Hello, listeners, Welcome to Underwood and Flinch Saga, episode number ninety six.
I'm afraid I have no time to chat this week because I have a
Patreon episode to finish writing for the end of the month, and it's massive,
like ten thousand words and rising, you say, I still haven't finished
it, and then I have to edit it and record it, and will
I make the deadline. I don't know, but I have to crack on
and hope for the best. So I've got to go, but I'll hand
you over to me doing the original Patreon intro recap for this episode, you
know, way back whenever it was here I am. This episode continues what
I call in my head the Lydia and Black Circle novel within the novel sort
of, by which I mean the ongoing backstory adventures of Lydia and her friends
that was going on in the background to all the other events of Underwood,
Fline Underground. But until this section of the story that we're listening to at
the moment, we've only had glimpses of. Now, you'll recall that last
time we had a lot of historical information about Gerald and Cynthia, and we
saw how Gerald met Alice since you know, basically her de facto jailer sort
of, and so inevitably has that kind of contact with her, you know,
bringing a food, walking the dog Charlie. You remember the dog Charlie.
And so that's where we're picking things up this time. As we begin
episode forty two, the Bensons have had a busy day and have gone to
bed and all is well until something causes Cynthia to wake up. You know
how that happens. Sometimes a noise, a sound wakes you, but you
don't know what it is that's woken you because you didn't consciously hear it.
You don't even know that something woke you up at all. It's like you
just kind of came to that. Underwood and Flinch season five in Tenner Bress,
written and performed for podcast by Mike Bennett. This podcast is intended for
an adult audience. Listener discretion is advised. Episode twelve, Cynthia's eyes opened
to darkness. It was a sudden and unexpected contrast to her dream, which
was all bright sunlight. She and Peter Harris, still young, in a
rowing boat on the Thames at Henley. Peter had been telling her how awful
it was having to drink blood, and she'd been admiring his naked chest,
which was far more ripped than she remembered it ever having been. In reality
he'd been a slender lad, but in the dream he'd had a torso like
a model from a man's health magazine, muscular and shaven, smooth as a
baby's bum. And then it had all vanished quite suddenly, to be replaced
by the heavily curtained darkness of this unfamiliar bedroom. Annoyed, Cynthia turned in
the bed, expecting to find Gerald in between loud snores, which was what
normally interrupted her sleep, especially when, like to day, he'd been drinking.
But he lay on his side, turned away from her, his body
rising and falling with silent breaths and not so much as a snuffle. How
odd, she thought, as she got up to go to the bathroom.
She had also had a few drinks that afternoon, and so had drunk lots
of water to ensure she didn't get a hangover, something she was no longer
able to shrug off, as she had as a younger woman. Anything more
than three glasses of white wine and she'd be wiped out. With a megrain
for the following twenty four hours. It was Gerald's fault, of course.
After he'd done the shopping and walked Charlie the dog, they'd had breakfast before
setting off to visit the lists of Underwood's homes Lydia had given them. Fortunately,
most of the properties had been built within a short distance of underground stations,
so getting around to see them all hadn't been too problematic. All of
them had been quiet, immaculately maintained houses, and none of them displayed any
signs of life within. She and Gerald had wandered slowly past each of them,
trying to look as if they were searching for a particular door number.
They would go on a few houses past the house in question, then stop
and saunter back for a second perusal, before acting as though they'd given up
on finding their elusive address and moving on. They'd managed to get round all
the houses by lunch time, and then had lunch in one of Gerald's old
haunts from his work days, ye Old Cheshire Cheese in Fleet Street. The
pub had been packed, but Gerald had spotted a couple of his old colleagues
and they'd been able to join them at their table after lunch. Unwilling to
be part of another round of drinks and thoroughly bored by the men's talk of
contracts, clients, and absent colleagues, Cynthia had left Gerald with his friends
to do some shopping. He said he'd give her a ring when he left,
for which he didn't because he'd stayed in the pub all afternoon. When
she returned at five o'clock, he was red faced and in garrulous floe with
an entirely different set of men in suits, all from the same company who
had replaced the earliest shift. She joined them for another glass of white wine
and Gerald's telling them drunkenly what a wonderful woman she was before she was finely
able to drag him away and into a taxi. They got home soon after
Lydia and Miguel's awakening. Lydia had been getting ready to go out on her
date with James Harrington, the man whom she thought could be connected to another
vampire, so she was in high spirits, unlike Miguel, who had been
thoroughly morose about having to take the night shift. On the same reconnaissance tour
of Underwood's homes as the Bensons had done that morning. Why do I need
to do this, Miguel whined as he flung himself down onto the sofa.
