Coordinates to a Midnight Vibe

"For all your wrongdoings, one day you'll have to pay. But baby, you never knew what you were doing," the letter read in slanting calligraphy on the red card.

Beside it, in the envelope, was a crescent emerald pendant, hanging on a silver chain.

“I forgive you. Forgive, but not forget. You can treat me dirty, you can treat me cruel, I'll only be sorry for being a good lover." It trailed off mid-sentence, like she'd changed her mind about finishing.

He walked to the cabinet and poured himself a generous glass of bourbon.

Standing by the window, the setting sun bathed his face as he sipped long and heartily. Over the distant hills, the mist was the color of a bruised wound.

“I forgive you, baby. Forgive, but not forget. Sometimes I get angry, and wish we hadn’t met! You can treat me dirty, you can treat me cruel, yet I’ll only be sorry for being a good lover.

It’s a sad time when hatred wins. I’m sorry; all of my heart is so sorry!”

It wasn’t the first card he had received from her, but it was the one that made him wonder whether the sky was crying.

“Can’t you see the tears rolling down the street?” he mumbled to himself, sniffling.

“I may have been burnt the first time, but now the taste of fire and blood is calling to me, with little butterflies to chase after. So, please come with me.”

He felt a sinking feeling in his gut as the whiskey went bland on his tongue. He flopped into the rocker by the window and lit a cigarette.

Then reread the letter a second time. He flipped the card over. His breath caught.

Underneath the prose, there were coordinates, and beneath them, a single line: “Novotel Westlands. Midnight. The 19th.”