Statues. Mother.Shadows. Mouse. I remembered that the mouse had whispered something inmy ear, but I couldn't quite remember what, and the harder I tried torecall, the farther away the dream became.My mother told me once that memories "are like a feral animal. Theharder you try to force one into submission, the harder it pulls away." But," she told me, "if you act like you aren't interested, and justrelax, very often it will come to you of its own accord." I sat down ather desk, with the box in front of me, and took a sip of my tea, nowdecidedly lukewarm. "Well," I lied outloud, "maybe it wasn't importantafter all." Among the scattered papers were photos of me as a child,her son, before the change before I became - suddenly I remembered theword that had been whispered in my ear. I put my hand on what I assumedwas the top of the box. "Daughter," I said.The box reacted immediately, revealing the seam that designated itslid. I gently lifted it from the sides, revealing a number of. The only high-class place that offered Armand's type of entertainment. He glanced at his watch. He sighed. Fifteen more minutes and he'd move. He enjoyed having the close up view. Granted, he could see the close up version any time he wanted, but never in this format. This was reserved for the club only. He looked down at his watch again. Time to move. He got up leaving his drink at the table. The waitress would meet him at the new table with a fresh drink. A few minutes after he was settled at the table, the lights in the club dimmed. The footlights around the stage lit up a glowing blue and mist poured from the light pits giving the stage floor a misty look. Conversation stopped at the tables in the club. Patrons put down their drinks and the waiters and waitresses gathered behind the bar that ran along the outer edge of three walls of the room. Stars glittered on the ceiling giving a trompe l'oeil effect that led a newcomer to believe the club had no roof and that it was.
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