He was wearing nothing but the box of shorts he'd slept in, and still
had some of Alice's dried blood on his face. Geral and Cynthia have already
done it, and they said it is nothing to see. Just accept it,
Lydia Underwood, he is dead. Let's celebrate, don't move on.
We don't know that for sure, Miguel said, Lydia. If his stuff
is coming from Spain, we have to be sure that he isn't alive and
coming with it. And if he is, he's far more likely to be
arriving at night than in broad daylight, wouldn't you say? But I don't
want to do it. I'm a vampire. I want to go out hunting
for a new cheka to replace this homeless woman, her fucking dog. You're
gonna do that, Gerald slurred over a cup of strong black coffee. Replace
her? See she is all used up, what said Gerald, suddenly angry?
What are you blame me? She's used up? He means, she's
given us enough blood and so now needs to be released, said Lydia.
But she's definitely gonna do that. Yeah, of course, we can't just
be feeding off the same victim night after night, or she'll die, Miguel
scoffed. So what if she dies, No one will miss her except her
fucking dog. We don't know that, migul, said Lydia, without looking
up from where she sat painting her nails at the dining te Even homeless people
have friends and families. Someone will miss her eventually, but by then we
will be long gone, said mcgirl with a grin. That's not the bloody
point, is it, Gerald said. There's no reason to Keeller. She's
done nothing wrong. She's just a poor girl who had the bad luck to
run into you two, Gerald. Cynthia gasped, looking from him to Lydia
with a look of embarrassed astonishment. Why, said Gerald, that's true,
isn't it, Lydia. He's drunk. He doesn't know what he's saying.
It's all right, darling, said Lydia. Gerald's right, which is precisely
where are we going to let her go? When said Gerald, well,
we can't put her out on the streets tonight, can we? And that
would be cruel, especially considering her weakened condition. No, we'll do it
tomorrow morning, our afternoon, as soon as she feels strong enough, so
you won't be discharging her yourself, asked Cynthia. No, I think it's
best to go during the day, don't you. But you'll prepare her.
I mean, you'll make it so that she doesn't remember us, so or
I want to stay even I don't want to have to push her out.
Of course I will. You've nothing to worry about, Darling. She'll toddle
off quite happily and all memory of us will be gone before she reaches the
end of the road. And so Cynthia had explained their tube brew to around
Underwood's houses to Miguel, and Lydia had gone upstairs to get dressed for her
date. Then later they had left together in a taxi, and Cynthia and
Gerald had sat down to watch television. Gerald had fallen asleep five minutes in
to Inspector Morse and started snoring, so Cynthia sent him up to bed.
She followed him up later when the show was over, and she'd let Charlie
out in the back garden to do his business. Thud suddenly resonated through the
ceiling above, bringing Cynthia back to the en suite bathroom. It was followed
by a muted cry. Cynthia looked up from where she sat on the toilet.
Wasn't that Alice's room above theirs? Maybe it was Miguel's. Another thump
and another hoo dah, Gerald, did you hear that? Gerald didn't reply,
obviously, he was still in a beer coma. Cynthia hastily washed her
hands and hurried back into the bedroom. She turned on the light. Still
Gerald didn't stir. She considered shaking him awake, but decided not to bother
if Miguel had fallen and hurt himself, Gerald wasn't going to be any use
in his present condition. She went out into the hall, switched on the
light, and went upstairs. At the landing of the next floor, she
was surprised to see Charlie lying with his chin on his paws. He didn't
rise on seeing her, just watched as she came over and knelt beside him.
Hello, Charlie, what are you doing out here? His tail beat
gently on the carpet as she petted his head, and he leaned into her
touch, whimpering softly. Gerald had said that the dog slept with Alice,
but evidently this wasn't the case. Good boy, she said, giving him
a final pat before continuing on down the hall to the room above theirs.
There was no light shining under the door, but she reminded herself that there
wouldn't be. Mcgul could see in the dark, though not so well as
he couldn't avoid falling ass over tit in his bathroom. She thought she was
about to knock at the door when she heard the sound of sobbing from within.
