Human Remains

computer and I wondered if he would even remember in five minutes’ time that I’d visited.
     
     
    On the bus going home I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the cold window. I’d stayed at work longer than usual, trying to make up for my missing hours this morning. The tactical assessment was behind schedule but that wasn’t completely my fault; a systems failure at headquarters had left the main database interrogation software temporarily unavailable.
    It had been a long, shattering day and my headache was coming back. To make it even worse, I’d just been getting on the bus, rummaging around in my bag for the Park and Ride ticket that I seemed to have inexplicably mislaid, when my mobile phone rang. For a moment I thought that it might be Sam Everett again and I was preparing the words to make it clear that I wasn’t interested – but it was my mum, of course, providing me with a list of shopping that she needed, which I wrote on my hand with a black pen that I hoped would not turn out to be permanent. Sugar, milk, frozen peas, potatoes, lemonade, double cream, teabags.
    ‘You sound all tinny. Why do you sound all tinny?’
    ‘I’m on the bus, Mum. I only just left work.’
    ‘Why are you so late?’
    ‘I had a headache this morning, I didn’t feel well. I went in late.’
    ‘You went in late? What’s wrong with a couple of painkillers and a bit of stiff upper lip? You’ve got no staying power. And you don’t eat properly either. Too much sugar and fat, that’s your trouble.’
    ‘Yes, Mum,’ I said. It was easier to agree. ‘Can I get this stuff for you tomorrow? You don’t need it urgently, do you?’
    ‘I’d like a nice bottle of white as well. You got me one last week, it was very nice.’
    ‘I’ll get it on the way back from work tomorrow, alright? I’ll find you one in the fridge at the Co-op.’
    ‘You need to take on board a bit of personal responsibility. What are you going to be like when the clocks go back in a couple of weeks, eh? You’ll be no good to anyone.’
    I could have told her that I’d been getting up in the dark since September, but it would have done no good – she wasn’t listening anyway.
    ‘You don’t need the shopping tonight, though, do you?’
    ‘Yes, I do. And I can’t get to the kitchen, my knee’s been playing me up today. I haven’t had any lunch, I haven’t had anything to eat or drink since last night. You know I need to eat with these tablets, or else I come over all funny.’
    She wasn’t supposed to drink alcohol with the tablets either, but that rule seemed to have passed her by. I told her I’d be with her in an hour or so, and at last that did the trick and she rang off.
    I felt the headache starting to pound, tiredness making it worse. I felt for the angel I kept in the pocket of my coat, feeling the contours of those beautiful wings. Surely there was some reason why all this was happening? Surely someone somewhere had a plan, and eventually this was all going to make sense?
    The bus pulled in to the car park and I heaved myself wearily to my feet. My back was killing me. I would have a nice bath when I finally got home – a drop of eucalyptus oil in it, something to soothe the aches away.
    I could see my car, a lonely silver shape just about visible in the gloom. The orange street-lights glowed in the mist. Other people would be afraid to walk back to their cars in the dark,
    I thought. Other women would feel vulnerable. I didn’t feel afraid. Just tired.
    The car was cold and damp and didn’t want to start. After two or three turns of the key it shuddered into life and I drove to the supermarket to get the shopping for Mum.

Colin
     
     
    I spent Monday night trying to study but I was too distracted. Having thrown away the soiled copy of the
Briarstone
Chronicle
in the kitchen bin at work, I purchased a fresh copy on the way home. Even seeing the folded cover of the newspaper with the top half of Rachelle’s head on the counter was enough to make me hard again. Despite my self-imposed abstention rule, having started on the whisky early in the evening, I found it difficult to stop myself from spending most of the night masturbating. It was the newspaper article that did it – and the spark of an idea that would not ignite, no matter which angle I took as my approach.
    This evening, I stopped at the supermarket after work to buy some bread, milk, olives and chorizo. As my items were gliding along on the conveyor belt