BIG JACKBig Jack had been watching the window for days without end. Just outside the dimly lit hotel, there was a tall dogwood tree, its leaves so white that you could barely contrast between foliage and snow, its branches reaching for something beyond them.He had noticed everything in the park beneath the hotel, from the strollers to the newcomers—who he could tell by the bewilderment on their faces at the busyness of New York—to the taxis and the delivery man. But he paid attention to the dogwood tree in particular, because a few dates before, a nondescript car had parked underneath it, and its occupants, what resembled a raven-haired woman and a short man wearing sun shades, spilled out of the car. They stayed there in the shade of the dogwood plant, silently staring up at the building.Big Jack had oiled his gun thrice now. Maybe more. He did not keep count. Dismantle, recouple. Dismantle, recouple. Dismantle, recouple. He did it until his fingers were sore. A better part of him

BIG JACK They were in bed, in the master bedroom when he came up on them. Natasha still had clothes on, underwear actually, a binder and tights; Palomar otherwise did not.There was a tray of what looked like strawberries and squares of brown cake in a intricately designed silver tray on the red-and-white sheets. There was a vase shaped bottle of wine on the hardwood floor. Two glasses sat beside the wine, another had rolled on its side across the room. Natasha had her back to the door which was cracked open just a small bit, while Palomar faced it, but her eyes were closed because Natasha had her face buried in her neck. She made purring noises, like a cat under the caresses of an agreeable hand. It struck Big Jack that, with her head tilted at that angle and her oblique eyes pressed shut so tightly, she had a remarkable resemblance to one too.He cleared his throat meaningfully.Palomar's eyes flew open and she let out a screech deserving of a banshee. Luckily, it was a big house, s

JACKIE They sat at the counter in her kitchen, drinking coffee out of plastic cups. They had wandered into the kitchen after Joaquin said he would need a steaming cup of something. Even if the something was a cup of boiling water. The day was a particularly snowy one, the wind biting deep, without mercy. Christmas was about a week away, and as usual, the city was drowning in white and red, in wreaths of mistletoe, in vibrant green holly and merry bells. At the stores there were more things on discount, there were decorations and lights.For Jackie, Christmas was that time of the year that she had always spent alone, when she learnt to twist the insecurity of being abandoned into the peacefulness of solitude. The bells brought her no merriness, the hollies and mistletoes, no joy.Steam rose out of Joaquin's cup and he held it with both hands. It curled upwards, heavenward, like smoke from an immolation. He blew on it. 'You always do that,' Jackie said to him, watching him meticulousl

ANDREThe Torrents was a bar about fifteen minutes from Andre's place, if he drive slow. It was run by an African-American woman who wore a loose, big afro that shrouded her head like a halo, and whose sunken in cheeks made her fleshly lips seem even more prominent than they were. She was bony every where but her chest, and it seemed to Andre that half the time, the men and women who patronized the Torrents were simply hoping to score. You could tell by their excessively sly smiles, by the pointed stares they gave, the lingering looks. They were usually encouraged by the fact that she was flirted with reckless abandon on a good night; that she was quite young; that she had an easy way about her. She could, for one, make anybody feel special, from the urbane businessman looking to unwind with a few drinks to the occasional fool who entered the bar half intoxicated and had to leave propped on the shoulder and arms of a grossly irritated friend. She was good at recalling names a

ANDREWhen finally he woke, he woke gasping.The dreams had taken him again, but this time, they were fiercer. More palpable. They made to hold him and keep him with them. Keep him asleep. The dreams, they had taken the same form that they often did, but at the same time, they were different. Again, he was in the overseer's office. Again, she lunged at him. But this time she had got a hold of him, her snout full of lethal teeth just an inch away from his face, dripping saliva, and Andre had screamed and shrieked until he fell the other room. The one with the pounding and the wailing at the other side. This time, however, when he threw his shoulder into it, the door came down for him. This time, he charged out into what was supposed to be the living room. Only that it was not. It was, instead, a world of pitch black, of total darkness. And worse still, there was no ground beneath his feet.Andre fell and fell and fell and fell.He