“Can you fill us in, Andrew?”

  “I certainly can, Clive, right here, several days ago there was a vicious attack unched by a gang that is still evading capture. Currently, the police are searching for any leads or clues that can bring these criminals to justice, they are requesting anyone with information to step forwards to help them with their investigation. The victims of this btant, heartless attack are – Marcus Jones, Gregory Fitzpatrick, Barry Hemmingway. Three young men who were admired and deeply loved by both their families, friends and local communities.”

  Vukosava looks on with sorrow. The memory now fresh.

  Andrew continues on. “To break down what happened, Marcus Jones and his traveling companions were enjoying a nightly stroll, taking in the beautiful ndscape and the stars. As they reached this spot, they could hear the screech of a pickup truck rounding the corner, the gang wasted no time – shaking them down for cash and their phones. When they refused to comply with their demands, the ringleader, Patrick Hicks, convicted of multiple accounts of battery and assault, unleashed a vicious attack with a baseball bat. His fellow members, Harry Devins, Andy Vandaji, and Samus Evans joined in.”

  The four attackers were put on screen, it’s so believable Vukosava thought. How couldn’t it be a bunch of criminals with track records? The dressing up of events, it’s all lost history, as if it didn’t even happen. The expression on her dad’s face is unmistakable; there’s anger but also resignation. As the breaking news draws to a close and Andrew signs off, he turns off the television.

  “You’ve been doing this for far too long, Vukosava.” Dad starts quietly, the intensity in his words brimming over with emotion. “It’s over. Your career is done.”

  Before this point, she’s adamantly refused. Time and time again – stubbornly holding onto her dream. But with everything that went down, with the guilt and the despair tightening and taking the air from her heart and lungs. Vukosava folds, giving in to his words without so much as a whisper.

  “I’ve told you time and time again that this career choice was dangerous.”

  Mum tries to stop him. “Honey, please, this isn’t anyone’s fault.”

  “If a location for investigation has signs of danger bring at you – do you ignore those warnings?” Dad replies harshly. “I’m not bming her, not any more than she’s bming herself.”

  Mum still holds onto her. “Darling, why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re hanging up the boots, Vukosava. That is final.”

  There’s nothing she can say to it.

  Over the years, since her youth, she’s been the rebellious one in her family. Refusing to give up pursuing her passion – what’s life without the fuel to sustain it? To have it grow and develop, to build a garden of her own. Her cousins on both sides of the family were successful by all definitions in the dictionary and thesaurus. They’re engineers, psychologists, economists and at the top of their respective fields, ambition runs deep in the family. She didn’t have the same design that they did. Perhaps, no, they were right all along, she’s the fool, the idiot, the bitch that went down the wrong path.

  Her pursuit of purpose in her own life, cost Marcus his own. Along with Gregory and Barry as well. Three good men who didn’t deserve to have their lives cut short. She stares off into space, unable to form words, with tears running down her face. Her dad and mum tightly embrace her, refusing to let go. The harshness from earlier is completely forgotten as they care for their little girl.

  “It’s going to be okay. Just take it one day at a time.” Dad offers kindly, his earlier tone forgotten.

  “We’re here for you, Vukosava, you know that. How about you sit down, and I get you a cup of coco?”

  The cup of coco did help, and that time sitting by the kitchen bench gets her heart to stop racing. There’s nothing that she can do to avenge those wrongs; all she can do now is move on with her life. The horrors of that night resurface in her unconscious mind with tremendous force, it's a videotape of all her failures, over and over again, tiring her out. She can hear the dogmen barking and howling with vindictive joy at an easy meal, she can feel the silver horseshoe burning away in her hand - but why is that? The Prince isn’t there anymore, with his pretty corpse face. She shoves it all down - into the recesses of her mind.

  Vukosava knows it's not healthy, but she can’t deal with it right now.

  In the morning, her eyes burn from the tears and the cold wind that went through her open window. She wants to stay under the covers, never to emerge to see the light of day again.

  Taking it one day at a time is hard. Those days turn into weeks. She didn’t have the heart to ring Amber or check in on Harley. Then there’s Marcus and his family - losing their son. Hearing their voices would be too much for her, so with no other option avaible to her. Vukosava decides to take up work in the local community library, a twenty-minute drive away from home where she can distract herself with the books and the kids. She got her qualification a while back, with the idea of appeasing her mum and dad that she would have an alternative avenue to go down if the recording business went bust. The job is pretty decent, she admits dully, there’s good hours and it pays well. With the practical experience on offer, Vukosava could have a very rewarding career. She can almost convince herself that life is returning to normal, surrounded by books and by people who love them. It’s those books on the shelves and in the deposit box that gives her comfort.

  Vukosava threw herself into her work, shelving books and holding down the front desk as the receptionist. Cataloguing the new purchases and looking over the requests list. She’s got a skill set that the library wants to capitalise on, having her finger on the pulse as the youngest librarian on the team. Vukosava’s personal wish list on books is seen as an inroads into the local youth who share a simir fascination with the historical and its deep and tragic mysteries. Web novels and journals were another innovation. Mary, the head librarian is fully on board, offering support and guidance. It makes everything so much worse, because she’s a good boss to work for.

