself mixed up with an Underworld Venezuelan Mobster called Saul Capiro. To say that Hunter got into the mobster’s bad books was a gross understatement. After he disappeared, Faith received a visit from Capiro, and in his desperation to find Hunter; he whipped Faith with a horsewhip. The beating was so brutal, it hospitalised her for two weeks.

Hunter’s eyes expand in revulsion, and a culpable expression begins to chalk across his whitening face.

Gross aren’t they? These scars are almost ten years old and look at them. I’ll have them for the rest of my life, and you know something? I don’t even blame that grubby mobster Capiro…I blame you. YOU gave me these scars do you understand?

Hunter tries to gather his family together to escape, but Faith clasps his shirt again. Did you hear me? She was shouting now. I BLAME YOU, YOU FOR THIS YOU BASTARD!

Hunter glances around the bar, all conversations had stopped and all the bars’ customers were now staring at him.

He says nothing but motions to his girlfriend with his eyes to collect her bag. Leaving their unfinished drinks, he grabs his son’s hand and they begin walking quickly away.

Go on run away again you weakling. I’ve got you on film. There are a lot of people who’d be very interested in what I’ve got. She shouts after him.

Faith now knows it is pointless to continue her denunciation, as his defences were on red alert. Stepping around another table to leave the bar he looks back, his stern eyes meet Faith’s before he notices and stares at Faith’s little girl Sapphire for the first time, who had been cowering behind her mother.

Apart from shaking a little, Faith had felt reasonably composed during the impassioned conversation with the man she remembers as Hunter, her ex-boyfriend, and the only man she’d ever truly loved. But now that he’d left the bar, the enormity of what had just happened almost floors her. Her legs suddenly feel flaccid and she becomes overcome with emotion. She flops on the seat the man was sitting at, feeling feint and draping the tattered material of her blouse back over her shoulder. She looks up and catches the shocked expression on her daughter’s face realising that all the bars patrons’ eyes were still on her.

What’s wrong mommy? asks Sapphire.

Just sit down, honey. I just feel a bit hot. Let’s get a drink here.

Sapphire moves around her mother’s legs and sits where the young Thai girl was sitting.

Who was that man? the little girl asks.

I’ll explain later OK? replies Faith, waving her daughter’s questions away with a sweep of her limp hand.

Did that man really give you your scars?

Kind of…in an indirect way. You know what, this is a conversation we’ll have when you’re a bit older maybe, alright?

But Mom, did he…

When you’re older! Did you hear what I said? she scolds

A waiter appears tentatively at the table and stares at Faith. She could tell he was staring at her ripped blouse and was trying to locate the scars hidden beneath it with his eyes. He’d obviously heard the complete face off between her and Hunter. The waiter collects the drinks the man and his girlfriend had left behind. Fresh ones are ordered, and after a few minutes of deflecting further questions from her daughter Faith begins to feel better, but she is not going to leave it like this, certainly not after all those years. She places her right hand along the top of her neck and over her left shoulder again. She’s sure she can feel the scar tissue has increased in size, and were raised more than ever before. Her mind races back to that harrowing, tormenting time. To the time of the beatings and the torture she endured from that disgusting mobster armed with that horsewhip. She thought she was going to be raped and maybe even killed, and killed slowly. The nightmares since have never stopped, and they probably never will.

Faith looks at her daughter and fakes a smile…. Sapphire has the same muddy green eyes and prominent brows, another damn reminder of Hunter son of a bitch Canham. The atmosphere in the bar was almost returning back to normal now with the rubberneckers and whisperers turning away and continuing their own conversations again. There were now more people than she could remember, and the music wasn’t as loud as it was now. A famous track from the Beatles that she can’t name spills from the speakers located above their heads, and a sign above the bar reads ‘HAPPY HOUR 3 -5’. She looks down at her watch; it was 3.40 in the afternoon… where had the time gone? Faith spots the waiter who spoke to Hunter earlier. He was gripping the edge of a cork tray whilst deviating skilfully between the tables. He was tall for a Thai, about six feet and handsome with a modern hairstyle. Faith waves her arms, forces a grin and motions him over .He glides across, smiles and bends down expecting an order for more drinks.

Oh hi… um…. there was a man sitting here earlier, I saw you speaking with him.

You mean Woss?

Faith leans forwards towards him gripping her icy glass. Why yes, that’s him.

I been on break. Surprised he leave early today, normally stays for full happy hour, two hours very drunk ha ha.

The waiter appears not to have witnessed the scene, as he mimics a person falling over and laughs as Faith places her hand on his bare arm. Look, I’m an old friend. I didn’t really have a chance to say hello to him. Do you know where I could find him?

