Other Studies in Red and Blue - Epilogue

- She was with me. When the phone rang, she made an excuse up. She had to... She felt guilty, but there was nothing else she could do at that time.

- She would not do that to me...

But a twinge of doubt and pain made way in the young man’s mind.

- But she did. She was needy and the opportunity simply showed up. All people are like that. Don’t try to fool yourself... you know it very well...

Misha smiled. And his smile seemed extremely sarcastic.

- Why are you doing this?

- As I have already said, to prove a point. Things and people are not what they seem to be.

The boy was visibly affected by the news and almost dropped the dishes that were collected from the table, a few moments before. He felt lonely, betrayed... and used. A huge weight fell upon his shoulders and he felt suddenly tired. He turned around to go towards the kitchen when the other man asked him:

- Bring me one of those cream pastries that look so fresh and tasty, please. I suddenly felt an urge to eat one of them.

Misha smiled again... a large and misleading grin, as deliberate as his studied seductive performances.

That grin seemed to be a mocking taunt to the other man, who left without saying anything else.

- Fuck the cream pastry...

The uncensored expletive came out of his mind, as he took the dirty dishes to the kitchen of the Café. Someone else could take charge of serving him the cream pastry...

(You damn motherfucker!)

***

- I felt so bad and so guilty. I was weak and let me take by a situation that could easily be avoided.

- You were needy and insecure...

- That does neither decrease my responsibility nor guilt. I was so dumb! Look at what that situation turned out to be...

The therapist tried not to laugh at her argument.

- Blaming yourself will not solve anything or bring anyone back. You know that.

- I know. I know it very well...

- So accept it and go ahead. Concentrate on what is important at this point in time...

- On the death... and the mystery left yet to be solved...

The woman's eyes seemed to take her away from where she was. The therapist noticed a frown, as if the woman was seeing something she had not noticed before...

***

- How did he know?

The woman, visibly annoyed, showed a message on the phone display: “It hurts. So very much! "

- I don’t know. Why do you think I have anything to do with it?

- Don’t be so despicable, Misha. What did you tell him?

- I told him I could stop his pain... if he allowed me to...

- What?

- But he wouldn't listen to me. He said he didn't want anything either from me... or with me...

- Are you crazy or what?

- Why? He was a very interesting young man...

Misha laughed. He was teasing the woman, who seemed not to like a bit of that joke.

- Don’t be disgusting! He is none of your kind!

- Oh, isn't he?!? Are you sure about that? You better not bet he was indifferent to the kiss I gave him...

She raised her hand and was going to give him a resounding slap, but he was quick enough to hold her wrist, before his face was hit. He came very close to her face and laughed. He looked into her eyes and said, slowly:

- I would have as much fun with him as I had with you. Those sad little eyes would have a joy that he had never imagined he could have... but he... refused it before getting to know it.

- Let me go, you pig...! Idiot Asshole!

She lifted her knee in a defensive gesture and hit a very soft sensitive part, right up between his two legs, making him lose control and fall to the ground screaming and writhing in pain.

- Bitch!

- Go to hell, you fucking prick!

The woman went, furious, out of the door. Her chest was heaving, full of disgust and revolt, leaving the offender still laying in the middle of the living room.

When she was crossing the threshold and pulled the door behind her, she still could hear a moan of pain mixed with a laugh of derision, from the blond boy with blue eyes, as deep as the Pacific Ocean, but with the soul as futile as that of a fallen angel.

- You're gonna pay for this...

***

- What do you want here? Go away!

- I brought you a bottle of the best Russian vodka there is. It helps relieving the pain.

- Why do you think I want something that comes from you? Have not you done enough harm? Aren’t you happy yet? Do you have to destroy everything you touch?

- Let me come in and we speak.

He opened his studied smile and held the boy's arm that was blocking his entry into the small apartment where he lived. The other responded immediately.

- Get out of here!

He raised his fist and punched against the void, because Misha managed to dodge quickly and took advantage of the moment almost immediately, hitting the other man’s chest with his open hand. The boy lost his balance and fell over the leg that Misha put purposefully on the way. Half body lying inside the apartment was enough to allow him to enter without difficulty, with the bottle of vodka in hand. The door closed, as soon as the other stood up, still half bewildered.

