

**A Vagrant Story**

Paul Croasdell

Copyright 2012 by Paul Croasdell

Smashwords Edition

### Acknowledgements

### With thanks to my father Paul C for spell checking  
And thanks to my brother Arron for designing the book cover

For updates on my current projects please follow me on Twitter:

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Chapter 1

One of the last trains of the night tore past. Its heavy rumble diminished to an unsettling vibration throughout the subway station. The train's final echoes fading away, the sound of footsteps tapped down a stairwell to the lowest level.

Sierra was making her way back to her friends, having snuck away from them earlier. She'd grown fed up waiting around the subway station so the four of them could scavenge from bins, or not even. Subway security tended to frown on those found rummaging about in tips, which forced them to wait around for the less-than watchful night watch. Of course, with subway bins on such high demand for their kind, that meant sticking close to guard them like dogs to their fire hydrants.

Between the Winter cold and general misery of it all, Sierra snapped, once again leaving her friends for good. And once again she decided to return.

Sierra stopped before descending the final corner of the stairwell to where the others waited. As if to preserve some stain of dignity she wrapped up all the notches of her oversized, brown overcoat, stuffing away the many layers of clothing she wore beneath. Sighing, she set about brushing back her long blonde hair so as to fasten strings of her green ear flap hat. She was coming back to them, that meant she'd lost whatever argument caused her to run away. That meant she'd be due certain gloating from a certain old drunk. Last thing she needed was to look a mess when taking it. Last thing she needed was for the old man to think she couldn't get by without him.

With no more notches to tie she stood perfectly still and listened, if only to further delay the inevitable. It was silent. The platform cleared of people, the station empty, the picking seemed now there's for the taking.

"Sierra?" spoke a male voice she recognised.

Sierra opened her eyes to find one of her friends standing in the stairwell in front of her, a short thin featured man who day in day out wore the same torn blue tracksuit top and sweat pants, clothing which stood in complete contrast to his lifestyle. His name was Henry, and right now he was in the way.

"Henry," Sierra said. "Where are you sneaking off?"

Henry affixed his glasses as though shaken simply by bumping into her like this.

"I take it old Rum's been picking on you again?" she said.

"N-No... well yes, but that's not the problem. I thought I heard someone coming down... I was right. It was you... turns out."

"Was it? That's nice." Sierra listened a moment.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I just realised I can hear myself speak. Either Rum and Alex finally stopped arguing or we've got a funeral to go to. Well, at least the silence is one good reason to come back."

"W-well actually..." Henry indicated a yellow dumpster beside the track. By it's side stood the tall man, Alex, firmly watching over the tip like a guard at a palace gate. On closer inspection he'd actually just fallen into an upright snooze, resting against the wall to keep himself standing.

As most of their kind tended, he was another one rarely seen wearing anything but the same clothes. Unlike most of their kind he tended to vouch for less clothes over the average, slightly more sanity abiding, more clothes. Even in winter he continued wearing those same loose fitting white cargo pants, and the most bizarre of all things, a blue T-shirt at least one size too small. The man would rarely shiver, not often from fear and never from cold. He tended to have little to fear from the average thug, mostly because he often stood at least a foot taller than the average thug. Though dwarfing the lot of them in height, in weight even the puny Henry might match him. The stick like proportions of his arms and constant paleness would have some believe he might crack at the slightest breeze. They'd be wrong.

Sierra, now confident in the serenity of the station floor, sauntered gracefully toward Alex. "I see Alex is as lively as ever. Speaking of noise, where's Rum?"

Henry sent a suggestive nod to the dumpster. Rummaging from within answered her question. This notification brought the girl to an immediate halt.

"Still busy at work, I see," she said. "Is he still drunk?"

"A little."

A gravelly, aged voice began blaring out from within the dumpster. "Blondie! Blondie is that you? Where is that thick dyke?"

Alex, yet to open his eyes, replied to the old man, "She left ages ago. Right after you started your second bottle of whiskey."

"When was that?"

"Right after you threw the first one at her."

"Then where the hell did she go?"

"Said something about going to find other friends, better friends."

At once old Rum exploded from the dumpster, his green trench coat covered in the stains of everything he rolled around in. A banana peel sat on his shoulder like the cherry on a cake. Instinctively wiping the grit from his brown matted beard the old man turned to Alex, damningly reaching out the tip to grab him by the collar.

"She did what!?"

"She wanted to hang around with someone else," Alex replied calmly, blandly, or emotionlessly, as his general tone often sounded.

"That little bitch! After everything I do for her she goes stabbing me in the back like that. If I ever see her again I'll-"

"You'll what!?" Sierra snapped, stepping up to him with all intention to brawl.

"Blondie... I didn't mean... I mean... wait... what's that in your hand?"

"You've some cheek talking about me like that, like you're the god damn saviour of my life. I get along fine without you!"

"I said what's in your hand?"

"And another thing, you quit calling me Blondie right now. It wasn't even cute when I was a kid and it's less so now."

The nickname was something Rum thought up when he first found her at age ten, eleven years ago. No one other than those two really knew what it meant. People assumed it was simply because Sierra had blonde hair, a simple enough basis for most, they viewed it as an intellectual stretch for old Rum. He'd use it so much it became mutual even beyond this merry band of four she sometimes called her friends.

Ignoring her complaint, old Rum's words changed to another tune. "Okay... so you decided to come back, good for you. Can't blame me for thinking you ran away, you've got the rep for it. Now... onto the far more pressing matter." Led by a sniffing twitch of his nose, Rum waded his way toward her, body hanging out the tip like a plant in a flower pot. "What's that in your hand? Looks like a burger box... smells like a burger."

"Burgers tend to. Don't know what you're drooling about. You think you're getting some after everything you said? Maybe I'll have it all to myself, may even eat it right now." She articulated further by opening the container and dangling the burger above her mouth. "But maybe I'm not hungry... I've eaten loads already. An apology might fix the problem."

"Aw c'mon Blondie... I mean, Sierra. Give us a bite." Rum watched cautiously as the burger went closer and closer to her lips.

She bit through, swallowing a quarter in one mouthful. "Still some left if you want it. Beg harder."

"Little... bitch. You know damn well I don't beg."

"Had me fooled a second ago."

Rum began climbing awkwardly from the tip, his long sickly green trench coat wrapping around his own legs. Fumbling about in his own disgrace, he suddenly lunged for Sierra with all the grace of a polemic monkey. With a sneaky smack, he managed to clip her hat off before she ducked away.

"You little trollop! Stand still and take what you deserve!"

Rum clenched his fist with apparent intention to strike. For which he found himself crumbling on the spike of Sierra's knee. He crumbled down and in on himself, in the long groaning, bowing in prayer, won't be getting up for a while kind of way.

He found himself staring to the ground, and more importantly, at the burger which fell there. "The burger! You ruined my burger!" he declared, which proved enough to resurge that lost adrenaline. He tackled her from his downed state, taking her to the ground.

"So..." Alex said to Henry, the pair of them watching from above. "They're fighting over a cold dirty burger... it's finally come to this."

"Alex," Henry replied, looking up to him mournfully. "Can't you... stop them? You know?"

"Just a little longer," Alex said bearing a pleasured, yet somehow callous little half smile. Rum and Sierra's bickering often amused him, a rare trait for a man whose permanent tight lipped expression could frighten a small child.

"Alex..." Henry groaned, pleading.

"Fine. Come on you two, that's enough," Alex declared.

Grabbing Sierra by the scruff of the neck, he lifted her from the floor. Almost effortlessly he suspended her in mid-air. To look at, Alex was hardly a well-built man, but did have strong points where they mattered. His lanky height alone provided natural advantage over the common man. That's not to say he didn't have muscle, just that the muscle he had came tightly wrapped around lengthy stretches of bone.

In hope of freeing herself Sierra pulled his shaggy brown hair. Despite all her wailing, despite all her squirming, she subsided to his might. She simply lowered her head and released a defeated little noise, warm breath turning to steam on the cold winter air.

Rum picked himself up from the ground. Although indifferent to finishing the fight he grumbled at Alex for interfering, rubbing his jaw at the same time. He displayed a great deal of pain for a man with no marks on him. "I had her you know that."

Alex released Sierra. Landing prominently on her feet, she began brushing dirt from her tanned overcoat, the outer layer of her many tattered, heat insulated clothes.

Rum did the same, pretending it bothered him. "I'm the only one who went through the bins... I deserve a fucking burger at least."

"Then go eat your bin food," Sierra replied.

"No joy there," Alex said. "Looks like we were beaten to the punch, someone had this place cleared before we got here."

"I've searched all the bins and not a scrap," Rum added. "It's uncanny I say. Some other bums probably figured our routine and snatched it all first, either that or the staff cleared it. Now after all this she went and dropped the only food we have."

"You mean the only food I had!" Sierra replied.

Rum simply turned away to pick the burger up from the un-kempt station floor. The old man held it up. "Well I've eaten worse than this before."

"We haven't," Alex said. "Bins are cleaner than the ground here."

"Rum, let it go. You're such a dope," Sierra added.

More concerned with a roach clinging to the bun, Henry squelched his face in disgust. "Can you hold that down? It's making me sick."

"Stay quiet you damn dud, if you didn't have us here you'd probably be dead by now. Imagine having no one around to dust off the scary little bugs on your blankets before you go to bed at night," Rum teased, finishing with a taunting laugh.

"Ignore him, he misses the drink. Don't ya Rummy?" Alex said.

"What do you mean I miss the drink? Of course I miss it, but I'll knock your head in for saying it all the same, ya stupid weirdo."

Alex gave a blank stare at the sobering drunk. "You wouldn't do that. You couldn't even if you wanted to."

A flush of cold wind swept through the station. A shivering Henry pinned his glasses steady.

"Well... it's getting fairly cold now. Maybe we should head back to the shack."

"Henry's right," Sierra said. "I mean, by now the shelters would have closed up. Pretty soon some no good bum's gonna be looking for a little shut eye. We don't want anyone else to nick our shack on us do we?"

Detesting the thought of another foodless night, Rum argued, "Go home to bed? Not with my damn stomach. Don't sweat it, nobody's gonna rob it on us. Anyone who's anyone knows I'd knock their heads in."

"Well we can't stay out in this weather. Since you're so hungry maybe we should look for an open restaurant to hang out in for a while," Sierra suggested.

"We haven't the cash. Besides, there ain't no restaurant open at this time kid."

"The bars are closing around now," Alex mumbled in his distant sort of way. "Some places will still be open – with all the drunks out Rum might even blend in." Turning round to exit by the stairs Sierra came down from, he said back to them, "But you never know till you try. And yeah, I might have a bit of change left on me."

"Then why didn't you say so!" Sierra cried.

"I wanted to see Rum do funny things in bins."

Henry chased after Alex. "I–I'm, going to go with Alex."

Rum swallowed the last piece of the tainted burger and followed too, grumbling and scowling at Alex. "Yeah, see Rum in bins. Funny. Y'lanky ugly cunt."

***

As they travelled the cold air turned each movement to an agonising gruelling ache. Ice gradually froze in place of water and frost inched its way up the dustbins. Snow seemed definite to follow.

Through a series of indirect travelling they did come across one dilapidated wreck of a diner bearing a large open view window on the front wall. It was situated on a street corner beside a main road.

Luckily the place was empty. With any luck they might be tolerated here. One man worked the counter, a chubby Asian man in a brown suit. Head deep in file papers he showed little regard for the tramps. Either he couldn't tell what they were or simply didn't care – either would suffice. A brief narrowed glare did suggest a thin level of patience.

Upon receiving their orders they planted themselves on some conditionally cosy red leather seats centred round a fitting retro style table. All the while a television screen secured the snug atmosphere, flashing away on a high shelf in the corner. Its presence muted the in-hospitable chatter coming from the homeless bunch.

"Still the police have received no leads on who is responsible for the recent fires throughout the city. From across all spectrums of life in the city blame is being placed squarely on roaming gangs from less tangible areas of the city that are believed to be expanding their territory by intimidating smaller businesses. Despite this, police have ruled out these claims as 'crackpot theories,' rather choosing to focus on their hunt for an arsonist acting alone."

"In other news, police have sent out yet another appeal for information which might aid in catching the serial killer who has evaded them for so long now. It has been three years since the death of his first victim, Annette Lucille, in the Northern suburbs. Since that time five more victims have suffered at the hands of this monster. All six women were found with their clothes ripped off. Autopsies showed signs of sexual abuse while under the influence of a heavy stimulant..."

The report faded to an all but mute status on their inattentive ears. Unless it involved free money and food they didn't have much to care for in ways of local media.

The bums made sure to sit out of the way, at the rear of the room with their backs to the counter. It came like second nature to speak low and stay down when mingling with the upper echelons of society.

By any standards this place was a dive, a kip of no worth to the common man. And there in lay the beauty. Where the other diners sought to preserve a false image of nobility, places like these would turn a blind eye. In that atmosphere they ate and spoke low, in case the eye decided to see again. Getting some amount of money rarely proved a problem, finding a place to spend it was the tricky part.

They ordered soup and bread, treating it like rations in war time. Rum managed to sponge a litre bottle of cider out of Alex. It showed no match for the man's battle hardened gut, he drained it by half and the man gained not a swagger to his words. The drink came weak but free, he had no position to complain.

Henry wasn't big on bread. Often he would mention how when he was younger his mother fed it to him as though they had nothing else. In those days he'd turn it down in a snap. Those days were gone, and so too his options.

Amidst devouring his own slice, Rum caught wind of Henry's hesitance. "Bread too good for you? Better eat up. We're outta here soon, might just leave you behind."

"But Alex isn't finished either."

"Course he ain't finished, stupid weirdo never eats his fill, just sits there playing with it."

"I eat my fill, I just don't have your..." he eyed the soup stains on Rum's coat, "appetite."

"You're eating like a duck lately. Snap it up and let's be through. You know the kind of filth that come out around this time."

"Us?" Alex replied.

"Funny."

"I'll eat what I can as fast as I can. Can't help it... queasy stomach."

"Come on Alex, Rum's got a point," Sierra said, "the bars are about to close so you know what that means. Nine out of ten some little drunken brat's gonna start something."

"Little brat? Look who's talking." Rum laughed, straight up guzzling down another swag of cider.

"Of course, to you everyone under twenty is a kid. Whatever, at least I don't act like those idiots."

"You got a point, you're worse. And I don't think we need worry, last time some little punks tried start something I knocked their little heads in. Word spreads so I think they'll get the message."

"You knocked their heads in... with a bat, if I recall."

"Well yeah, normally I wouldn't need a weapon but there were about six of them. I didn't see you three doing much neither... especially Henry."

Still nibbling on a loaf, Henry hoisted his head. "Well, it's not like I was avoiding it. The fight was over before I noticed. I was... busy."

"Busy hiding!"

"Leave it alone, Rum," Alex said, with a cough at the end.

"Quit mixing up the story y'old fool, as I recall I was the one who dived in on them. They had you down and I saved your ass," Sierra said.

"I'm not old. I'm only in my forties for Christ's sake. And of course you'd get in there, you're a girl. You don't seriously think they'd put up a real fight against you. Makes sense they'd go easier on you."

Sierra rolled her eyes. "I doubt the drunken mob saw things from your perspective." She bit into her bread." Lucky bastards being able to go out on the piss like that, all that money on a bit of fun. Wish we could get cash like that. Soup and bread has its good points but with their weekend change I'd buy everything on the menu – just for one night."

Rum eyed her somewhat plump exterior. "You'd think you have already. From the look of you I'd say you've got a secret hoard somewhere."

"And some brand new clothes," she continued, ignoring Rum. "If I could afford those then I probably wouldn't be too bothered with all this."

"What's the point? A week and they'd be wrecked again," Rum jested. "Besides, we're tramps, even with cash the shops would throw us out the moment our stench caught upwind."

Alex raised hand to chin. "Yet we're lucky." The comment attracted everyone's gaze. "In a poorer country we'd be fairly well off, being a tramp over here is better than being a village chief in Somalia."

A protruding silence pierced the air. If confusion had a sound it would be the blinking eyes around this table, staring forth awaiting logic behind the comment. It came upon Rum to beg a reason.

"Yeah that's real nice to hear. Village chief!? What the hell has that to do with anything? Forget it. You're just a damn weirdo, always coming up with this shit. You're only twenty-something and you act like some old man with his head half buried in books. The hell did you do before all this anyway? Bet you were crazy with the ladies."

In part he wasn't sure if Rum intended to ask that as a real question, or if he was just spouting more random nonsense. Taking the latter option Alex put his head down and drifted back to silence.

Rum snapped, "Hey weirdo, wake up, that was an actual question!"

"What's to know? I've told you before and you never believe me."

"Because it's obvious as hell you made that story up."

"Well that's the truth. If you don't believe me then that's your problem."

"Yeah sure, that's all there is. It doesn't add up."

Feeling out of the loop, Henry sat forward to say, "No one ever said anything to me about it."

"Nobody ever tells you anything. Period."

"Leave it out, Rum. Fine, I'll go over it again. Maybe you can cross check it with what I've already told you before. I imagine you've some notebook for this stuff since you're so interested."

"Don't need one, got it all jogged down in my noggin," Rum said. "Mister silent Al' here says he was thinking about dropping out of college to work on his writing career-"

"You were a writer?" Henry interrupted. "I love stuff like that, back before I was, y'know, not homeless, I always tried thinking up new stories for comic books. I even..."

Rum's knuckles tightened. His face reddened. "Why have I never hit you? I'm talking here so shut up. Anyway, so he finds this agent offering all these grand promises of fame."

"He charged me monthly. At that time I was living in a single room flat so it drained my pockets pretty bad. But after everything he promised... how could I not?"

"And when the money ran dry the agent turned on him. Suddenly the masterpiece became second rate toilet paper."

"That might have been the case from the start. The worst part is I never found out."

"But the plot thickens... When our good friend Alex went to get his manuscripts back, the agent had cleared out – gone with the stories too."

"He could have left them for me at least. I don't know what happened to them, or even why he took them. Maybe he did see something worth taking after all, or maybe he just wanted to give me one last dig in the stomach. It did it for me anyway. He took the money I needed to survive then stripped me of my life's work. Things fell through from there."

Sierra leaned forward with interest. "Makes sense, he got ripped off. It happens."

"That's not what he has a problem with," Alex stated, in an attempt to put Rum's point to better focus.

"You're damn right it's not. Listen, I lost my job and family in an accident at work, Blondie was abandoned, and the Dud-"

"S-stop calling me that," Henry pleaded.

"-Hit low when his shop or something burned down last year, and most likely he didn't have anyone to fall back on, being a loser and all."

Henry murmured on the side, "I had friends. I just... didn't want to bother them. It's just... at that stage I was too old to hang onto people. And my parents died... then my brother went to Africa."

Rum feigned a punch at Henry. "I thought I told you to shut up!" He focused back on Alex. "But you, you never smelt like no outcast and your family ain't poor. I know that college you went to and it wasn't no chump school, I know that for sure. Now I accept you've been a lazy bum since the day you were born so that means mommy and daddy must have foot the bill. Why not fall back on them?"

Alex sipped his soup. "Check it out, detective Rum leaps into action. Shame the drink rots his mind. I've told you before, I was an orphan most of my life – I didn't even have foster parents. My college spree was funded by a second chance charity foundation. I don't know, I guess they thought I was smarter than the average bug."

"Smart men don't beat total strangers half to death."

"That was different. It was one of my first nights on the street... as a bum. I was on my own and the guy started giving me hassle. I lost it."

"If me and Blondie hadn't found you, you'd probably have finished it. That was the night we met, since then I've always known there was something different about you. That bogus back story just confirms it."

"I remember that night," Sierra said. "Alex was the first guy we ever took back to our shack. Rum was so suspicious he stayed up all night clutching a baseball bat. He'd jump a mile if Alex so much as rolled in his sleep."

"Pleasant days," Alex said. "And he still doesn't trust me."

"I trust you, I just don't like you."

Rum frowned his distaste at Alex, who returned it in kind. The staring match brought about a sudden quite. At once they realised how loud they'd been speaking.

A bell over the entrance rang out. Hand in hand an elderly couple entered with a titter of laughter. They stopped at once to sight the miscreants in the rear corner. The old woman's halt settled into a slow retreat, but her husband waved a reluctant hand as if to let it slide.

"Well, that oughta do it for us," Rum said.

Even though the couple ordered their food and sat down anyway, their hesitation to enter had caught the manager's attention, and lowered his tolerance level. He remained fixated on the tramps until the next customer entered.

It was a short, skinny middle aged man, drunk and staggering. From the way the manager greeted him he appeared to be a regular customer. From the way he grimaced at the tramps then whispered close to the manager's ear, he might have been a valued one. Whatever he said, it looked like a marching order.

Almost at once the manager's shadow fell over their table. He acted discretely at first, sweeping up crumbs and spilt soup they hadn't yet eaten. Like a cat lashing for a rat his gaze landed upon Rum.

"So, did you enjoy your meal? You've nurtured it so long I imagine it must be too much for you." He sighed as if building to something. "I've been accommodating to you. You should know we don't usually take in... your kind like this. It looks like things are about to pick up and you're making the guests nervous. So if you wouldn't mind..."

Henry reacted first, pronging to his feet and stuttering apologetically to the door. Alex followed with a gentle sigh. With Sierra at his back, Rum didn't budge.

"Other guests?" he cried. "There's only three people!"

"You smell like shit!" a new voice cried from the background. "And you look like shit! Stupid bums."

It came from that skinny little drunk man. He sat hanging off his chair with a damning fist raised.

Rum pushed past the manager. "You think you're better than me you little son of a bitch!? Come here and say it to my face!"

The words reached him. Within seconds Rum and the drunk were locked hand to hand in combat with the manager scrambling to pry them apart. Out of pure cheek Sierra piled over Rum's back, reached over the manager, and began smacking the drunk man's head.

All the while Alex and Henry watched this commotion through the open view window outside. By then the fight degraded into a display of tumbling and muffled threats. The manager's threat came through loudest.

"We've called the police. They'll be here any minuet! They don't side with bums so you better leave now!"

Alex scrunched up at the words. They oozed with a familiar truth he knew all too well. When one is set against the other, police tend to side with wealth over the deprived. He found his fist tightening, mind racing with memories. He thought of charging back into the diner. He'd show them what a bum can do. His foot hardly moved an inch when he heard Rum's voice right beside him.

"We going?" he said, rubbing his shoulder to health.

"You stopped fighting?"

Sierra followed Rum. "Sure we did. No point getting arrested over it. Time we headed home anyway."

On her lead they strolled away from the diner, cutting through a back road to avoid any main routes. The bars had closed, and that meant swarms of drunken louts were currently en-route home. Amazing the amount of attention a bum could get simply by standing on a brightly lit side walk. Drink did it to them mostly. So many people would come staggering from the bars eager for fights. Bums tended to be easy targets, and old Rum tended to be an easily swayed one.

Their back road travels came under guidance from illuminating street lights, flickering ominously against the darkened slabs of stone they called home. This was the only time one could appreciate this dump of a city for what it truly was, a dark dump of a city.

Any fool knew it a bad idea to thread these back roads at this time of night. Muggings were an all too common occurrence and few people could walk without fear. These tramps, however, got along just fine. The threat factor came severely reduced since the main culprit resided in their own group. Sierra had been mugging since she was ten, and since then her skills provided a major source of income. Getting money rarely proved a problem, finding a place to spend it was the tricky part.

Sierra kicked an empty beer can along the ground. "So sick of those people, who do they think they are throwing us out like that? It's not like they're so special to be eating in a kip like that."

"Maybe we should be more lenient toward them next time," Alex said. "If you think about it we get most of our money from people like them, one way or the other. I suppose it sort of evens things out."

"Like karma," Henry added.

"That's nothing to do with it. It's just how people work. They put us down because they can. They cut us so we cut them back, always repeating \- nothing more. "

"Aye, we spent the last of our cash in there, and the cider wasn't even worth the price. I'm drunk, but just barely. Never even got through all of it, I hate leaving drink behind."

"That all you think about?" Sierra asked.

"What else should I think about, being thrown out? I don't care any more. Don't tell me you're not used to it by now?"

"Sometimes I expect different. I suppose we'll have to work up more cash now too. It's so unfair. Sometimes those people make me so angry."

Her words died upon the hollow sound of tapping footsteps. A loan stranger came walking from a turn off ahead. He staggered to and fro, struggling to button up his brown suede jacket. He muttered to himself with a lowered head. He crossed the road without care for traffic. There walked a man whose long hard day had finally come to an end. A man beaten into self withdrawal, a man half full on liquor to move quickly. The man had a bull's eye on his head.

Sierra fixated upon him, a callous little half smile present on her lips. "Poor fool. He has no idea what he looks like."

"What's that?" Alex asked.

"Fresh meat."

"Not again. Please don't do it, Sierra," Henry pleaded, settling back upon noting the greedy mark of devotion glazing in her eyes. "At least... don't hurt him."

"Relax Henry, he won't even notice."

Sierra ushered her friends behind a stack of bins. "Hide in here and stay low."

They couldn't help but peak out to watch her bear down like a fearless hunter. She moved slowly for stealth, yet faster than the mark.

Fluidly, Sierra planted her wrist inside the stranger's pocket, snatching whatever she felt first. By time he could react she was already too far away.

Henry stayed out in plain sight unlike the others who bolted behind cover on the first chance. He couldn't help but watch this lone figure draped in shadow, his empty silence consuming the quiet of a bitter winter night. For a brief moment he looked straight at Henry who in turn stared back. The man un-flexed his shoulders and vanished down the path he walked.

"Sorry," Henry whispered.

"Henry!" he heard Sierra call behind him. "You let him see you?"

"Does it matter?" Rum said coming out of hiding. "Guys like that won't report it anyway. Get to the good stuff already."

Sierra tore the wallet open, scuffling through the compartments like a rodent sniffing grease stains. "And we have... some loose change. Fuck all. Great."

"There's a reason good targets aren't this easy," Rum said.

"Maybe the wallet could be worth something, I don't know," Sierra added.

"Decide later. I hear standing around the scene of the crime isn't the best way to avoid detection," Alex said. "Maybe it's time we went home."

Home was a broody little shack in Middle Park, positioned under a Great Oak just off the central intersection. The residence itself, the thing they called a house, was nothing but a box bound together with eerily balancing planks. They acted as support beams for the flat board roof, which provided little cover from the seeping drips through the intricate design of no appeal. Rum designed it, but if he knew anything about designing he wouldn't be homeless.

Beyond their slender board walls, in the vastness of the park, general yelling and meaningless singing raved from the bushes to their ears. Noises like that usually indicated all the drunks were shifting their asses to the park, either that or some other bums were lucky enough to land a beer keg.

Henry listened closely to those noises. Those somehow threatening noises that always sounded closer than they were, as though a siege-force of assholes and drinkers were taking position around this worthless little castle they called home. He tried drowning out the sounds by pushing closer to his group. They sat encircled around a small kettle fire, its smoke drifting out their curtain of a doorway, and anywhere else it could.

Rum vented some distaste upon Henry. The space around was tight enough without him shoving in. At least the added body heat provided some comfort. A certain amount of warmth they'd soon need considering the sparkles of snow passing through the cracked roof – a small sign of things to come.

Henry looked into the steel kettle set atop the flame. "H-hey... I'm all for tea but does it really have to be made from weeds and... whatever that is?" He made reference to a large black seed like object bubbling around in the water.

