The next morning, Dionne woke to a loud purring. Opening her eyes, she saw the cat lying on her chest, two blue eyes staring straight into hers, a tail swishing back and forth. ‘Morning,’ Dionne groggily whispered, ‘Has it stopped raining yet?’ Mitzi yawned, already bored by her mistress’s inane ramblings. Dionne slowly slid out of bed, carefully pushing the cat off of her. She walked into the kitchen, the sound of four tiny paws quietly padding along behind her. Dionne stood in front of the kitchen window. From here, she could see the street below. People going about their business on foot or on bicycle. Crossing the bridge of the canal that was just a stone’s throw from the square. A bell began to ring and Dionne instinctively looked to her right. A bridge further down the road was slowly beginning to open, the two halves arching gracefully skywards. Then, the one opposite her building began to open, the mechanism pulling the old bridge apart. Then the boat appeared. It was nothing really. Just an empty barge heading back into the city, no doubt to finish dredging the bottom of a canal. But it didn’t matter to Dionne. She got to see her beloved bridges open and that made her happy. As they slowly began to close, ready for pedestrians, Dionne became aware of something soft rubbing her ankles. Looking down, she saw Mitzi. Quickly she swept her up into her arms. ‘Oh honey,’ Dionne exclaimed, ‘I’m sorry. I completely forgot a many exploration trips. It was a tiny bookshop, down one of the many narrow side streets that made Amsterdam so famous. It was also old, with a low roof and cramped dusty shelves. It housed old, curio books on many different subjects. Dionne loved to browse and she knew she was welcome, any time, day or night, to just sit and read. Suddenly, a noise caused Dionne to look up. The shopkeeper had finally discovered that he had a customer. He was an old man, in his late sixties Dionne had guessed; yet he was still full of life. Despite his age, he still stood tall, which was a good foot taller than Dionne was. Long grey hair swept down his back and twinkling blue eyes shone from behind a pair of tiny glasses. ‘Dionne,’ he exclaimed in a beautifully accented voice, ‘how nice of you to drop by.’ Dionne smiled. ‘Richard, you know I always come by when I get chance and I had some free time so I thought I’d come and see how you were.’ The old man looked at her and his face cracked into a smile. He walked up to her and took her face in his hands. ‘Oh I have missed you,’ he replied, ‘how long has it been since your last visit? Three, four days?’ ‘About four days, I think. I promise not to leave you for so long next time.’ Richard smiled again and Dionne couldn’t help but smile back. He had been a good friend to her ever since she had arrived in the country. After her break-up, the first in life, he had taken her under his wing and taken care of her. He had been there through the tears and the heartache and, on one occasion, a failed suicide attempt. She would remember that night forever. After she had phoned him, he called the ambulance and came with her to the hospital. He spent the entire night with her, not leaving until the doctor’s said she was in a stable condition. For some odd reason, he seemed to understand her, understand her pain and agony. But Dionne had to hand it to him; he was a lot older than she was and a good deal wiser. Suddenly, the shop-owner looked up with a start. ‘I almost forgot,’ he said. Quickly, he moved across to the counter and reached underneath it. Fumbling in a box he pulled out a brown, paper wrapped parcel and handed it to Dionne. ‘This came the other day and I decided to keep it for you. I hope you like it.’ Slowly, Dionne unwrapped the package, letting the paper fall away. Inside was an old, leather bound book. A metal clasp kept it locked. The key dangled on a velvet ribbon. Dionne trembled with delight; she loved old and interesting books and this one fitted both categories perfectly. Slowly, Dionne lifted the key and inserted it into the lock. It was hard to turn but eventually it clicked and the cover fell open. The first page, the title page, was covered with intricate, t you.’ Mitzi gave her one of her ‘I noticed’ looks.

Later that day, in an effort to get out of the apartment, Dionne headed into the city. Even after two years, the city still fascinated her and she was always finding new places, new little shops, new streets. Quietly, she turned into a shop. A tiny bell above her head tinkled, alerting the shopkeeper to her presence. This was Dionne’s favourite bookshop. She had found it one day on one of her many explcopperplate handwriting. Richard interrupted her train of thought. ‘It’s said to have belonged to a witch who lived in the mountains of Norway. It’s over a hundred years old,’ he whispered, trying not to break her fascination, ‘I knew you’d like it.’ ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. Slowly she wrenched her eyes away and looked at him. ‘How much do I owe you?’ she asked. Richard gestured, as if pushing her away. ‘Nothing,’ he replied, ‘It’s a present. To celebrate the new deal you’ve got to do whatever job you do.’ ‘Designing web sites,’ Dionne helped him out. ‘That’s it,’ the old man smiled, ‘I’m not up to speed on all this modern technology. I wouldn’t know a computer if you handed one to me.’ ‘You’ve seen me using one a million times.’ ‘What? That tiny thing you carry from around with you?’ ‘Yes, that tiny thing I carry around with me,’ Dionne couldn’t help but smile. Leaning up onto the counter, she gently kissed Richard. The old man seemed slightly taken aback by her gesture. ‘You’re perfect, Richard, perfect and completely precious.’ He smiled at her. ‘Thank you,’ he replied with a slight bow of his head. Dionne slid the book into her rucksack before turning her attention back to Richard. ‘Richard?’ ‘Yes?’ he replied. `Do you know anything about a man that lives there.’ ‘I’ve known hundreds of people from this city, my dear, I’m not sure if I could pick one out.’ Dionne sighed, thinking of how to word it. ‘Well, as far as I can tell, he’s kind of young. Mid twenties maybe and he dresses in Victorian clothing. Long hair. Ring a bell?’ Richard thought for a second, remembering places, names, and faces. ‘I think I know who you mean. He’s been in after hours, once it’s dark. Never comes in during the day.’ ‘Do you know his name?’ Richard shook his head. ‘No. He browses, maybe buys something, occasionally talks and then disappears into the night.’ ‘So you don’t know his name?’ Dionne asked. The shopkeeper shook his head. ‘Sorry.’

Dionne spent the rest of the day in the shop, browsing, talking with Richard and drinking coffee. It was nice to be curled up in a corner with a cup of coffee and a friend. Dionne enjoyed it but all too soon it was time for her to leave.

This story is constantly being re-written. If you would like to read more, please e-mail.