Little Black Book (Part 6)

The train shuddered into Liverpool central station. Kimmy frowned out at the weather before they moved inside.  It was raining heavily with the sky dark and thunderous. She felt Alex easing himself up and turned to watch him stretching his legs. He then had to side step out of the way as a disgruntled older man shot him a look and tried to get passed.

‘Some people,’ Alex muttered under his breath as he sat down again.

Around them, the other travellers were collecting their things and queuing to get off the train. Voices and the clatter of objects vibrated down the carriage. Kimmy watched a group of six girls, partly dressed for a night out, began squeezing by other passengers. Their laughing and loud voices carried above the other noises.

‘Do you want that coffee? Maybe something to eat?’ Alex asked, drawing her attention back.

‘What time is it?’ Kimmy muttered and began searching for her phone.

Alex bet her to it and pulled out his, ‘it’s coming up to one.’

‘I’m meeting a friend, actually,’ she suddenly recalled.

‘Oh, okay…’ he trailed off, his face falling.

‘How long are you staying in Liverpool for?’ Kimmy cut in.

‘Till Sunday night. I’m working on some drawings for a family member.’

‘I’m here till about then too. Maybe we could meet? Shall we swap numbers?’

‘Sure.’

‘I think I left my phone in my bag,’ Kimmy pointed out.

Smiling, Alex slide out of the seat and grabbed her rucksack. Whilst she searched through it, he picked up his own bag and put it on. Finding her phone, they swapped numbers and got off the train together. Avoiding the tail end group of passengers, they walked off the platform into the station.

The rain rattled on the metal roof above them and the air was filled with train fumes, warm food, coffee and a tang of cigarette smoke wafting in as the glass doors opened. Kimmy clocked a coffee shop and was half tempted to change her mind about waiting. She heard her name being called and whipped her head back.

Two girls, standing at an advertising board were waving at her. They both had black hair, nose and ear piercings, heavy dark makeup and were wearing similar matching black clothes. To the fleeting eye they looked like twins, but up close they were completely different and easy to tell apart.

‘I have to go,’ Kimmy pointed out.

Alex nodded.

‘I’ll text you or you can text me. I’d really like that coffee and to see you again,’ she babbled.

‘Me too,’ he replied softly.

Kimmy smiled then trying not to look back at him, hurried over to her friends.

 

***

The weekend didn’t fly by as Kimmy had hoped it would. The idea of seeing Alex again hung around her neck like The One Ring. That Friday night, she had settled down on her friend’s lumpy student sofa and watched her mobile phone screen glowing in the dark. His number and name were on the screen and the empty white box below was waiting for her words.

She hadn’t been able to type or more to the point, she didn’t know what to say. Sighing, she had put the phone down and looked up at the dark ceiling. The thoughts and questions kept her up all night. Franticly, she wanted to see him again, but what if he didn’t want to? What if it had all been a spur of the moment thing? Perhaps, they’d never see each other again. Anything could happen in the space of a few days, hours or minutes.

In the morning, she felt and looked sick. Having gotten up early, put on makeup, eaten and plastered a smile on her face, her friends didn’t notice when they joined her. The day though, dragged on and she felt more on autopilot then at the wheel. Liverpool was crowned with payday shoppers fighting over the last of the reduced Christmas stock and making faces at the up and coming Valentine’s Day cards and gifts that had been slipped onto the shelves.

Kimmy lost herself in a bookshop whilst her friends where in a clothes shop next door. Her fingers scanned along the book spines before randomly pulling one out. Her thoughts were far from the words and images in front of her though. She was glad for lunch and coffee followed by a break in a small park at the back of the town hall.

After they, visited one of Kimmy’s favourite places; Quiggins. An old cinema and orchestra hall turned into a small shopping outlet for indie and alternative fashion. Looking through all the amazing gothic style dresses at the back of one of the shops, Kimmy decided she just couldn’t take it anymore and took out her phone.

She texted Alex and asked how he was.

What if he doesn’t reply? What if it’s a wrong number? What if…? She shook her fears away and put the phone back in her jean’s pocket. As her friends drift over to a Steampunk display, Kimmy heard the ping of a text message. She scrambled for her phone, causing the woman owner of the shop to look up in concern. Kimmy’s eyes darted across the screen and she took in his reply.

Am fine. At work. Can I call you tomorrow morning?

