Hands carried him ceremoniously across the dance floor and levered him up a flight of stairs. Cold. The snow had stopped. They lay him on the roof of ...he club. He was frozen stiff in living rigor mortis with eyes to the heavens as they passed their swift hands over his body. His lungs and bowels were the last muscle to freeze into immobility, expelling his final actions of humanity. Another spasm and he collapsed limp on the damp tar-paper, unseeing and unfeeling. Around him they felt no cold. Then he made another call. "Hello." Hi, Charlotte, It's Jamie Thompson, the groom from the wedding yesterday." Yes, yes, Jamie. Oh my god, Jamie, you called. Oh my god, I don't believe you actually called… I'm sorry, Mr Thompson." No, you were right the first time, Jamie is fine. The reason for my call is our first meeting was all too brief. I'm sitting alone on a deck at a small country cottage, sipping some bourbon while admiring a beautiful view. And I was wondering if you'd like to join me. More

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