Tasting Licorice

Chapter I. Roses under her cypresses

Ann always said we're alone in this universe. But she drank cold black coffee, smoked long Marlboro Reds and enjoyed licorice candy. She loved suffering, made sure of keeping a drop of it always at her side. Her judgment was not to be trusted. And still, Donna sought out her advice religiously. That was precisely why she agreed to force her way through an hour of traffic to arrive at Ann's usual hangout space.

As Donna closed the taxi door, it became immediately apparent which shop was the one. Rustic, yet classy, with a cursive-written, ivy-covered sign "Nevermore Café". The air carried the scent of warm unlacquered wood seeped with notes of various strains of Robusta and Arabica. The coffee shop was filled nearly to the brim. Murmur of mixed voices poured together into the tight transitional corridor as one stream of steady commotion. It almost seemed fake, orchestrated, oneiric. The baristas were circling around, carrying teacups to and fro on shaky trays, serving petite saucers full of freshly baked goods. It would seem Ann was nowhere to be found.

It took Donna a good few minutes of navigating through the sea of tables to finally catch a glimpse of the navy blue gleam of her dark hair. She was drowning in layers of her opulent, olive-colored sweater, fully engulfed in the yellowed pages of the German original of "Also sprach Zarathustra". She was sitting in a corner sofa with her legs crossed, having left her shoes underneath the table, which made it possible to clearly see her socks did not match.

"Here you are."

"Took you long," said Ann, biting down on her lower lip. "Just let me put the bookmark in..."

She picked up a black (crow's?) feather from the neighboring seat, setting it carefully between the pages. She closed the tome, agitating the molecules that carried the smell of the parchment up to Donna's nostrils.

"How many times exactly have you read this?" she smirked.

"Nietzsche? Must've been a thousand since 1883," Ann glanced at Donna with her black eyes, completely serious. She fluttered her lashes, tilting her head a bit. The cutting edge of her eyeliner wing could sever heads.

"You've been here for long?"

"Since morning. So what?" Ann kept looking at Donna with an absent stare. Her heavy eyelids covered half of her irises, a bit sleepily, a bit flirtatiously.

"It's 3PM. Nothing... I'll go grab my coffee."

"Get me a refill, will you?" Ann pointed to the empty cup with her chin.

"Black, is it?"

"As always."

Donna headed for the front counters just to be back in a short moment. When she set the steaming coffee on the table in front of her friend, Ann grabbed the cup instantly, before she had a chance to move her hands away. Ann's icy skin brushed against hers and for a moment she almost believed she had touched a corpse. It wasn't the first time Ann's frigid hands came into contact with her skin, each time they appeared equally deprived of proper circulation.

"I had a bizarre dream lately, recurring. About death," Ann spoke calmly, softly, nearly too faintly to be heard. "I was carrying a body, my own dead body quartered, drained of blood, shoved in a sports bag. I was to hide it, but I have no idea how in hell I ended up in this situation."

"Maybe you were someone else, someone who had murdered you?"

"The only detail I remember... Dark skin. My arms were dark-skinned."

Donna froze. "I would never kill you."

"I know. But it was just a dream."

Donna's body visibly tensed up.