Top 5 Inspiration Triggers

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The Original Trap

"Whereabouts are you from?” he asks.

It's Saturday night and we're in Slim Jim's Liquor Store, a bar near Angel Tube, London. He's blond, fashionable and handsome, but makes a slightly desperate impression. That is, desperate to get laid, not to get married. In Dutch we'd call him a 'skirt hunter'. Apparently his ammunition is cheap: he takes aim at every skirt that flutters in his direction. At first, he started talking to my friend, but when her boyfriend marked his territory by wrapping his arm around her shoulders, it was my turn.

“What do you think?” I play his game along. I'm not gonna let him score, but I am gonna let him hit on me. What else do people go to a bar for?

“I can tell you're not from England. I'd say you're Eastern European, Polish perhaps. I'm not sure.”

So that's what all my efforts to conceal my origin have done for me: I seem even further off. Knowingly, I darted within the range of his rifle, but did not expect to step into a trap.

“I'm Dutch.” I jerk my leg which is caught in the hunting trap, but the metal tears my tights and punctures my skin. I'm stuck.

“I love the Netherlands!” Of course he does. I bet he's gonna mention Amsterdam now. Cheap ammunition. “I've been to Amsterdam numerous times! A great city! I used to have a girlfriend that lived there.”

I can't believe he just said that. Now that the trap has pinned me down to the earth, he doesn't even wish to waste his bullets on me, and starts firing crap at me! And me, I have to listen to it because I'm bloody stuck.

Even though he's a complete ninkumpoop, I wish I were him. Born British.

Even though he chooses to stay in this conversation, he's the hunter, he's free to go when it doesn't please him any more. He's here naturally, and therefore freely. He belongs here. I, on the other hand, made the choice to be here. I'm an immigrant and I can be held responsible for my presence. But the trap question, the one I can't answer, is: what am I doing here, in this place where I don't belong?Blood is running down my ankle and is soaking my shoe.

“So you used to go to Amsterdam a lot, then?” I ask.

Skirt Hunter nods. “And people always started to speak Dutch to me in bars.”

“I know what you mean.” I grin. “Up here, they always start talking English to me too.”

For the first time, he directs his eyes away from my skirt, and looks at my face. Did he really think I would eat out of his hand because the metal mouth of my background has caught my ankle and tied me to the roots of the tree called Holland? Did he not expect the captured kitten to sneer?

“I took it as a compliment, though,” he says.

“And why is that?”

“Because I think Dutch people are very attractive. And if they think I'm one of them, that means they think I share their beauty.”

He hasn't had time to lower his gaze yet, and I use this extraordinary opportunity to say nothing but give him an intensely surprised look.

“They are!” Skirt Hunter exclaims. He feels he has to make a point now, I can tell. “It's like, everyone knows the Italians are sexy, they are openly showing off. Everyone knows the French are beautiful in a catwalk way, and they are showing off with that. And everyone knows the Scandinavians are hot and blond, even if you've never been there. But the Dutch, they are not that stereotypical, not everyone knows about it and they aren't bragging about it either. You have to look at them and then you see it. And it's, like, stunning. It's an inner beauty, but radiating, do you know what I mean?”

I think he means he's talking shit out of the back of his neck and he knows it. He thought I was Polish because of my poor pronunciation, and he's trying to get into my knickers by telling me everyone from my country is easy and I should be too. I smile and say nothing.

“It's not easy to pin down why the Dutch are so attractive, and that makes them only sexier. And they are so casual about it, too. Not proud or arrogant or anything. But they all have this specific thing about them, which is just, intense, you know. Beauty. I take it as a compliment when they think I'm one of them.”

I can't bare listening to this any longer. I wasn't gonna let him succeed in his attempt to seduce me, but that doesn't make it any less humiliating that he's throwing shit at me! He's working hard to save his face by blabbing on about the inner beauty of the Dutch, but who is he trying to fool? He knows I'm not buying it, his eyes are desperately looking for a next victim, but his voice is imprisoned by my silence.

“Actually,” I say, and pause. “I think I agree with you. The Dutch are incredibly sexy. In fact, almost everyone I've slept with is Dutch.”

Liberating laughter follows. Tonight I'm a free foreigner. Tomorrow I'll have to face my demons again.

Itch

Tommy was a healthy boy. He always finished his plate and loved to play outside. He had blonde hair and his cheeks blushed like peaches. He liked to climb trees, dig in the mud and build things. He often got very dirty. But he never complained when he had to take a bath, because that’s when he could play with his rubber ducky. Tommy had never seen a doctor, until he got the rash.
Red bumps covered the soft skin of his bottom. Tommy was four years old at the time. Though his bum was very itchy, Tommy was excited about going to the doctor. He loved doing new things.
Doctor Seymore was a tall man in white coat: a traditional doctor. He asked Tommy if he had pooed in poison ivy.
“Of course not!” exclaimed Tommy.
“I’m asking,” the doctor said, “because that’s what the rash looks like. It is an allergic reaction.”
“Will I need an injection?” asked Tommy. He was very excited about the idea.
“No,” said doctor Seymore. “A bit of cream on your buttocks will do.”

Every night, his mother had to apply a thick layer of white cream on the rash. But the cream only made things worse. It caused his skin to swell, and the tiny bumps grew bigger. As if they were feeding on the fatty substance.
“I hate that cream,” cried Tommy. It was bedtime, and he was hiding in his closet when his mummy came into his room. “I can’t sleep because it itches too much!”
“My poop baby,” his mother said, “is it really that bad? Let me have a look.”
“No!” Tommy screamed. He held on to the door of the closet, because he didn’t want to come out.
“I promise I won’t put cream on it,” his mother said. She put the tube on the table and showed him her empty hands. “Just let me have a look.”
His eyes were still red from crying when he let go of the closet door. He put his pyjama bottoms down and let his mum look at his bum.
She shrieked. His skin looked like a red orange: thick and shiny, with oozing dimples and pimples. And he had bright red scratches all over his back and legs, radiating from his bum.
“When did this happen?” asked his mummy. She softly touched his back.
“After I had a bath,” Tommy cried. “The water felt good, but the towel was terrible!”
His mother hugged him and gave him a cup of warm chocolate milk. That night she didn’t put cream on it.
The next morning, Tommy´s bottom was so big, he didn´t fit in his trousers any more. His mother wanted to take him to doctor Seymore in his pyjamas. When she took him to the car, Tommy screamed so load his throat went sore, and all the neighbours came out to see what was happening.
“Let the doctor come and see him,” someone said, “instead of dragging the poor kid all the way to the practice!”

When the doctor arrived, Tommy was having a bath. Only water could soothe the terrible itch. The red scratches were swollen too, now, and his mother cried because he looked so dreadful. But Tommy was happier than he had been for days.
“Look, mummy,” he said. He hid his rubber ducky behind his back. “Ducky is playing hide and seek!”
“I see, darling,” she said. “Here is the doctor. He wants to have a look at your behind.”
Doctor Seymore was wearing his white coat again, and put on rubber gloves.
“You have to come out of the bath now,” the doctor said. But as soon as he got out of the water, Tommy started blaring again.
“Hush, darling, hush.” His mother kissed him and patted his blond hair. Tommy didn’t want to cry, but he couldn’t help it. It felt like a colony of bees was swarming all over his body, and the stings and itches were unbearable. He fell on the floor and rubbed his back on the bathroom rug.
“Perhaps he’s better off in the bath,” doctor Seymore said, and together with his mother he lifted Tommy up and put him back in the bath. He had rubbed his back so hard, that he left streaks of blood on the white rug.

