The person behind Claire was a young man, Asian, handsome as hell. He was clad in a tight black t-shirt and jeans, all as perfect as the day they were purchased. She could detect the scent of an exquisite cologne lingering in the air. She closed her eyes momentarily and took a small step backwards. The aroma was enough to flood her brain with endorphins, it was heady, perfect. She glanced downward as if to check her charm bracelet and in doing so scanned his hands for a wedding ring, none. With a slow exhale she turned to face forwards again. She considered how to start a conversation: bumping, fainting, dropping something on his feet. Without realizing she had formed a decision she turned, her bracelet now in her hand. Just before release the blonde guy next to him threw his arm around his shoulder. They two me

 It all started with the terrified scream of a frightened woman. A scream pierce the winter morning like the air raid sirens did a few years before. It echoed through the terraced houses making the origin hard to pin-point. The first cries were undoubtedly terror, but not the shrill cries of a movie theatre, the cries of one with eyes locked wide and every muscle rigid. The next were of pain, garbling and pitiful. The boys found her, most of them taking off after the attacker without any luck.We can never truly feel another's pain, but that scream of the young girl came close. It was the kind of scream that puts every other thought on hold and roots everyone close in the very same agony. There wasn't a person in a hundred feet that didn't come running, most of them with cell phones already out to dial for ambulance.But she had not made it. The paramedics had tried saving her but it was already too lat

 Sunlight filled the sky, pure scattered light; its hue ambitiously illuminating each crevice of the land. Sparrows chirped an explicit background melody. With breath paused in his lungs, he wished time would halt. The trees shone as if they were wearing golden crowns and the vast sea was not able to absorb the bright sparks of the sun. The tides on the sea were racing among each other to reach the horizon from where the mighty godlike sun appeared. And though time continued, the emotions that flowed stilled my soul.The curtains add an orange glow to the morning light, every morning a perfect sunrise. It reminds the young man of the times he slept in a beach hut, watching the ocean emerge under the golden shimmer. For a moment his mind conjures the rhythmic waves, soft on the sandy shore and feels his heart beat to the same slow pace. He breaths in deeply. A new day has begun. He reaches his hand out to the fabric, noticing ho

 There was no ring or watch on the hand but there were tattoos on it. That was not the strangest part. It was a heavy hand which meant that it would take considerable amount of skill and strength in order to slice the hand in this way.“So it was just lying here in this way?” asked Susan as she looked at the hand still not convinced that this was all the part of one incident which had no head or tail whatsoever.“Yeah, fresh and warm meat like that with the scent of blood that would mean that rats would have been pretty quick to make a nice clean work of it,” replied the cop whose name Susan did not even bother to remember.“No nibbles here, as I can see,” said Susan and she turned towards Bill who had crouched down beside her as well and he said,” This means that it has not been here for that long.”&ldquo

 Lancelot bit his lip just a little as he watched the man in front, perfection in denim. He let his eyes rise to his shoulders, broad and inviting, his type. But this wasn't a day for distractions no matter how gorgeous. Pippa would already be waiting for him at the old Inn. The man was too perfect. His smile was soft with a hint of femininity, his strong bone structure was all male. Lancelot let his eyes linger for just a fraction longer than was customary, his usual "test." Sure enough the man gazed back, unguarded and calm.This was a small town where almost everyone knew every one. And even though Lancelot did not like the fact that he did not have any anonymity at all it did not probably hurt him that there was a considerable amount of prestige related with his name which he bore. Even though it did not bring him any pride at all.“Maria, please bring me my usual. I am in a really sour mood t