When The Rain Falls

Six months ago..... It was raining, and she wondered how the weather could mimic her thoughts. Her hair was a shade lighter than platinum. White fragile strands fell over her face, down her chest, passed her behind, thick in both length and girth. It whispered across her body in a single blunt edge cut, and she winced as the brightness seemed fluorescent in the hotel light. Years upon years of growing, of trimming, of being ever so careful fell was gone, the formerly mahogany color was now as bright as a cloud. It complimented her olive skin, amber eyes, her mouth wide and plump, fell into a frown. Thick rimmed glasses fell down her nose and she absent-mindlessly pushed them back up the bridge. The sound of bottles pouring and caps twisting behind her fell on deaf ears while she stared at the stranger in the mirror. Sarah had spent hours upon hours layering the rancid concoction on her strands, cursing after every application until this final result occurred. When the final layer of foils finally came off, Sarah laughed maniacally, and told her to say a prayer that the damage wasn’t too horrible. The hotel room was damp, cold, and the beds were hard with rough, well-used covers. It was the only place they could find that took cash and a fake identification, and no credit card on file to stay the weekend. The rain, which had originally started outside softly, and was now slamming into the window at breakneck speed, knocking while lightening illuminated the skies. The small counter held countless bottles of hair dye, razors, scissors, make-up, and other assortments that cluttered everything. It seemed so messy to her. Just so messy. But when was life ever clean? Behind her, the sound of furious mixing filled the silence, and she looked in the mirror as an arm twisted quickly, the smell of ammonia assaulting her sense of nose. "Just gonna mix this up, Rocky." A soft voice said behind her. “Also gotta get used to not saying your name. Rocky, Raquel, that person is dead.” Raquel choked. It was the first time she had made a sound. The woman mixing the bowl stopped and caught her eyes in the mirror. A sad smile graced her lips as they shared a pregnant pause. Raquel breathed in a cold breath, and let it out with a shudder, breaking the silence. "I can't believe we have to do this, Sarah." She whispered. Her hand lifted to her snow white hair, and let it fall between her fingers, a few strands breaking off in her hand. Sarah nodded slowly, coming closer to her. "Me either." She set the small dish next to Raquel, and looked at her in the mirror. "But it’s the only way to be safe.” She tapped her glasses. “You're gonna have to get used to contacts too. I got them here. But... You may want colored ones." Raquel nodded. "Our paperwork?" "In the bag. Extra money. Bank cards under new names." Sara looked towards a large bag sitting on one of the beds. "Cell phones already dialed into our new countries. I have yours in mine and mine in yours under the I.C.E. tag. We can change them to whatever later. I'll send you my name, but other than that, until we’re established, we can’t speak.” “For how long?” Sarah hummed. “Let’s give it about three months.” With a shaking hand, Raquel looked down at the assortment of colors in front of her, and lifted a brush, letting a bright purple hue fall from the bristles. "You're not gonna dye your hair?" "Not when I'm shaving my head and getting it tattooed." Sara laughed, the sound devoid of humor. "Besides. We can't look anything alike. That's too close for comfort." Scrunching her nose, Raquel pulled a long strand of bleached blond hair, letting it run through her fingers. It felt brittle and cold. "I'm supposed to leave in four days. When are you heading out?" Sara pulled out a long needle and began lacing thread through it. "Well, Louisa is coming over tonight to get the photos done. I see Kinder tomorrow for the tattoos. After that fun time, I go get the passports done. I'll come back here and give you yours after your make over." "She's gonna be able to get you the photos in time?" "She's bringing the back drop and going to develop them tonight in the bathroom." Sara knotted the thread and finally turned to Raquel. "I'll get you your passport. I promise." Raquel nodded, and turned back to the mirror. Sara crept behind her and lifted a heavy white lock. "You grew this forever." "I'm twenty-four." Raquel swallowed. "I stopped chopping it at thirteen." She reached into the toiletry bag on the counter and pulled out a sharp pair of scissors, opening and closing them. "Good idea." Sarah murmured. She reached in front of Raquel and grabbed a hairbrush. "We can do whatever we want to your hair and it won't look prepared." "I would rather Louisa do the piercings