Part One is here

Thursday – Jackson Part One

Jackson woke and slid from his bed. Bitch was still sleeping. She could stay there. Better to not hear her bitching voice this early in the morning. Breakfast, comb through the beard thirty times, wax on the scalp and out to the van. He squeezed behind the wheel, head brushing the roof and huge hands gripping the wheel.

Busy day. He checked himself in the rear view. Beard looked good, eyes not so much. He’d been drinking too much. Anything to block out the bitch moaning and whining at him every night. He had red bits around his dark irises, blood vessels that burst and spilled into the whites. He sniffed, hawked and spat out the window. It struck the dust of the yard and rolled into a tiny dust-covered ball.

Shit game last night. Not one good player on the pitch. They fired the managers but it was the players getting the money to be shit every week. He spat again and pulled out of the yard to the road, yellow dust following in the van’s wake.

He prodded his nose as he waited to pull out at the lights. Bitch had hit him a few weeks back and he was beginning to think she’d broken it. Not the first time, which was why it was so difficult to be sure. But it moved differently and felt even more spread out than usual.

He pulled out, giving the finger to the guy beeping him and headed into town. He’d park up at Pavan’s and the guy could like it. Too much to do to worry about the wardens. Far too bloody much to do. They were coming in tonight.

He bit his lip, the only sign he’d ever give he was worried. Worried was too strong a word for it. He wasn’t worried about shit, ‘cept maybe bitch sleeping around. She was too, no doubt. But still, it bore thinking about. Two years and seven months and now they were coming to visit. Why?

He’d ask them when they got here and if they couldn’t give him an answer, he’d find someone else to sell to. There were plenty who wanted ‘em. Hell, they were queuing up at the door. He stopped at the lights and checked the back. Ropes all present and correct.

He reached Pavan’s without any of the wankers on the road driving into him. Always a bloody miracle, considering how many there were these days. He parked up and went for a walk. He strolled down to Embankment, checking out the tourists, watching for the weak spots.

There were a couple of girls, young, bag straps over both shoulders. He approached them with a warm smile but they hurried away. Too old anyway. He kept moving, watching, waiting. He headed for the South Bank. There were school trips there sometimes, but today it was empty. He did spot a couple of homeless kids, familiar territory. One was a young boy, long lanky black hair. The other was a girl, older than the boy and pretty in a skinny sort of way. Bob hair cut and thin lips. He headed over but they spotted him and moved on quick enough.

It was fine. This was window shopping. He stomped over the Millennium bridge and strolled back toward Embankment. Most of the way there when he smelled them. They took him back and he stopped dead, eyes watering. For a moment he was in mam’s garden, surrounded by rose bushes, watching her bustle about. She looked down and smiled at him and he opened his mouth. His breath came in short gasps and he placed one hand against his heart. Why did it hurt so bad? The smell faded and some semblance of reality returned. He stared at mam until the rot appeared and she faded away.

He sneered and wandered over to the flower seller. The flowers were impressive. Mam would have loved them. He resisted the urge to buy them all and toss ‘em in the river.

‘Nice stall.’

‘Thank you, sir, perhaps I can interest you in something?’

He was taking the piss. What was it with that stupid voice? ‘I ain’t buying no flowers.’

‘Perhaps for a lady friend? Ladies always love to be given flowers.’

‘Don’t know no ladies.’

‘I see.’

The flower seller looked down at his feet. He was a weird one, skin all messed up like he’d been burned or something. Jackson blinked and the skin was back to normal.

‘How about one red rose then? The bitches love a red rose.’

He balled his hands into fists and leaned over the table between the flowers. ‘You taking the piss?’

‘Not at all, sir, merely meeting you in a place I thought you’d be comfortable.’

‘I ain’t never gonna be comfortable round a poofter like you, get it?’

‘Absolutely, sir. I can offer you a sample. Here, take the rose for free, please.’

Jackson looked at the flower held out to him and the scent caught his nose and trapped it. He could see mam, he could almost hear her. With a growl he lashed out and smashed the head of the rose, sending the petals flying. He stomped away, not wanting to look the flower seller in the eye and not sure why.

