Deadly Obsession

by Nigel May

  'I dreamed of meeting a good man, one to take care of me and keep me on the straight and narrow. Act as landlord to my building if you like, to treat me good. Sadly, life doesn't always give you want you want.' She sucked on her cigarette as she talked. If there was one thing Dolly loved doing it was sharing her knowledge and experience with the younger girls. It made her feel good about the fact she sold her body for cash. 'This game can be a good one. Just don't expect it to give you everything you want overnight and always remember that you're the one in control, despite what some of the blokes you meet with might think. You are number one. It's the most important lesson I can give you, that is. Some of the blokes you meet are right arses, they think they can treat you like a piece of shit, but always remember they can't. They're the ones paying, you're the one earning. Prostitution may be a bed of depravity, and it's certainly not always a bed of roses, but it can see you good if you let it. You understand?'

  'What's depravity mean?' asked the girl.

  Oh dear, thought Dolly. Not the sharpest tool, but at least she was pretty. She'd do all right.

  * * *

  No, Dolly was actually very proud of her longevity in her job. She'd been selling her money-maker since the age of sixteen. With no real qualifications to her name when she’d left school, she quickly learnt that in order to bring home the bacon she was going to have to use what God had physically given her below the neckline as opposed to above it. She had her brain, maybe not one that could balance equations and work out the logic of a split infinitive but her grey matter was sharp enough to know that her tight body and womanly curves were to be her path to a road of financial success.

  No, Dolly didn't do badly at all. In fact she was one of the most respected girls on the books of the escort agency she worked for. No, who was she trying to kid? One of the most respected women. If a client wanted a versatile, seductive and elite experience with a girl then he would definitely be ordering the frothy young thing she'd just been talking to. Dolly had been there, done that, got the bruises, servicing more men than she cared to remember in her time. But she still had it, that was for sure ... her regulars told her so.

  She was discreet, accommodating and would consider any sexual desire. Which was why at times she’d gained the bruises. Some clients could be a little heavy-handed, but those were the risks. If she’d wanted a safe life then Dolly would have led a simple existence as a shop assistant or a dinner lady like her elder sisters. Both three years older than her, but they looked thirty years her senior, stagnating in a sea of suburban hand-to-mouth existence with their two-point-four kids and husbands who lived to prop up the local bar and deliver a once-monthly shag. Welcome to Dullsville. That was definitely not for Dolly. She had always had ambition.

  No, Dolly was happy with her lot ... well, she had been, more or less. Maybe a little less lately if she was honest as she’d been feeling that maybe there was a little more to life than opening her legs. A lot more in fact. Other avenues to explore rather than just trying to be consistently sexy and pleasuring men for a handful of bank notes. Dolly thought that maybe it was about time she started to really use what God had given her above the neckline too. She knew she could be savvy. She wouldn't have survived so long without learning a few vital life-lessons along the way. Yes, it was time to ramp her life up a notch. She just needed to fathom out exactly how to do it ...

  23

  Then, 2009

  * * *

  The ricochet of the throbbing dance beat burst from the speakers as Amy and Laura writhed their bodies together on the dance floor to the feel-good lyrics of ‘When Love Takes Over’ by David Guetta and Kelly Rowland. It was a joyous anthem about living life to the max and the two girls were determined to do just that. It was something that Amy had resolved to do ever since the cruel death of her parents two years before. If she’d learnt one lesson the year she'd buried her mum and dad it was that life was all too fleeting and could be taken away at any second. Life was to be celebrated. And on the dance floor of Decoupage, the girls’ favourite Manchester nightspot, amongst a writhing mass of hot sweaty bodies, they were going to make sure that everybody could see just how much they wanted to celebrate.

