'Katarina. Exotic Eastern European. Looking for love'.
The headline was hardly original but her photograph was alluring. Set against the others, their desperate subjects pouting like their lives depended on attracting a date, this woman’s fiery sensuality stuck out a mile. What really intrigued Kyle were her eyes. Almond-shaped, they were so piercingly green he felt the digital image practically hypnotising him. He wrenched his attention away to begin tapping his eager reply.
* * *
Outside the wine bar he was surrounded by noisy revellers. Every now and again trendily-dressed youngsters would step outside to glare at him hogging the table. He fiddled with the beermat under his glass. Draining his first drink he became aware of conversation dwindling.
The woman who had drawn everyone's attention had just exited a taxi. Now she was striding towards him, razor-sharp heels clicking. His attraction was instant and intense; libido’s equivalent of stepping onto a booby trap. A scarlet dress clung ferociously to her contours, its plunging neckline exposing her ample breasts. Its hem barely reached her thighs. The face he'd admired in the photograph was even more stunning in three dimensions. She smiled with glistening, crimson-coated lips, taking the seat opposite. Kyle fought valiantly to control his quivering wrists as he decanted some wine for her. This was like meeting a movie star.
'So nice to meet in person, Kyle'.
He relished her sultry Slavic voice and also noticed a tongue stud. 'Yes. Lovely to meet you, Katarina'.
'Thank-you for offering wine, Kyle. Is very gentlemanly. But I don't drink'.
'Oh. Can I get you a soft drink? Orange juice? Coke?'
'Coke would be nice, Kyle. But I doubt you'd be able to order my favourite type over the counter here'.
Winking at him, she leaned forward, her hand brushing his leg. That touch felt like electricity.
'Do you dance, Kyle?'
'Dance? No. Not since school discos. Even then describing it as dancing would be stretching the dictionary definition'.
'Ha ha. Not to worry, Kyle. I'll teach you. Will help you relax. You don't need alcohol to unwind when you're with me. Believe me, surrendering to the music, losing inhibitions, is far better way to get to know each other than sitting here making small talk. Come. My favourite club is round the corner. I know doormen. We won't be standing in some queue for hours like all these idiots will be'.
Mimicking her urgent motion, Kyle stood. He'd known this woman precisely four minutes but was mesmerised. He'd never felt such overwhelming physical desire. His only other experience of any relationship was with his ex-wife, a childhood sweetheart who'd left him the previous year after she'd fallen for her boss. When Katarina turned to head in the direction of this club, he received another arresting image. Her backless dress revealed a tattoo covering the entire expanse of her back, a lurid collage of floral patterns that practically glowed.
Whether it was the rush of the hastily swallowed wine, or her mere presence, Kyle felt giddy as the scowling bouncers unclipped the rope barrier. When the doors parted hard house pounded relentlessly. Kyle winced: his download collection mostly consisted of earnest indie music. He followed the spectacular tattoo into the gloom, deeper into what seemed to be a cave peopled by weird, wasted creatures gyrating to a noise that reminded him of roadworks.
Katarina turned, eyes flashing a signal. When he failed to react, her hand shot out and she hauled him into the manic throng. Embracing him, she shouted out: 'This will help us get to know each other even better, Kyle'.
Before he had a chance to reply she slipped a pill between his lips. She seized his hand again; he swallowed the mysterious tablet.
'What the fuck was that, Katarina? I'm not going to die, am I?'
Shaking her head, she grinned. 'No, Kyle. You're going to live!'
With that, she began thrusting her pelvis towards him, her arms flailing in the air in time to the thunderous electronic rhythm. Kyle self-consciously tried to follow her movements, grateful for the frequent emissions of vast clouds of dry ice. But as each extended mix melded into the next Kyle gradually began to appreciate the DJ's skill in weaving the sonic backdrop. Within the hour the music pounding from the vast speakers by the stage had transformed into the most beautiful sounds he'd ever heard. Confidence was flooding through him, inspiring him to launch his whole body into the dance. Every time he caught Katarina's eyes they were boring right into his. He knew she was feeling as turned on as he was; in his trance-like state he imagined himself to have developed a telepathic connection, and this was confirmed when she stopped dancing to shout into his ear.
