An hour later she overhead a rustle in the hallway. She rose from the bed and quietly stepped toward the door. When the noise subsided, she unlocked the door and peeked outside. No one. She stepped into the hallway, in the darkness, the eyes in the Cossack portraits upon her.

“Nast…Shelby,” he called to her from the shadows.

Peering around the corner she saw him, standing alone in the living room, wearing a silk, brocade house coat. “I just heard a noise,” she responded.

“Hedeon and Taras,” he said, reaching out his hand. “Come. Join me.”

Reluctantly, she followed Apostol to the patio. The moon hung full over the mountains, and the stars sparkled. A cool, yet comforting breeze of fresh air invigorated her senses. A tea setting rested on a table between two chairs. She sat down beside him and let her gaze trail off to the horizon.
He prepared her a cup of tea and handed it to her. “Beautiful view, even at night.”

“Yes. Have you lived here a long time?” she asked.

“Since the dissolution. This house used to belong to my family before the Communists took over. It was abandoned for many years, until the Nazis inhabited this region during the war. I officially acquired it after gaining my PhD. It took a lot to restore—cracks in the foundation, decayed wood, rodents and bullet holes from battles, but look at it now. It’s like brand new. This is what I mean by destruction and decay. It’s sometimes a necessity for change.”

“Well it certainly is a beautiful estate,” she said. “The argument between you and my father during the symposium, I sense bad blood.”

“Bad blood, interesting words. There is no such thing as bad blood, just memory embedded in the DNA. One thing I don’t understand about Morehead is the Scots used to be a rebellious lot, now he seems to be bending to those in power. He gives them what they want.”

“And what do they want?” Shelby asked.

“Ultimate control of the mass population.” He sipped his tea. “Let me explain it this way. Corporations control governments and governments control people. The Industrial Revolution, despite all its innovations and comforts has destroyed the fabric of society, namely the environment. Now, in order for survival the human genome needs to be altered, and alter the ecology in order to sustain life on planet, which is becoming inhabitable. Instead of curing the globe’s problem of mass commerciality and consumption, corporations with their scientists in their pockets are genetically modifying our food. Do you think that is the right answer? I don’t. I believe in revolutionizing the way we live.” He twisted in his seat, deeply engaged in his own theory. “You see, we can genetically alter our physical nature, or we can alter our mental and emotional nature. Altering the human genome physically will change the ecology of the world, alter our mental condition, we can fit within the ecology God gave us.”

Shelby sipped her tea. Apostol’s words gave her pause. “I can understand, but does that give a reason for violence and insurrection?”

“The question here is: what is the true crime? Who really is the enemy?”

She set her teacup on the table. “I’m a simple doll maker. The troubles of the world are beyond my scope.
All I’m interested in is finding my daughter.”

“Is that all you’re interested in?” he asked.

“What else would there be?”

He nodded and drank his tea. “I hear you have an interesting doll collection. Tell me more about it.”

“I’d honestly like to talk about my daughter.”

“Amelia. Beautiful name. She reminds of a sprite. Quite magical.” He admired Shelby. “She’s a lot like you. Strong, inquisitive…trusting.”

“Trusting?”

“Yes. You’re concerned, and desperately want to be reunited, but I don’t see fear in your eyes. You’re here, but not climbing the walls to find her. You are engaging with your clan, not wanting to antagonize, but you’re also curious.”

“You’re right about one thing. I desperately want to be reunited with my daughter.”

“And you will be. Trust and faith.”

“I’m tired,” she said, rising from her seat. “I want to thank you for your hospitality and enlightening conversation, but honestly it’s been a lot for me to digest.”

“I understand,” he replied with a smile. “Have a good sleep. And you shall be reunited with your daughter. In the meantime, trust your clan.”

“Right,” She replied allowing Apostol to hear the sarcasm in her voice.

She headed back inside the house, down the hallway filled with her ancestors. Upon returning to her bedroom, she closed and locked the door, hardly the night she anticipated.

