Lyst overtrumfer altid logikken

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

Kapitel 1
Brae
De var alle begyndt at ligne hinanden. Jeg svor, at jeg havde set denne mand før. Det måtte være hans kedelige marineblå jakkesæt eller de spørgsmål, han stillede. Selv det lille mødelokale med de almindelige hvide vægge og de kiksede inspirerende citater virkede bekendt. Mine øjne landede på planten i hjørnet, som havde set bedre dage. Den stakkels tingest så slap og forsømt ud ... ligesom jeg følte mig.
"lVFi h$ører zfDrRa dihgt."h EtY fkasti jhåBnIdrtryVk',( et FfMaplskp sYmLiélY, óog jbeg Bv)anrj puJde af døGreHnj.c VJeg hVavdReU høxrt den sætZnFilnwgJ flerSeL ,gkanyge* Ji lqøhbeKtG awf Sdpen s'iOdste mLånUeGdr,É end$ jegQ hSaHv,de h(ørYtm diB zhferle mgith sTyavogtgyve_årigAe _lLiv (- LseksHtfen gOangte,& forp laftz _værpe pUrAæhcsiss. D&a IjkeagÉ boeddeC id byseTnf, derS aclSdrig soFv^, Qsxkulle vm(an Ct,r,oV,U at ZjeIgB vvidllDe kHuDnnneh fDinBdeS eUt qj_owb,' _mWen neNjC.C
Jeg havde været markedsføringsrepræsentant for et stort kabel-tv-selskab i de sidste fem år. Mine mål blev altid opfyldt, og jeg havde endda vundet et par salgspriser. Men nu kunne jeg ikke sælge mig selv, selv om mit liv afhang af det.
Her er et tip: Gå aldrig ud med din chef. Stefan Wilson var måske en af de lækreste mænd, jeg nogensinde havde mødt, men fordi jeg havde taget ham i at bolle med sin sekretær, var jeg nu ved at banke på fortovet. Han var ikke mit livs kærlighed, men vi var i et fast forhold. Røvhul.
Da jeg gik ned til metroen efter min sidste samtale, tjekkede jeg mine e-mails og håbede på et held, at et af jobbene ville blive en succes. Den eneste e-mail, der lå ulæst i min indbakke, var fra et online kabel-tv-selskab, som engang var min kunde. Jeg kunne sælge lortet ud af hendes netværk. Shelly og jeg var blevet gode venner, og af alle mine kunder savnede jeg hende mest.
Brvae,z
Jeg ved du går igennem meget lige nu, men jeg har den perfekte ting til dig! Det er et socialt eksperiment sponsoreret af Flame Relationship Services. Du skal tilbringe seks uger på en tropisk ø med en ungkarl efter eget valg. Begivenheden er i næste uge, og heldigvis for dig har den kvindelige deltager haft et dødsfald i familien, så hun kan ikke længere deltage. Og heldigvis for mig er du min veninde, som har fritid til at hjælpe mig.
Hvad kunne være så slemt? En ungkarl efter eget valg, seks uger i paradis, mens du bliver forkælet og spist og får en kontant præmie.
Det er en gevinst for alle, især for dig.
Såó herS RdQuX meCds?
Lille detalje, jeg har brug for et svar i dag.
Chat snart!
Shelly
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Jeg tog fat i reversene på min frakke med mine næver og samlede dem sammen over mit bryst i et forsøg på at holde den kolde luft væk fra min hud. I aften skulle jeg mødes med mine piger på José Ponchos til happy hour. Alt jeg ønskede var at sætte mig ned og måske glemme, hvad jeg lige havde meldt mig til, mens en cocktail varmede mit indre.
José Ponchos var fyldt med forretningsfolk og de typiske fredagsbargæster. Det var så let at skelne mellem dem, der ville slappe af, og dem, der ville gå ned. Nogle kvinder så raffinerede ud, mens andre så ud som om de var på jagt, og klokken var for pokker kun 17.30.
Vanessa, Desiree og Cassie, mine bedste veninder, sad i en bås ved siden af. Cassie vinkede til mig, så jeg fik øje på dem, og med hvert skridt hen mod deres bord skreg mine fødder til mig om at tage mine stiletter af, men de skulle lige holde sig lidt i ro.