'This place is open very late, seven days. But I don't want to be walking streets when sun is rising, I like my bed ... What do you think, Kyle? My place?'
* * *
Katarina lived on the penthouse suite of modern apartments looming above meticulously-tended gardens. A thought surfaced briefly in Kyle's wasted mind, that he had some important engagement early in the morning; the chemicals he imagined colouring his bloodstream snuffed it out.
He followed her into the foyer, then over to a lift. Again, she took the lead, her hand grasping his. Beneath the lift's spotlights he noted the rings on every finger – elaborately carved with runes and Gothic skulls – and long, exquisitely manicured, black-varnished nails. An overwhelming urge to kiss her welled up in him. As if anticipating his next move she touched a finger to his lips.
'Not yet, Kyle. Be patient'.
At the last door on the top landing she swiped her entry card. ‘Enter, Kyle’.
Making his way in the direction she indicated, to the end of the hall, he admired the wall artwork: stylish reproductions of coats-of-arms. Heraldic creatures clutched shields: dragons, griffins, centaurs and other fantastical hybrids. Their mottoes were in languages he assumed were Slavic.
A door opened into a lounge. A wine red carpet flowed, dotted with animal pelt rugs. These culminated in a monstrous white wolf set before the fireplace, its gleaming orange eyes scrutinizing his approach. A galaxy of candles were arranged along shelves, tables and the mantelpiece. These were scented, creating a sensory kaleidoscope.
Pacing over she pushed at his shoulders, forcing him down onto the wolf pelt. Her glance relinquished his, then swept around the room. She blew into the air, once, sharply. Every candle extinguished. Still woozy from the tablet, Kyle wondered if the candles were electric, wired to a central source? Except the air was filled with the acrid aroma of smouldering wicks. His attention was diverted when he felt her breath next to his face. For frantic moments her hands deftly worked at removing his sweaty garments.
‘You want my body?’ she hissed, her accent growing more pronounced. Her fingernails traced a path though his chest hair, working their way downwards in a whirling motion. Kyle pawed into the darkness. ‘You are horny boy, Kyle?’ After whispering this, her voice fell into guttural foreign words.
‘'I never even asked, Katarina. Where is it you come from?'
'Wallachia’.
She added something else in her native tongue. Kyle discovered he could understand: she'd demanded to know how much he desired her. He answered in her own language. The fact he had no idea how he’d gained this mysterious knowledge was bizarre but also one of the most thrilling things he could imagine. Now she was telling him to relax. This time he couldn’t be sure if it had been in English, Slav or he'd simply dreamed the words. But he could still imagine the music from the club ringing inside his skull; the room seemed to be revolving in time with a brutally sensual rhythm.
Despite the dark a tapestry over the fireplace pulsed with some inner radiance. This depicted a medieval scene, with hunters pursuing wild boar through a forest. Further on there was a castle, armoured soldiers laying siege as its defenders pitched boiling oil over them. The tableau became three-dimensional, as if he was peering through a window into the past. The sound of clashing arms and agonised screams filled the air. Kyle could also smell roasting flesh. His crazed vision darting to the right, he could see what appeared to be a nunnery; except the women were all stripping free of their black habits, were prostrating themselves across beds to await the soldiers hacking at the wooden doors with axes. The females were shrieking, but not in terror: in lewd anticipation.
‘You can look into my past? You see the warriors, arriving in ships to join the pillaging? Tatars, who sailed over the Black Sea. Look deep into the woods. You see how we dealt with those we captured?’