"Yeah sure, let's open that bag of Thai tea shall we? Or perhaps you'd rather I baked a biscuit for the entrée? Tea is made of plants and herbs so we made this from plants and... that." In a sly cough the old man added, "Stupid dud. Go to sleep and quit bothering everyone."

Henry quickly slinked away from the argument. Redirected back to the corner of the shack, he dipped his head into a scrapped comic book he'd earlier found binned.

Rum coughed yet again. "Hey Alex, I think I'm getting your cold."

Alex formed a slight grin which collapsed on the end of his words. "I don't think you could."

Rum stared dryly. "Why's that? You gonna explain or just blank out like you always do?"

"The second one."

"Fuckin' weirdo."

Alex made an effort to ditch Rum by acknowledging Henry. "Hey Henry, what you reading over there?"

"Don't ignore me, cunt."

Henry popped his head from the pages. "This? It's a comic."

Rum massaged his own head for Henry's lacking intelligence. The action was an otherwise unacknowledged attempt bring attention back upon himself.

"I meant what type of comic is it?" Alex asked again.

"Oh, sorry... It's just an old one I found in a bin outside a comic store. It's called... Legion Man."

"I remember that, it was ok in its day, until they kept coming up with the same old predictable story lines. You know the kind: hero saves the day from the clutches of the evil villain, only to get the girl at the end for some reason or another. I suppose when an idea becomes marketable it becomes a risk to change it."

Rum squinted dryly. "You know, I really don't care. Other people have to live here too and we're not all into that comic book crap. The hell is your problem anyway? A big guy like you shouldn't be into that kiddy stuff. When I saw you first I never figured you for a comic nerd. You seemed a little too psychotic."

"That's just ignorant. Comics aren't for kids any more than books or movies. Many comics have been considered too violent for our shores."

"You tell him to stop but it just gets worse. I don't know whether to roll over and go to sleep or put you to sleep." Rum mumbled under breath, "Weirdo, such a bloody weirdo. Always talking about shit nobody cares about."

"They'd do a lot more for our imaginations if more people read them. Many comics contain stories more complex and unique than much of what is brought to our screens and book shelves."

"Do you rehearse this stuff or something?"

"No. It's fair to say a large portion of the movies we see are based on comic books alone. I may not be so far off in saying that comic books are the defining entertainment media of our age."

"Pretty pictures."

"Maybe some people read them for the art but I've always read them for the stories. I've always been impressed by them as far back as I can remember. I used to be so pulled down by the way our society manufactures books and movies these days that it killed any motivation I had to become a writer. Comics gave me my own way of writing, my own style that could have only been inspired by them. That's why I started writing in the first place. Without comics I-"

"You wouldn't be here," Rum interrupted.

"That's not the point. They gave me a flare of originality I didn't feel in the rest of our society. Their creativity is..."

"Right, it's creativity, excuse me. Look at this, I'm taking career guidance from a bum."

"You'll never get it. Your deadbeat brain has aged too much I guess."

"Quit back talking. An overgrown man-child freak has no place to be back talking."

"I gave up caring about the things you call people long ago."

The old bum formed a frown. "Quit caring? Of course you care, you're just one of those people who keep it all inside until you burst, like a true freak."

In an effort to shut Rum up, Sierra said, "I guess most of you people really are like that."

Alex returned a questioning frown.

"Writers. You people always seem so closed off you never seem to know what to do when confronted directly. You just hold it all in."

"That's not true."

"Then there's that other quality they have... how they have to point out how they're right and everyone else is wrong, and if they're proven wrong they'll say you don't know what you're talking about and secretly loathe you till they get bored. That's why you should never put too many writers in the same room. They're kind of like cats. I guess all artists must be like that to some degree."

"Sounds like your confusing writers in general with someone you knew."

"My dad... at least my foster dad, my third foster dad. He used to be a writer. His name was John, he used to talk like that a lot, about how our western society is caving at the seams. Stupid stuff now that I think of it but it made me feel kind of dumb at the time. I always get that about writers, they seem to know it all like that."

"That why you ran away from him?" Alex asked.

Rum shuffled as if to smack Alex for the question. He settled once Sierra showed signs of answering.

"John killed himself. That's why I left. After Dad number three went bye bye I just gave up looking. I walked out and never went back. Couldn't really go anywhere else so I ended up here. Wish I were nicer to him now. Everyone else had abandoned him yet I didn't bat an eye. Too late now... I guess. I was only ten back then. Now I'm almost twenty and still weeping."

"We can hang onto these feelings through all these years... and still the world keeps spinning. Next thing you know the day you figure out how to fix things is years too late," Alex said.

Sierra choked her sadness down, forcing out a smile. At once she sprang up from her beer crate seat. "Look at this!" she spoke in raised spirits. "I've actually managed to drag you miserable bunch of saps lower than you already are. Maybe it's time I went out for some air before I pull you any further." She made for the exit. "Don't wait up."
Chapter 2

It was one of those nights not really worth sleeping through anyway. Not that it mattered, not like she had any place to be in the morning.

Sierra went to a pond at the centre of the park, seating along the grassy banks. Lamps brightened the stone path around, their rippling glow settling upon glassy water.

She had said those things though she tried to restrain herself. Now she found herself perched on cold grass, head bustling with thoughts of a dead man, her foster father, John. She'd withheld the memory so long it flushed free upon a words encouragement. In that moment, she realised the memories never stopped and never really went away. And it burned, knowing what she did to him.

General coughing and sneezing broke out from the panorama of trees surrounding the pond, sounds of homeless kin sleeping amongst the damp shelter of their bark entwined hostels. Those sounds acted as clear territorial signals to those who knew better, for the odd passer-by they were no more than the howls of mange ridden dogs. The park was a popular hub for castaways, therefore dangerous for all sorts.

Sierra looked around to address the rustling of a bush.

An old tramp came stumbling out. His face bore more dents and wrinkles but he was just a little older than Rum. Unapologetically, he plonked down beside her, whiskey bottle cupped in hand. He spoke in a drifting liquored up sort of tone.

"Nice night for the drink, eh Sierra?"

She shifted a glance to his greasy face and up-curled side hair. "Not now, Len - sort of busy."

"You're sitting by the pond doing naught. Got your head full of thoughts?"

"I'm just preoccupied, okay."

Len waved the whiskey bottle. "Nothing a nice shot of this can't fix, moments ago I was ready to jump in this pond, now I'm fit as a fiddle."

Sierra figured it a bad idea, speaking to another homeless person while depressed. Jumping into the pond was a bit of a trend around here, and some would jump at the chance to bring another with them. Alcohol tended to shake that ill-spirit, making them reasonably more bearable if not harder to understand. At least this way conversation tended to be slightly less pitiful.

"Nothing beats a nice warm one on a night like this," Len continued. "So what are ya doin' for Christmas?"

She rolled her eyes. "Same as I always do, Len."

"Eh? Then what are ya getting?"

"Same as I always do Len."

"Ah, now I got ya." He took another sip.

Despite the mood, she feigned a certain kindness by sealing her lips. At least she hadn't hit him yet, which was the usual reception for nosy strangers. Not that old Len could be called a stranger. He just wasn't part of their group.

Len gasped out a cough, and with it every bad stench one or a few men could have in their gums.

Sierra fell away with a jump to her feet. "Len! I'm sure it wouldn't hurt to at least skive a stick of gum off someone."

"Why gum when you can get food?"

"Or at least shove a bar of soap in your trap. Christ, vomit would do against that!"

After a belch he added, "Aw, yer sweet ta say that." His grasp on reality clearly slipped some.

She watched the old fool slink calmly backwards. Even as his body limped into slumber he managed to hold the drink without spilling. It was a subconscious trick acquired through habit, so un-conscious he probably didn't know he could do it. Waste of a trick really, whenever she saw Rum do it he'd just spill it the moment he woke. A few things about Len reminded her of old Rum. The way he cupped his drink, the brown trench coat which might have once been green, and a grey beard which might have once been young. It was hardly rare to find similarities. Look down any alley and an old Rum lay cradled against the wall. He could hardly be called a trademarked figure, at least on the outside. She knew Rum better than most, better than Alex and Henry knew him. She'd known him long before those two showed up, since she was ten. He would work hard, from time to time, but when failure struck he'd dive back to the bottle – he did try, sometimes. She had clung to him as a sort of father figure, a lousy one under any other circumstance. He did do the trick, even if they did take the piss out of each other.

It is almost Christmas. Maybe she could get him something this year round. Then again, Alex and Henry would probably want something too. Actually, Alex would probably turn it down and Henry would feel too awkward to ask.

"It could work," she thought aloud, as though unable to hear thoughts over Len's snoring. "John, maybe this year I can make it up to you too."

With a nod of farewell, she idled away from Len. Hands tucked into her pockets, she touched the wallet she stole earlier. To distract her thoughts she took it out to appraise its value, which immediately plummeted the moment she noticed the words 'to daddy from Emma' stitched into what might have been real leather. The tacky inside compartments cast doubt on any hope of that. She thought it might have been real satin at first but under the pale glow of lamplight she could see straight through the material. Straight through, and inside. There was something hidden inside the wallet, blackening through under the light. "Money... you sneaky man," Sierra said proudly.

Without risking too much damage she found the slit used to put it inside. It wasn't money. It was a piece of paper with words scribbled all over.

Standing at a halt, she read it word for word. Her fingers tightened the edges of the sheet. Her heart skipped a beat, setting her body into a shiver which prompted her to cease reading. She didn't need to read all of it. She'd read it all before.

***

Rum, Henry, and Alex waited back in the shack. Rum tucked in closer to the fire in an attempt to catch what pieces of warmth he could. The snow had begun to pick up. It fluttered through their defences, drabbing the flame away. While Rum struggled to hold it, Henry and Alex had retired to their sack like beds.

Rum held his palms over it as though blocking out the cold. "Will you idiots lean closer? We gotta keep it lit."

"It's gone, Rum. Let it die," Alex muttered, distant in his attempt to sleep.

"Quit being a lazy bastard. If we keep it up now we can make it last the night. No point freezing for no good reason."

"Just go to sleep and you won't feel it."

"That's what I'm afraid of. We go to sleep in this cold we won't wake up."

Alex wrapped the blanket around his ears. "Be sure to let us know if we do. If you want a fire tend it yourself. I'm sure there's some dry sticks outside if you look hard enough."

"To hell with that... Blondie can do it when she gets back. Come to think of it, she's been gone a while."

As if in response, Sierra burst in with dramatic flare, before tripping over a beer case seat and landing knee first into Rum's groin. He released a harrowing roar which consumed the moment.

Henry stirred awake with weary eyes. "Did something kill Rum?"

"A little... just a little bit," Alex replied, sitting up with a grim little smile. It quickly broke into laughter.

Slouched on knees, the old man cried, "What the hell is wrong with you!?"

"Quit bitching and look at what I found."

To see better, Sierra re-lit the fire by tossing some pocket junk in. She took a piece of paper from her pocket.

"Good, you found some money. At last some news I'd like to hear," Rum said prematurely.

"There's no money."

The old man let his graceful expression fall. He slouched back and folded his arms like a punished child.

"I found this hidden in the wallet I stole. There's something else written on it."

She passed the note around. From each there came a show of unease, a shrug or an averted head to avoid eye contact. Their reactions hinted of stunted sentiment, yet more so of immediate dismissal. These men hardly held the reins on their emotions. It was a fact apparent on their faces, burned into their eyes as they read that disquieting little note:

'Another day gone and nothing's changed. Maybe you'll think I'm dropping this all on you. Truth is, you're the only one left that might care what happens to me these days... sad as it might be. You know things haven't been good since my sister died. I've been trying to get over what happened to Ann, but it just keeps gnawing at the back of my mind in everything I try do. Some days I can't even leave my room. With everything that's happened, there's no surprise my last bit of money is spent. I can't pay rent any more. With all the debt I've racked up I think I've made more enemies this weak than I've made my entire life.

All my chances are up.

'I went to see that crook Jack Matters. He was in the usual place, that black bookies in one of his buildings around Middle-Park. Thought it might be a good place to discuss my loan. I wanted to give it to him straight. Don't worry, his goons won't hassle you and Emma any more. Two days till Christmas and all I had to do in my life was hop a bus cross city to see some old dirty mobster. Figures, I should be alone in my life.

'I guess I don't have anything left to say... or do any more. I'd like to ask you to tell Emma I love her, but that might be asking too much. Maybe it's better she forget about me. Emma deserves a better father. I never want her to know her father was a loser like me. And I know it's New Year's Eve, a time for happiness and new beginnings, and I don't want to drag this down on you.

But goodbye.

John.

XXX'

When their appraisals ceased, the room paused for time to let it sink in. The silence came accompanied by the blinking of dim-witted eyes.

The sensitive scene shattered upon Rum's first word. "Yeah, it's a New-Year's suicide note, so what? Plenty of them I'm sure." Coughing awkwardly, he slouched back to his place.

Sierra rolled her eyes. "That's right Rum, I really did expect you of all people to care, because you're such a softy."

"This must be quite strange for you, Sierra," Alex spoke as if thinking aloud.

"Tell me about it, it's strange for all of us," Rum replied. "But it's common at this time of year. Happens all the time and it sure as hell ain't our business."

"We find this note on the same night Sierra tells us about her foster father's suicide, and you don't see anything in that?"

"That's why they're called coincidences."

"Coincidences are cheap and unnoticeable. This is something else."

"You talking about some divine plan? Don't bring up any of that fate crap around me. I don't buy that shit."

"It looks like his," Sierra said with two bright expressive eyes, the added effect may have been to get on the old man's nerves or push him toward empathy. "It looks just like my foster father's note. They even have the same bloody name! It's like a joke! A sick little joke!"

"Maybe it means something," Alex said.

"It means somewhere up there some sick bearded man on a cloud is going to get a cheap laugh out of us," Sierra stated.

"Going to?" Rum asked. "What's that supposed to mean? Nobody's 'going to' do anything about this."

"Hate to say it but you did want that second chance, Sierra," Alex said.

Rum held up a stern index finger. "Don't you start. I mean it. Don't."

Alex was right. Sierra figured that after reading the note first. She'd not spoken of her foster father in the longest time. John killed himself some thirteen years ago, not long before Christmas. Since then she'd not uttered his name until now. And now another one would fall her way, at this time of year of all times of year.

"Second chances don't come easy," she said as if to herself.

It didn't stop Rum from hearing. "Aw shit, she's got that weird look in her eye."

"Rum, you're not saying you want to leave him are you?" she argued.

"Leave him? Nah, I'm for the plan that involves us doing as little as possible. Try giving it in to someone if you're so concerned. Let someone else handle it. The cop shop stays open through New Year. It's their job to deal with stuff like this."

"The cops don't handle these things. They wouldn't even be able to find him. There's no address, not even a second name."

"Then what do you expect us to do?" Rum asked.

She put her head down in deeper thought.

Alex brought forth a solution. "What about that building he mentions in the note... the one owned by someone called Jack Matters. That mean anything to anyone?"

"Jack Matters?" Sierra pondered the name. "There... is a place called something like that around here. Whenever I hear any of the other bums talk about debt that name usually follows."

"Any idea where it is?" Alex asked.

"Kind of. Shouldn't be too hard to find if it's in the area."

"What's there to find?" Rum said. "According to the note the owner's a book keeper by day and a loan shark at night. Someone like that ain't going to help."

"We won't make a show of it. We'll just ask if they know who he is and where to contact him. Idle conversation, that's all."

"It's a small start but it's something, "Alex added. "He also indicates he lives outside the city centre."

"Yeah that sure narrows it down. Christ, what the hell is wrong with you people, why do you even care?"

"I've always thought it's better to help when you can."

"And look where that got you."

"I'll get back on my feet."

"You're kidding yourself. It's always the ones who say that who never do. Trust me, I know a few, and never once-"

"You kid yourself with doubt, old Rum."

"Shut up ya freak, and cut out that philosophical crap, it doesn't make you look cool."

"We have the power to do something here."

"Do we? For all we know this guy has hopped to it already."

Sierra stated, "Well, we did just see him a few hours ago. He did look pretty wasted but I doubt he went straight to it. Would seem like a waste of a suicide note."

"Listen Rum," Alex continued, "look at the note. Today is the 23rd of December, that's when he repaid the loan. He obviously only wrote this note today, after repaying the loan. In the final section he says 'I know it's New Year', That's when he intends to carry it out. That's eight days from tomorrow morning."

"And in this eight days you want to follow bread crumbs, vague misleading bread crumbs?"

"If it helps."

"You're just another stupid charity boy, bet you never threw me any change when you were all happy in your college years."

Sierra shrieked to rid these childish exchanges. "Be quiet! Will the two of you shut the hell up? We're not going to solve anything arguing so why not put it down to vote? Alex and I say we should do something about this, and of course you say we shouldn't."

At once a ray of attention swarmed upon Henry.

The lad cringed back, shielding himself beneath his blanket. "I... You want me to decide?"

"It's two to one," Alex stated. He hoped Henry would side with morality over his own minute sense of adventure, which was to say none.

Henry looked over at Rum who upheld a threatening stare with grinding teeth. Then he looked back to Sierra who sat there with a set of two wide, needy cerulean eyes. Then he turned to Alex, as he sat there, expressionless as ever.

Pulling back a deep breath, Henry closed his eyes and said, "I-I think we... should..."

Chapter 3

"Lousy Dud," old Rum moaned, kicking ice along this sleet washed pathway.

It wasn't really what they were doing that annoyed him. It was how Sierra insisted they leave first thing next morning. The biting pre-dawn chill in the air did little to boost morale.

Apparently this shop lay some two or three blocks away, near enough to where Sierra stole the wallet in the first place. Normally a journey such as this wouldn't be a bother, except snowfall picked up the moment they set out. Steam from sewers ensured it reverted to liquid before solid placement could be maintained. It resulted in a brown sludgy sleet scattered around in places.

Henry already showed signs of regretting his own decision. "Are we nearly there yet?" he asked.

"You keep asking and I keep saying I'm not sure," Sierra said.

"Well you said it wouldn't take too long."

"I said I wasn't sure." Sierra took another look at the note as if to reaffirm. "Let's see, the shop is called... Jack Matters? Is it? I think that's it. The handwriting's so sloppy... like a child's. If my thinking's straight there's a place called that somewhere around here. Can't be coincidence."

"Great, our only clue is a guess riding on another guess," Rum said.

"And we'll really be walking the whole way there?" Henry asked, slinking inwards as if the combination words alone brought fatigue.

"Well what do you suppose we do? Not like we got the money for a bus. We wouldn't have to do any of this if you'd just sided with me in the first place."

"Don't listen to him Henry, he's trying to trick you," Sierra said.

"What about hitch-hiking?" Henry suggested.

"What sorry shit would pick up a pack of filthy beggars like us?" Rum stated.

"Hey, I don t beg," Sierra protested.

"Either do I, but a lot of people would consider hanging around restaurants waiting for the next mound of garbage to come, as begging."

Henry coughed. "Smoke!"

"If I had any you wouldn't get one," the old man snapped.

Alex sniffed the breeze. "He means there's smoke in the air. There's quite a bit, something's burning."

They waited for a sign as if standing in wait for sunrise. It came on the horizon, a rim of flame consuming the dark morning sky. The orange glow rose over rooftops nearest to them, the smoke went up from there.

Alex pointed at it. "Looks like it's just on the other side of those buildings."

Standing staring like the others, Sierra mumbled, "Well... it is close by. Someone might be hurt."

"Just some old building, I'm sure the cats got out fine," Rum said.

Alex walked toward it without another word.

Sierra followed Alex. "It couldn't hurt to check, Rum."

"What d'ya mean it couldn't hurt!? It's a bloody fire!"

Rum followed regardless. They cut through two alleys before arriving on the correct street, a main road lined with mundane box shaped buildings. It looked like a normal street, save one burning building decorating the morning air.

The atmosphere was one of eerie quiet, as though the villagers up and ran on the first sign of danger. It was still early, perhaps no one noticed yet, or perhaps no one cared. According to news reports mysterious fires were plenty common in this area. A gangland strife hung over the territory and local retailers often found themselves suffering in its wake. Whatever their reasons, the scene was one fire brigade short. This community bound neighbourhood seemed unlikely to resolve that issue.

The four homeless vented thoughts for a plan opposite the burning building. Sounds of collapse and rising sparks ticked like egg timer sand. Even with a wide road between they couldn't help feel powerless against the flaring foreground.

Rum stared it down like a rodent to a cat's gaping jaw. "So... any bright ideas? I'd suggest throwing cups of water but we can't even afford those."

Sierra stopped in a phase of deep broad eyed thought. "You know, I'm pretty sure that place we're looking for was on this street. I don't see it anywhere else so..."

Henry shuffled closer to the structure, listening ears pulling in what he could. "Does anyone hear a voice in there? I think I hear a voice. Someone's in there."

"Not a chance. Nobody could survive in there," Rum said.

Lifting his coat against the heat, Henry braved nearer yet again. "It is a voice! Someone's calling out!"

It came barely audible at first, a low muffled cry of someone who hardly could. It peaked to a point of greater notice then died to nothing.

Rum sniffed as if to ignore it. "It's too early. The place wouldn't even be open. Nobody would be in there."

"I hear someone too," Alex said, directing everyone's attention to a lane way leading to a side entrance to the building. "The side gate's been left open. Someone went in there recently.

Sierra stepped nearer to Henry and the burning building. "Hope you're sure about this. We'll probably have to do something."

"I saw this in a movie once - the hero dies," Rum said.

"It wouldn't be right. We can't walk away if there's someone trapped," Sierra protested.

Rum stroked his beard in contemplation. "Wait for the fire brigade. It's their job, not ours."

"If they're planning on coming they'll be a while. It doesn't even look like anyone's noticed this yet. Rum, can't you do something?"

Rum backed off with hands up for defence. "To hell I say. I ain't got nothing to do with this."

"Alex?" she pleaded.

He didn't respond, as though unable to hear over sounds of caving wood amidst the rasping blaze. A twitched glance at Sierra betrayed his sincerity.

Trapped in hopelessness, she yelled at the top of her voice, "Hello! Is anyone in there!? Can you hear me!?

"That ain't gonna work, kid."

"At least she's trying to do something," Henry yelled.

"That so? I don't see you doing anything so don't start saying shit like that to me. You're the biggest pussy I've ever known so shut up and stay shut up."

"I'm... not afraid."

His own words forced him into an upright stance of realisation. A rush of adrenaline flushed through his blood, strengthening his bones. It wasn't so much adrenaline but a memory of another time, another fire in another place.

He mumbled to himself, "Leon ran away... and someone died."

His eyes locked on the side entrance. The concrete surface of the lane remained clear of fire. He found his legs moving without consent. He found himself plunging into the narrow passage. Behind, he could hear Sierra cry out for him:

"Henry, what are you doing you twat!?"

Her words faded to a muffled call under the crunching rasp of burning wood. It looked so easy from afar and for a moment Henry hesitated to turn back. The lane might have been clear but tips of flame dripped out like greedy hands stabbing at something to latch onto. Pulling his jacket over his head he rushed near blind until slamming against the end wall. He used his hands to push off and break through a door to the right. Fortunately it had been weakened by the heat or else he would have found himself bouncing straight back.

He ploughed through and landed flat on the floor, from where he glanced around. Flames tapered the room in an ominous glow, blocking paths and shrouding whatever persons waited inside. The interior seemed due to collapse into a scaffold topped pile of rubble.

Standing to a hunch, he coughed for choking smoke. "Hello! I can't see very well - say something, please!"

It felt useless. The blaze alone grew far too raucous for anyone to hear. He could hardly hear himself.

"Please," he coughed, "answer."

Fallen to his knees, the concrete floor singed his palms. His heart grew weaker, regret and doubt choked that adrenaline dry. He found himself wondering what he was doing here. A distant cough broke the thought. It came from the opposite corner of the room.

Through a watery haze Henry could make out a man wearing a brown suit. He lay unmoving on the ground at the far end.

On sighting the target, Henry began to crawl, and crawl, then stand. Finding himself with a second wind, he ran then fell by the man's side. Henry pulled and tugged the man to no avail. His skinny arms were no match for his robust figure. So he shook him, and shook, and shook him.

Henry could feel light breathing in the man's chest. "Can you hear me? Please answer me! I'm not able to lift you. Please... answer me."

The air was nearly gone from him. Henry felt his neck wobble. His eyes burned with smoke. They began to close. His body was weak. His back was on the ground.

***

Outside, the others spread about the perimeter in search of another way in. The lane way had already been consumed.

They regrouped at the front.

"That idiot!" Rum yelled. "What the hell does he think he's doing? That stupid dud is gonna get himself killed."

Alex began wrapping a jumper over his upper body. "That does seem quite the issue. Someone's gonna have to bail Henry out and I don't see you jumping for the task."

"You're mad. You can't go in there. Wake up."

"Wake me when I'm sane then."

Alex ran with no more words to spare. He ran to the side lane without care for the flame. Fire drenching his pale skin, he aimlessly navigated to the end. He jumped through the very naked flames themselves to the kicked in door.

Bursting from the shield of heat he fell to the floor. The pain of his actions at once caught up with him, his arms stung with heat burn. Breaking into a coughing fit he crawled forward though he did not know the way. He inched over to the foot of a bare shelving unit, using it for leverage to stand.

Only had he carried himself to a safe distance a support beam came crashing down behind. It brought down a portion of the upper floor, blocking off the entrance point, and any possible retreat.

Glancing back at this crushed piece of hope, Alex called out in desperation. "Henry! Can you hear me?"

He stared hard against the grey curtain of smoke, eyes squinting – draining. His focus cleared enough to spot two people through the smoke. They lay flat on the ground, stiff like mannequins.

Alex reached them within an inch of his limits. He used what strength remained to weigh his circumstance. The rear entrance had been blocked by fallen debris. What segments didn't fall creaked eerily on edge. His only hope lay on the main door up front being unlocked on this side. The slim chance alone he could manage, lugging both men the whole ten yards was the problem.

Sounds of give from the upper floor stirred his body to a second wind. He slung the larger stranger over shoulder and hung Henry under arm. He took a step in the right direction - a heavy, straining step.

Too late. The upper floor collapsed into an avalanche of household objects. A torrent of domestic memorabilia poured through the hole like sand in an hour glass. They piled then burned as to make the objects unrecognisable. It blocked a straight path to the exit and cast up fire like a defending blockade. The route to safety had been cut off.

Alex would have cursed, but couldn't muster the strength for it. He slid to the floor, allowing the blistering emotion of total failure to take control of his being. He coughed once, and that would have been the end of it.

A blasting crash pummelled the room, rattling it like a snow globe. Further collapses began as if hastened and unified by the explosion. It might have been a gas canister for all he knew. For all he knew this might have been a fuel shop. What he saw was a new opening. That explosion cleared the flame and broke down a wall. He could see a way outside.

Alex heaved the others on, all the while watching the flame - how quickly it moved to regain lost territory. Collapsing wood belted over his back, small to large pieces pushing him down. He moved still, despite it all. Yet he moved slow, too slow.

The fire closed in and he'd not made half the distance. In his mind he forced himself to push on, until his legs buckled and he crumbled to his knees. To catch a moments rest he stayed there longer than he should have. The man he intended to save, instead lay limp on the ground as the fire crept ever closer.

