SOLOMON'S BRIDGE {Part II/WORK IN PROGRESS}

SPECIAL PROJECTS *14*

A THIN LINE

I never forgot my vision at the market, in 1995; in front of the butcher's stall. A clear vision of the man who would become my rival in the hunt for the Custodian. A terribly handsome man; tall and very broad shouldered, with a high forehead, large, wide, piercing black eyes, and a straight, acquiline nose, with firm, unyielding lips and a square, dimpled jaw that exuded strength in it's chiseled outline.

I meet him by my door; two days after Stacey Umoren got killed outside my store. I am on a one hour break from managing my shop, when I see him, leaning against my wall and smoking a cigarette. I don't know why, but it startles me, when I realize he is the man I always see around the town with Jessica Harris. I am still waiting for her visit...

He raises his head to look at me when I stand in front of him. His mouth curves into a sardonic smile, and I hear his light baritone, "Good afternoon, madam. I called you in the morning on behalf of the governor, remember?"

"Good afternoon, Sir ...how do you know I'm the woman on the phone?" He moves from the wall, straightening to his full height. He takes a good look at me, as if, he didn't expect me to have a brain.

"Well, given that I've been stalking you since five a.m Thursday last week, it would be an incompetence, if I can't pick you out from a crowd."

He takes a lazy drag from his cigarette, watching to see my reaction to this shocking bit of information. I gasp, taking a step back.

He shrugs his shoulders as though discussing something as mundane as the weather, "Tracing you was so easy it's annoying. For someone with sights on State treasure, you don't do much to cover your tracks. Imagine my surprise to find our very own local celebrity, Solomon's Bridge baby... on the governor's personal call log." This man, I surmise, is rude, insulting, dangerous.

Most people don't make the connection to my Irish roots so fast, much less reference the place of my parent's mysterious demise. My heart beat increases from tension, because his cutting choice of words presents an overall, unfriendly demeanor. He is still bashing me,

"Canaan City's End Time prophetess, who goes about predicting doom by day, and, transforming into a mermaid to steal the hearts and minds of upright men by night. As if this scandalous reputation isn't enough, your former neighbours in WaterTown told me everything else I needed to know last night."

My mouth looks very tight right now, I know, but I can't help it. I'm well aware of what is said about me on the grapevine; I'm supposed to be every single teenage boy's fantasy, and every bachelor's secret desire, every married man's fatal temptation. I talk to ghosts, see the future, and I'm a confirmed lesbian. I'm also a blood thirsty mermaid who killed her parents, just by being born.

"Responsible men don't value gossip, so I won't be offended by your cheap insults, Mr..?" I glare at him, waiting for an answer.

He smiles, "Collins Bishop. Did you know that your eyes are actually different shades of purple? The pupil is violet, the iris dark lavender."

I ignore the wonder in his voice, much wary of his bold presence, "Should I report you to the police, Mr. Bishop; stalking is still a criminal offence in Southern Nigeria!"

He exhales the pungent smoke on a loud hiss, "Ma'm, I'm a Secret Service Agent, stalking people is part and parcel of my job description. I told you, I'm here on behalf of the governor; but... I do apologize, for my manner of approach. I've watched your very reserved lifestyle, the way you sprinkle holy water all around this very building before six a.m, I've seen your turtle neck granny gowns that you wear to sleep, I know tha- "