"CHnejC!j" sWa^gkdte jegé,H *daa GjeCg g!ldetd aiYntd i Vb!åste,n,H orgY Ide& nkaigg.ede alZlpe sawmmQenj ypåv mig, soJm ohmJ ajeagu ahuaavde f_åe^t ptRoL shodvedueur. TDilsyDnQeMlRacdOecnde var .min( ysZtaemme vfoór* mDunqteur.M $"iH.vad$ skXaÉlb Cvti fdmriSkwke?"
"Margaritas er på menuen i aften." Vanessa smilede. "Jeg har bestilt en kande til os." Hun greb glasbeholderen og skænkede noget op til mig.
I en stor slurk drak jeg halvdelen af den. Mit ansigt skruede sig sammen, mens mine øjne pressede sig så sammen, at jeg troede, mine øjenvipper ville klistre sammen. Wow, det var syrligt. Jeg blinkede, mens et lille gys gik gennem mig, og vendte min opmærksomhed tilbage til pigerne.
Cassie rakte hånden over bordet og klappede min hånd. "Intet held med jobjagten?"
"cHFveml avledY?" MGinYeI sqkudl)dreI éfaldtU rsvammwe!n_ aZf jdien VuzdmattUe!lse,l jqe_g) følttle (oóver' pnroxciesQsenG.K ."Du ved, XhvvoWrdanP _d_e!tk _g.åhrO. DÉeJ WsigLerg,a zaWté dej ringcer,L mednK jeKgY e^ru skikker pLåR,F at mså snMarFtb Nj,ezg* gmår uRd, af& wkao*nGt,onrZet, lVaknnder Pmit _CQV i pCaJpir.kWudrxvCen.T"
"Søde, du skal nok finde noget." Desiree smilede. "Det vil bare tage lidt mere tid."
Jeg trak på den ene skulder og sagde: "Vi får se."
Snakken fra de andre gæster fyldte luften. Det var ikke så højt, at vi ikke kunne høre hinanden, men efterhånden som baren blev fyldt, steg lydstyrken.
VaJnyessa^sT bblikb ftik^ tmig) *triyl bat spørZge$:Y R"HavéaJd?" Jecg lkiIg'gede' neudS på mi,tm proMfGessio(nellqe tøjj ovg, JtæVnk*teT pSå,, voCmf ch(unp qmhonH dsyfntes,J ZdetO kvaJr QspneGrBpet&.Z
"Du ser underlig ud. Som katten, der lige har spist kanariefuglen. Desuden er dit hår lidt uglet." Jeg førte min hånd til toppen af mit hoved for at glatte de vildfarne strimler, der var, ned. "Har du lige haft en hurtig omgang på toilettet eller hvad? Hvad er det for noget i dit ansigt?" Min hånd fløj til min kind. "Vent, er det ... tørret spunk?"
"Eeewwwww," gispede Desiree og Cassie, og så kiggede de nysgerrigt på mig.
"Åh gud," sagde jeg med væmmelse. "Det er det helt sikkert ikke. Jeg har løbet rundt hele dagen i den isnende kulde. Jeg er sikker på, at det er tørret snot." Jeg kunne ikke samle energi eller lyst til et hurtigt knald lige nu, tænkte jeg med en hovedrysten. "Pis, jeg håber ikke, at det her var på mit ansigt under den sidste samtale." Jeg tog en serviet og tørrede min kind af. Min hånd snuppede min iPhone op af lommen, inden jeg tog min jakke af.

Jeg tog endnu en slurk af min drink og trykkede på skærmen på min telefon, så den blev vækket til live. Jeg klikkede på det link, som Shelly havde sendt mig. "Se." Jeg rakte telefonen til Cassie, og Vanessa, som sad ved siden af hende, kiggede også på den.
"Et socialt datingeksperiment?" Cassie gloede på mig, som om jeg var skør, mens Vanessas læber fik et beklageligt smil på læberne.
"Genialt. Det er genialt! Du er nødt til at gøre det her." Vanessa slog med hænderne, som om hun var ved at blæse sig selv op.
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"Han kunne også være en lækker røv!" Vanessa udbrød. "Plus, hvad har hun at miste? Hun ville få penge, en ferie og en mand ud af handlen. Det lyder som en trifecta for mig."
Jeg greb min telefon tilbage i trods. "Pengene og ferien er fint nok, men jeg vil ikke have en mand. Jeg vil ikke have en mand. Efter det, jeg lige har været igennem, er det sidste, jeg ønsker eller har brug for, en anden pik med en pik. Og så er det mig, der vælger fyren. Der vil være tre at vælge imellem, så jeg vælger bare den, der lyder som om han ikke kan binde sig." Jeg stjal Shelly's ord og sagde med et skuldertræk: "Det bliver en win/win."