Tommy was still sobbing when the doctor started the examination.
“Very peculiar,” the doctor said. Between his gloved fingertips he held one of the big pimples. “This almost looks like an insect bite. It’s much bigger. But look at the pinhole in the middle. Very peculiar.”
Tommy clutched his mother’s hand. She felt how he trembled.
“Can’t you give him something?” she asked. “Something against the itch?”
“I’m not sure,” the doctor said. He squeezed the lump between his fingers and brought his face closer. “It’s almost as if there’s something in there. Look.”
His mother looked at the flaming bump between the doctor’s fingers. It was as big as a marble and had the shape of a rugby ball.
She let out a yelp. The bump moved under Tommy’s skin, like a rugby ball spinning in the air.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“It has to come out,” the doctor said. He had trouble holding on to the twisting pimple. “As soon as possible. Can you get my scalpel from my bag?”
His mother started rummaging through the doctor’s bag. But before she handed him the scalpel, the skin burst open between the doctor’s fingers. From the flesh, a beak appeared. It spat blood and slime onto the doctor’s white coat.
Tommy squealed at the top of his voice. His screaming was so intense, his mother could feel it in her marrow.
“Make it stop,” she begged the doctor. “Please make it stop!”
Blood oozed from the wound and mixed with the bath water. With his free hand, doctor Seymore tried to get hold of the beak. It snapped at his fingers. When it bit the glove, the sound of squeaking rubber was heard. The glove broke, but doctor Seymore got hold of the beak and did not let go. He started pulling and twisting as hard as he could, until something suddenly gave way. A round yellow head popped up from Tommy’s soft flesh.
“It’s a rubber ducky!” his mother exclaimed in terror.
“It’s alive!” the doctor screamed. “And it bites!”
But they didn’t hear each other. All they heard was Tommy’s constant screaming.
The bath was filled with blood now. Doctor Seymore took the round head with two hands, like the doorknob of a stuck door. He started pulling with all his might. But the ducky’s torso was stuck in Tommy’s flesh and didn’t come out. Instead, the doctor lifted the boy from the water by the head of the rubber ducky.
“Mummy!” Tommy screamed.
His mother grabbed him by the waist while the doctor kept pulling. He put his foot on the boy’s back and finally the ducky came loose. The doctor tumbled backwards and fell with his head against the sink.
Tommy’s left buttock was one huge gaping wound. His mother had never heard him cry this loud before.
“Doctor, doctor, what should I do?” she asked. She clasped her bleeding child to her chest. Under her hands she felt that the rash on his back started to move as well. “Doctor, please, what should I do?”
But the doctor didn’t answer. He was unconscious.
“Water!” Tommy’s voice rasped in her ear. “Water! Water! Water!”
Her eyes fell on the bath. It was filled with blood. In the middle floated Tommy’s rubber ducky. And then she felt a new beak pierce through his skin. A spurt of blood painted the wall above the bath red.
“Water!” Tommy’s voice was loosing strength as quick as he was loosing blood. “Water, mummy, please. Please put me in the bath...”

Toby Turd and the Pile of Poo

Splash! Toby Turd is born.
He is brown like milk chocolate, but he doesn't smell as sweet.

In the toilet bowl, Toby Turd shivers.
The water is cold. Nothing like Billy's belly!

Inside Billy's belly, Toby Turd felt safe and warm.
Billy always hugged him tight.

Toby Turd has sweetcorn eyes. Above him, he sees Billy's bum.
Billy's buttocks are pink and round.

'Let me back in!' he begs. But Billy doesn't hear him.
Billy wipes his bum. The paper is dirty.

Billy drops it in the loo.
The paper falls on top of Toby Turd.

The loo starts to growl.
A wave flushes the paper off his head. He can see again.

'Let me out!' he calls. He tries to climb the walls.
But the walls are slippery and the wave is strong.

The flow sucks him away from Billy.
Down, down, down he goes...

The sewer is dark. It stinks terribly.
He hears water running, but nothing else.

'Hello?' he calls.
His voice echoes in the empty tunnel.

Toby Turd is scared. He is floating in wee-wee.
It smells like vinegar. It itches all over his body.

He scratches his back.
A piece of poop breaks off and floats away.

Poor Toby Turd! He starts to fall apart.
Suddenly he hears a fart!

'Help!' he cries.
From the dark water rises a huge Pile of Poo.

'Who are you?' asks the Pile of Poo.
Piddle drips from his lumps and he creaks when he moves.

The Pile of Poo keeps mounting higher and higher. He is massive!
'I'm just a little butt nugget,' says Toby Turd.

The giant scoops him from the wee-wee and toots.
'You smell fresh,' he says.

'You don't!' Toby Turd starts to cry.
'You smell foul! I want to go back to Billy!'

'Don't cry!' The Pile of Poo pats his head.
'Who is Billy?'

'Billy is my friend,' says Toby Turd.
'He loves me. He always hugged me tight.'

The Pile of Poo is frowning. A long fart echoes in the sewer.
'Then why are you here?'

'I don't know!' Toby Turd starts to cry again.
'It must be a mistake! I miss him so much!'

'All right,' says the Pile of Poo. He starts to wade through the water.
'I'll bring you back to Billy.'

The Pile of Poo moves quickly and smoothly.
He stinks of rotten eggs. But Toby Turd feels comfy on his back.

He doesn't cry any more. Soon, he will be back with Billy!
The Pile of Poo gets out of the water. He starts to climb a ladder.

'Where are we going?' asks Toby Turd.
The Pile of Poo pushes against the ceiling. 'We're going up!'

It is night in the streets. Nobody sees them come out of the sewage.
'Where does Billy live?' asks the Pile of Poo.

'Oh no,' says Toby Turd. 'I don't know! How are we ever going to find him?'
He cries again. Piddle drips from his sweetcorn eyes.

'Don't worry,' says the giant. He sniffs at Toby Turd.
'I can smell where you come from! This way!'

'Hello mister Magpie!' The Pile of Poo stops and nods at a bird.
'Kraa!' screams the bird. He flies up and pecks at Toby Turd's eye.

That hurts! Suddenly there are two hundred birds!
They are all hungry. They all want to eat Toby Turd and the Pile of Poo.

Toby Turd hides under a big lump. The giant starts to run.
He leaves a trail of footprints.

Birds stop at every print of poop on the pavement.
The Pile of Poo stops in an alley.

'We're safe,' he toots.
'That was very scary,' says Toby Turd.

Suddenly, they hear a woman call for help.
A mean man is running away with the woman's purse.

'We have to help!' says Toby Turd.
The Pile of Poo runs after the thief.

He is very quick and stops the thief.
'Give that purse back!' he says.

'No!' says the thief. 'You stink!'
'I warned you!' says the Pile of Poo.

With a big fist, he smacks the thief in the face.
Diarrhoea splatters in every direction. The thief is very dirty.

The woman comes running towards them.
'How can I thank you?' she asks.

But the Pile of Poo flees. He doesn't want her to smell them.
He runs slower than before and he farts less.

'What is wrong?' asks Toby Turd.
'I'm drying out,' says the Pile of Poo. 'I need to go to the loo.'

'Let's go back to the sewer,' says Toby Turd.
'That's where we belong.'

'No,' says the Pile of Poo. 'You belong with Billy.'
He sniffs. 'This house smells like you.'

'Really?' asks Toby Turd. He is very happy.
'Yes,' says the Pile of Poo. 'But I can't go in with you.'

He puts him down. 'You have to climb the pipe alone. I'm too big.'
'Thank you very much,' says Toby Turd.

'My pleasure, little butt nugget. I'll miss you.'
'I'll miss you too, Pile of Poo.'

Toby Turd climbs up the pipe.
On the first floor, there is an open window.

Toby Turd peeks inside and sees Billy sleeping.
Hurrah! He waves at the Pile of Poo and jumps into the bedroom.

He yawns and snuggles up to Billy's willy.
'I love you, Billy,' he whispers to the sleeping boy.

SUGAR! (synopsis for a graphic novel)

In the summer of 2009, the British death metal band Heinous goes on tour to promote their second album, SUGAR. In the European capitals they visit, they are welcomed by dodgy music venues and play gigs for drug abusing Gothic teenagers, secret satanic societies and extreme right youth movements. Soon it turns out that in this threatening scene, someone or something is after them and wants to see them dead.

Jacky Green (22, ESFP) is an all-round freelance journalist in Central London. She has been working a lot lately and needs a holiday. When the manager of Heinous asks her to go on tour with the band, she immediately knows to say yes. She’ll have to write some articles for their website and post a message on their blog every day.

Her hair is bright ginger and she’s got a piercing in her lower lip. She’s got a feminine figure and combines TopShop fashion items with second hand army clothing.

She’s a very active, spontaneous and impulsive girl. Storytelling is her great passion; she loves to listen to people, discover their stories and pass them on. She’s a vegetarian, a smoker and loves a drink with friends.

Actually, Jacky is more into ‘happy’ alternative music, but she agreed to go on to the trip because she’s always looking for adventure and she thought a paid summer holiday would be exciting.

Members of the Band

“Grim” George Battlefield (23, INTJ) vocals, guitar, composer

George has only one dream: to be a death metal legend. He has worked very hard to get where he is now. The songs he writes have great potential. They are very fast and have intricate structures with abrupt tempo, key, and time signature changes, just the way death metal fans like it. He practices several hours a day and expects the same from the other band members. He’s allergic to slacking. He is athletic, wears tight leather clothing and red contact lenses, dyes his hair black and has had a dental adjustment of his canines, which now look like vampire fangs.

