Miriam Stosur usually had a wet-fish jab, but this punch connected like a hammer blow. Ashen with shock, the Queen Bee looked at her hand, then back at her two docile friends, who were surprised at the sudden attack. They all turned to see a trickle of blood snaking out of Fee's left nostril. ‘Pale-faced Miriam’ half-expected some weeping plea for mercy, but the girl before her offered a guttural laugh. It had been a long time since Fee had laughed this much, like she was doing it for the first time, or in someone else's body. She laughed, as if the world and all its diabolical gifts were one big joke. With a single motion, Fee wiped her mouth across the sleeve of the Parka jacket whilst smiling through a face painted with a mixture of blood and snot; a demented clown borne of violence. For Miriam, this was unknown territory. Her passage through the primordial wasteland of school life was uninterrupted, especially by those she deemed lesser mortals. Any insolence would result in a veritable blitzkrieg of threats, physical intimidation or social media shaming that bordered on criminal. Of course, this campaign of harassment could never be traced back to her; it was not her fault if others took it too far. Miriam could stomach the dullards, the Goths, even the science types; they all had some temporary usefulness. The loners, however, were the worst. There was no place for them in her perfect world of instant gratification. No place for these sullen, unsociable life-forms, who passed through the halls like wraiths. With few friends, they were defenceless and kept themselves isolated from any social groups, which meant fresh meat for any band of bullies.

  ‘Homeless chic’ had become the fashion for modern youth culture, and wearing your father’s jacket was the latest craze. Always one to ignore the bandwagon, Fee was the only one going about her business in a brand new yellow cardigan. Usually, this would not merit a reaction until she drifted into the orbit of Miriam Stosur and her Greek chorus of sycophants.

  "Check it out," Miriam said, in passing. "Green will have to dig up her Dad to get his coat!”

  Predictably, this got a laugh from the docile band of human cattle that followed her everywhere. Oblivious to the insult, Fee continued with all the apathy of an indoor cat—a ghost girl in Suburbia. Miriam immediately took this as an insult. Fee was supposed to shrink with crippling humiliation; instead this...nothing was showing a brazen act of defiance by shrugging it off. Disrespect would not go unpunished. During the lunchtime queue, Miriam quickly positioned herself behind Fee and gave a tap on the shoulder.

  " 'Ello mate." The pale girl said, holding up a small Orange. "Would you mind unpeeling this? My nails are too long." Fee dug a thumb into the top part of the fruit before peeling the outer rind and handing it back. "Nice, thanks! What's your name?"

  "Fee."

  "I'm Miriam, my friends call me 'Mimm'. So, how tall are you?

  "Five-ten," Fee said. Her gaze strayed toward Miriam's three companions. Among the two girls was a fussy-looking male in drainpipe jeans and a plaid shirt buttoned to the choker. His stoic expression masked unwavering condescension.

  "Oh, don't worry,” Miriam said. “We made him an honorary woman.” Fee said nothing and turned back. Unfurling a thin-lipped smile from her salt-flat face, Miriam added: “Why don’t we share a table? Tell us about yourself.”

  After a few hours of hanging out, they got acquainted and Miriam invited her to a party. Inevitably, this turned out to be a cruel trick. A sadistic ruse with a fake address left Fee standing in the freezing rain outside a closed bowling alley in a sketchy part of town. She was too ashamed to call her Mother, but relented after a couple of hours of being cold, wet and humiliated. The drive home was the worst. She sat in silence while Amy listed the kind of revenge fantasies that would have made Torquemada call for a time-out. Her daughter just wanted to forget, and every other day after that. Never again would Fee allow herself to join the collective. She would blur the outsides and avoid the trending masses. Her faith in humanity had been flayed and re-worn as a cloak of pessimism. The renegade punk philosophy of her Mother now transferred to her with a vengeance.

  The payback would be bloodless, but suitably delicious.

  All of which culminated in an ambush at the back of the Math department.

  After the first punch, Miriam was still unsure what had occurred. The shock of striking someone still rattled her, but she disguised it under a fa?ade of utter contempt.

  "Th-That was on you," She said, slightly trembling. "You should have just walked away."

  "You made me wait for two hours in the rain." Fee said. "There were gangs everywhere. I could have been killed or worse, and then killed."

  "Oh, that? That was a goof. If you knew me, I like to mess with people."

  Fee spat out a gob of blood. "So do I."

  Miriam's smile vanished into an ugly mask of disdain.

  "You took it too far." She said. "You never mess with someone's boyfriend. I had plans. We had plans."

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  "A box-wine soccer mum drinking herself to sleep? Yeah, you’re all set."

  "At least we'd still be together," Miriam said, with a snort. "How's your family, by the way? Or what's left of it."

  "I'd rather have a dead dad than an undead one." Fee said. "What's yours? Seventy years old? I bet he hired these Chundacats to be your bodyguards. Look at them, their ass is so big; the farts don't touch the sides. These morons couldn't hit a cow's arse with a banjo!"