when she gets here." Raquel said softly. "She has a gun and professional needles." Sara raised an eyebrow. "You don't trust your own sister to pierce your face?" "I barely trust you to cut my hair." "Cruel." Sara said. "I even threaded the needle." Raquel turned to her sister, and stared at her. Suddenly, she stood up and flung her arms around her shoulders, holding her close. "I'm so sorry." She said. "I didn't want this. I didn’t want to do this to you." Sara tentatively reached around and hugged her back, her thin arms stronger than they seemed. "It's not your fault." She pulled away, and smiled crookedly, one half of her lips reaching her eyes. "Your parents f****d up. Not you. Sure, he was my dad. But you know, I think you got the short end of the stick since he stuck around to raise you." Raquel nodded. "I'm sorry I wasn't around for you more." Sara shrugged. "Good thing you weren't. Then I'd have had to deal with him. Just glad he didn't forget the support checks!" They softly laughed, and Sara pressed her sisters shoulders around, pushing her to face the mirror. She pushed her fingers against her back, slightly below her shoulder blades. "I'm gonna chunk it about here." She said. "Gonna lose at least a foot and a half. Then we do bangs. I'll show you how to update your hair color while I do it. Aren't you glad I went to beauty school?" "Where did you learn all this?" Raquel asked. "How to... disappear?" A pregnant pause, before Sara spoke. "Mom didn't want anything to do with Matteo. Just the money he sent. When I turned eighteen, it just became second nature. But hey. What other twenty-seven year old can say they've lived a thousand lives? And soon to be a thousand one." "I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you." "Shush." Sara reached for the scissors, and opened and closed them. "You're here for me now. That's what matters." A sharp sound of metal against metal, and the snow fell to the floor. When I landed in Glasgow, I had no idea what I was going to do. I had three thousand British pounds on me, a carry-on bag, and a small check bag. The only thing I kept on me physically was a St. Christopher’s medallion for safe travel on a choker. It was a small, tin thing that barely set off any detectors. As soon as I stepped outside, I damn near froze. It was the tail end of winter, and the winds bit me like a rabid dog. I blew out a breath and watched it rise away from me. I didn’t have time. I knew I had to make some headway. First off, a place to stay. I found a hostel called Clyde that took cash, and settled in. I paid upfront for a week, and then contemplated what my next step would be. First thing, I didn’t want to touch any of the money I had in the bank just yet. I needed it there, as a safety net, in case I had to run again. But three thousand pounds, and at a deal of £40.00 per night, it wasn’t going to last me too long. So, for the first week, I went walking. Took the bus. Learned the schedules. Figured out my next steps as much as I could. Applied for some places, but with out an actual home address, not many gave me a second glance. Maybe the bright purple and green hair was a bad idea, but I needed to look as far from what I used to. Ass length hair that was dark brown and thick rimmed glasses wasn’t going to keep me safe. Even what I wore had to change. From over-sized sweaters and jeans to things that made me blush looking online at was already enough to make me break down a few times. Wandering around, I decided to take a different route towards a more lively area, and found a small but busy cafe a bit down the end of the street. It was encased on a corner, with one door in and one door out, and about seven, eight tables around it. The smell of coffee and pastries drew me in, and I stepped through the door. The busy work folk and customers assaulted my ears, and I sat down at a small vacant table, pulling out my phone. I pulled up Sarah’s number, and stared at it. I was counting the days down to when I could call her and cry, and I rounded it at waiting another 21 days. I stayed in that cafe for at least another half hour, as the crowds dispersed to only a few people left. A coffee mug smashing to the ground and breaking shook me out of my daze. I pulled my hoodie over my head tighter, and quickly turned to look. A tall man, of at least six foot four, stood there, his fists shaking. I quickly addressed his officers uniform, and swallowed, huddling down closer in my seat. Even though he didn’t say a word, the girl behind the counter shook with fear as he stared at her. I watched him lean over, whisper something, then turn on his heel while adjusting his hat. I caught a glimpse of his face. He seemed angry, his mouth a thin line on his face, and cheekbones that could