Earl lay awake with Andy’s arm draped across his chest. He stared through the slight opening of the curtains where the lights of Hollywood faded to darkness. All was quiet.
 
Andy played with his dog tags. She lifted her chin on his shoulder. “What are you thinking?”
 
“That I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world,” he said.
 
“Me neither. This is nice.” She paused. “I sometimes get myself in trouble when I get real lonely. I remember the words of this movie once, ‘Never underestimate the kindness of strangers.’ I can attest that strangers are not always kind.” Andy propped her head on her palm and admired Earl, his earnest gray eyes and dark shaggy hair. She traced her finger along his mustache. “What about you? You seem like a loner like me. Were you a born loner or did it come with life?” Earl shifted his eyes to her. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, but I want to know you better,” she said.
 
Staring into her eyes he knew without a doubt she was something special. She could be his home. “Their names were Harry and Brice. They called Harry, Hank. He was a short freckle-faced kid from Alabama. Brice was an all-star pretty-boy from Huntington Beach. They were the weapons officers, and I was the pilot. My job was to not get shot down. I failed.”
 
Andy wiped his tears. “That sounds like a real tough job. I’m not sure many people can succeed let alone fly a plane.”
 
“I killed them and yet I somehow survived,” he cried.
 
Words of condolence came to her lips, but she did not let them escape. She instinctively knew he needed to come out of this alone. She simply smiled and remained silent holding him.
 
“And you know what the worst part was?” he asked wiping his tears.
 
“What?” Andy asked sweetly.
 
“When I finally returned to the States I found out the Beatles broke up. I mean what kind of shit is that?” he replied with a grin.
 
Andy stared at him and laughed. “Yes, that was indeed tragic.”
           
            Earl propped himself up on his elbow and brushed back Andy’s hair. “I knew when I got back everything had changed. Nothing would ever be the same again with me, the country and the world. The age of love had ended and now we are left with a void.”
 
“That’s funny coming from a military man. Most I met were not familiar with the word love, just a lot of anger.” Andy rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “Are soldiers born killers or is it instilled in them?”
 
“Training. You can’t be a bleeding heart when you’re sent to kill people. The love has got to end and if it doesn’t, that love will kill you and you will be haunted your entire life.”
 
“Why did you go?” she asked.
 
The reasons were not clear, but from what Earl could remember the reasons blended—duty, responsibility and the draft but then it came to him clearly. “I love to fly. I am a pilot or was a pilot.”
 
“You could have flown anywhere why Vietnam?” she asked.
 
“Yeah, I could have been a commercial pilot, maybe a crop duster or one of those guys that flies banners and writes ‘I love you’ in the sky,” Earl replied with a laugh. “I think it was the Phantom-4. It is an amazing plane and the power in that engine is incredible. There is something about soaring in the blue sky but the best was flying at night and being up there with the stars. They were always there to guide me and the constellations became my friends—Orion, the Dippers, Pegasus and my love Andromeda. I suppose I grew oblivious to what was happening on Earth, which is ironic since I am now stuck here.”
 
“What are you going to do now?” she asked.
 
“If I can’t live in the sky, I chose the edge of civilization. Whenever I got close to the center, I retreated back to the edge.” He turned to her and caressed her face and hair. “People on their own are good, humanity has a lot to be desired.”
 
Andy laughed. “For me it’s always been the opposite. I find people to be cruel. There is safety in numbers.” She paused. “Isn’t it great we found each other? We can bring each other back to middle ground.” She paused. “If of course you want.”
 
Earl had lived in isolation for some time giving up on ever finding his home and a place he belonged. The idea of living with another frightened him, but then if he were to come out let it be with a beautiful woman. “Of course.”

Natalie led Andy to a back room. She had seen some crazy shit doing LSD and mushrooms in her hippie Berkley and Haight Ashbury days, but she couldn’t begin to fathom the décor in Natalie’s room—crystal balls, bottles of potions, charms and talismans of all kinds.
 