He wondered what drug he'd taken to have had such a powerful hallucinogenic effect. But that notion quickly dissipated. The mesmerising scene was his sole focus. Glancing through the dense pines his vision homed in, as if through a zooming camera lens. There, in a clearing, trees had been chopped in half, the exposed bark sharpened to vicious spikes. One by one wriggling prisoners were being hoisted up, then impaled through their midriffs. Blood and guts sluiced downwards, adding to a purple sludge swirling around the tree stumps.
‘This is how my people deal with our enemies … the enemies of our blood’.
Although her voice was coming from right beside Kyle, his fumbling fingers refused to connect with her flesh. She laughed derisively. This time the disembodied voice came from the ceiling; either directly above him or from the furthest corner of the room. It was distorted by a weird echoing effect; in the surrounding void her room gave the illusion of having transformed into some vast cathedral. In the shadows her harsh, lustful breathing sounded like a wild animal.
‘I was born at the time my nation rebelled against Kingdom of Hungary. The following century we grudgingly accepted Ottoman Empire as our feudal lords’.
Her nails dug into his arms, pinning him to the ground. Her mouth sought his forcefully, her tongue probing. Her teeth fastened on his lower lip and she bit down, hard enough to draw a trickle of blood. Her tongue flecked at the tiny cut. This motion became more insistent. Her rapacious mouth continued sucking at him while her fingers closed on his erection, thrusting him inside her. She began fucking him, savagely grinding her groin into his. The room was lurching frantically, synchronising with her motion, spinning faster and faster. Violent dance music thundered all around them. He had no idea if she had hit some remote control or the trip was feeding him aural hallucinations but just at the moment it seemed as if the entire world was plunging into a maelstrom, he felt her climax. Her scream caused the music to stop. Her vice-like grip relinquished and her face nuzzled into his. Exhaustion turned him to stone. He felt powerless to reciprocate when her lips lingered at his mouth, lapping gently. This soothing sensation dragged on until he finally succumbed to a satiated sleep.
* * *
Kyle felt wretched. Inside the cubicle he listened to two of his colleagues discussing the imminent meeting. He found their enthusiasm utterly mystifying. Another wave of nausea swept over him. He was violently sick into the toilet bowl; spluttering and coughing he struggled to suck in air. Finally purged he flushed and sat down.
Tugging his phone from his suit jacket he opened the browser. He pictured Katarina's eyes. When he'd woken earlier that morning, he'd roamed her flat until he found her bedroom. The door was locked. No amount of knocking or calling her name had roused her. Because he was presenting a vital report during a conference call first thing, he'd decided to head home to freshen up.
His pulse quickening, he accessed the dating site. The thought of seeing her entrancing features again lifted his spirits. He logged-on to his profile. He could recall her message yesterday word for word, agreeing to meet, suggesting the wine bar. But this had been deleted. When he flicked down to his contacts her details were no longer there. His heartbeat increased. Thumbing through the lists of clients he could find no trace of her. He was still desperately searching when a fist thumped the other side of the door.
'Kyle. You okay in there? McNiven sent me to look for you. We're live in two minutes'.
'Okay, okay. Just coming'.
Kyle stood up, the sudden motion inducing nausea again. The toilet door shut. Creeping from the cubicle he stepped over to the sinks, thrusting a tap on. When he crouched to take a slug he found it inexplicably hot; it scalded his tongue. He frowned: the water was ice cold against his skin. He assumed this disorientation another symptom of coming down from the drug. Checking his reflection in the mirror he adjusted his tie, smoothing his unkempt hair with his dripping hands.
Around the conference table 24 heads swivelled in his direction, expressions uniformly disdainful. The CEO, Adam McNiven, glared at him. 'Christ's sake, Kyle. Whatever you get up to on school nights, I'd knock it on the head. I'm relying on your presentation to the Germans'.
Kyle murmured: 'Food poisoning'. Taking the empty seat he glanced sheepishly around his colleagues. He was dismissed when everyone turned to the large plasma TV dominating the wall. It was displaying an uncannily similar conference room; the ticker along the foot of the screen stated: Hamburg. 08:00.
