WHO Marcella Bellini, Much Millerson WHEN Thursday night WHERE Diogenes Club WHAT making friends WARNINGS tba
It had been almost two weeks, and the Sheriff of Nottingham was still dead.
Marcella stood with the chest freezer open, wearing his silk robe over a black slip, and bit her lip, looking in at the curled, frozen figure of him. She really didn’t know what she was supposed to be doing with him.
After John had left her that first night, she had woken again after an hour and gone back to look at Malcolm in the freezer. After a lot of struggle, she’d decided to try to clean him up, and so dragged him out of the freezer and removed his blood-stained clothes. By the time she had managed that and cleaned up the wound, which she sensibly stuck closed with tape, his half-frozen body was almost impossible to manoeuver into a new set of clothes, and getting him back into the freezer, naked and wrapped in one of his Egyptian cotton sheets, was a diabolical task.
The next day, she had sorted out John’s jobs for him, and then taken Malcolm’s keys and just driven, for hours. And that is most of what she had been doing for the past two weeks.
She hadn’t had this luxury of time spent perfectly alone in a long time. She had been working for John since she came to New York just over a year ago, and hadn’t had much beyond a day or two off ever since. She reveled in being able to do what she pleased, using Malcolm’s car to drive hours out of the city, spending a night alone in a hotel, dining out alone, turning down drinks sent over by interested men (because if you accept one drink, suddenly he’s fucking you because that is totally what that means, right?)
And now here she was, ready for bed, and looking at a dead man in an ice chest, and suddenly… she wanted to talk to somebody real. And she had no one to call.
Although it was already after 11pm, Marcella dressed again, and decided to go out and find some company of some kind, and for once not dressed in her usual attire of a mini skirt- she wore jeans and a tank top with her black heels. Then she went out again, back to that immortal bar that Malcolm had first taken her to, and perched herself up at the bar to look around and see who she could see.
"Hi- can I get a cosmo please?" she called to the bartender, a scrappy-looking man with dark hair and a kind of cute smile. Not that she was looking for that sort of company tonight.