He got a few paces before he stopped and checked himself. He always looked people in the eye. He turned, hands shaking from being clenched so hard and approached the man. He stood where he’d left him, the empty rose stem still clutched in his hand. As Jackson approached, he raised his head and their eyes met.

‘That was unnecessary.’

‘Screw you, offering me a rose.’

‘What is so bad about offering you a rose?’

‘What the heck? You think I’m a poofter or summink?’

‘I merely thought you might like something to give your woman when you got home. I’m sure you have one, you carry yourself like a man used to getting what he wants.’

‘Damn right. Why would I want to give her anything?’

‘Not to put too fine a point on it, to keep her sweet. Sometimes it’s easier to stroke than keep clear of the claws.’

What the hell was he talking about? He was right though, she wouldn’t… he glanced at his watch and swore. They would be here in a few minutes and he was too far away. What the hell had he been thinking? And where had the bloody time gone?

He dashed down Embankment, leaving the roses on the stall.

Interlude

The flower seller watched him go, satisfied with the smear of water and rose petal on the back of Jackson’s hand. It didn’t count as receiving, not strictly, but it would do.

That was lazy. But if these were the only tools they gave him, what did they expect? He could probably have tried harder, but he’d tried and that’s what counted. He turned back to the stall and started to pack up. There was work still to be done.

He tried to keep the smile from his face, but he couldn’t help cracking a grin. What a singularly unpleasant man. His list entry had made it quite clear how nasty a piece of work he was, but he was all that and more in the flesh.

He felt it, his old life, at times like this. It had been centuries, but he couldn’t help remembering the old thrill when an opportunity arose. It was, he thought, the creative part of himself, stifled from his time in the Flights. They didn’t appreciate creativity in the Dome. They appreciated numbers and results.

Well, he could have both. He opened his jacket and one by one placed the bunches of flowers inside, where they vanished. He whistled quietly to himself as he worked.

Next Installment Thursday 3rd July

Part One is here

Wednesday – Krystal Part Three

The lady in the shop was like the most generous person in the world. She gave her enough sandwiches for dinner as well and asked for a quid. Still shaking her head, Krystal wandered down to the river. Something was bugging her. Something other than the silent ghost drifting along behind.

It was the look the woman gave the rose she carried. As she walked in the shop, both women behind the counter turned to look at her and they both zeroed in on the rose. They had some sort of look between them then treated her like their daughter. Which was weird cause she wasn’t that much younger than them.

She shrugged and settled on a bench. Another sunny day. Ed came and set beside her, as far to the other end as possible.

‘I’m going to do it tonight.’

‘How? How you gonna do it?’

‘There are four hostels round here, right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So I’ll go to each one until I find him. When I do, I’ll put a knife between his ribs.’

‘You know how difficult it actually is to stab someone to death? There are guys in America in those prisons got stabbed like fifty times and din’t die.’

‘Yeah, but he’ll be sleeping and I’ll put it in his heart.’

‘Even so.’ She sighed. What the hell was she thinking? ‘What do you need me for then?’

‘I need you to vouch for me, to say I was with you all night.’

‘Ooh yeah, you and me cosying up, I can see it now. Bollocks, they won’t go for that.’

‘He’s just one of us. Why would they believe a dead person and not both of us?’

He was right. She could say the right words and probably, maybe, it would work.

‘Where’s the knife?’

‘I don’t know. I have to find one. But that’s easy. As long as the blade’s long enough.’

She hissed through her teeth and stared at the unwrapped sandwich in her hand. Her appetite was gone but she still stuffed it into her mouth and took a bite. It was bloody delicious and her appetite came flooding back. She crammed the best part of it into her mouth and, without thinking, offered the other one to Ed.

He looked from it to her and with that labrador face, took it in shaking hands. She was skinny, but he was scary thin, like he’d fall over in a strong wind.

‘You ain’t got the strength to put it through his skin.’ Why was she even contemplating this?

‘I have. It won’t take much, not with a sharp knife.’

