" Thanks."As I left the elevator I was greeted by a security guard. A tall guy in his 40s"I'm here to..." I know." He opened the door. "I'll be right ...ere if there's any kind problem." he said ambiguously.I entered the apartment and closed the door behind me."Hello? ... I was called to repair the blocked sink in the bathroom..."No answer.This is the top floor, so maybe they're on the rooftop or there's no one home, I thought. People who rent these kind of apartments sure can afford a security. Sated. Empty, momentarily. Sexually, that was what this was about as well as power. Sex and power always went together. He’d learned that early on when he watched his father beat his mother and then tup her. When his father had been around, that is, which wasn’t often even if the small man had two older brothers.He felt accomplished. He felt like he’d done something no one had done before, and moreover he felt the satisfaction of knowing no one would be able to identify him. At the same time. Always blabbing on about needing more money to pay for some new worthless scheme that would show the world how great the UK still was. If the economy were any lower, even the Devil himself would feel the pinch. Watching the rich get richer and the poor, well, just being forgotten was not Dan's idea of a great country. How can a country let war veterans die from the cold in winter, yet spend countless millions on the Olympics that last less than three weeks?He wanted out, out from the thieving. My name is Layla and I am a forty-three-year-old woman. I have kept my looks and work out three times a week. My son, Luke, is just seventeen and is a strapping, handsome young man. I can’t say I was attracted to him, I wasn’t, but he did look a lot like his father, who I was besotted with. It all started a few years ago, well sort of. For years my son had nightmares, not every night, more like once a week. He’d wake up screaming and in a cold sweat. We saw doctors about it, went to sleep.