She paused, listening. It was definitely him. The sobbing was punctuated
with muttered Spanish. For the briefest of moments, she considered going away and
minding her own business. Maybe he was having a moment of regret, of
remorse for what he had become, for the pain he had brought to Monica,
to Alice and would have to bring to a thousand others as yet unknown.
Then she reminded herself it was Miguel. She knocked, Miguel, are
you okay? A pause? Then, who who is Cynthia? Yes,
dear, I heard a crash. I thought he might have fallen. A
second later, the door opened enough for him to look out. She hadn't
turned on the light on this floor, and had only the dim light that
filtered up the stairway from below to sea. By his naked body appeared to
be glistening, wet with a dark liquid. Then the smell drifted out from
the stuffy room, clawing and coppery. I've had an accident, said Miguel.
Are you hurt? It's it's not me I He hesitated, then turned
on the light. He was covered in blood. Then he swung the door
fully open to reveal the empty, blood soaked bed. It's Alice. Cynthia's
hand went to her mouth. Oh shit, what happened? Is no my
fault, he blurted out. I felt someone to replace her, but she
got away. So when I came home, I was hungry. I was
only going to take a little but it went wrong. I don't know what
happened. The blood stain completely blotted the top half of the bed, soaking
the sheet and pillows. It recalled to Cynthia's mind in Carnodine memories of the
Black Circle sacrifices back in Spain. It was that bad as if Alice had
been strung up over the bed and had had a throat cut from ear to
ear. Where is she asked Cynthia in the bathroom. I was gone washer
like we did with Monica, but the body was tripping everywhere, and my
feet slipped on the tiles, and I was putting her in the shower when
you came from behind, Cynthia, Charlie started barking. She turned. He
was keeping well back from the door, looking between her ankles into the room
and trembling boga. Miguel shouted, bete the perol. I fucking kill you.
Charlie immediately fell silent and slunk away. I told him before. He
growled at me when I came in, you know, like he's some kind
of fucking German shepherd. But I look in in the eye and say to
him, shut up and straight away. He is quiet. It's like we
have the power over the dogs like we do for people. I sent him
outside so I could his face contorted with anxiety, and he put a hand
in his hair. Shame man, Lily's going to kill me. Cynthia reached
out, intending to put comforting arm around him, but the still wet blood
on his body stayed her. She didn't want to ruin her nighty. Instead,
she gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. There there, I'm
sure she'll understand. No, she won't. She told me, warned me
to be careful, and I fucked up again. What's all this barking and
commotion up here? Came Gerald's voice from down the hall. What are you
doing in analysis room? Oh, christ, said Cynthia. She turned just
as Gerald arrived at her back. Darling, there's been an accident. Accident?
What kind of accident? Is she all right? No, dear,
oh, he hasn't. Gerald pushed past her into the room and saw the
bed. He gasped and turned to Miguel. What have you done, your
bloody animal? Miguel raised a warning finger to Gerald's face. Don't shout at
me, old man, or. I assure you just how much of an
animal I can be. Where is she? What have you done to her?
I had a fucking accident. I was feeding and I fell asleep.
You fell asleep? How did you manage to fall asleep with your bloody teeth
in her neck? There wasn't in a neck at the time, I was.
His pointing finger closed into a fist. You don't understand Gerald, sometimes
nine, timmy dad. The intimacy, her mouth on the woman's neck,
and the blood, it is like a sexual thing. Gerald's face darkened.
Who mean you are as she wanted it? It wasn't like rapebarn Gerald punched
Miguel in the face. Before he could finish. Miguel swore and staggered back,
his hands, going to his nose, where blood began to pour through
his fingers. Ah my nose, he poto, you plug my fucking nose.
Cynthia caught Gerald's shoulders. For God's sake, Gerald, this isn't helping
anything, it's helping me. Gerald raised his fists. Come on, defend
yourself, migal, and we'll have none of that fascination nonsense either, Gerald
cried Cynthia, he'll kill you. Have you forgotten what he is? Now?