***

- It's best you come here urgently... I think we were quite mistaken.

- How so? Mistaken?

- The autopsy results are ready. The cause of death was, definitely, not what we thought it was, initially.

- I'm on my way.

The woman hung up and got in the car. She was awfully apprehensive. Thousands of unanswered questions were boiling up in her head, while she was driving, almost instinctively, to the police lab.

Through the car window, the images went by in a live slideshow, while in her mind the impressions, sensations and feelings trampled down, as if to manifest themselves all at once.

Shadows... Children running... Afternoon Sun... Trees... Glass and concrete walls... More shadows... Parked cars... Girls, dressed in school uniforms, laughing out loud... Traffic... Red tail lights... Blue sky... pain... Avenues... Steel, concrete and glass... sharp angles... corners and intersections with red lights... blood... Death... Suicide? Homicide...? Accident...? Why?

***

- We'll never prove it was murder, detective. The level of alcohol in his system was way too high. Do you see this mark?

She nodded, seeing the mark of a hit on the side of the dead boy’s head. The doctor pointed at a large injury caused by a sharp angled surface, like the corner of something.

- He fell, hit his head while falling down and plopped down on the pavement. We found a spot of blood on one of the balconies of the fire escape. By the way, it is more than just a theory. One cannot know, however, if there was any intervention from someone... if he was pushed off the balcony or something. There is no evidence in the body, which shows that. I searched every little inch of the corpse but found nothing. We will never know the truth, from what I could figure out...

But something told her that someone had more to do with the fact, than the evidence could scientifically demonstrate.

***

When the woman got in the “Temple", it was already late afternoon. The light inside the great hall brought her memories of a time that seemed suddenly so distant. A strange nostalgia made she look at it all with different eyes. She was now just a police investigator in search of answers. And she was not convinced of the innocence of anyone... not even of herself...

She went to the bar, in the centre of the place and asked the servant, who was an old acquaintance or hers:

- Have you seen Misha lately?

- It’s been some time since he last came here. Some say he went back to where he came from, but who can say for sure?

***

Sitting by the tiny window, the young man with blue eyes stared out, attentive to the movements on the airport tarmac lanes. He feared that at any moment the police would break into the aircraft and take him to the interrogation room. Although the inside temperature was set to about 21 degrees, Misha was sweating.

When the doors closed and locked and the plane reached a high speed and took off, leaving behind the land where he lived for good many years, Misha closed his eyes and exhaled, relieved.

In his eyes, the image of the young man, visibly drunk and frail, sitting on the floor of the room was still quite vivid. His arms were entwined around those shoulders, while the other cried in anguish, like a child. Misha took advantage of the moment, pulled the other’s body closer to his and gently kissed his lips. The boy did not reject him. He let himself go for a few seconds...

- Your lips are even sweeter and softer than hers...

The young man pushed him away angrily, rubbing his sleeve over his mouth. Disgusted, both by what he had done, as by what he had heard, he walked out of the door to the balcony. Misha followed, acting naturally, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

- There is nothing wrong with that. It was only a kiss...

- Get away from me. Aren’t you happy with all the harm you have caused? Do you have to destroy everything you touch, to the tiniest detail?

Misha reached out, but the other reacted with violence and disgust. He insisted on approaching the drunk and angry man. When trying to get away without being aware of exactly where he trod, the boy tripped over a small step and lost his balance, banging against the iron fence that protected - very badly - who were on the small balcony. The effect of alcohol prevented him from holding up, made him lose control and fall... down from the balcony of the fifth floor, against the cold, hard cement of the sidewalk, hitting during the fall, a corner of the fire escape. A pool of blood began to flood around the area where the boy's head hit the floor.

Misha opened his eyes. The flight attendant came down the aisle with the beverage cart.

- Do you want a drink, Sir?

- Yes, please. Vodka.

- Ice?

- No. Plain!

***

It was late afternoon. Leaning on the 'guard rail', the woman looked, without actually seeing, a distant point beyond the other side of the river, where a strange building with tinted windows stood, distinguishing itself from the other edifices around. The wind that blew against her face and her hair dried the bitter tears she had just cried.

