A Sinner's Sanctum

By Kai Kaan

In the gripping crime novel "A Sinner's Sanctum," Detective Lyonharte is a man tormented by his past. Haunted by the chilling visions of demons and the faces of women he couldn't save, he finds himself on the trail of a ruthless serial killer. The city's underbelly reveals a pattern of murders, each victim a grim echo of Lyonharte's nightmares. As the detective delves deeper into the investigation, he must confront his own demons to stop the killer's macabre dance with death. But in this high-stakes game of cat and mouse, Lyonharte learns that the line between the hunter and the hunted can blur, and the true monster may be closer than he fears.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kai Kaan
• Release date: Apr 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224442683

Book preview

The Boy I

The nineties: just me and my father now and I was barely eight. Dad fixed cars up and the government welfare did the rest. He was a good man, did his best despite his major flaws. In all honesty, dad was all broken inside and I remember the day I finally came to such a realisation.

No one truly knows how a person feels; they don't know the same pain and suffering or even the happiness someone else is feeling unless they feel it themselves- they can't because they aren't that person. But maybe they can come close to it.

I like to think no one really cares, no one actually gives a shit. It is easier to live that way, less hassle and more time for yourself.

It was April; Cry-baby had just been released and everyone loved it. I'd probably never get a chance to see it, only hear about it from the other kids at school. Our flat had two bedrooms: a box and a single, one bathroom and a half kitchen half lounge thing going on. It was annoying to clean and most of the time- it was my duty. I did a decent job for an eight-year-old. I would wipe down the worktops, mop the kitchen and polish the cupboards. I learnt it all from my late mother and I didn't mind joining in when she was alive. I would hit the groceries when we needed stuff, our local shop owner grew acquainted with me and figured out my situation quite fast. He was good to me and helped me when I needed it, but it was always a matter of time before his hands would pull away.

The bills were tricky to pay, I would have to wait for dad to get his cheque from the government, then wait for him to cash it which didn't take long and then I had to grab whatever it said on the letter and a little for food before he spent the rest of it. We were way behind and it wouldn't be long before someone came knocking on the door.

I wasn't doing so well at school on account of everything and they had tried on numerous occasions to contact my father. They could only write as we didn't have a phone but I'm sure one of my teachers would show up and demand answers. I was always trying to keep him a secret. They would demand I call him in so they could talk and my excuses were wearing thin. The head teacher once threatened me and said she would talk to the 'appropriate authorities' if Dad didn't come in. I tried really hard that month to improve my grades and successfully slipped back under the radar- that was quite a stressful month, more so than usual. I would use my break time to do homework, go over lessons on the bus home and test myself over and over.

In all fairness once I had caught up with school it became easy, Dad used to credit my mother for such a thing and it always made me smile. The problem was that he used to credit everything to my mum.

You be more like her you hear? Don't be a deadbeat like your old man here, was his famous line.

Dad was never in when I came home from school, I would always check his room regardless, it was the first part of my routine. After that I would eat a piece of toast, sometimes I would treat myself by spreading some butter or jam, but I had to ration it, dad would come and eat some too but without the rationing. I would drink some milk which I used to save from school. I always got my homework out of the way before dad came home just in case he needed looking after.

One night when I needed looking after, Dad came home in a full sweat. I asked what happened and he told me not to worry walking off to his bedroom. I ran up behind him and knocked on the door.

Dad, you okay? Do you want some water? I made you a sandwich?

He didn't reply so I left him and carried on with some homework.

An hour later, he was still roomed up and that was never a good thing. I was about to go check on him till there was a knock on the door. I wasn't really allowed to open the door but this person kept knocking and I was scared they'd break the door down.

Hello? It was two men, a little younger than my dad.

Son, where's your father?

I don't know, he was supposed to be home now. Are you the police? That was the good thing about being eight years old, most people didn't know what you were capable of.

Okay well, when he comes around you tell him Davis wants a word. Dad probably owed them money. I wish he would have learnt his lesson by now.

They left and I found myself at dad's door knocking again. He wouldn't answer so I forced myself in and found him on the bed with a needle in his arm. I took it out, rushed over to the bathroom and took out the medical kit I bought a few weeks earlier. I dabbed on some antiseptic and plastered him up. I tried waking him up but he was out for the night.

Someone was knocking on the door again, as aggressive as the last time.

Who is it? I shouted out of fear.

