Holy Sunday

The Magenta Lounge had been quiet the night the stranger came, but it was no surprise, as it was a Sunday. There was no performance, no cheap cabaret for the men to come in and spend their pennies on, as well as cheap alcohol to drown their sorrows in while they listened. The Magenta's boss was in grieving for his sweet little songbird Hayleigh, who had since flown the nest to discover new things, new places and new people. He simply could not fill her place with a mediocre, talentless, doe-eyed beauty who would stand up there on her stage and imitate the latest number ones and chart hits like a beautiful parrot. Not just yet, anyway.

So, for now, Sundays in the Magenta were pretty gloomy. Songs were played, but quiet ones, and it seemed the only people wanting to come in and spend their week's wages were the older generation, who knew that the Magenta would always have a place for them, beer on tap, and girls upstairs, should they feel the need. Sometimes the girls would go unneeded, and would loiter around the upstairs hallways, bored and ignored. The men downstairs just didn't feel the need, didn't feel bothered enough. Yes, it seemed that the Magenta's popularity had died a death since the sudden dissapearance of it's brightest star.

On this particular Sunday, it was as it had been, quiet, morose, quite simply put: depressing. Middle-aged men sat in the alcoves, drinking and discussing football matches or snooker, occasionally adding a dash of noise to the atmosphere with a brief roar of laughter when one of them would crack a joke or tell a dirty story about somebody they all knew. The dancefloor was completely empty, devoid of life, and still sticky from the night before. Saturdays were, as always, the night to be at the Magenta...

A young man sat at the bar, every now and then motioning with his hand for Scarlet, who was serving drinks that day, to come to him and refill his glass.

"Don't you think you've had enough?" She asked him, despite doing as she was told. She passed the pint of beer back to him.

"Nah," He said, taking a swig and frowning, "This is mostly head!"

"Oh, get used to it," Scarlet mumbled, wandering away again to sit down on a stool until she was asked for by somebody else. She had to admit that she missed Hayleigh a great deal too, not for her shows, but for her company.

The young man didn't drink much of this glass. Instead, he stared into it, his great green eyes pooling like the liquid in the container before him, wide, yet lifeless. He didn't look the picture of life and health himself either. His clothes were baggy, and seemed far too big for him, and his hair was a disgrace, tawny coloured and balding in places, even though he couldn't have been little over 25. His features were gaunt and pale, and the fingers which cupped his beer-glass were thin and boney. He let a sigh escape his scabbed lips, and took another sip of beer.

"It's depressing here today, isn't it?" Scarlet mumbled to Spice, a fellow barmaid and prostitute at the Magenta. Spice nodded.

"Extremely," She frowned, "Not that the regulars are any help, eh? Look at 'em. Death warmed up, the lot of 'em. I only came downstairs to wet me throat..."

"Help yourself," Scarlet said, motioning towards the drinks, "I don't think anybody would even notice."

Spice made her way behind the bar and took a small bottle of vodka.

"See you later, Scarlet," She said, going back upstairs. On her way, she couldn't help but add; "If anybody wants us tonight, that is!"

No sooner had Spice gone back upstairs, did the door of the Magenta suddenly fling open. A very tall young man entered, wearing a long black velvet trenchcoat. His hair was sable-coloured and very long, tied back into a very tight plait. His skin was very pale, almost alabaster, and his features were very defined. He was quite full-figured, and despite the sickly colour of his skin, he seemed to look more healthy than a lot of the regulars at the club. He was not fat, like some of the red-faced men who sat in the alcoves and every now and then cast their gaze over to eye Scarlet up, nor was he slim or toned, like a young gay couple who sat talking in another alcove, and he was definately not skin and bone like the man sitting at the bar. He carried a wooden stick, which he seemed to be using to guide himself. Slowly and awkwardly, he made his way towards the young, skinny man.

"Is this seat taken?" He asked, without waiting for answer before he sat down on the stool anyway.

"No..." The young man replied absently, without even looking up. The man beside him cleared his throat.

"Hello," He said, his voice quiet and almost like a whisper. He was definately from nearby, his voice was unmistakably London. The man with the beer shrugged.

"Suppose."

"Hmmmm." Said the stranger, "You seem sad."

The young man frowned, not much enjoying this sudden conversation.

"Listen, mate," He began, but soon found himself speechless when he turned to look at who he was sat beside.

"Hmm?" The stranger enquired, "A problem?"

"Are you...blind or something?" The young man asked, perhaps a little rudely. He looked at the stranger, who seemed to be attempting to look back at him, but instead was looking straight past him. His eyes were definately unusual. They were large and wide, like a cat's, but lacking any sort of real 'life' to them. They were glassy and blue. In fact, every part of his eyes looked blue. Even the sclera looked strange; an odd off-white colour, washed with blue ink. The iris, on the other hand, was bright and cobalt coloured.

"Blind? Yes, I am," The man replied, "I've been blind for a very, very long time..." He shook his head, "But no matter."