  Incensed, one of Miriam’s friends swung a meaty hook that felt like a broadside crash. The power was enough to take Fee down, into a crumpled heap on the grass. The others wasted no time in setting upon her. A barrage of feet laid into Fee's chest and mid-section, each impact felt like a donkey kick, pouring new waves of pain onto her unprotected torso. They were determined to see it to the bitter end, only to relent when two passing teachers pulled them away. Fee felt a tangle of arms lift her and winced as the first intake of breath hit her ribs, until she passed out. Full dark. All water. Drowning.

  ***

  Back at the cinema, Fee spat out another wad into the sink. Trickles of cobalt lined the sink, tracking fingers of blue toward the sink-hole. She studied the oily liquid closely; something about it smelled of rotten eggs.

  "Huh. Weird."

  Distracted by a hypnotic bead that slicked down her hand, Fee gasped audibly upon seeing a man regard her with quiet curiosity. The stranger was dressed in a black suit, cut like butter and fit to perfection and topped off with a matching Fedora. He had a long, pale face, with dead, blank eyes buried under a pair of thick shades. What struck Fee the most was her initial reaction, there was no sense of unease or fear, but a sudden need to be battle-ready, like a knight bracing for an incoming attack. For someone who avoided fights out of habit, this took her by surprise.

  “Hey.” She said. “Y-you can’t be in here.”

  The stranger approached her before turning at the last step and activating the sink. He removed the hat to smooth back a mane of ice-white hair cut above the hairline.

  "Take out the coin." The man said, with a flat, mechanical tone.

  "Did you hear me?"

  "The one in your right pocket."

  Shrugging, Fee reluctantly fished out a two-pence piece. It began to glow without heat before fading out of reality.

  "What the hell?"

  "That will be you, if you breathe a word of what happened today." The Stranger said, staring at the mirror. Fee could not help but notice how the man’s mouth was a perfect line and he appeared to be wearing grease paint. Like a clown. "Understand?"

  "Who are you?" Fee asked.

  “You don’t want to know.” The Stranger said, heading for the exit.

  Something laughed inside of Fee's head; laughter thick like molasses, but somewhat joyless. She had carried the voice for years, but always dismissed it as the whisper of a conscience. Only then did the voice address her personally.

  "What do you mean, call him back?" Fee whispered to herself. "Who is this? Oh, you have something to say. Well, tell him yourself. I don't care! Whose fault is that? Fine. FINE!. I'll tell him. Jeez." She cleared her throat. "Hold on, I have a message."

  The stranger turned, somewhat intrigued.

  "Message?" He said. "What message?"

  Fee spread her arms out.

  "It's not from me," She said." I don't know...just don't get pissed off if it hurts your feelings" She placed two fingers upon her temple. "The message is: Fourth-dimensional interloper, we do not answer to the likes of you. You are so far behind in the great filter; you still resort to primitive disguises. I know your people are watching, so this is just for them.’ That’s it. I'm done. I'm taking a shit." She gestured to the stalls.

  The stranger was moved to speak when something caught in his throat. He tugged at his collar in great distress. A strangled scream barely left the man’s waxy lips before he faded into a translucent outline, leaving the glasses and hat to drop into a puddle of empty clothes.

  "Oh-kay," Fee said, her voice quivering. "I guess I know magic."

  More laughter rippled quietly from inside her head.

  Not magic. The voice said. Pest control.

  “Who are you?" No answer. Her hands began to shake. Numbness swept over her limbs like fog, claiming the countryside under the cover of twilight. She looked up at the ceiling and all around. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?"

  Fee leaned her head against the wall and slammed her fist against the wall.

  Why can’t they leave me alone?

  Dressed in her new Sweater, Fee hurried out of the bathroom, her mind buzzing with a thousand questions. Pale and sweaty, she propped herself against a nearby wall, trying to settle her pounding heart. The sense of being like a side character in her own story.

  It's not right, it's not right. She covered her mouth with a handkerchief. Fuck.

  With the help of a Vending machine, she bought a bottle of Lemonade and took a swig.

  Nothing makes sense any more.

  After a quick recovery, she found the right screen and mounted the stairs in between the rows of seats. Barely noticing a handful of cinema-goers; most of them couples. For the second time that day, she was grateful for other people. Although the last time she felt that way, the ‘people’ turned out be a hideous fever dream.

  What was that?

  Pale relief was replaced with a cold lick of dread. Was it better to stay in the dark? She could be attacked and no-one would know. No, Mother knows best. What were the alternatives? Slink around the streets after closing time and risk being forced into a car? Fee didn’t want to think anymore, she just wanted turn off her brain for the next two hours. The audio boomed into life, as a logo filled the screen.

  Might as well get comfortable, it’s gonna be a long night.