“Honey, have a seat,” Natalie said directing Andy to a plush parlor chair.
 
Andy sat uncomfortable awaiting her fate. “I’m looking for—”
 
Natalie sat opposite her and took Andy’s hands in hers. “Don’t speak. Don’t ask me any questions. It disturbs my vision.” She sensed Andy’s confusion. “We often ask questions when the answers are already within us. When we start asking questions and not trusting our inner answers, we stray off path.” She gazed deeply into Andy’s eyes as if trying to see her soul. “Very interesting.”
 
“What?” Andy asked. “What do you see?”
 
“I see you are searching for someone who is lost, but they cannot be found until you discover yourself,” she said.
 
“Huh?” Andy grunted.
 
Natalie smiled sweetly. “Love is not to be hunted like a wild animal. You can’t expect to track it down and keep it in a cage for your desire. Love will only come to you once you are truly ready to receive it.”
 
“But—” Andy sighed.
 
“There are no buts. They only exist when we doubt our journey.” Natalie sat back and gazed deeply into Andy’s eyes. “My dear, you are very fortunate. Your angels have awarded a choice.”
 
Andy chuckled. “I have angels? No, just little imps making my life a complete joke.”
 
“We all have angels here to help us get through life.”
 
“Okay then, what kind of choices are they awarding me?”
 
“To take the journey closest to your heart. It will be challenging, but ultimately will be greatly fulfilling, or you can take the path society deems appropriate and live in mild contentment.”
 
“That’s it? That’s my fortune—a choice?” Andy questioned.
 
“You should feel fortunate. Many in this life do not get choices. Many have their lives dictated to them by family, friends and even society. They are not free to live as they choose. You, my dear have that great fortune. It really is a blessing.”
 
“But what about—” Andy asked.
 
“Study the stars. Your answers are there.”
 
“What? Astrology?  He’s a Sagittarius.”
 
Natalie laughed.
 
“You’re laughing at me. I am paying for answers, not choices.”
 
“Sweetheart, if I were to give you answers I would be doing you a great disservice. Make your choice. Live your life either in association with your heart or society.”
 
“Live my life with my heart or society? Why not both? I don’t understand.”
 
Natalie smiled. “Follow your heart.”
 
“Can you tell me at least one thing? Is he still alive?” Andy asked.
 
Natalie placed her hand on Andy’s shoulder. “If he wasn’t, you wouldn’t be offered the gift of choice.”
 
Andy bit her lip and nodded. She stalked out of the back room toward Alisha. “Well, that was a load of crap,” she whispered and headed out the door.

As Alisha and Jayson's wedding celebration carried on under a large white canopy, Andy stepped away to admire the stars. She found a seat alone and sipped her champagne. She didn’t want to expose her personal misery to the wedding guests.
 
“Hello,” a voice said.
 
“Earl,” she replied and turned. It was Jayson. “I swear you sound exactly like Earl.” She covered her chest. “It freaks me out.”
 
“Sorry,” he said taking a seat beside her. “How are you holding up?”
 
“This isn't about me. It's about you and Alisha,” she said.
 
He held her hand in his. “It's about all of us. You are family.”
 
“Well, if you must know, today was hard and I'm upset for being selfish. I should be here for Alisha, but I’m with a man I lost ten years ago.”
 
“Marriage is more than just a ceremony and a ring. It is a pledge two people make to one another. You and Earl, who I do hope to meet one day, are already married under the stars. You belong to one another,” he said.
 
Andy chuckled and wiped tears from her eyes. “Man, you are special. You know exactly what to say. Alisha is very lucky.”
 
“I do have a confession. Years ago, when I asked you to lunch, it wasn't because of Alisha. I was interested in you. I remember you introduced yourself as lost. I realized you weren’t lost; you were searching. The rest of us were lost. You had this shine about you. Your soul was shining through. When I learned of Earl, I realized it was because of him, because of love. I knew then you were not for me.”
 
