Elvis has left the building

Green hills rolled beneath as the helicopter flew a little lower, its destination near. Trees were dotted here and there on the grassy plain and small patches of colour emerged periodically.

* * *

A white jeweled belt was folded by two men. The silver buckle was folded last and ended up on top.

The Elvis impersonator, captain of The King’s Guard, carried the belt slowly over to Prime and Marcus and handed it to them.

‘Glory, glory, ‘ sang one of the impersonators, performing a splendid rendition of American Trilogy. Three backup singers harmonized with him as the rest of the guard strummed acoustic guitars, providing the musical accompaniment.

‘Ma’am,’ he said, nodding to Prime and then to Marcus, said, ‘Sir.’

He turned on his heel and walked carefully back to his regiment.

Above them all, a helicopter circled and came into land.

Prime glanced up at the cherry tree, in full blossom, still damp from the previous nights rain.

The honour guard slowly moved away, leaving Marcus and Prime standing alone.

* *

A single person, dressed in black stepped from the helicopter, ducking the whirring blades. They began to walk up the hill, pausing as the honour guard approached. The captain of the guard, behind silver sunglasses, nodded to the newcomer as he walked solemnly past.

* * *

Marcus and Prime stood looking down at the grave where a white, hand-made wooden cross took the temporary place of something a bit more appropriate for The King of Rock and Roll.

On the horizontal, written in black paint were the words:

Elvis Aaron Presley

On the vertical, in the same black paint were the initials:

R I P

‘I can’t believe he’s really gone,’ murmured Prime, dressed in black with a warm overcoat over her shoulders. Steel crutches supported her weight enough for her to stand, and from her coherence it was obvious she was off the pain medication.

Marcus stood, pale trench coat covering black clothing, a scarf around his neck. He was remorseful, the shock and guilt filled him; no longer the confident British ex- super-spy.

‘I should have gone with him,’ he murmured, sadness and annoyance mingling.

Prime turned and grabbed him by his jacket with one hand, the crutch she was holding toppled to the ground.

‘Snap out of it. He pulled a gun on you,’ she said. ‘He told you what he wanted you to do.’

‘Yes, but…’

‘’Don’t but me, man’,’ quoted Prime, putting on an astonishingly bad accent. ‘That’s what he said. I was there. I heard.’

He stared at her, with the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

‘Don’t blame yourself, Marcus,’ she added. ‘He went because he wanted to.’

‘’Two is better than one’,’ murmured Marcus, recalling his friend’s words. He blinked the tears away and smiled sadly. ‘He said to say “Hi” by the way.’

Prime glanced over as Daisy-Donnie reached the top of the hill.

Without realising why, Marcus glanced away suddenly.

Prime held out her hand and Daisy-Donnie walked slowly over.

* * *

DaisyDonnie dreamed…

They were walking; walking through wet, cold undergrowth.

Without stopping, they glanced around, trying to make sense of their surroundings.

A forest perhaps? Certainly there were a lot of trees around.

Although it appeared to be the middle of the night, they didn’t feel the cold. They were detached; a watcher wandering through a dreamscape.

They decided to settle in and enjoy the ride, ignoring a bizarre tug of familiarity. Deja-vu was a complete bitch at the best of times.

The treeline flowed into low scrub, then to a grassy clearing of perhaps an acre in size. Conical structures were dotted here and there, looking like hi-tech teepees.

The dream had revealed itself. They were walking through memories, dreaming of their first home. This was the village where they lived as children.

DaisyDonnie looked up into the sky with a sad smile, hoping to get a glance at the moon. Alas, it was the wrong time of the month.

Looking down once more, they surveyed the clearing, realising how small these homes really were. Everything looks big to an eight year old. Even bigger to two of them.

It was a pity it was the middle of the night, too. DaisyDonnie made a mental note to have a word with their subconscious to include some lights the next time they dreamed of home. And some people; some sound would have made this place a little less creepy.

A child began to cry; a fearful, scared sound which broke through the dark silence like nails on a blackboard, tapping straight into the right nerve. DaisyDonnie was now very frightened.

Note to self: ps, don’t be so bloody literal-minded.

Another child cried out in shock.

Without knowing why, DaisyDonnie ran toward the sound and found two children in one of the homes kneeling on the floor.

A moment of distraction hit DaisyDonnie; they’d run straight through a wall to find the children. This shock passed in a flash as they realised where they were, and the adrenaline of fear kicked-in properly.

The children looked up from the bodies with shock; a shock that was shared by DaisyDonnie… they knew what was coming.

‘You have to leave,’ said DaisyDonnie, voice rising to panic. ‘You have to leave now!’

The door behind DaisyDonnie opened with a theatrical creak of rusty hinges.

‘Hello there,’ said The Assassin.

BZORNT!

Cue theme music and titles…

Daisy and Donnie will return

in

And Dream of Home