‘He’ll wake up, you know? Moment the point goes in ‘im, he’ll wake up and go for you.’

‘Yeah, I know. I’ll line it up and do it in one big shove. I’ve thought about it.’

‘Yeah, I can tell. So I help you, what’s in it for me?’

‘My undying gratitude.’

She burst out laughing, sides aching from the unfamiliar. ‘Right, so you’ll remember me when you’re driving around in your Ferrari, that right?’

He chuckled as well. ‘I don’t have anything else.’

‘You know what you got? You’ve got your freedom and the chance something might be different tomorrow.’

‘Do you really believe that?’

She sneered and hissed at him. She’d keep her bloody sandwiches next time. She was only angry cause he was right. She din’t believe it, not for a second. She was counting the winters till they got a bad one and she couldn’t get in the hostel and they found her next morning looking like frosty the bloody snowman. Just counting the days.

Was prison such a bad option compared to that? She sniffed and got off the bench. Maybe doing something different was the change she needed. ‘Alright, I can do that. Where are we gonna say we were?’

His eyes opened a little wider and she realised he hadn’t planned this far ahead. ‘Surprised you, did I?’

He looked slightly sick as he nodded. ‘Yeah. Um, so, I suppose one of the hostels that he’s not at.’

‘So we start together at one of them and you can go off and find him and then come back and I’ll say you never left.’

‘Yeah, yeah, that sounds perfect.’

He stood and bounced from foot to foot. ‘I better be off, need to find a knife.’

‘Yeah. Same place as last night?’ She thought about offering to help, but that was a step too far. One thing at a time. He nodded and walked off, head not quite so bowed. He slipped between the normals in their suits and was gone. She blinked and looked down at the rose in her hand. Why had he given her this?

It was a slow day, but she got enough cash for the hostel. She trudged back to Black Street, where she’d started the day, and rang the bell. It would be Mrs Ely again tonight. She stood on the step, twisting the rose between her fingers and caught the scent again.

She was transported. She stood in a graveyard, rain pelting her. Her clothes stuck to her body and she shivered. The rose was still in her hand and she placed it on a mound of freshly dug earth. The headstone just said Ed and she shivered again.

The sound of a door opening intruded and she blinked. The graveyard was gone, replaced by the opening door of the hostel. The rose looked sort of ordinary, the petals curled and pale from a day in her hand. She sniffed and headed inside.

He arrived out of breath, kitchen knife stuffed in his belt. They didn’t say much, just ate more of the sandwiches and stared at the walls. They hadn’t talked about what they’d do if Dawid turned up here. Probably stay until it was done, she guessed, but the words kept sticking in her throat.

It was actually happening. She only believed it when he got up and leaned down, mouth close to her ear.

‘You’re going to do this, right?’ His voice shook.

She nodded. ‘Yeah, I am.’

He went to the door and was about to go when she jumped up. ‘Here, it’s weird, but d’you want the rose?’

She shoved it at him and he took it before he realised what it was. He blinked as he looked at it and back at her. ‘Thanks.’

‘Yeah, whatever.’

The door closed and she stared into her cup. The tea swirled gently round and round and she watched it. Circles, never ending circles. Every time she thought they’d stop, she put her spoon back in and stirred a little more. That was all it took, a spoon in the right place, a knife in the right back and the circles began.

She smashed her hand through the cup and the contents flew across the room to strike the wall. The other two in there gasped and stared and she ignored them. Who put their fist through her life? She wasn’t sure if it was dad, or mum, or social or all three. But there had been circles and circles and then the fist came and she was showered all over the wall.

Krystal swore and jumped from her seat. She ignored Mrs Ely’s cries of dismay as she headed out the front door and dashed down Black street toward Shaftesbury Avenue. Three hostels and the streets were dark and already quietening. She kept up a steady stream of invective as she raced toward Soho.

She’d seen him there more often than not. It was the biggest, above the YMCA and always packed. Easy place for him to find his next victim. She sniffed as she ran, catching scent of the rain that threatened to wash London out by the morning. That would be fitting. But she’d seen blood in rain, after an accident. It didn’t wash away, it just thinned out until the street turned pink.

