Relapse to Instinct

The trees swam and swirled through the clear, transparent window as the car cut noisily through the air; pushing and shoving it aside with a low rumble. An annoyed hand drifted off the wheel, swiped the golden hair from his designer sunglasses, and pressed the buttons on the stereo in somevain attempt to drown out the wind whippinghis pristine locks around.

"... And that ladies and gentlemen was..." With a hearty sigh, the radio was once again turned down, the name of some band from Nowhere-Ville being swallowed in the wind.

A sign up ahead slowed the sleek silver Porsche's mad dash down the single countryside lane:

Welcome to Fiyieu

He was pretty sure at some point previously the sign had read "Plysley", else he had somehow managed to fly 3000 miles out of England within 5 hours. It may have been a nice bright, happy sign once - before the kids got at it.

"Yeah... Go visit Plysley! They said. It'll bea great holiday! They said. It might just save your sorry hide! They said." The man muttered dejectedly to himself. So maybe that last one had some modicum of truth to it, and he really should stay away from home for a while, or at least until his father's hair faded from its current fashion protest of bright purple, and his brother managed to remove the flour, glue and jelly from his bathroom floor, but his esteemed and wonderful siblings couldn't have found anywhere slightly... classier? No, that madehim sound like a snob. 'Busier' would have to do.

A local B&B called and beckoned him from the right, so he pulled up in front and parked. Sighing again, long arms stretched over the back of the seat as light hazel brown eyes were greeted with a ramshackle looking building, ' being held upright by sheer force of will ' he thought dubiously as the hooked the sunglasses on the blue silk shirt he wore.

"Well Johnny boy, you've certainly landed yourself in it deep this time."

The last time he had been in such a small town, ' village ', he mentally corrected, was 6years ago for his 19th birthday. The only hotel in town losing their best room hadn't been his fault, of course, and the local restaurant having to call the fire departmentat 5am had also not been his fault. It was just the 'wrong place, wrong time' scenario.

Exactly the same as it always was. Being the youngest of his brothers meant that he received the blame for almost anything that happened in his life; whether he was present at that time or not. The cries of 'John did it!' and 'why do you have to cause so much trouble?' would likely never fade from the mansion walls in which he lived. So, to combat this unfairness, John made it his mission in life to be the cause of the trouble. 'If I'm going to be blamed for everything, might as well make it worth it,' the twisted logic in his head murmured.

Even as he thought this though, he heard his older brother, Andrew, snort and say ' bro, you ain't never gonna make 21 at the rate you're goin'!' A grin lit up his aristocratic features at this. Yes he had made 21. His brother had owed him £50 as a result of this coming-of-age.

Breaking his reverie, John unlocked his doorand stepped out, instantly shivering in the cool wind of November, having forgone a coat in exchange for his flimsy 'top-of-the-line' sports jacket, which, apparently, was not wind resistant.

Hunched forwards, John spared a moment tolock his precious car, before he jogged the steps up to the building, wrenching the door open with a grunt and gambolling through.

Surprisingly, the inside of the dilapidated B&B was warm: browns and creams glowedthrough the room at him; a fire in the background crackled and spat. The room itself was homely, not like he was used to, and peaceful, again, something that was very different to his regular lifestyle.

A man sat at a table near the fire, newspaper clutched in hand.

Month of Missing Milly

The headline was smattered the length of the front page, an image of a young blonde girl beneath smiling at the camera. ' Poor kid .' The thought made him sadden, so he turned away from the man with the paper and continued his visual analysis.

A double take at the woman standing behindthe counter at the computer tugged his mouthtowards the floor and allowed the flies to roam within. Dark, chocolaty brown hair reflected the fire light and smooth creamy hands flew across the keypad as she typed.

Stumbling forwards to the desk, John cleared his throat awkwardly and uttered,"Merc?"

The girl paused, before her head flicked upwards to him, a look of confusion etching her delicate, porcelain features.

"Umm... no sir. Can I help you?" Her voice was soft, but she spoke the words with a harshness that stunned him again.

"Mercedes? That's your name. I recognise you. Maybe you don't remember me? John Vincent?" He searched her face for any notes of recognition. This was most definitely her... the voice, the look, the beautiful mahogany eyes...

He'd only met her once, at a business conference with his father, but she was a lingering memory. How they'd escaped the confines of the lecture to a nearby closet andhadn't left for near enough 3 hours...

"Sir, my name's Chris, not Mercedes. I don'tknow you, at all. So please, do you want a room?"

The anger was evident in her voice. It caused any playful, flirty thoughts to be banished from John's mind and he backed away a step as though a brick wall had beenslammed up between them. 'Mind must be playing tricks on you Johnny. Must have been a pretty long drive.'

He sighed, sincerity etched into his features, "Sorry ma'am. Thought I knew you. Must have been wrong though. Erm... yes I would like a room please, just for the night."

He watched as she scowled, then nodded her acceptance, hands flying over the keyboard again. Reaching behind the desk, Chris handed him a room key '23'.

"Second floor sir. Check out is at 11am."

Her voice had since taken on a monotonous ramble, the softness disappearing. Nodding his thanks, he walked back out to the 911 tocollect his bag. 'If I ever understand women,I'll ask Sean and Andrew to shoot me' he thought, pulling a face into the air.

As he unlocked the car, his mind drifted back to their conversation. That woman looked and sounded far too much like Merc to be someone else, either that, or he was really, really tired, and tiredness was something he never tended to suffer from.

Pushing the bangs from his eyes yet again, he glanced towards the setting sun; reds, pinks and oranges streaking across the sky in a myriad of beautiful colours.

Turning back to the B&B, he could just make out the shape of the waxing moon behind the clouds, dull and lifeless at that moment as the sunset graced the sky.