MacNiven cleared his throat. 'Morning, Otto. Are you guys receiving us?'
A stout man waved towards the webcam. 'Loud and clear, Adam. Hello UK. Greetings from the Hamburg office'.
'Excellent. Hello from London. It's just gone seven our time, still pitch black outside. But we have to get the strategy signed-off before the stock exchange opens in, oh, precisely fifty nine minutes?'
The Hamburg CEO grinned into the camera. 'Pitch black you say, Adam. We had a lovely sunrise over the Elbe this morning. Should be due in London anytime soon. Yes, we're raring to go. Greatly anticipating the projections your whizz kid has come up with'.
Kyle was aware of MacNiven firing a concerned look towards him. He gazed away from the TV, through the floor-to-ceiling windows, beyond Canary Wharf's cluttered high-rises in the direction of the Thames Estuary. Slate-grey clouds were mustering. His nausea returned with a vengeance.
Kyle stood; the action caused his chair to clatter backwards. Everyone turned away from the flickering picture to watch him. His trembling hand sought his phone. The thought of contacting Katarina suddenly seemed critical; exactly why he had no idea. A sense of paranoia was enveloping him. Again, something else to thank his dabbling in recreational drugs for. He'd become so light-headed his thoughts were hurtling out of control.
He gawked over the skyline. The way the pallid dawn was beginning to creep over the tower blocks, cranes and steeples was the ugliest thing he'd ever set eyes on. This realisation was making his heart beat a crazy tattoo, as if it was on the verge of exploding inside his rib-cage; right now, with all these corporate drones staring at his deathly white features, at the large scab on his mouth everyone had assumed was a clumsy and ridiculously juvenile love bite. Just then a red sun winked from a fissure in the clouds, casting its light across the East End, brilliant slivers striking the glass architecture like fireworks. A scream rose in Kyle's throat. All the faces in both rooms transformed with horror; he stared back until his spontaneous combustion melted his eyeballs.
The headline was hardly original but her photograph was alluring. Set against the others, their desperate subjects pouting like their lives depended on attracting a date, this woman’s fiery sensuality stuck out a mile. What really intrigued Kyle were her eyes. Almond-shaped, they were so piercingly green he felt the digital image practically hypnotising him. He wrenched his attention away to begin tapping his eager reply.
* * *
Outside the wine bar he was surrounded by noisy revellers. Every now and again trendily-dressed youngsters would step outside to glare at him hogging the table. He fiddled with the beermat under his glass. Draining his first drink he became aware of conversation dwindling.
The woman who had drawn everyone's attention had just exited a taxi. Now she was striding towards him, razor-sharp heels clicking. His attraction was instant and intense; libido’s equivalent of stepping onto a booby trap. A scarlet dress clung ferociously to her contours, its plunging neckline exposing her ample breasts. Its hem barely reached her thighs. The face he'd admired in the photograph was even more stunning in three dimensions. She smiled with glistening, crimson-coated lips, taking the seat opposite. Kyle fought valiantly to control his quivering wrists as he decanted some wine for her. This was like meeting a movie star.
'So nice to meet in person, Kyle'.
He relished her sultry Slavic voice and also noticed a tongue stud. 'Yes. Lovely to meet you, Katarina'.
'Thank-you for offering wine, Kyle. Is very gentlemanly. But I don't drink'.
'Oh. Can I get you a soft drink? Orange juice? Coke?'
'Coke would be nice, Kyle. But I doubt you'd be able to order my favourite type over the counter here'.
Winking at him, she leaned forward, her hand brushing his leg. That touch felt like electricity.
'Do you dance, Kyle?'
'Dance? No. Not since school discos. Even then describing it as dancing would be stretching the dictionary definition'.