A gnawing pain grew inside her; mercilessly... the pain mingled hatred, remorse, longing and helplessness in the face of life's greatest nemesis: death itself. The therapy had helped her survive that phase of loss and guilt, but failed to make her stop thinking about the big mistake she had made.

In her head, the memory of that last night was still very much alive. The details she remembered and relived countless times. The memories were as sharp as if they were happening at that moment. She closed her eyes. A slight noise made her turn her head.

- Sorry. Do you know where the “Temple" is?

She turned her head automatically. Almost without realizing it, she looked directly into the young man’s blue eyes. He was standing beside her, wearing a red t-shirt and displaying a strange smile on his face... The feeling of butterflies flapping wings in her stomach, gave her a warning sign she decided ignore.

The man repeated his question:

- Do you know where the “Temple” is?

She simply replied, smiling:

- Yes, I do know...

Other Studies in Red and Blue (Part 4)

- Do you know why you're here, Madam?

The woman, looking somewhat pale, sitting in front of the man in white, nodded.

- You had a serious syncope: a sort of anxiety attack caused by excessive and possibly compulsive work. You have been working too much, have you not, Madam? Probably you do not eat nor sleep properly either... Do you know the consequences of these, Madam?

The doctor on duty knew the diagnosis without making more than a few simple tests to the patient in front of him. The symptoms were too evident to one who was familiar to see, repeatedly, people presenting indecent obsessive behaviour towards their work.

- I think I know, more or less, SIR...

She used a good amount of irony when pronouncing the word, pausing almost imperceptibly.

- ...but you will tell me anyway, will you not?

The doctor pretended not to notice the sarcasm and went on:

- If you do not seek professional and specialised help immediately, Madam, you’re going to have to come back here and it will certainly be a lot worse... I will give you the name of a good psychologist and will prescribe some medical tests and an anti-depressant, but you will have to commit, without any apology, to follow the therapy very strictly, Madam, or else...

(If he calls me 'Madam' once more, I swear that I’ll pierce his eyes - to say the least!)

- Ok, doctor. I will follow your instructions... strictly... I promise!

- I talked to your superior already and he agrees with me. You WILL have to rigorously follow the therapy, Madam.

(Aaarrrghh!!! Now he asked for it. And he even had the guts to put the emphasis on the word ... I'll jump to his neck... right now! Somebody hold me, or else he will not escape from my nails...)

She got up, stretched out her hand with feigned politeness and a forced smile, turned around and walked off the room with a prescription for a strong anti-depressant in her pocket...

***

A young man with deep blue eyes entered the Café where he noticed a woman sitting alone by the window. He approached her table and asked.

- May I sit here?

She turned her head up, visibly stunned at the boldness of the young man who had just arrived. He sat down even before she was allowed time to answer. His action did not pass overlooked at all. He noticed her immediate discomfort. He also saw that one of the waiters, who stood near the counter of the Café, could not take his eyes off of them.

A vein of perversity flooded up with a bloody thirst for revenge, but he knew how to be patient and remain impassive. He needed to be more certain about his suspicion, so he called the young man and ordered a cup of coffee. His intention, however, had a much more specific purpose. When he noticed the uneasiness of both - the woman and the waiter - his doubts dissipated immediately. He also detected the almost imperceptible exchange of glances between the two of them.

Misha, then, smiled at her and his smile was the most charming he could produce at that time. She returned that smile, rather awkwardly, not knowing exactly what to do. The boy who served them frowned, disturbed.

(Bingo!)

The dark seed of doubt had been planted. It was only a matter of time then... and time was one of the things he had plenty to spare... Misha did not need, however, to take a further second step.

That night, when the woman and her lover boy were together, after loving each other like two desperate castaways looking for a lifeline, he rolled over and stayed in silence, staring at the ceiling. She realized there was something strange hovering in the air. Still, she said, gently:

- I really enjoy being here with you...

But the young man seemed to be a million miles away from her. A tear of sadness rolled down his side of the face, when he gave a long, painful sigh...

