[Club: Hannah and Caspar]
Hannah was there for a client. She didn't leave Hookerville very often, but sometimes clients liked for her to come to them. It was how she'd met Hugh at first, coming to his house when he was a client, and tonight she was here, at this club, for a client.
The man wasn't one of Hannah's preferred johns. He was older, proprietary, with white hair and a fat wallet, and he liked to be grabby in public. That wasn't the thing that bothered Hannah, the public thing, but he liked to say nasty things, and all of that took her back and back and made her feel things that weren't at all nice. But he paid really, really well, and so she was here, dressed like herself, because he never liked for her to dress like a working girl on his arm. He liked the illusion of a real relationship, one where he could say terrible things.
At the moment, he was in the bathroom, and she was waiting at the edge of the bar, toward the long hallway that led to the bathrooms. She was against the wall, leaning, playing with a long tendril escaped from a messy bun, a dark strand of silk that she had tugged over her shoulder. She was lost in thought, and then she thought she saw someone familiar on the dance floor. Someone who thought she was dead, and someone who knew Marcus was dead, and someone she didn't want to see at all.
Caspar. He was just a few feet away, and just seeing him shoved Hannah two years into the past. It was confusing and unexpected in a way that played with her head and her programming. She was Amy completely and entirely under those neon lights, blue and green painting her dark hair with the past. She stood there, staring, staring, even though that was probably the worst thing to do right now.