Andy sat back in her seat and watched him carefully.
 
Jayson squeezed her hand lightly. “Alisha, although beautiful, was not radiating, not yet anyway. The more time I spent with her, I began to see her soul and I knew yes, she was the one. Your light and love provided me a direction I may not have seen otherwise. I thank you for loving Earl. I thank him, wherever he is, for consuming you and allowing me the freedom to find my true love. You and Earl are an inspiration and you don't even know it.” He put his hand out for Andy. “Come back to the party. It is not the same without you.” He grinned. “Besides, Jake looks a little lost without a dance partner.”
 
Andy smiled through her tears. “Wait,” she said and gave him a hug. “Thanks.”
 
She and Jayson strolled back to the ceremony hand-in-hand. Alisha greeted her with a warm, understanding smile. Andy gazed around at her friends and the guests at Alisha’s wedding. Everyone searches so hard for love, when love is all around.
 
Jake strode through the crowd and took Andy’s hand. He had become a true and trusted friend. She wished she had the romantic love in her heart to give him, but she didn’t. She would be fooling herself and him. It wasn’t fair to either of them. Instead, they loved and danced as friends under the bright desert stars.

Models strode across a hardwood floor decorated with bloody glass shards, rubble and charred bits of metal, their faces painted with white makeup and eyes darkened for a ghastly appearance of death. Once again, Martin presented the lineup to Milo, who watched with the same dim expression. “Chaos, destruction! Feeeel the drama!”
 
A lifeless model swayed before Milo in a lace dress beaded with gravel. Martin continued his presentation, “Here is Tiffany in what I like to call, Death to the Adorned.” It represents the contradiction between beauty and destruction. Her dress is made of the finest Chantilly lace from France, beaded with rubble from the recently destroyed Taj Mahal, flown in specially today.”
 
Milo forced a grin with his hard leather face and waved his approval.
 
Martin gestured for another model. “Next is Bianca, blazing in a daring silk dress singed to her panties. Ooh, la, la! She wears straps of bullets that cross over her breasts and scream: Stop! Don’t go there!”
 
Suddenly, Venetia burst through the door, looking like a wreck in her wild curls and jeans. “Stop don’t come in here!” yelled Martin.
 
“I need to talk to someone!” cried Venetia.
 
“You quit, remember, and therefore you are trespassing,” replied Martin.
 
Venetia stared at a model wearing a red-stained and burnt wedding dress. “What is that?”
 
Martin pushed Venetia toward the door. “That is art. Art is decay, decay is art. It is the latest trend.”
 
“You’re celebrating death and decay? Martin, how could you?” asked Venetia. “You should be celebrating life.”
 
Martin squared Venetia’s shoulders. “That is the problem with you Venetia, you never understood fashion. It’s about what’s hip, what’s here, what’s now. We gotta jump on this destruction thing before anyone else or else it will be too late!” He shoved her out the door. “Now run along and celebrate life elsewhere.” Turning to Milo with an apologetic grin, he introduced the next model, “And now Cindy Lou, show us Shrapnel City!”

Quarter till eleven, Frieda paced outside Harrods. She kept peering through the crowds waiting for her to appear. Finally, she spotted her striding across the street in her knee-high leather boots, Burberry slacks and wool cape flowing behind her like a super hero. Yes, Jess Banks real-life heroine of romance publishing was meeting her for tea. Frieda smirked as she hugged her bag to her chest.
 
When Jess neared, Frieda stepped toward forcing a friendly smile. “Hi.”
 
Jess gave Frieda kiss on each cheek. “Hey sweetheart. I made reservations. We got a nice quiet table away from all the tourists.”
 
Frieda followed Jess inside the teahouse to a secluded corner table. A plump middle-aged waitress arrived at their table with a giddy grin as if serving tea was her life’s calling. “Good morning ladies. Do you know what you’d like?”
 
“I’ll have the black cardamom tea,” Jess aid with a wink to Frieda. “Your teahouse isn’t being strong-armed by the cardamom cartel?” she joked to the waitress.
 