***

Misha started to observe the woman’s every footstep very closely. He realized that her trips to the corner Café ceased after that time they last met. He made himself sure first he was right and then decided to take advantage of the situation.

He waited a while and returned to the Café, addressing that table employee he already knew. He asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, where the other man’s girlfriend was. Despite the attempts of the young man saying that there was nothing between him and the police investigator, Misha did not seem convinced at all.

After a few minutes, he decided he should challenge the boy. He bet he could take the woman to his bed.

- If there is nothing between you, there is nothing to worry about, is it not?

- Why are you doing this?

- To prove that things are not what they appear to be... and besides, there is nothing going on between the two of you, as you affirmed unquestionably.

The real purpose, however, was very far from being that simple.

***

- I have noticed that you are alone and very lonely lately. Every time I see you, I have the impression you are sadder and sadder. Has that boy left you?

- What boy?

- Do you think I don’t know what's going on? Just because you don’t go to the 'Temple' anymore, that doesn’t mean you go unnoticed ... You’re an attractive woman, even behind this facade of a serious and tough cop. And I know you think I'm interesting.

('And arrogant' - she thought, slightly chuckling...)

- I see the way you look at me and I know that you must want me too...

- If I have ever looked at you with some desire, that must have been a long while ago. I have no attraction for you at all. Now I'm interested in another man, very different from your kind.

- The boy at the Café...

Her eyes swiftly showed a bitter sadness. He laughed, victorious.

She had not denied nor confirmed anything. The man’s statement had a good amount of truth. She was truly falling in love with the other young man, although at that time they were apart. They had not seen each other since the incident where he asked her to give him time to think. Her eyes filled with tears when she remembered the strangeness of their last meeting. That had happened already several days in the past...

Misha noticed her state and took advantage of the situation and fragility she showed at the time. He moved up closer and looked into her eyes and smiled. She could not look away. He touched her face - warmly and gently. She, in response, closed her eyes...

***

He was a master who knew all the secrets of seduction, how to prepare a sensual ambience and knew the most sensitive points of the woman’s body. He gave her pleasures she did not know ever existed, even when she was with her young lover. It was evident that Misha was a professional in the business and knew very well how to please.

- Now you're going to have to lie to the boy...

They were in bed, side by side, lying on their backs and looking at the unlit ceiling.

- I don’t need to lie. I just don’t need to speak the whole truth... And we never promised to be loyal nor restricted to each other...

But she knew that what she had just said was not quite true... and she was sorry for that.

As in a well-rehearsed screen play, her cell phone rang...

Other Studies in Red and Blue - Part 2

- And what if I fall for you?

She did not really expect that... The message flashing on the computer screen in front of her, for some long seconds, caught her in surprise and caused her some alarm. In her mind, it was like a warning red light immediately lit in reaction to those words.

(Oh, God, what if I'm already in love with you, my dear blue-eyed boy?)

How to answer that question without showing all her apprehensions and doubts, added to her desires - so carefully concealed - and her fear of losing him?

And what if she was not prepared to tell him or even become more involved than she really was? Would have it been too early? Relationships are always so complicated, pondered the woman before trying to express what was really going on in her head...

Luckily, they were just 'cyber-chatting', with no camera connected, so she was not really exposing the emotions shown on her face at that moment. She typed a message and added an 'emoticon' representing a hug. She had decided to save some time...

- What are you afraid of, my friend? Of being hurt?

- I do not know actually what I'm afraid of...

She was silent... That statement was almost obvious. A new experience with a mature and apparently confident and brave woman could be the only reason he could have any fear to endeavour into. But ultimately, what would he lose if he, by any chance, ventured to stay with her, facing so many fears and so many insecurities? She would be there for him all the time, anyway... or at least as long as that relationship would last...

Knowing the effect that the next message would have, she typed it, pressed the "Enter" key and waited.

- Only an OK? You know how I hate it when you send only an "OK"... I have the impression that you do not mind... that it makes no difference at all...

She laughed and said to herself, aloud: I do mind… I surely do...