Forgotten? How can I forget? Look at the bed, Look at
what he's done first, Monica, now Alice, Oh, he doesn't need
to worry about Lydia killing him. I'm gonna do it far. He stepped
smartly forward and struck again and left, jab smacking into the hands covering Migirl's
face. Come on, Damiel, Gerald jabbed with his right, but this
time Miguel's hands spun around and caught his fist. Hit me again, Gerald,
and I'll put you to the fucking wall. Migul tightened his grip on
Gerald's fist just a little, knowing that if he didn't restrain himself, he
would crush the delicate bones like dry sticks. Gerald gasped, then his mouth
gaped in a silent scream. He grabbed Miguel's wrist, trying to break his
hold on him, but the arm that held him was like steel. Miguel
let him go, cried Cynthia. He's been drinking. He's not himself,
you know that. Please, for the love of Satan, let him go.
Miguel smiled, his bloody lips, drawing back over his now sharp teeth
as gently he began to ease his hand downwards. He chuckled as Gerald's knees
gave way beneath him. Say sorry, old man. Gerald's defiant rebuke died
on his lips. As he felt Miguel's grip tighten. He screamed, oh
sorry, I'm sorry. Miguel opened his hand like a magician ending a successful
conjuring trick. That's better, but I warn you, Gerald, don't ever
do anything like that again, or next time I will crush your hand like
a paper fucking cup. Gerald nursed his hand and kept his peace. He
had lost his temper and made a very foolish mistake. He was lucky Miguel
hadn't done far worse than he had, and he knew it, but he
couldn't let him have the last word. You shouldn't have had her, you
know you shouldn't. Of course, I know you think I wanted her to
die. He was a fucking accident. I keep telling you, Michel,
Please, said Cynthia. Calm down, both of you, just calm down.
We need to get things into some kind of order before Lydia gets back.
Is she not back here, said Gerald, before adding h No,
No, of course she hasn't. She'd have to be as deaf as a
post if she were. What time is it? They all looked to the
clock by Alice's bed. Christ it's almost stream in the morning. What are
we gonna do with with the body? I can't suppose of it now,
it's too late. We'll have to wait till tomorrow night. No, said
Miguel. If Lydia comes back and finds this, Jesus Christ is gonna be
so fucking hungry. I at least have to get rid of the body.
Don't worry, I will deal with you. God knows you have experience,
muttered Gerald. Miguel was about to respond when Cynthia quickly intervened, I'll help
you. Miguel. You said you've already got the body in the shower.
See, well that's a start. She looked at Gerald. You should go
back to bed, Jerry, try and get some sleep. Sleep, said
Gerald. How the hell do you think I'll sleep knowing you two are up
here getting a corpse ready for disposal. Jesus Christ, it sounds insane when
I hear myself say it. We're seriously planning on getting rid of a dead
body, and I'm Christ. We can't. There are no handy arroyos around
here. We'll have to dismember her, take her away in pieces. No,
this takes too long, said Migul. We neither out of here in
a one hour. I can't do it. I don't need your help.
Yes you do, said Cynthia. We have to make sure the body is
cleansed of your DNA whatever weirdness that looks like the police may never have seen
vampire DNA before, but there are no guarantees that your genetic code isn't still
in the soup somewhere. Did you come in her? Gerald asked Miguel.
What when you were raping her? Did you come in her? You know,
Ejaculato, it was not rape. And no, I did not come
in her. I mean I don't remember, maybe, which means you did,
which means I can't fucking deal with it. Okay, oh, just
shut up, Miguel said, Cynthia, Please just leave this to us.
You go downstairs and fetch some bin bags, bleach, and rubber gloves.
We'll do the rest, including the cutting, said Miguel. What cutting?
We have to cut her? He pointed to his neck. Take out the
bite wound. Make it look like a He stopped and frowned. I don't
know the word. How do you say? Then? He mind knifing someone?
A stabbing? Said Gerald grimly. See make you look like a stabbing.
I'm not doing that, said Gerald, a gnoy you, Miguel,
you've done more than enough damage for one night. Well then I'll have to
do it, won't I Cynthia snapped, Now can we please stop arguing?
And get on with it. We're wasting time, and so they did.