Hands grabbed Alex around the waist and lifted him to his feet. In a haze, he found himself being carried through the opening then planted outside on a chilly side walk. Fallen back on the ground he chanced a glance up. He saw Rum running back inside to grab the unconscious man. Sierra dragged Henry out in kind.

Alex found his eyes opening and closing. Eyes open: he saw Rum place the other man by his side. Eyes closed: he heard voices calling and sirens ringing. Eyes open: he saw Rum helping Sierra carry Henry.

His head fell back against the stone. Eyes open: he lay there a moment, staring at the highest tips of the fire then down to a sign above the door. It burned like everything else but the words were clear. It read: Jack Matters' basic supplies. When his vision lowered to ground level he saw the snow dotted with smashed bottles all of the same kind, some still lay unbroken and full, a tissue in the cap holding the liquid in.

Eyes closed.

Chapter 4

The darkness of morning brightened to mid-day. It came as no surprise, the doctor's brief handling of Rum and Sierra. The two were rinsed through procedure then tossed to the waiting room. Communication broke off from there.

There seemed an unruliness to this hospital. In places, utensils lay on the floor near unattended gurneys, with unattended patients still in them. It looked as though the staff would drop their current task and dash off for another, leaving the previous patient in a forgotten state of purgatory. Rum labelled it a staff shortage issue during an observation based conversation. They'd been having a lot of those. He and Sierra had been waiting hours now and topics of discussion began wearing thin.

On average, clinic time for the average bum tended to be ten to twenty minutes tops. This lengthy delay didn't seem to bode well for Alex and Henry.

***

Henry was starting to dislike hospitals, this one in particular. Upon being rushed here by ambulance they tossed him straight to a bed gurney. Following the procedural rubdown they gave an all clear and rolled him into this room. Other patients were dumped here too, dumped being the operative word. As Henry could tell the room appeared long enough to hold at least thirty patients, which failed to explain the odd forty or fifty sandwiched together.

One doctor monitored the room. From the way he kept entering and leaving he might have been tending another room besides this. Occasionally he would speak to someone outside the door, perhaps another member of staff.

Since Henry's arrival, the doctor took a special kind of interest in him. Despite the other patients he would talk to Henry whenever passing. Each time he brought a new question to ask, varying from a personal level to medical history. It made him feel all the more flustered, as though under interrogation. But the doctor's reassuring smile hinted of a genuine sincerity. He looked like a kind man.

After continuous on and off conversations, Henry had to ask, "Do they need me for anything else? Nobody's said anything."

The doctor scanned his clipboard. "I don't see anything else here. Looks like all you need is a good rest."

"So everything checks out?"

"You suffered some smoke inhalation and passed out. We got it under control so it shouldn't be too serious."

"But... it was a fire."

"And you got lucky. Take a look around you, half the people in this room aren't as lucky as you."

"So... I'm going to be okay?"

"You should be fine. Although there was just... one problem... turns out I had to delay the end of my shift to help you. It's no big deal really, except that my brother happens to be my replacement today so that means he gets extra time off. He has this annoying habit of rubbing in the slightest of victories. I wouldn't be surprised to get home and find him laying back with a can of beer, just to get on my nerves. Oh, now I'm just babbling, sorry."

Henry smiled. "Yeah, I know the type. My brother used to... do stuff like that."

"So... you have a brother. Won't he be coming to visit you?"

"No. Leon... Leon isn't around any more. He went away for a while."

"You don't see much of him then. Mine's the same, even though we live together, you know, to cover rent. Since we usually work on different shifts we're always home at different times - it's kind of strange really. At least you still have your parents to force the two of you together from time to time."

"Not exactly... my parents are dead.

"I'm sorry. You still have your brothers, right?"

"Leon took off shortly after that - haven't seen him since. He was under a lot of pressure back then, I couldn't really blame him. Back then it seemed like accidents followed him around – bad accidents."

Henry watched the trace amounts of pity rising in the doctor's eyes. It had become like second nature to watch for those signs of pity. They showed up nearly every time he spoke to someone new. Building a wall of pity around himself came to be the only way he could get through to people, the only way he could get anyone to stay with him. Unintentional as it might be he too often failed to discourage it.

An image of the future flashed into Henry's mind. He could picture the doctor joking about this to his co-workers. At the back of his mind he heard the doctor repeating their conversation to a crowd of laughing people. This image vanished in wake of the doctor's tolerant smile. Henry figured it might do some good to lose some extra baggage. Chances were he wouldn't see this man again anyway.

"Maybe you should call him sometime," the doctor said.

"I'm not even sure where he is," Henry said. "Even if I did, I doubt it'd do much good. He wouldn't stay with me back then, why would he want to stay now I'm homeless?"

"They say absence makes the heart grow stronger."

"Not with him. If he cared he wouldn't have vanished like a total stranger."

"You poor fellow. You lost your parents. Your brother left. You don't have a home to go to... You're all alone." The doctor perked with curiosity. "Have you any friends?"

"Well... there are some people, but... No. Well... sometimes I'm not so sure they really are my friends."

"I understand. Fitting into groups can be tough, whatever class they are. So... you are all alone then." He leaned forward while emphasising the last part.

Henry couldn't tell if it was a statement or a question. It caught him off guard though, so much so he flustered red in embarrassment.

The doctor shifted another glance out into the hallway, and stood as if intending to return to his duties. "Henry, you're very lucky I was assigned to this shift. Someone else might not be so forgiving in their dealings with you. Even if you don't realise it yet, this is fate."

Henry cringed for a number of reasons. He suddenly felt as though he'd been dropped in the middle of a play with no sense of the scene. He'd have choked right then if not for mention of fate, the word of the day.

The doctor took a set of glasses from his pocket. "These are your glasses. The paramedics took them before taking you in here. I've been minding them since."

"But why?" He didn't care about the glasses, it was a general question.

"Why would I help you? Because you're one of the good guys. I saw it the moment you got here. You've got it tough as it is yet you ran into that burning building to save a man you didn't even know. Thanks to you he made it out without serious injury. Most people who get trapped like that aren't well enough for weeks, the guy you helped was bossing the staff around after a few hours or so. They shipped him to a better hospital but last I heard he wanted to be released."

"He made it out okay... that's nice to know. I was afraid it'd all be for nothing. Anyway... it's not like I did it alone. I collapsed from the heat. Someone else had to come in and get me out of there."

"Few would even try in the first place. You're different than most."

"I'm not even sure why I did it. Really, I'm not that kind of person. I didn't think at the time.

"But you did do it, you saved him. You should be treated like a hero."

"Should?"

From the opposite end of the hall, a bed ridden patient cried out: "Doctor! Hey doctor, you still work here or what!?"

The doctor rubbed his flat buzz-cut hair in frustration. "It's never done. Listen Henry, I've got work to do. Remember, I don't care what they're saying. You're a good kid. If it were up to me I'd give you a medal for what you did." The doctor searched his pockets to take out a small case of pills. "Okay, I really shouldn't do this. These pills are designed to calm livid patients by... putting them to sleep, in a sense. I'm giving them to you to look after."

"Pills? But you said I'd be okay."

"You will be. The pills are going to help you get out of here. I won't let them get you, no matter what they say."

With shivering hands, Henry took the pills without question. The doctor nodded farewell, walking on to seek out the patient who called him.

"Wait! Let who get me?"

The doctor was too far gone to hear over the rabble of patients. Leaving it at that, Henry slinked under his bed sheets. On the edge of his ears he could hear the next patient on the doctor's route yell very openly.

"What's goin' on doc!? Why you droppin' the regulars for that freak over there!? He supposed to be famous now cause he's a criminal? We can't all be wanted by the cops y'know. What he do anyway?" His interrogation descended into sly whispers. The doctor appeared to be having none of it and promptly walked away.

Though he knew little else the statement could imply, Henry found himself trying to re-interpret its meaning. Almost immediately he noticed many eyes shifting upon him. He only realised then they had been watching him the whole time. As if to avoid eye contact with anyone, he rolled to his side and looked to the main door.

He now understood why the doctor had been glancing on and off out the door, and why he had frequently been popping in and out of the room. It looked like he'd been checking in with a police officer who stood outside on guard, like they do for criminals in the movies.

For the briefest of moments Henry swelled with curiosity. His eagerness dwindle the moment he realised both the doctor and the guard were staring straight at him. That's when it dawned on Henry.

Mysterious fires were all too common in this city – witnesses weren't. So when the police hear of some bum kid who shouldn't have been there in the first place, they might have plenty of reason to doubt. Word on the street, at least what word Henry could sponge, said the fires were an extortion trip on behalf of some demi-kingpin. That's what the news reports said too. That's what bums, crooks, and everyone down to the crack addicts said. It seemed everyone knew except the police themselves. For years they continued to cling onto their lone pyromaniac story. And after years without progress few would really care who took the pinch.

Henry could see his life flash by behind bars. He would be alone. The police would be congratulated for their capture, the true culprits forgotten, and the public would lose interest. And he would be alone.

***

Sierra and Rum didn't make much progress. They were still waiting in the assigned waiting area, or as some might call it, a hallway with chairs in it. On the way in to this place they bore witness to corridors packed with patients and visitors, waiting rooms so crowded grown men sat on the ground. This particular section looked as if a viral contaminate broke out and someone forgot to tell them. Even the elevator across from them stood like a static door to nowhere.

"You know," Rum said. "I think they forgot about us."

Sierra sighed in agreement. "Maybe there's nothing to report yet."

"Nothing should take this long. These piece of crap doctors have no idea what they're doing."

"Try trust them, Rum, they are the ones with the diplomas."

"Shouldn't trust these fools with another man's life - look at this mess of a hospital. Doctors should report on the hour every hour, don't matter what they're doing, them's the rules - good form at least." Rum tensed up with folded arms.

"Relax, Rum. Here have a drink." She held out a paper cup of water.

He knocked it to the floor like a nasty child. "That ain't drink. Give me some whiskey and I'll relax."

Sierra grinned. "Look who's all tensed up now. The doctor said they'll be fine so calm down. They'll be fine."

"Like I care."

"Don't you?"

Rum sniffed the question off. "This place is the problem."

Sierra looked around. "The hall?"

"Not the hall, the whole damn hospital. Why do you think this place is so crummy? It's being extorted, that's why."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's all about business. This hospital might be a state run freebie for us types but it's still in the way of big business. Private hospitals could use that income for themselves. It's also much easier to take local doctors from here rather than getting them from abroad. So this place turns to crap because whoever they leave behind won't know a scalpel from a kitchen knife. It's a battle of business. Few years later the company will show up with a generous offer to bail out this dive. Then they've got another patch of land to reap rewards from."

"Sounds... farfetched."

"Not in the slightest. It's the cheater's handbook 101: make the opponent look bad then suck him dry. It starts with smaller businesses then increases on scale with the company's level of grandeur."

"And by 'the company' you mean..."

"What else could I mean? The same company runs over half this city these days. It all started with some damn fool telling easy lies, but what starts on lies grows on lies. What a fool."

"Wow. That's deep for you. I'd almost believe it if I didn't know you have no idea what you're talking about. Your head must be getting soft without beer."

Rum grunted, leaning forward as if to show his dismay. "I ain't that dumb, Blondie."

"You're not a business man either."

"I'm not a lot of things, that don't mean I'm nothing."

Sierra caught herself on the end of her tongue. Relinquishing the argument she slumped into her seat, perking upright for the sound of voices drawing closer from around a corner. "Someone's coming. The doctor maybe?"

Not so. Two police came walking to the elevator across from them, talking loud like no one were around.

"Uniforms," Rum whispered, hiding face under collar out of habit.

Sierra had better reason to, but she kept her head high with nothing to hide, at least to appear that way.

"So you really think this kid is behind it all? I heard he's only in his early twenties," one officer said to the other.

"Not like we've anything better to go on. No witnesses, no survivors, no suspects. Now all of a sudden this kid shows up on our radar. It's the only lead we got," his partner replied.

"All because of an anonymous tip off from a staff member at this hospital. That doesn't sound fishy to you?"

"That's how these things usually go down. When a worker in this hospital sees the same kid day after day robbing the same drugs as our guy he's likely to want keep his name out the limelight."

"What about the reward money?" The officer pushed the button to call the elevator down, then stood waiting.

"Think about it. This place is a dive. I'd say at least 60 percent of the staff here are sneaking drugs out for themselves. Assuming 30 percent of those are too wasted to think straight the other 30 are probably selling them for twice the reward money. What you think would happen if word got out that that person went snitching to the cops?"

"He'd lose business."

"Or get fingered himself... all it'd take is one junkie with a grudge."

"Yeah sure... you got it all figured out."

"Look... fact is this guy was caught in the act right before another murder. Tests showed the drugs stolen were the same kind used on the victim. Since day one we've been told the killer has easy access to the streets, how else would he get around without drawing any attention? Who has easier access than a bum? Who could move around so easily other than a bum?"

"I don't know. From what I hear the kid doesn't look like he could fight, let alone kill. And easy access? This is hardly Fort Knox we're talking about here. I walk that route to work, pass the same people everyday and nobody recognises me. The whole reason behind it just doesn't sound right."

"You never know these days with people snapping the way they do."

"Bums are different from most people, they've already broken. I don't think it's him."

"Yeah well, we don't get paid to think."

"Tell me about it."

The elevator arrived with a ping. Their conversation shifting to one more lunch oriented, they stepped through and disappeared behind closed doors.

Rum settled down upon their leaving. "I've noticed a good few of them here today."

"It's none of our business."

"I've been saying that all along."

"Well, we're already doing our good deed for the year."

"You still want to find this guy, after all this?"

"This is a minor setback."

"A minor set back!?"

"You can't complain. You said you weren't worried about Alex and Henry. Don't act like a hypocrite."

"They can handle themselves. It's all this travelling stuff that's got me in a knot. We couldn't walk down the street without getting trapped in a burning building, what else you got planned? We ain't even getting anything for this. If I have to be homeless I'd rather utilize my right to be lazy while I have the chance."

"I don't think that right is going anywhere soon."

Led by the change in topic, Sierra found her hands seeping into her pockets. She took out the note and un-scrunched it from a ball. "But I guess we can knock this day off the clock. Seven days until New Year, without a single lead. It was so simple, we just had to find that one shop – Jack Matters."

"Too bad it burned down then."

"I'll say." Sierra narrowed an eye. "Wait, come again?"

Rum leaned back carelessly. "Saw the name of the shop before the ambulance took us out. Didn't you see it?"

Sierra flexed tight as if to prevent her body from exploding in frustration. The force of the blast would most certainly knock her fist square against Rum's jaw. She sprang to her feet. "Why didn't you say that sooner!?"

"Calm down, I thought you noticed too. Naturally, I assumed we were dropping the whole thing."

"They took that guy to this hospital! And we've been sitting here the whole time."

"You're not seriously thinking-"

"Get off your ass. We're going to find this guy."

"Jack Matters... kinda sounds like a fake name. You sure you read that note right?"

"Now you're saying the name is fake? You're so desperate to give up. Maybe if you didn't quit so easy you'd be some place better."

"Spoken from the mouth of a true celeb idol."

"Don't start this here. We're already in a hospital so it'll be no-holds-barred."

"All I'm saying is maybe you read the note wrong. Come On, the page is damp and mushed, maybe you read it wrong. Let me see it."

"Push off." She stormed away at that.

Rum followed at once. "Hey come on, wait up."

Refusing to stop or turn around, she spoke back to him. "Rum, we went looking for a shop called Jack Matters. Then we found a shop called Jack Matters. What do you call that?"

"A coincidence maybe."

"It's right here in this note." She wheeled round, waving the note between her fingers. "Coincidence doesn't come that big."

"You say that yet I've been seeing them all day. Why can't you?"

"We're going to find this guy. If you don't want to help then just fall in a corner and die somewhere."

"I'll come with you, but I know it's pointless," Rum said. "This hospital's pretty damn big. It'd be like looking for a needle in a haystack full of old, dead, and infected pieces of hay. And I sure as hell can't remember what the guy looked like, do you?"

She paused for thought. "Alex. That guy's got a pretty good memory about these kinds of things. At least I think he does. Remember when he got jumped by some guy one night, then five months later he saw him again and beat the crap out of him."

"Memory's got nothing to do with it. He's just a vengeful psycho."

"I think writer's are supposed to work that way, I think it's built into their brains somehow. Helps them to create better imagery. At least... that's what my foster father used to say."

Rum continued grunting and huffing the whole way along. Though they hadn't visited Alex they knew what room he stayed in. The matter at hand allowed them to flog off waiting for doctor's invite.

The room they found him in looked like a chicken coop of gurneys. In this coop the farmers took blood over eggs, and judging from some steam cleaned mattresses, provided the human sized bag makers with income. This room was one of many they passed.

Alex lay sleeping halfway down the room. He looked fine. At least he wasn't hooked up to anything.

Rum and Sierra crept over to avoid drawing attention. Even though there was only one nurse on duty, she might frown on uninvited guests. That is, if she could first manage to pull her face more than three inches from a magazine.

They stood over him, gazing down like parents upon a new born baby.

"Should we wake him?" Sierra asked.

"Allow me," Rum replied.

He clutched Alex by the shoulders then shook him like a rattler. Alex lightly wailed back to reality. Amazingly, the nurse didn't even glance.

Alex cringed under blankets upon realising it was just the dirty old man who stank of drink. "What do you want?"

"It's not what I want. Just get your ass outta bed."

Sierra shoved Rum aside. "We need your help with something. It turns out-"

"The burning building was the one we were looking for. Yeah, I noticed that right before passing out," Alex muttered, eyes sealed as though still resting.

"Did everyone know already!?" Sierra exclaimed. "Listen Alex, they took him to this hospital.

"So go look for him then."

"We're going to, but we can't remember what he looked like."

"I see now. You think I can?"

"Of course you can. Remember that time those two guys laughed at you for eating from the bins, then three weeks later you kicked the crap out of them."

"Three guys," Alex pointed out. "Okay, maybe I do remember what he looked like. I'll need to ask the nurse for permission to leave."

"I'll do it," Rum said, attention going right over Alex. "Hey nurse!"

"What do you want?" the nurse replied from her chair, snarling as though the magazine print had been grafted to her face.

"Can this guy walk the halls?"

"Depends who you are. Family, friends?"

Rum returned a vivid explanation. "We know him."

Her face fell back to the magazine. "Whatever, it's not my problem."

Even Alex had to stare a moment. Clearly, it was her problem, and everyone else in this room was her problem too. Happy to have heard what he wanted, Rum wandered out to the corridor.

"I guess we're off then," Sierra said.

Alex reached for some pills on the cupboard next to him.

"What are those for?" Sierra asked.

"Vitamins. They're supposed to help me recover. Just useless pills to prevent any mal-practice claims. Probably a placebo and all."

Sierra frowned warily.

"What? That's all they are." He walked past her to meet with Rum outside in the corridor.

Sierra sighed, fogging it off just like him.

With Sierra joining them, Alex asked, "Right, so where do we find this guy?"

"Well, finding you was phase one," Sierra said.

"And phase two?"

"We've no idea."

"I see. Then we'll just go to reception and ask for Jack Matters." Alex paused, noting the odd number of their group. "Where's Henry?"

"Don't know. We assumed he'd be with you," Rum said.

"They must have taken him to a different part of the hospital. That leaves us with two people to find," Alex said.

"I'm on for leaving him," Rum said.

Despite Rum's enthusiasm, they made way to the reception area with Henry in mind. It took no time to get there, but after beating the queue the receptionist pulled an aptly timed coffee break. Work around continued as normal, so this break seemed of her own accord. Like a child snacking bits in the classroom, she continued working with clandestine wariness. Suffice to say those busy typing hands lulled to a snail's pace.

Upon request, the receptionist searched the name-laden computer system, as the destitute three sought out another stranger. Once or twice she stopped to stroke her curly brown hair, hum in thought, then lift an index finger to say: "Yeah, here he is... Wait... No." The routine would end with a light sip of coffee.

This charade broke when she turned to laugh at a staff member's joke. By time she turned back the smile snapped to a cold stare magnetized by her bug like glasses.

"So what are you... family, friends?"

"Us?" Sierra said. "Well we're-"

"Not to each other. I already know what you are. What are you to the patient?"

"Acquaintances," Sierra answered on behalf of the group.

"It's poor form to intrude on a sickly patient who isn't expecting you. If you aren't related then it would be wrong of me to give you his details."

"Details?" Rum muttered. "We only want a room number."

Sierra did her best to pull focus from Rum. "It's okay... we do know him. See, our friend saved his life. Pulled him from a burning building actually."

"I'm sure he did," the receptionist uttered. She peaked around the bums to a gathering line behind. "Looks like you're causing a blockage." She bit into a sandwich.

Rum's face twitched with negative delight. "Then take that bloody sandwich outta your trap."

She stopped mid-chomp, and laid the sandwich down. "Let's not make this harder than it is."

Sierra shoved in. "Sorry about him, he's just a good for nothing bum."

"I see there's a lot of that going round," the receptionist broke out.

Sierra's movement froze in an anticipated kind of shock, the overall stillness drew more attention to her twitching eye.

In the silence of a dawning battle, Alex simply wandered away and summoned the elevator. Rum leered in closer, rubbing expectant hands with all the malice of a silent movie villain.

"Find-the-name-bitch," Sierra leaked out like gas from a pipeline fissure. The receptionist wouldn't stop waving the match.

There came a holler of impatient cries from the people lined behind. With this sudden on-pour of attention the receptionist's scour shifted to a smile.

"Please settle down. I understand you're not familiar with how real work gets done but my job takes time, we can't all have things handed to us."

Sierra, shuddering, clenched fists with intent to strike them across that smug little grin. She suddenly found herself unable to move. Alex had pinned both her arms to her sides. He dragged her effortlessly backwards to an open elevator.

Rum grunted at the missed opportunity to watch a fight, rather than fight the fight. Sure enough he followed Alex and Sierra into the elevator.

Sierra broke from her shackles. "Push off, Alex." She added extra scorn to his name. Elevator door about to close, she could hear the receptionist greeting the next man in queue.

"Sorry about that, sir. I try reason with these people but they don't understand," she said.

"Tell me about it. I threw a dollar to one out of pity and wound up ten down."

The woman laughed wildly.

"So anyway... I'm looking for Mark Earlwin."

She tapped at the keypad. "Yes, third floor - Room 16. They're moving him to Grey Oak's retirement home today."

Sierra jabbed a damning fist out the closing door. "Stupid tart!" It closed.

The preceding aura of anger became immediately overshadowed by the light ding of elevator music. All crammed together in that bland little box, Alex and Rum stared down at Sierra with all the expectancy of miners waiting for TNT to blow.

"Nice work, Blondie. Great sleuthing," Rum said. "I guess we're at a dead end now, can't say we didn't try. Finally we can get back to the park - wonder if Len's found any drink."

"This isn't over. We're not going anywhere. We did all this so we're finding this 'Jack Matters' asshole."

Rum face palmed. "Just what do you plan on doing? This place has seven stories. Each room is chock full of sick people. The halls are full of sick people. Damn it Blondie, the alleys around this place are probably full of sick people! We'll never find him."

"I don't see your point." She breathed heavily as though her brain lacked the oxygen to see it.

"We're outta luck. It's too late, that's my point."

She looked to Alex. "And Alex, do you feel the same?"

Alex paused as if contemplating. "We already gave our votes. I think we have to look harder."

The elevator door opened with a ringing chime, welcoming them to a narrow white hallway. The scene was something different to what they experienced earlier. Gurneys and patients lined the sides, some sitting against the walls in ailing pain or simple fatigue. Not a nurse could be seen.

They stepped into the hall with less than a thought for the people around. Rum lagged in the very rear with a defeated notch to his face. He continued the argument mid-centre for all to see.

"Forget the vote. I want a recount. Alex shouldn't be included, he's got too many damn screws loose. The man's insane."

"If trying to help makes me insane then I guess that's what I am. If your normal then-"

"Look out! He's throwing it in my face. I'm so sorry, please forgive me."

Alex huffed for the futility and walked off.

It didn't stop Rum. "Please don't turn your back on me. I can't handle the shame." Rum sniffed. "That's why you're such a stupid weirdo, always saying pointless, stupid things. Freak."

Sierra checked nearby gurneys for a familiar face. "You can either stand there complaining or lend a hand. Pick out someone and see if it's our guy – at least pretend you're doing something."

"Then you'll make me pick another, then another. Why should I even bother? Alex is the only one who got a good look at his face."

"It might jog your memory," Sierra said, scuttling off to check more gurneys further down the corridor. Alex went with her.

Standing alone, Rum made a half effort to check a gurney by his side. It contained a dead man, left to rot in the halls. "Not him. There, I checked. Can I go?"

Sierra called down. "Look harder, fool!"

"Thought so." Rum sighed as if building a thought. "Hey Blondie, what if the guy died after the fire?"

"Don't say that! Stop it, you never take anything seriously." She immediately turned to check the next gurney down.

Rum didn't answer. With steady eyes he stared down at the corpse by his side. In a way, he'd grown used to seeing them. He'd even tripped over a few in winter time.

"I thought I was serious," Rum said. "Death is always serious, I thought."

Seeing the dead man's arm slip and dangle out the gurney, Rum placed it back under the blanket. He gave a courtesy nod then continued prattling on with this futile little plan.

It might have been a wasted effort, one that ate up a lot of time and didn't appear to be going anywhere fast. But it was the only plan they had, even if Alex acted as the only essential participant. They would call him over for the sake of verifying every kind of patient, from the one's with the tempers to the ones with their bed sheets folded the wrong way up.

A trend began to form. It would start with one or the other summoning Alex over to check a suspect, to which he'd shake his head negatively. After a number of repeats of this there would follow some sort of morale boosting comment, such as: "Get your ass over here y'lanky streak of piss!" At which point Alex would tighten his fists and aim them toward an empty headed old drunk.

Needless to say, there came a certain monotony to the whole experience. Something worsened by the number of different excuses required to carry out this plan. There were only so many reasons to stare at debilitated patients. Their enthusiasm began to die by the time they started telling staff they were 'looking for a missing purse' in the burn ward.

Chapter 5

Henry fitted his way into a new pair of trousers, doing so under the covers to avoid drawing attention. The doctor gave him this new clothing. It seemed the reasonable thing to do since paramedics misplaced his original, leaving him in nothing but a patient gown. They were similar to his old clothes, if not two sizes big and bearing a crude odour he couldn't quite place. A stench hung over it, something like sweet perfume but faded as though someone tried scrubbing it away.

Henry shivered in thought of what might have been behind it. The doctor did say he pulled them from a clothes bin. Whoever wore these before obviously didn't need them any more. Judging from the tattered state of the clothing it looked as though the previous owner had lost the wrong fight. Not that Henry's old clothes were in any better condition. The prior owner could have been homeless like Henry. He may even have stayed in this room, or this bed.

Fully dressed in his new attire Henry lay back in patience for the doctor's next visit. Until then, he flipped up his hood, and intended to stay that way until those gawking eyes stopped looking at him. He couldn't handle all this, being in this room, constantly watched under suspicion. His pulse raced in hope for the doctor to stick to his word. Should a way out of this present itself, Henry would take it in a snap.

