She touches his hand which he quickly pulls back. The knife - one side covered in gravy, the other wiped clean on the bit of tenderloin on his fork - gets dropped and starts it descend to the tabletop. Triggered by the surprise of her sudden appearance Rob’s jerky reaction topples the glass of 1851 Tempranillo. She is beautiful and can’t be much older than a quarter of the wine’s age.

“Who are you?” Rob asks, while seizing up his uninvited guest.

“What makes you think you get to ask the questions?” She counters boldly. Her voice sounded with authority, but there was a playfulness in her eyes. Rob liked her fire.

“I tend to be the one that asks the questions. People answer to me. It’s simply like that.” Rob answers stoically.
“But I’m your boss.” She replies with just as little emotion.

Being amused, Rob’s laughter fills the room briefly. The walls seem to absorb the sound. It’s awkward, as if the room itself isn’t convinced of the humour. The young woman just stares at him.

“I don’t work for anyone.”
“Everybody works for someone.”
“Get your facts straight. It’s not my story you are telling.”
“Oh, but it is your story, Rob.” She whispers as she slides a list of dates, locations and names across the table.

“That is your story, is it not?” She asks after a bit, seeing the annoyance grow in her conversation partner’s eyes as he read over the list.

“Who are you?” Rob asks.
“Aren’t you able to come up with a more original question?”
“What do you want?”
“Hardly better, but all right. I want you to talk with me, Rob. About past, present and future.”
“I don’t have much time. I am meeting with my people in a bit.”
“You would think they will be patient when you are meeting with your boss already.”
“Stop calling yourself my boss!”

She smiles, obviously enjoying the moment.


“Tell me about your mistakes, Rob?”
“I could tell you about...” He begins, immediately followed by her sigh and the instant appearance of another figure at their table.

The sudden appearance of the man should’ve shocked Rob, but it seems as if expectations had no grip over the moment. He was tall and wore a spotless white shirt. The rolled up sleeves showed muscular arms, which disappeared behind the back of the chair where his wrists were tied together with rope. A black hood covered his head.

“Can I at least ask who that is?”
“Yes. That is your attitude.”
“What attitude?” Rob asked.
“The attitude that claims you have always all the answers. The attitude that makes you believe you are responsible. The attitude you don’t really need anymore.”

She lifts a small golden revolver and points it at the hood. Without hesitation she pulls the trigger. The man’s head falls back and tilts to the right. Blood drips from underneath the hood on his white shirt.

“Who are you?” Rob yells.
“You know who I am.” She replies before she disappears into nothingness.

At that moment the knife finishes it’s descend and clatters with a loud rattle on Rob’s plate. The wine glass shatters on the table, spilling the Tempranillo all over. There is no dead man at the table.