George has suffered from Type 1 diabetes since the age of 12. This means he has to live according to a strict regimen of home blood glucose testing several times a day, multiple daily insulin injections, a carefully calculated diet, lots of physical exercise and obviously no alcohol, smoking or other drugs. Because to him it is a matter of life and death, George has developed great will power and self discipline. This has helped him to become the electric guitar virtuoso he is today. But he often feels lonely. Because of the restrictions he has to deal with, he is often left out of social activities, and because of his iron determination to deliver a perfect performance every time they go on stage, the other band members find it hard to connect with him.

Vic “The Vile” Pinker (20, ESFJ) guitar, electric violin

“Putrid” Paul Pinker (22, ISFJ) bass, electric keyboard

The brothers Vic and Paul look very much alike. They grew up in a warm and loving family in Northern London. They are very gifted, both intellectually and musically, and share a great sense of humour. They have played in classical orchestras before, but never in a band. They appreciate death metal because it is a challenge to play (contrary to punk or pop music), and are very intrigued with the scene that comes with it.

As the older brother, Paul has a great ‘need to be needed’. This is mainly directed towards his younger brother; he virtuously does anything for Vic, even found him a band to join on MySpace when Vic got into death metal. He is often unappreciated, at work, home, and play. Ironically, because he proves over and over that he can be relied on for his loyalty and unstinting, high-quality work, those around him often take him for granted. The problem is aggravated by himself, because he is notoriously bad at delegating ("If you want it done right, do it yourself").

Paul and Vic are both pale and skinny, wear ragged black jeans and black t-shirts. Since Paul is rather shy, he tends to hide his face behind a curtain of blond waving hair. He’s got a big tattoo on his right upper arm. Vic is outgoing, has no tattoos and wears his long blond hair in a pony tail.

Brian Butcher (33, ENTP) drums

Butcher is a big bald Irish carnivore. He’s an alcoholic and a smoker, but after his first can of beer he’s always cheerful and easygoing. He loves to argue for the sake of arguing: he told George he didn’t need a nickname because his real name spoke for itself, and won the argument. He’s got several tattoos and piercings and is often rude to women, but is still very successful when it comes to one-night-stands.

He has performed with Cannibal Corpse and Morbid Angel and is one of the most fiery and fast drummers of this era.

Tour dates: Thursday 16 July – Sunday 26 July 2009

Gothenburg, Sweden

Oslo, Norway

Copenhagen, Denmark

Amsterdam, Holland

Rotterdam, Holland

Berlin, Germany

Warschau, Poland

Prague, Czech Republic

Zagreb, Croatia

Florence, Italy

Outline:

The book starts with a screenshot of the Heinous website and a list of tour dates. Afterwards, every chapter starts with a screenshot of their blog, with Jacky’s new entry.

Her first entry is a positive review of the concert in Gothenburg. But in the chapter that follows, we see it’s only positive because that’s what she gets paid for. She doesn’t really like the music, she thinks George is a creep and Vic and Paul are slightly pathetic.

On the airplane to Oslo she’s seated next to Butcher. He buys her Champagne because she said ‘no thanks’ when he offered her a beer, and makes her laugh.

Screenshot of Butcher's profile page on the Heinous website, presumably written by Jacky after their chat on the plane.

The concert in Oslo is a great success. Afterwards, George disappears, Butchers leaves with two sixteen year old fans, and Jacky, Vic and Paul end up smoking a lot of weed with the band members of the supporting act. When Jacky asks about George's disappearance, Vic and Paul tell her he can't indulge in their life style because he suffers from diabetes.

The next morning she checks the website and reads the replies to her previous blog. There is one that troubles her. A visitor calling himself 'Stalker' clearly tells her she doesn't know anything about death metal and wishes her dead. She asks the manager to remove it, but he refuses, saying it is all part of the scene.

The next blog post is a positive review of the Oslo-concert. It shows she has picked up on some knowledge about death metal.

All band members are having lunch together in five-star hotel D’Angleterre in Copenhagen. Jacky tells Butcher about the comment on her blog. He points out that the message is a fragment of the lyrics of one of their songs. This makes her feel a little bit better. Then George gets a call on his mobile phone. The van with their instruments has had an accident on it's way to concert hall where they are supposed to play that night. The manager, who was driving it, is okay, and he's trying to arrange for replacement instruments. George is aggravated and wants to cancel the concert, but everyone points out that would be really bad publicity.

That night, Vic and Paul get stoned again with the supporting act and Butcher takes off with a gorgeous Gothic girl. Only George is not happy about their performance that night. Jacky decides she wants to get to know him better, because she is intrigued by what Vic and Paul have told her about him. She goes for a drink in the restaurant of their hotel with him. She has a cocktail, he opts for drink chamomile tea. He says it really hurts him to see people throw away their health deliberately, the way the other band members do.

Screenshot of George's profile on the website, presumably written by Jacky after their chat.

They end their conversation slightly flirtatious. In the corridor of the hotel, in front of Jacky's room, George tells her he has never had a girlfriend. She asks if that's because he was saving himself. He says that's what he'll tell his first girlfriend. They kiss each other goodnight on the cheek.

The next morning Jacky is woken up by room service. With her breakfast there's a note from George, to thank her for the lovely night. It's very kind, but Jacky is slightly disturbed because she recognizes the text as a fragment of the lyrics of one of Heinous' songs.

The next blog tells about the accident with the instruments, and is still very positive. There's a bit of video attached to the message.

Jacky, George, Butcher and the manager are waiting for Paul and Vic in the lobby, discussing the situation with the instruments. Accept for the keyboard and the drums, they are probably able to use their own instruments again that night in Amsterdam. Then Paul comes running from the elevator. He looks awful and is panicking. It turns out he can't wake up Vic. The previous night someone offered them MDMA, and apparently it didn't go well with Vic. They call an ambulance, Vic is taken to a hospital and Paul stays with him in Denmark while the rest of them head down to Amsterdam.

Two members of the supporting act offer to replace the brothers, and the manager insists they perform that night anyway.

That night, Jacky reads the comments on the blog again, and notices Stalker has left a message again, a phrase from the song 'Coma'. This implies Stalker knows about Vic, so it must be someone close to them. She tells Butcher about it, who doesn't feel like going out that night and has a beer with her in the lounge of the hotel. Because of the note with her breakfast, she doesn't wish to tell George.

The next blog shows pictures of the concert in Amsterdam.

They go sightseeing a bit, and then travel to Rotterdam, where Paul joins them again. Vic is still in a coma, but their parents are with him now and the manager is really pressing Paul. He tells him this is what Vic would want, because the tour is crucial for the band's future success.

After the concert, Butcher disappears with a sexy tall woman in leather pants and a corset. She has tea with George and Paul in the lobby of the hotel, when Paul breaks down crying. They try to comfort him, and she almost feels like they are a family. She thinks it's a coincidence George and Stalker both use bits of lyrics. She does think it is suspicious that the manager want the tour to go on no matter what, presses her to write about all the adversity and refuses to remove Stalker's comments on the blog.

When she gets to bed early that night, there's a lot of blood on her sheets and a red chunk of meat in the middle. Pinned on it is a scrap of paper, with a fragment of lyrics on it: “Your heart is next, bitch/I'll eat it raw!”

The next blog is the happy message that Vic woke up from his coma, and will hopefully be joining them again in Prague.

Paul flies back to Denmark. On their way to Berlin, Jacky tells George, the manager and Butcher she wants to write a story about Heinous and Stalker for her newspaper in London. She says so because she wants to test their reaction. Surely, if Stalker were one of them, he would encourage this idea. The manager is the first to encourage it, but that could be because it actually is good publicity for the band. George agrees and Butcher makes fun of it, but doesn't reject the idea either.

Despite the fact that they have to play without Vic and Paul, the concert in Berlin is very successful, and Jacky goes to an after party with Butcher.

The next blog shows some interesting pictures of George and Butcher in Prague.

In Warschau Paul joins them again. After the gig that night, they celebrate that Vic has recovered and will be joining them again. George goes to bed early, but the rest of the band gets very drunk. When Vicky wakes up the next morning she has a terrible hangover. When she goes to shower, someone has written something on the mirror: “The prettiest thing I've ever seen/The bleeding cunt of Jacky Green”.

She thoroughly freaked out now. This is the second time Stalker has broken into her hotel room, and this time he's not even using Heinous' lyrics anymore, but addressing her directly. She decides to write about it on the blog.

In Prague, Vic joins them again. There's a lot of publicity because they are finally together again, and they play very well. Everyone is very happy, and even George joins them to the after party. It's a very crowded, wild party and many people are having sex in public. When Jacky can't find Butcher, she decides to go back to the hotel, and asks Vic to take her back to the hotel. The doctors told him not to use drugs any more, and for now he's more than happy to listen to them.