The new clothing felt like fulfilment of that promise. He'd included sneakers, good ones, if not a little worn. There'd be no point in including sneakers if he wasn't due to run anywhere. Henry snagged on that thought, realising the high toned desperation of his own imagination. He uttered a sigh as if cancelling a wishful grab for a distant straw. With an officer stationed at the door it would be impossible to sneak out. Henry saw little this doctor could do even should he try aid in an escape.

The doctor checked his watch, then made way to Henry. "Have you still got those pills?"

"Y-Yeah." Henry clutched them tight and hadn't let go since.

"Take one when I tell you."

"But why?"

"It's your only chance. If you stay here they'll arrest you. The pills will... put you out for a bit, then I can take you out on the gurney."

"But the guard will see!"

"Have you been looking. That guard's spending more time chatting to the nurse than paying attention to you. I know the woman. She'll be back from her lunch in five minutes. I'll sneak you out on a gurney when he's not looking."

"Then why do I need to take the pill?"

"We can't risk any mistakes. If you're awake you might move."

"I won't move."

"And if we bump into something? What if someone wants to see under the sheet, could you stay still then? You think it's just one guard out there? They've got more scattered around the hospital, if even one of them tries check us we're done for."

"All those police... just for me?"

"If you were a normal witness they wouldn't need this many men. You're not just a suspect - they want it to be you."

Henry tightened up on that. Up till now he'd been working on a hunch built on nothing more than an active imagination. These were the first words to verify his fears. He felt it immediately, the shiver of undiluted panic.

"B-but why do you want to help me?"

"I know you didn't do anything wrong. You're a good kid and they're on a desperate hunt for a suspect. I can't let them pin those crimes on you."

"But... you're a doctor. You're supposed to-"

"Save lives. Call me by any title you want, saving lives is my only prerogative. And if I let them have you it's like I'm throwing you to the wolves. I'm going to save your life. If I don't then I might as well quit my job right now." He smiled a clumsy half smile.

Henry returned the grin. "T-thank you."

The doctor looked away when he heard the nurse speaking from the hallway outside. She and the officer spoke loud and openly to one another. This guard likely wouldn't be bothering them for a while.

"Okay, it's time," the doctor whispered. "The nurse should keep him busy."

The doctor leaned down close to Henry's ear. "Okay, Henry, listen to me. After you take the pills you'll fall asleep so I need you to remember something, you got me?"

Henry nodded, shivering.

"Good. Okay, I'm going to wheel you out in a gurney but I can't take you through any direct routes without attracting attention. That means main exits are off limits. The safest way out is down the basement elevator. There's a fire exit in the boiler room you can use to escape into the storage yard. From there, I want you to hop over a high wall which will be on your left. You'll land in a lane way, follow it to the main street."

"Why are you telling me? you'll be there when I wake up."

"The tablets I gave you will knock you out for a short while. It should take nearly an hour to wear off. I'll hide you in the boiler room then return to my duties so as not to raise suspicion. I'll pretend your still here then claim ignorance when they find out. Right now the police still think you're asleep so they won't check for a while anyway."

"What if someone finds me while I'm still asleep down in the boiler room?"

"The janitor hardly uses that room any more, just in case I have the master key to the building, I'll lock it for you and leave the fire exit open." The doctor glanced to the doorway. "Okay, the nurse is back from her lunch. It's now or never, are you ready?"

Henry took one pill and pinched it between two fingers. Against every bit of doubt he found his hands moving gradually toward his mouth. He swallowed in one. His vision hazed and with it Henry began to anticipate the darkness of sleep. Instead, he found his head falling back. He didn't go asleep, he just couldn't move. What he saw was like looking through someone else's eyes, all the vision without thinking to rationalise.

The doctor had told him he would sleep the whole way through. There was no sleep in this. This feeling, it clutched him like a waking nightmare. He felt afraid, though he couldn't really feel so much as imagine the familiarity of fear. It was paralysis, a gripping paralysis. Finally, that most anticipated darkness appeared, but came in the form of a blanket folded over his face.

As sounds around echoed into senselessness, Henry felt pressure on his chest like someone leaning down. An obscure voice whispered words he could barely hear or stand to remember.

"Gullible idiot."

The darkness remained, his senses drifted in and out. What he felt next might have been the bumps of movement, or the thud of his brain beating against his skull. It continued for a while, so too the murmurs of people they passed. Each new sound brought with it a promise of freedom, so long as new ones came he knew they were still moving and hadn't been caught. Each one of those new sounds went lost on him no sooner than he heard them. His mind swam round and round until the next reset. In each passing moment he awoke anew with the mental comprehension of a new born baby, and he couldn't even cry to vent his confusion.

Those sounds dispersed, replaced by droning gurney wheels rolling on a concrete floor. The gurney moved faster in this place, as though safer to do so, or as though the doctor lacked a good excuse if caught down here.

They stopped. A noise like rattling steel touched Henry's ears. It sounded like steal rubbing off steel, an almost intolerable sound similar to metal floor grating. The rattling stopped along with the gurney's wheels. Suddenly a noise of groaning steel droned in Henry's ears. It was like a heavy steel door opening right next to his head. Slowly, he felt the gurney roll forward until arriving at a total stop. Footfalls walked away. The heavy door slammed shut.

There came a lonely silence, but not a total silence. Loud creaks, like those of churning pipes sounded above. They popped as though they'd crack open any second.

Now more than ever Henry longed to tear the blanket off his face. The heat in the room was fierce and this cover did little to placate the issue. Though thinking on instinct alone, these emotions were good signs. At least now he could form the mental linguistics required to want the blanket removed. At least he could feel fear again, and feel the burning heat enough to hate it. These were the first of his restored senses. By time he became aware of himself he'd fallen off the gurney. Crawling on the ground like a mole in day time, he slipped on his glasses in the hope his double vision would cease.

The room continued to wobble in and out of double and single vision until hot steam shot straight into his face. It hit hard enough to straighten his sight to a stable single vision. Rubbing his eyes to be sure he found himself alone in a small room lined from ceiling to the walls in pipes.

"The boiler room?" he spoke groggily, only then realising his location. It also dawned on him that the trip down here, together with returning to normal, might have taken a lot longer than it seemed to him. The doctor did say the effects would last a whole hour.

He walked forward on jelly legs, winding around pipes that ran through the middle of the room. He slammed through the fire exit as though fleeing a collapsing mineshaft. He'd made it to the outside, to a lane way lined with snow. He found himself awash with sudden biting cold which almost sent him shivering to the ground. To his left, he saw the wall which should take him back to the main street

Sparing no more thought, he dragged some storage crates up against it for climbing leverage. Everything the doctor promised turned out true. He was safe, he was free. He could keep running and never be found. He could be free.

***

Rum, Alex, and Sierra had made near two runs around the hospital to no avail. Spirits low and bodies tired, they chose to rest in an elevator landing between stairwells.

Evening drew closer. Snow outside the window fell like ash from an otherwise calm, if not clouded sky. There were twice as many people in the hospital now, and just a slight fading trace of hope.

Sat on top of a stairwell, Rum began gloating as if distracted in his own private victory. "Hopeless... I told you guys it'd be hopeless. If only you listened to me first. I could be home by now."

Sierra paced around the room. "This can't be all there is. They took him to this hospital I know it. This guy couldn't have just disappeared. He could be in the next room for all we know!"

"We already checked the next room. He's gone." Rum said.

"Hate to say, but Rum may actually be right," Alex said. "This was the nearest hospital so they would have brought him here by default. Once they get his insurance in order, then off he goes to a better hospital."

"We asked from the staff and the patients, Blondie," Rum argued. "We've done everything we can do. It's probably for the best anyway, saves us a lot more trouble."

Sierra thumped Rum over the head. "Shut the hell up, you could have gone home any time you wanted!"

Rum pronged to his feet, grabbing her by the collar. "You're right, I could have. Guess I spend too much time babysitting you."

Sierra clenched her fist, holding it up with the intention to strike.

"Cut it out," Alex said. "We've stopped for a few minutes and you two are already at each other's throats. Look, we're here anyway we might as well have another go around. Maybe we should try look at it from another angle. Maybe the guy in the fire wasn't our guy. He might have just worked there. But Jack Matters might have come in as a guest, so why not check the guest list?"

Sierra and Rum backed away from each other with plentiful hesitation.

"You think this place keeps a guest list?" Sierra said, eying the deteriorating walls as if the décor spoke for itself.

"I'm out of ideas then."

Rum began chuckling to himself, gradually growing louder until bursting into laughter. The joke appeared to have started as a private one between himself and himself but shortly pitched into something of an all out belly laugh. It sounded like a victorious, spiteful laugh.

Even Alex had to scowl for his poor form. "That doesn't mean we're giving up yet."

Old Rum washed a phoney tear of joy away, holding up a piece of paper for them to see – the suicide note.

Sierra snapped it back. "How the hell did you get that? You sneaky little git, you picked my pocket!" He didn't stop laughing. "You think this is funny?"

"Not that you little she-cow," Rum said. "You messed up."

"The hell are you talking about?" She brushed over the note again.

"Open your eyes, Blondie. The note says he went to see that Matters guy at his bookies. Did that place look like bookie to you?"

"Well I... didn't really see what it was like. It..."

"Was a general goods store. You don't keep books in a store like that."

"I doubt it's all that legal," Sierra said.

"It'd make terrible cover. Illegal gambling needs a place off the beaten track, a place people go in and out all day so not to draw attention. Come on Alex, your brain might be shot but you can figure these things out."

Alex pondered a moment. "The note did suggest the building would be something a little more shady. It also seems to imply this Jack Matters owns more than one building. It seems plausible we could have hit the wrong one."

"But then... what about the fire? What about the man you and Henry rescued?" Sierra said.

"What about him?" Alex replied. "We rescued him. Nobody else would have so we can be glad we went a little off course. Time to resume I think."

"But!"

"You want a reward or something, Blondie? You heard Alex, we don't need the guy, let's go."

"You know the old drunk's just being a selfish git again!"

"Well he can occasionally be helpful in his own selfish way. Whatever the case, it seems we'll have to look for our Mr Matters at one of his more frequented locations."

"And where's that?" Sierra asked.

"We'll have to go look."

"Are you really sure about this?"

"Surer than I'll be scrambling around this place. We were getting nowhere anyway."

"I'd still like to see how he's getting on."

"For a nice fat thank you, a big warm hug to make everything okay? There's nothing here, time to go. That guy's none of our business now. We've done anything we're going to."

"Let's find Henry first," Alex said.

Rum groaned. "Oh come on, leave that dud here, he'll only slow us down. I advise you listen to what I'm saying. I'm the only one of us who seems to know what he's doing."

Alex placed a finger to chin in contemplation. "Let's see, Henry was on the third floor... or was it the second? Maybe we should just check at reception."

"Or we can run around the hospital again, we'd be a lot faster," Rum said, idling his way down the stairs.

Alex followed closely behind, stopping in wait for Sierra. "You coming?"

She stood staring into the note as if trying to solve a puzzle. "I... could have sworn that was our guy. I... are you sure about this, Alex?"

"Don't let it get to you. Hurry up or Rum will wander off and get lost."

There was little else to do except check at reception again. With any luck the clerk from earlier had been replaced by a more tolerant employee. Any hope for it became immediately squashed upon entering the reception area. Not only was the same receptionist still there, but a new bustle of people jammed the hall near wall to wall. The only sign of a queue was the horizontally moving streak of people jammed together in the centre. The receptionist herself fretted over her keyboard, typing near non-stop. Rum spared a moment to laugh at her misfortune before deciding to speak.

"What is this, the Christmas rush?" he said. "It'll be night before we get through this line."

From somewhere in the crowd a familiar voice started calling for Sierra and Alex. It came in the direction of the main entrance. It sounded like Henry, and from the brief glances they caught of him jumping up and down to grab their attention, it looked like him too. After stumbling his way through the bustle Henry came falling out the other side.

"They let you out already?" Alex asked.

"Yeah... sort of," Henry replied.

"I get it," Rum said. "The doctor wouldn't let you leave so you decided to sneak out. And check it out, looks like the rebel Henry robbed some fancy new clothes before taking off too."

"Well actually one of the doctors gave them to me since my old ones got damaged in the fire."

Sierra eyed Henry warily. "Okay so... why did you come in from the main door?"

"I didn't want anyone catching me so I thought it better to wait for you guys outside." Henry laughed awkwardly. "What's with all the questions anyway? Drop it already. So what are going to do now? I think we should leave."

That was enough to get them going. With Rum leading, they pushed through the remainder of the crowd until arriving back outside. When free, Rum halted like a captain relaying orders.

"First order of business: we get the hell away from this place. Secondly, we have no idea what to do next."

"Shouldn't we start looking for the shop from the note again?" Henry suggested.

"Yeah about that," Rum replied. "Blondie has something funny to tell you. You'll love it - it's a story that involves me being right and her being wrong."

Sierra scowled. "Don't call me Blondie, prick."
Chapter 6

The tramps continued their search in an idle sort of way, dawdling along a side walk checking directories and signs. They didn't need to rush, mostly because they weren't sure what they'd be rushing to find. Besides, day was fading fast and the wavering light lulled their spirits as a night lamp would a child.

Henry broke into a brief coughing fit induced by exhaust smoke from all the cars on the main road beside them. The fumes merged with one another, foaming over curbs to the side walk. Today the road bore thrice the average number of cars. Christmas should always be busy but that wasn't the reason for the clog. In this case a snow plough was clearing the road, simultaneously forging a traffic jam in its rear.

Forcing those coughs down, Henry ran to catch up with the others. "So... Sierra read the name wrong. That wasn't the right shop."

"I read it wrong, but that shop had the same name. That's pretty strange when you think about it. I suppose... if destiny led me to find the suicide note, then it makes sense the whole thing could have been fate as well."

"It was still the wrong place. I think if there's some divine purpose in all this, God should double check his sights," Henry added.

"Here we go with that fate crap again. Blondie's just making excuses for getting the name wrong. There ain't no fate in this, Henry did all that for nothing. Guess you'll think again before launching yourself into a burning building again. And having Alex bail you out after."

"I think, maybe I would have done it anyway," Henry said.

"Don't listen to that old quack," Sierra said. "Henry, whether it was the right place or not, what you did back there was still pretty brave."

"Pretty stupid more like."

"Shut up, Rum," Sierra scolded. "You too Alex, you saved a man the other day, both of you did. It would have been nice to find out who he was, even if it wasn't the right guy."

"Of course Alex went in there, he's a suicide waiting to happen. You wanted to die didn't you? That's why you went in there. Oh, but at least you knew what you were doing." Rum pointed and waved his fist at Henry. "You on the other hand, that was just stupid! You can't walk down the street without running out of breath! You really thought you could do something to help? You're all just stupid."

Old Rum stormed on ahead. Henry simply eased his head down to hide disappointment.

"Wow. It's like he actually cares," Sierra said.

"You can tell?" Alex asked.

"It took a while, but yeah."

The three of them watched on at the wise old man, who stumbled on in front a little bit. He stopped beside an open bin after something caught his eye. Plundering its contents, he pulled out a glass bottle. Slugging it back, he spoke back to them:

"Whiskey. Nice."

To the average person the act might seem distasteful, but it really was a fringe form of consumer savings. That is, unless it turned out to be the wrong kind of yellow liquid.

Sierra caught up to him and took the bottle with good intentions, much to Rum's displeasure. He shrugged it off as though he'd taken his fill, or intended to retake it later, one way or the other.

Car horns honked along the stretch. Impatient drivers were taking definitive action against the dreaded snowplough, shouting insults and waving fists. Few of them seemed to realise if the snow plough moved aside there'd be too much snow to travel.

"I hate motorists," Alex said. "Cars are too much hassle."

"How unusual," Sierra said, "a writer who happens to be lazy and a know it all."

Alex motioned to counter with a quip of his own, but froze for an interruption.

A crash sounded. Two nearby cars collided with one another. It looked like a rear hit, from bumper to bonnet. A few surrounding drivers got out to stare mindlessly at the scene, along with pedestrians on the side walk. Sierra and Rum pushed through the gathering crowd so they could see as well.

Gags of coughing sounded from the struck vehicle. Through a haze of smoke, a woman climbed from her car and fell to the ground. She screamed on landing, cradling her chest for an invisible lesion. She bled from her head and a little from the mouth. But there was no greater wound to be seen.

The motorist who crashed into her tried easing suffering with apologetic words. He scampered above her, ineptly calling for someone who could help. He made an attempt to rest her against the car, but jerked away as though dropping hot coal. She looked pregnant. At once his cries for help grew louder.

In time a voice answered. A man came hurdling immobile cars until landing by their side. From the way he asked questions and clutched a small medical pack he seemed to be a doctor. His stereotypical white clothes added leverage to the observation.

"It's okay, I'm a doctor," he said to the pregnant woman, loud enough for all to hear.

The moment he touched her she convulsed into a fit. It might have been the fear, the amount of blood, or a blow to her head causing it. She shook tremendously so she came close to rolling over.

"Damn," the doctor said. "I can't do anything like this."

The other driver peered down. "Should someone hold her steady?"

"No. She obviously has some kind of internal injury. We can't put pressure on it. We need her to calm down. In this state she'll only injure her child."

Sierra watched on, nibbling on her thumb like a substitute for popcorn. "Poor woman... Poor baby. I hope she gets better."

Henry stood with a thoughtful frown. A slowly ticking timer counted down in his head. He might have an answer. He thought he had an answer. He could help. Slipping hands into pockets, he took out the medication he received earlier. One pill remained.

He presented it to the doctor. "Would this help?"

On his knees, the doctor gazed at the pill case like a gun to his head. He stopped in his work as though nothing was there.

The doctor took the pill case, pouring it to his hand. "Those are... Where did you get these? Did a doctor give you this?"

Henry nodded, unsure of himself. "When I was in hospital."

"You have to go back!"

The woman kicked violently. The doctor addressed it by holding her arms down. He needed a clear shot to pop the pill in her mouth. Upon dropping it in, she settled within seconds. All the aggression faded and she lay there, eyes open, still blinking. Her pupils moved as though following movements she couldn't make out. Those pills, whatever they were, had worked.

Henry gulped. He remembered back to his experience on the gurney, what it was like for him and how she must feel now – fully conscious yet being unable to move. At the time he didn't like being under the blanket, in darkness. Watching this woman try and make sense of her surroundings made him appreciate it more.

Henry gulped a second time. "Why do I have to go back to the hospital?"

The doctor worked hard to patch her up. "I think I got it," he said. "I can look after her here but someone has to call an ambulance."

At once the crowd became active, lifting cell phones to call the same number.

Against the bustle of noise, Henry cried again, "Why do I have to go back to the hospital!?" No use. The noise had taken over.

Henry let his futile efforts go. Right then, he noticed something he hadn't seen at first. He saw a grave similarity between this man and the doctor from the hospital. It was a fleeting moment, occurring when he rested to wipe his forehead. But it was there.

The doctor stopped all together. "This is all I can do here. I'll stay with her until the ambulance comes."

The driver who struck her hovered over. "You mean she's going to be all right? Thank you doctor. You saved her life. Not many people would help while off duty like that."

"I'm a doctor. I save lives. If I don't help a person in need then it's like I'm throwing someone to the wolves. This is my job." He smiled a clumsy half smile. "I suppose it's down to luck I was here. I'm usually in work by now, but my brother's shift was extended to care for a new patient. I'm his replacement so that means I had to come in late."

Henry froze, captivated by those words. His suspicions seemed settled. Time to ponder ceased when Sierra tugged him along.

"Show's over, Henry. We're still on the clock, remember?" she said leading the group away.

When the sounds of commotion faded into distance, Sierra asked Henry. "So, you usually carry pills like those around with you?"

"A doctor in the hospital gave them to me. I don't know what they're for but... well, he said they relieve pain."

"And knock a person senseless, apparently."

"It... did work, I guess." Henry shrugged, clueless. "I don't know what they're used for exactly but it did help the woman."

Alex frowned suspiciously. "The doctor gave you those pills and you took them without asking what they're for?"

"Well yeah, that's what I usually do when a doctor gives me medication. Anyway, I was nauseous after the fire. It hurts my head to try and remember what happened, so... I'd like it if you dropped it."

Alex read deep into the worried look on his friend's face. The squashed up worry wrinkles on his brow indicated he'd greatly appreciate the matter dropped at once. Alex was never one for putting the personnel business of others up for show.

"Fine... whatever. Forget it."

***

A cold blanket of shadow fell over the city. Street lights flickered on earlier than normal, creating a false impression of dusk. In this onset of night the streets became ever more emptier.

The group marched on, all shivering, all wriggling their toes due to the slush in their boots. Given their sorry state and total lack of direction, calling quits for the day came to mind. These points, among others, brought Rum to a halt.

"I've had enough of this! We'll have a better chance searching while it's bright. We don't even know where we're going."

"We won't know any better tomorrow," Sierra said. "We may as well get a lead tonight and work on it tomorrow."

"But I'm hungry and cold now."

Alex eyed the old man, how he bundled into himself, stammering feet to keep his circulation going. "Calm down Rum, we don't need to have a plan. Every step no matter how frivolous has the potential to take a man closer to where he needs to be. Sometimes the random pointless things are more important than those you plan."

"Drop the Eastern medicine. Why do I need to be here then? Why am I standing on this path with no food and no drink? Tell me, why are we at this spot right now!?"

No reply came, only silence. The others stood staring upwards, eyes glazing straight over the old man. Baffled at their lack of acknowledgment Rum turned to inspect for himself, finding nothing of interest save a billboard on the side of a red bricked building. It depicted the badly worn image of a cartoon sumo-wrestler, grinning while holding up a Chinese brand bottle of liquor. It took the old dimwit a moment to notice those words at the bottom: for a taste of the orient come to Jack Matters' club and off-license. The address line followed.

Alex shrugged. "Case in point, old Rum."

"I hate you," Rum sniffed back.

Taking shortcuts through the more unsightly back-roads they arrived in the area foretold by the bill board. Surely they would find their guy in no time. Then again that theme had been running a while now.

Shivering tight into his green trench coat, old Rum released a sneeze. A string of snot dangling from his nose, he wiped it on his sleeve.

"Damn it's cold."

Sierra held her face in disgust. "Just hold it off till we're done. If you behave yourself I'll give your whiskey back."

He sneezed again. "Whoever used that bottle last probably had a cold."

"Or maybe pulling it from a bin has something to do with it," Alex stated.

"Chances are I caught it off you. You've been sick as a dog for weeks."

"I'm feeling better lately."

"Yeah, you haven't coughed since leaving the hospital. What did they give you? Give me some."

"They gave me pills to make it go away. I've only a few left and they're not for you."

"So everyone has their own private stash of pills now. Great, you've all gone turned into junkies while my back was turned. Man, that hospital's a joke." He sneezed. "Some food would re-energize me."

"Out of money," Sierra said.

"Or even if we got the bus..."

"Out of money."

"Out of money," Rum huffed. "When I was someone I had money."

"What did you do?" Sierra asked.

Rum propped up as if realising he spoke out loud. "What did I do? I... gambled, with money. That's what I did. I gambled then hit low. Life's a bitch. I told you all that before."

"That's about all you've told. You don't talk about your old life much. A summary of fifty words or less is not explanation."

"Well you hardly ever ask much else."

"You always seem so intent on keeping it to yourself. Well... go on then."

"Go on? Not much to say. I gambled and lost."

"But what about your family?"

"Blondie... don't ask."

"You told me before you had a wife and kid. Don't you miss them?"

"They're dead... like I told you before - an accident at work."

Alex frowned. "But you just said you were a gambler."

"Well... I called it work. That's how much I loved gambling. Work-gambling, it's all the same to me. A day at the races was like a day at the office," Rum said, stuttering his way into an awkward laughter.

"And how pray-tell do you die at a race track?"

"Stranger things happen."

Sierra cupped her hands in anticipation. "Does that mean we get a story?"

"Yes Rum," Alex said. "Do give us a story."

"You cut that attitude, Alex. What freak jokes about something like this?"

"A very unconvinced freak. You don't believe my story but at least I'm capable of keeping it straight. You haven't even started yours and we're already bogged down with inconsistencies."

"Alex, drop the interrogator act for a while. I'm sure Rum won't mind clearing things up. Will you, Rum?" Sierra said.

Rum sighed. "You ain't gonna drop it are you?"

"Not until next time I feel like it."

"Fine... if you want it that badly, I'll tell you a little. It'll be better than Alex's story anyway that's for sure – no girly tantrums over stolen poetry."

"They're called novels, Rum," Alex felt inclined to point out.

Rum scratched his head in an attempt to remember. "It must have been, over a decade now. Without telling my wife I withdrew our life-savings... There was this race see... a definite win. I bet the whole lot.

Well... right after the race started my wife showed up at the track... still don't know how she found out about it. She even showed up with our kid, you know, to make me feel bad. The woman looked ready to dump me right there and then... but my pick came through. I won and our money tripled. Suddenly she weren't so mad no more. We celebrated right there and then – my wife was already listing the things she'd buy." Rum paused. "Another guy wasn't so lucky. He'd bet his life savings as well, but lost the lot. He started shooting off his mouth at us. I told him to push off so he pulled a gun, started demanding the money." Rum sighed. "And that's how things go wrong at a race track.

"What happened to the money?" Alex asked.

"I tell a story like that and you ask about the money!?" Rum replied. "The money was stolen, what do you think happened?"

Sierra edged in. "Loosen up, Alex. You can't expect him to remember every little detail. I doubt the bookies would be in a rush to reissue the money. Everything doesn't have to be a lie."

"Every story is half-truth," Alex said. "

"Yours especially," Rum said. "Now, have I earned a reward?" He looked to Sierra.

The girl released her shoulders in compassion. She'd always felt pity for the old bum, right now she felt a different kind of pity. Reaching into her coat, she took out Rum's whiskey bottle. "Is this what you're looking for?"

No sooner than she held it out, did it vanish in a flicker of Rum's snatching hand. He slurped a portion away. Watching him drink the binned whiskey, Sierra's original sense of pity came rushing right back.

"Happy Christmas, Rum," she said.

"I'll say," Rum replied. "We're already here."

He pointed across the road to a neon lit sign, reading: the Ro's. A board out front depicted the same smiling sumo wrestler from the billboard - how the owner saw the connection they could only wonder.

It looked like a club annexed to a bar, and then attached to that, a smaller building – an off-licence. The total scale of the combined structure was quite impressive, really unlike anything else in this area. These three interconnected buildings may have only been the front sections.

Sierra stared daftly at the building, caught off guard by the size. "It's really big. Maybe we should re-think our strategy here. I was expecting something more... local."

"Not really," Rum said, tossing his now empty bottle to the ground. "We can either pick a door or stand around wasting more time. I for one am not standing outside to discuss background stories."

Almost as if spurred by Rum's words a group of seven or so youths emerged from the club section of the building. They stood conjugating there, each with their heads tucked low beneath the same dark blue hoodies. They didn't appear to be going anywhere soon and seemed more intent on showing their prescience than anything. At this point the homeless group noticed further youths scattered around the main building like soldiers at a barracks, all of them wore those same blue hoodies. On the positive side of things none of them seemed particularly alert, more interested in chatting amongst themselves and snorting certain substances in their own tight little circles.

Alex inspected the scene. "Looks like we might have a bit of trouble getting into the club section. Doesn't seem like they're too interested in who's coming and going but I'd rather not risk any hassle. Let's try the off-license first."

"At last we have direction!" Rum yelled, staggering toward the off-license.

