PROLOGUE
The night was dark and getting darker, and in this dangerous part of town, dark nights could prickle you with an eerie sense of impending doom. My high heels clattered out a rhythmic melody as I walked down the rough and battered bitumen, and such was the isolation and desolation of this area, that the rhythmic melody was the only sound disturbing the silent night. I was walking towards a place that the police called The Dungeon, and apparently the police had given the area that unflattering nickname because the inhabitants of The Dungeon were shady, immoral, and lawless characters. The city’s homeless vagrants had set up their make-shift camp under the six-laned Cotter’s Bridge, and law-abiding or sensible people never came anywhere the camp … especially at night-time. The inhabitants of the camp were societies dark underbelly, the petty criminals, the depraved and the nefarious, the dead-beats and the no-hopers, and the general rule was, Don’t go in, because you may never come out …
I was striding with my usual elegant gait, yet as I got closer to the bridge, I slowed my walk to a more modest tempo, because I could see dark figures shuffling around in front of the hastily constructed open fires. There wasn’t much noise, but I had been anticipating that. The Dungeon wasn’t a place where people gathered to celebrate and party, The Dungeon was where societies misfits huddled together as they drank booze or took drugs to try and dampen the reality of their miserable existences. Rarely did you hear joyous laughter or happy voices in this gloomy area, you were more likely to hear terrified screams or shrieks ringing out as feeble beings were beaten, stabbed or raped.
I was wearing a nice black dress that fell to my knees, and the dress was tight enough to highlight my hour-glass figure, and the high heels I was wearing were red. I also had a lovely white handbag, the strap slung over my shoulder, the handbag itself sitting comfortably by my left hip. I chose my white handbag because I assumed that as I strolled past the nest of frayed and dilapidated tents, the seedy inhabitants of The Dungeon would see the handbag clearly on this dark and gloomy night, and it would, should attract the attention of those of who had evil and wicked intentions on their minds. I had contemplated wearing a jacket, for it had been suggested that the night would be chilly, and indeed an icy breeze seemed to be whispering through the tunnel; yet I wasn’t affected by the weather’s extremities, and besides, I have so many lovely jackets that I couldn’t decide which one to wear.
I knew that I cut an impressive figure, wait … actually, I have no need to be modest, so I’ll just put it straight out there; I was hot, like I mean I was head-turning, jaw-dropping, Hubba, hubba, hubba hot. With my defined and striking facial features, I looked like an Angel (and yeah, I’ll own up and say that my Angelic face was an unintended contradiction on the largest scale imaginable). My jet-black hair stretched to just below my shoulder blades, and in regard to my body, my shoulder blades, along with my ankles, ears and knees, were the only parts of me that couldn’t bring lustful men to their knees. When I looked at myself in the mirror, the divine image looking back at me would sometimes even bring me to my knees. I don’t wish to brag (because I have things to do on this dark and eerie night) yet if a judge was ranking female bodies out of ten, the judge would gaze longingly at me and mumble, So, what’s above ten? Can we do scores over ten? Maybe you’re thinking that I’m full of myself, or more crudely, UP myself; but let me allay your curious minds by stating quite emphatically, of course I am. When you are born with a gorgeous face, and when you grow and mature to have a figure that even Playboy Bunnies dream about, one can do nought bar … be up themselves. So, are we clear on everything? I am ridiculously good-looking, and I have a figure that even I envy; so, let’s move forward, shall we?
I have excellent hearing, and I heard the despondent yet threatening caw of a crow disturb the silence, so I stopped, and as I gazed out into the pitch-black night, I understood that I was alone, alone as anybody could possibly be, and that could make me helpless and vulnerable. I patted my white handbag, and then with a million thoughts spinning through my mind, I continued my journey into the unknown. Curiously, I wondered which aspect would be more likely to gain the attention of the evil and wicked creatures who inhabited The Dungeon; my superb body, or the handbag?
I could see figures clustering together, some of them pointing in my direction, and the dire warning spun around in my mind, Don’t go in, because you may never come out …
With a mild smirk creasing my full lips, I quickened my stride.