No reply.

They wouldn't stop so I opened up.

It was the same duo as last time and they weren't kidding around this time. One of them threw me away from the door really hard. My back hurt and I started crying. They barged in like they owned the place, one went towards dad's bedroom and the other came up to me.

Why are you crying you little shit? Didn't your dead mother teach you it's bad to lie, that lying gets you in trouble? His hand was around my throat and I began to choke. God damn it, kid, you're making my hand all wet, he said with a certain perverted satisfaction as he finally let go. I had pissed myself.

You piece of shit! The other guy was dragging dad out by the leg. Dad's face was bleeding, he was awake and struggling but to no avail, This should sober you up, he said slamming a fist into dad's stomach. Dad was coughing his lungs out as he looked in my direction- I don't know if he saw me but all I could see was something that needed fixing.

That wasn't the first time it had gotten so bad and I was now terrified of opening that door. Dad would tell me not worry but after that, I didn't have much faith in him.

He picked himself up after a while and limped over to me. He was a bloody mess and it just scared me more. I remember thinking about how it was a bad dream and I'd wake up on the sofa with the TV on. But his bloodied nose splashed away on my face. I couldn't speak as he stroked my cheek and told me not to worry.

Dad had this thing where once he hit a peak he would find the courage or realisation to think about changing his ways for a while. This was one of those times.

The next day, dad was awake before me, he'd even made me breakfast and a sandwich for school.

How's it going son?

I'm good dad, thanks for breakfast.

No worries, kids gotta eat right?

What are you doing today? What are your plans?

Umm well I got a few jobs in the garage to do, was thinking of looking at some other job prospects, he smiled over enthusiastically.

Okay, good luck dad.

Think I'm going to need it. He looked away this time.

Dad, you okay?

I'm just really sorry son. Tears began to stroll down his cheeks, it's just, I just... he couldn't bring himself to talk so I nudged closer to him. I just can't pick myself up you know, your mother, she was the glue to all of this right? He began pointing at random things and his face was all scrunched up like a plastic bag.

I know dad, but you'll do okay, right? Go to that rehab place, get back into selling cars instead of fixing them, that's what Mum would say, wouldn't she? I only said that because I could literally see her sitting there on the other side of the table saying those exact words. I felt like crying too but I had to be strong for dad. Only one of us was allowed to be broken at one time.

Wow, what a kid eh? he said gesturing for a hug, I embraced him.

I left for school that day half expecting to come home to a drugged-up dad again. But to my surprise, he was waiting for me at the school gates. I was ecstatic when I spotted him; if I had any friends I would've pointed him out to them.

Roger gave me my job back today, I start next week, that's good news, right? He smiled as we rode the bus back home.

That's great news dad. I smiled back up at him.

And uh, well I went to a meeting today, he said with air quotes.

Okay, well keep it up dad, you got this.

He chuckled till we got home.

Dad looked pretty good considering he had been beaten up pretty bad. He had showered and shaved, he wore a blue shirt with beige trousers, he could've combed his hair but he just put his black cap over it.

A week later and it was time for him to get back to work. Roger was a close friend otherwise there was no way he could've got that job back. He was always late and sometimes his mood swings would scare the customers away. But Roger was there for him, told him to take time off so he could heal and gather himself together. I remember him coming around one night and discussing it all with him. I also remember dad flipping him off and telling him he didn't need any ‘fucking’ handouts.

Well? I look good, right? he asked looking in the mirror, he had a huge smile on his face. I nodded in agreement while I packed for school and he patted my head. Then there was a knock on the door. It was loud like last time. I froze with fear and clung to dad.

It's okay buddy, I'll get it. He patted my back this time, I liked it because it made me feel safe.

He went downstairs and to my relief, it was the mailman with a medium size packaged that dad signed for.

Now what do we have here? he said handing me the package.

Dad?

Open it

I tore it open like my life depended on it.

Well, did I do good? he asked smiling; all I could do was hug him.

Thank you, dad, I love it. It was a Power Rangers backpack.

It's all I hear in the morning and that backpack of yours is older than you, he chuckled.

I didn't waste any time in swapping everything over; we took the bus together since it was on the way to work as well. I remember not being able to stop smiling that day.