The waitress scratched her temple. “No. I don’t think so, but I will check with the manager.”  She turned toward Frieda showing unease from Jess’ question.  “And for you, hon?”
 
“I’ll have the same,” Frieda replied.
 
“We have to support your boyfriend’s cause,” Jess said after the waitress walked away.
 
Frieda nodded casually. “Yeah, sure.”
 
“So, how’s the book coming along?” Jess asked getting straight to business.
 
The waitress appeared again at the table with a three-tiered tray of scones and teacakes. “Tea will be right up. And I checked with the manager, we don’t have any issues with the Cardamom Cartel.”
 
“Good to know.,” Jess said reaching for a raspberry scone and took a bite waiting for Frieda’s response on her book.
 
“Honestly, having a little bit of trouble getting started.”
 
“Huh,” Jess said with a sigh. “Yeah, writing is kind of like sex. If you don’t do it often, it begins to feel unnatural and awkward. Once you start doing it over and over again, you remember how wonderful it is.” She smiled at Frieda. “But since you’re dating several lovers, I’d think you’d be able to draw upon some of your experiences.”
 
 
Frieda rested her elbows on the table falling naturally into conversation. “You’d think inspiration is easy, but it’s not.  I have characters to draw from, but what's their story? I'm not sure where to begin. So many themes and plotlines to draw from.”
 
The waitress returned with their tea. Jess squeezed lemon juice from a wedge, added a teaspoon of sugar and a douse of milk. “Well, you know from reading Terrorist Tryst that military eroticism is hot, but I think that trend is fading. No one wants war anymore. Also, rich man, poor girl fantasies are going by the way side. It’s the opposite trend these days.  Women want a hunky farmer to heat up the haystacks. Look at the sign of the times. What to people want now? What do women want?” She looked at Frieda. “As a woman, what do you want?”
 
Frieda studied Jess' face, her serious blue eyes and determined expression. She took a pause to add honey to her tea. “I don't know.”
 
Jess chuckled. “That's why you have three boyfriends.”
 
Frieda sipped her tea. “What do you mean?”
 
“Well, obviously you can’t make up your mind what you want. You’re still in the tasting life mode and haven’t decided on your favorite flavor.,” Jess explained.
 
Frieda gazed down at her tea, watching the clouds of cream blend into a caramel color.
 
And when she looked up, she watched Wilhelm delicately pick up a cucumber tea sandwich and take a bite. “These are delicious.” He paused, contemplating the ingredients. “Is that saffron?” He reached across the table offering a bite of his sandwich. “What do you taste?”
 
Frieda nibbled the edge of the sandwich. “Sage?”
 
He wiped cream cheese from her lip, and then licked it off with his finger. “Yes. I believe you’re right. Sage. I always get the two confused.”
 
Jess waved her teaspoon in front of Freida’s face. “Frieda, hello. Are you there?” Jess asked.
 
“Yeah, yeah. Just thinking,” she muttered.
 
“First rule of writing. Find out what your protagonist wants. I read books from so many authors who fail at truly defining what their character wants. I believe it has to do with the author not knowing what they want. They are unfocused and constantly looking for distraction.”
 
“So true,” Frieda said with a sigh glancing around the dimly lit restaurant, noticing the other patrons deeply engaged in conversation.
 
He gripped the porcelain teacup with both of his big hands, his fingers too thick to grasp the thin handle. He raised it to his lips and took sip.
 
She leaned toward him, admiring his silver-colored eyes sparkle upon tasting the spicy cardamom. Looking beyond him, her entire body became alert. “Watch out!”
 
Sergei reached in his side pocket for his pistol, twisted around to take down the Cardamom Cartel as they infiltrated the teahouse.
 
Patrons took cover under floral-patterned and lace covered tables. Lemon scones and cucumber sandwiches blown to pieces flying across the room. Teacups shattered. It was a massacre of porcelain and tea-stained walls.
 