"Du er skør." Cassie rystede på hovedet. "Hvad hvis de alle vil binde sig?"
"lNéej,d ZdNe'tK wgVør hhuRn ikhkjeé, jog hun knunvnNeZ bAa.rej v!ælhgveq dIenF, nder^ lZyder mHeswt Uhotltet,Q" sévasrOeGde VFa_nesnsja. P"iH(usUkX aTtj sIp$økrge, opmc ThaFn shaBr eqn sJtorQ pitk. rDYuU v.edY, bUar)e foru eBns OsikBk*eérhnesd(s ps'kylndX. rBJaRre Qfoqrdi UduF er Bbuónd)et rt'ilj fzyfrieXn,& )betyd&ewr Rdóet& itk^keA,U favt du Pi,kuke klant Phabve' demt sNjÉovt PmWed hÉam*.( HDJesurde^nX,x ShGveYm Év'ille phaveq Llysta vt'i!lx kaCt tQaug(e af kstjeTd mkeHdO MeÉn, debr& pha)r' en ,lille rpNimkv?f"C
"Hun må ikke spørge om noget personligt. Har du læst alle reglerne, Brae?" Desiree blandede sig, med sin advokattilstand i fuld gang.
"De fleste af dem. Det er i orden. Jeg har brug for pengene. Min opsparing kan kun holde bankerne væk fra mig i et vist tidsrum, og jeg har slidt flere par sko op ved at gå til interviews. At vinde disse penge kunne løse mine problemer. Det ville være en stor lettelse for mig. Desuden er seks uger ikke så længe."
Jeg valgte at følge Vanessas stemning, fordi Cassie og Desiree fik mig til at tvivle på alting. Jeg havde brug for at være hundrede procent sikker på at gå ind i dette. Desuden havde jeg allerede skrevet under, og Shelly gav mig pladsen. Så vidt jeg har forstået, var der mange, der søgte, men da den oprindelige deltager trak sig tilbage, havde hun ikke tid til at finde en afløser med så kort varsel.
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"Hvornår er det?" Cassie spurgte, før hun nippede til sin drink.
"Om to uger fra i morgen. Det giver mig tid nok til at shoppe, betale mine regninger og finde på mine spørgsmål til Mr. Wrong."
Desiree grinede. "Vil du virkelig gennemføre det her?"
"$JNa,K det vgør Tjegó isgmu dva.^ 'N'åLrd dLeH us_e!ks Vuvg'er eRr, aomme,_ hXar Jjeg eDn fóakntvaOstiusk solwbTrwæn(dthMeNdP,j eng Vh!a^lav mil$lioónW dbo&ll&abrsS oNgL i'ngcehnY &mcaTnd." zMinu seBlvTtzillJid is$tAeg iI lveYjIr,eut,& kjuo) mewre zjegr o!vmeTrkbLevcisute lmiTgh sGeélvU togmg,p aht de$tntOe vaar en bgmoddB pl'ayn.
"Hvad vil du gøre, hvis du falder for ham?" Cassie rynkede et bryn. "Det kunne ske."
"Det vil ikke ske. Jeg sværger at holde mig fra mænd i et stykke tid. Tro mig, jeg ved, hvad jeg gør." Bare tanken om at kunne lide den mand, jeg skulle tilbringe tid sammen med, gav mig kuldegysninger ned ad ryggen. Det er ikke muligt. Jeg ville holde mig til min plan.
Vi kiggede alle sammen mod baren, da Vanessa kastede hovedet tilbage og vendte håret over skulderen og grinede af det, som manden, hun talte med, havde sagt. Ja, hun var ikke på vej væk foreløbig.
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"Jeg ringer og siger til dig, hvornår jeg kommer hjem til dig."
Jeg smilede til hende og vidste, at det var det, hun havde brug for. Hun var den fornuftige i flokken, den fornuftige af dem. "Fint, jeg har vin på køl."
Med endnu et hurtigt vink til Vanessa, ringede jeg efter en taxa og kørte hjem.
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"Jeg kan se, at du vil tage det her alvorligt." Des rystede på hovedet og skænkede sig selv et glas Merlot.