She reached the hostel and bent double, hands on her knees. Her chest heaved and spots appeared before her eyes. She had to get inside, she couldn’t be too late. She rang the bell then thumped the door until it was pulled open by an angry looking Mr Jensen. He frowned, lined face growing deep crevices.

‘Yeah, sorry, I know it’s late, please?’

The creases didn’t go away, but he stood back and made room for her. With a grateful smile she slipped past him and surveyed the main room. It was busy tonight but she saw him instantly. He was in a crowd, sat on the arm of a chair, leaning over a boy no older than Ed and saying something that made them all laugh.

Her skin crawled and she stopped by the door. Did he deserve to live? He would do it tonight, same as most nights and another boy would be scarred. Ed would stop that. Speaking of which…

She checked them, one at a time. He wasn’t here. Unless he’d already gone to bed. She weaved through the common room, waving at the people she recognised. If she was Ed, she’d call them friends, but that was stupid. No one was friends here.

She headed for the dorms. They were separated here so she waited until the coast was clear before she sneaked into the boys’. Ed was there, with his back to her. He knelt in the centre of the room, head bowed and she paused, watching him. What was he doing? Was he praying? She snickered and he jumped and spun round. Tears ran down his snot-covered face and he clutched the knife in both hands.

‘What are you doing here?’ His voice shook.

‘I’m not doing it.’

His control shattered and he howled, falling on his face and spreading his arms wide. He looked like he’d fallen from high up and splattered across the dormitory floor. She took a step closer and his fists clenched. She took a deep breath as he suddenly sat up, bringing the knife in toward himself.

It all happened horribly fast. The knife twisted until it was aimed at him and she shouted something. She didn’t know what, she was too busy diving at him. The knife moved, flashing beneath the fluorescent strip and she saw it slip through the ragged material of his t-shirt. Then her hand caught his arm and the knife and both of them went flying.

He was pinned to the floor beneath her. It would never have happened with anyone else, but he was so slight. The knife slid away from them and bumped into the far wall. She panted. He shook beneath her and she rolled off, thumping onto the floor and looking across at him. His forehead pressed against the cold tiles, snot and tears smearing across them.

‘I can’t do it. I want my mum.’

She let out a long breath and sat up. He came willingly enough, falling onto her lap and heaving great sobs. The sound broke something inside her and her own tears ran hot down her cheeks, tears she hadn’t shed in all the time she’d been on the streets. Something slipped and tore free and a great weight fell away, leaving her floating despite the sobbing boy in her lap.

Interlude

Two for the price of one. And for only one rose. He hadn’t expected the change in her as well. The boy wasn’t saved, not how the Office would like, but he was away from the edge, so his job was done.

He couldn’t count it as two officially. But using her had been a master stroke and he couldn’t wait to tell Seph about it. For a week that had started so badly, he was feeling pretty good. He already knew who he was having tomorrow.

This one was tricky. He almost always felt sympathy for his subjects. There were always extraneous circumstances of some sort. No one counted love as an excuse, which was the most stupid thing he’d ever heard. If love didn’t make you do stupid things, then what did?

But tomorrow’s subject was nothing to do with love. Nothing to do with anything except greed. If he hadn’t been made of pure energy, he might have considered not bothering. If.

Next Installment Monday 30th June

Part One is here

Wednesday – Krystal part two

‘I’m going to kill him.’

She thought she was going to laugh; that was the most sensible response. But there was something in his serious little face that choked it off. She settled for opening her mouth and closing it again then shaking her head.

‘No you’re not.’

‘Yes I am. I’m going to kill him and dump his body in the river and then he’ll never hit anyone or do what he did to me again.’

There it was again, the look that was a challenge, that dared her to laugh. ‘You’ll get caught.’

‘So you don’t think it’s wrong?’

‘Of course it’s bloody wrong.’

She ducked her head, glancing around the dining room at the others. Four had entered since they started breakfast but they were all too busy eating cornflakes to give a toss what they were talking about. She lowered her voice.