Rum led the group inside, arrival announced by a tinny bell ring. The old man rubbed his eyes to adjust to the indoor lighting, and to wash those beer goggles away. It might have been a bad idea drinking whiskey before coming in. To make amends he chose to remain near the entrance, out of the way. No way he'd risk navigating the vulnerable stacks of beer bottles dotted around the shop.

Alex, Henry, and Sierra paced eerily toward the clerk.

He was an elderly man, bald headed and dressed in suspenders like those from the previous century. He watched their approach, staring them down through thick spectacles. Drawing nearer, they noticed a golden retriever resting by his feet. It batted an eye to address their presence.

"What do you want?" the clerk demanded. "By god, my eyes might nearly be shot but my nose is better than ever. And right now I smell street scum. You ain't got no business here. Get out or I'll sick my dog on you."

Alex stepped to the counter. "A golden retriever? What's it going to do, demand attention till we get bored and walk away?"

The clerk sighed defeat. "Fine, what do you want?"

"Sorry sir," Sierra said. "We were looking for the owner of the shop."

"The owner? Ain't here. That boy's gone off somewhere. Not that you need to know. I'm the one left in charge of this here shop. I'm the one you talk to."

"You... You're in charge?"

"Wanna make something of it? Just because I'm old don't mean my wits are gone."

"Of course not," Sierra replied, trying to prevent herself looking back at Rum's mischief. The clank of rattling bottles suggested he bore ulterior motives for staying out of sight. "Could you tell us when he'll be coming back?"

"Beats me. He went off to check on one of his other businesses down near the city centre. Should have been back yesterday actually. Don't know what's taking him so long now."

"He's all the way back there?" With a sigh, Sierra rested her head on the counter. "Why? Why does every little thing have to be so hard?"

Alex took her place. "Wait... we're looking for a man named John. We think he was in debt to the owner of this place."

The clerk pulled a dramatic pose for thought, scratching his head and humming. Alex studied his elaborate movements carefully. It seemed intended to distract them while he slipped a ledger under the counter.

"People in debt? A lot of people are in debt these days," the clerk continued. "It's nothing for me to speak of though."

Sierra winced up from her despair. "Please, it's very important. You have to help us, please."

"I'm sorry young miss, but them's the rules. And these rules above all others ain't meant to be broken. If you had half a brain on your shoulders you'd stay well away from people like mister Matters. Know what I mean? He might be my nephew and all but... well just stay away is all I'll say."

Sierra breathed inward. She found herself standing on the edge of reasoning with him, yet unsure on how to proceed. Salvation came with the smash of a bottle. Seemed Rum's busy hands had become butter fingers.

The clerk perked up. "What the hell is that!? Who's down there, thief!" He called for the dog to strike. "Go get him Jess! Make him sorry.

Rum had already fled outside when the clerk rolled out from behind the counter to give chase – yes, he was in a wheel chair too. He gave up around where the liquor bottle smashed.

"Now I've to handle this mess. My back hurts when I lean down," he moaned.

The clerk distracted, Sierra leaned over the counter and grabbed the ledger. All three of them at once flushed straight out the door.

The room now empty, the old clerk glanced around. "Hello?"

Chapter 7

They didn't stop running until making good distance from Jack Matters' bar. The wheel chair stricken man might not give chase, but henchmen were abound these days. Something indicated this ledger would be worth chasing after.

They needed a place to blend in, the nearest one being an arched rail bridge. It ran over a road, providing a natural shelter for several homeless men huddled around a bin fire. Their boisterous cursing, while a suitable distraction from Sierra's own yelling, ensured most passers-bye took the long way round.

"Rum you idiot! We leave you alone for a few seconds and you rob the store!"

"What can I say? I saw an opening."

"And provided one," Alex said. "At least we got that book."

"Book?" Rum said. "Oh yeah, of course you did, that's what I planned all along."

Sierra hunched down, laying the book open on her lap. The others leaned over to see.

"Is that what we came here looking for?" Henry asked.

Sierra turned a page. "Maybe. I'm not exactly sure what it is. The clerk started guarding it when we asked about this 'John' fella. My guess, whatever we're looking for is somewhere in here. It's such a strange book."

The pages were filled with columns of names and numbers. The names didn't appear to be listed in any order except the date written, and even that had exceptions.

"It's a debt book," Rum said. "Trust me, I've seen a few. Flick to the last filled pages. If our guy's been here recently his listing should be there."

Sierra flicked ahead to the last few days. "I don't see any John here. There' a Joan – damn it, he's not here." Her eye caught a slip of paper sticking out from the next page - it looked like a bank draft.

Holding it to the light, she read it out loud: "Payment for twenty thousand dollars, signed, John Regal."

"Could it be him?" Henry said.

Alex snatched the note. He stared at it in private contemplation, then requested the suicide note from Sierra. He juxtaposed the two.

"That's what I thought," he said. "The signature on the suicide note is the same as on the bank draft."

Rum folded arms in dissatisfaction. "No way you could notice something like that – this fast even."

Alex handed Rum both the note and cheque. "It's true. See for yourself."

Rum scratched his noggin. "I can't tell. I suppose it looks... sort of the same."

"It's the same style of handwriting – like a child's. He obviously doesn't know cursive. Then consider the date, this cheque was written up on the 24th – yesterday. It ties in with the information on the suicide note."

Sierra took both papers from Rum. "That's... useful. You're a pretty perceptive guy, Alex."

"Whatever," Rum said. "The guy's got too much time to think, that's his problem. If he's so smart then how about he thinks up a way to trace it? Having the cheque's all well and good, but it doesn't tell where the guy is."

Alex hummed in contemplation. His ideas ran short.

Henry broke in with stuttering little pips, as if waiting for everyone to finish. "I-It's not made out to Jack Matters. Or the club either."

Sierra took a second look at the cheque. "Henry's right! It's made out to a, 'Grey Oaks Retirement home.' It looks like a donation."

"Strange," Alex said. "That means the owner of that night club wouldn't have been able to cash it anyway. Looks like our Mr. John tried to pull a fast one. That might explain why his name's not on the list."

Rum snickered. "Not likely. Listen, the suicide note said Jack Matters was hassling his wife and kid. You honestly think he's going to drop a phoney cheque in that kind of threat hanging over him? If Matters doesn't break his legs then he'd likely break his kid's. He might be a deadbeat but no father would put that on their kid – suicidal or not."

"What are you thinking?" Alex asked.

"Remember when Sierra robbed the guy first? He was slow, he was drunk, staggering all over the place. He was ripe for the picking. When I think back to it now his face looked busted. He wasn't staggering, he was limping. He wasn't drunk - someone beat the crap out of him. Back in my day that's what we did... at least what they did when someone couldn't repay a loan. He must have gone back to talk his way out of it but failed at the negotiation table. They knocked the snot out of him and took what he had there and then."

"Interesting hypothesis," Alex said. "Having some flashbacks from your gambling days?"

"I'm saying it's possible. That's all."

Sierra grinned. "What's this, is Rum becoming subtly more dedicated to the cause? You've built something of a mythos around this guy now. We better get back on track before we lose the point."

Alex stood with a stretch. "Sierra's right. We shouldn't get too bogged down with assumptions. So... our next target is the 'Grey Oaks Retirement home.' Anyone know where it is?"

The group silenced to gather thoughts - silence broken by the intrusion of an outsider.

"I know where that is!" a ragged voice cried out from the other group of bums. A nearby bum burst from the other crowd, lunging forth with an outstretched hand for permission to speak. He tripped on a box and crashed to the ground.

That's when they noticed all those other tramps gawking in on their conversation. They at once shifted innocently back to showcase positions around the bin fire.

The tramp who came forward pressed up from the ground. He opened his lips to speak, but hesitated upon noticing Sierra. "Hey, ain't you that girl from the park?"

Sierra tried looking past the splotches of dirt on his face. "Len! I didn't recognise you. What are you doing out this far?"

"Begging. It is Christmas Eve, more people shopping out this way – more cash for me." He grinned widely, unleashing a vengeful odour of alcohol. "And you're with Rum 'n' all. Then again, when are you not?"

"You know each other?" Alex asked Rum quietly.

"He hangs around the park. He's good for the drink," Rum whispered back.

"What about yourselves? Don't often see young Rum away from the park like this."

"Call it a daytrip - against my will," Rum said.

"Sounded like one hell of a day trip."

"Right, you were listening after all."

"Didn't have a choice – couldn't hear anything else."

"You said you know where Grey Oaks is?"

"Know it? Sure, I used to live there for a time. Then they started running out of funds, and well, let's say I'm doing better here on the street than some of the poor old bastards in that place." He searched his memory. "It's about a block from here, if I remember. Follow the river then cross the next bridge. It should be right across the road from there. That's as good as I can do."

Sierra repeated the directions to herself.

"You watch it out there. That place is a rough neighbourhood these days. Guy could go in and never come out."

"We'll keep our heads low," Sierra said.

"Won't matter, they'll come to you. I guarantee. But forget about that, worry when it comes. You're a good ways from home, stay here a while. We got a fire, always good to be warm. And if you happen to have some drink on you," he said the next part slyly, "all the better then."

"Sorry Len, I'm all out." Rum raised his arms to indicate such, coat rattling with the stolen bottles.

"Sure sounds like it."

"I don't think we could stay anyway," Sierra said. "We're supposed to be in a hurry but we keep getting bogged down."

"Well... will of the Lord I suppose."

"Yeah, tell me about it. He isn't really helping with this weather either."

"Make use of it while you can. Might be cold now but there's going to be a big one coming in a few days."

"A big one?"

"A blizzard they say. Reckon it'll shut down the whole city."

"Our divine protector really picks his moments," Rum uttered.

"We'll just have to finish by then," Sierra added.

"Then I won't keep you no more. Good luck with whatever you're trying to do."

With that they waved goodbye to the gritty old bum named Len. He quickly wheeled round and merged back to his own group. Once beyond ears distance, Sierra spoke first.

"Well, that was handy." She looked at Rum. "You lied. You told him you didn't have any drink."

"You're surprised? I lie about everything."

"It is Christmas... maybe I thought you could take a break."

"From lying?"

"From most the things you do. Hold off the drink, for a start."

"Drink? Good Christ that's a thought... I should really dig into this stuff before Christmas is over. Nice thinking' Blondie!"

Old Rum delved into his coat pocket, pulling forth a full bottle of whiskey. Uncapping the lid, he slurped back a mouth full, exhaling to release the heat.

With a passive sigh, Sierra rolled her eyes. "Rum, you old... clod. How many did you steal anyway?"

"Four. And they're all for me. No presents this year." He drenched his throat with another chug. "Now it's Christmas!"

Chapter 8

Len understated his warning. This new neighbourhood wasn't rough, this place was a crime ridden eye-soar. Hookers prowled the side walks, trying to round up the only customers available - junkies and hobos. In plain sight, drug dealers maintained a trade on most street corners. The sights appeared ever seamier amidst the darkness of twilight, tinted blue by the flashing neon lighting over most buildings. They flickered like a warning from the past.

This was an entertainment centred district, at one time anyway. Though the old cinemas and arcades still remained, they'd become nothing but backdrops to the area's new attractions.

Sierra took in but a few images of the scene. "Nice place."

"It used to be... a long time ago," Alex said.

"Have you been here before?" Sierra asked.

"Maybe... it's been a while. The place looks so different it mightn't even be the same place."

"If you've been here before then speak up and show us the way. The sooner we're out of here the better."

"Let's just stick to Len's directions, they'd be better than anything I can offer. He said to stay along the riverside then cross at the first bridge."

Their current path ran straight along by the river. The first glance into its water would reveal a maltreated mess swamped with sewage. It seemed better not to take a second glance.

Up ahead a Victorian style bridge arched over to the other side. Crowds of people loitered all over it, yet it looked originally intended to act as a vehicle crossing. Not one single car had come through this area since they came here so it seemed safe to assume they rarely did.

Crossing the bridge themselves, they realised people weren't satisfied just treating it like a walking road, but had transformed it into something of a makeshift hostel. It looked like a third rate slum compressed into one small space. Shoulder to shoulder, addicts and hobos rested against the balustrades. Drug dealers hassled the bustle of wayfarers while prostitutes did so in kind. It was as if every social faction occupying this haphazard community could be found in this one spot. The bridge looked like something ripped from a middle age scene, an old time trade location between two towns on opposite sides of the river, a gathering point where traders meet. The trade appeared to be going strong to this day, except these tradesmen had thrown in their produce stacked stalls for cylindrical containers no larger than a baby's pinkie.

Alex, Henry, Sierra, and Rum hadn't made it half way across when two men began taking an interest in them. One was a black man, the other white – both wore the same blue hoodie. They followed unwaveringly at a distance.

"Hey you," one of them said, tone betraying hostile intent.

The bums continued walking in hope their silence would cause them to lose interest

It took one lapse in judgment from Henry to stir the pot. He didn't mean to acknowledge them but in alarm he chanced a glance their way.

The two men picked right up on it. "Yeah you! You heard me," the white man yelled.

"A-are you talking to me?" Henry winced.

Rum could have clipped him over the head for the stupidity.

The two men scuttled closer to the group. "Look buddy, we got some nice stuff here. You want some pills. Give it to you cheap, see," the black man said.

Since Henry stopped the others had no choice but to stop with him. And since the others stopped, Alex had no choice but to intervene.

"We don't want any – push off."

"Wasn't talking to you."

"Was he talking to you?" the black man mimicked.

Alex shoved the nearest one back. "Walk away."

"Hey – calm... calm. We're trying to help that's all. Be cool."

"Help someone else."

Both men laughed among themselves, pacing away innocently. "No trouble tough-guy. No trouble." No sooner than they left did they begin bargaining with another tramp. That one didn't seem quite so reluctant.

Right off, the four of them carried on across the bridge.

"Fucking Dud!" Rum exclaimed at once. "Don't say anything to people like that, don't even look at them! That's how they spot the weakest in the pack."

"I-I'm sorry. I just... reacted. Sorry."

"Sorry nothing. Since Alex had to bail you out we'll probably end up getting more trouble on our plates."

"You don't think they'll come after us do you?" Sierra asked.

"Let's just avoid using this bridge again. Something tells me this place is populated with its fair share of screwballs, and those guys aren't the exception. Besides, we promised Len we'd keep our heads low."

"That seems like a good idea," Alex said. "Did you notice those blue hoodies they were wearing? At Matter's bar there were groups outside wearing the same kind of outfits. Most of the dealers around here are wearing those same clothes too. This must be where mister Matters gets his income."

"Then let's hope he doesn't miss his debt book," Sierra said.

"I'd rather not find out."

They cleared across to the other side. Like a boundary between two different nations this side appeared empty when compared to the last. Maybe all the locals flood to the other side at night.

They stopped under a street lamp to gather their bearings.

"Len told us Grey Oaks is right across from the bridge," Rum said. "A lot of things are right across from the bridge, and I don't see no retirement home. The layout here is all over the place. The structure sucks, the locals suck, the entertainment sucks – why the hell would anyone want to live in a place like this?"

"Deadbeats have to live somewhere," Alex replied. "Junkies need easy access. Hookers need customers and so do dealers. Some people have needs and this place supplies - call it a controlled hell hole."

"My favourite kind of hell," Rum said.

"The police must turn a blind eye here so criminals don't feel inclined to go into other areas of the city," Alex continued. "Controlled... like keeping monkeys in cages. They might be confined but that won't stop them throwing shit at each other."

While the others spoke amongst themselves Henry wandered around checking signposts. One arrow pointed down a dreary alley.

"Grey Oaks retirement home," he read out loud. "H-hey, I found it!"

They grouped before the alley opening like knights before a dragon's cave. The alley path seemed to have been absorbed by darkness, as if they'd step in and fall to a bottomless pit.

Rum fiddled with the sign post in some vain attempt to change its direction. "Looks like a fine place for someone to drop an ambush. And from the looks of things, someone already did."

He drew their attention to a burnt out building which acted as one of the alley borders. They could see through the broken walls to pieces of furniture and cindered computer monitors dotted about inside. It might have been left that way since the day it burned down.

Sierra marched forward. From the way the others stood gawking at the scenery they'd never move without encouragement. The whole way down they clustered near one another for support. In reality the alley was quite short. Turning at a fork in the lane, their eyes met a dimly glowing light set above a metallic security door. A white van had been parked right outside. It occurred to them this wasn't so much an alley but more a driveway down, although the other passage at the fork appeared annexed to a longer alley. They didn't need to look down, they already found their goal.

"Well, this looks like the place," Sierra said.

The light above the metal door flickered as if reacting to their presence.

Alex pushed the metallic security door open. It wasn't even locked.

The interior was no grander than outside. Wallpaper peeled off onto the cracked tiled floor. Drips of water would tap the ground off the corner of their eyes. When they turned in time to see one drop fall another would pull their attentions away. Bed pans lay strewn about to catch most of the leaks.

Patients needed the remaining pans for themselves, not that they seemed capable of getting up and using them to begin with. What looked like the bulk of patients had been packed into this one room. They lay strewn on gurneys tied up to tubes and wires too advanced for the décor. More elderly sat planted on couches in front of a television set. The way they stared blankly forward they didn't seem aware of themselves.

Yet it was all one room. This small building bore no interior walls. Where walls should have been the floor merely changed surface from tiles to carpet. Right now they stood on tiles like those normally found in most reception areas. They couldn't see a reception desk though, not until a rustle sounded from behind a stack of boxes.

A woman in a pink orderly shirt popped up in greeting. "I didn't hear you come in, sorry. Be with you in a minute, I have to fix this."

Standing in waiting, Rum sniffed noticeably. "It stinks."

"Give it a week, you'll smell worse," Alex said.

"Doubt it. I've never crapped in my bed and slept in it."

The nurse finished her duty by placing a long wooden board across two stacked boxes, in the form of a table. Setting a notepad on top, she stood behind in waiting. It was the reception desk.

"Are you visiting?"

Sierra approached. "We're looking for someone."

"Name?"

"He's not a patient here."

"No? Then what can I do?"

Sierra held out the bank draft. "We're looking for this man. He donated money to this place but... it never made it here."

"This... is from John."

"That's what the signature says."

"How did you get this? John usually brings them himself."

"We're... friends of his."

"That's not possible. John doesn't have any."

"We're new friends."

"You do seem... more his type."

"So you do know him."

"We dated... briefly."

"Didn't work out?"

"No. He's clingy. He gambles. He cheats. He never shuts up about his ex-wife," the woman blurted.

"That's a lot of present tense for an ex."

"Well... to be honest I haven't gotten around to cutting the cord."

"Would be the reasonable thing to do."

"But I haven't even seen him in so long. Then when I do see him from time to time, it's almost like running into a total stranger. It's tough to know where I stand."

Sierra went along with it. The way she blurted these statements out it seemed she'd been holding them back for a while. So long as she believed they were friends of John's they could extract what information they needed. The nurse probably hoped they'd pass the message.

"I would have ended it," the nurse continued, "but he started donating money to this pace. And well... look at this dump, few people even know we exist down here. We needed the money and this place means more to me than anything. I guess that's why John started donating in the first place. So long as he kept it up I'd be less likely to dump him."

"Have you got an address?"

"Sorry. I've never been to his house."

Alex leered over. "You took his money and you don't even know where he lives?"

"He dropped the donations off here himself. When he stopped delivering them I thought he finally took the hint - although it would have been nice if he figured it out after giving me this payment. He's a little thick, a real loser to be honest. No offence."

"Because he gave you money?" Alex snapped. "The guy tries to help and you throw it in his face – no, you didn't even have the guts to throw it in his face!"

The nurse stared in wonder.

Sierra tried easing Alex down with her hands.

"Forget it," Alex said. "I'll be outside."

Watching him storm out the main entrance, Rum muttered to the others, "What's up his fanny?"

Sierra re-focused on the nurse. "Sorry about that. He's had a rough day – there was this fire then he had a run in with some assholes."

"Of course – it's tough working on Christmas."

Sierra grinned. "Of course... He's something of a workaholic, our Alex."

The nurse paused for thought. "You know, now that I think of it I may have something you could use." She dug under the boxes, or reception desk, and re-emerged with a photo. "This is his ex-wife and his daughter, Emma."

The picture showed a red haired woman holding a child of roughly four years in her arms. John, they assumed, held the camera.

Sierra hummed. "That's very cute, but how does this help us find him?"

"He left this at my house a while ago. He would sometimes drop into moods, you know, get depressed. He used to keep this photo nearby to cheer himself up. Better than Prozac this, he'd light up in seconds. Annoyed the hell out of me. What kind of man stares at a picture of his ex while with another woman? Well... really he just liked seeing his kid. He said it was the best photo of her. Still... I thought it inappropriate. If you really want to find him, he scribbled his ex-wife's new address on the back."

Sierra took the photo and flipped it over. "This is his address?"

"His old address. His ex-wife and kid live there now. I've no idea where he lives now."

"Then I guess we'll have to pay his ex-wife a visit."

"That could be tricky. The way he described her she sounds like a real hard-case. But... that might have been a lie too."

"He lied a lot?"

"At everything he did. From the stories he told me to the way he gambled. He cheated all the time. Never took an honest win. Still, he rarely did ever win. He owed money all over the place. I'm positive criminals were after him."

"We think so too," Sierra said.

The nurse peeked down at the sleeping patients. "They'll be waking up soon. I'll have to clean their beds. Do you mind waiting a moment?"

***

Alex waited outside in the alley. He paced up and down, furiously pondering why he became so worked up. Since coming to this place he couldn't keep his thoughts straight. He felt something in the air here, a certain familiarity he couldn't quite place. More than anything he paced up and down merely to tire out his darkened temper. The inconspicuously dark side alley did little to lighten the mood.

Nearing voices snapped his senses back. Winging a chance, Alex peaked out around the white van. Two men entered the alley, two men in blue hoodies – the same men from the bridge. They spoke loud, blissfully uncaring for anyone who might hear.

"She better be fit!" one said. "I'm not risking my parole for another ugly cow."

"Not like the cops ever come here. We'll just blast her full of drugs then carry her to the car. Once we drop her off those sickos at the brothel will take care of her."

"And if they don't want her?"

"You heard it from the boss himself – trade's too low to be picky."

"Trade's low because the cops are on the look out for that place."

"They just think it's an old wives tale, they've no choice but to investigate. Once they get tired of looking we'll be back in the clear."

"That's true. The way they have that brothel hidden it'd take some miracle to find." They stopped at a split in the lane which continued to run around the rear of the ruins. "They said they'd be waiting down this way."

Both men stepped for the turn when one happened a glance toward the rest home. Alex made an attempt to duck back behind the van, which went to no avail.

"Hey check it out!" one cried, drawing the attention of the other. "It's the smart guy again."

Alex stepped out to meet them rather than go back inside. Mentally, he cursed himself for not running back inside while he had the chance.

"Problem is there?" he asked.

The white man, who acted in charge, pointed his way. "You. You're my problem. Why is it when I offered my help you went and got all rude?"

"Sorry, didn't plan spending the night cradled down in a gutter."

"You're already in the gutter, street scum. We don't want you homeless rejects on our turf."

"Why? Is the accommodation full? Maybe the addicts and hookers need it more."

"They pay cash. You stay if you pay."

"I'm really more a tourist."

"Then I gotta take a border fee. Give me everything on you."

"I don't have anything on me."

"You got clothes. Strip then give them to us."

"I'll stay here thanks."

"Then we'll do this the easy way."

His accomplice revealed a syringe, squirting some contents into the air.

"That looks like a waste," Alex said. "I thought you had a victim to subdue."

Both men laughed and the white man spoke. "You should have played dumb, smart guy. You're too clever for your own good – listening in on us like that."

They slinked closer. Alex didn't move until they came close enough. Grabbing the white man's arm he spun him to the ground. Pinning him down, Alex levelled punches to the face.

"Stab him!" the beaten man yelled, stifled amidst the blows. "The syringe! Now!"

Taken aback by the tenacity of this assault, the black man hardly moved. When he did try stab the syringe he found it piercing hollow air. Alex had dodged back, ready to deliver a blow square to his jaw. He repeated three blows until the man fell.

The white man pronged himself onto Alex's back. Hanging on tight, he fisted the side of his head. Alex simply crashed backward into the white van a few times until the parasite lost its grip.

Alex took the opportunity to deliver a kick square to his face. That did it for the white man. He crawled away to safety amidst a moan of damning words.

Rather than go head on, the black man tossed the syringe like a dart. Alex simply stepped aside allowing it to glide into the ruins.

The black man hesitated to continue. He grabbed his accomplice, carrying him back out the alley. Both men cursed Alex until vanishing from sight, yelling back as though they had been victorious.

A safe wave of silence dawned over the alley. Alex took it as a sign to fall to his knees. Though unlikely to show such during a fight he couldn't handle real blows like that. He was used to fighting, not getting hit. And he didn't have the stamina to keep it up for long. When it came down to it his only form of defence relied on all out offence.

In curiosity Alex found himself wandering after the syringe. It had been tossed into the ruins. Hopping over a shattered knee high wall, he picked up the needle from amidst rubble. He stared into the tube though he couldn't know what liquid it contained. He only knew this little contraption had been intended for someone else, an innocent woman whose life they wanted to destroy.

He smiled. It felt warm knowing what he knew, that every step had a purpose, that every step would lead him to the right place. For the second time since starting this journey he felt the infrequent satisfaction of self-worth. He regained a piece of himself.

Smashing the syringe with a rock, he stood to leave. He stopped dead as though snagged by a loose nail. It returned to him then – that feeling of deja-vu he'd felt since coming here. It all came at once, focused into this one building. Images flashed in his mind's eye. He saw this building as it was in its prime, before the fire took its paint. He'd been here many times before. The whole area had changed so much he barely recognised it.

This is where he did it. This is where it started. He tried to run far away but only circled back by chance. These tired old ruins once belonged to a literary agent, a man of grand promises. This is where his old dreams died.

Chapter 9

Henry, Rum, and Sierra waited patiently for the nurse to finish her duties. She buzzed about the room, handing out food and laying down warm blankets. Patients who could still move their mouths uttered groans of thanks. For the others who couldn't she bowed and smiled as though none were needed. Despite it all she would stop in parts to make sure her visitors didn't feel neglected.

"So why all the interest in John anyway?" she spoke from the rest area. "Are you cops?"

Rum laughed. "Cops? We look like cops to you?"

"Hard to tell to be honest. There have been a lot of them coming around these parts lately. Could be anyone."

"Around here? No wonder you thought that. They must all be deep undercover," Rum said.

"They don't care about our problems to bother going on patrol. It just happens we've had a string of high profile problems recently. First the cops came here looking for some underground brothel. It's a real high profile case. Nobody's ever found it, so it's become something of an urban legend. People say they're just waving a bone for the media."

"But at least you get a bit of protection from it, right?" Sierra said.

"Women... girls get kidnapped in this area all the time and the cops don't let it bother them much. They're just showing up here now to bite a piece out of the brothel mystery. Once they come up short they'll turn around and forget about those girls. They won't change anything."

The nurse buffed a few pillows then made way to the television area. She handed out soup bowels to some receiving hands. On wiping her forehead, she posed in concentration.

"Where was I? That's right - the police. The other reason they're here is... Do you know about that serial killer?"

"Sure, hard to miss him," Sierra said. "We can't sit near a telly without hearing a news flash about him."

"He's killed six women now. It was nearly seven, or so they say. He attacked a woman near here recently."