Screenshot of the profile page of Vic, presumably written by Jacky after their chat.

George and Paul are still at the party. Jacky doesn't dare to sleep alone, so asks if she can stay in Vic's room that night. He's okay with that.

The next morning, Butcher doesn't show up at breakfast. It turns out he didn't check in at the hotel that night. Nobody saw him leave the party. At 9.30 am they are informed by the police that Butcher's dead body has been found in the common shower of a youth hostel in the centre of Prague. He has been tortured to death with an S&M tool in his mouth that prevented him from screaming. He was identified quickly because of a note that was left with the body: a page out of the cd-booklet of the album SUGAR. The page shows the lyrics of the song “Killing Silence”.

Jacky tells the police about Stalker and says she thinks the manager is quite suspicious. She also tells about the note George sent her after their conversation.

The next blog explains the rest of the tour has been cancelled because of the tragic loss of one of the band-members.

They are not allowed to leave the Czech Republic, and while mourning, stay in the Golden Well hotel in Prague. Although George and Paul both claim to have stayed at the party after Jacky left, they haven't seen each other. George is now officially a suspect and has to spend the night in prison, while the police are hearing him.

That night, Jacky, Vic and Paul all want to stay in the same room, because they don't feel safe. They've got a large suite on the top floor of the hotel. Vic is very tired and falls asleep very early. When Paul is having a shower, Jacky wants to reread the comments on her blog. She uses Paul's laptop to go to the website and sees the computer automatically logs in as Stalker. She's in ultimate shock and wakes up Vic. She explains what she has found out. At first Vic doesn't believe her, but she asks him whether he doesn't think it's sort of strange that Paul didn't stay with him while he was in a coma, Vic realises Paul has always been in the shadow of his more outgoing, radiant and handsome younger brother.

They call the police, who advice them to leave the apartment. But Paul hears them, comes out of the shower and tries to stop them. There's a big fight, and while Jacky runs out of the room the fighting brothers crash through the window and fall all the way down.

The last page is a website about death metal legend George, who is the only surviving member of the band Heinous.

Fabrica d'Amor (synopsis)

Fabrica d'Amor is a psychological novel about a thirteen year old runaway in the rough squat scene of London.

Characters:

• Maggie Marshall: 13 year old girl with ginger curls and freckles. She's left-handed. She's an only child and lives alone with her mother, Ellen Marshall, in Highgate, North London. Lately, they've got a lot of fights about the clothing Maggie wants to wear, about Ellen being overprotective and about Maggie's wish to become a vegetarian. She just started secondary school and doesn't like her new classmates at all. She's feeling very lonely until she meets Chris. Her name will be changed to Maggot when she moves to Fabrica d'Amor.
• Ellen Marshall: 34 year old single mother, grew up in Holland. She moved to London when she 20, soon after her father, who had made a small fortune with his business, died. At the time she was expecting Maggie. Maggie's father didn't want to follow her, because he thought Ellen had something to do with her own father's sudden death. Her speech is never communication. She speaks because the words force her to utter them, and she cannot resist, even though it would be wiser not to speak. I'm trying to show a different view of language. Occasions when she speaks are:
1. she's telling Maggie a bedtime story, Maggie falls asleep and doesn't reply;
2. she's getting drunk on her own and talking to herself. Meanwhile Maggie is listening in;
3. she writes letters that are never sent, to Maggie's father and her own father, both of whom were already dead when she was writing.
• Chris: 17 year old leader of a group of squatters who live in what he calls 'Fabrica d'Amor', a deserted factory in West London. He is skinny, boisterous, outgoing and adventurous. He wears retro clothing and likes David Bowie.
• The apostles: Chris lives with twelve other squatters, eleven boys and one girl called Justine. They consider themselves siblings and believe in an extreme communistic ideology. They think people that have sex should not live together, because such a relation would distort equality. Hence, Justine is 'one of the boys'.

The Father: seedy old man who sits in a corner of the squat without ever saying or doing anything. Chris and the apostles call him “Father”. Everyone has greatest respect for him.

Rough outline:

Preface

As a bedtime story, Ellen tells Maggie about her own parents. Her father was a Canadian who came to Holland with the Allies in World War II. Her mother was Dutch but died while giving birth. He stayed in Holland because he loved the country and prospered there. He has always worked hard and died on the job in an unfortunate accident. But he loved his job, and Ellen thinks he wouldn't have wanted to die under any other circumstances. The message of the story is: know what you want and what you're good at, go for it and you'll be successful.

Chapter 1

After another fight with her mother, Maggie runs away from home and is very upset. On the Tube she sits next to Chris, whom she doesn't know yet. He sees she's almost crying and offers her an earphone of his I-pod. He plays David Bowie's 'rock and roll suicide' for her, and she feels like he understand her. She doesn't have a plan and he has a friendly face, so when he gets of the Tube she goes with him.

She tells him she ran away from home, he tells her he lives in a squat. Talking to this friendly stranger has cheered her up a lot and she asks if she can see his place. He introduces Maggie to the first member of his gang, Justine. Maggie smokes her first cigarette. When she sees that Justine wears two different gloves, a silk one and a leather one, she loves it, and says how much she loves it, Justine offers to swaps the leather one for one of Maggie's knitted purple TopShop-gloves.

“We're sisters now,” Justine remarks after the ritual. Maggie asks if she can stay. Chris says she can, but she will have to chip in.

Chapter 2

10 PM the next evening. Maggie has returned home and is aiting in her bedroom for Chris to whistle from outside. She has stolen the little safe in which Ellen keeps her credit card and most valuable pieces of jewellery. She has also descended to the basement to look through the clothing her mother used to wear in the eighties but never threw away, and has taken a naff leather jacket and a silk scarf that matches with Justine's glove.

Chris is more than three hours late. Maggie doubts whether she's really welcome, whether she actually wants to go, at one point she even thinks she's already heard Chris whistle at half nine and just ignored him. She keeps repeating details of her meeting with Chris and Justine and the fight she has with her mother.

Meanwhile Maggie is listening to Ellen, who is in the living room, getting drunk on her own and talking to herself. Though her thoughts become more and more incoherent in the course of the evening, it becomes clearer and clearer that she and Maggie's father had plans to get married before Ellen's father died, and that she was very dissatisfied with the fact that her father, though he was very rich, didn't want to pay for the marriage or help out with the education of his future granddaughter.

Chapter 3

At 1 AM Chris finally throws a pebble against her window. She climbs down immediately. Together they stroll down to Highgate Cemetery, break in, find a snug place between two overgrown tombstones, smoke weed and sleep until the break of dawn. Maggie hides her ginger curls under a knitted army hat Chris gave her so that she won't be recognised in case she has gone missing already, and she's wearing her mother's old leather jacket. They take the first Tube, have an extraordinary breakfast in a hotel with her mother's credit card and go back to Fabrica d'Amor.

Chapter 4

It's still very early and Chris wakes the other squatters like an army officer. Maggie meets the other apostles. Pete doesn't like her name and decides that they have to change it to Maggot (that Pete bullies Maggie is a reference to the New Testament: Pete doesn't accept Mary Magdalene. That she has to give up her name is a reference to Mariken van Nieumeghen).

After the ritual of renaming, Chris takes her by the hand and leads her to an old man who just sits on a chair and says nothing. Maggot realises he's been there all along, probably even the first time she visited Fabrica d'Amor She just hadn't noticed him. Chris says: “Father, this is our new sister, Maggot. Maggot, this is your Father now.” and kneels in front of him. Maggot does the same. The old man doesn't react.

Then they discuss how they can use the credit card as efficiently as possible before it is blocked. They decide it's best if Maggot doesn't leave the building, since people will be looking for the missing thirteen year old.

Chapter 5

Maggot and Justine are wearing the jewellery they found in the safe, but nobody shows any interest in the letters Ellen has hidden in there. Maggot keeps them in the pocket of her jeans, but has not read them yet.

The first two shifts of the gang leave to a camping store where they buy a generator, so they can produce electricity, and a lot of camping equipment. When the first shift comes home with all this, the second shift has already moved on to the next shop with the credit card and the third shift leaves to meet them there. Everyone who comes in kneels for the Father and presents him their new possessions. He says nothing, just sits and stares.

Throughout the day Maggot watches the loot grow and starts to feel guilty. Meanwhile different members of the crew try to explain their interpretation of communism. At eight Chris comes home on a very loud moped with a large number of pizza boxes. While they eat, one of the apostles takes the moped and the credit card to buy several bottles of cider and vodka at the corner shop.