Cynthia washed Alice's body under the shower, and her years of domestic culinary experience
served her well when it came to carving the bite wound cleanly from the neck,
but Gerald said it was too clean for a crime of violence. It
needed to be more brutal. That was when Cynthia's stoicism had buckled. She
couldn't do it, so Gerald, by then stone cold sober, took the
knife and hacked at the wound and stabbed Alice's torso repeatedly until with tears in
his eyes, he dropped the knife, fell back from the shower, and
covered his face with his hands. He wanted to scream, to curse,
to say the things he felt in his heart to his wife, who was
now washing the body down again with a bleached sponge in the hope that there
and Miguel's DNA would be washed away, but he couldn't. Miguel, now
dressed, was in the bedroom, taping black refuse sacks together to make a
large black sheet and complaining he couldn't use the roll of sticky tape effectively with
his marrigold clad hands. When Cynthia had washed the bleach away, having cleansed
the body as thoroughly as she could, Miguel brought his creation in and he
and Gerald rolled the dripping body out and onto its black plastic shroud. Then
they wrapped her in it, concealing the cold white flesh completely, and taped
it closed. It was done. They looked at the clock. It was
now just after four am. It's too late, said Gerald. Let's just
leave her here. No one's going to be using this room again. No,
said Miguel. She has to go before Lydia comes home. Just leave
it to me. I do it. Miguel. You can't just dump her
by the side of the road, said Gerald. She absolutely cannot be found.
It's too risky. There's CCTV everywhere in London. No, the best
thing to do is to leave her here and tomorrow night we'll drive her out
of London and bury her in a wood or something. Miguel shook his head.
No, Lydia's gonna want this room for her next victim. We need
it. I don't want to piss her off anymore than this is gonna piss
her off already. He hauled the body up onto his shoulder. I have
to do it now. I find somewhere good, somewhere quiet time at Miguel.
Miguel grabbed Gerald by the face, squeezing his cheeks and pushing out his
lips in a grotesque pout. You forget already, Gerald, you are not
the boss here, I say. She goes, and so I take her
and you two stay here, go to bed. I'll be back before the
sun rises. And it is like the whole thing never happened. He looked
back into the bedroom at the crimson mattress and bloody footprints all over the once
white carpet. Almost Cynthia went to Miguel's side and rested a hand on the
arm that held Gerald in a face clench. In a gentle, appeasing tone,
she said, all right, Miguel, you're the boss, only trying
to help you know that. Oh yeah, you are trying to help me,
and I thank you for this. But he he wants to treat me
like a little bitch. Gerald tried to protest, but his words came out
as he's just a bit upset. Miguel said, Cynthia, I'm no little
bitch. I am his fucking master. He lifted Gerald onto his tiptoes.
Maybe you should call me then, No, Gerald gasped calmly. Cynthia said,
I think Lydia is the master here, don't you. Lydia is not
here, but she will be soon. So if you're going to get rid
of that body, there's no time to lose. Migirl released Gerald, So
stop a westing my time I go. Then, with the body slung over
his shoulder, he strode from the room, leaving a trail of pink and
crimson water droplets in his way. Cynthia went to Gerald, who was sitting
on the toilet seat and massaging his face. All right, Gerald, eyes
downcast, Gerald replied quietly, yes, I'm sorry, darling, but at
least it's over now. It's not over, sin, it's only just beginning.
From downstairs, Miguel roared, what are the fucking car keys? He's
going to fuck this up? Said Gerald. He might not. Gerald got
up. If he doesn't, it'll be a first What are the car keys?
Miguel shouted up the stairs. Gerald stormed to the stairs and shouted down
and the kitchen on the work surface under the cook box. Cynthia came to
his side and they waited until they heard the front door slam. Then Gerald
said, but he drives on the wrong side of the road. Probably Polease'll
pull him over. He's not in short, Cynthia laughed and put her arm
around him. What said Gerald, you think that's going to matter? His
lack of insurance. Saying it aloud made her laugh again, though more from
a sense of relief than humor. Then, Gerald, realizing the absurdity of
what he had said, laughed too. It's all right for you. It's
my bloody name on the documents. He returned her embrace and they held each
other. I'm sorry, darling, said Gerald. I shouldn't have lost my
rag with him. It's not your fault, Jerry. You're only human.
Yes, yes, I am human. He eased it from him so their
eyes could meet. Things are only going to get worse, sin you know
that, Please Jerry, not now. Let's just go to bed. He
wants us to call him master. He was just angry, you both were.
He'll be his normal health tomorrow once Lydia's kicked his ass back into line.
You think so, yes, And once we become vampires there won't be
any more of this nonsense. I can tell you. Gerald released her and
turned away, sighing. Really, that's still what you want, Jerry.
I know it's difficult right now, but this will pass. You can see
that there's a discipline to it. Can't you a way of existing without killing?