"Really? Are they sure it was actually him? I mean, this place is..."

"He used the same methods. He drugged her, then pulled her into a side alley. He started taking photos when a passer bye saw the camera flashing. But he got away. She didn't see his face – said she couldn't remember much. It's so scary."

The nurse jolted to attention when an elderly patient groaned for food. At once she went to him, laying down a bowl.

"Sorry Mr. Earlwin. I got lost in conversation." She looked to Sierra. "I don't get much time for chitchat normally. I must be boring you with all this."

"It's all very interesting. You've helped us a lot."

"Let's hope John is as pleased."

"What do you mean?"

"Are you really friends of his? I never listened to him half the time and I know more about him than you."

Sierra formulated her thoughts to come up with an answer. When none came she subsided for the truth, at least half of it. "Okay, well... we found something belonging to him."

"I suppose that's okay then, so long as you're not up to no good."

The nurse hurried back to Mr. Earlwin, stabilizing his soup dish before it slipped from his hands. She held it steady over his mouth for him to take a sip.

"Will you still need that cheque... You know, since you're breaking up with him and all?" Sierra asked.

Rum's interest peaked at this point.

The nurse shrugged. "It is made out for the retirement home. And he did want us to have it. It might be wrong to take it... but look at this place, it's a mess. We really need all the cash we can get. We're in debt to a lot of people, not all are so forgiving."

"I understand. It... does belong to you anyway."

Rum's legs nearly collapsed in disappointment.

"It's not just me," the nurse continued. "I run this place together with my brother, Sam. He works hard to bring in money, but he's been down on his luck lately. If we don't pay back the debt by next month they'll take the premises. Sam's becoming desperate. You wouldn't believe the plans he's come up with."

A cold push of wind flushed through the building. It stopped on the sound of a door shutting. A man bundled up in thick woollens entered via backdoor. He approached them, scrunching woollen cap in hand.

"What's this, more deportees? Or just dropping off your luggage?" he said.

The nurse relieved him of his damp hat. "Sam, you're back early."

"Never a good sign." Sam stared down the tramps. "Can't you see we're full? Try taking care of him yourself before dropping him into a place like this."

Rum frowned curiously, pointing at himself. "Is he talking about me?"

"No Sam," the nurse impeded. "They're guests – friends of John. You remember John?"

Sam nodded understanding. He stood with shoulders held high, displaying no desire to apologise. "We're closing soon."

"We are?"

"I have to talk to you. They've narrowed our deadline."

Sam stormed into a backroom behind the makeshift reception. Everything about it indicated his sister to follow.

Sierra shrugged inwardly. It seemed they'd been demoted from honoured guests to basic hindrance. "It's okay. We really should be going."

"I'm sorry. This is just bad timing. Goodbye and good luck." With no more conversation to have she hurried after her brother.

Left standing unattended, Rum sighed in relief. "Finally. I thought she'd never shut up."

"I thought she was nice," Sierra replied.

They'd taken not one step toward the exit when quarrelling voices sounded from the backroom. As the content of the argument vocalised more, it became clear this was something no idle standing citizen could resist listening to.

***

Alex sat on a broken piece of wall, staring at the ruined structure in awe. If not for those would-be attackers this building would have gone unnoticed to him. He didn't concern himself thinking of that coincidence, rather he thought back to a time long ago.

Before he ever came to the streets this building acted as a computer arcade. When its success dwindled, the owner set his sites on other means of income. One of these was representing young, and therefore naïve, artists. Since Alex never saw any other clients he might have been the only one to fall for it. He walked straight in without questions.

Alex thought back to the first time he entered this building: crossing the thresh-hold, experience slips clutched eagerly in hand. It was his first time seeing that dim room lined with desks of no practical use save what's left for spiders. The desks still remained, now broken down, concealed by debris. Cobwebs remained as though those same spiders never moved.

Back then, he'd almost turned to leave before noticing a man sat in front his computer screen. The screen glowed blue against his thick spectacles. His image together with the shroud of darkness gave him the look of a modern voyeur. He was the clerk. His name was Leon, and he introduced Alex to his agent to be.

Their first meeting was an awkward one. The agent received his experience slips with a careless lack of impetus. The only paper to fancy his eye bore a dollar sign and two zeros.

The agent's desk was raised higher and placed under a sun window. Alex sat on an inferior rickety stool, shading his eyes against the glare.

The agent scuffled busily through papers. "So you found out about us on the internet. Good reviews I hope."

"Actually I couldn't find any, but you are located near my college."

"We're new." He put down the papers. "Before we start you should know we normally charge monthly. Since this is your first time I'll let your first payment cover two months – like, you know."

"Thank you very much."

"I don't want you to feel under pressure. Like, you know, I read the manuscript you sent in. You've put a lot of hard work into your writing, and at the end of the day, that's all that matters. And it'll also be 20$ for the reading fee. But worry about that later." He penned it on a notebook.

Alex propped his shoulders up with a smile. "Do you think I could really be successful?"

"It's not what I think you can do. It's what you think you can do. Can you do it?"

"I think I can."

"Like, y'know - that's good, most writers don't have your confidence. They're all dreary and down on themselves. What the world needs is more writers who won't change no matter what anyone says. Confidence – that's what separates you from the others I've interviewed. Always have confidence."

"Confidence."

"We'll just have to see if you have that same confidence in the rest of your writing. Did you bring some other work I can look at?"

"Other work? I didn't think I'd need to."

"I see, that really is a shame."

Alex nervously put his hand into his back pocket and took out a CD coated in a laminate see through case. "I do have them on this though."

"Good. Leave it with me."

"Sure... but..."

"Problem?"

"I... it's my only copy. I don't have a computer so I write in the library or college and store them on this."

"What are you saying? You don't trust me yet? Like, you know, trust is a big part of confidence and I'm watching it fizzle away right here."

"Trust? Okay... I'll leave it with you."

The agent reached over and snatched it away. With one quick turn in his swivel chair he popped it into an open safety box then shut it tight. "See that, locked away safe until I need it. Everything's fine."

***

Alex cursed the memory, though he'd been cursing it endlessly for some time now. He'd always told himself the agent robbed his writing to steal the stories. In reality he probably never even looked at them. At least the lie indicated they were worth stealing.

Week after week Alex requested the writing back. Week after week the agent said he was still reading the stories. By the second month that first freebie seemed trifle.

Alex found himself drawn to the beaten in hollow that was the agent's office, attracted by the rhythm of water dripping from a support beam. One drop clung to the beam with everything it had, only to let itself go and splash to tiny particles. With whatever piece of his poet's subconscious remained he compared the struggle to his own life, which might have been just as quick in the grand scheme of things.

He began focussing on the ground where the drops fell as if attempting to unravel a magic eye puzzle. The drops weren't making normal sounds but dinging with a metallic chime. There was something there, something belonging to the agent strong enough to withstand the fire. Led by curious instinct he pulled the loose rubble away, dug around the debris then heaved this small box shaped object out onto stable ground. The dust and grit accumulated over time left the object looking almost brick like to blend in with the rest of this mess. Hiding like a chameleon it had avoided looters. With one wash of his hand Alex broke away this disguise. Despite a splashing of choking dust it could hide no longer. It was a safety box. More specifically the very safety box the agent kept in his office. The box he put his writing in.

There was little thought between that realisation and his first attempt to break it open. A heavy rock dropped from a height did the trick.

Quickly, he dove on his knees to set about searching for what he so desired. He pulled out forms and envelopes none of which he needed until setting sights on a black CD pouch. He flicked through all the CD's inside until coming to one he recognised. It bore his name and the titles of his stories, written in the same way he wrote it all that time ago. It was his. He found it.

He stood up holding the only thing he could have desired these past two years. On examination of the surface he found it intact, not a scratch. It had been safely stored within the pouch all this time.

At a loss for breath he uttered, "It's mine."

He clutched the CD close to heart and reminisced back to another day.

Following months of futile meetings and little progress, communication with the agency broke to an immediate halt. Being the kind of person he used to be, Alex waited with patience, feeding himself his own excuses. He visited every day, when on one day he saw a flutter of movement through their dusty windows. Something snapped in him. He started to yell politely.

"Hello! I saw someone in there. Look, my name is Alex. I used to come here all the time." In apparent contradiction he banged violently on the glass.

As if in surrender, the front door clicked open. A short man in a striped shirt and glasses peeked out cautiously. It took Alex a moment to remember the face, let alone his name. It was the silent clerk who had been here on every visit.

"Leon," Alex said. "I've been trying to get through for ages."

Leon clung to the door warily. "He's not here."

Alex caught the door before Leon could slam it, and walked inside like a welcomed guest. The place stank of mould. "His car's outside."

"Listen you," Leon protested. "You can't come in here! Go away. I said he's not..." Leon shied down when the agent entered the room.

"Alex," the agent said. "I see you managed to get inside." He frowned at Leon.

"W-why haven't you been answering my calls? Why do you never let me inside?"

The agent turned his back to drop some items into a travelling bag. When full, he zipped the bag closed, tossing it to a pile of several others.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know how to tell you... but I can't help you any more. Like, y'know, no publishing house will take your work. Honestly I thought you had something here but when I think about it... none of your stories make sense. Like, you know, they're really quite awful."

"You liked them before. You said they were good."

"Don't be argumentative. The publishers told me the same thing. Really, they opened my eyes. To be honest they hated it, laughed at it even. They said this kid won't get anywhere writing stuff like this. Of course I defended you to the bone but they wouldn't have any of it."

"The publishers told you that?"

"Maybe when you improve that pen hand of yours I'll let you come back, until then, adios. You better go home and get climbing that ladder, it'll be a long one." He sighed. "My advice: just stay on the ground. Give up."

Alex could feel sharp nails in his clenched fist. Where a better man might flex muscle in anger, a bony outline extruded from his tightened skin.

"What kind of agent are you?" He spoke through sealed teeth.

"An ex-agent now." He picked up a carrier bag to indicate a change in locale.

"I want my writing back. Give it to me now."

"Sorry, I lost it. We're closing now so... like, you know."

"Where are you moving to?"

"Leon, help Alex find his way outside."

"Where are you running to?"

"Almost sounded like a threat."

"You took my money. You stole my writing. I won't let you get way with this."

The agent motioned for the phone. "Fine. I'm calling the police."

Alex froze. A frail chill washed over his temper.

"That's right," the agent said. "You know the cops won't side with a gullible little loser like you. This building's a wreck but it's more than you'll ever have. And you've no right to be here."

"Cunt. I'll get you."

"That's it, say it louder so everyone can hear the sociopath writer live out the stereotype."

At some point Alex bought into the threats. Though he could have fought the good fight he allowed Leon to push him out to the curb. The front door slammed shut in tune with the shutters.

Alex rushed the shutters as if trying to catch them. He merely slammed into it, banging fists and screaming.

"Bastards! This isn't over! Bastards!"

***

"Bastards," Alex whispered.

Alex smirked dryly for the thought of how badly shattered his life had become, and how much this building had to do with that. Finding his writing like this didn't so much put the pieces back together, as sweep them aside for a better moment.

To think it lay here all this time. He could have reclaimed it if he looked, but he was too afraid to return. And yet, contrary to those fears there was no wanted poster bearing his picture, just the dull quiet of a forgotten crime scene.

Alex shook the thoughts away. All this anticipation and he didn't know if these CDs still worked. In truth, he needed an excuse to prevent the ill-memories from seeping back. No matter the setting, this moment was one of joy. He'd take it all up while it lasted.

The ill-memories didn't stop in this moment of joy. Even as he paced and read the titles of each story out loud, the bad memories moulded into shape at the back of his mind. No matter how he tried holding it down, the debris of these ruins began lifting back to their original place, the scorch marks faded, and the doors reappeared. At the rear twinkle of his mind's eye, he saw the building fully formed as was ten years ago.

He saw a naïve writer enter under cover of darkness. A smashed window marked his return.

Chapter 10

This rash decision arose on the spur of a moment. It started with a pitiful lament in his campus room, and ignited to a lust for revenge. If he stayed home it would have surely gone away to rise again another day. But he didn't have another day. The agent was due to leave next morning. If he didn't act he'd never see that man again. His writing would be lost.

Alex stumbled through the broken window into a pitch black room. He shrieked quietly after cutting his hands on glass. It might have been the feel of his own blood or the adrenaline drying, but Alex froze with fear. As if his mindset suffered a power vacuum regret took the place of anger. He wished this change of heart could be taking place back in the safety of his dorm room. He wished he'd not acted so rash as to arrive without tools. He could bang his head against the wall for forgetting to bring a torch.

Sparking up a zippo lighter, he used it to see. The limited amount of light restored some morale, enough to slowly pace deeper.

It seemed the agent had been busy packing things away. The shelves had been stripped bare, and that pile of travelling bags doubled. The computers were left unplugged on tables, ready to be taken away.

Alex hadn't planned on trolling through bags. He had hoped to sweep through the agent's office and take off with the CD before daybreak.

He stopped before the closed office door to weigh options, to search the bags or the office. He decided on both. Grabbing one bag, he spilled the contents to the floor. A stream of papers poured out - loose manuscripts, none his. He repeated the process to the same effect until a sizable pile gathered. He gave up after three, turning back to the office door.

He gripped the handle, pausing for muffled voices on the other side. Alex jerked back as though electrified. He noticed then, a dim light creeping out under the office door.

The voices neared, growing louder. One belonged to the agent. The other sounded like the clerk.

"You let me fall asleep again," the agent said.

"I didn't have a choice. You were becoming so rough."

"Well I have been stuffing packages all day. My back gets soar and I can't be as careful, like y'know."

"Try taking it easy, or else you'll break something."

The doorknob turned, clicking open. Light from the office consumed darkness.

Embracing futility, Alex froze like an actor on stage awaiting direction. He closed his eyes and waited, until the conversation ended abruptly.

The agent didn't immediately notice the ominous figure basking half in darkness half in light. His focus went straight to the strewn papers on the floor.

"We've got a rat," he said. "Come out over there, I see you, thief!"

Alex stepped up on queue. "You're the thief."

The agent leaned closer for focus. "It's that dumb loser kid. I forgot his name."

"Alex," Leon prompted.

"It doesn't matter. Listen kid - like, y'know - whatever you're trying to do, it's not going to work. The deal is over. Get over it."

Alex paced nearer, clinging to the lighter like a beacon in his quaking hand. Even in brightness it heightened his esteem. Or he couldn't think clear enough to let it go.

"Back up," the agent commanded.

"I'm not going to roll over for you."

"Roll over? You've already fallen face down ass up. You came to me. You gave me the money. You gave me the only copy of your writing. It's not my fault you were too stupid to back up your own stories."

"It's not fair. I didn't do anything to you."

"Life ain't fair, kid. The net was open and you jumped right in. Next time try looking before you leap. At least everything I've done is legal." He sent an indicating nod to the broken window. "Wake up and get the hell out of my building."

"All I want is my writing back. A print out, a copy of my stories - you must have something left."

"Don't beg the troll to move. If you couldn't back up your own work then why should I?"

"I need it. Please I need them back."

"Leon, call the cops. This guy's a bit too clingy for a burglar."

"You can't!" Alex yelled. "You stole my writing, they'll arrest you!"

The agent flashed a smug grin. "Even if they cared, you've still no proof."

As commanded, Leon tapped on the phone dials.

"No!" Alex cried, tossing the zippo to free his hands.

He charged the agent, knocking him back to a desk. Alex lashed maddened blows to his face. Many missed and struck the wooden table top.

The once frail writer found his body consumed with the insatiable strength of rage. Arms belting down with a bony tang, he realised a dormant strength erupting within. And like most unconscious actions it vanished right then. The pummelling force slowed. The agent snarled for his chance.

Before his mind cleared enough to dodge, Alex fell back on the end of a fist. The agent regrouped and scurried back to his office.

"Leon, put down that phone!" the agent cried from within.

He re-emerged, brandishing a revolver with little care for direction. His quivering hand finally settled over Alex. "Don't think I don't like writers. I've always loved a good story. Tell me what you think of this one: he broke in here, I don't know why. We don't have anything here worth stealing. I saw that crazy look in his eye but I never thought he'd try stab me with a knife. I had to shoot him - he would have killed the two of us."

The only sound to follow was Leon laying down the phone. He backed against the wall as if trying to keep going through. His heavy breathing stopped. Total silence fell.

Alex didn't breathe since the gun appeared. He felt it again, the urge telling him to give up, to turn away – to run away. And he would have walked away right then. He would have stepped outside without his stories and may never have become homeless. He would never have had to hide in the gutter.

Some crackling noises drew the agent's attention. The zippo Alex tossed aside had landed amongst the pile of papers. A fire was starting, quickly spreading onto desks and walls.

Alex didn't care about fire. He only saw the agent look away. In his distraction, Alex rushed in, snapping the gun aside. The agent struggled to keep hold so Alex pinned it down. And that was an error of judgment.

The gun let off a bang. The agent gasped a cough of blood. It didn't take long. Alex could see the senses drifting from the man's eyes. Stumbling to his knees, he fell downward into Alex.

In some respect Alex cradled him, though he might have merely been too shocked to step aside. He'd only just noticed his finger on the trigger, let alone grasped the action. He stepped back and let the agent fall flat on his stomach.

Alex tossed the revolver into rising flame. In his panicked stillness another emotional power vacuum took place. His anger vanished. His hands stopped shaking. A cold, dread filled fizzle in his brain replaced both. He backed away, each step shaking his thoughts like effervescent soda. He cupped his head as if to stop the bad screams bursting out. He tried to think over them, but couldn't concentrate with Leon's screaming.

"He's dead – he's dead! Look at him, he's dead!" He fell to his knees. "Not again... not again!" He cupped his own head and began weeping to himself.

Alex found his arms twitching forward as if reaching down to offer help. He found his legs moving backward toward the broken window. His mind reassured him he needed to escape before the fire spread. It forgot to include Leon in those plans. That was the last they saw of one another.

Alex ran away, and he kept on running. He didn't go back to college and he didn't stop anywhere for last goodbyes. Amidst his fleeing he merely slipped and fell to a gutter. It was so quiet he decided to hide there. At some point he forgot how to leave.

***

Alex put the CD in his back pocket. He couldn't concentrate within these brooding walls. The cold wind poked him like an old accomplice reminding him of past deeds committed.

He'd leave, and be through with this place. Let it haunt him in memory alone.

He figured since he came here first by the front door, he'd leave here last by the back. Seemed fitting, it was after all the only exit still shaped like a door.

He found himself in the lane annexed to the one they entered by. A single lamppost buzzed, light bouncing on and off against high stone walls. Taking a step toward the Old Folk's home, he stopped when a muffled female cry sounded from behind. Clamping his eyes in frustration he vocally damned the trouble he could see coming.

Wheeling around, he saw two men in blue hoodies holding a woman. One held her mouth shut as both stared expectantly for this stranger to pass on his way. It seemed fate bore a little more in store after all.

The freehanded man pointed at Alex. "Keep walking, exit's right there."

In immediate dismissal, Alex turned to face them in full.

"Don't be a hero, guy," the same thug said. "We got more boys coming any minuet now."

"Were those 'boys' dressed same as you? Already met them, and no... they won't be," Alex replied.

Both men startled at those words. The women let out a shriek, indicating the hand over her mouth loosened some.

"He's talking shit. Get outta here before we bust up your ugly face."

"Can't. I became committed roughly around the time your friends threw a syringe in my face. I'll have to stay until you let that woman go."

Spurred by his words, the woman kicked back to break her oppressor's hold. About to run, the second man grabbed her.

Alex acted on queue. Driving in like a cannonball Alex broke the man's hold, pushing him to the ground.

The woman broke out, fisting the accomplice back. Trying to escape, she toiled with the second man enough to avoid his grip. It took three blows from her handbag to keep him back long enough. The thugs stood still, in their defeat watching her disappear into the shadowed lane.

They could have chased, but the grounded thug yielded a halt. Standing up, he stared at Alex with steely eyes.

"You psycho freak!" the accomplice said. "Forget this prick we gotta go after her."

"She doesn't matter. We can't put her to sleep without the drugs."

"Just knock her out."

"Won't get half as much if her face is busted, and no one's going to catch me shoving some screaming bitch in my trunk.

"Guess we may as well thank this hero for his help then."

Alex had stopped listening after the assault. Since jumping back to a safe distance, he found his body heavier, chest wheezing like a sun drenched dog. As he tried to recover for this fight, he realised he hadn't recovered from the last - a little late now. Side by side the thugs moved in a lazily plotted formation, slowly closing the gap.

For his foes, Alex pulled a deep breath to let his gallantry flare. Their movements slowed to a cautious step. Their eyes widened, wondering what this stranger had in store.

Alex knew what their eyes couldn't see. No gallantry remained. The deep breath merely prepared his body for an inevitable beating. Heavy panting shattered the charade.

Both thugs grinned in kind.

"Look at this clown, he can hardly stand."

"Time we taught this lanky piece of piss a lesson."

The lesson would come hard and fast. So long as he took it the girl would have a chance to escape, no matter how slim. If he ran away now, they could track her easily. So he chose to stay and smiled for his choice. His smile didn't go unnoticed, and likely made the beating worse.

***

Sierra exited the retirement home last. Shutting the security door, she stepped into the alley with Henry and Rum. Beneath the flickering door light, they grouped for strategy.

Sierra held out the photo. "Looks like we'll be paying his ex-wife a visit."

"What's the matter, phones too overrated?" Rum said.

"Too cold hearted. I wouldn't dump someone by phone."

"Then where's our next stop?"

Like she hadn't looked yet, Sierra flipped the photo over to check the address. Her grin dropped together with all the muscles in her face. Awash by a sudden loss of colour, she appeared too weak to even hold the photo steady. Tiny words crept from her lips.

"Not there, anywhere but there."

Rum gawked in observation. "Everything okay? You know that place or something?"

"Is it bad? It can't be worse than this place," Henry said. "I don't think I could handle it."

"It's safe, Henry," Sierra replied. "It's just... I used to live somewhere in that general area."

"Well... great," Henry said. "You can show us the way. Now we'll be able to walk there in no time."

"We won't be walking. It'll be a few hours by train."

"Four tickets won't come cheap. I suppose this is where you pull out your secret bag of cash," Rum said.

"Not this time. I haven't robbed anyone since the last job, and I don't plan to for a while. Call it a Christmas vacation."

"Then what do we do?"

"Looks like we'll have to put this hero business on hold and go back to being bums for a while. We'll just find you a nice street corner to set up shop."

"You want me to beg? Sorry missy, begging ain't ever been on this bum's prerogative. What we need is someone who looks the part, someone people will take pity on. We need a real wimp," he leered upon Henry, "a dud, even."

Henry didn't respond. He was too busy staring down a shadowed turn off leading around back of the ruins.

"Hey dud, you listening to me?" Rum asked. "Henry!"

Henry jumped in fright. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

"No shit. What you looking at anyway?" Rum peered down the alley to see for himself.

"I heard sounds: heavy breathing, groaning. Sounds like its coming this way," Henry said.

"You're imagining things. How about you quit imagining things while we're in dark isolated places, okay?"

A horrible wailing shivered Rum into place.

"It's... the wind," he said.

The sound of crashing steel thundered from the darkness. A lid off a dustbin wheeled out with a tinny chime, settling to a spinning halt next to Sierra's feet.

Footfalls followed, slowly dragging themselves closer one after another. Pained moans reverberated off the stone alley walls, growing nearer until a shaded figure could be seen limping toward them.

Henry gawked down in wide-eyed horror. "Z-zombie?"

"Why not? This place looks like it was hit by a meteor," Sierra remarked.

"Or in the far more likely scenario..." a worn voice spoke from the shadows. Alex emerged, about ready to tumble to his knees - he didn't. He continued limping his way to them. The others appeared so shocked by this reception they momentarily hesitated to help.

Satisfied with his position, Alex slid to the ground, resting back on the retirement home wall. He lifted his chin so they could inspect the damage. Lips fat, eyes swollen, nose bleeding. These were only the visible injuries yet he smiled all the same.

Sierra made an effort to dab his face, but hesitated should she cause further pain. "Somebody jumped you. We were warned about this place, you shouldn't have gone out alone."

"I'm fine... thanks."

"How are you feeling? Can you walk?"

"Walked here didn't I? Had a run in with our two friends from the bridge, and their friends. They did what they could then left. I'm sure it's better than it looks."

"Then you haven't seen how it looks," Rum said.

Alex searched through his pocket, taking out a case of pills. Popping one into his mouth he put the rest away.

"That's the stuff you got from the hospital. Will it help with this?" Sierra asked.

"Not with this, but it'll help."

"Even beaten to a pulp he speaks in riddles." Rum rubbed the beaten man's scalp playfully. "There was me saying a good old beating would straighten that head of yours. Guess I was wrong."

"The pills are for my cold. Last thing I need right now is a coughing fit." He clutched his chest as though the words alone brought pain.

"What you need is a doctor," Sierra said

"I've had enough pills thrown in my face for one day. I'll feel better once we get moving."

"Moving is the last thing you need. It's getting late anyway. We should just find some place to rest and call it a night."

"I'm all for that idea," Rum added.

A chilly wind poured through the alley. Dragged by the current, a single snowflake danced before Rum's eyes, twirling then falling to melt. Like soldiers behind their flag bearer a flurry followed in kind.

"Good timing, this is all we need. Looks like it'll stick too. Not much in the humour for sleeping in this hellhole regardless of the snow. You fellas up for it?" Rum said.

"Didn't much plan on staying anyway," Sierra replied. "Let's see, two guys tried to sell us drugs the moment we entered. Alex got the shit kicked out of him and we overhear two retirement home attendants plotting bank robberies. Something tells me I don't want to stay for breakfast. We'll sleep someplace safer."

"Retirement home attendants plotting bank robberies?" Alex mumbled. "Could you elaborate?"

"You don't want to know," Sierra said.

Rum pointed at the white van. "Just remember that van. Next time you see it, it'll be on the news."

"Forget I asked."

"Already have," Rum said. "Isn't it about time we got out of this kip of a shit hole? But where to go? In this weather what we need is a hostel."

Henry stepped up, still visibly shaken from the earlier zombie warning. "There should be a hostel near here... at least I think there should be. There's a really religious community out this way. Every year they open bedding for the homeless around Christmas."

Rum shrugged. "Worth a shot. Any direction's fine so long as it's away from this place."

"I know what you mean," Henry replied. "It's so dark everywhere – really gives off some bad vibes."

Rum thumped Henry over the head. "Bad vibes. Just keep your trap shut, dud."

Chapter 11

The first order of business was to clear the area in question without a knife in the back. A task made ever harder by a certain old drunken bum with a stash of stolen booze sticking out his pockets.

By time they did find way to a safer area that most dreaded of hours fell upon them, the pub rush home. Slowly but surely cars began filling the roads. The aggressive drive through tactics of some drivers suggested they were as keen to pass this neighbourhood as the four bums.

Even the heavens seemed eager to avoid this area, as the further they travelled the brighter it became, not in the skies but through the scenery. The warm Christmas lighting with the welcoming Christmas décor brought an added glow to these streets. As did the animated antics of all those middle-classed people rushing from shop to shop for some last minuet Christmas needs.

The local retailers, eager to rid the last of their holiday stock, had lit up shop windows with sale signs attractively disguised as the usual cold season décor, and in one case a witch on a broomstick.