Chapter 6

They climb up the roof and smoke hash. It's freezing so they can watch the stars, and talk about star signs. One by one they get too cold and move inside, where they drink the rest of the vodka. Justine is one of the last ones to come down. In the dark, she stumbles to the couch. There's someone sleeping on it. Justine opens his trousers and starts to give him a blowjob. Suddenly she stops and says: “Oh my, for a moment I thought you were Pete!”, to which Pete responds with: “Who did you think I was, bitch?”

Justine runs off crying. Now Maggot is the only female in the group. Chris is really aggravated and wakes everyone. In vain, he tries to find out who was having an affair with Justine (for such a thing was not done in their community. Sex was something that was only to be performed with people from the outside world, not with your brothers and sisters. Pete says they should never have admitted a woman to their group.

Chapter 7

Justine has left the Fabrica d'Amor in great chaos. Everyone is still drunk and shouting and worrying what Justine is going to do. Because she broke a basic rule, nobody trusts her any more. She might even turn them in to the police.

Maggot collects her belongings, she still feels like they are hers, despite the squatters’ communistic talk, and retreats to the roof. Then she starts reading her mother's letters. In an unsent letter to Maggie's father, she reads that Maggie's father didn't want to have anything to do with the inheritance after the sudden death of Ellen's father. Ellen pleads that it is not blood money, but money she and her daughter need and deserve. There are tear-stains on one of the letters, and the direction the ink is smooched makes Maggot realise Ellen is left-handed too. Of course she knew this already, but now it makes her realise how much she resembles her mother.

Later letters imply that Maggie's father committed suicide shortly after the accident that killed Ellen's father. The last letter is quite a recent one, addressed to both dead men, and states that Ellen doesn't regret a single thing she did. The letters are not a literal confession, but Maggot realises her mother has killed her own father for the inheritance.

Chapter 8

While Maggot watches the sun rise over the city she realises she has no idea what she wants in life, and what she's good at. She doesn't want to be her mother's little Maggie and she doesn't want to be Maggot. She wants it all to end. But when she walks to the edge of the roof and peers down, she sees the dead body of the Father on the pavement beneath her. She's startled and of course she doesn't jump after him. Then she sees a whole lot of police cars heading her direction. She hurries down and quietly wakes up Chris. Together they leave and from the corner shop they see Justine get out of one of the police cars and point at the factory. She looks at Chris and realises she just wants to be with him, no matter where and how they live. He looks back at her and says: 'thanks, Margaret.'

CCTV SITCOM

INT. COFFEE SHOP – MORNING

As always in the weekends, Brunel University Campus is deserted. Normally, students who live in halls go home to see their parents. Today the place is especially dead, because this Saturday its Valentine’s day, and those who would normally stay on campus have romantic business elsewhere.

It’s about 11.00 in the morning. In Café Rococo, the coffee shop on the corner of the Bannerman Centre, there’s only one waiter, an Indian chap with a dark red apron, reading the Starbucks Barista Manual. The only costumers, a Young Man and a Young Woman, have settled themselves on the red sofa.

Young Man has a slight West-London accent and is drinking a double espresso. He needs a haircut, his jeans are worn down and he hasn’t bothered to take off his scarf.

It’s impossible to tell where Young Woman is from, her accent shifts from an American tongue to copying Young Man’s expressions, with a hint of Scouse when she gets excited. She’s drinking a large cappuccino and has a milk moustache.

YOUNG MAN
You’re insane. Not in a million years. No.

YOUNG WOMAN
You always say that, “never again”, but deep down you know you want it, and he…

She nods at the waiter behind the counter.

Well, he doesn’t know it yet, but he wants it too. I can tell.

YOUNG MAN
I know that’s what I always say. I’m always right, too.

The waiter feels they are looking at him, tears a receipt from the cash register and folds it between the pages of his handbook.

WAITER
Can I get anybody more coffee?

YOUNG MAN
No, we’re out of here.

YOUNG WOMAN
Oh yes, I’d love another cappuccino. But I haven’t quite finished this one yet. Thanks.

YOUNG MAN
You and your little ways…

YOUNG WOMAN
If that’s what you need, darling…

Young Man takes his tobacco out of his pocket and starts rolling a cigarette.

Now don’t do that, don’t pretend you’re actually leaving already. You know you’ll stay until we’ve at least tried.

YOUNG MAN
I wasn’t always like this, you know. I’m not gonna lie about this: I’m a guy, so I’ve always been a bit promiscuous. But since I met you, things are getting out of hand.

YOUNG WOMAN
Yeah, that’s what you said. So what’s it gonna be then? The average two-times-a-week-screw in your squeaking single bed, but only when you’re sure the neighbours aren’t in, and still afraid to moan because the walls are so thin?

YOUNG MAN
Hell no. Not in this life.

YOUNG WOMAN
That’s what I thought. So what’s the plan, Peter Pan?

YOUNG MAN
All right, let’s give it a go.

He licks his cigarette and calls to the waiter.

Oi, garçon, can we have that cappuccino now?

YOUNG WOMAN
I love you, Peter Pan.

YOUNG MAN
Happy Valentine, Wendy.

The waiter approaches the sofa with a cappuccino.

WAITER
I’m sorry, mate, you’re not allowed to smoke in here.

PETER PAN
I know, but I like to have one ready for after the orgasm. Do you want me to roll you one as well?

And with that, Peter Pan and Wendy violate the waiter in Café Rococo in the broad day light. Peter Pan’s persona is that of the aloof accomplice. Wendy’s is that of the psychopathic nymphomaniac.
While Peter Pan takes off his scarf, Wendy gets up from the couch and brings her face close to the waiter’s.

WENDY
What on earth are you looking at?

WAITER
Erm… you’ve got a bit of foam on your lip…

WENDY
Yes, I’ve been saving that for you. Why don’t you have a taste?

Melissa Brown's Flight (outline for a novel)

There is something unsettling about airports. As soon as travellers have

crossed the border and find themselves on neutral ground, they don't

know how to carry themselves. In order to find their bearings, some

resort to tax-free shopping, whereas others strike up conversation with

a complete stranger and talk more honestly and openly than they would

ever do in their day-to-day lives. The latter happens to Melissa Brown,

a 21-year-old New Jerseyite.

It is the year 1983, and New Jersey is in the grip of a February

blizzard. Melissa is pacing up and down Newark Liberty International

Airport, waiting for a rescheduled flight to Stockholm. The shopping

area is crowded with stranded tourists and businessmen, and when she

walks by, they all peek at her tight pencil skirt, broad shoulders and

voluptuous, honey-coloured coiffure. But they shift their gaze as soon

as they see her face: although she is beautiful, she looks as if she hasn't

had a bath, a good night's sleep or a proper meal for days. As the delay

winds her up, she is oblivious of the attention she gets and then loses.

Nevertheless, a handsome young man in a Paul Smith suit is

before he abandons his leather holdall to go after her.

“Are you okay, girl?” he asks. His accent sounds European, but

Melissa can't pinpoint where he's from. Through her shoulder pad, she

feels his strong hand. His kind gesture overwhelms her, and, before she

knows it, she breaks down sobbing.

“I'm so sorry,” she says, “this has never happened to me

before. I haven't cried since...” With the palms of her hands, she wipes

her tears and golden curls out of her face. He notices how she forces

fashionably striped shirt with a white collar – and adjusts his thin tie

captivated by her features. He tucks his shirt into his trousers – it's a

herself not to clench her fists: the fingers and thumbs are awkwardly

pointing outward.

“I'm so sorry,” she says again. “It's the waiting. I can't do it. I

can't wait to get out of here.”

“Where are you going?” he asks. His hand is still on her

shoulder, and he gently pushes her to the bench where he left his hand

luggage.

“Sweden.”

“That's a beautiful country.”

“I wouldn't know. I've never been to Europe, but I'm pretty

sure anything is better than New Jersey.”

The young man offers her a seat and introduces himself as

Jabir. Still somewhat taken aback by her reaction, he tries to comfort

her by telling her about himself. He grew up in Iran but fled the

country in 1979 after his father, a professor at Tehran University,

criticised the Ayatollah in one of his lectures. Jabir now lives in

Amsterdam with his parents, where he's doing a PhD in econometrics.

He takes his studies seriously and is very ambitious. He is on his way

back to The Netherlands after presenting his research at a conference

in New Jersey.

recently graduated summa cum laude in anthropology at Princeton

University. Immediately after she finished her course in September

1982, she was appointed to design and organise educational trips for

New Horizon, one of the greatest organisations when it comes to

package holidays. This, she explains, is a very well-paid and

challenging job for an anthropologist.

