Patricia walked along the upstairs hallway and paused outside one room. She pressed her ear to the oak panelling and could hear soft music play. She smiled.

Inside a girl in her early twenties sat cross legged on the floor next to a single bed. She was wearing a pink t-shirt and cut-off denim shorts. Spread out across the carpet before her were photos along with two lighters, a pen knife and a pair of knickers. She picked one photo up showing her with a girl with dark hair. She was laying a kiss on her cheek as the other girl screwed her face up. They both looked very happy, although the image only conjured up painful memories. Then she put down the photo, and grabbed the knickers, which were red in colour with some sequins embroidered around the waste band. She raised them to her nose, and inhaled the perfume that lingered on them.

Then a knock came to the door. Instinctively, she screwed up the knickers in her fist, and then hurried to brush the photos and other things under the bed.

"Who is it?" she said.

"Cameron? It's me. Can we talk?" came her elder sister's voice.

Cameron sighed, "Its open." she said, and got up, turning to a chest of drawers beside the bed, and concealed the knickers inside.

Then she heard a click and looked back to see the door brush the carpet. Patricia entered and came to stand by the end of the bed.

Cameron was a lesbian, and her untidy, streaked blonde hair and the tattoo of barbed wire around her left arm just above the elbow confirmed a rebel persona. Patricia almost admired her for it, even if a bad history between the two of them prevented her from ever getting close.

"Did you know Jeanie had come by?" Patricia asked.

"Erm, no. Why?" Cameron replied, nudging the drawer shut with her ass, before returning to the bed and sitting down.

"You know, you spend way too much time up here." You don't get out."

Patricia began to pace the floor, giving disapproving looks Cameron's way.

"I get out."

"I won't bother getting into what did or did not happen between you and Malcolm. But if you have any idea what's going on with him, you should tell me. You know that, don't you?"

Cameron glanced to the cupboard again and sighed, "He helped me out. That's all. I was in trouble. He helped me out."

"And was that so-called girlfriend of yours anything to do with it? We both know she's trouble."

"Leave Davina out of this. She's ancient history."

"You said that before. You forget, I know you lie. You lie well. But I see through it nowadays."

"She's not involved. She's gone!" Cameron snapped.

"Gone?"

"I mean..." Cameron paused, "She only came back to tell me she was moving on. That was the last time I saw her, when you saw us that night, by the car."

Patricia had been over this ground with Cameron before. She was a closed book. Whatever had occurred all those weeks ago, she was quite obviously going to be the last to be told about it. Then somebody cleared their throat and they both looked to the door to see their mother Barbara. She had should-length blonde hair very similar to Patricia's, and was a respected Barrister.

"You're back then." Barbara said to Patricia.

"Yeah. I saw Jeanie. I think she'd been drinking before she got here." Patricia replied.

Barbara nodded, "Well, you better both come and take a look at this. It's regarding your brother."

Patricia & Cameron looked at each other, and then followed their mother out.

Soon they descended the staircase to the sound of a TV news programmed, highered up and coming from the living room. The same female reporter Patricia had met in the car park of the hospital was reporting the story, live outside LA County General. A headline running across the bottom of the screen read:

"Right now the Police have been interviewing witnesses concerning the disappearance of Mr Willis after a six week stay, here after what people believe may have been a gang-related incident, resulting in a serious leg injury. The nurse found dead has yet to be named, but the Commissionaire's office has gone on record as saying a statement will be made in a few hours time."

The report reverted back to the studio, where a male, black news reader thanked the reporter and went onto the next story.

"Malcolm's gone?" Cameron said suddenly.

Patricia shook her head, "God. This is serious." she replied, with their mother lingering by the TV with a worried expression on her face.

"I better call your father. He is arriving back tonight. He'll know what to do." she said.

A dented black pick up drove along the freeway with Nina, the nurse from the hospital at the wheel, with a slightly restless looking Malcolm beside her. He was wearing a black canvas jacket she had managed to procure from a locker that belonged to one of the orderlies.

"We'll have to stop over night at a motel or something and plan things from there." she said.

Malcolm looked at her. She seemed far removed from the nerdy trainee nurse he had befriended over the last number of weeks. She was taking control, and it somewhat unnerved him.

"You're acting like you've done this before." he said.

"What? You think it's every day I spring a guy out of hospital and take to the road?"

Malcolm watched the houses blur past the window. He hadn't planned anything. He had stupidly relied on his only real friend to bail him out. He had been kidding himself for too long.

"What about you? You've got a career. You really want to jeopardise all that for me?"

Nina stared at him for a second before re-focusing on the road ahead.

"For some hot shot millionaire...you've got awfully low self esteem."

"None of this makes much sense to me."

"Me neither...isn't it exciting?"

"If I wasn't scared shitless, then yeah, I suppose I would be."

Nina giggled revealing the brace on her teeth.

"Relax. We'll get to a place I know, and you can get some rest. I'm sure all of this must be tiring you out."

Malcolm just sighed, and watched the buildings again.

As the early evening clouds began to settle over the rooftops, and a blood-red sun peaked through the letters of the Hollywood sign, the bare chested black man came to a door within a corridor of the small film studio, and knocked twice. Sweat glistened on his skin.

"Are you alright, girl?" he asked, raising his voice so it echoed.

Justine, dressed completely in black denim, was before a washing basin, looking at her reflection, as tears ran down her cheeks. She sniffed and took a deep breath, before running the taps and giving her face the once over. She hadn't felt ready for the shoot, not by a long shot, and it hadn't been easy. Yet she understood her fan base. She didn't play to the average crowd. She pandered to the darker side of the industry, and it was what made her the name she was. The job though, had lost its hold on her a long time ago, and now she just went through the motions. Luckily, she didn't think anyone had noticed.

Soon she left the studio by a side door, and walked over to a 4x4 BMW X5 where the windows were blacked out. She looked up the litter-covered side street for any sign of life. There was nobody. She didn't understand. Wasn't she supposed to be famous? Perhaps being a celebrity in Hollywood is one thing, but being a porn actress is another. The black man (who was now wearing a leather jacket over a black shirt) walked around to the driver's side and unlocked the doors. Justine followed by opening the passenger side and climbed in.

Once inside, the black man inserted the keys in the ignition. Suddenly loud rock music was heard with an alarming blast of drums and guitars, causing Justine to cry out. The black man then went to reach for the CD player, but was then grabbed from behind, a switchblade put to his throat, and Justine yelped without being heard as she witnessed his throat get cut.

As the music continued to pound her ear drums she sat looking terrified at the site of her dead friend, blood soaking his shirt. In the back sat the big-built Italian. Then the driver's door opened, and the interior was flooded with daylight.
Vincent peered in with a grin and a gun. Nothing was said as the music continued. Then the big Italian dropped the driver's seat, and pulled the black man into the back, allowing Vincent to climb in and close the door.

Eventually the 4x4 pulled out of the side street and with a screech of tires and the smell of burning rubber, it sped down the street, disappearing into the distance.