[ WP ] You are a professional pickpocket . You 've just picked someones pocket only to discover that the thing you have stolen is truly horrifying .

Even though his jacket was buttoned, the slight gape gave away something of weight in the left breast pocket. The gentleman was older, heavy gold wedding band, expensive suit, impeccably polished italian leather shoes. He had been sitting at the bar long enough too. His breeding meant that his words were still beautifully enunciated, but I could see that he was having a little trouble keeping his balance on the bar stool. By my count, he was on his 12th double scotch. The kind of consumption that takes a lot of practice. 
 
 Who was I to judge? I danced with my own addictions. Harry's Bar was one of my favourite places to watch the well-to-do drink away their first world problems while I selectively chose a potential target. And I was good. My victims never knew it was the demure, librarian type, nursing her third cab sav, who relinquished them of their treasures. For the most part, Harry's customers were so drunk on $ 200 bottles of liquor, that they wrote their missing possessions off as the losses of an inebriated evening. 
 
 And they certainly did n't remember much more of me. 
 
 I would listen to the stories of corrupt business partners, cheating spouses, ungrateful children or grandchildren and nod and cluck sympathetically. I collected stories like I collected wallets. I was just as generous with my time for the re-telling of great fishing triumphs as I was for despicable ex-wife stories. And because I was the epitome of beige and brown, there was no clumsy groping or misplaced kisses. 
 
 Charles had n't said much to me. Just gripped his crystal tumbler and clinked the ice from side to side. It was a testimony to his stamina and the bartender's skilled eyes that his drink was never empty long enough for the ice to melt. 
 
 `` She was beautiful, you know.'' 
 
 `` Who is that, Charles?'' I smiled, gently. Encouragingly. 
 
 `` My daughter. So much potential. I just... I was the best surgeon there was and I could n't save her.'' 
 
 My eyes dropped to the bar. `` I'm sorry.'' It was mandatory. Whether I cared or not was irrelevant. People just needed the words. 
 
 `` It broke my wife. She was never the same. I could n't heal her either.'' 
 
 `` I'm sure you tried your best, Charles.'' 
 
 He grabbed my wrist, jolting me out of my smooth patter. His eyes locked to mine. And there was an endless, un-fathomable loss. 
 
 Charles slid awkwardly off of his stool, bumping into me. With a murmured apology he was gone. 
 
 I had heard stories like his before. Children taken by horrible diseases or carelessness. Broken parents bereft and lost. I collected their stories just as easily as any others. His eyes though... His expression nearly had me undone. 
 
 Nearly. 
 
 In the stumble I had manage to slip my hand into his breast pocket and twitch the the goods into my palm. I regained my composure with the weight in my hand. Smiling softly, I looked down to examine my prize. 
 
 An oversized pocket watch in vintage silver. Inscribed'In loving memory of Rebecca Jane'. The watch was ticking lethargically and hesitantly. I turned over to the equally exquisite and ornate front and flicked it open, hoping for inlaid precious stones, worthy of a lost daughter. 
 
 I can never go back to Harry's. I will always be recognised as the woman that fell off her chair and scrabbled across the floor, choking back screams while drenched in red wine and watery scotch. But that's not why I stay away. 
 
 My memory is burnt with the image of a deformed fetus. Trapped in Amber and silver. Mouth opened in a tortured scream. Heartbeat hesitantly keeping time. 
 
 That and Charles' eyes. 
 
 
 
 