“Are you on your way to Sweden for research, then?” Jabir

asks. How could he have known that reminding Melissa of the journey

To prove that she is just as ambitious as he is, she tells him she

Melissa likes his attitude, and his story calms her down a bit.

would make her cry again? Like a little girl that sees blood welling up

from her knee after falling on it, she is quiet for a second; then the

howling starts. Jabir presses her face against his shoulder and strokes

her head until her tears leave stains on the lapels of his jacket.

Without looking up, she starts to speak. “I don't think I'll ever

go on a research trip again. In all honesty, this will be my last flight

ever. I'm going to Stockholm to see Ingrid Nattfogel. She works at the

Swedish department of New Horizon, but my visit is not work-related.

Actually, that's a lie. Everything in my life is work-related. That's

exactly why I can't go on living like this. I'm sorry to burden you with

this...”

Jabir interrupts her apology and raises his voice. “Speak freely!

My name is Arabic for comforter or consoler, and that's exactly what I

intend to be for you!”

And with that, Melissa tells him how she was raped by her

manager, Wilfred Dolling.

“It was my first Friday afternoon at the office, and everyone

went for a drink. Sure, I had my share of parties at Princeton. I know

my limits when it comes to alcohol. This night, however, something

went terribly wrong. I can only remember my first Bellini, but I must

have knocked down quite a few more because the next thing I

worst of all, I had no idea why I was still wearing my shirt but couldn't

find my skirt and knickers. Over breakfast, Wilfred told me that we

had sex like hungry hyenas, but that we'd better not tell anyone at New

Horizon about it.”

Jabir puts his hand on her back again as Melissa presses her

face closer to his shoulder. She swallows the aching lump of memories

and emotions that clog her throat, and takes a deep breath.

She shudders at the memory. “I had no idea where I was, and,

remember is waking up to the most horrifying hangover.”

“In retrospect,” she continues, “I reckon he spiked my drink

with GHB before dragging me to his apartment. At first, I couldn't

remember anything. When I went home I felt so guilty towards

Timothy, my boyfriend, and I didn't dare to tell him about it. After the

weekend, I saw Wilfred again, and hearing his voice triggered

flashbacks to that night. He fucked me like a hungry hyena, all right,

but I lay in his bed like a dead antelope.”

Now that the dam has broken, the entire sea of Melissa's

experiences crashes onto the neutral ground of their conversation.

“I didn't dare tell anyone, let alone the police, about the rape

because I figured no one would believe me. I thought my parents

wouldn't understand why I hadn't told them immediately, and Timothy

would think that I was making it up to cover up for the fact that I had

cheated on him. And most of all, I feared that my friends from

Princeton and my colleagues at New Horizon would say that I got the

job because I flirted with Dolling. I was afraid people would say I

asked for it, or even deliberately slept with him. So I did nothing. I just

worked very hard, eighty hours a week, thinking about it constantly but

not being able to talk about it to anyone.

“Two weeks after the rape, at a New Horizon conference in

Iceland, I met Ingrid Nattfogel. Together, we thought up the most

amazing out of the box package holidays, went clubbing, got drunk

share cigarettes. One night, while we were mixing our own cocktails in

my hotel room, Ingrid told me about her lesbian experiences. I know

they're prosecuting homosexuals in Iran these days, but I found her

stories very enticing.”

“I fled that country, remember?” Jabir blushes at her reference

to his origin. “Don't worry, I won't judge you.”

“I'm sorry. The thing is, her stories were so warm and full of

love, I couldn't help envying the objects of her affection.”

smoker, I started to sneak out of meetings with Ingrid, so that we could

and had long, intimate conversations. Even though I had never been a

“Do you mean you started to develop lesbian feelings toward

her?” Jabir asks.

“In all honesty, yes, I did. And that's why I broke up with

Timothy.”

“As if you weren't lonely enough already,” Jabir says. “So did

you tell Ingrid about Dolling?”

“No.” Melissa shakes her head. Her voice sounds bitter, almost

angry. “But she made me feel like I could. I suppose I didn't because

Ingrid was the first person who managed to genuinely make me laugh

and feel after what had happened, do you know what I mean? I didn't

want to let Wilfred ruin the only thing that gave me joy.

“When I went back to New Jersey, I kept thinking back of the

lovely time we had together. I was hoping to meet Ingrid again on the

next business trip, and this prospect was the only reason why I could

cope with the continuous confrontation with my rapist.

“Meanwhile, Dolling made it very clear that the incident meant

nothing to him. He treated me like he treated everyone else, never

mentioned it and didn't seem to try anything again. He allocated

challenging assignments to me and made me work with interesting

people. Because this was what I always wanted, I was inclined to stay

in the job, even though I couldn't bare to meet him on a daily or even

tried my best to shine at New Horizon. At first, I reckon, my

colleagues didn't notice the difference, but I couldn't be the bright,

intelligent, creative and sociable girl I used to be any more; my heart

wasn't in it. After I broke up with Timothy, I cancelled all my

appointments with friends and didn't get back in touch with them. I

kept smoking, stopped eating and started to suffer from insomnia.

Whenever I did get a wink of sleep, my dreams were so vivid and

horrible that I regretted falling asleep the next morning.”

“I still really didn't want anyone to know about the rape and

weekly basis.

“Didn't your colleagues suspect anything?” Jabir looks

shocked.

“Well, after a couple of weeks, they started to notice that I

never had lunch with them and always tried to dodge business dinners.

I had to go through a lot of trouble to hide my eating disorder, and I

got really aggravated with anyone who told me to eat. The only person

that never bothered me with unwanted advice was Hester, a colleague

who has specialised in summer camps for kids. That's why I started to

trust Hester and told her about my crush on Ingrid.

“My unhealthy life style began to take its toll on my looks: I

developed big dark bags under my eyes, my skin went dry and pale,

my hair was lacklustre and I lost weight quickly. Of course, my parents

and Timothy noticed, and they were very worried about me. They were

right, and I knew they were: due to lack of sleep and food I started to

feel very weak, and I hated the way I looked. But whenever they said

something about my health, I got all defensive and snapped at them.

Two months after I started working at New Horizon, I was avoiding

them. They had to call the office if they wanted to speak to me. I feel

so guilty,” she sighs, “I haven't seen my folks since New Year's Eve.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself,” Jabir says. “Your secret formed

a glass bell around you; you were isolated from the rest of the world

and your parents didn't even realise they couldn't reach you. I can

“You're right, that's exactly how I felt. Anyway, in December,

there was another New Horizon conference in Los Angeles, and Hester

made sure that I could meet Ingrid again. Ingrid was shocked to see me

in such a state and told me to take better care of myself. She made me

promise that I would, and I actually ate a bowl of soup during

lunchtime. That night, Ingrid took me to a gay club, where we used

Crystal Meth.

to help you. Their kindness only emphasised how lonely you were.”

imagine how frustrating it must have been for you that they kept trying

“It was the most wonderful thing I have ever experienced. For

the first time in months, I was happy with myself again. I liked what I

saw in the grimy mirror in the loo, and I was proud of what I had

achieved. I danced and drank, and, by the end of the night, I felt

confident enough to kiss Ingrid. She was a really good kisser, and she

was really sweet afterwards, too. It was the best thing that has

happened to me since I graduated.

“When I returned to New Jersey, I was resigned to get my life

back on track because Ingrid had told me to. I got in touch with the

designated office confidant, and, for the first time, I told someone

about what Dolling did to me. The confidant advised me to go to the

police. I said I would consider it, but I felt like I was too late. Actually,

I thought it would only make things worse. The confidant also gave me

the address of a proper psychologist. I never went to see that

psychologist, either. I wanted to get through this on my own. I forced

myself to eat again, although I hated the fact that the weight went back

on very quickly. Hester and I made the same New Year's Resolution:

to give up cigarettes. We helped each other, and I haven't smoked

since. Yes, she started out as a good friend, but I now wish I never

trusted her.”

“Why?” Jabir asks. “Did she tell anyone you were in love with

Ingrid?”

behaviour. I didn't want to lose my only friend, you see, so I told

Hester I was ultra sensitive when it came to Wilfred, because of the

rape. The story shocked her greatly and she immediately wanted me to

go to the police.

“It was so awkward.” She shakes her head as if she still can't

believe it. “We were in a lunch room when I told her, and she just

started blubbering. Everyone was looking at me as though I had just

told my own mother I didn't love her any more. I know it affected her

got into a fight over a simple task, I decided to explain my odd

“No, that's not it.” Melissa pauses to blow her nose. “When we

so much because she cared about me, but it just didn't seem right.

Even though I was the victim, I had to calm her down. Eventually, I

managed to convince her that it really was my decision whether I

would go to the police or not, and she agreed not to tell anyone.