She had great affection for that boy that made her feel feminine and alive after a long time. He was already a great part of her story, she acknowledged. And that part of her, which became gradually more involved in that relationship, confirmed the words she had spoken aloud. It made a difference, yes... and that was quite a big difference...

She wondered how that situation could have resulted from a casual diversion strategy, to avoid contact with an inconvenient character, who used to show up at a pub recently opened by the riverside...

Her eyes lost focus automatically when the memories started surfacing as if they were coming from an uncontrolled flood of reminiscences which were then filling her mind up.

***

Red...

The late summer afternoon sun coming in through the stained glass windows – which stood lofty along the whole extension of the building - caused quite a charming impression to those who entered the pub at that time of the day.  The large Gothic arched windows placed at about one meter above the standing head line, were each one decorated with a fine and delicate brim of floral details entangled around a red background.

There was an oval shaped bar counter, strategically placed in the central part of the large hall thus allowing access from all sides, without causing inconvenient queues of service to the pub users. Two very discreet crystal chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling, just below the rows of decorated windows above, some meters away from the central bar.

'The Temple' was the most fashionable local pub in town. Its windows resembled those of ancient churches and the lovely effect of the fine ornamented stained glasses, filtering the incidence of daylight, diminish the need for light bulbs and lamps, colouring the atmosphere with various shades of different colours.

The acoustics were well designed, so as not to create reverberations due to the high ceiling of the building. There was a line of speakers distributed above the head of the sitting clients, around the large hall, still allowing people to talk in reasonably low tone, in spite of the music playing on uninterruptedly. Everything had been carefully calculated in order to properly make the place a warm and inviting ambience.

The 'happy hour' was quite an event. 'Vintage' Music carefully selected to play for a quieter group of regulars, would changed considerably from a certain time in the evening. On Thursdays, especially, the place turned into a big party with electronic music and dance in a contiguous environment. It was the night of youth and thus avoided by the more traditional clientele.

A long and tiring shift had ended and the police investigator decided to try that new establishment, opened by the edge of the river mouth. She needed a drink... maybe a single soda, maybe a stronger thing.

When she entered the building, the environment seemed somewhat surreal. The atmosphere was charmingly creative and innovative playing unusual music quite to her liking in a delightfully relaxing volume at that hour of the afternoon. A beam of coloured light - coming from above, at an acute angle with the heavy dark wooden floor - almost turned the guy leaning on the counter, in a character of a strange fairy tale, painted in bright shades of red.

He was facing the entrance door, playing with a glass of beer in his hand. He moved forward, staying away from the beam of light filtered through the stained glass. She realized her most fascinating feature, as soon as she first set her eyes on them...

Blue... like the waters of the Pacific Ocean...

That's how he referred to his own eyes. Those were of a so intense and so brilliant cobalt hue that attracted the attention of the woman almost immediately. Above them, frames of almost invisible eyebrows, decorated his mischievous look.

The auburn beard - strategically left undone for a few days - adorned the attractive and harmonious face - manly and angelic at the same time. The smile was wide and lovely, with well proportioned and neat white teeth. The lips were too well designed. Every time the door opened, the early evening wind played with his hair, challenging her to look away. She was already completely mesmerized by the unique beauty of the young man, however.

She lost track of time contemplating the impossible - or unattainable - in what seemed like an infinitely long time. The eyes that stare at the sun for too long can be irreparably burned. She would take notice of that right away.

Misha was fully aware of having caused a surprising effect on the woman who had just come in and who did not seem to be capable of looking away from him. He knew he was being observed with great interest and was performing his private show while listening and humming at the same time, the song that served them as soundtrack for that moment - a fusion of modern jazz and ‘Bossa Nova’ - slightly danceable and highly sensual.

"When loving me is so easy, then why do I feel twisted, Cupid?" (From 'Twisted Cupid' - by Slow Train Soul)...

That young man knew very well how to use his charm in an extremely provocative and quite natural way. When their eyes met, he showed her his best smile, knowing that his move was masterful and the woman was already entirely fascinated by watching his stunningly seductive figure.