  “Hey, dear, there’s someone asking after you, says you know him.” Mary is in her sixties, and doesn’t waste time shuffling around, she’s fit and vibrant. Her hair is done in a tight braid; her face still retains a youthful energy from decades ago. The kids adore her, as do their parents.

  “Who’s this that I know?” Vukosava asks with trepidation.

  “His name is Johnathan Maxwell, the YouTuber. Has he been harassing you, Vic?”

  “No, no, where is he?”

  “He’s down in the history section, been there for quite a while now. It seems he’s not too familiar with the library.”

  “He’s not familiar with a lot of things.” Vukosava grumbles back.

  By sheer freaking coincidence, John turns the corner, his eyes fixing onto hers.

  “Woah! Where’s the rest of your kit?”

  He’s referring to her ck of makeup, her clean face and her hair being done in a ponytail.

  “What are you doing here, John, I don’t have the time for your – trouble.” Vukosava quickly corrects herself before she goes against the policy of respectful interactions. “Can’t you see that I’m busy at the moment?”

  “Busy? Yeah, I can see that. I need to talk to you, are you going on your lunch break?”

  Mary, curse her, points to the cart. “It’s all good, Vic. Take these back to the shelf and you can take your break early; you’ve done good work today.”

  She’s just being kind and Vukosava didn’t want that right now. “Thank you, Mary.”

  As she wheels the part down the aisles of books, John is keeping pace. “It’s a good thing I went to the right one.”

  “Yeah, goodie. Can’t you just let this go, John?”

  “No, I can’t. I know that you’ve been taking it hard. The two of us made mistakes, and I’m not going to sit on my butt, without doing something.” John procims loudly, getting the attention of all the library goers who shush him in unison. Vukosava pulls away with the cart, stopping at the economics section, going through the books one by one, tucking the returned books neatly into the shelf. “So, this is what you’re doing, just staying in here, in the crisp air conditioning and burying your head into the pages? Have you given up?”

  “Sod off, John.”

  “That’s the thing, I can’t do that. You’re going to be ripping out your hair before that happens.”

  “What’s it going to take?”

  “I’ve spoken with my boys, with Harley.” John starts. “Even Amber.”

  As she raises her hand up to the shelf, the book slides from her fingers and topples down to the ground. John drops down to pick it up. “How is she?”

  “She’s doing about as well as she can. Given the circumstances.”

  “So, you’re here because you need my help? What help could I possibly offer?”

  “Your brainy, little head. That’s what we need right now. We can’t do shit without you on deck.”

  “You really need me that badly? You’ve come to the wrong person. Is there a book you want to borrow? Do you want to access the computers?” Vukosava tries to brush him off, but John isn’t having any of it.

  He takes her by the arm. “I’m not here to borrow anything. I need you; we need you.”

  Vukosava is ready to flick him off and chase him out the door. But she can’t bring herself to do it. “Look, there’s nothing I can do. This is my life now, and I’m sticking to it.”

  “First of all, I know that’s bullshit. Second of all, that’s not who you are.”

  “You don’t know me, John.”

  “Maybe I don’t, but what about your friends, you can’t leave them hanging.”

  No, she couldn’t. Despite everything screaming at her to say no. “Fine, what do you need help with?”

  “There’s a couple things; I’ll cover the good news first, or the less fucked side of things.”

  “We’re taking this outside.” Vukosava finishes off her duties quickly, and the kids, the annoying little brats, have new gossip to talk about. A young librarian being swept off her feet by some rogue.

  Before they get a chance to do that, there’s a commotion around the television in the culture room. Usually there’s educational programs for the members of the clubs that operate there on weekends. But that’s all changed, everyone is caught up in the drama, even her fellow librarians.

  “Well, this is going to get good.” John mutters dryly. “Walked out of one hole into another.”

  Vukosava’s mind is rushing through the possibilities. What could generate this kind of response, where everyone is talking loudly with one another? Unless the problems from that horrible night decided to rear its ugly head once again. She looks over to John, and her suspicions are instantly confirmed. “This can’t be right.”

  “Yeah, that’s now part of the problem. We got a recording of the thing, not all of it. But enough.”

  “You want to go over the footage.”

  “We need to get our heads screwed on – and figure out what the hell we’re going to do.” John lets go of her arm. “More or less, we’re colborating. End of story.”

  Vukosava is about to start drilling him with questions as the television starts bring.

  “Good afternoon, dies and gentlemen, I’m Clive McIntyre, and welcome back to the Newsroom. All across town, there have been sudden and unexpinable disappearances. It’s as if the people have gone up in puffs of smoke. The authorities and investigators throughout our local community are busy searching for an expnation and will address the public in a matter of hours. As of now, there’s quite a number that have been added to the missing persons board – we’ll be showing their names and images on screen. If you have any information that would help, please do not hesitate to reach out to these numbers on screen.”

  On screen there’s mist. Everywhere. The lights can barely pierce it.

  This stuns her into silence, until John draws her away. “If there’s one thing we can agree on for sure, it’s that no one else deserves that.”