This is a brand new story I am dabbling with and has overtaken my interest in two other stories I have on the go at the moment.
It is not a stroke story by any stretch of the imagination although there will be some sexy bits later.
It could fit into Erotic Couplings but I'm putting it in Romance as that is where my heart lies even though it doesn't get the volume of readership that other categories do.
All characters are fictitious even if there should be a coincidental use of names.
As always I welcome your feedback and thank you for those who take the trouble to comment or email me.
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I've kept myself alive for the past 10 years or so by using all of my 5 senses pretty much all of the time but for me hearing is the key one. You can't always see what's coming and touch, taste and smell only work in close-up situations and I try to avoid those like the plague. The sound of a creaking floorboard, the slide of shoes across carpet or the squeak of a door hinge being opened slowly are all indicators of someone approaching stealthily.
You have to ask yourself why they are approaching in such a manner.
Why not move more purposely to announce their presence?
If they don't want to announce their presence then it normally bodes ill for someone and so far it has been for them, not me because I'm still alive. Battered maybe, but alive. Some of them are less fortunate. Well, in fact, all of them because the risk is they'll try again if they survive and I see no point in making more work for myself.
Why, you might ask, if hearing is that important, why am I lying on a bed in a grotty block of flats right next to Herne Hill station in South London? The location means the level of ambient noise is killing that part of my sensory armoury but sometimes other factors come into play in choosing a bolt-hole.
Here I am listening to the sound of trains rumbling on a viaduct or the sound of compressed air opening and closing doors and the attendant hubbub of passengers getting on and off.
However, there is a local noise that's disturbing me today but it's one I can see the cause of. A constant drip, drip of water running from the ceiling in the corner of the single room that doubles, no, triples as kitchen, living room and bedroom. It would actually quadruple as a bathroom if the landlord hadn't been kind enough to throw up a bit of plywood in the opposite corner to create ... well ... to create the smelliest shower room and toilet this side of Kuala Lumpur ... and that one was in an open corner of the kitchen of a restaurant that I had the misfortune to eat in. Fortunately I have a strong immune system which kept my bout of gastroenteritis to only 3 days.
I count myself lucky it wasn't Cholera.
The drip has been bothering me for the last two days only because it comes and goes with the sound of flushing from the toilet in the flat upstairs and someone seems to be using it quite a lot. I can't believe they have anything left in their system to throw up after all this time.
I would like to think its just water.
The letting agent said it was when I moved in and I believed him. I'm not so sure now.
Why would he lie?
Answers on several postcards to the address below.
The problem is its getting worse and I really don't want to be flooded out just yet. I need two weeks here before I move on but the letting agent has been very vague about when it might be fixed.
I felt it was time for the DIY specialist to intervene.
I climbed the stairs ... you would definitely hear someone coming on these no matter how hard they may try and even with trains rumbling by. I'd not been up here before but the layout was a copy of my landing. My knock went unanswered. I knocked again ... and again. Still no reply so I tried another audible signal.
"Hello ... I'm from downstairs ... I've got water coming into my flat from yours."
I rattled the door handle.
"Hello ... are you in there?"
I rattled the door some more and finally I heard a movement inside. A weak voice finally answered ... female ... east European accent ... probably Czech.
I know these things ... especially the female bit; the part about Czech ... that was just a guess.
"Who are you ... what do you want?"
"There's a leak from your bathroom. There's water running from my ceiling."
Ok, an exaggeration but exaggerate to vindicate I say.
I saw a shadow pass over the spy-hole and stepped back so she could see me. Personally, I never look through those things as I'm always expecting there to be a gun pointing straight at it and I really don't want a bullet of any calibre messing up one of my bright blues ... another exaggeration, they are grey.
She obviously likes what she saw ... who wouldn't ... I'm gorgeous ... well maybe not with a week of beard and a permanent case of bed-hair.
I heard the door being unlocked ... and then another lock being manoeuvred ... and then another. Hell, she had more security than I did and I'm the one in hiding ... but more about that later. Finally, the door opened a crack and I saw three ... count them ... three security chains stretched across the space. Little did she know that any sensible person wanting to gain access would have gone straight through the flimsy panel door or had the thing off its hinges within seconds but the illusion of security is all important.