  It was a Saturday night and the girls had undertaken their usual weekend routine. Laura had driven from the Northern Quarter to Riley and Amy’s house in Sale, where Riley had left them to go out to yet another business meeting. Even a weekend wasn't sacred in Riley's world. The girls had cracked open bottles of spirits to get the party started – gin and tonics and rum and cokes, making them tipsy as they applied their make-up and slipped into their skin-skimming jumpsuits and ordered a taxi to take them to Decoupage, one of Manchester’s trendiest clubs. By the time the girls arrived, they would always be half-cut and fully revved up to hit the dance floor. It was Saturday night perfection and it was their time.

  Despite missing Riley like crazy, Saturday night was often ladies night for the two women and Amy wouldn’t have swapped the time she managed to spend with Laura for anything. They laughed, they loved and they lived. Their smiles were as bright as the laser-beams of light that shot around the club, turning the space into a riot of kaleidoscopic shades.

  In between tunes the girls would head to the bar and order more drinks, the brightly coloured delights of Bacardi Breezers or fizzy apple cocktails fuelling them to sashay back onto the dance floor once more.

  Laura was as keen to impress the men around her as ever. ‘Have you seen the DJ tonight? He is just delicious. Come on, we need to ramp up the sexy and dance in front of him right now. According to the posters he’s a hot-shot American who’s played some of New York’s biggest clubs. He’s doing a tour over here right now and knows people like Akon and Calvin Harris apparently. The man is a musical god and he shall be mine.’

  It was true, when Laura had her sights set on a member of the opposite sex then there was nothing her poor unsuspecting prey could do to fend off her amorous Venus Flytrap ways. Not that any of them fought too hard to resist. She was a beautiful prize.

  ‘You are incorrigible,’ teased Amy. ‘But come on then, let’s sex it up on the dance floor. No man can say no to that. And for the record, do we know this DJ’s name or not?’

  ‘Not!’ deadpanned Laura. ‘And I don’t care. If he’s played NYC then he’s big. Huger than big and I won’t be satisfied until I’m rifling through his twelve inches in the DJ booth, okay!’

  ‘Fair enough’ laughed Amy.

  As ever, Laura was victorious. As she returned to Amy and Riley’s house around midday on the Sunday wearing the same jumpsuit as the night before – it was the usual routine for Laura most Sundays after their girlie nights out – she sported a smile that stretched from one hooped earring to the other. She didn't have a care in the world.

  Riley and Amy were sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee. Amy's was black to try and fend off the clouding grogginess of her hangover.

  ‘Well ...?’ enquired Amy.

  ‘His name is Blair Lonergan, he’s as American as apple pie and just as tasty and he says we’re welcome in the clubs of the Big Apple any time we might be Stateside,’ beamed Laura.

  ‘And ...?’ Amy knew she had to ask.

  ‘Yes we did, in his VIP dressing room at Decoupage. Let’s just say I was granted Access All Areas and I repaid the compliment in the best way possible. And that he spun me right round like a record, baby … in every direction! The DJ one isn’t the only box he can work incredibly well, put it that way! Now, I’m off for a shower.’

  Riley and Amy could still hear Laura laughing raucously as the water started running.

  24

  Now, 2015

  * * *

  Amy hadn’t seen Grant Wilson after he’d stormed out of the restaurant at the hotel. She had waited for him the next morning to see if he passed through reception but there was no sign. Amy enquired with the concierge as to his whereabouts but was informed that Grant had checked out with the rest of the TV crew at the crack of da
wn that morning. He’d obviously headed off for filming.

  For a while Amy considered trying to get back onto the set. She needed to speak to Grant, to tell him about the letter. The rendezvous the night before had not gone at all to plan. The only thing that was clear was that she could now add Grant to the ever-lengthening list of people who would lose no sleep at the thought of Riley meeting his maker. Boyhood rivalries had obviously run scarily deep between the two men.

  Unable to fathom her next move, Amy had returned to her London flat. She needed to clear her head. It was staring her in the face that she would have to return to the increasingly complex world of Manchester as soon as possible to try and talk to Adam Rich. There was also unfinished business with Genevieve too. Call it a woman's intuition but she was hiding something from Amy.