"Wow, considering they're...um...well, you know, they're very nice eyes," The young man found himself stumbling upon his words.

"Well, thank you," The stranger said, with a small smirk, "Beautiful but useless all the same."

Silence.

"So, friend," The stranger said, to break the awkward pause, "What do you do?"

"I work at a bank," The man said, with a small frown.

"You hate your job, yes?" The stranger said, cocking his head, "You find it boring, a task, horrible...I'm correct?"

"Yes..." The young man answered, feeling a little nervous now around this stranger, although he wasn't sure why. "How did you know?"

"Oh, I just know these things," The stranger chuckled, "Besides...who would find working at a bank exciting, eh? I mean, all that business with money and taxes, personally I would find that, well...taxing!" He laughed at his own joke, but then quietened again.

"Hmm..." He moved closer to the man, "You have AIDS...am I correct?"

The young man jumped a little.

"How in the earth- how could you possibly know that?" He asked, in a frantic whisper. The stranger gave him a wry smile and tapped the edge of his nose with his walking stick.

"I can always tell," He smiled.

"Heh," The young man was not impressed, "I'd rather not know me being ill was so obvious."

"It's probably not that obvious, you know," The stranger smiled. "I just sense these things."

"You sense them?" The man replied with a hint of disbelief in his tone. 'I've ran into a real fruitcake here!' He thought to himself.

The stranger realised then that perhaps he was giving away a little too much about himself.

"Ohhh, you know, we blind people often have impeccable talents with our other senses," He replied, "Not to worry about me, kid."

"Kid? Who you callin' kid? You look well younger than me!" The man pointed out, defiantly.

"Looks can be decieving," The stranger smiled. He sniffed the air for a few moments. "Beer-drinker? Or is that just how this bar smells every Sunday?"

The young man looked at him for a moment and shrugged. "Nope. I'm drinking a beer." He suddenly felt a wave of generosity cover him.

"Hey...can I buy you a drink?"

The stranger grinned happily with a set of gleaming, perfect white teeth.

"I could murder a rum and coke," He said.

"Comin' up..." The young man replied, a little nervous of this man's seemingly untouched, porcelain-like features.

The pair were silent until Scarlet brought forth another beer, and a rum and coke. The stranger felt around for the glass and let out a happy sigh when he found it and brought it to his cold lips, taking a rather generous gulp of the drink.

The young man stared at him with wide eyes.

"You can stare all you want, I can handle my vices," The stranger said, a little angrily, "I know for a fact you cannot..."

"Hey!" The young man shouted, standing up, "What's that supposed to mean? Just 'cause I've got...you know...doesn't mean that I'm a sleeparound!"

"I know that, sit down," The stranger commanded, scaring the young man a little, who wasn't used to the fact that he could actually sense what he was doing. "I know you can get the virus from various sources...dodgy needles, via semen or vaginal fluids, women up the duff with AIDS can pass it on to their unborn babies...I know the facts, mate."

The young man looked at him, shuddering a little as he took a swig of beer.

"How do you know all those so-called 'facts'...? Half that stuff hasn't even been mentioned in the news," He asked.

"I just know."

"You seem to know a lot," The young man grumbled. The stranger grinned at him, reaching out and placing a cold hand upon his shoulder.

"I do," He said, in his permanent whisper, "But I do not know your name...what is it?"

"Jeremy," The man replied. The stranger nodded. He knew very well that the boy's name was Jeremy, and he knew exactly how he had contracted AIDS. He had slept with a number of different partners, both men and women, and shared drugs with pretty much every one of his partners. Dangerous mixtures.

"Well, Jeremy, it's nice to meet you. You can call me...Sami," Said the stranger, blindly reaching for Jeremy's hand, grabbing it and giving him a very cold handshake.

"Sami? Right."

"It's not my full name, you know," Sami smiled, "But you'll learn that in good time."

"What?" Jeremy had not been paying attention.

"Never mind. So..." Sami began, before taking a moment to finish off the rest of his drink, "Ahh. Sorry...meant to say, how long you been coming to the Magenta?"

"Couple months," Jeremy shrugged, "I think. Don't remember."

"Days fade into weeks, weeks into months, months into years...years into nothing," Sami replied sadly, making a 'tsk, tsk' noise with his tongue and putting his empty glass down. Jeremy grabbed him by the arms.

"Stop being so weird with me, mate!" He growled, "Or I'll take your little walking stick and shove it up your-"

"Manners, Jeremy!" Sami hissed, "Let go, or so help me, you will regret it." Jeremy let go.

"I'm sorry..." He replied, quietly, "I'm just...not feeling too great, what with the-"

"I know," Sami nodded solemnly, "But it does improve, and in time, they will find a cure."

"In time? In time?! I'm bloody sick of people telling me that!" Jeremy sighed, pulling on his hair, "I don't think I have much time left." The stranger remained quiet for a moment, and the silence pushed Jeremy into asking him if he wanted another drink.