‘Of course it’s bloody wrong. But I don’t care about that. What I’d be worried about is getting caught.’

‘That’s why I need you.’

Krystal took one look at him and snorted. She pushed her chair back and picked up her tea. ‘Lovely talking to you. Good luck with everything.’

She walked as fast as her tea would allow out the dining room and into the morning air. The days that began with tea were always better than those that didn’t. The ones that begin with boys trying to convince her to get involved with murder weren’t normally so good.

She stomped away, trying to choose her destination. Coppers were pretty hot on Tottenham Court Road at the moment. Covent Garden maybe, find a few guilt-ridden tourists. Tourists always paid better than locals. Everyone knew that. ‘Cept maybe Ed. He probably din’t know that. Apparently, he knew nothing.

She heard the pad of feet on the pavement behind her and sighed, shaking her head. Bloody labrador. He came up alongside, puffing.

‘You walk fast.’

‘Yeah s’better than running and gets you places.’

‘Can we talk?’

‘No.’

‘Look, please, just for a mi—’

Krystal stopped and swung her hands about in the air, tea slopping over the edge of her cup. ‘Leave me alone. You ain’t gonna kill him cause then you go to jail and that’s bloody stupid. I mean, that’s it, game over.’

‘Oh, because this game’s so much fun.’

‘This game’s bollocks, init, but trust me, prison makes this look like the sunny side of the street.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe, but I’m going to kill him and I need your help and if you don’t help me then I’m definitely going to prison.’

The tea went flying as she grabbed his collar. She shoved him halfway across the street before the honk of a horn made her remember where they were. She gave him a final push and let go, setting off at a stomp toward Charing Cross. Traffic was building up, all the rich wankers in their suits and ties. Begging here was like sitting in the desert waiting for rain. Only the desert smelled better.

He was following her. She could feel it, like a bit of paper stuck to her shoe. He was bloody mad. And he tried to blackmail her and that was way beyond. She raced across the lights and into the streets around Covent Garden. Coming here reminded her of when she’d still lived at home.

Mum had brought her here, once or twice, after dad left. They hadn’t bought anything. They’d laughed at the thought, but it still felt special. Din’t feel much of anything now ‘cept bile in her throat. Shoes worth more than she was. No, not worth more, just cost more.

She’d been approached, more than once. It was the eyes. And they always offered less than these bastard shoes. A pair of shoes for your virginity and pride and self. Lucky they didn’t know she was a virgin really, or they’d have offered her more. Maybe she’d have been tempted.

Krystal spat on the floor, earning looks from the couple putting tables and chairs outside the cafe. She thought about sitting in one just to watch them react, then opted not to. She glanced over her shoulder as she turned the corner. He was still there, still following. Bloody hell.

She went through the market, out the other side and found a nice spot near a cash point. The sun made begging so much easier. Didn’t get any more money, but people didn’t hurry as much and she could relax. Gets too cold, you never relax, just shiver until you fall asleep.

She’d been there an hour or two before he approached and sat down beside her.

‘Oi, piss off, would you. Never get anything with two of us here.’

‘I’ll split anything I get.’

‘You won’t get anything. People never give when there’re two of you.’

‘Why not?’

‘Who do they give to? They ain’t giving to both and they can’t decide cause it makes ‘em feel bad, so they just don’t give at all.’

‘I need to talk to you.’

‘No you don’t. You said all you need to say. Look, leave me alone. You want advice, leave him alone too. He’s a bastard, complete and utter and you don’t want anything to do wi—’

‘I can still feel him inside me. I can hear him in my ear. I couldn’t leave him alone if I tried.’

Krystal winced, looking down at the cup placed on the pavement before her. How the hell was she supposed to respond to that? ‘Yeah, look, I get that, b—’

‘Do you? Has it happened to you?’

‘Well, no, I been lucky, but he punched me and he’s punched a lot of other people. And done what he did to you. No one’s killed him be—’

‘So he was there to do it to me. How long before he comes for you?’

