Police are busy trying to secure the High Street, to deal with the thick filthy air and the debris. She can barely see the entrance to any of the closes now it is so bad. Dot thinks of the long line of women behind her – all the way back to Lilith – all of them linked in some way – every last one – they have all endured, one way or another. She sobs openly now, her shoulders shake and her eyes blur as her entire being keens toward a pain she was born feeling and has never been able to let go. Dot can picture these skeletons – all three of them – walking right along this street together – laughing – holding hands or going to buy food or first thing in the morning taking in a new day or hurrying back to each other through the rain – how many years ago?

Dot stands.

They emerge from the dust.

First – a woman with long red hair, clear skin, black boots, a hat. She turns – holds her hand out for the woman behind her. She is dark-haired, wearing a fine dress; her horns are as spectacular in life as they are on her skeleton. The child emerges from the smoke and takes her mothers’ hands. The two women reach out to place their arms easily around each other. They walk down the High Street toward the cobbled square at the Tron – toward the sea.

The bells of St Giles’ call out – a long loud clang and dong echoes across the city.

Edinburgh’s daughters – will not stay walled in.

There are blue skies this morning.

Dot gives thanks in silence.

The building is down but she did not fall with it.

Unless – she did?

The afterlife could not be as clear as this.

The crane has been hoisted up. It was meant to pull No. 10 Luckenbooth Close up by the scruff of its neck – what a silly thing to try and do. It was never going to work. She hopes with every one of her own broken bones that every last stone in that building is used for better things. She hopes that every man who profits from a structure built on the murder or poverty of others is held to account or may all his buildings come down. Dot can feel the very devil himself running – through catacombs underneath the city – away from No. 10 Luckenbooth Close.

An officer points to where she is standing over the bones.

She will make sure they are safe until someone else takes responsibility for them.

Dot writes it out as neatly as she can.

Places it below them.

She does it quickly as the police are coming back over.

They still don’t see her!

The SKELETONS of LUCKENBOOTH CLOSE – buried in the walls for CENTURIES!