“But Hester couldn't deal with the secret. After a week of

silence, she felt the need to tell another colleague what a terrible

person Dolling was. Unfortunately, word spread like an STD. I found

out about the gossiping when I got a call from Ingrid. At first, I was so

happy to hear her voice! But the gossip had even reached Sweden, and

she accused me of slander. She was furious and shouted that her full

name was Ingrid Nattfogel-Dolling. I was devastated: my reputation

and career were ruined, my only friend turned out not to be

trustworthy, and the only hope I could hold on to, Ingrid, had

collapsed. Not only is she Wilfred's sister, she's married too!

“After Ingrid hung up, I left the office in a daze. I didn't say

goodbye to anyone and wanted to commit suicide. On the way to the

train station, I pictured my life as a comic book and flicked through the

pages. The most colourful page showed the evening that I used Crystal

Meth with Ingrid.

“Still determined to kill myself, I couldn't help but wonder:

what does it matter if I use it once more? And so I scored another

portion from a junky. It was great stuff, even better than the first time.

wanted to tell Ingrid to her face exactly what her brother did to me, and

I thought I might just as well see Sweden before I killed myself.

“I was still under the influence of Crystal Meth when I headed

to Newark Airport. I insisted on buying a last minute one-way ticket to

Stockholm, even though the assistant at the ticket counter told me that

all flights had been rescheduled and some might even be cancelled, due

to the blizzard. I waved my New Horizon badge at him and said his

superior would want him to sell me the ticket. I know it was a stupid

became aware of another sensation: ultimate hatred for the Dollings. I

Man, I felt so high! I felt like flying! But as the trip proceeded, I

idea, but I just felt like I had to get away from New Jersey. The badge

did it, really. Even though it was against their policy, I got a ticket to

Stockholm. The high started to wear off when I crossed the border. I

was just getting back down to earth when you asked me how I was

doing.”

“So what are you going to do now?” Jabir asks.

“Much as I'd love to see Europe, I think I've got certain things

to take care of in New Jersey,” she says.

“You're not going to kill yourself, are you?”

“Oh no! Wilfred has hurt me enough already.” She shakes her

curls out of her face and straightens her back. She's still exhausted, but

there is something fierce about her posture that makes her look

indestructible.

“I'm going to call my parents,” she says, “and I'll ask them to

come to the police station with me. I want them to be there when I

make my statement. They need to know what I've been through.”

“They will wonder why you have never told them before,”

Jabir says, “and I can't promise they will understand, but they won't

doubt the truth of your story. Break that glass bell around you, dear!

But are you certain you want to make a statement? It won't be easy,

“I don't care whether I win; all I want is acknowledgement.

Wilfred tried to wipe my memory with GHB; I tried to wipe it by

working eighty hours a week. But I cannot possibly go on pretending it

hasn't happened, and neither can he. My story has to be taken

seriously, even if I can't prove anything. That's why I'm reporting the

rape to the police.”

There is something unsettling about airports. As soon as travellers have

crossed the border and find themselves on neutral ground, they don't

know how to carry themselves. In order to find their bearings, some

resort to tax-free shopping, whereas others strike up conversation with

a complete stranger and talk more honestly and openly than they would

ever do in their day-to-day lives. The latter happens to Melissa Brown,

a 21-year-old New Jerseyite.

It is the year 1983, and New Jersey is in the grip of a February

blizzard. Melissa is pacing up and down Newark Liberty International

Airport, waiting for a rescheduled flight to Stockholm. The shopping

area is crowded with stranded tourists and businessmen, and when she

walks by, they all peek at her tight pencil skirt, broad shoulders and

voluptuous, honey-coloured coiffure. But they shift their gaze as soon

as they see her face: although she is beautiful, she looks as if she hasn't

had a bath, a good night's sleep or a proper meal for days. As the delay

winds her up, she is oblivious of the attention she gets and then loses.

Nevertheless, a handsome young man in a Paul Smith suit is

before he abandons his leather holdall to go after her.

“Are you okay, girl?” he asks. His accent sounds European, but

Melissa can't pinpoint where he's from. Through her shoulder pad, she

feels his strong hand. His kind gesture overwhelms her, and, before she

knows it, she breaks down sobbing.

“I'm so sorry,” she says, “this has never happened to me

before. I haven't cried since...” With the palms of her hands, she wipes

her tears and golden curls out of her face. He notices how she forces

fashionably striped shirt with a white collar – and adjusts his thin tie

captivated by her features. He tucks his shirt into his trousers – it's a

herself not to clench her fists: the fingers and thumbs are awkwardly

pointing outward.

“I'm so sorry,” she says again. “It's the waiting. I can't do it. I

can't wait to get out of here.”

“Where are you going?” he asks. His hand is still on her

shoulder, and he gently pushes her to the bench where he left his hand

luggage.

“Sweden.”

“That's a beautiful country.”

“I wouldn't know. I've never been to Europe, but I'm pretty

sure anything is better than New Jersey.”

The young man offers her a seat and introduces himself as

Jabir. Still somewhat taken aback by her reaction, he tries to comfort

her by telling her about himself. He grew up in Iran but fled the

country in 1979 after his father, a professor at Tehran University,

criticised the Ayatollah in one of his lectures. Jabir now lives in

Amsterdam with his parents, where he's doing a PhD in econometrics.

He takes his studies seriously and is very ambitious. He is on his way

back to The Netherlands after presenting his research at a conference

in New Jersey.

recently graduated summa cum laude in anthropology at Princeton

University. Immediately after she finished her course in September

1982, she was appointed to design and organise educational trips for

New Horizon, one of the greatest organisations when it comes to

package holidays. This, she explains, is a very well-paid and

challenging job for an anthropologist.

“Are you on your way to Sweden for research, then?” Jabir

asks. How could he have known that reminding Melissa of the journey

To prove that she is just as ambitious as he is, she tells him she

Melissa likes his attitude, and his story calms her down a bit.

would make her cry again? Like a little girl that sees blood welling up

from her knee after falling on it, she is quiet for a second; then the

howling starts. Jabir presses her face against his shoulder and strokes

her head until her tears leave stains on the lapels of his jacket.

Without looking up, she starts to speak. “I don't think I'll ever

go on a research trip again. In all honesty, this will be my last flight

ever. I'm going to Stockholm to see Ingrid Nattfogel. She works at the

Swedish department of New Horizon, but my visit is not work-related.

Actually, that's a lie. Everything in my life is work-related. That's

exactly why I can't go on living like this. I'm sorry to burden you with

this...”

Jabir interrupts her apology and raises his voice. “Speak freely!

My name is Arabic for comforter or consoler, and that's exactly what I

intend to be for you!”

And with that, Melissa tells him how she was raped by her

manager, Wilfred Dolling.

“It was my first Friday afternoon at the office, and everyone

went for a drink. Sure, I had my share of parties at Princeton. I know

my limits when it comes to alcohol. This night, however, something

went terribly wrong. I can only remember my first Bellini, but I must

have knocked down quite a few more because the next thing I

worst of all, I had no idea why I was still wearing my shirt but couldn't

find my skirt and knickers. Over breakfast, Wilfred told me that we

had sex like hungry hyenas, but that we'd better not tell anyone at New

Horizon about it.”

Jabir puts his hand on her back again as Melissa presses her

face closer to his shoulder. She swallows the aching lump of memories

and emotions that clog her throat, and takes a deep breath.

She shudders at the memory. “I had no idea where I was, and,

remember is waking up to the most horrifying hangover.”

“In retrospect,” she continues, “I reckon he spiked my drink

with GHB before dragging me to his apartment. At first, I couldn't

remember anything. When I went home I felt so guilty towards

Timothy, my boyfriend, and I didn't dare to tell him about it. After the

weekend, I saw Wilfred again, and hearing his voice triggered

flashbacks to that night. He fucked me like a hungry hyena, all right,

but I lay in his bed like a dead antelope.”

Now that the dam has broken, the entire sea of Melissa's

experiences crashes onto the neutral ground of their conversation.

“I didn't dare tell anyone, let alone the police, about the rape

because I figured no one would believe me. I thought my parents

wouldn't understand why I hadn't told them immediately, and Timothy

would think that I was making it up to cover up for the fact that I had

cheated on him. And most of all, I feared that my friends from

Princeton and my colleagues at New Horizon would say that I got the

job because I flirted with Dolling. I was afraid people would say I

asked for it, or even deliberately slept with him. So I did nothing. I just

worked very hard, eighty hours a week, thinking about it constantly but

not being able to talk about it to anyone.