The Detective I

He stared at himself in the mirror whilst brushing his teeth with severe monotony. The paste foaming out of his mouth and seeping into his rugged brown beard as he repeated the motions back and forth. Sometimes he would spit and some blood would mix in as it splattered across his sink. Sometimes he imagined all the victims he couldn’t rescue calling out his name behind him, wondering if they would all show up in the mirror as he rose up, but they never did. The funny thing was that they never knew his name, that made him smile.

Spitting the toothpaste, he took one final glance at himself, washed his face, pushed his dark brown hair all the way back revealing his lightly tanned complexion and headed to the kitchen for his routine cup of tea and buttered toast.

He always ate breakfast in a sombre white vest that was part of a five pack and branded boxer shorts whilst reading the news on his MacBook. Sometimes he would just use his phone but it was upstairs and the MacBook was already on the table from last night. He had just signed up to some Netflix and was overwhelmed on what to watch. But it always boiled down to those British detective shows that were as grimy as him.

He loved how easy they all made it seem, that the killer was around the corner and somehow managed to slip up. If only they knew, but then that wouldn’t make good television, it would be horrible.

The law wasn’t as smart as the real criminals, the resources and politics always got in the way, but that was all in the name of being civil and above those that get captured. It was all bullshit to him; he had let too many killers go because they were ‘innocent’. Innocent to the fact that the law wasn’t going to help him, that the evidence lied on occasion. He had probably put away a few innocent men, not good law-abiding men, but men who didn’t actually go as far as the evidence told him they did. He used to tell the truth in court, like the oath was some kind of invisible shield of righteousness.

He went back to his room and took out one of his many pristine white cotton shirts and wore it like armour. He chose a red tie and dice cufflinks to match. The trousers were black and the mac he would wear was navy. The detective applied some moisturiser to his face, sprayed himself with an overpriced aftershave and then slapped his right cheek hard enough that his face shook upon impact.

The Detective went to the lounge and sat down on his grey suede sofa and stared at the coffee table. It was a darker grey than the sofa and the transparent wrap he had stuck on was beginning to peel; it irritated him but not enough for him to do something about it. He fixed his eyes on the drawer underneath the table for a moment before deciding to open it. It screeched a little and even though he had opened it fully, it never felt like it was.

He looked around to make sure his blinds were drawn then reached inside the drawer to pick up the Glock. The gun should’ve been in evidence instead of his drawer but he never logged it.

He thought for a moment, even though he had seen the gun so many times whilst he sat on the sofa, he still couldn’t help looking at it from every angle his hand could muster, he brought it close to his nose and sniffed it like a line of coke. The metallic smell, mixed with a little gun powder filled his nose, he let out a sigh and sat back.

The gun was loaded, he checked again but knew it was and proceeded to raise it against his temple.

The Detective could feel his heart racing as the barrel touched his skin, the sudden cold caused his spine to shudder causing the gun to pull away a little. He wanted to ignore the fear that was coursing through his whole body, creeping up on him and then laughing at how ridiculous it all was.

A tear escaped his left eye as he pressed the barrel further into his temple, he was full of anger but more so sadness.

Just like before all the victims he couldn’t save began to appear in front of him. This was not a daisy picture, a fond memory, no it was photos of faces either covered in blood or mutilated, this was lifeless souls wandering, some with hands missing and others with no bodies at all.

His failure haunted him and it ate through him until he couldn’t take it anymore.

The trigger called out to him, ‘I’ll end your pain, I’ll take it away’, as he began to press against it.

I’m sorry, he sobbed over and over.

He squeezed the trigger harder and harder till he could feel the barrel moving.

He hesitated for a moment and then pressed down fully on the trigger.

Nothing happened, the click could be heard, the metal striking against metal but the chaos that ensued was missing.

Fucking jammed. He ejected the cartridge and placed it against his temple once more.

This time was different, he had already focused all his energy into the first try and everyone had left.

The gun was back in the drawer and The Detective had left too.

The sky was grey and the rain pattered lightly on his mac as he walked towards his car. It was too wet to light up his cigarette so he did it in the car instead. His drive to work was everything, the quiet behind closed windows, the radio playing Hip-hop and his private thoughts. He didn’t really like smoking in the car; a window would have to be opened spoiling his silence, but it was minor sacrifice and he didn’t even notice it, he just turned up the beat to overcompensate.

Once there was an accident with a few cars in front and the commotion had ruined his drive to work. He did things he wasn’t too proud of that day.