A certain relief fell upon them. At long last they'd hit upon their typical Christmas scene, the first sign they hadn't got their dates wrong. So far, Henry's promised-land didn't seem so bad.

Sierra looked at the less depressing atmosphere. Even the alleys glowed golden under the warmth of the streetlamps. "This place looks nice."

"You're right," Rum said. "Look at it, good spirits all round. Bet people here would be nice enough to lend a helping hand to some needy drifters for the holiday. Suckers everywhere."

Sierra sent a harsh glance. "You've got a shallow mind, Rum. But seeing as you're looking forward to it... you ready to get down on your ass and start begging?"

Rum gave a dismissive shrug, turning to Henry. "You heard the girl Henry, do a dance or something."

Henry pointed innocently at himself. "Me? But I'm the one who told you all about this place."

"And we're in awe at the contribution. No one else here can pull off pathetic and needy quite so well - just sit in the snow and cry or something. If nobody feels sorry for you they'll probably chuck spare change at your head to shut you up."

"But I don't want to."

"Rum, I told you to do it," Sierra said.

"You think I would? Not a bloody chance. How about you, Alex?" Rum looked up at the bruised yet always stern man, quickly turning away when he realised how hopeless it was to even try request something of Alex. "Never mind." He placed his attention back on Sierra. "Why don't you beg for cash, Blondie?"

"You know I don't beg."

"Right... You have those 'principles' of yours. It doesn't look like we're getting anywhere fast then." He looked back at Henry. "You see that Duddy, you've ruined everything."

"But I didn't do anything. All I did was show the way."

"To nowhere. You promised us a hostel, so where is it?"

Sierra eased Rum away with a wave of her hand. "Don't listen to him, Henry. But yeah... we do need to rest soon. Alex looks about ready to collapse."

"I'm fine," Alex said, or mumbled incoherently.

Henry posed for thought. "They always set one up at Christmas. I don't see any signs this year though."

Rum glared an inspecting eye. "So that's it, I get it now. Of course he knows about the place, he must come here each year and keep it all quiet to himself."

"I'm with you guys every Christmas," Henry replied. "I knew about the hostel before I became homeless, I used to work charity their. I'd do it with my brother, Leon."

"You used to work charity with the homeless?" Rum said. "Well strike me down the lord knows irony."

"We were just kids at the time. Really, our parents made us do it. They were religious types. I guess they wanted us to be like that too... I don't really remember much of it."

"So... is this where you owned that shop of yours?" Sierra asked.

"Shop?"

"The one that burnt down."

"No... that was... somewhere else. Like I said, I only ever came here when I was kid - never lived here. This is where we came to church. My parents were so particular about their choice of church they chose one halfway across the city. We spent a lot of time here."

Henry took note of a telephone pole on the side of the street. A damp sheet of paper clung to the wood. It looked so melded to the pole it might have been put up last year.

It read in worn words: food and bedding for the homeless - Christmas time only.

***

Following the directions given on by the notice, they arrived at the temporary hostel.

Everything about it reeked of a church set up. At least that's what Alex figured when he saw the two men out front, welcoming the endless stream drifters inside. Both men clutched bibles and cried out verses. They were preaching to the wrong crowd, other wise known as the right crowd on empty stomachs.

Rum tried to force his way ahead the ravaged bunch. His aggressive movements caught the eye of one of the social workers.

"There is no need to rush, brother," the man said. "Please come inside. Sleep and eat in warmth and pray in thanks to the lord. The lord gives you everything you demand."

The old man didn't like his tone. Then again he didn't really know what the guy was talking about. All he knew was that jackass was getting on his nerves. In fact, if Sierra hadn't pulled him away by the scruff right then, he probably would have acted on it.

Latent hostility and biblical hysteria aside, it seemed like a popular place to be. The cafeteria had been filled on all sides by the community thrash. It didn't seem likely they came from this well kept neighbourhood. This little set up was probably one of those things the local community would have kicked up over, for the safety of the children, of course.

The cafeteria itself was no more than a rented community hall ripped inside out. They added a number of long grey dining tables, ten up and down, ten from left to right so it looked like a prison hall. The oven those charity workers used to prepare food looked nothing more than a portable gas-grill, like something for a camping trip.

They had to be a little curious as to how so many tramps caught wind of those tacky little posters, then again, it's not like they have much else to look out for. Especially at Christmas.

The smell brought about by the other tramps, and probably themselves, was an unspeakable form of rancid. While the food, a welcome change from their diet, tasted pretty dire, and hardly cooked. The workers were rushing things. With their below-key advertising they must have been caught off guard by all this unmitigated attention.

The four tramps were given a few slices of buttered bread each, a soup dish for dipping, and a plate of scrambled eggs with the occasional rasher piece mixed in. It was all a little cold, and those bits of rasher didn't taste like a pig should. They weren't in the position to complain, so they placed their objections aside.

Alex received an icepack for his wounds. He held it firmly in place, chewing on one side of his mouth. It might have been his sorry state that brought the staff to offer them extra portions.

Rum slurped down a spoonful of soup, spilling most of it on his beard. "So, do we spend the night here or what?"

Sierra eyed some splashes on the table. "Would you look at yourself, you're getting soup stuck in your beard. Not to mention everywhere else."

Rum looked around at the other bums in the room. They didn't seem to be all that bothered with their eating habits. "You're asking me to mind my manners? Here of all places?"

"If you think you're too great to beg and sleep on a cold bench, then you're too good to eat like a rabid dog. And yeah, we're staying the night, I'm knackered."

"I don't seem to recall voting you in as our leader?"

Alex peered at Rum from behind an icepack. "Well I don't care who gets to be leader. I'm too lazy and you're too stupid. Seems like a perfect fit."

Sierra laughed at the old man, holding her palm over mouth to keep the food in.

His honour insulted, again, Rum made haste to defend himself. "What was that? You dumb lanky streak of piss! Apologise for that now."

"No."

"It's a damn good thing I'm too drunk to bother kicking your ass. I'd add another purple tattoo to your face."

"You're always drunk, so I guess I'm safe."

Rum leaned back in his chair, giving off a snort. "Stupid weirdo."

With no more than a sigh, Alex suggested it was time to end the argument. Looking to Sierra, he asked, "Hey Blondie, what did you do with that cheque we got from the off-license?"

"I gave it to the nurse. They really did need the money."

"You... gave it to her."

"You have a problem with that?"

"No, I just..."

"You can't decide to keep the money because you thought the nurse was a bitch. What was with you back there anyway? You went all slouchy and grumpy - more than usual."

"Well I wouldn't say I'm usually grumpy. I-"

"He's trying to change the subject," Rum grunted passively, chewing food.

"I'm not changing the subject. At least I didn't mean to. Do I do that a lot? I don't mean to if that's what I do. I think maybe I get carried away in thought and start rambling on about-"

"You're doing it again. Quit it and spill it. Did the nurse actually do something to you, or are you really just nuts?" Sierra asked.

"Well, it's just that... Well... she really put that guy down. All that John guy did was try to help by donating money. I don't like seeing people put down like that - the way she did. Even if he was an asshole he didn't deserve it. It reminded me of... It always reminds of that agent... whenever I see people doing that."

Sierra nodded. "The agent who ripped you off then robbed your books?"

"The nurse probably didn't deserve to be treated that way. For working in a dump like that she probably isn't the worst person out there. It was that place though... there was something about it. Bad memories started floating around. I didn't realise what it was until..."

Alex stopped as if food caught in his throat. He stared into soup, stirring a spoon round and round.

"Bad memories?" Sierra said. "So you were there before. I thought so. I saw it in your eyes the moment we arrived in that place. The nurse told us it used to be a nice place. Guess it must have changed a lot since you were last there."

"Yeah... it used to be a real nice place. It's a memory now. Let it rest or else you'll likely be trapped. I'd like to go back and fix things, but it's gone. All we have is now, and the hand we're dealt for mending."

"That's your melodramatic way of flogging me off," Sierra said.

Alex nodded.

"And that CD you've been clinging to since we found you beaten to a pulp... is that supposed to be your new hand in life?"

"It's a finger or two. A full hand will take time."

"And money," Rum interrupted. "Everything takes time and money. In case you ain't noticed you're missing one of the above. Try to guess which. Enjoy your porn disc though."

"One can be achieved through the other if prepared correctly."

"You think time equals money? If a man could make money from time then bums would be living goldmines. Time is just something you waste while accumulating money. Connections - that's where money comes from. Sierra mugs for money and I beat the guys who try take ours. Break one, lose the lot. That's connection."

"You don't think I can do it alone?"

"Up there in the real world you might make it half way. But you're trapped down here with the rest of our sorry asses. Down here people either work together or crash on top of one another. We're like seven little dwarves standing atop each other's shoulder to bag a glimpse in Snowy's window. You're talking about climbing in when you haven't got a shoulder to stand on. Look at us, Blondie quits mugging people for a few days and we don't have enough cash to catch a train. Now this whole adventure is as futile as that daydream world you prance around in."

"Life is one long struggle to catch the next train, but if everyone missed there'd be no passengers. You might stand on dwarfish legs but mine are long enough to see through the pane."

"That's not a metaphor. You're just an overgrown freak."

"And so Rum's exhilarating argument ends there," Alex concluded.

Sierra stared upon Rum. "The old man neglects to mention one important point. Down here, on our level, we little dwarves have more than one way to pay."

"Sure," Rum said, "trading items is another way to go. But what have we got to trade that's worth four train tickets? Let alone what have we got that other bum's don't already have?"

Probing eyes peered upon Rum. Rattling bottles in his pocket clinked like alarm bells. If only to drown it out, Rum yawned wide, patting his full stomach.

"Well I'm done, tired too. Boy, I didn't realise how late it was."

"You're not going to take a pre-bedtime sip of whiskey, Rum? You know, make sure you can't feel those bed bugs biting," Sierra said. "Better take your fill while you have the chance."

"You better not be thinking what I think your thinking. These bottles are mine. I earned them fair and square."

"You stole them from an old man's off-licence!"

"He didn't catch me... so that's fair. And in case you forgot, that little old man worked for criminals. I helped the community... at least more than the cops ever did."

"For all your whining you could make at least one donation."

"Sure, I'll give one donation. I'll donate the dregs and put them in one bottle."

"We need four tickets, Rum. If we're trading booze for tickets we'll need at least four bottles of whiskey. You honestly think four people will share one bottle of whisky?"

"Why not? I would."

"Your convictions aside we'll need to prepare for encountering people of some class."

"If they're buying booze from bums how classy could they be?"

"In terms of class you're in the severe minuses so try not judge people based on your template. These people might be bums too, or they might be desperate drunks - train journeys can be long and boring, someone might just need a pick me up for the ride. Hey, maybe we'll end up preventing two suicides before the New Year's through. They can always buy another ticket."

"Or their own booze for that matter." To further demonstrate his unmovable position Rum shut his eyes and folded arms.

Alex leaned in with a startling observation. "As our luck would have it, the off-licenses have to open late tomorrow. The city is dry for one whole evening." Alex backed out having concluded his starling observation.

"That includes me. So no thanks. The drink stays with me." As if to finalise his authority Rum clapped his pockets. His eyes startled open when he heard no clinks.

He pulled his pockets inside out, sniffed the floor, then sat up to meet Sierra's cheeky grin. The girl's coat bulged with guilt.

Before Sierra could act again, Rum removed his already opened bottle from the table.

"You don't have to hide that one," Sierra said. "I'd have taken it if I needed it."

"I shut my eyes for a second and you pick my pocket. You bitch! You said you wouldn't rob anyone any more."

"I didn't rob you. This is a donation. Call it payback for all the trouble you cause."

"Thanks to Rum's generous offer we'll have those tickets in no time," Alex said. "Think about it, old Rum. You want to get back to the park, well finishing this faster will get us back there faster."

"Alex is right, keep a positive mind set," Sierra added.

"Positive. I can break your face with my thumb - that positive enough?"

"He sounds happy," Alex said.

Rum snatched a plate of food off Alex.

"Thought you were full," Alex said.

"Go fuck yourself. Rob my drink I can take your food."

"I wasn't going to eat the rest anyway."

"Skinny fuck never eats anything, like some damn anorexic or something. I didn't want to come on this charity mission but I end up paying for it. If I wasn't locked right now I'd knock a few heads right now."

"We're all very grateful," Sierra said.

"Yes. Thank you, Rum," Alex mimicked.

"Shouldn't have to take this abuse."

"We know, Rum. You're a big meanie who's always gunning for a fight. We get it." Sierra smiled inward.

The same smile passed around the table, breaking into repressed laughter.

"And now they're laughing at me. Look at this, you even got the Dud laughing. I've had to endure two days of mockery and now this."

Henry's smile flattened to avoid causing further agitation. If the old man burst, he'd likely be the first target.

Alex died down in kind, although his concerns didn't lie with Henry's. Despite Sierra edging him on with pokes in the arm, he chose to make yet another observation.

"Tomorrow will be the third day we've been doing this," Alex mumbled. "I lost track of time in there but we lost a whole day in the hospital. We've six days left to finish this."

Sierra took a carefree bite into a rasher. "Six days is plenty to cross the city. We've had a few hitches, sure, but from here on out it's a straight ride. At least it will be once we trade whiskey for train tickets."

Rum cursed her name in the background.

"The journey's not the problem," Alex continued. "Even if we find this guy, we've six days left and no plan for dealing with him when we find him. What are we going to say to him? 'Hey, you might not remember but we robbed you a few days ago and found a suicide note in your wallet. Well shucks, we felt so bad about it we spent the past week stalking you across the city. All to tell you that life really is worth living after all. Did we mention we're homeless?'" Alex sighed. "For some reason I doubt we'll find him glowing with Christmas spirit. You know, seat us down with a nice cup of eggnog and have us explain the folly of our ways. He'd slam the door at mention of that whole mugging mishap."

Sierra dipped her head with a frown. "You're thinking about this now of all times? What's gotten into you all of a sudden?"

"I wonder could we tell someone about the value of life when we have none ourselves? Maybe the only way we'll ever get through to him lays in our own redemption. We hide in places like this to forget about the things we've done, so long as we possess the desire to hide we can never go back. John is running from the things he has done – from the things people have done to him. Living with that state of mind he can never be brought back with idle words... least of all ours."

"And if everybody ignores it, John won't have a chance to come back. If we're a day late, he'll never be brought back. I really don't know what to tell him. He might slam the door in our faces before we have time for long speeches. He might even call the cops on us. If we just do something before the clock runs out, it might give him pause for thought. A lot of things can change when you know someone cares. Everyone deserves a second chance and if we make it in time we can give it to him. In the end, the choice is his."

Rum banged fist on the table like a determined judge. It caused a brief shudder amidst all the other tenants in the room. "Second chance? You can't replace a child. You read the suicide note, you heard the nurse from the clinic. The guy's mad about his child. This isn't about redemption or debt issues. His wife took off with his kid and hung him out to dry. We can't reconnect their broken home. John wants his dream back but it smashed all over the floor. We can't repair them. In case you didn't know, miracles are out of our hands."

Sierra slid back into her seat. Head tilted down, she mumbled cautiously to the others. "I already said I don't have a plan. If his problem is about debt then that'll be our key to solving this. If his problem's redemption, that'll be our key. If he wants his daughter back... then that'll be our key. If we do nothing... I just can't do that, least of all now, after coming so far."

"Quit being overdramatic. We're not that far from home. You can always turn back," Rum said.

The girl descended into a stubborn wave of silence. For a moment it consumed the atmosphere around the table, until Henry spoke up.

"I don't want to go back," he said. "I chose to do this myself, now I'd like to stay."

Sierra's eyes broadened with surprise. She nodded thanks, and passed her eyes onto Alex.

"Sierra, I'm not saying I want to give up. Nothing's changed, my vote stays the same. All I'm saying is that we need to start putting more thought into this, otherwise we'll end up tongue tied at his doorstep."

"Thank you, Alex. Don't assume I haven't put thought into this just because I've took a few wrong turns. I've been thinking of what I'd like to say to John for a while, it just hasn't come together yet."

Alex smiled. "Over time I've learned not to underestimate you. I'll trust you with that in mind."

Sierra smiled back. "Let's try hold off on the thinking for a while. The long train ride will give us enough time for it. I'm dreading the thought already." She stretched wide.

Alex looked under her stretching arms to see other bums buffing their plates and moving to the bedding area upstairs.

"Looks like servings are over."

"Fine," Sierra said, leaning back lazily. "I've had more than I can eat. Early to bed, early to rise, anyway."

"Hey," Rum intruded. "Aren't you going to ask for my opinion on all this?"

"Like anything's changed," Sierra said. "You voted no from the start yet you came tailing along anyway. For some reason I doubt you've been touched by the light."

"Talk like that to me... I could storm out of here right now, you know, leave you all hanging."

Sierra stood with her plate. "See you in the morning, Rum. I'm going to bed."

***

That night they slept on the floor above the cafeteria.

There were no lights for a lights out call to be possible. There were no active workers to call the call. They'd all gone home for their holiday. What remained here was no more a hostel as a rented building for bums to gather, no different than any other derelict building. That is until cleaners come tomorrow and the hall goes back to doing whatever they built it for.

Light cut through the windows from the street outside, brightening the coat of darkness enough to see. This room measured same as the cafeteria below, tables and chairs merely replaced by same green sheathed beds. More bodies lay strewn on the floor than beds in the room.

The scene came alight with illegible whispers and coughing. It perpetuated an eerily ghost like sensation. At least that's how Sierra felt.

Sierra never made it a habit to stay overnight in hostels. She'd only stayed in one once during her first week on the street. She was ten years old at the time, so with little other direction she followed guide posts to what should have been safe haven. Those same noises buzzed throughout the room back then, ghostly noises that caused her to flee outside in unprovoked panic.

Drenched in rain and tears she ran for shelter amidst trees in Middle park. She planned on staying there to cry the night away, until someone heard her cries. He was a peculiar old man garbed in a classy black suit and plagued by a pungent stench of liquor. Sierra demonstrated a reluctance to speak to the man at first. Gradually he won her over by gathering wood and stones to build a temporary shelter from the rain. And there in lay the beginnings of their crappy little shack of a home in Middle park.

The old man stayed with her through the night, and hasn't left since.

Time hadn't changed much. The sounds in this hostel still haunted her, plagued her into a constant state of alertness. This time round she wouldn't run out crying. Boredom was, however, a killer.

She whispered to the bed beside her, "Hey Rum, you awake?"

He replied with heightened snoring.

Whether faking the long snooze or not, he didn't show signs of same restlessness as Sierra. He clung to his last whiskey bottle as though defending his only baby. It tilted up and down in tune with his breathing, resting on and off his lips like he'd drink it while dreaming. He'd wake up to find it empty and accuse Sierra of stealing it. He had to be asleep. If he was awake he would have it drunk already.

In acceptance, she rolled over to face the bed on her other side. "So Alex, do you really think this is all a bad idea?" she whispered.

"You didn't ask if I was awake," Alex replied.

"You're always awake. Whenever I have trouble sleeping you're having more trouble sleeping."

"It takes me longer than most people. I have trouble turning off my lights, can't stop thinking. That's probably you're problem now."

"I was thinking about what you said earlier. Maybe you were right. This might be hopeless after all. It's probably better if we pick up tomorrow and head home."

"Quitting won't solve anything."

"You've changed your tone."

"I still think it's pretty futile, but I was just thinking about what you were saying. It was nice."

"Nice?"

"Everything you were saying about second chances, it was nice. I'd like to live in a world of second chances."

"Then can I ask you something, Alex?"

"Depends."

"Why do you want a second chance?"

"Can I ask you something, Sierra?"

"Depends."

"I'd like to know something about your foster father, John. Why do you feel responsible for his suicide?"

Sierra didn't answer. She rolled over to the other side and whispered, "Goodnight Alex."

"Goodnight."

Chapter 12

It didn't fully dawn on them until leaving the hostel. Christmas had come and gone with little thought for it. They'd spent so much of the day traversing the more undesirable areas, decorations here carried little sway over them.

The season's spirit hadn't entirely left the street yet. One man in a Santa's suit stood ringing a bell outside the hostel doors. The sign next to him asked for donations to be placed in Santa's magic sack, left open by his feet.

From a passing glance, Alex swore he'd seen Santa inside scabbing extras from the staff. Another glance into Santa's money sack revealed a fairly scarce reward. An ill omen for their own plans.

They decided to wait for the last hoard of bums to pour out. If there were any place to hock off second hand whiskey to needy clientele, it was here.

Sierra and Alex gave all they could, waving bottles and calling out slogans. They pulled a few interested eyes, most shrugged and walked away with a repeated dismissing wave. This happened until a fifth time when a wallet came forth with an offer of cash. Alex noted the family photos within bore the wrong man's face but the exchange passed happily all the same. One bottle went for the price of a ticket.

All through the process Rum sat idle, watching from the sidelines. If anyone he knew saw him hocking whiskey cheap he'd never hear the end of it. Even after seeing one bottle shift he maintained his indigenous reluctance. He assured them the remaining three would go nowhere.

Henry did try his best, but quickly became reduced to no more than a speed bump for the eager to leave crowd. Now he could relate to those charity greeters from yesterday.

In time the last crowds sieved out, hurried on by cleaners spraying hoses as if chasing cats from an old building. The main doors slammed shut with a lock. Bustling noises from the crowds faded to whatever directions they divided into. The four stood alone on an empty side walk, waiting for someone to say those four precious words.

"I told you so," Rum said.

"At least we sold one bottle. I wasn't too hopeful to begin with," Sierra replied. "Maybe Santa Clause wouldn't mind a sip. He's had a long night, after all."

"Isn't there some moral code about selling booze to Santa?" Henry whimpered.

"Should have grabbed him while we had the chance," Alex said. "Santa took off after sirens sounded from a block over. He forgot his sign."

"That's so sad," Sierra said. "We could have blackmailed him."

"What happened to no more misdeeds?" Rum asked.

"I said no more mugging. It's not like he's legit anyway. I can rob criminals."

"That was my position," Rum said.

Sierra began strolling away from the hostel. The others followed.

"Guess we're back on the streets," she said. "Everyone gets one night of comfort only to be thrown back out. What's the point in only doing it for one night?"

"To humiliate us," Rum said. "Treat us to a good time then snip it all away. They're letting us know they can help us anytime they see fit. It's a joke."

"You might be a bit paranoid there Rum," Alex said. "I know a good shrink. I could always call him for you."

"I'm sure you know plenty of shrinks, all of which blacklist your number now."

None the less they carried on without direction, making effort to pawn the remaining bottles to whoever happened past. Not all took the offer in good grace. Most of those people backed down when confronted by Alex and his raw battle beaten face. Those heavy bruises lightened to a less noticeable pink. The coldness of snowfall helped too.

So it happened with great aid from the early morning chill, the group eventually succumbed to fatigue, settling on a black street bench. Sierra insisted the break was for planning purposes only, though she yawned with morning aches.

"This place is dry," Alex said. "This is a church community, in any case an aged community. Even if grandpa needs a morning fix I doubt he'd buy from a bunch of dirty bums."

"Then what do you propose, Alex? Everything being so obvious to you and all," Sierra said. "It's not like we can just shower ourselves clean under drain water or anything."

"Not us... him." Alex pointed at Rum.

Rum startled stiff, caught rapid with a finger up his nose. He took it out and flicked the bit away.

"I hate to say it but if Rum cleaned a bit and shaved his beard he might appear trustworthy to the eye - more so than us anyway," Alex said.

"Shove it. This beard tells the story of my life. It's been my mark of freedom since coming to the streets. It goes – I go."

"You once tried living in a dumpster. One night Len traded you a sandwich for it. You moved back in with us. Wow what a life story," Alex said.

"Shove it."

"I do remember you looked sort of fetching back when you used to shave," Sierra said.

"That beard can come off?" Alex asked.

"When Rum and I first met when I was a kid, he used to go crazy trying to keep the hair at bay. You should see a bum trying to shave with a piece of broken glass, it's quite a picture. He used to care about the way he looked, but after his favourite suit took a turn for the worst, he lost the will to clean."

"I'm standing right here. Quit talking about me in third person. And that was a quality suit. A man can lose his taste for fashion, seeing something like that pawned for a third the price."

"It was dreadful, looked like you came from a funeral. You never took it off. You looked so pathetic, constantly wearing the same tattered suit day in day out."

"Easy for you to say, doubt you ever had anything good to hold onto. It was mine. Felt good holding onto it."

"Not that it would do any good," Alex said. "I suppose even if we could get a suit to make you look respectable, we can't do anything about that personality of yours."

"See, whole plan wouldn't work anyway. End of story," Rum replied.

"You're not offended?" Alex asked.

"Whatever ends it fastest."

"That's what I assumed."

"I don't think it matters much anyway, from the look of this area we're not going to find many willing participants."

Adding weight to her statement, two laughing children ran past as a golden Labrador chased behind. Their mother pursued in passive worry, warning them not to wander too far. The commotion faded into distance in tune with a chiming church bell. It rang three times then stopped dead.

Henry laughed to himself. "They still haven't fixed that bell. It always stops after the first few rings."

Sierra weighed him with a prying gaze. "Hey Henry, you used to hang around down this end of the city, you know any place to find people in need of a little pick me up?"

"I'm not so sure. It's not really the kind of place for that."

"Every place is the place for that!" Rum joked.

"You'd be proof," Sierra replied.

The church bell rang a forth time, and continued thus.

"They fixed the church bell?" Henry noted. He paused for thought as if re-configuring his previous declaration. "The church... is located mid-centre of this area. We can go there. Wrecks always take refuge in the central area of wherever they're staying."

"Well that's true," Sierra agreed.

"And it's near the subway station as well."

"Why didn't you say so?" Alex said, standing from the bench to lead the group into motion. "We should at least check where the station is first. Only subway I know is back at central park. To hell if I'm walking back there. Henry knows his way around, he can lead us to one."

"Me... lead?"

"That's right duddy, you're the leader," Rum said. "Now you better be sure about this or else we're throwing you out of the group. Sick of all this walking crap."

"But I only think it's... At least I'm not so... I was just throwing it out there really. Now I'm not so sure."

Alex sighed. "Lay off him, Rum. Henry, he's just trying to mess with your head. Relax." Alex stopped walking to usher Henry up front. "Kind of hard to follow you when you're back there."

Henry scurried up front, triggering Rum and Sierra to their feet. Alex strolled second with Henry pointing the way.

Each one moved with a stiff reluctance. Even living rough they rarely awoke at such shallow hours. The monotony of crunching snow underfoot rang like icing on the cake.

The streets flowed on with many familiar sights one expects to find along a city side walk. Cars stormed past with little regard to others of slower pace. They bustled by and by, some shouting, some honking, some shouting back. Dog walkers came most abundant at this early hour of day. Being beside a local park as they were it seemed a popular place for it.

Their current pathway wrapped around the outer edges of a forested park. Beyond that outgrown foliage they could hear children laughing in play, and smell hotdogs from some unseen stall. Babies cried, dogs barked, and mothers pleaded brawling kids for obedience. Just another bullshit day in the city.

Fortunately for those within the perimeter of the park, a black rail fence lined the whole length of this side walk. It prevented misfits from partaking with anything other than the senses. To compare those festive sounds from over the fence with those of this drivelling outer world could drive a man to leap the fence and raid the hotdog stand. Now they could relate to a few bums they'd met.

