Seventy-Two Hours in Ormoc City

Episode Ten - Sunset Blindness

Verity shivered despite the heat. Her levels of apprehension and anxiety were through the roof. 

Almost as if he sensed it, and while seated in the classy surroundings of Lorenzo’s, eating a rice muffin and drinking an iced tea, Don asked her, ‘Verity, are you okay?’

‘No, Don, I'm not okay.’ she whispered hoarsely into her locket microphone. ‘I’m freaking terrified, okay? I’m terrified that I’m about to face the man who drove my friend to kill herself. I'm terrified that all of these woman will face the same fate. I’m terrified of what he will do to me, Don, of what he will do to me. And do you know what else I’m terrified of? Every man who passes this queue and ogles me like a piece of meat. I’m terrified of every wolf-whistler and cat-caller and pervert who leers at me and wants me for my body, Don. I am flat out pooing myself. I hid myself from them – and I don’t mind admitting it – because I saw what those animals did to my friend and I did not want it to happen to me.’ She sniffed back salty tears. ‘And I don’t care if everyone who ever saw me thought that I’m a card-carrying lesbian. They can think whatever they want. It doesn’t bother me. Because all those years, I kept myself safe by making sure that no sicko wanted his way with me. And it worked. But now... I have never felt so exposed and alone in all my life, Don. So no, I am not okay.’

‘Feel better now all that’s out?’ Don asked her.

‘No... I mean, yes. I don’t know anymore.’ Verity stammered.

‘So let’s get one thing straight once and for all: you do like men, don’t you?’ Don asked her.

Verity was very quick to answer. ‘Of course I do! You know who I am and what I believe! It’s just... I’m scared of them, Don. Really, really scared. Sometimes even of you.’

‘Well, that’s no bad thing.’ Don quipped. ‘Look, let me tell you one thing about men – about all people, in fact. When it comes to relationships, all people are fundamentally stupid.’

Verity chuckled wryly.

‘Well, they are.’ Don continued. ‘They like someone because of how they look, how they dress, how they smell. But that’s just nonsense! Give them twenty-five to thirty years and they’ll be a wrinkly old prune, dressed in cheap rags, and their backside will be trumpeting in bed. Then they’ll be asking, “Is this the person I married?” And the answer is, “No, you fool! Because you married their clothes, their perfume bottle and an idealised picture of them that they projected that was never real to start with!” See? It’s all stupid! And all those lunatics who bark and howl and whistle when they see a woman they like? It’s all nonsense. They’re just saying they like the marketing. The marketing that is never real. It gets taken off, washed off and slung on the floor like garbage. We’re all just trying to make sense of the madness, Verity. Some of us let it get to us and drive us insane. You and I, we don’t, because we know there is more to life than being soaked in pheromones and dressed like a  hooker. So don’t let them get to you, my lass. You can do this. Because you are never alone. Never.’

Verity sniffed. ‘Thanks Don. That helped. You ever thought of becoming a therapist?’ she quipped.

‘Nah. I’d be too good.’ Don told her. ‘And please, whatever you do, don’t poo yourself. With the underwear you have on it'll probably make a mess of the pavement.’

‘Letch!’ Verity coughed, smiling.

Charlotte hated this. Absolutely hated this. She was stuck in a cell. In a cell! Her! And yet, she had come here to help the police, to give them information that could stop Shiloh Stalker Valdez from harming one more woman.

And they put her here!

But she wasn’t just angry. Or frustrated.

She was terrified. Flat out terrified. She anxiously paced the empty floor of her cell like a bird landing on a hot tin roof. She had done wrong. So much wrong. So many terrible things. She could confess them. Reduce her sentence. Maybe make a plea bargain.