Smiling like the happiest person on Earth, she texted back yes and felt her chest swelling. When she caught up with her friends and they questioned her, she refused to tell and brushed everything off. The rest of the afternoon raced by and they ended with a night out circling the bars and clubs, drinking and dancing till they had to go home.

 

***

Kimmy felt like her head had been crushed. Rolling over and pressing her face into a pillow, she half suffocated before having to turn back again. The living room danced before her as if it had taken on the motion of a ship at sea. Her stomach rolled with it and she felt sick.

Struggling up, she bolted for the bathroom, but tripped on the stairs and had to scramble up on all fours. Bursting through the door, she threw up and couldn’t seem to stop till bile had burnt her throat raw.

She washed her mouth, brushed her teeth, showered and dressed, somehow. Getting a cup of tea and glass of water, she sat on the living room floor and pawed through her handbag. She found her phone at the bottom.

Alex had tried ringing her twice and had sent three text messages.

Moaning softly, she text back, feeling guilty, but stating they could still meet.

If he hasn’t changed his mind! The voice in her head cried.

Curling up on the sofa again, she slept off most of her hangover before her friends woke her up to go out to eat. After, she wasn’t in the mood to stay any longer, so she packed up and left. She wandered around Liverpool by herself, enjoying the cold air and old buildings.

Finally it was time.

Alex had suggested they met at a chain coffee shop in the centre. As Kimmy walked over to it, he was all ready there. His head was down and he was checking his phone. A group of people stepped in front of him, but as they went passed, he looked directly up at her.

Kimmy waved and came to his side.

‘Hi,’ he said softly.

‘Hey. I’m so sorry about this morning. I don’t normally get so drunk!’ Kimmy declared.

‘It’s fine. You had a good time?’

She nodded, ‘I did. How did the art, drawing thingy go?

Alex shrugged, ‘okay. Going to need longer though…do you want to hear about it?’

‘I don’t mind. I really need a coffee though. This hangover is still lingering.’

Laughing, Alex swung open the door for her and she stepped inside with him close behind.

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Little Black Book (Part 5)

 

Kimmy closed the notebook and tried to tuck it away. Suddenly she felt over protective of it. Fixing a hard look on her face, she shook her head slightly and felt baby loose strands of hair brushing against her forehead.

‘Maybe, I made a mistake…’ he said and rubbed his hands on his knees.

They both looked away. Him around the carriage and her the window. Kimmy manged to slip the notebook into her pocket. She steadied her breathing and played with her hair. In the reflection from the window, she watched him turn and look at her. Swallowing, she nervously twisted around. The noise of the train rumbling into a tunnel echoed loudly in their ears mixing with the similar music still coming out of their headphones. The inside lights flickered for a few seconds, before casting everything in an ugly orange shade.

‘Why did you say that?’ she asked.

‘Because I lost a notebook full of drawings like that,’ he stated.

‘Weeks ago?’ she whispered, dropping her head and peering shyly back at him.

He nodded, ‘it must have slipped out of my bag. I didn’t know till hours later. I thought…I’d never get it back…’ he shrugged, ‘I won’t…’

Kimmy touched the notebook through her pocket before pulling it out again. She handed it to him. He paused then took it from her. She watched him flip through the pages and listened to the paper zinging together. He came to a stop, glanced at her then looked down again.

‘I picked it up and I did mean to hand it in, but when I got off the train there was a storm and I guess I just forgot. I’m sorry,’ Kimmy gushed, ‘then I wasn’t going to look at it, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t important and try to find out who it belonged too. It’s yours isn’t it?’

‘Yes, he breathed.

Kimmy nodded and unable to take it anymore, she fixed her face to the window.

The darkness came to an end as the train blasted out of the tunnel. Rain hit the window, trailing clear beads down the glass. A mix of green and brown colours went passed like a smeared painting. The scene blurred before her and she felt tears prickling her eyes. Confused at her mixed emotions, she wiped her eyes and went to pull up her headphones.

There was a brush of warm air and fingers on her back as she moved. Kimmy glanced over her shoulder.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked softly.

‘It’s Kimmy. What’s yours?’

‘Alex. It’s nice to meet you.’

‘You too,’ Kimmy answered and let her hands fall into her lap.