‘He won’t he only likes boys.’

‘Of course he does, stupid me, why didn’t I know? But how about someone else? Someone else will come for you, won’t they, eventually.’

‘So? Killing him won’t make any bloody difference. He’s gone, it’ll just be someone else. You go to prison and they’ll be lining up.’

‘I can’t go to prison, I’m too young.’

‘You think the Y.O.I.’s any better?’

He fell silent, chewing on his lip like it was his first hot meal in weeks. Krystal tried a few sad looks at the passers-by and got a quid for her troubles. The boy shrunk back against the wall. You’d barely notice him, even if you knew he was there. She tried a bit harder and got enough for some lunch.

Krystal’s stomach growled. The trouble with having breakfast, it makes you hungry for the rest of the day.

‘Right, see you then.’

She set off walking fast and for a moment he stayed where he was, eyes fixed on something far in the distance. Then he scrambled to his feet and raced after her. Krystal’s head was down, protected by the thin material of her hoodie, eyes on the pavement. He’s still there, though, eyes burning through the cotton. Silent treatment time. She’d see how he fared with a one-way conversation.

He seemed happy to say nothing though, so they stomped to the river in silence. There’s a shop, just past Embankment tube that sells cheap sandwiches after lunch, cheaper to people like her. She was still trying to ignore him, but he followed anyway.

Someone shouted, but it couldn’t be aimed at her. She’d not done anything to the best of her knowledge. It was though. Somehow she knew the voice was calling her and her alone. With a grunt, she slowed and peered out the corner of her hoodie. It’s some guy selling flowers. He waved at her and despite all her natural instincts, she wandered over.

‘Yeah?’

‘Hello young lady, how are you today?’

She examined him. Was he for real? Weird face, like his skin can’t decide where to sit. She wasn’t sure about the eyes either. They’d either give you a tenner note or drag you down an alley and beat you to death just for the fun of it. Nice smile though. Krystal stared for a moment before deciding he was in the tenner-note mood.

‘Yeah, alright. Had some tea, got enough for lunch.’

‘Well that is splendid. And who’s this?’

‘Ed.’

‘Hello, Ed, how are you?’

‘Vengeful.’ She answered for him. Ed squirmed beneath both their gazes before shrugging.

‘What she said.’

‘I see. Well, I apologise, but my gift is for Krystal. Wo—’

‘How d’you know my name? Who the hell are you?’

The flower seller smiled again and she relaxed, just a little. What was going on? This guy was a snake. That, or a stalker. Since when did homeless people get stalkers? She tried again. ‘How did you know my name?’

‘How can I have a present for you if I don’t know your name?’

‘That isn’t an answer.’

He nodded and smiled again and she realised he wasn’t going to say anything else. She could either walk away and hope he isn’t enough of a psycho to follow, or wait and see what the present is. It’s been a while since she’s had a present.

‘Yeah, what’s the present then?’

With a flourish, he pulled a single red rose out from a bunch on the front of the stall and handed it to her. The smell hit her before she wrapped careful fingers around it. For a brief moment, the scent takes her away. She’s sat in a penthouse, staring out over the city. She’s wearing new clothes that don’t scratch or have holes in and the whole flat smells like the rose. The popping sound makes her glance over at the open plan kitchen and she sees a coffee percolator coughing away to itself.

She breathes out and is back on Embankment. It’s like being punched in the gut, only without… actually, it’s like being punched in the gut. She glared at the flower seller.

‘Why you giving this to me?’

‘I thought you might need it, a little hope now and then.’

‘Yeah, that and then some. Thanks, I suppose.’

He nodded and smiled. ‘Remember, the greatest gifts are those you give away.’

She opened her mouth to respond but he’s already rushing over to a young couple standing by the stall. She looked at the rose and shook her head. Lunch time.

Next Installment Thursday 26th June

Part One is here

Wednesday – Krystal Part One

They were talking again. She rolled over to face the wall and stuffed her jumper over her ears, but it didn’t cut out the noise. She lay still, every muscle in her body tight as a guitar string. She could scream. Any moment she’d lose it and scream.