“Here! Take this,” Sergei whispered, handing her a gun from behind the table they are using for cover.
 
Frieda took the gun. She aimed and shot a fat, greasy-haired man in the chest. Bulls eye. The Cardamom Cartel was kaput.
 
“I think ideas are percolating. I can see your eyes twirling,” Jess said.
 
Frieda chuckled returning her attention to Jess. “Nothing I can use.”
 
Jess lifted an egg salad sandwich from the tray. “Whatever your theme, you need to find an erotic edge, something sexy that will make the most reserved woman want to tear her clothes off.”
 
The rich, exotic sent of jasmine floated throughout the room. The tables and chairs replaced by ornamental pillows. Oil lamps illuminated the romantic setting as lovers cuddled together through the room. A flute and a sitar provided musical ambience.
 
“May I fill your cup?” Jai asked, refilling Frieda’s cup from a silver kettle with an extra- long spout. The tea poured out in a seductive arch.
 
She huddled close to him. “As long as you add your honey.”
 
“I’m always good for extra honey,” he whispered and kissed her check, “honey.”
 
A chill ran down her spine. She blushed in delight of his touch.
 
Jess beckoned her attention. “Am I giving you any ideas? Frieda?” Jess asked beckoning her attention.
 
“Oh yes. Yes! Yes. I think I’m getting it,” she cried out, aroused by her fantasies of Jai..
 
“Good. Now that you’re in the mood, afterward we can do some shopping,” Jess said with a wink.

Alexei and Beatrice quietly walked with the people of Godorah. Ahead on the path was large, neatly groomed bushes. As they grew closer, a sign became visible, which read: Garden of Eden. From the outside they heard laughter and music, welcoming them inside.
 
They passed through an archway of greenery to find an orchard with every kind of fruit imaginable. The people of Godorah mingled between the trees plucking their pleasure from trees – naked.
 
Hesitating at the entrance, Alexei and Beatrice watched others disrobing, leaving their clothing with an attendant. “May I have your attire,” the attendant said pleasantly.
 
Alexei didn’t hesitate. He ripped off his sweater and handed it to the man.
 
“What are you doing?” Beatrice asked.
 
“I’m going to taste the fruit,” he said, unzipping his pants.
 
She covered her eyes, and then quickly peaked at him as he slipped out of his underwear. “You’re seriously doing this? Look how easily you are tempted.”
 
He handed the attendant his underwear and stood naked before her. “When in Godorah…”
 
“Oh my God,” she said with a sigh.
 
“It’s only natural. Come on,” he urged. “Get naked and let’s get some fruit.”
 
Reluctantly, Beatrice removed her top and pants and handed them to the attendant. She paused before removing her bra and panties.  “Oh, what the hell, When in Godorah.” She undressed fully handing over her underwear.
 
“That’s the spirit,” Alexei said taking her hand.
 
Once in the midst of the naked people of Godorah – young, old, and different races – it wasn’t so bad, in fact, it was quite freeing. Beatrice wandered between the trees plucking a fig from one and a pomegranate from another. She bit into the fig and her senses exploded with delightful sweetness, which almost threw her into orgasm. “Oh my god!”
 
“That’s the Godorah Fig. It’s a local favorite,” an older, naked gent said.
 
Beatrice gazed down at his sagging belly and shriveled loins, and beside him was an equally plump and droopy naked elderly woman, sweet in their nude purity. “It is delicious,” she said and noticed the woman carrying a basket full of fruit. “Where do I get a basket?”
 
“Here and there. You come across one laying underneath a tree,” the woman said.
 
Beatrice squeezed her pomegranate in her palm. “Thank you. I’ll keep an eye out. Nice meeting you.” She grazed between the trunks and branches, finding a basket below a peach tree. She bee-lined to pick it up, and when she did, she glanced around to see if there were any spying, judgmental eyes. There were none.
 