The waiter smiles broadly, producing matching dimples on either side of his lips.

Oh Woss easy find… he here maybe three, four times week or at Bar Sanctum along road 100 metres. Happy hour there tomorrow, four o’clock, he there when happy hour there, and here when happy hour here, yes?

Tomorrow umm?

Yes, or you find him at house.

Faith’s eyes expand in circumference. At his house you say?

Sure, he lives big house near river, Mantichai Park.

I’m sorry could you repeat that?

Mantichai Park, Phra Atthit, good parties. Lots girls, gweat music, Beatles, Lolling Stones.

Hold, just for a second will you, I just need to….

Faith scrambles around in her bag for a pen. Hunter loved the Beatles and the Stones.

Here lady use mine, the waiter says, placing his notebook and pen on the table in front of her.

OK lady, I speak, you wite. he laughs, finding the scenario quite comical.

Yes… I will… thank you, and what’s your name? I forgot to ask… it’s very rude of me.

Call me Mick, I love Stones.

Faith can’t believe her luck, and when ‘Mick’ the waiter leaves the table, she slaps her street map of Bangkok on the surface and stretches her eyes across the broadsheet to pinpoint where she thinks his house might be. Mother and daughter drink up and leave for Mantichai Park after Faith convinces Sapphire that a walk to the river would be good exercise, and that the temperature has dropped considerably – it hadn’t, it had risen if anything.

They amble along a dusty road filled with strewn garbage, dog faeces and cigarette butts, and large flies drone and dive-bomb them continuously.

Mommy it’s boiling, you said it was cooler!

Well it is a bit honey, you just haven’t noticed it. Faith replies blandly, still consulting her map. We’ll be there soon. It’s just over this road around the corner.

The choking Bangkok traffic builds up at a main intersection at Phra Arthit. The old, noisy vehicles minus any form of poisonous exhaust reduction or catalytic convertors rev and snarl at the traffic lights, vomiting out their sulphur dioxide and nitrogen oxide gases. Sapphire coughs and wheezes a little as Faith clasps her arm and runs across the road at the green light signal for pedestrians. The heat seemed even more intense than earlier in the day, and beads of grimy sweat trickle off both bodies. Pushing their way past the never-ending stream of screaming motorbikes and tuk-tuks, they have to kick away the many stray bits of litter and detritus that seem to envelope the dusty sidewalk. Looking up, she notices that dangerous electrical cabling and wires dangle just above them attached to signs and some of the lower roofs of the buildings. If she was taller and stretched on her tiptoes, she could almost touch them.

Eventually, they stop and end up standing in front of a tall, ominous iron gate. It had been painted a striking green and was damaged on one side as if a car had hit it or had reversed into it with small spots of rust appearing within the bent joints. Both immediately get a strong whiff of another open sewer just a few metres away, and it makes Faith gag, so she steps away from it and covers her nose with her fingers. A robust nine-foot, dry stonewall encircles the property. To the right of one side, was the perimeter of Mantichai Park. Faith removes a tissue from her bag and dabs the sweat off her forehead, folding it over to a dryer side to repeat the process with Sapphire.

Looking through the bars of the gate, a lightly shingled pathway winds its way up through some Ficus Pumila and Beaumontia plants. The garden hadn’t really been tended, but looked naturally feral, which suited the slightly overgrown aesthetic. The house or villa itself was not visible from the road, as there was too much tall vegetation, and she imagines that Hunter probably wants it that way. The Iron Gate was attached to a couple of two-foot wide pillars and the stone had crumbled away from the corners of both. Five feet up on the right pillar was an electric bell made out of copper, and this is contained within a faded marble housing. Faith stares at it for a several seconds, and then almost out of reflex presses the button. Nothing happens, so she waits and presses it again, and then again. No-one answers, so she curses before hearing a feint, crackly female voice from a small speaker located a foot away from the bell hidden behind some leaves.

H…Hello can I speak with um…. Ross, please?

Woss not here, he out. The woman clearly sounds Thai.

When will he be ba…

A harsh clang tells Faith that she’s been hung up on.

God damn it, don’t these people have any manners?

Faith sighs, and then her eyes stray to the top of the gate discovering what she thinks is a concealed CCTV camera pointing directly at them. It is painted green and badly camouflaged sitting at the very top extremity of the gate and is surrounded by overhanging leaves. It wasn’t disguised very well, but one thing was for sure, this man definitely wanted to remain anonymous. Sapphire tugs at her mother’s skirt. "Can we go back to the hotel now,