There was always some jolly bastard outside the station, a real morning person. It gave him great pleasure to completely blank any greeting given. Sometimes he would seduce this morning person for a greeting just so he could truly feel the pleasure of ignoring it.

Inside the halogen bulbs buzzed away like that annoying wasp who would stay inches away from the face until killed.

Detective? He hated being approached as soon as he sat down, let alone just come into work.

You mean me? he said with a satirical confused expression.

Ah, yes sir, I was talking to you.

It’s just that you said Detective and, he looked back at the room, last time I checked this room was full of them.

Sorry I just didn’t know your-

What’s up? Do you need something from me?

There’s been a murder, you should have the location on your phone.

Well that’s a surprise, he said getting ready to go.

Umm sir?

Yes?

Just for future reference, what should I call you?

Detective’s fine. He smirked leaving the young man confused.

The Detective didn’t say ‘thank you’ or ‘okay’, he just checked his phone then put it away. It started vibrating as he stood up so he answered it.

Are you coming? It was Skylar.

You just sent me the location, I’m not Superman.

Okay, hurry it up, the press has caught wind, she hung up impervious to his sarcasm.

Are you new, I don't recognise you? he asked the young man.

Yes sir, moved over from Wales, the names Loan, you can call me John, he stuck out his hand but the Detective never reciprocated.

Okay Loan, come with me.

The word murder bounced around his head all the way there. No matter how many times he would hear it, those letters always had the same effect.

Next to him in the passenger’s seat sat a horned demon, it’s skin black and charred. Horns protruding away from it and its teeth covered in somebody’s blood. It sniggered and mouthed the word murder before disappearing. He stared at it even as it faded away.

You okay? Loan was sitting in the back, Detective’s orders.

He lit up another cigarette and turned the music up.

Ah, old school Hip-hop sir?

Loan, stop calling me sir! It’s starting to freak me out.

Oh, sorry.

Hip-hop is the best.

You know I honestly think Hip-hop is dead.

Loan, it died a long time ago, doesn’t take a detective to work that one out. Loan didn’t reply.

Looking out the window he couldn’t see anything, it was always a blur and that was just how he lived, how he wanted to live. He would say it was the only way to do the job.

The two of them stayed silent for most of the journey but in the end, Loan had to say something; he found the silence unnerving.

What do you listen to?

Umm..

Don’t say everything, don't you fucking dare.

I like Hip-hop.

Apart from that.

Rock I guess.

I want names man, give me names.

Red hot, Nirvana, Seether.

Seether?

Yes, why not?

No one I’ve ever met has heard of Seether, he turned his head back to show he was impressed.

They are big in Wales.

So how come you’re here?

I’ve been trying to get out here for ages.

Yeah?

Well its mainly because-

We’re here.

They arrived on the scene and the rain was coming down hard, he could feel it punch him all over. The patter was like a MP5 going off; it kept getting louder the closer he got to the house.

Isn’t this cosy, he said to himself. Loan got out of the car and went straight up to Skylar near the house.

Officers in their luminescent jackets walked around and chatted. It all happened very slowly, it was the only way he could get all the details. A few of them nodded when they saw him approaching; none said hello, they knew by now there wasn’t any point.

You made it. It was Skylar, his partner.

What have we got? came his reply.

It’s a big one, you met Loan I see, he’s bloody terrified of you, he knows your name by the way, what does that tell you?

He passed her as something caught his eye.

Everyone out! he demanded.

They all looked at him first. Forensics, officers and of course his partner. His stern look caused them all to leave. No more flashes, no more bickering or unnecessary sounds.

You can stay, he said to Loan a little louder causing him to stop then turn around slowly.

All that is holy, he whispered to himself.

Exactly, said Skylar, but she was quickly shushed.

It was a work of art he thought; he hated that it impressed him so much.

They were in the dining room at the front of the house. The temperature was low like the air conditioning had been left on for a while.

Any idea on time of death?

I can go ask, Loan volunteered.

You do that.

The first thing he noticed was how the room had been arranged- it was too organised, too orderly.

There has to be a photo of the rooms before it became a cleaning ad, he said looking at Skylar; she went to search.

He looked on to a macabre dinner scene.

The large six-seat table was set for a dinner party with the hosts finest china and cutlery, like in a brochure. It was in the middle of an antique dining room, adjacent to huge panel windows.