  Sinking into the comfort of her front room sofa, Amy looked at the photo of herself and Riley staring out at her from the opposite wall. It had been taken at the club. His face was a picture of boyish innocence, but now Amy knew differently. How could one man hide so many secrets? Conceal so many lies? She had discovered so many in such a short space of time. If he was capable of that, then how many more were to come?

  * * *

  Lily had spent a good few hours in her room smoking weed. She’d needed it. The last few days had been a mind-fuck as far as she was concerned. Seeing Amy again had stirred up all sorts of thoughts about Riley. She’d never loved him, so why had she just spent the last half an hour sobbing pitiful tears into her pillow, which was now covered in a swirly rainbow mess of different make-up hues all smudged together. She’d been upset when Riley had died, of course she had. He was her boss and her lover. Good bosses were hard to find and skilled lovers even harder. She’d never felt sorry for Amy. She’d obviously not satisfied him sexually so it was down to Lily to fill in the gaps. He’d satisfied her everywhere. On the desk in Amy’s office, in the DJ booth, even on the fire escape during a busy club night.

  Getting up from the bed, Lily walked across to her full-length mirror and stared into it. Her eyes were red and glassy. She rubbed them, hoping to make the redness disappear. It made them worse.

  She felt tired, really tired and contemplated going to bed. It was only early evening but she could feel her eyes dragging against her face, heavy and craving slumber. Lily was due to head out. She had supplies to collect and places to deal at. But that could wait. She needed to be alone with her thoughts about Riley. About a dead man. A dead man she loved. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe he was alive. And maybe he wasn’t. Yes, no, yes, no ... Lily broke out into hysterical laughter and shouted across the room, not caring who heard, ‘I’m in love with a dead man!’ Her mind felt clouded and mixed. Shaken like a mental snow globe. Her thoughts blended by the weed.

  Her bedroom door opened and Adam walked in. The room stank of drugs, a fact not lost on him. His face was ominous like thunder. ‘Jesus wept, Lily, what the hell are you screaming about? You’re in love with which dead man?’

  Lily’s mind raced. She was in love with Riley. And didn’t little girls always tell their daddies about their crushes? It was time to share. ‘I’m in love with Riley Hart. I loved him and he loved me too. At least that’s what he said before he dumped me.’

  ‘Dumped you, what are you talking about, you stupid girl? It’s the drugs talking. Why do you smoke that stuff?’ Adam was more than incensed.

  ‘I was having an affair with him, or at least I was until he told me to fuck off. He didn’t want me anymore, Daddy. He broke my heart.’

  The crestfallen look on Adam’s face told even a drug-addled Lily that her admission had just broken her father’s too.

  * * *

  If there was one condition that Amy had permanently suffered over the last six months it was a broken heart. The loss of both her husband and her best friend would have been enough to crush even the strongest of hearts and there were times when Amy herself doubted how she’d found the inner strength to deal with it all. She liked to think it was the guidance of her guardian angel parents looking down on her from above. At least she’d always been able to rely on them. They had never let her down.

  Picking up their photo from a small table alongside the sofa, Amy clutched it to her chest. If she held them close to her heart she could pretend that they could still hear its beating. To know that she had survived everything that life had hurled at her. It gave her comfort. It gave her a new burst of strength to carry on fighting. Even though she was so tired. More tired than she had ever been ...

  Still clutching the photo to her chest, Amy drifted off into a deep sleep ...

  She was awoken by a loud rap at her front door. She’d been immersed in a vivid dream about her and Laura – the pair of them dancing wildly underneath the stars. It had been an idyllic and beautiful image, transporting her away from the harsh reality of life. And it had obviously been a much-needed rest. It was almost dark around her and Amy guessed that she had been asleep for a while. Placing the photo of her parents back on the table Amy reached for the clock – it read 7.24pm. She had been asleep for the best part of five hours. The knock at the door sounded again.