Just as David Flinch said, it's just a miguel he's he's taking time
adjusting. Oh, you can say that again. Look, we don't have
to stay with them, Gerald, Once we're vampires, we can go our
own, separate way. We could live here in al Messina, in Haywood's
heath, anywhere, just so long as we discipline ourselves. She came to
him and touched a hand to his cheek. No one has to die,
Gerald, We can be vampires and still be civilized. Gerald considered for a
moment, then smiled, I'm not sure if Hayward's heath is quite ready for
vampires, Darling, Well then we better not go there, at least not
permanently. You really don't mind dumping them, I mean dumping Lydia. I
don't want to be with anyone that makes you unhappy, Jerry. Gerald took
her in his arms. All right, Well, let's sleep on it.
If we can. There is don't worry. I have sleeping pills with me.
We'll sleep late, but I don't think his lordship's houses will mind too
much. They'll still be there empty as ever. Whenever we managed to struggle
out the door, Miguel didn't know where he was going. He was driving
in a northerly direction towards Camden, hoping to come across the River Thames,
or an area of waste ground. But everywhere was nothing but endless, silent
urban landscape rowed after a road of houses, shops and apartment buildings. This
shouldn't have come as a surprise to him, after all, this was his
second night in London. But until now the city had been merely a background
sliding past the windows of cars in which he was a passenger. But now
he was really seeing it for the first time, and there was nowhere,
absolutely nowhere to dump a body. Yerber, he cried, Did he fucking
bullshit? He scratched furiously at his shoulder and squirmed in his seat. Why
was he itching so badly? It was like the skin of his whole body
was one big itch. No, not itching, tingling. He stepped on
the brakes, halting the car in the middle of the road. This was
stupid. He should turn around now while he still had an idea of how
to get back. The corpse was out of the house, that was all
that mattered. But what if the Bensons took the car out the next day?
What if Lydia wanted it to morrow night? No, he had to
get rid of it. He rubbed his neck and felt the skin was puckered
with goose bumps. What the fuck? What is wrong with me? Suddenly
the car felt stifling, the seat belt pinning him so tight he felt his
skin couldn't breathe. He unbuckled the belt, threw open the door, and
got out. He threw his head back and gasped a long full of cool
air and froze. The night was draining from the sky, the rooftops in
front of him, standing stark against the simmering azure of the coming dawn.
How long did he have before the sun crested those buildings? An hour?
Two or less? He dropped his gaze and saw hoarded up laundeurette in front
of him. He stared at it, his mind racing. He should go
back. There was an alley by the laundeurette. If he turned back.
Now he'd have no problem. There was something in the alley. Liddya would
understand accidents happened. He walked to his right, peering into the alley.
It was pitch black down there. No human eyes would be able to see
a thing, but quite clearly he could see a builder's contentadore. He wasn't
sure of the English word. It was full to the brim with rubble and
shattered shop fittings, presumably from the laundeurette. If it was full, it
would be taken away, probably at some time later to day, and replaced
with another. They'd take it to a dump or a landfill somewhere, the
contents all tumbling over each other and burying themselves in a heap. His mind
pictured a rolling landscape of trash, the sky full of seagulls cawing and screaming.
They'd never find the body there, and if they did, they'd have
no idea where she came from. It was perfect. With his new strength,
he could lift or push aside anything in there, dump the body in,
and pull the rubbish back over. He grinned, thanking Satan in his
mind for bringing him to this thing. This skip, Yes, that was
the word. Why did they call it that? He wondered as he got
into the car and reversed it back to the mouth of the alley. Contenta
doors don't skip or jump or even walk, He shook his head as he
pulled on his rubber gloves. English such a stupid language. And so make
the y L dumps a body in a skip in Camden. That body will
soon darken the morning of Inspector Claire Redmond and the hunt for the London Vampire
will begin. But Lydia won't know any of that until the following evening.
Right now, she's at home in bed, dreaming no doubt about a lovely
evening with James Harrington and all the dark things it promises. For it was
a lovely evening and it does promise dark things, dark dark things, And
next time we'll go on that date with her in Season five, episode thirteen.
The music you're listening to is Ahmad Amor by Farid Farjad from the album
and Rusa Volume four, courtesy of Taranay Records and our good friend Fawaz al
Maloud. You can stream the track from Spotify, YouTube Music, Google Music,
and all the other music streamers out there.