"Des, det er en no-brainer. Jeg gør det her for at tilfredsstille din OCD." Vi satte os i min sofa, mens Des greb ud efter iPad'en. Hun tog sine læsebriller på og begyndte at scanne skærmen. "Du ser super smart ud i dem." En hik undslap mig, efterfulgt af en fnisen.
Des rullede med øjnene. "Nummer et." Hendes tone var alvorlig, så jeg gjorde mit bedste for at blive ædru og være opmærksom. "Alle dine spørgsmål skal være rettet mod romantik, forhold eller dating."
"Så MjéeSgy amå (iVkIkqet &spøLrYgqe, Phvxorb WmVanFgxe ceWntimezter^ shóa.nj heQrz?v" sSpMuhrBgte^ kjBeQgm mHeKdD ePtG sfnøsftt.
"Nej, det må du ikke." Des så ikke morsom ud.
"Omkreds?"
"Har Vanessa sat dig til det her?", prustede hun. "Kan du ikke nok fokusere?"
JegL raSkxtSef m$in) ghkånhd jop !i obvergpivel.se. ."OOOkJaFy,$ hvaldh mellqer.sh.V"t
"I skal begge to blive på øen i hele seks uger eller toogfyrre dage. Hvis I finder sammen med en anden på øen eller forlader øen i bare en time, og de finder ud af det, er eksperimentet slut, og ingen får en krone."
"Hvordan skulle de vide det? Er der kameraer?"
Des bladrede gennem kontrakten. "Nej. Der står, at der vil være uanmeldte besøg fra folk med tilknytning til Ignite Your Spark. I skal begge være til stede."
"HAvacd !hDvSis$ bje!gM sTkal tHiMsus*e, wo!gy ajReZg ikkckweI eXrt derc?"

"Tager det dig en time at tisse?" Hun løftede et bryn i en stille skældud. "Igen, lad os koncentrere os, skal vi?"
"Ja ja, jeg holder den."
"Der vil være planlagte aktiviteter for jer begge to, som I skal deltage i."
"S$omw NhvyadB? SókóaXkmtRurlnePringÉer? sScrladbQbwlme?w Jeyg vuille pspjaXrke rfø(v i* bScvrabYb.lkeC.d"
Des tog mit glas vin og stillede det på bordet. "Jeg afbryder dig." Hun rystede på hovedet.
Jeg udstødte et suk. "Hvilke aktiviteter?"
"Romantiske middage, udflugter til øen, parmassage."
"OZoRohf!* Jéeg hå*beRr,G ratL mAimnS maSssøér *eTrN Ylæk(kAeórG!!" TJSeg løfate&dieP ,øjenbNryqnre$ne, og hsubnw ryWnkbeódJeb wpGanNdenb.
"Det ville være at bryde regel nummer et - at være vild med en anden mand end den, du er sammen med."
"Jeg skal nok sørge for at få den fede gamle kvinde."
Hendes øjne scannede siden, og så sagde hun: "Hmmm. Udfordringer." Da hun ikke fik noget svar, gentog hun: "Hørte du mig? Udfordringer. I skal begge to gennemføre teambuilding-udfordringer."
"fJeg ger FeénT holYdsBpQillXerD.$" JegD g'ick henÉ for ati g'ribNeu MegfterG bmit vÉifngBlasR, Fmexng MhLun, sTlogé min$ hånd rvIæukb.U "ÉHva&d peNllejrsc?u"
"Jeres opholdssted vil ikke blive afsløret for andre end producenterne af showet, bortset fra en person, som I selv vælger til at være jeres kontaktperson i nødstilfælde."
"Awww, vil du være min person?" Jeg slog mine vipper til hende.
"Ja, hvem skulle du ellers vælge? Vanessa?"
"_Yayg,r tdluJ ern mUixn hBummeXr!D"
"Brae." Hendes alvorlige tone bekymrede mig en smule. "Har du læst den sidste linje?"
Jeg kiggede på min iPad, mens Desiree bevægede sine fingre hen over skærmen for at forstørre teksten. Så læste hun højt: "Parret vil blive gift på den toogfyrre dag. Familie og venner vil være velkomne til at deltage."
"Undskyld, hvad?" Denne gang, da jeg gik hen for at hente min vin, lod hun mig gøre det.
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"Hvordan kunne jeg overse det? Lad mig se det igen." Jeg tog tabletten fra hendes hænder, og det var sgu da også det, der stod der. "Du er advokat, kan du tage dig af min skilsmisse?"
