Janice's drink appeared. "Can't we just stay here and watch his cute little arse?" Nadine said plaintively."No," said Janice firmly. "It's time for a dose of culture. So drink those down and follow me. Believe me you'll enjoy it."Janice led the way out of the pub and along Millbank towards the Houses of Parliament. It was only a short walk which was just as well given the height of the heels on Nadine's shoes.The entrance to the Tate Gallery was imposing, the steps up from the roadway seemed to beckon the girls inside, Janice striding out in front, Nadine and Celia following much less certainly behind. "We're not at all sure about this culture stuff," Nadine called as they got to the entrance."Trust me," Janice called pointing to a poster which announced 'Future Tension : Present Tense — Visions Of The New Order'"This isn't some political stunt, is it?" Celia said. "I know I voted for them, but I'm not really interested in the philosophical basis for female led societies or some such. Suddenly I am angry at the world, at life, at God, at myself. I scream again, longer and louder this time. My voice ascends into a high pitch, a screech of fury. I stop only when I run out of air. A stabbing pain snaps me out of my fervor, and I realize I have stabbed the shard into my palm. I pull it out and fling it at the wall, then stumble my way to the door. I knew I needed to get some bandages, and those were in the kitchen. So I leaned on the door, gasping, sweat drenched. It seems that killing a loved one is harder than you would think. I begin to open the door, but then feel pressure of a body pressing against it. I sigh, then vow not to look down as I open it farther. Suddenly the pressure increases and I see movement through the crack in the door. Caroline is not dead. She cannot moan, but she still struggles with her upper body to get through the door. I slam the door closed, then pause gasping. She scratches at the door. I brace my shoulder against the door, readying.
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