She rolled over and peered through the darkness. ‘Please, shut up. Please.’

The voices ceased and the silence was sudden and complete. Others in the room shifted and turned over. No one spoke. She heard covers flicked back and the pad of feet on the floor. Krystal pushed herself back against the wall as far from the edge of her bunk as possible. It didn’t help.

A hand came in, grasping and groping and it grabbed her arm and yanked hard. She whimpered but bit her lip. She wouldn’t say anything, she couldn’t. They wouldn’t let her back if she made trouble.

She tumbled onto the floor and thanked whatever crappy excuse there was for a god that she’d gotten the bottom bunk. He pulled her up and hissed in her ear.

‘I’ll speak when I fucking well want to.’ The ‘want’ was accompanied by a fist in her gut and she dropped to her knees, gasping, tears streaming. She’d expected him to go for the face. She’d seen him before, with others, and it had always been the face. She hadn’t been ready for the stomach.

He padded away and she crawled onto her bunk. As she stifled the low sounds of her crying, the silence grew deeper. They all knew. They’d all give her sympathetic looks in the morning, but none of them would say anything. None of them would stand up for her. Just like she’d never stood up for them.

She pulled her jumper back over her head and sobbed into the thin mattress until sleep came.

He was gone when she woke up. He normally was. On the bunk below his, last night’s conquest lay curled in a ball. His hair was long, around his shoulders and covering his face, but his bare shoulder showed the marks from his fingers.

Krystal slipped from her bed and scampered across to him. She could feel the others watching her, but every one of them avoided her eyes when she crossed the room. She knelt beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched away, scurrying back in his bunk and she had a sudden vision of what she must have looked like last night.

‘I’m sorry.’

Why was she sorry? Because she didn’t do more? Because she’d leave this morning and not say anything to anyone? Or just because he’d been hurt far worse than she had and there was no one else who’d say sorry? Didn’t matter. It didn’t mean anything anyway.

A solitary eye peered at her from beneath his hair. His black locks shone beneath the dirty light coming in through the high windows. The shine was grease.

‘Why are you sorry?’

Ah crap. ‘Dunno. Just am, ‘spose.’

A thin sound that sat midway between crying and laughing emerged from him and he scooted his legs out and onto the floor. He winced as he sat up and she stared as his mouth went through strange contortions that ended with it curled down at the edges and shaking.

He was trying so hard not to cry and she held her breath. It was a relief when he let himself go and she wrapped an arm around his shoulder. He buried his filthy hair into her arm pit and howled. She stared at the others in the room, who in turn stared back, everyone asking her the same question.

What now?

That was easy. Extricate herself as quick as damned well possible and get away from here. She wanted to ask the kid where He’d gone, but he was as likely to know as any of them. There were only four hostels in this part of London and he could turn up at any one of them, any night of the week.

The weather had turned at the weekend, so maybe she should take it outside again. Krystal always preferred sleeping outside, but there were late frosts and she valued her toes too much. A punch in the stomach wasn’t much to take. Not compared to what the boy sobbing in her armpit had been through. But He only went for boys and there wasn’t anyone else around to scare her off.

His name was Dawid. He didn’t speak English, or not as much as most of the others. But he was persuasive and had the same kind of language as the police. He could convince you your world was tiny. Wasn’t difficult with most of them. Once you knew your world was a few streets and a few rooms like this and no one cared, you’d do whatever he wanted if it meant he’d leave you alone.

Krystal had been here long enough to know that wasn’t true. She vaguely remembered from when she’d gone to school that it was called a stay of execution. They were all on death row, every bloody last one of them. And Dawid was the vindictive guard with the night stick and the technique that left no bruises.

The sobs died down and she fidgeted. She extricated herself and patted his shoulder and slunk out the room. She checked her locker on the way past, relieved to find it un-screwed with, and headed for the bathroom. She needed a shower today, however much she didn’t want to have one.

