The morning after

"Oi, Mackie," Steve bellowed across the room as he saw me at the water cooler. "What happened to you last night, then?"

I continued filling the plastic cup, the blup blup blup of the bubbles in the water making me feel queasy, as if I was hungover. From the look on Steve's face, as I straightened up to answer him, I suspect I looked pretty hungover too.

"Sorry, mate. Told you I was out of practice these days. All of a sudden I had to get some fresh air. Threw up in the alley," I winced. "After that, I felt like shit - so I headed home. Like I say, sorry. Did you stay out much longer?"

"Nah, didn't really feel like it any more," he said, with just a hint of reproach in his voice. "You up to being in? You do look pretty awful, Al."

"I'll be fine, Steve. Just need to get a cup of coffee to get my eyes open."

He raised his eyes, but headed off to his desk. As I sat down at mine, I thought I'd done pretty well with my cover story. Though I think the way I was looking was more convincing than anything I'd said - I was doing a pretty solid impression of someone who felt like crap.

Of course, it helped that I did feel like crap - but it wasn't really drink-related.

After what happened when we'd left the pub, after what I'd be been told, I'd been in a kind of daze. I wandered the streets of Leith, feeling suddenly sober - for how long I walked, I couldn't say. When I'd got home, I'd drunk a tumbler of vodka in one. I wasn't really sure why, and it had seemed to have no effect.

How could I believe what I'd heard?

How could I not believe what I'd heard, with the thing that was in the drawer of my desk?

Involuntarily, my hand went to the drawer, and closed around the unfamiliar object inside.

Yes, it was still there.



Story begins here.