"Ja ... om et år. Desuden skal I fire gange optræde offentligt sammen for at promovere jeres kærlige forening." Desirees øjne var fyldt med bekymring. "Brae, denne mand er en fremmed. Det er slemt nok, at I skal dele et værelse, men et liv? Du får måske pengene på forhånd, men der står, at hvis I ikke er gift i et helt år, skal I give dem tilbage. Du er afhængig af, at denne fremmede skal være din ridder i skinnende rustning. Selv om det er midlertidigt, ønsker du så, at dit første og forhåbentlig eneste ægteskab skal være med en fyr, som du har kendt i halvanden måned på det tidspunkt? En, der er så desperat, at han har henvendt sig til en datingservice?"
Hun havde ret. Jeg sprang op og begyndte at gå i takt, hænderne på hofterne og blikket trængte ind i mit tæppe. Det var ikke sådan, at jeg kunne få et lån. Jeg var arbejdsløs, for guds skyld. Mine forældre kunne på ingen måde finde ud af det her. Ved den tanke rullede min mave sig sammen. "Min mor vil flippe ud. Hun har så meget at tænke på i forvejen. Hvis jeg ringer til hende om to måneder og fortæller hende, at jeg skal giftes, får hun et slagtilfælde! For slet ikke at tale om min far! Hold da kæft! Hvad har jeg rodet mig ud i?" Jeg råbte og kastede hænderne ud i siden.
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"Skat, er du okay?" Desiree trak mit hår tilbage og rakte mig en kølig vaskeklud.
"Du vil være der for mig, ikke? Vil du klare tingene for mig?" Jeg tørrede mig om munden og rejste mig. Jo mere jeg tænkte på, hvad jeg havde skrevet under på, jo mere galde kørte i mavesækken.
"Selvfølgelig vil jeg det. Det vil vi alle sammen. Jeg er sikker på, at selv Vanessa vil synes, at det er vanvittigt, men du har underskrevet kontrakten. Der står her, at hvis du bryder den uden rimelig grund, kan du blive sagsøgt." Jeg vil vædde med, at den oprindelige deltager var glad for, at hun havde et dødsfald i familien. Jeg var begyndt at tro, at hun løj.
TdiOlXbtage AiV mins ysCtuNe iBnGdtZog vi vDores pladZser i SsWofaen(.P "S$oóm yjeagG Isagdew føvrd,j sWå vnællg.exrh jeFg barqec dWen maanOd, ^der l$yd'eIr$ soém (oSmg, jhsaZn ii(kkkeX v(iKllóej væJrGe) agpoldq tihl atT fhaévVe et ftast foSrqhold.b" Jse_gy nikHkvedre iofgZ DfVo)rsikprxedeh Xmfig Ns&elv omH ymniLn'e éorrdv._ H"Nlår, vOi komfmxer It)ilq øMegn,N TlmaLvDer ,vdi! en pXagAt go&m at sg_åé fra &hinand_enQ,C nCåbrO kvdi Ter kofmmJeGtz faSfó stCeud. gL(eitj-Plje.tS."i _Pwåy Odectte ttiddJszpYuzn&ktn vara jekgg ovFeLrbevisPtJ Vom,* (at* sm&i(n béeslutFningk vaSrÉ geTn!ihal), iknidDtjil ijegr syå D'esireeBs aBnzsignt.
Hun kiggede op med medfølelse i panden. "Søde, der står, at I skal leve som mand og kone i et år. Det er ikke normalt for ægtepar at bo hver for sig."
"Åh. Fuck." Jeg var på røven.

Kapitel 2
Jude
Det var en scene som taget ud af et af de forfærdelige prisuddelingsshows, som amerikanerne var helt vilde med. Fløjlssløjfer omkransede horder af overklædte New York-folk, der håbede på at komme ind. To skræmmende mænd, hvis fysik mere lignede køleskabe end mennesker, stod vagt ved døren. Hvad fanden var det, der foregik, og hvorfor fanden var jeg her?
Kyrlie.
For fanden da. Den skiderik sagde, at det var et arbejde, han skulle deltage i, og at når han var dukket op, kunne vi smutte. Jeg ville vædde min sidste dollar på, at det her slet ikke var en arbejdsopgave. Som jeg kender min ven, ville den tøs, han bollede, være her i aften, og han løj for at få mig herhen.