Alex opened the notebook, having held a page with his fingers. He showed it to her and Kimmy saw the sketch of herself concentrating. She pulled a face which was quickly replaced with a small smile.

‘I hope you don’t mind…I couldn’t help but notice you a few times,’ he spoke.

‘It’s amazing. As are your other drawings,’ Kimmy answered.

‘Thanks. And thanks for giving this back to me. It means a lot.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘Here, you should have this…’

Kimmy grabbed Alex’s hand as he went to rip the page out.

‘How about you do a proper portrait of me instead?’

He stopped and Kimmy cursed herself.

Did I just say that? What? Why? She thought, there’s no way he’d want to even…and now he’s looking at me like I’m crazy. Great. Way to go!

‘Seriously?’ Alex asked.

‘Only if you want too…I mean….I don’t know if I can pay you and everything…’

He nodded then thoughtfully said, ‘why don’t we start with a coffee first?’

‘Yes. I’d like that,’ Kimmy replied, the growing smile lighting up her face.  

 

To Be Continued…   

Little Black Book (Part 4)

Kimmy’s breath caught in her throat. It’s not really me, she thought. Lifting the notebook up, she inspected the drawing, her heart pounding loudly. However, there was no deigning her single plaited hair, large headphones and button nose. There was also that look of concentration on her face which she really hated because it made her look like she was pulling a funny face.

Biting her lip, she turned the page back as her IPod decided to play a Bullet For My Valentine song. There she was again! This time though her expression was distant and thoughtful as she was looking far too the right. The page slipped from her sweating fingers and her eyes unfocused for a few seconds. Lowering the notebook, she took a deep breath and turned to the window. The train was pulling into a station.

There was a movement of people and faint voices. She kept her head turned, ignoring everyone. A blast of cold air tickled her then rolled around her legs before the doors shut once more. The train shuttled off, the PA pinging on to announce the destination and stations on the way. The window view changed to outer edge city, with rows of houses, towers of apartments and storage buildings framed by a darkening sky.

Kimmy felt a tap on her shoulder.

She turned. There was a good looking man about her age standing there. He had longish black hair falling over his clean shaven face, brown eyes and a slightly desperate expression. A large pair of padded headphones was wrapped around his neck. He was wearing a long black leather jacket, heavy metal band t-shirt, black jeans with looping, dangling chains and large multi bucked boots.

Kimmy slipped one headphone off her ear.

‘I’m sorry, but there’s nowhere else to sit,’ he said.

She glanced at her backpack on the chair next to her then back to him.

‘I’ll put in the luggage rack for you,’ he added.

Nodding, Kimmy put the notebook between her legs and passed over the bag. He took it off her and slotted on the bottom shelf. He put his own next to it then sat down as she shuffled over.

‘Thanks.’

‘It’s fine,’ Kimmy muttered to her knees.

She slipped back her headphone, kept her eyes down for a few moments then picked up the notebook again. Turning away as much as she comfortably could, she opened the pages randomly. A raven glared up at her with a single beady eye. The feathers were wonderfully drawn and coloured in deep black. A string of red hung from a sharp looking beck and there was an eyeball at the raven’s clawed feet.

Over the page, another raven with its beck open in a scream sat on a skull who’s empty eye sockets stared haunting up at her.

Kimmy felt the man shifting. The back of her neck prickled as it seemed he was watching her. She glanced. He was. She stole a few more peeks and saw the look of puzzlement on his face. He also appeared to be leaning further over as if trying to see the notebook better. Kimmy thought about closing it or turning more away, but it was the growing look of recognition on his face that kept her frozen.

Finally, she slipped her headphones off and turned to him. Shock spread across his face then vanished as he turned away. He took off his own headphones then turned back to her. Kimmy closed the notebook.

‘I’m sorry. It’s just that…I think that’s mine…’ he trailed off.

 

To Be Continued…

Little Black Book (Part 3)

Kimmy was packing her rucksack for a return weekend to Liverpool when her mind made a chain of connections whilst she was folding clothes. Stuffing a jumper into her bag, she went to the bedside drawer and found the black notebook where it had laid forgotten for two weeks. She stroked the fake worn leather and recalled how she had shoved the notebook away as her mum had launched into ranting mode.