  ‘I’m coming. Hang on a moment.’ Amy checked her reflection in the mirror and ran her hands through her hair to make herself feel a little more presentable. She still felt she looked like shit.

  Running to the door she reached down to pick up a pile of mail that was lying on the front door mat. Five or six envelopes, mostly junk mail. Clutching them in her hand she opened the door. She was greeted by a body, the face of which was hidden behind a mass of flowers. The flowers moved to one side revealing the smiling face of Grant Wilson.

  ‘I think I owe you a massive apology, don’t you?’ he offered. ‘Can I come in? I hope you don’t mind but I grabbed your address from the hotel. You left it to secure the room. I had to do some serious flirting to persuade the woman behind Reception to give it to me but she was a fan of the show so to be honest it was pretty easy. An autograph and a quick selfie on her iPhone and she was happy. I hope you don’t mind. ’

  Astounded, Amy opened the door wide to let him in. He stretched out his arms to give her the flowers. ‘I thought this was the least I could do after the utter idiot I made of myself last night.’

  ‘Um ... thanks. I’ll just stick them in some water. As Amy walked to the kitchen she threw the pile of mail onto the work surface. It fanned out before her.

  In the space of less than a second, she spotted the envelope hidden among the mail, recognised the handwriting and felt her legs buckle underneath her, sending the bouquet crashing to the floor.

  It was from Riley.

  25

  Now, 2015

  * * *

  ‘I might be used to women falling at my feet but not normally with quite such gusto.’

  Grant attempted a laugh as he handed Amy a glass of brandy. It shook in her trembling hand as she tried to control her nerves. ‘I don’t normally make a habit of hitting the deck in front of strange men.’

  ‘How are you feeling? That should help,’ he said, as Amy started to sip at the drink. ‘I still can’t believe what you’ve told me. You really think Riley might be alive?’ The evidence at the club that night seemed pretty fucking conclusive to me. You saw Riley. His face had been blown to bits ...’ Grant stopped, unsure how to continue, worried his words were coming across as heartless.

  ‘That’s the whole point, I can’t be sure now. He was unrecognisable, I was out of my mind with panic and I just assumed ... it looked like him. I can see it now ...’ Amy shuddered at the thought obviously running through her brain and took a heftier slug of the brandy. ‘But the more I think about it, the more blurred it all becomes. I was certain about things until that letter, now nothing makes sense anymore.’

  Amy had spent the last half an hour telling Grant about the letter. She didn’t know whether spilling the beans to him was a wise move but she needed to share her thoughts with someone and Grant seemed to be her best option. His fa
ce had drained of colour when Amy told him that he was one of the ‘suspects’ listed in Riley’s letter. His first reaction had been to tell Amy to go to the police, despite what Riley had requested. She had refused point blank. ‘That is not what Riley wanted,’ she stated. Wherever the letter had come from, if there was a chance that Riley was alive then Amy had to find out the truth for herself. Finding him was first and foremost in her mind.

  ‘So, what are you going to do about that?’ asked Grant, indicating the still unopened letter that lay ominously on the coffee table in front of Amy. ‘Are you sure it’s from him?’

  ‘It’s his writing. I know it is,’ she said, staring at the handwritten name and address on the front. ‘I have enough cards and love letters from Riley to recognise it. I’m just not sure if I can cope with what might be in there.’

  Grant seated himself alongside Amy and took her hand in his. It was a comforting gesture, almost intimate, and Amy was glad to have him there. If she had been on her own she was sure she would have been a gibbering wreck. He squeezed her hand and smiled at her. She reciprocated without thinking, letting his hand stay there.

  ‘If you want me to stay with you while you open it then I’m more than happy to ... I am a doctor after all, even if it is a pretend one,’ he offered, allowing a slight cheeky grin to paint his face.

  Amy heard herself laugh. It was the first time she could remember doing so in months. She drained the brandy from the glass, placed it on the table and picked up the letter. ‘Okay, here goes ...’ She began to tear at the envelope ...