I could see part of a face, some lank blonde hair and the most bloodshot eye I have ever seen ... well apart from the morning after the time that Colour Sergeant Atkinson made me drink a whole bottle of Metaxa in less than a minute as a challenge to my manhood. He then completed my transition into adulthood by paying for a Cypriot tart in Larnaca for me.
I also remember his words the following morning as I was brought before the ship's Number 1 ('
XO' to the colonials
) on a charge.
"Second Lieutenant Moore was seen getting out of a taxi in an inebriated state at 00.30 and was seen to vomit on the jetty before trying to negotiate the brow where he was promptly sick again. He was seen by the Medical officer at 00.45 who performed the requisite tests and informed him that he was considered to be drunk and incapable and would be put on charges in the morning. His reply was 'I don't care, I lost my virginity'. He was placed in sick-bay overnight."
Yeah, I was drunk, but he set it up and then drops me in it. Bastard! Actually he was a great bloke. Now, sadly, no more.
Back to more immediate matters.
This woman was not in a good way. I put on my most charming Royal Marine Officer voice.
"Hi, I'm Greg from downstairs and there's water coming into my flat from your bathroom. Can I come in and have a look?"
She seemed in a daze, totally uncomprehending, and I thought she was shaking her head but in reality she was just shaking.
"Are you ok? Do you need some help?"
I don't think she heard me as she just collapsed like one of the twin towers going straight down and if it wasn't for the fact that I had my foot in the door I would have been shut out.
"Fuck!"
As previously mentioned the security chains were not very effective especially as they had been badly fitted and two could be released easily before a strong shoulder bust the other one open
I might have knocked her a bit when I did that but she was out and not counting.
The smell in the flat was worse than the aforementioned toilet in KL but she had some kind of incense thing going to damp it down which in my mind just made it a whole lot worse.
I pulled her away from the door and then picked her up easily as she must have weighed less than 7 stone but I could see that she was petite, probably no more than 5 foot. She was nothing more than skin and bone wrapped in a dirty silk kimono.
Was she an anorexic trying to kill herself?
I put her down on the bed in the recovery position and checked her body temperature and pulse. She was feverish but her pulse was strong but racing. I went to get a damp cloth and wiped her face with cold water.
I looked around the flat and saw on the table a lot of empty energy drink bottles and packets of strong pain killers. A lightbulb went on somewhere over the poppy fields of Afghanistan and I rolled up the left sleeve of her kimono.
Yes! First prize ... a junky trying to go cold turkey on her own as there amongst a strange tabular tattoo were needle tracks.
What to do?
I may do some pretty nasty things in my life but I do have a moral compass in use the rest of the time. It often causes errors of judgement when it comes to witnessing extended suffering of people and animals. On the other hand, Marine 'A' was not the only one who helped wounded jihadis into paradise. However, now was not the occasion for a bit of extra-judicial euthanasia. The woman needed help and the Officer and Gentleman within me could not stand idly by.
I had a dilemma.
I didn't want to call for an ambulance as Inspector Knacker of the Yard would surely follow and I didn't need his kind of attention even though the Old Bill has no beef with me as far as I know. My current legend would stand up to scrutiny but you never know whether some lowly PC was selling stories to the press or, worse still, to members of the opposite side in the Criminal Justice system. They definitely had a beef with me and it was only going to get worse in a two weeks time. Publicity of any kind I could do without.
I could just take her up the road to Kings College Hospital and leave her there but the scourge that is CCTV is rife in those places and I really wanted to limit my exposure. Hence my choice of this dump as a bolthole ... no CCTV on the street and a local grocery store that had dummy cameras. Excellent!
I didn't need attention from anyone. This left only one solution in my tiny brain as I had discounted the option of leaving her in this flat. So, like the stupid fool that I am, I took her unconscious form down the stairs to my flat and laid her out on my bed before returning upstairs to try and find anything of use including her ID. There wasn't much apart from a few clothes and a small handbag with a Czech passport which may or may not have been false and hardly any money. Surprisingly, I didn't find any trace of the kit normally associated with injecting heroin.
Returning I noticed she had not moved and checked her pulse and breathing and rolled an eyelid back to check her pupil which was hugely dilated so I checked the other one. Same result. I did notice that her eyes would normally be a stunning pale blue.