cut glass. I guess he felt my eyes on him because he gave me a quick glance, then did a double take. I noticed his eyes resembled the sea – Cool, crisp, and clear. But there was a storm brewing behind them, and I couldn’t look away. They softened ever so slightly, before the corner of his mouth twitched and he stomped out the door, almost slamming the glass. Behind the counter a young girl wailed angrily, and ran into the back of the kitchen. I cringed at her shouts, and heard a door slam in the back. An older gentleman with a white beard and comb over let out a gruff sigh, and shook his head before reaching under the counter. I watched pull out a well used sign that said “Now Hiring!” and walked to the window. Before he placed it on the window sill, I reached and grabbed it from him. He turned to me and stared at me with cold dark eyes before letting the sign go free in my palms. I handed it back to him and gave him the best professional smile I could muster. “I can work,” I said calmly. He gave me a pointed look, so I repeated myself. “I can work.” “American?” I was surprised at his voice. He sounded soothing, and reminded me of my old grandfather when he was alive. Except the accent. I had to listen pretty carefully to understand. “New York,” I corrected him. He smiled then, and nodded sagely. “I see.” Holding out his hand, he motioned for me to give him back the sign. “What’s yer name, lass?” “Amelia, Amelia Richards.” I said quickly. I handed him back his sign. “I got here a few weeks ago, I’m looking for a job. If you’re willing to take me on, I’m willing to work.” “So ya saw what ‘appened there, ay?” Jules c****d his head to the door. “That one’s a surly bastard, an’ he ain’t the only one, but he c’n be the worst. Kin ye handle the type?” I smiled with a bravado I didn’t feel. “That’s nothing compared to what I’ve seen at Frisson Espresso. They’d throw things at you there. At least here they walk away.” He chuckled and put the sign under his arm and extended the same hand. “From New York. You may be able to handle the angry folk who come in then. Names Jules. But ye can call me boss.” I smiled and shook his hand with both of mine. “You won’t regret it.” Jules only smirked again. "Ay, Amelia! Get in here!" The strong accented voice echoed in the tiny cafe, thundering the walls. The cafe was brimming with people, older folks, comfortably talking among each other while waiting for their turn. The old barker grinned when a wild-eyed woman sporting a Gothic rainbow of hair came through the doors of the busy area, gently pushing to the front to the counter. Dipping underneath, she quickly yanked off her coat, throwing it on the rack behind her while grabbing an apron. "Hey Jules!" Amelia said brightly, grinning. Her smile went wider when she saw the distaste in his eyes, as they narrowed over her pierced labret and nostril. "Thought we talked about this?" He said, motioning to the metal that adorned her face. "Eye brow and the five thousand studs in your ears, fine. But the chin and nose?" "You love 'em Jules!" Amelia said sweetly, reaching behind him to press a few buttons on the coffee machine, brewing three fresh pots at once. Jules rolled his eyes, and smiled, turning away from her to handle the line that only grew longer. "Amelia, ya gonna kill me someday." He said, his smile evident his voice. "Jus' git to the pastries for me, ay? And thanks for comin' in early." "Did Aoife say why she couldn't come in?" Amelia dug into the pastry shelves and pulled out a donut with tongs, dropping it into a bag and handing it to a waiting customer. Jules nodded. "A customer yesterday made her angry. The surly cop. She was bein' a bit over friendly, so of course she couldn't take the hint." Jules called into the back "Bobby! Get on with those cold mocha things these people want and restock!" "She needs a thicker skin." Throwing some loaves into the oven behind her, Amelia turned and worked the pastry counter and register, offering pleasantries and well wishes along with the sugary treats. After the longest three hours she had ever experienced, the cafe was clear and the morning rush faded as soon as it had begun. Amelia took a deep breath and sat down at an empty table, her hands gripping a cup of coffee. She smelled the rich concoction and took a sip. Cinnamon dark chocolate mocha with extra whip cream. A caffeine sugar rush from Hell. Jules sat in front of her and grinned. "You saved me child," he said. Carefully, he pushed an envelope at her. Inside held an extra hundred pound note. Amelia smiled, shoving it into her purse. Jules may have seemed cantankerous, but his heart was big for his employees. She knew full well Bobby and Grahame had both received the extra bonus. "Sorry Aoife didn't work out." She