With a sense of ease and peace, she meandered around the orchard, picking her pleasures – cherries, guava, mangos, and fruits she never heard of like rambutans, lychee, and jamubticaba, which grows on the trunk of the tree.
 
Alexei peeked around the tree. “Hey, where’d you get the basket?” he asked with an armful of various fruits.
 
“This naked old couple told me about it,” she said, offering him space in her basket.
 
“Thanks,” he unloaded his armful and took the basket from her. “I’ll carry it.”
 
“Seems a bit forbidden, doesn’t it?” she asked. “We’re taking fruit without paying, without giving anything in return.”
 
Alexei crunched into an apple. “The irony is these people would feel selling fruit for profit should be forbidden.”
 
“Look at this,” Beatrice said with a dramatic sway of her arm, “Naked and free. Can’t get this at home, but if I find a snake, we’re out of here,” she said.
 
Holding the basket in one hand, he took her gently by the arm with the other. They walked through the maze of trees tasting many different varieties. Occasionally, they interacted with naked Godorah natives, exchanging fruits and conversation.
 
When their basket was full, they made their way to the exit, finding Bruce and the others waiting. Their mouths gaped open finding Alexei and Beatrice naked. “So, this is what you two do when your friends are in danger?” Melody asked.
 
Alexei offered her fruit. “Wanna piece?”
 
“Dude, I don’t want anything from you,” she exclaimed, spun around and stormed away.
 
“What’s her problem?” Alexei shrugged indifferent as the attendant handed him back his clothing.
 
“Dude, try putting on some pants,” Brian said and abruptly followed after Melody.
 
Soaked in their clothes, Bruce, Anna and Sandeep stared at Alexei and Beatrice, unable to take their eyes off their nakedness and the fruit. “Ah, the fruits of temptation,” Bruce said with a smirk. “We’ll meet you to at the lift back home.”

The train from London to Edinburgh chugged along and within an hour, quaint English suburbs came into view with less hurried crowds. Shelby retrieved a drawing pad from her portfolio and sketched the faces of the waiting passengers. She mused at her schizophrenic-like layout. Faces drawn all over the page in various angles and sizes. This was humanity. It came at all angles and in all sizes. Some drawn faces were large with vibrant expressions, others dull and lifeless.
 
When the train reached the next town, a wave of people disembarked, making way for new passengers. An attractive man headed toward the empty seat beside Shelby. He looked down and smiled just as he was about to sit. “Is this seat taken?”
 
“No,” she replied, watching him take his seat and instantaneously, her mind trailed.
 
He sat down beside her. From the corner of her eye, she saw him take off his brimmed hat and rest it on his lap. She felt his eyes peer down to the ring on her finger and her briefcase by her legs.
“Business?’ he asked in a pleasant voice.
 
“Interview,” she replied, knowing his intention. He was a train traveler, seeking to find dissidents. His friendly demeanor was a dead giveaway.
 
“Oh?” he replied expecting more of a response.
 
“I have an opportunity to travel to Paris,” she said, realizing openness to the man was a better tactic to prove she had nothing to hide.
 
“Ooh la la, is that what they say?” he asked with a chiseled grin.
 
“I guess.”
 
“So, you must be excited?”
 
“No. I will miss my husband terribly. I honestly can’t wait until I go and come home.” She turned toward him and studied his attractive face, deep somber brown eyes, sculpted cheek bones and full lips. “How about you? Do you ride this train often?”
 
“Why yes. Usually earlier in the morning. It’s filled with school children in their crisp white shirts and red neck ties. It’s inspiring to start one’s day surrounded by youth.” He once again trained his gaze upon her. “How about you? Do you have any children?”
 
“Not yet. Still enjoying being married,” she said with a beaming smile.
 
“I guess Paris can’t tempt you?” he asked.
 
“Absolutely not,” she replied.
 
He flapped his hat on his lap, and then waved it to his face, looking around at passengers in the rest of the cabin. “Had a good day, madam.”  He rose from his seat, yet his energy remained continuing her feeling of oppression. It was an invisible force they kept over all the citizens at all times.
 