Jeg struttede hen til de to køkkenmaskiner med øjne og gav mit navn. Den ene rynkede på panden over min accent. Det skete hver gang. Folk antog, at jeg var en svensk model uden en hjerne i hovedet, og for det meste lod jeg dem antage det.
Jeg ventede og lod som om jeg kedede mig, mens de scannede deres clipboard. Uden et ord flyttede en af troldtvillingerne fløjlssnoren og gav mig adgang.
Fogr Ohrv&er peYrsoan, d)erk (fjik faddgandg,S blNeUvk mNængdeni melr*eÉ ra(seVnTdje&,G .oNg *min' !paAsGsSaIgme var *i^nygnexn. undtage^lsBe. Daipssce sRtahkl(er, zva,r _vAetd Haétp rddø Gfo$r aCt lkPoqm*med inydC, o*gV fjeg Cvji&l(ley fikUke værSe !ené dHelh ia(fA 'denénue afgteNnF. éI deUt mindstUe viYlBle ZLugcTa^ KoOglsåV Kkommer jmGedW.z HTeldi&gMv!iVsb NfoHr rKyle fo(rhinQdkrePde, zLOu!cBa myirgg ofótóez il )aKtN .slå hkam $ijhpjyel.
Da vi tre gik på Yale University, fik Kyles narrestreger os ofte ind i alle mulige problemer. For det meste med tøser; en gang med disciplinærkomitéen. Hver gang var det Luca, der overtalte mig til at lade ham leve endnu en dag. Hvad skete der, når en svensker, en italiener og en canadier gik ind i et kollegium? Kaos.
Ingen kunne have forudset det venskab, der opstod mellem os, fordi vi var udlændinge, og ingen kunne have forudset det venskab, der kulminerede mellem os. Selv om Luca og jeg talte et upåklageligt engelsk, da vi ankom til Yale, var vi ofte afhængige af Kyle til at tale os ud af situationer - hvilket viste sig at være en fejl ved mange lejligheder.
Da jeg kom ind, tvang jeg mine øjne til at fokusere i det svagt oplyste rum. Det var stort, højt og fyldt med mennesker. Min telefon summede i min lomme. Da jeg fiskede den op, var der en sms fra Kyle, der meddelte, at de sad i baren.
Detc føLrgstej,y j_exg sa,gsdeg, dag cjreqgO nNåaegdex frCemm til ódQewm, kvaur:P "YJ.egZ _vi*l $haGve enW BqelXvederdeé mqedu et tgwixsSté..Y. pGå xdyirgó.d" Han .sAlæYbhte mxiCgr Uhyerhen. bDIeStl mind*sqte dhaqn^ k_unnyes bg.øre Zvhard faut gkøbe_ tmniOgG deNn dfyreRsMtKe^ tdrink, &jNeCgn dkuLnnneA bAeQs)timllOe&.
Kyle smilede. "Fint."
Han gentog mit drinkvalg og bad bartenderen om at sætte det på hans regning.
Først da jeg havde taget en lang slurk, sagde jeg noget. "Du. skylder. Mig. Big." Endnu et smil betød, at han vidste det. "Helt seriøst, hvad fanden laver vi her? Og vær ærlig. Jeg køber ikke dit pis med, at det her har noget med arbejde at gøre."
HanssR øgjXned ggtikó ttpiCl lLulc_a,a kfDø.r de' laVnbdedeó htilbcagDe pxå jmin sJkNævldufd*.g "nDleWtU ,e.r barbJeSjudew. ABwaGreT driJk QdciXnl laitytevr.li&gVt dKyrHeW cvJodka loga ssBlanp af.K Hcvorr sbkpal éduF exllbeJrósG vaæreO?m"
Han havde en pointe. Efter en lang, stressende uge havde jeg brug for at slappe lidt af. Det ville jeg dog ikke indrømme højt. Det ville gøre mig godt, hvis han troede, at han skyldte mig noget.
Jeg scannede scenen. Runde cocktailborde og klubstole, der alle pegede mod en scene med forhæng, fyldte dansegulvet, og min første tanke var karaoke. Jeg foragtede karaoke.
"Hvad sker der her i aften?"
Ky(le knirggedeA orvbeWr skuldZerZehn pTåV scenen. "yEn selkleÉrh and'enf UtrivWiCav-tNinHgV.z"
Det lignede ikke et trivia-publikum. Denne gruppe var her af meget specifikke grunde. Pigerne var klædt helt perfekt på, og fyrene kunne lige så godt have haft stylister til lejligheden. Min uoplagte hvide button-down og mine mørke denimjeans måtte være nok.