said, her voice betraying her feelings. Less people meant more hours, and more hours meant more money. Jules shook his head, waving his hand. "Ach, she just couldn't handle the surly officer that comes in here. Ye ain't met him yet, but he's a tough one. He got a chip on his shoulder the size of a blockade and an attitude to match.” Amelia frowned slightly, taking another sip of her drink. “I haven’t? I’ve been here six months, and I’ve seen plenty of officers.” “I know,” Jules replied. “They all been asking for ye number.” Amelia rolled her eyes. “And I thank you not for providing it. So what happened with Aoife?” “Sourpuss came in, same personality as always, an’ the girl did the dumbest thing you could with a sore spot like that.” “Oh no.” She blinked at him over the rim of her cup. "She tried to sweeten him up." "Ay. She did. And he was not happy with the advances, and it weren’t the first time she tried with him either." Jules rolled his eyes and let out a terse breath. “Ye know with them types of man, they don’t appreciate being coddled. Jus’ give ‘em their Joe t’go and get on with yer life.” Shaking her head, Amelia took another sip of her drink. "It’s how we did it in New York. So what did he do?" "What else would a surly cop do that just wants his coffee as black as his heart do?" He shrugged. "Told her off and walked out the door. Poor wee thing couldn't handle the rejection for the umpteenth time. Doubt she'd be comin' back, as soft as she was. So I'm gonna need ye to work some splits if ya don't mind." "Oh, make more money. How terrible." Amelia smiled over the lip of her cup. "I actually could use it. The hostel cost went up on the weekend now, so I'd appreciate it." Jules frowned, clicking his tongue. "I hate that ya stay there. Are ye sure ya don't want the place upstairs here?" Amelia inwardly groaned. She would love to have the place upstairs. A small one bedroom apartment with a cozy fireplace that heated the entire place. A queen bed with simple furnishings but the warmest blankets she had ever laid on. Some nights working late she would spend the night to open the next day, and she relished those days, and the monetary hours it gave. Including saving on the hostel cost for the night. But having a permanent residence was still out of the question. Not when she would have to suddenly up and run at any moment. She shook her head slightly, and gave the warmest smile she could muster. "I appreciate it. So much Jules. But I'm not going to take advantage of your kindness. You hired a fresh off the plane New Yorker when I was desperate. Not to mention you feed me too. Taking that apartment would be too much." Jules nodded. "Well, then take it a few nights a week then. When you do the splits here. Til I can find another lass that don't want to hump a pissed off policeman. Deal me that one ay?" Amelia pretended to think it over. She would save a lot more money if she could leave the hostel a couple nights a week, and still remain a nomad. "I think I could handle that." Jules grinned and looked towards the door as the bell chimed. His face fell slightly. "Well, you'll get yer chance to see what happened to Aoife. Bastard just walked right in." Amelia turned in her chair and drew her gaze on an angry looking man, ten years her senior, as he stared at the overhead menu as if it could catch fire. Despite her original thoughts, she could definitely see why Aoife would try to woo him. Tall, his muscles showing through his dark uniform, and eyes the color of sea glass set beneath dark brows and hair would be more than enough to make someone want to charm him. The strict line of his mouth steered her away, however, as did the lines in his face from the tired frown that seemed to be etched in stone. His cheekbones cut his face like a knife, and dark-day-old stubble caressed his face and neck. Amelia found herself staring long after Jules had left her at the table, and was serving the officer. Suddenly, she recognized him. The straight knife cut of his mouth, his eyes, and chiseled cheek bones, made her grow cold. It was the same one that caused another girl to quit months ago. She contemplated thanking him for her new job position. "Coffee. Black. Please." A crisp, accented voice rung in her ears. Amelia shook herself out of her stupor and stood up from the table, positioning herself behind the pastry case. After the officer received his cup, his heavy footprints began to turn, before he paused and then went towards the pastry case. His eyes never met hers as his brow furrowed, staring down at the remnants of the morning rush. Inwardly, Amelia thanked the stars that she had decided to restock immediately after the morning feeding frenzy. The officer took a sip from his cup and the wince on his face