“Two weeks after the rape, at a New Horizon conference in

Iceland, I met Ingrid Nattfogel. Together, we thought up the most

amazing out of the box package holidays, went clubbing, got drunk

share cigarettes. One night, while we were mixing our own cocktails in

my hotel room, Ingrid told me about her lesbian experiences. I know

they're prosecuting homosexuals in Iran these days, but I found her

stories very enticing.”

“I fled that country, remember?” Jabir blushes at her reference

to his origin. “Don't worry, I won't judge you.”

“I'm sorry. The thing is, her stories were so warm and full of

love, I couldn't help envying the objects of her affection.”

smoker, I started to sneak out of meetings with Ingrid, so that we could

and had long, intimate conversations. Even though I had never been a

“Do you mean you started to develop lesbian feelings toward

her?” Jabir asks.

“In all honesty, yes, I did. And that's why I broke up with

Timothy.”

“As if you weren't lonely enough already,” Jabir says. “So did

you tell Ingrid about Dolling?”

“No.” Melissa shakes her head. Her voice sounds bitter, almost

angry. “But she made me feel like I could. I suppose I didn't because

Ingrid was the first person who managed to genuinely make me laugh

and feel after what had happened, do you know what I mean? I didn't

want to let Wilfred ruin the only thing that gave me joy.

“When I went back to New Jersey, I kept thinking back of the

lovely time we had together. I was hoping to meet Ingrid again on the

next business trip, and this prospect was the only reason why I could

cope with the continuous confrontation with my rapist.

“Meanwhile, Dolling made it very clear that the incident meant

nothing to him. He treated me like he treated everyone else, never

mentioned it and didn't seem to try anything again. He allocated

challenging assignments to me and made me work with interesting

people. Because this was what I always wanted, I was inclined to stay

in the job, even though I couldn't bare to meet him on a daily or even

tried my best to shine at New Horizon. At first, I reckon, my

colleagues didn't notice the difference, but I couldn't be the bright,

intelligent, creative and sociable girl I used to be any more; my heart

wasn't in it. After I broke up with Timothy, I cancelled all my

appointments with friends and didn't get back in touch with them. I

kept smoking, stopped eating and started to suffer from insomnia.

Whenever I did get a wink of sleep, my dreams were so vivid and

horrible that I regretted falling asleep the next morning.”

“I still really didn't want anyone to know about the rape and

weekly basis.

“Didn't your colleagues suspect anything?” Jabir looks

shocked.

“Well, after a couple of weeks, they started to notice that I

never had lunch with them and always tried to dodge business dinners.

I had to go through a lot of trouble to hide my eating disorder, and I

got really aggravated with anyone who told me to eat. The only person

that never bothered me with unwanted advice was Hester, a colleague

who has specialised in summer camps for kids. That's why I started to

trust Hester and told her about my crush on Ingrid.

“My unhealthy life style began to take its toll on my looks: I

developed big dark bags under my eyes, my skin went dry and pale,

my hair was lacklustre and I lost weight quickly. Of course, my parents

and Timothy noticed, and they were very worried about me. They were

right, and I knew they were: due to lack of sleep and food I started to

feel very weak, and I hated the way I looked. But whenever they said

something about my health, I got all defensive and snapped at them.

Two months after I started working at New Horizon, I was avoiding

them. They had to call the office if they wanted to speak to me. I feel

so guilty,” she sighs, “I haven't seen my folks since New Year's Eve.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself,” Jabir says. “Your secret formed

a glass bell around you; you were isolated from the rest of the world

and your parents didn't even realise they couldn't reach you. I can

“You're right, that's exactly how I felt. Anyway, in December,

there was another New Horizon conference in Los Angeles, and Hester

made sure that I could meet Ingrid again. Ingrid was shocked to see me

in such a state and told me to take better care of myself. She made me

promise that I would, and I actually ate a bowl of soup during

lunchtime. That night, Ingrid took me to a gay club, where we used

Crystal Meth.

to help you. Their kindness only emphasised how lonely you were.”

imagine how frustrating it must have been for you that they kept trying

“It was the most wonderful thing I have ever experienced. For

the first time in months, I was happy with myself again. I liked what I

saw in the grimy mirror in the loo, and I was proud of what I had

achieved. I danced and drank, and, by the end of the night, I felt

confident enough to kiss Ingrid. She was a really good kisser, and she

was really sweet afterwards, too. It was the best thing that has

happened to me since I graduated.

“When I returned to New Jersey, I was resigned to get my life

back on track because Ingrid had told me to. I got in touch with the

designated office confidant, and, for the first time, I told someone

about what Dolling did to me. The confidant advised me to go to the

police. I said I would consider it, but I felt like I was too late. Actually,

I thought it would only make things worse. The confidant also gave me

the address of a proper psychologist. I never went to see that

psychologist, either. I wanted to get through this on my own. I forced

myself to eat again, although I hated the fact that the weight went back

on very quickly. Hester and I made the same New Year's Resolution:

to give up cigarettes. We helped each other, and I haven't smoked

since. Yes, she started out as a good friend, but I now wish I never

trusted her.”

“Why?” Jabir asks. “Did she tell anyone you were in love with

Ingrid?”

behaviour. I didn't want to lose my only friend, you see, so I told

Hester I was ultra sensitive when it came to Wilfred, because of the

rape. The story shocked her greatly and she immediately wanted me to

go to the police.

“It was so awkward.” She shakes her head as if she still can't

believe it. “We were in a lunch room when I told her, and she just

started blubbering. Everyone was looking at me as though I had just

told my own mother I didn't love her any more. I know it affected her

got into a fight over a simple task, I decided to explain my odd

“No, that's not it.” Melissa pauses to blow her nose. “When we

so much because she cared about me, but it just didn't seem right.

Even though I was the victim, I had to calm her down. Eventually, I

managed to convince her that it really was my decision whether I

would go to the police or not, and she agreed not to tell anyone.

“But Hester couldn't deal with the secret. After a week of

silence, she felt the need to tell another colleague what a terrible

person Dolling was. Unfortunately, word spread like an STD. I found

out about the gossiping when I got a call from Ingrid. At first, I was so

happy to hear her voice! But the gossip had even reached Sweden, and

she accused me of slander. She was furious and shouted that her full

name was Ingrid Nattfogel-Dolling. I was devastated: my reputation

and career were ruined, my only friend turned out not to be

trustworthy, and the only hope I could hold on to, Ingrid, had

collapsed. Not only is she Wilfred's sister, she's married too!

“After Ingrid hung up, I left the office in a daze. I didn't say

goodbye to anyone and wanted to commit suicide. On the way to the

train station, I pictured my life as a comic book and flicked through the

pages. The most colourful page showed the evening that I used Crystal

Meth with Ingrid.

“Still determined to kill myself, I couldn't help but wonder:

what does it matter if I use it once more? And so I scored another

portion from a junky. It was great stuff, even better than the first time.

wanted to tell Ingrid to her face exactly what her brother did to me, and

I thought I might just as well see Sweden before I killed myself.

“I was still under the influence of Crystal Meth when I headed

to Newark Airport. I insisted on buying a last minute one-way ticket to

Stockholm, even though the assistant at the ticket counter told me that

all flights had been rescheduled and some might even be cancelled, due

to the blizzard. I waved my New Horizon badge at him and said his

superior would want him to sell me the ticket. I know it was a stupid

became aware of another sensation: ultimate hatred for the Dollings. I

Man, I felt so high! I felt like flying! But as the trip proceeded, I

idea, but I just felt like I had to get away from New Jersey. The badge

did it, really. Even though it was against their policy, I got a ticket to

Stockholm. The high started to wear off when I crossed the border. I

was just getting back down to earth when you asked me how I was

doing.”

“So what are you going to do now?” Jabir asks.

“Much as I'd love to see Europe, I think I've got certain things

to take care of in New Jersey,” she says.

“You're not going to kill yourself, are you?”

“Oh no! Wilfred has hurt me enough already.” She shakes her

curls out of her face and straightens her back. She's still exhausted, but

there is something fierce about her posture that makes her look

indestructible.

“I'm going to call my parents,” she says, “and I'll ask them to

come to the police station with me. I want them to be there when I

make my statement. They need to know what I've been through.”

“They will wonder why you have never told them before,”

Jabir says, “and I can't promise they will understand, but they won't

doubt the truth of your story. Break that glass bell around you, dear!

But are you certain you want to make a statement? It won't be easy,

“I don't care whether I win; all I want is acknowledgement.

Wilfred tried to wipe my memory with GHB; I tried to wipe it by

working eighty hours a week. But I cannot possibly go on pretending it

hasn't happened, and neither can he. My story has to be taken

seriously, even if I can't prove anything. That's why I'm reporting the

rape to the police.”