'Ha ha. Not to worry, Kyle. I'll teach you. Will help you relax. You don't need alcohol to unwind when you're with me. Believe me, surrendering to the music, losing inhibitions, is far better way to get to know each other than sitting here making small talk. Come. My favourite club is round the corner. I know doormen. We won't be standing in some queue for hours like all these idiots will be'.
Mimicking her urgent motion, Kyle stood. He'd known this woman precisely four minutes but was mesmerised. He'd never felt such overwhelming physical desire. His only other experience of any relationship was with his ex-wife, a childhood sweetheart who'd left him the previous year after she'd fallen for her boss. When Katarina turned to head in the direction of this club, he received another arresting image. Her backless dress revealed a tattoo covering the entire expanse of her back, a lurid collage of floral patterns that practically glowed.
Whether it was the rush of the hastily swallowed wine, or her mere presence, Kyle felt giddy as the scowling bouncers unclipped the rope barrier. When the doors parted hard house pounded relentlessly. Kyle winced: his download collection mostly consisted of earnest indie music. He followed the spectacular tattoo into the gloom, deeper into what seemed to be a cave peopled by weird, wasted creatures gyrating to a noise that reminded him of roadworks.
Katarina turned, eyes flashing a signal. When he failed to react, her hand shot out and she hauled him into the manic throng. Embracing him, she shouted out: 'This will help us get to know each other even better, Kyle'.
Before he had a chance to reply she slipped a pill between his lips. She seized his hand again; he swallowed the mysterious tablet.
'What the fuck was that, Katarina? I'm not going to die, am I?'
Shaking her head, she grinned. 'No, Kyle. You're going to live!'
With that, she began thrusting her pelvis towards him, her arms flailing in the air in time to the thunderous electronic rhythm. Kyle self-consciously tried to follow her movements, grateful for the frequent emissions of vast clouds of dry ice. But as each extended mix melded into the next Kyle gradually began to appreciate the DJ's skill in weaving the sonic backdrop. Within the hour the music pounding from the vast speakers by the stage had transformed into the most beautiful sounds he'd ever heard. Confidence was flooding through him, inspiring him to launch his whole body into the dance. Every time he caught Katarina's eyes they were boring right into his. He knew she was feeling as turned on as he was; in his trance-like state he imagined himself to have developed a telepathic connection, and this was confirmed when she stopped dancing to shout into his ear.
'This place is open very late, seven days. But I don't want to be walking streets when sun is rising, I like my bed ... What do you think, Kyle? My place?'
* * *
Katarina lived on the penthouse suite of modern apartments looming above meticulously-tended gardens. A thought surfaced briefly in Kyle's wasted mind, that he had some important engagement early in the morning; the chemicals he imagined colouring his bloodstream snuffed it out.
He followed her into the foyer, then over to a lift. Again, she took the lead, her hand grasping his. Beneath the lift's spotlights he noted the rings on every finger – elaborately carved with runes and Gothic skulls – and long, exquisitely manicured, black-varnished nails. An overwhelming urge to kiss her welled up in him. As if anticipating his next move she touched a finger to his lips.
'Not yet, Kyle. Be patient'.
At the last door on the top landing she swiped her entry card. ‘Enter, Kyle’.
Making his way in the direction she indicated, to the end of the hall, he admired the wall artwork: stylish reproductions of coats-of-arms. Heraldic creatures clutched shields: dragons, griffins, centaurs and other fantastical hybrids. Their mottoes were in languages he assumed were Slavic.
A door opened into a lounge. A wine red carpet flowed, dotted with animal pelt rugs. These culminated in a monstrous white wolf set before the fireplace, its gleaming orange eyes scrutinizing his approach. A galaxy of candles were arranged along shelves, tables and the mantelpiece. These were scented, creating a sensory kaleidoscope.
Pacing over she pushed at his shoulders, forcing him down onto the wolf pelt. Her glance relinquished his, then swept around the room. She blew into the air, once, sharply. Every candle extinguished. Still woozy from the tablet, Kyle wondered if the candles were electric, wired to a central source? Except the air was filled with the acrid aroma of smouldering wicks. His attention was diverted when he felt her breath next to his face. For frantic moments her hands deftly worked at removing his sweaty garments.