Opening the pages, she looked at the drawings she remembered from last time. Reaching a new page, she stopped and looked at a half finished sketch of a woman’s head with amazing plaited hair. The pencil marks were so fine that induvial strands of shaded black hair could be made out. Marvelling, Kimmy turned to the next page and saw the attempts at drawing a long, medieval style dress.

A voice called her name and she looked up at her open bedroom door. Sunny was standing there, wrapping the brown ends of her tied back hair around her fingers. She was wearing a blue low cut top, a pair of old jeans and slippers. Kimmy clocked the slight puzzlement on her face as Sunny waited for a response.

‘Yeah?’

‘When are you leaving?’ Sunny asked.

Kimmy glanced at her watch and saw it was getting later then she had thought, ‘in the next few minutes. Why?’

‘I couldn’t remember,’ Sunny answered, ‘Logan just asked if I’d meet him in the pub in an hour or so.’

‘Oh, well, I just need to pack and then I’m gone,’ Kimmy explained, closing the notebook and slotted it into her rucksack.

Sunny nodded and slipped away, pulling the door to.

Hurriedly putting everything else in, Kimmy changed her clothes, putting on a pair of dark blue jeans, a long black laced up sleeves top and black boots. She called out a goodbye as she threw on her duffle coat and dimly heard Sunny’s bye. Leaving the apartment, she quickly walked to the train station and to the ticket machines. Joining the back of a queue of four people, she looked at the timetable board and sort her train. It was due in ten minutes.

Tickets got, she battled through the steady flow of people and onto the platform with a good few minutes to go. Standing in a huddled group of fellow travels, her thoughts wandered back to the notebook. She hadn’t meant to put it in her bag, but she hadn’t wanted Sunny to ask about it either. Deciding that it would give her something else to do on the train, her mind turned and she daydreamed about the person it belonged too.

Kimmy pictured a goth like herself, but with a nerdy side. Or maybe the person was all nerd? Perhaps, they just had an interest in medieval times and the drawings where not fantasy ones at all. Was the person a real artist or someone who did it as a hobby? Where they missing the notebook right now and cursing themselves for losing it?

The train pulled into the station, bring her back from a downward spiral of unanswerable questions. Kimmy watched the doors open and an influx of people trying to get off and onto the platform. She was pushed back and the teenage boy in front of her stepped on her boot tops. Shuffling out of the way and chasing down a half thought to kick the teenager in his ankle, Kimmy waited like a trapped sheep stuck with all the others.

Finally, she was able to step onto the train and find a seat. Heading towards the back of the carriage, she sat opposite a luggage rack with her bag on the seat next to her. Ignoring everyone else still looking, she got her headphones, IPod and the notebook out. The voices around her faded into loud screaming music and she got comfy.

Opening the book, she flipped the pages trying to not to look till she reached the last one. None of the drawings had been dated, but there must be clues to the owner and their travels, maybe? She reached a blank page towards the end of the notebook and had to flip back again. The last sketch appeared and she took in what shockingly seemed to a drawing of herself.

 

To Be Continued…

Little Black Book (Part 1)

Kimmy squeezed her way on to the train just as the doors were closing. Yanking her plated rainbow coloured hair and the hood of her grey duffel coat out of the way, she glanced at the sealed doors. Catching her breath and pushing up her purple framed glasses, she felt the train moving and watched the platform sliding away.

Heading into the carriage, Kimmy looked for a double or table seat which was empty. People looked up at her then back to their screens or books. There was a low mumble of chatter as people talked to one another or their phones. At the back, she found a double spot and dumped her small rucksack down. Sliding across to the window, she looked at the darkening cityscape rumbling by.

Liverpool in all its grimy glory, she thought wearily, not that it differs much from Manchester.

The PA binged on and a rusty man’s voice began announcing the route. Kimmy rested the side of her head against the icy cold glass and shut her eyes. Something knocked against her shuffling foot. Looking down, she saw a black shape and reached a hand down to grab it. Soft worn, leather brushed against her skin and there was a rustle of paper. Balancing it in both hands, she inspected the small rectangle book. Written along the bottom in sliver ink was; If found do not open.

Staring hard, she tried to decide if the handwriting looked female or male. Her fingers sort the edge of the cover and she almost flipped it over. The words lingered in her head, causing her to wonder what was so important inside the pages that the writer had to instructed people to stay out. She pressed the book between her palms.