The entire room was tinged with dark red oak. Sounds of every step were amplified and echoed around this wooden cell. A pale orange beam shone through the windows.

As soon as he stepped in he wanted to leave immediately.

An ornate grandfather clock was against the wall ticking loudly; it was very distracting, definitely antique as was the table.

There was only one person sat, she was at the head of the table. Her arms resting on it, a cup of coffee in front of her and an opened women’s magazine. The coffee was cold like he expected, the cup was half empty like she had been drinking it.

Curiously there was no food set on the table, it would probably be rotten by the time they got here and that would spoil the picture he assumed.

Was she looking at him? He couldn’t be sure. She looked like she was absentmindedly facing out the window, expressionless, lost in thought. As if she was awaiting guests. He half expected her to greet him and tell him to take a seat.

The victim was in her late thirties but had looked after herself well and cared about her image. She wasn’t pale, didn’t look dead except for her eyes which were a faded grey, but fully open.

There was no smell of death only wood polish, women’s perfume, an expensive one and a strange subtle smell he couldn’t place his finger on. Maybe it was the candles? Forensics would be able to tell.

He wanted to know how the killer had stopped her from decaying. As he got closer small shimmers of light around her revealed thin steel wires holding her up, hooked inside her skin kept in place by some surgical tape as they connected to the ceiling, upon closer inspection the strings had been wrapped around a screw which was then drilled into the ceiling; it would last for a few days. Close up he could see the wires had been expertly inserted into the skin, leaving only the tiniest of marks.

What kind of person knew how to attach wires that well into human skin? He thought to himself intrigued by them.

The thought made him shudder.

Her eyes seemed to follow him no matter where he went in the room.

Make up had been applied to give her the appearance of life. Eyebrows plucked, eye lash extensions, expensive jewellery, a necklace and large matching hoop earrings that went with her clothing. Her makeup was perfect, her hair brushed, not a stray in sight. She was a pretty woman and death had done little to dull her beauty. In fact, everything about the scene was perfect, not a thing out of place.

There was no blood, no visible injuries, no signs of struggle in the room. She looked so perfect sat there to dinner, like a normal person going about their day.

Great care was taken to set this up.

He felt a little uncomfortable being this close to those dead grey eyes. He couldn’t raise his own to meet them. But he wanted to talk to her and tell her he was going to find the one responsible for it all, so he just imagined it all instead. But The Detective could sense her all the while looking into his soul, judging him, why hadn’t he saved her? His eyes fell to her hands.

Perfectly manicured nails too. They wouldn’t find any evidence, any hair, blood, nails, but they would have to look.

The killer took photos, this was his art piece, the dining room his stage, hopefully forensics can figure out how she was killed, I'm sure once they strip they’ll get the stab wounds or something.

I found an album, here take a look at this, said Skylar.

She handed him a photo of the room, it was completely different just as he had suspected.

The kids?

They were at an aunt’s house when we found the body, apparently she’s the one that called it.

The aunt?

Yeah came to drop them off.

Right.

What do we know about her?

Marie Arlington, nurse, mother of two, I’m looking into her once we get back to the station.

The Detective walked around the scene picking up all the details.

I’m not seeing a wound or cause of death.

I guess we shall find out once they get the body out of here.

I’m going to check the rest of the house, you can let everyone back in Sky.

Sure, she always hated it when he treated her that way.

He rummaged around the kitchen; the place was kept clean in an obsessive way.

You like to take photographs, right? he muttered to himself, Everyone’s a fucking artist these days. He went up the stairs and into one of the bedrooms.

Shit! Another bloody demon was flapping its wings outside the window staring at him, piss off! he continued into the children’s rooms. The beds were made like a showroom, toys neatly put away and no clutter anywhere. It was the same for the contents of the drawers and cupboards, all the clothes folded away, socks, underwear all of it aesthetically set.

He could hear the officer’s downstairs again going about their business, taking photographs and writing notes. But he was never much of a pen and paper guy. He liked to keep it all in his head. He found one piece of evidence in the mother’s room- her mobile phone.

She’s divorced or widowed, find out which one, could be important, get this to the techy, see what they can dig up, most likely the killer left it there for us to find-

Would you stop doing that?

What?

Just stop it, I’m not your bloody lackey, I’m your partner.

Sky, I-

Just relax okay? I know what I’m supposed to do, her tone was stern and she walked away.

He just sighed and then lit up another cigarette.