‘You want my body?’ she hissed, her accent growing more pronounced. Her fingernails traced a path though his chest hair, working their way downwards in a whirling motion. Kyle pawed into the darkness. ‘You are horny boy, Kyle?’ After whispering this, her voice fell into guttural foreign words.
‘'I never even asked, Katarina. Where is it you come from?'
'Wallachia’.
She added something else in her native tongue. Kyle discovered he could understand: she'd demanded to know how much he desired her. He answered in her own language. The fact he had no idea how he’d gained this mysterious knowledge was bizarre but also one of the most thrilling things he could imagine. Now she was telling him to relax. This time he couldn’t be sure if it had been in English, Slav or he'd simply dreamed the words. But he could still imagine the music from the club ringing inside his skull; the room seemed to be revolving in time with a brutally sensual rhythm.
Despite the dark a tapestry over the fireplace pulsed with some inner radiance. This depicted a medieval scene, with hunters pursuing wild boar through a forest. Further on there was a castle, armoured soldiers laying siege as its defenders pitched boiling oil over them. The tableau became three-dimensional, as if he was peering through a window into the past. The sound of clashing arms and agonised screams filled the air. Kyle could also smell roasting flesh. His crazed vision darting to the right, he could see what appeared to be a nunnery; except the women were all stripping free of their black habits, were prostrating themselves across beds to await the soldiers hacking at the wooden doors with axes. The females were shrieking, but not in terror: in lewd anticipation.
‘You can look into my past? You see the warriors, arriving in ships to join the pillaging? Tatars, who sailed over the Black Sea. Look deep into the woods. You see how we dealt with those we captured?’
He wondered what drug he'd taken to have had such a powerful hallucinogenic effect. But that notion quickly dissipated. The mesmerising scene was his sole focus. Glancing through the dense pines his vision homed in, as if through a zooming camera lens. There, in a clearing, trees had been chopped in half, the exposed bark sharpened to vicious spikes. One by one wriggling prisoners were being hoisted up, then impaled through their midriffs. Blood and guts sluiced downwards, adding to a purple sludge swirling around the tree stumps.
‘This is how my people deal with our enemies … the enemies of our blood’.
Although her voice was coming from right beside Kyle, his fumbling fingers refused to connect with her flesh. She laughed derisively. This time the disembodied voice came from the ceiling; either directly above him or from the furthest corner of the room. It was distorted by a weird echoing effect; in the surrounding void her room gave the illusion of having transformed into some vast cathedral. In the shadows her harsh, lustful breathing sounded like a wild animal.
‘I was born at the time my nation rebelled against Kingdom of Hungary. The following century we grudgingly accepted Ottoman Empire as our feudal lords’.
Her nails dug into his arms, pinning him to the ground. Her mouth sought his forcefully, her tongue probing. Her teeth fastened on his lower lip and she bit down, hard enough to draw a trickle of blood. Her tongue flecked at the tiny cut. This motion became more insistent. Her rapacious mouth continued sucking at him while her fingers closed on his erection, thrusting him inside her. She began fucking him, savagely grinding her groin into his. The room was lurching frantically, synchronising with her motion, spinning faster and faster. Violent dance music thundered all around them. He had no idea if she had hit some remote control or the trip was feeding him aural hallucinations but just at the moment it seemed as if the entire world was plunging into a maelstrom, he felt her climax. Her scream caused the music to stop. Her vice-like grip relinquished and her face nuzzled into his. Exhaustion turned him to stone. He felt powerless to reciprocate when her lips lingered at his mouth, lapping gently. This soothing sensation dragged on until he finally succumbed to a satiated sleep.