The train juddered into a station, bring her back. Out of the window, Kimmy saw people moving to and from, those walking away were opening umbrellas and pulling up hoods. Rain was dripping from the platform roof and beyond gathering on the wired fence. The sky was now dark grey boarding on black, threatening heavier rain, prepares even a storm.

The last passengers got on and began searching for a seat as the train started up again. Kimmy watched two businessmen sit down at a table were a young couple were holding hands across the thin plastic. They began talking loudly about a meeting they had just come from and making rude jokes.

Slotting the notebook between her legs, Kimmy unzipped her bag and pulled out her IPod and noise cancelling headphones. She put on some heavy metal and let the loud booming songs carry her away. Tugging up the notebook, she slotted it into the rucksack and without any further thought, watched the ever changing view going passed the window.

 

To Be Continued…

Beedingwood

Mick squeezed through the chained and pad locked gates as the rain turned heavy. Rise To Remain sung through the noise cancelling headphones, blocking out the vibrations of the fence. Pulling the stolen rain coat’s hood further down, he clicked on the torch. The beam of light circled on the overgrown road.

Thick branches from a dead tree lay snapped in the tall grass and weeds. The sudden image of himself and Rohan collecting them appeared. It hadn’t been raining that night and the wood had all been dry. Mick shone the torch upwards and the light darted up the trunk of the tree in question.

Aaron appeared balanced in the branches. He’d been cutting through the limbs with a small saw when Rohan and Mick had arrived. He had explained Sam and Ty- who was sort of their leader-were trying to get a fire going. Mick could dimly recall the sounds of the sawing and the dead tree snapping. Aaron had climbed down afterwards and collected an arm full of sticks before they had headed back with their loads.

He dropped the torch back to the overgrown road. There was no point in gathering the rest of the wood, it was far too wet. Hoping there might be some dry sticks still left over, Mick started on the road. The faces of his friends seemed to join him as he scrambled through the dripping foliage. Rohan with his bright red hair in a stubby ponytail, was the shortest of the group. He also had a pinkie finger missing on his left hand and was colour blind. What had he been wearing that night? It had properly been black or dark coloured like the rest of the Goth gang wore.

Aaron, trailing behind them, was the strongest and the tallest. He went to the gym and took steroids out of habit and addiction. His dyed black hair was the shortest and he spoke very little. His boots and ripped jeans had been covered in mud. Though he wouldn’t say where he’d been and it had seemed too dry for so much wet dirt.

The road went upwards and Mick followed it, banishing his friends from his mind. A few minutes later, he stopped to catch his breath and look around. He was standing at what seemed to be the top of a large hill in a field. The road headed to his right and climbed another hill. The bushes and trees stretched out on either side as far as he could see. He shook out the rain coat, which was doing a great job of stopping the rain soaking him. However, he really was starting to feel cold and wet. It couldn’t be much further now, could it?

He moved off again and System of a Down came on his IPod and through the headphones. It was hard going on the slippery grass, but under them small stones gave his boots some stability. His torch light shook across the ground and he was finding it hard to catch his breath. He stopped on the decline and forced his breathing to steady. Opening his eyes, he stared through the growing darkness and sheet rain to see the outline of a massive structure a few feet ahead of him. System started to fade and the IPod shuffled another of their songs on.

The road met a widening driveway, which was divided by another pair of gates, half hidden under ivy. One of the gates was open slightly because the hinges were broken. Mick stepped through and gazed up at the building now in his sight. Once it had been a glorious early Victorian mansion, but now it had been left to rot. The white paint covering the roman columns had peeled away. Ivy and other climbing plants had wrapped themselves around everything. A handful of ground floor windows had been boarded up and the others were either missing or broken. An eerie atmosphere hung over the place as if it was a dead body.

Forcing away his fears, Mick walked up to the front doors just as he had done a week before. His light hit an orange glob on the floor and he aimed the torch down. Sat by the right side door, a rotting pumpkin had sunken in on itself and collapsed. He recoiled at the sight and pushed against the other door. In a flash, he could see the Jack O’ Lantern grinning at him. The candle inside had been casting burning welcoming light on to his face.

The door gave way with a loud shuddering groan and Mick, hurrying inside, pushed it shut again. Iron Maiden’s Chains of Misery echoed through the headphones, filling his head with calming notes. The foul air of the house flooded his nose with each desperate breath he drew. He still couldn’t put his finger on all the different scents that rose within the thick dust. Waving the beam of light, he ordinated himself and crept into the first room to his left.