I’ll meet you at the station, Skylar shouted as she entered her car.

Sure, he whispered in between a puff.

Detective? It was Loan.

Listen asshole, I know you know my name so cut it with the Detective shit.

Umm, right, Mr Lyonharte.

What am I? Your schoolteacher?

Noah, Loan said with hesitation.

You want one? he said offering him a cigarette.

No, I don't smoke.

So?

Well it’s not good for-

Not that! The time of death?

Yes, they need to get the body to morgue to be certain, but they estimate she’s been dead for nearly a day.

Sounds about right.

What are you thinking?

It’s been a while, you know?

A case like this?

You can say killer, we’re not in school anymore, he laughed taking a few more swigs then tossing the cigarette butt away.

But you’re okay, though right?

Oh, I get it, he said with a sense of realisation.

Sorry?

You’re my bloody babysitter.

They just want to make sure you’re back to normal.

So, you’re what? Going to report back and say this guy’s a mental case?! He was a little angry, not at Loan, but because he didn’t figure it out sooner. All his screws were coming loose and he thought only he could notice but it seemed the whole department had.

Look as far as I can see, you’re in high spirits.

Bloody high spirits? We just came out of a murder scene, where some mother of two children had been murdered and God knows what else? Her children, orphans now man, high spirits?! he lashed out.

Dark and murky demons began to appear behind Loan, sniffing and growling like a feast was to be had. Noah looked at all of them and then at Loan.

What is it? I’m sorry okay but this is my job and I honestly don't think you got anything to worry about. Loan’s voice was drowning out now. Noah? he wasn’t responding, he just kept staring at the crowd of Demons waiting to devour Loan.

Forget it, let’s get back to the station, you owe me a tea and possibly some kind of sexual favour, he said making his way to the car totally dismissing what had just occurred.

Loan sniggered and followed suite.

Skylar was already sitting at the desk, she was obviously frustrated and avoided any interaction.  Noah sighed as he sat down, staring at her. He grabbed a pen and began tapping away at the desk creating a beat. He continued to stare at her and in turn she did her utmost to ignore him.

Here’s your tea.

Why thank you Loan, that’s very nice of you, he said deliberately looking at his partner and taking a sip.

That’s fine, came Loan’s reply.

Any news on who’s lead detective?

We were the only ones who were called to it, Skylar spoke dismissively and didn’t stop to acknowledge either of them.

Yeah, I meant out of us.

Well you’ve taken charge already, Skylar replied clearly angered.

Maybe I should speak to Chief, see what he thinks, he said.

Whatever, lets discuss the case, Skylar suggested.

They all sat down around the desk, Loan didn’t have a chair so he half sat on the desk until Noah got him one. Skylar still wasn’t fully engaging, hoping for some kind of real apology she knew would never come.

You see what really bothers me is the strings, the skill, the killer pinned them up meticulously.

I didn’t even notice them until I came up close, said Loan.

What kind of job requires such skill? Why don't you look into that Loan?

Sure.

Noah stood up, took one last glance at Skylar and left to go the bathroom. She watched him walk away and wondered when he would sit down with her and actually talk about what had happened. He used to tell her everything, confide and rely on her. Now he would just make jokes and order her around. She decided enough was enough and walked after him.

Noah sat on the toilet while she barged in and demanded his presence.

Why don't you talk to me anymore?!

Sky? he said from behind the cubicle.

I’ve been your partner for over six years damn it!

Sky, I’m in the toilet for God sake.

Well I’m not leaving until we air this shit out, I'm sick of it.

Shit, okay, alright let me finish up and we’ll go get a bite okay?

Fine, he heard her exit as the door flapped.

He entertained the idea of leaving through the window, but Sky was right and more importantly she was hurt.

They ended up walking to the local café but didn’t say a word to each other until they actually sat down.

Could I get a tuna panini please, with chips and some iced tea, Sky?

Just coffee please.

Just coffee? Can you get a slice of carrot cake please?

Sure, said the waitress jotting it all down on her pad. 

Sky was staring out the café window waiting for him to speak; she was annoyed and her pretty little face was all curled up with rage.

Hey, come on, don't be mad, he reached out for her hand. She saw the gesture but didn’t reciprocate.

She was my friend too, she was nearly on the verge of tears.

I know you two were good friends.

I was the only one who stood up for you, who had your corner.

"You know what, you’re