The man seated next to her felt the cool of her stare. “Is something the matter?”
 
Shelby broke an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, daydreaming. It’s a bad habit.”
 
“Writer?” he asked.
 
“No. Doll maker.”
 
He looked over the myriad of sketched faces on her drawing pad. “You’re quite an artist as well.”
 
“It helps contain the madness lurking within,” she said with a laugh.
 
The man broke a wide grin. “Don’t we all need a little containing of our madness?”
 
With that, Shelby relaxed in the man’s presence. Yes, there was madness all around, inside and outside. Some showed it; others hid it well. Relaxing back against her seat, she watched the English countryside roll past. Scotland, her home, was only a few hours away.

Only once she reached the outside did she stop to breathe. “What am I doing?” She looked down the street, noticing a few cars parked alongside buildings. Otherwise, London was quiet, at least in this neighborhood. “What am I going to do?” she asked herself completely befuddled by her situation – a vivid fantasy life, a stalker, and completely, utterly creatively blocked.
 
She ambled down the street with no particular place to go, a writer in search of a story, which in a sense was crazy because life was a story. Every single day, every single person lives a story, and yet she couldn’t come up with anything.
 
Ahead on the crossroads she came across a bookstore. A sigh of relief overcame her as if finding water in the desert. She was saved. Picking up her footsteps, she made the last few seconds of the flashing walk sign and rushed inside. The smell of books, the aura of intellects revived her. She was reborn.
 
She lingered for a few minutes in the Russian literature section and feeling regenerated she remembered Jess’s suggestion of exploring tantra. Unfortunately, her reality with Jai would not bring about real tantric sex, but she could research the concept.
 
Gingerly, she ran her fingers over the cover a book. So many titles, she wasn’t sure which one to choose and certainly didn’t have the nerve to ask a sales clerk. This is what the internet is for.
 
Just as she turned the corner she spotted that Tim Fields guy seated on a chair reading Jules Verne’s Master of the World. Her breath escaped her as she pressed herself back against the bookshelf. How did he find me? Is he really stalking me?
 
She peeked back around to watch him engrossed in the book, pausing to take a sip of coffee. He didn’t seem to have any awareness she was nearby, as he didn’t look up from his book.
 
Peeking around the corner with her was Sergei. “What’s the plan? Want me to take him out?”
 
 “It’s a book store,” she said. “He’s just relaxing, reading a book.”
 
Sergei strong-armed his way into the aisle of books. “A book he didn’t purchase.”
 
She pulled him back. “Let’s just wait to see what he does.”
 
Hidden behind the bookshelf, they spied Tim analyzing every turn of the page, every raised eyebrow and curl of his smile while he read.
 
“That is one suspicious dude,” Sergei said.
“He’s reading,” Frieda replied resting her cheek of the wood of the bookshelf.
 
“Yeah. Okay,” Sergei said, whipping his Makarov machine gun from around his shoulder sling and aiming it at Tim. “If he makes one move, I’m going to pulverize him.”
 
Finally, Tim checked his watch. He downed his coffee and closed his book. Without a glance in her direction, he rose from his seat and neared the cashier to purchase the book he was reading.
 
 Frieda walked away from her fantasy of Sergei and lingered behind yet another bookshelf, watching Tim intently. Either he had lost all interest, playing some cruel game or didn’t know she was there stalking him, as she assumed he was doing to her.
 
“What kind of man reads Jules Verne?” she asked herself quietly. When Tim had left the store, she purchased a copy of the same book. She had to read the book to find out.
 
Upon arriving home to her flat, she quickly made herself a cup of tea, plopped on the couch and instead of researching tantric sex as Jess’s advice, she delved into Jules Verne, hardly a book to inspire passionate romance, however, as the words on the page drew her in her heart melted to Tim. Her desire was not a hot and steamy one, but one of modest curiosity. Who was Tim Fields?