showed her he definitely did not like the bitterness of the black concoction, but seemed to be accustomed to it. Biting her tongue, she gave him a polite smile when he finally brought his eyes to hers. "Those glazed holes," He said, his voice like velvet. "A dozen thanks. And the short breads." Nodding, Amelia reached into the case and plopped them in a bag, sealing them and placing them on the counter. After retrieving the short breads, she grabbed both of them and walked towards the registrar, setting them on the counter. He silently followed her, peering at her curiously. "You're not the lass who was here yesterday." He stated this as a fact, his tone even, but curious. Amelia looked up at him, and blinked. "Well, no. That was Aoife. I usually work the evenings." As soon as she spoke his lip curled in distaste as he handed her a tenner. "American?" She too was taken aback by his voice changed, from curious and even to disgusted, and the look on his face marred the handsome features she had originally admired. Instead of shrinking back, she stood tall and glared, taking the money from his hand. "Yes?" His sneer remained. "What are you doing here?" "I work here." Amelia snapped back. "I mean here. In Glasgow." The officer stared at her coldly. "Surely this is far from the glamorous life of... do I detect a New York accent?" She chewed the inside of her lip as he spoke. As lovely as he sounded, his words were laced with a venom she quietly felt the sting of. "What does that matter to you?" "Just wondering. Maybe it's the Scottish in me, but one can only wonder why someone would leave New York, and," he peered at her, his cold blue eyes running along the multi-colored hues of blue, green, and purple in her hair, to her amber eyes lined with black, then finally her wine colored lips where they stayed. "Believe it's appropriate to look as you do." “Look as I… Do?” Punching in the denomination on the registrar, Amelia tilted her chin outwards and gave him a hard stare. “And how exactly do I look, Officer?” His lip twitched and he motioned from her hair, to her form-fitting clothing. “Like this. You resemble someone who fell onto a cake and decorated herself with candies.” Amelia narrowed her eyes, glaring at him harshly while her cheeks burned. Inwardly, she prayed for the strength not to throw his coffee all over his handsome face. "Maybe I like to be a bit different. Show the folks around here there's something other than gray rain and muddled shades of s**t brown." The officer sipped his coffee and stared, eyes narrowed. “That’s a revolting way to excuse yourself when you look like a magnet would cause mortal injury.” Pausing at his insult, Amelia leaned forward on the counter, giving him an innocent gaze. "Why officer, I didn’t know you were studying at me so hard to form such an opinion. Does your wife know how flirty you are?” The officer blinked, taken aback. "Pardon?" "Well, it's obvious with the mark on your finger one adorned there for quite a while." Amelia nodded to his left hand. The slight indentation on his finger void of a thick band that once rested there comfortably, the officer stretched his fingers out, then gave her a seething glare. "But, why would you just take it off now?" "What my marital status-" "Oh! Marital status! Not marriage. I gotcha. Even she was sick of your piss poor attitude." She slammed his change on the counter, and put on the sweetest smile she could fake. "Anything else for you, Officer?" The Officer looked towards Jules, who was smiling at him broadly. "You let your employees speak this way?" "When it's required, Callen." Jules responded. Amelia hid her surprise that Jules knew his name. "I knew Amelia here would be able ta handle ye crap. Now go on, git back ta Fiona and Ainsley. They miss their Da." With a huff, the officer grabbed the bag of pastries from Amelia, his face a stone wall. "I'm not done with you." "I hope not, handsome." She purred back. "Come back and see me sometime!" When he left, she let out a strong breath. Turning to Jules, she folded her arms under her chest and raised an eyebrow. "You could have given me some warning you knew him, you know." "And miss out on you pinning that man to a wall with such accurate precision?" Jules chuckled and shook his head. "You hit him where it hurt the most. Officer Fraser didn't expect a fight back." Amelia frowned, staring at the closed door where he had left from. "What's his problem anyway?" She heard Jules give a soft sigh. "He's a broken man who refuses to mend, because he doesn't see the cracks he has." He tossed her a rag and handed her a spray bottle. "His story to tell. But ye ain't too far off. Now git started on helping me clean here, then go upstairs and take a nap. Gonna need you in a few hours."