The bathroom was empty and she dived in and showered as fast as humanly possible. By some stroke of luck, the room stayed empty. Maybe she’d earned it with her gut punch yesterday. Her belly was sore but he hadn’t done anything permanent. She weed, watching the dirty yellow run away with the shower water. It didn’t hurt, so that was a bonus.

She peered in the mirror. She needed a hair cut. She kept it short, bobbed around her ears. Quicker to wash and less likely to attract the men. Boys, whatever. She looked a bit like a boy and they left her alone. Not that she was likely to attract them anyway. She could feel her ribs through her t-shirt and her hip bones against her jeans. Her face was the same, cheek bones pressing through the skin, beneath her red-ringed, cold-blue eyes.

They were striking. She’d been told that before. It was why she kept them trained on the ground as much as possible. That was the problem with sleeping out of course. When people saw the eyes they got ideas. And some of her friends had disappeared recently. The vans were out, looking for girls. She knew where they went.

She shivered and wrapped her towel around herself. Her lips barely showed against her skin, thin and chapped and pressed hard together. Krystal flung on her clothes, grabbed her bag from her locker and headed out front. Mrs Ely wasn’t in. Probably out getting breakfast. She thought about staying for it and her stomach growled. Maybe she would. Fresh air first though.

She stepped out the door, keeping one foot in so it didn’t security lock and stared up at the sun. Third clear sky in a row and warm enough at eight in the morning to not need her jacket. Her lips curled up at the edges and she felt a twinge at the unusual movement.

‘Thought you hadn’t left yet. Can we talk?’

She jumped and put her hands up. Her foot slid free of the door and she swore and turned on the speaker. The long haired boy stared at her between his curtains and blushed.

‘Sorry, didn’t mean to, but you know, you were nice to me.’

‘Yeah, my mistake.’

Krystal looked back up at the sky and shook her head. Would it hurt? Not as much as he did, in all likelihood. ‘Yeah, we can talk. Soon as you make sure Mrs Ely gives us some breakfast.’

‘Yeah, sure, of course, thanks.’

He nodded like a labrador and she groaned inwardly. What was he, twelve, thirteen? They stood in awkward silence while they waited for Mrs Ely to return. What was she supposed to say? ‘Hey. So, you got raped last night. Come here often?’

Not a moment too soon, Mrs Ely bustled down the pavement and waved at them both. ‘Out early today.’

‘Yeah, not supposed to be. Any chance of breakfast please?’

She cast a glare at the boy who had the good grace to look sheepish, but the warden waved them through the door and she sat gratefully in the large room that counted as a dining space. Ten minutes later she clung to her polystyrene cup of tea with both hands, drinking in the smell like the elixir of life. The boy ate nothing.

She found out he was called Ed and this was his first summer on the streets. Tough start. Though not as bad as what he’d had at home from the sounds of it. Still, he sounded pretty posh, so can’t have been all bad.

‘You said you wanted to talk.’

‘Um, yeah. So, last night…’

Krystal put her cup on the table, leaned back and folded her arms. He wanted to talk about that. God, she’d given him a hug, that was all. She wasn’t some bloody agony aunt.

‘Look, I’m sorry about last night, but talking to me about it ain’t gonna help.’

‘He punched you.’

It wasn’t a question. ‘Yeah.’

‘Was it the first time?’

‘For me? Yeah.’

‘For others?’

‘Nah.’

‘He shouldn’t be doing that.’

‘What, punching me? That’s what you’re worried about?’

‘Of course not. He shouldn’t have…done what he did to me either, but punching girls, that’s just wrong.’

‘That’s wrong?’

She tried to keep the incredulity out of her voice. He was serious, he was actually serious. Of all the things Dawid was guilty of, Ed was most worried about him hitting girls. And he’d hadn’t seen the half of it. The bastard broke someones jaw the other week, punched her so hard she swallowed two of her teeth. Krystal’d got off lightly and she knew it.

He was staring at her, all earnest and young and she groaned and nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s wrong. Punching girls and not saying please and not covering your mouth when you sneeze, it’s all wrong, what’s the point?’

‘I’m going to kill him.’

Next Installment Monday 23rd June