In fact, however, his presence there was not as harmless as it seemed at first sight. Before long, her well trained eyes realized more than just ulterior motives for that stop for a not so innocent drink in the early evening. There were some hidden mysteries in his presence in the premises, so she decided to try to unravel whatever it was without let him realize her intentions. Under a facade of a professional model, he hid the somewhat darker side of his personality. Being an 'escort' was not definitely a less well-sight occupation...

She started visiting the 'Temple' assiduously. She would go sometimes alone, sometimes with a friend who was a photographer and reporter.

In a short time she was able to assess his behaviour and realize the kind of person that young man was. Approaching him and inciting conversation had been a natural act, since his presence in that place had a purpose that became clearer as time went by.

As they talked for the first time, the image she had of him decayed considerably, but it worsened in the following occasions. She was used to people who have a bloated ego, but Misha exceeded everyone she had ever met. He soon proved to be a great manipulator too. That characteristic of his, however, she could detect in time to avoid herself being used or fooled by him.

His charming personality withered quickly, as soon as she realized who was behind that attractive - but empty - physical beauty. He was nothing more than a bitter and somewhat petulant man - quite pathetic and rather dull. He was a person that she would never trust, as she detected in him a very clear tendency to take advantage of the weaknesses of other people.

He did not welcome her refusal to help him in his schemes to raise money or believe his tragic stories, which would always show up, due to his bad temper and natural arrogance of youth, combined with a superbly gigantic narcissism.

She decided to be cautious when dealing with him, for her own safety.

As time went by, she became more and more disappointed in him.

In a street fight, the rioters were taken to the police station where the detective worked. By an unfortunate coincidence, she crossed the room, at the time Misha waited his turn to give statement. He soon realized her presence. His keen eyes were curiously intrigued. He frowned, as if he had never expected to see her in that place. She turned away without giving any sign of recognizing him. He even tried to call her attention, but she disappeared from view before showing any reaction. The young man, realizing that she had avoided him, took note of her behaviour in his surprised mind and welcomed that new information like a gift. An opportunity to use that news would eventually appear. All he needed was enough patience... And he would not lose anything by waiting. Despite being registered at the police station for assault and disturbance of public order, the boy with blond hair and blue eyes smiled. He had just gotten a useful card to keep hidden in the sleeve until it was the right time for him to play.

She decided to avoid her usual visits to ‘The Temple'. She did not want to expose herself so soon. Perhaps the incident would be forgotten in a short time, but she was afraid that he would demand an explanation for her behaviour the other day.

The 'Cafe' at the corner, near her home, seemed to be the most viable alternative to unwind at the end of the day... at least while she tried to avoid facing the beautiful, but dangerous, Misha again.

***

Red... Blue... Red... White... Red... Blue...

- Stop staring at those lights this way. You cannot change what happened. There's nothing else you can do now... Let's get out of here. Get in the car. It's too late now...

She would not stop talking... and that speech was torture in my head already quite tired and completely tormented. Why do women always insist they know everything? I am one and I do not think so... There must be something very wrong with me...

She tightly grabbed my arm and looked at me with a noticeably intimidating firmness, taking my undivided attention apart from the flashing lights. If she was not the person I trusted most - one of the few friends I still had, I would certainly tell her to shut up and free me from her hands with a jerk - if I had the strength to do so at that time.

Although I did not really have to hide my emotions from anyone or anything, I must admit that she was right after all. Although bothering me, my friend, a brilliant photographer and reporter, merely intended to protect me.

I was exhausted, pale and about to lose my balance and control. I needed to focus and recompose myself before doing something stupid. All I wanted, however, was scream... and shout out loud... really loud!

(Oh, God... Why haven’t I just got there some minutes before? Why? So many things could be so different then... why, God, why?)

Consistency, however, forced me to swallow my pain, my pride and my weakness, in order not to collapse right there in front of so many people. I got into the car, but could not start the engine immediately. She also came in and sat beside me - this time quietly - but attentive to any movement, like a wary cat, lurking all activity around her and attentive enough not to let anything pass around her without seeing or interfering instinctively.

The attention of the curious, technicians and police officers were still all focused on the scene unfolding just a few meters away from the car. I felt like I was out of that context, seeing everything from the outside, like a movie, in a very surreal atmosphere. I almost did not believe that was really happening.