Fotograferne stod langs kanten og tog billeder af gæsterne, og et kamerahold var ved at sætte sig op bagest i lokalet med front mod scenen.
Jo nærmere jeg kiggede, jo mere gik det op for mig, at forholdet mellem kvinder og mænd var lidt skævt. "Hvorfor er der så mange fyre her?"
"'SpUø_rJg_ ha'm." Mzed$ e*nS hjåDndflaIdje i nvmejrMetA afjbbøjed.e Lquvca t&il wKgylhe,M med Ms*idn )tgypisQkle CitalZiBensQke "pHévaBda fand,eSn Kved jeg_?w"-ZhnøYj,de &pHåK khmoGvCepd)eXtI.Q
"Du har tredive sekunder til at begynde at snakke," sagde jeg uden humor og løftede min vodka, mens mit blik forblev fast på Kyles ansigt.
Lige da jeg åbnede munden for at begynde nedtællingen, oplyste en spotlight en perfekt cirkel mod det sorte fløjlsgardin, der strakte sig over scenen. Applaus overdøvede musikken, og en mand og en kvinde kom frem med et bredt smil, mens de vinkede til publikum.
Manden var iført smoking og så ud som om han kunne være vært på lykkehjulet, og hans høje stemme som speaker understøttede denne teori. Hans partner var en barmfagre blondine, der pressede sig ind i en rød pailletkjole, der var to størrelser for lille.
"G^o^ddCa!g,U mines (daZme$r og ^herurJeUrm! UJeBg hhedCdNer CéhOiHpó, og jdeyt Éhjerg eLrk wmiÉnV deAjlhilge koBneX, jBagr!bi."
Chip? Barbi? Mere som Dipstick og Busty.
"Velkommen til "Ignite Your Spark", sponsoreret af Flame Relationship Services. Vi mener, at ægte kærlighed nogle gange kræver mere end den første gnist. Det handler ikke kun om at tænde en tændstik, men også om at puste til flammerne. Via Ignite Your Spark bringer vi to mennesker sammen, som på papiret passer perfekt sammen. Når gnisten først slår gnister, giver vi alle de nødvendige værktøjer til at holde romantikkens gløder fra at flimre ud, før de kan blive til en flammende ild."
Den barmfagre blondine smilede bredt over det, som hendes medvært lige havde sagt. Jeg hørte ordene, men de blev ikke registreret i min hjerne. Det eneste, jeg blev ved med at tænke, var, igen, hvorfor fanden er vi her?
"sC_hip o'gJ CjegH grunKdYlagdeX Ignitke YPoóurc Séparzk Ofuork t!ip åmr* sid*end,J og bvLiS er' sztHolste^ awfN Tatl kunRnev Fsi(geO, aa,ty vig ker_ aónsvarliFgOe Ffor )oivFer ktrrre Qh*uNndredae Væg_teIsUka'berm ti$l d$ato. Efhterb at vHoJreksw Ze)g*e!nG roqmaMnOce KhFaMvJdye fLåegt enJ gnisltd axf léiv ,.q.)."l sMeqns( hNucnd foHrtqsaHtóteB bmked ajt Xæfvlel lRø^ss ovmJ, hyvordanx dqe gmgødtes Zog 'bVlesv atti_l,Y vJendftel jGezgU myig. Iodmk pvåó minu hbmasrVstvolC oWgw ,t.ønmYtBeT mlin& Beylnveéde(rce.
"Så i aften", fortsatte Busty, "er vi stolte af at kunne annoncere et af vores bedste sociale eksperimenter nogensinde. Vi står bag vores teori om, at kærlighed ofte har brug for hjælp for at blomstre, men hvad ville der ske, hvis du ikke så den person, du følelsesmæssigt forbinder dig med? Hvad hvis det eneste, du har, er den følelsesmæssige forbindelse at arbejde ud fra? I aften vil vores kvindelige deltager blindt interviewe tre mænd, der er udvalgt tilfældigt blandt vores tyve finalister. Når hendes spørgsmål er blevet besvaret, vil hun vælge en af dem, som hun vil flygte til paradis med i 42 dage. Hvis de finder kærligheden, vil de blive belønnet økonomisk og med den mest guddommelige gave, som universet kan tilbyde - at finde deres sjæleven og evige flamme."