Alongside the music in his ears, he could hear Ty’s voice telling him and the others about that room. It had originally been a guest waiting room in the mansion and had stayed that way when the house had become a school and home for mentally and physically disabled children. Mick shone his torch about. There were two long sofas and a small table set before a fireplace. This was where it had all began.

He went over to the fireplace, which contained a heap of ashes and bits of burnt wood. Off to the side was a pile of sticks, logs, newspapers and a match box. Thanking his luck, Mike began to build a fire, recalling as he did so Ty and Sam building one as he and the other two had arrived. Sam had been scrunching up balls of newspaper mismatched painted finger nails. His multi-coloured hair covered his face and his glasses were sliding off his nose. Ty had been lighting candles, his leather jacket clinking with all the metal elements adoring it. His spiked up Mohawk seemed to dominate the room and his piercing purple eyes had fixed onto them as they entered.

Removing the coat, Mick also slipped the headphones off and let the last few moments of Maiden echo in the room. He struck a match and set a ball of newspaper a lit before dropping it into a circle of more paper and wood. The flames took and licked around the wood hungrily. The fire cracked and sparked, adding its own sound track to the beginnings of a Disturbed song, which Mick only half recognize.

As he feed and watched the fire, his thoughts swirled back again. He had lied to his parents and the police, telling them he was at a Halloween night out with his friends in Liverpool. He had gotten drunk and couldn’t remember much of the latter part or what his friends had been up to. Truthfully though, he knew all the details with an odd clarity.

Mick poked a long stick into the fire, stirring it up a little, which caused the fire to hiss. They had gathered here, in this place that Ty had called his second home and had been his escaped from foster parents. They had drunk straight vodka, JD, cider and Morgan’s, had talked girls, music, movies, life, had laughed and shouted over ghost stories. Then Ty had offered around some tablets. Taking them, they had left to hit their favourite night clubs and bars. More drinks and loud music had flowed, washing together and creating a never ending night.

They had ended back here with some girls. Rolling around on the sleeping bags covered floor and the creaking springs of the sofas. Sweaty bodies shimmered in candle light, gasps and delightful cries had roamed through the room, black lipstick had coated skin and bite marks had been left behind. He couldn’t remember the girls’ names, or what they looked like clearly as it seemed they had been a reflection of themselves. Laying there, in a tangle of naked skin and displaced dust, Mick remembered one of the girls’ asking the name of the house.

Beedingwood, Ty had replied then in a smoke haze had told tales of the manor house and the school. They had listened, hooked to the horse voice as they smoked and drank. Mick tried to recall one of the stories but couldn’t. They had all sounded so legendary and mysterious. Afterwards, Ty had offered them another hit and there had been more sex. Sleep had come, restless and hot. Mick had woken from it with the soft voices of the girls in his ears. They were dressing and leaving. He lay still, listening to them until the doors had shut and their voices had faded with the remains of the night.

It was then that all the trouble had started. Mick had woken, struggling into his clothes and boots before going to relief himself. Coming back, he’d found most of the others awake with only Aaron still wrapped up in a sleeping bag. They had tried to wake him, but he wouldn’t budge. Mick had shook him and noticed his chest wasn’t moving. He had stuck a hand over Aaron’s mouth and nose and felt no breath tickling his skin. Cautiously, he had called Ty over, who confirmed his findings. Together, they had come up with a plan and they had carried Aaron out of there in a sleeping bag. They headed to his house, carefully sticking to side routes and avoiding everyone. Somehow, they had made it and arranged Aaron in his bed.

Ty had given them further instructions and gone over all the possibilities as they had left and headed separate ways. His predications had come true and the next day there police at their doors, announcing Aaron’s death and questioning them. They had all stuck to the story Ty had told them, which beside from Beedingwood, the drugs and the girls, was the truth.

Mick threw some more wood on to the fire and looked across at the sofa Aaron had died on. He couldn’t help wondering if his spirit was now trapped here, like the other ghosts Ty had talked about. Though, he didn’t really believe in ghosts or an afterlife. The police had now concluded their case as an accidently overdose via a drug and alcohol cocktail. The gang had never been to blame, but Mick knew he’d feel haunted by it for the rest of his life.