"If you're willing to buy again," Sami said, smiling again, reaching into his pocket. "I've been thirsty all day..." He produced a handful of pristine white feathers, "Been spitting feathers!"

Jeremy laughed a little. "Uh...yeah! You keep birds or something?"

The dark stranger giggled.

"Something like that," He shrugged, "But, birds aren't the only creatures who have feathers, you know."

He was somewhat pleased that Jeremy hadn't heard that last sentence.

After the two men had finished their drinks, Jeremy was beginning to feel a little light-headed. He swayed upon the stool and nearly fell on Sami.

"Careful," Sami said, helping him back up.

"You know...you...you're really attractive when I look atcha from this angle!" Jeremy said, grinning.

"Hey, I'm taken," Sami replied, "And my lover is here somewhere as well, so I'd watch it."

"Ohh, hey, hey, hey..." Jeremy laughed, "I'm only playing."

"Right," Sami nodded, "Playing is fine, but you should always stop when the game becomes too serious..."

"I don't have a lover," Jeremy shrugged.

"I know, otherwise you'd have been with them now, correct?" Sami asked, circling a chubby finger over the rim of his glass, grinning at the sound it made. Jeremy grit his teeth a little at the noise.

"Yeah...but then again, most of my friends are gone now," He sighed.

"Gone?"

"Yep. Gone, AWOL, vanished. Dead, some of 'em." Jeremy mumbled, "But hey, that's life."

"Did you know Marcus Camille?" Sami asked, quietly.

"Marcus?" Jeremy laughed, "Hell, everyone knew him."

"Popular lad, huh?" Sami smiled.

"You could say that. I went with him a few times, actually..." Jeremy admitted. Sami nodded knowingly. "He was good, too."

"I'm sure," Sami laughed, "But I'm faithful to my partner."

"Yeah?"

"Very faithful. More than you could even dream of, mate..." Sami smiled, "Anyway, this Marcus character. He lives near me now."

"I think you're mistaken," Jeremy said, with a sigh, "Last I heard, Marcus bit the big one. He's dead, pal."

"Oh?" Sami said, with a small glint in his otherwise vacant eyes, "Perhaps I am wrong then." He knew he wasn't wrong.

"Last orders!" Scarlet called, ringing the bell with little interest. Truth be told, she was knackered, and well in need of a good night's sleep. Sundays were dull, but at least she could catch up on her slumbers. She smirked to herself as the barflies groaned and, as if in slow-motion, reluctantly began to get ready for home. Jeremy wasn't too thrilled about having to go. He waited until everybody else had left the bar before he gave in.

"Well, that's me," Jeremy said, standing and finishing off the last few dregs of beer in his glass. He suddenly felt, for the first time that night, Sami's gaze fixed completely upon him. He looked down at the man, who was now looking straight up at his face, instead of straight past it, an enigmatic smile upon his face.

"Yes, that's correct," Sami nodded. "Jeremy Stanley Hammond...do you know who I am now?"

Jeremy stared at Sami, paralysed by his gaze. He nodded, dry-swallowing in fear.

"Y-yes, I think I do," Jeremy tried to back away.

"No time now," Sami shook his head, "Come on. Wouldn't you like to come with me?"

"No! Bastard, get out!" Jeremy waved his hands at Sami wildly.

"Shhh...I'm not a bastard. I'm just the messenger, after all. Come. You can't change it," Sami said, taking Jeremy's hand. Jeremy was startled to notice that it was no longer so cold.

"Okay, okay, mate. I'll go with you," He sighed, admitting defeat, "But where?"

"I can't tell you. Just the messenger," Sami shrugged, pulling Jeremy with him, aiming for the door. "My friend here and I will help you." He motioned towards an attractive man standing in the doorway, who had beautifully angelic blonde curls, and brown eyes as deep as the ocean. Sami and Jeremy exited the bar unnoticed, and Sami's silent lover closed the door quietly behind the three of them.

Scarlet was wiping down the bar when she noticed the array of empty glasses where Jeremy had been sitting. She muttered to herself as she took a few of them away to be cleaned.

"Bloody boy's been sat in here drinking beers and rums and vodkas...everything tonight!" She frowned, going back to retrieve the others, "Why can't he get himself some friends and- oh my God!" Scarlet let out a scream and dropped the glasses she was carrying. The smash of them caused Spice and a few other girls to run downstairs and see what the commotion was about.

"What is it, Scarlet?" Spice asked, sleepily.

"Call the police," Scarlet shivered, "There's another one gone..." She leaned over the bar to see Jeremy lying lifeless beside a fallen barstool, an empty glass still in his hand. A handful of white feathers lay on his chest, and there was a wooden walking stick at his side.

The mysterious dark-haired stranger was never seen in that bar again, and those who were in there the night Jeremy died would not remember his visit. In fact, nobody, not even Scarlet, who worked at the bar since it was first opened, could even remember meeting a man who fit up to Sami's interesting description. Nobody who lived to tell their tale, anyway...