* * *
Kyle felt wretched. Inside the cubicle he listened to two of his colleagues discussing the imminent meeting. He found their enthusiasm utterly mystifying. Another wave of nausea swept over him. He was violently sick into the toilet bowl; spluttering and coughing he struggled to suck in air. Finally purged he flushed and sat down.
Tugging his phone from his suit jacket he opened the browser. He pictured Katarina's eyes. When he'd woken earlier that morning, he'd roamed her flat until he found her bedroom. The door was locked. No amount of knocking or calling her name had roused her. Because he was presenting a vital report during a conference call first thing, he'd decided to head home to freshen up.
His pulse quickening, he accessed the dating site. The thought of seeing her entrancing features again lifted his spirits. He logged-on to his profile. He could recall her message yesterday word for word, agreeing to meet, suggesting the wine bar. But this had been deleted. When he flicked down to his contacts her details were no longer there. His heartbeat increased. Thumbing through the lists of clients he could find no trace of her. He was still desperately searching when a fist thumped the other side of the door.
'Kyle. You okay in there? McNiven sent me to look for you. We're live in two minutes'.
'Okay, okay. Just coming'.
Kyle stood up, the sudden motion inducing nausea again. The toilet door shut. Creeping from the cubicle he stepped over to the sinks, thrusting a tap on. When he crouched to take a slug he found it inexplicably hot; it scalded his tongue. He frowned: the water was ice cold against his skin. He assumed this disorientation another symptom of coming down from the drug. Checking his reflection in the mirror he adjusted his tie, smoothing his unkempt hair with his dripping hands.
Around the conference table 24 heads swivelled in his direction, expressions uniformly disdainful. The CEO, Adam McNiven, glared at him. 'Christ's sake, Kyle. Whatever you get up to on school nights, I'd knock it on the head. I'm relying on your presentation to the Germans'.
Kyle murmured: 'Food poisoning'. Taking the empty seat he glanced sheepishly around his colleagues. He was dismissed when everyone turned to the large plasma TV dominating the wall. It was displaying an uncannily similar conference room; the ticker along the foot of the screen stated: Hamburg. 08:00.
MacNiven cleared his throat. 'Morning, Otto. Are you guys receiving us?'
A stout man waved towards the webcam. 'Loud and clear, Adam. Hello UK. Greetings from the Hamburg office'.
'Excellent. Hello from London. It's just gone seven our time, still pitch black outside. But we have to get the strategy signed-off before the stock exchange opens in, oh, precisely fifty nine minutes?'
The Hamburg CEO grinned into the camera. 'Pitch black you say, Adam. We had a lovely sunrise over the Elbe this morning. Should be due in London anytime soon. Yes, we're raring to go. Greatly anticipating the projections your whizz kid has come up with'.
Kyle was aware of MacNiven firing a concerned look towards him. He gazed away from the TV, through the floor-to-ceiling windows, beyond Canary Wharf's cluttered high-rises in the direction of the Thames Estuary. Slate-grey clouds were mustering. His nausea returned with a vengeance.
Kyle stood; the action caused his chair to clatter backwards. Everyone turned away from the flickering picture to watch him. His trembling hand sought his phone. The thought of contacting Katarina suddenly seemed critical; exactly why he had no idea. A sense of paranoia was enveloping him. Again, something else to thank his dabbling in recreational drugs for. He'd become so light-headed his thoughts were hurtling out of control.
He gawked over the skyline. The way the pallid dawn was beginning to creep over the tower blocks, cranes and steeples was the ugliest thing he'd ever set eyes on. This realisation was making his heart beat a crazy tattoo, as if it was on the verge of exploding inside his rib-cage; right now, with all these corporate drones staring at his deathly white features, at the large scab on his mouth everyone had assumed was a clumsy and ridiculously juvenile love bite. Just then a red sun winked from a fissure in the clouds, casting its light across the East End, brilliant slivers striking the glass architecture like fireworks. A scream rose in Kyle's throat. All the faces in both rooms transformed with horror; he stared back until his spontaneous combustion melted his eyeballs.