The lights on the top of police cars, forming a wall of isolation from one side of the street, continued to spin and paint the scenery, alternately in red... and blue... and red... and blue...

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath... When I opened them again, my vision was still blurred by the tears that I retained, but I decided to be stronger than my grief. I'm a trained cop conditioned to control my emotions and be consistent and cold, especially in situations considered strong by most people... I knew I had to be stronger than I ever was before. That scene, however, had sensibly shaken my structure, showing that, although well trained, I was also human, after all...

She knew me very well and decided not to say another word, as she waited for me to regain some self-balance. I lifted my head, loudly cleared up my throat - with forced energy - and turned the car ignition on...

***

Feeling strangely uncomfortable in the soft couch of the therapist office, the woman told the restless anguish that she passed in the recent days. At the same time, she felt her pain relived in detail, with every word she used to describe what she had seen and felt and that brought her there. The room was soberly decorated in shades of sepia and amber and she was supposed to talk about herself - one of the toughest situations she ventured to face.

Therapy had been referred by the doctor on duty, who rescued her, after the beginning of a nervous breakdown due to excessive working hours and probably highly compulsive work. Little did he know that the real reason for the crack-up was directly linked to the mystery surrounding the murder she had to unveil... and its causes and the consequences were taking her night’s sleep away...

The psychotherapist, a woman of unidentifiable age - a matron of over forty years old, for sure - those who you can imagine, but will certainly fail to determine exactly how many years she had lived, induced her to go on a painfully trodden path, applying pressure to specific points on the soles of the well pedicured feet  of the detective. Her techniques of shiatsu and reflexology, associated with a planned mental exercise, where a well-defined conductive line was given as a guide, had a very specific purpose: understand the mechanisms of the mind to dissociate and recover the memory details of certain traumatic events. The intention was to provide the patient with conditions to find solutions for the therapeutic process inside her own mind.

The woman slowly closed her eyes. In her head, a sequence of flashing colours continued insistently, relentlessly, hypnotically... like spinning blades of light alternately cutting the memories and perceptions... sometimes in blue... sometimes red... blue... red... blue... red...

The distressing sight of the deep blue eyes staring nowhere ahead and a large red puddle forming slowly around the body, tormented her without inducing a single trace of how to find a way out...

Trapped in a psyche greatly disturbed by the sense of loss, her musings came in and out, mixing reality and imagination, in a process ably led by a therapist who was giving inputs for one and another line of thought, in order to find a way out of the maze where she was. It was important to bring to mind the facts and try to capture the more hidden details of the events. Her biggest concern, however, was to unravel the mystery surrounding the event recently experienced that had so greatly shaken her. Each one with a distinct purpose, both women worked to find the right answers to a mystery to solve.

How I wish I could amend things. If I could relive the last day of my life, I would change everything... how many mistakes can be made on the same day? How many times can the same mistake be made, before one realizes it is really a blunder? How many times can one insist on an error, until life shows - with shocking evidence - how stupid we can be?

- You'll have to get used to living with your own mistakes, said the therapist. They are part of the learning process of life...

- But that one cost the life of an innocent man, woman... is it so hard to realize this? And do not treat me as a teenager. I know the extent of my faults and I know – very well - these psychology theories...

She bit her lip, so not to drop an expletive, which was about to come out of her mouth. Sometimes it was even hard to control herself, especially when her anger was crossing a line beyond the ethically acceptable behaviour.

- You’re not the one to blame for what happened. You are not responsible for the acts of others... especially of maniacs and murderers...

- But it was I who provoked the wrath "of others," she said, adding a good dose of irony and a certain mockery in her voice, as she repeated the words recently spoken by the other woman. And besides, I feel responsible...

The therapist shook her head - a gesture the other woman learned how to interpret very well. There was no further point to argue, because no argument would be strong enough to make her accept or change her opinion.

There was nothing else that could be done, it was true, but it was not - in any way - too late.

Instead, the investigation - and perhaps much more than a simple police procedure – had just begun. It was her personal matter of honour going deep to the bottom of the case and discover not only the reasons why but also severely punish the culprit.