More they travelled, the more Henry chirped on and off about the places he used to know, the locations that still stood and the ones now gone. He continued naming sweetshops from his childhood and places he would play with his brother. The information spewed from his lips until one in particular.

"I haven't been here in four years. I stopped coming here after..."

"After?" Alex inquired.

"After my parents died. Wasn't much reason to go to church here any more, except to visit them. I suppose everything changed after that, or maybe everything was changing before then and I didn't notice. My head was always clouded... in other things."

"You must have been too busy dreaming up that business plan of yours," Sierra said.

"Business? You mean my shop? No, I was only twenty when my parents died. That was four years ago... Actually, I guess it would be five years today. I wasn't even thinking about starting anything. I didn't start setting up the shop till I was twenty three."

"You've been homeless for two years now since your shop burned down, that makes you twenty five," Alex said. "You were twenty when your parents died and twenty three when you set up shop. If you weren't thinking about opening a shop one year before you did, then what did you do, wake up one morning and decide to invest all your money into a business without research? Hate to say, but no wonder you went bankrupt."

Henry shrugged inwardly. "That's not it. After my parents died I moved to the north end of the city. I took it as an opportunity to rethink my life. So I decided to open a shop and start anew. I told you this already."

"The north end of the city?" Alex probed. "That's a long way from Middle Park. Why move all the way down?"

"I... Easy access I guess. I knew there'd be more opportunities for a bum like me around Middle park. Besides, I'd probably have been the only homeless person up that end of the city. I really wasn't thinking straight after the fire."

"So you hopped on a train then came straight down this end?"

"No! I thought I told you all this before, I wasn't the only one to suffer in the fire. It was a stupid accident. Two other people got trapped. One of them died."

"I finally get it now," Rum spoke from behind.

Henry stopped walking to hear him speak.

"That's why you ran into that burning building before," Rum continued. "You wanted to correct your mistake."

Henry wheeled round to continue strolling, if only to hide face. "At the time I didn't really think about it. I guess it must have motivated me to rush in like that. I... was there when my own shop went on fire. I knew the person was trapped but I didn't do anything. I had a chance to help her but I chose to run away. She died when I could have saved her. I suppose, I didn't want to go through that again."

"People get scared at times like that. It wasn't your fault," Sierra said.

"I know, but I still think I could have done something."

"So that's it," Rum stated. "I always figured the fire left you bankrupt and you didn't have a choice in becoming homeless. You didn't go bankrupt. You cracked from the guilt and slinked down to the gutter. Guilt brought you here."

Henry halted, facing Rum with a curious frown. "What? No. The insurance company wouldn't cover me. I didn't have enough money for repairs. Without income I lost my home."

"So you don't feel any guilt for what happened to that person! For what happened in your shop?" Rum bellowed.

The echo of Rum's words panicked Henry into moving. Only this time he moved less like a leader and more like prey backing from a predator. Rum seemed to take great offence from his indifference.

"I... feel bad about what happened. I really do. But it had nothing to do with me. I was a victim like the others in that building. I didn't kill that man, the arsonist did."

Alex propped up with renewed interest. "Arsonist? You said it was an accident."

With a wave of her hand, Sierra suggested Alex should back down. Alex obeyed the suggestion as much as Henry used her sympathy to avoid the question.

"We're nearly there now," Henry said.

A statement evidenced through their surroundings. Statues of saints decorated the inner path, some for prayer others for fountains. None stood behind a fenced enclosure or accompanied by anti-vandalism signs. Back in Middle Park those features seemed forever joined.

The buildings around took on a more archaic, humble appearance. They weren't painted but left with the colour of whatever stone used to build them, most were grey while others a mixture of orange and white. Front gardens spilled into the neighbours' lawn, and many did so without walls to split boundaries. There appeared to be no set standard in their layout or design, an atypical characteristic when compared to other districts with their rushed boxlike structure. Cars half buried in snow stood as the only reminder of this modern century.

They came upon the church when the bells stopped ringing. They stood in the centre of this locality, but a centre like no other. They saw no beggars hassling crowds, or morning bingers blocking traffic. They saw no crowds and no traffic.

Sierra approached Henry with cautious curiosity. The little man shrugged down as if pre-emptively shielding from a scolding.

"Henry... this place doesn't look too bum friendly. You told us there'd be all kinds of desperate drunks."

"I... said... I assumed there would be."

An unsatisfied silence bludgeoned him till he spewed truth.

"I lied."

The silence remained, telling him to explain his actions.

Henry's lips tightened to ward it off.

Alex sighed, looking up at the church to draw everyone's attention to it. "Isn't it obvious?" he said to them.

The chapel itself stood reasonably small, for a congregation of equal proportion. The main attraction seemed to be the graveyard which stretched three times the size of the main building.

"You... want to pray?" Rum said, dumbfounded.

Alex rubbed his head for the futility. He wondered if he was the only one who actually listened when others spoke. "Henry told us his parents died four years ago, but then he said it would be five years 'today. It's the anniversary of their death today, isn't it Henry?"

Henry nodded with eager shyness. "It happened when they were driving home after mass on Boxing day. This is where they came to church. This is where they're buried."

"Henry," Sierra said, "I know you only wanted to visit them but this has taken us out of our way. Coming here like this has taken up too much of our time, and we've lost so much already. You shouldn't have lied."

"I know. I'm sorry. I-I didn't plan on doing this when we came here first, but when I heard those church bells it really hit me. I haven't thought about my parents in so long, and I haven't been here since their funeral. We were nearby so I took the opportunity. It's not like I lied completely, the subway station really is close so it's not a total waste. This will just be a quick stop off."

Sierra folded arms with strong reluctance. It was the lie that grabbed her, not so much the proposal.

Alex set about voicing his plan. "How about this, Sierra and Rum go to the station and try to pawn off the whiskey. Henry and I will go to the graveyard and meet up the two of you at the station. That way we'll kill two birds with one stone. Sound fair?"

Sierra squinted out what anger she couldn't vent. She couldn't vent it because there wasn't any reason to. It was a sound idea, if not for a wholly unorthodox cause. She huffed an accepting grunt, then stormed away.

Without cue to follow, Rum watched her grow smaller and smaller into distance. He looked back at Alex and Henry. "Looks like you're in her bad books."

"Shouldn't you follow her?" Alex said.

"Sure, at least I'll get a break from you two dimwits for a while, emphasis on the Dud." With that he hurried after Sierra, leaving Alex and Henry alone together.

A thick frown on his brow, Alex stared down on Henry. "I'm not going to stick up for you here. This is selfish, Henry. You shouldn't have lied."

"I didn't think. Way I figured if I said anything about wanting to come here, Rum would have laughed at me. Then I'd be ignored."

"Well, I guess that is sort of true. You know, you shouldn't let that old bastard kick you around so much. He thinks like an animal so you have to use animal tactics to win him over."

"So I should stop bathing too?"

"Well you don't have to act like him. Just be assertive in your dominance."

"I'm really not too worried about him. At least, I know he's only joking around... most of the time. At least that's what he says."

"Henry, that's what bullies say to prevent smaller kids from fighting back. If you don't stand up to him he'll keep on doing it. If it affects you enough to avoid asking to visit your parents' grave then it really is that bad."

"So, you think Rum is just a bully?"

Alex sighed. "When the drink clogs his good side. Deep under that layer of liquor there's a good conscience down there. Any man who drinks like old Rum does has to be running from something. The fact that he hides it under all that alcohol demonstrates his empathy."
Chapter 13

Alex pushed open the creaking graveyard gate. Stepping across the border their feet plunged through a thick layer of snow. The caretaker must have allowed it to build over time. Judging from creepers ravaging decaying tombstones there was no caretaker at all. Or any other staff to speak of. At least that's what they could perceive under such heavy graveyard mist. There was one other man in here. He was draped in the foggy haze. He wore a brown swathe coat of little upkeep, and cargo pants of matching colour. He stood over a particular grave, carrier bag hung over one shoulder like the mourning hero in a storybook. He tossed the bag to the ground and fell to his knees in a bout of tears. The hollers he produced proved no less ambient to this place than the foreboding fog.

Henry went straight to his parents' gravesite as though he'd been here only yesterday. The two tombstones stood beside one another, his mother's leaning crookedly toward his father's. Time had been no kinder to these graves than the others here.

Alex leaned closer to read the inscriptions, both identical to one another: 'Henry and Martha Walsh, tragically taken December 26th....' Words of poetry and captions from loved ones continued underneath, but Alex looked away out of respect. He realised his faulted curiosity when Henry succumbed to his knees. Mentally, he contrasted Henry's kneeling to the weeping man's, and couldn't help see a grim foreshadowing of Henry's future.

"How did they...?" Alex asked.

"A... car accident, so to speak. Happened around Christmas time too. As you can imagine, this isn't my favourite time of year."

"It must have been tough, especially since your shop burned down right when you tried getting back on your feet."

Henry nodded, sniffing his grievance.

"Stop lying, Henry. You never stop lying."

Henry gazed up at Alex in mute surprise. "I already said I was sorry for lying. I told you, I had to come-"

"You never owned any shop, Henry. There was no fire. Nobody died. And that's not how you became homeless. That story is so full of holes even Rum guessed it was a lie."

"No! I did... I really did." Henry turned solemn before Alex's unwavering expression. "Even Rum guessed? How did you figure it out?"

"More like how did we prevent ourselves from blurting it out. The most obvious reason was your age. You were twenty four when we met you, too young to have your own business."

"It's possible."

"Improbable. Secondly, with no intended offence, you've no backbone. Even the sloppiest of entrepreneurs need a backbone. From the day we met you didn't seem like the person who would even consider tackling competition, let alone starting your own company."

"It's possible. Maybe that's why I went bankrupt."

"It's improbable. Thirdly, you obviously got your dates confused when telling us when your parents died. They died when you were aged twenty, you became homeless age twenty three. There wouldn't be enough time for you to plan, establish, and run your own company within a three year period, not to mention let it fall to ruin. You became emotional, you slipped up and gave the wrong date. Sierra caught this mistake too, that's why she prevented me from calling you on it."

"It's possible. I could have had contacts to help me."

"It's still improbable, Henry. Lastly, when you told us about the fire in your shop, at first you said 'she died', then you changed it to 'he died.' Normally I'd pass it off as a slip up, but not in this instance. It's just improbable."

Henry stared vainly into the tombstone. "Sierra knew too? She even let me go on saying it? I thought I was careful."

"Well then?" Alex asked.

"What?"

"What really happened to you? Why are you homeless?"

"Nothing. No reason."

"You're not going to tell me."

"That's how it is. Nothing happened to me. That's exactly how all of you knew I was lying, because I looked like a nobody... just some damn loser."

"Henry..."

"Want to know the truth? Just ask Rum. He was right. I'm worthless. I've never accomplished anything in my life. Right up to my parents' death I spent all my time reading comics and playing games. I never took responsibility. I'm lazy and inept. I never wanted to leave my comfort, but I got smashed right out of it when my parents died." Henry froze. "Standing there, watching their coffins being lowered, I realised I really was alone - a loser with no hands on my shoulder to ease my troubles. There was no one left to look after me. I couldn't pay rent. They took the house. Off I went."

"What about your brother?"

"He... went away shortly after the funeral. He was around twenty seven then actually, and he'd been through a few hard times before then. He said he needed to get away from everything, he said trouble followed him around."

"Did he... blame himself for your parents' death?"

"No. Death just seemed to follow him around. It started when he began working in a launderette. It was in a good location and bound for success. When success did come he got promoted to store manager, a real sweet job: easy on the back, good pay, and good to have on a resume." Henry sighed. "But the wrong kind of people took notice of their success. Robbers showed up in droves to raid their cash registers, it happened almost monthly yet my brother stayed. Then one robbery went wrong, very wrong. A customer interfered and bullets started firing. Two people died - a mother and her baby. My brother froze, he watched the few seconds as the baby gasped blood till death. Her eldest son, a ten year old, held them both until the end."

Alex watched Henry's face. It stayed still without a twitch, so too his words poured out clearly, void of usual stuttering. A great deal of emotional investment hung in his story. He recited it clearly as if he gathered this knowledge from the official crime report. At last, Henry spoke truth.

"I can understand, his wanting to get away after something like that."

"He didn't leave after that, although he should have. A few years later, after managing to pull himself back up, he decided to open up his own store using the insurance from the launderette robbery."

Alex nodded understanding. "But his new company caught fire, and someone died. So that story wasn't a total lie after all. It really did happen."

"He became low on funds so he requested help from an outside investor. The investor was notoriously known for exploiting inexperienced entrepreneurs, but he had nowhere else to turn. Turned out, in exchange for aid my brother wound up having to hand half the business over. Straight away, the investor started cutting back to save funds. The guy turned the place into a total fire hazard. You could drop a match on the floor and the place would burn down. He even started all these crazy money making schemes, little side endeavours designed to exploit people who didn't know better, desperate artists, things like that. My brother hated the guy, but he was completely at his mercy."

"Could sound like someone I've met," Alex joked.

"When the place did inevitably catch fire, the investor became trapped somehow. My brother never told us how exactly. My brother always said he should have saved the man, that he should have pulled him out when he had the chance. But he was afraid. He always told me, if I ever find myself in that position, try and help. Do something. Don't live in regret. That's why I ran into that burning building like I did. Even though the guy trapped inside wasn't the one we were looking for, I don't regret it. Beyond the advice he gave me, my brother never really spoke to us about the event. The police were convinced someone else was there that night, but my brother never testified to that. So they abandoned the case as an accident \- now that old building lies in ruins, falling down somewhere. It's just another public eye sore, a pile of rubble."

"The sins of the past are engraved in stone."

"Philosophical... cool. My brother started to become like that right up until he left."

"Where did he go?"

"Africa, on missionary work."

"Touched by God, I suppose."

"A priest actually."

Alex blinked. "Come again?"

"It started eight years after the incident in the launderette. For the 8th anniversary my brother visited the church the woman who died belonged to when she was alive. When he finished praying the priest inquired as to why he looked so sad. He told the priest, 'A very sad event took place ten years ago today, so I'll be sad today.' The priest understood. He replied to my brother, 'This is a sad anniversary for us both. Ten years ago my mother and little brother died in a launderette robbery, and I remember your face.'"

"The priest was there that day! That makes our little trial of fate look like crap."

"The priest was the older brother of the baby who died. They got to talking. They talked about fate. My brother joined the congregation and from there, eventually became a missionary. My brother's the one with the story, I just copied it, changing what suited me. I couldn't even come up with my own sorry sob-story."

"Why did you even need one in the first place? We didn't give you any reason to lie to us, did we?"

"Not you. Everyone else gave me the reason to lie. I remember, before I became homeless people would come over and talk to me, but I never had anything interesting to say to them. I couldn't tell jokes. I couldn't give them a story. I couldn't even understand half of their jokes. They always went away. People never stayed with me for long. I wasn't interesting enough, and I could never relate to people."

"So you told us that story to keep us interested, so we wouldn't leave you."

"I had been homeless for a while when I first met you, Sierra, and Rum. Before then I'd spend all day walking around the streets on my own, going through bins, robbing cakes from windows, and watching television through shop windows. I felt like a rat no one wanted. Then one night I met the three of you."

"I remember, you had your face buried in a pie when Rum appeared over you and asked for some."

"Demanded some."

"That'd be more accurate."

"That night I stayed with the three of you. I enjoyed myself. Then at some point the question of our past lives came up. The ball started rolling until it landed on me. Rum said he gave up after his wife and son died, Sierra grew tired of being passed around foster homes, and you were conned out of your writing career by some corrupt agent. I didn't know how to follow those stories. Mine seemed so pathetic in comparison. I was afraid if I told the truth you'd all laugh at me, that I'd wake up the next day to another, 'well, goodbye Henry. Nice knowing you.' I didn't want to go through that again, least of all on the streets. So I blurted out the first story that popped into my head."

"You really believe we would have left you?"

"It's not like I really knew the three of you back then. Most people I meet look for any reason to drop me. I was selfish, but I needed to be."

"If a man lives with nothing, then selfishness is godsend."

"You seem familiar with the idea."

"Sometimes you remind me of myself when I was younger, if not a shorter version."

Henry smiled and Alex smiled back as though there were no more words to share. They took this moment to appreciate the silence of winter wind and gentle snowflakes tipping to the ground. No distant car engines or busy streets intruded on its sound. No more weeping from that other man either. In fact, the crying stopped so suddenly it drew their attentions over.

The other man was standing hunched in a kind of disbelief, staring at Henry with wide eyes. He appeared ready to tackle Henry straight on, until his sights fell warily on the larger man standing by his side.

Henry and Alex stared back with equal imprudence. They waited for this man to announce his intentions. Nothing came, so Alex spoke up.

"Can we help you?"

The man stayed staring a moment, soon shifting backwards as if those words came too slowly to his ears. He flung a damming finger at Henry.

"You! You followed me here! I won't let you finish me off!" he roared, promptly falling into retreat. In his haste he left behind a devastated trail of toppled gravestones and awkwardly footed footprints.

Both Alex and Henry waited a moment before commenting, if only to let the occurrence sink in.

"Friend of yours? Looked like he knew you," Alex asked Henry.

Henry shook his head. "Didn't look like anyone from Middle Park."

"What a strange fellow."

"Look at that," Henry said. "He left his bag behind."

"Yes, that he did, Henry."

"Someone should tell him."

"Yes... someone... should."

The bag quickly became encased in fresh snowfall. The pair figured if someone were to leave it there the contents might indeed become damaged. Only a sloppy rogue would leave it for waste. Alex, on the other hand, was of the more considerate branch of rogue. He'd merely check the contents with the intention of protecting it from damage.

Judging by how swiftly Alex ploughed into the bag, Henry viewed him as more the other sort of rogue.

"I thought you said you never steal from people?" Henry stated.

"I'm not stealing, I'm going to look after it until we see him again," Alex replied.

"Really? Because you look a little invested there."

Alex pulled out a six pack of beer. "A present for Rum, maybe? I suppose we owe him one for the whiskey."

"That wouldn't exactly be classified as, 'looking after it', now would it?"

On a second ramble through, Alex found a single sheet of paper. About ready to toss it passively aside, he chanced a more thorough inspection. "It looks like some kind of payment receipt." He read from the page. "Receipt of payment for, such and such a property - the address lines blacked out. Amount paid – 50,000 dollars. Then it goes on with a bunch of complicated numbers, but no names. It looks like some kind of sale agreed receipt."

"Fifty thousand dollars for an entire house? Someone must have died in the place," Henry said. "If there are no names on it then it can't be important. Right?"

"I don't know. It looks like the sort of thing you'd store in a shoebox until you need it. Receipts are usually worth something, especially when it comes to a house sale."

"Nothing we can do now, though."

"You haven't been listening to me, Henry. I already told you, I'm going to give the bag back to him."

"What!? How? Please... tell me you're not planning on tracking him down too. One's enough, thanks."

"If this piece of paper really is important, then we'll leave it to fate to guide it back, like it did for your brother. If we don't see him again, well, at least we get a new bag out of it."

"And you'll remember his face if you do see him?"

"Since when do I forget a face?"

"That's true. So will this man be getting his six pack of beer back when you do meet again?"

"This receipt might be important to him, so he needs it back. The beer is bad for him so we'll be doing him a favour by taking it."

"I see."

Alex tossed the cans and receipt back to the bag. Slinging the carrier bag over shoulder, he paused for Henry's next directions.

Henry nodded toward the graveyard exit gate, indicating they should be on their way. It was getting a little too chilly in this place. Even from here the streets outside appeared more inviting than this ominous graveyard scene.

The pair making way back toward the entrance, Alex picked up on a certain awkwardness emanating from Henry. "Something the matter?"

"Please don't tell the others what I said here. Even if they already suspect I don't entirely want them to know. Rum makes fun of me enough without all this."

"I understand. And don't worry about Rum, something tells me he'll have to deal with his own demons soon enough."

"What makes you say that?"

"Rum spends so much time jammed up in Middle Park he's bound to run into someone he used to know out here in the big city. When a man hides away like Rum hides away, then there's definitely someone out here he's hiding from. It's a big city and we've got a lot of ground to cover, so he'll have plenty of chances to meet them." Alex paused. "Time we got back to Sierra and Rum. With any luck they've finished hustling the punters."

***

Sierra and Rum didn't have much luck outside on those church abiding streets. Down here however, in these lower depths known as the subway there came many an eager hand.

Much to their surprise, the first buyer didn't wear rags and carry a familiar foul odour they'd become so accustomed to. He wore a suit, a tie, and big thick glasses. Rum and Sierra didn't need to approach with an offer. He came to them after overhearing their dilemma. The only condition was for Rum to sample it first for quality assurance. He did so rather obligingly then received one train ticket for his troubles.

The second bottle went to a person more familiar. She was an aged bag lady who happened past with a trolley containing three plastic baby dolls, a heap of garbage wrapped over them like warm blankets. From the looks of it that's what she intended it to be. She paid with cash enough for one ticket, simultaneously assuring them that this dire liquid wasn't for her to drink. No. It was a gift for her three little young ones. She walked away, uncapping the bottle to shower whiskey over the dolls.

Rum and Sierra waited until she moved to the other end of the station floor, disappearing behind a large support pillar. Self deluded ramblings whispered out from her spot, until a train tore by to silence it out.

"Two more to sell," Rum stated.

"One more. Remember, we sold one back at the hostel. You probably didn't notice because you didn't help in the slightest bit."

"Sounds about right."

"We'd be done by now if that stupid Dud didn't decide to slack off. And I can't believe that git, Alex second guessing me like that."

"Them's the breaks. Welcome to my world." Rum grinned wide. "This is sort of nice to see, though."

"What is?"

"You acting all crazy instead of me. I was starting to think those two were normal and I was the freak."

"Don't compare this to your tantrums. This is nowhere near your level. Mine will pass."

"Once the gate opens it ain't so easy to close."

"I doubt you've ever tried."

"Nah, this way is much more fun."

"Almost thought you were about to pass a bit of solid advice. Nope. It's just plain old you."

"You seem a bit frustrated there, Blondie."

"I'm not frustrated, you're just frustrating."

"Speaking of which..."

Rum referenced some tireless shouting pouring down from the stairwell access point. It sounded like a man on his mobile phone, trying to reserve a flight for some undisclosed location. He froze with embarrassment upon entering the station floor. All eyes were already locked on him in anticipation for the source of the ruckus.

His tone slackened at once. Seating on a waiting bench he sobbed into desperate pleading. He told the receiving end he needed to be home before New Year to see his wife and kids. The muffled voice of the operator reverberated to anyone who cared to listen in, it apologised then hung up with an abrupt click. The man placed the phone away. Weeping into cupped hands, he mumbled a few coherent words.

"I need a drink."

Rum and Sierra's eyes flared for the bright light bulb igniting at the front of their deep, dark minds.

Sierra grinned wide. "And bottle number four goes to..."

The irate man took it with less hesitation than the previous two. Rum offered to safe test the drink but the man snatched the bottle with swift veracity. He needed this, and he wasn't afraid to show it. Following a quick slug back he handed over his own day pass and retired back to the bench.

Sierra hopped with thanks, and hurried to the machine to purchase the remaining tickets. With everything prepared, she turned back to Rum.

"Now we wait for Alex and Henry. Hope they get here before the train does."

Time ticked slowly. They kept track of time by counting the number of passing trains, which seemed to come at regular five minute intervals. The train they needed wouldn't come for another while yet. Being bound for the far north end of the city reduced its urgency due to the low number travellers going so far.

The wait wasn't entirely uneventful. The chosen three who purchased the whiskey didn't move on from here. The bag lady uttered mystic curses in the rear corner of the platform. It seemed her three babies grew tired of whiskey so she decided to drown it on herself instead. The man in the business suit lingered about on jelly legs. He would walk away only to appear soon after to hassle young girls waiting for their trains. The angry man, now not so angry, lazed on the bench, occasionally sitting up to thank them for this marvellous reward. The three combined to create a notably drunken ruckus. Sierra and Rum had transformed the station into something of a Saturday night circus.

This was the scene Alex and Henry came upon after descending the stairwell. Alex paused to take it all in then looked at Sierra and Rum.

"I see you've been busy."

Sierra flashed four train tickets like a winning hand of cards. She held out spare change in her other hand. Putting them away, she noticed the bag on Alex's shoulder.

"You've been busy yourself I see."

"This? Someone left it behind in the graveyard. I've been looking for something to carry my things so I said what the hell."

"Listen to this guy," Rum said. "At least when I rob something I come out flat and say it. Admit it, you stole it. Looks like high and mighty Alex can't talk no more."

"I didn't steal it. I plan to return it if I see the man again."

"I've heard better excuses," Rum said. "I myself plan on returning a few wallets once I see the owners again."

"Like I care if you believe me. You'll see. That's all that matters."

Sierra rummaged around in her pockets, taking out what looked to be advertisement leaflets of some kind. "Well, before you go handing it back, might as well throw what we can in the bag."

Alex held the bag out for her, leaning closer to see what she was putting in. He picked up a leaflet to check. "Family improvement," he read one, taking up another. "Ten steps to a happier home." He frowned curiously. "These look like self-help leaflets."

"What you doing with those, Blondie?" Rum asked.

"Cram it. Stick to your own business."

She bustled through her own pockets again, this time taking out the suicide note and the photo with the ex-wife's address on back.

"Might as well throw these in too," she said.

Alex continued holding the bag out patiently. "Anyone else want to dump a few more personal belongings into my bag and tell me it's none of my business? No? Good." He zipped it over, slinging it over back.

"So it's 'my bag' now," Rum jeered.

"It's mine while I have it."

"You're as crooked as I."

"I found it unattended. It's nothing like the things you do. Tell him Henry."

"Alex did say at the time he would give it back if he meets the man again," Henry stated like a fact book. "And he didn't steal it in the first place. It was all a bit strange actually. The guy took one look at me then ran away in a panic."

"That's not unusual," Rum replied.

Henry cringed into himself. He knew Rum wouldn't go long without making some kind of comment. For the briefest moment he thought of regressing back to his silent self, where Rum would never notice him. So long as he stayed out of the way the old man wouldn't have opportunities to make fun of him. That briefest of moments passed when he remembered what Alex told him earlier. Henry wouldn't take Rum's abuse. Not this time.

"S-stop! You can't talk you old... d-drunk."

Rum flexed a new forehead wrinkle for each individual word Henry spoke. He didn't reply immediately, probably due to the ball of anger lodged in his throat, turning his face to a deeper red. Following the due time he needed to let it sink in, Rum clasped his hand and exploded with a threatening fist.

His next words came in rolling growls. "You... stupid little Dud. You don't talk that way to me!"

The fist came down, but not before Henry did. Henry at once threw himself to the ground, hands raised in defence. He shivered down there like a tiny hedgehog caught in headlights, quivering eyes sealed.

"I'm sorry!" His shriek pierced the subway silence.

Rum lowered his fist, less from pity and more for humour. Before he could chance another comment, Sierra intruded with her own brand of intimidation.

She jumped between Henry and Rum, pressing up to the old man's face. She shoved him away. "Lay off you overgrown child."

"Turncoat bitch! Before they came back you were talking shit about Henry. Now you're sucking up to him again."

"I'm not doing this to suck up to him. This is for saying 'I'm just like you'."

"You are just like me."

"That's it!"

Sierra went straight for the jugular. She followed up by jumping on his back, arms locking round his throat. To break himself out of it Rum stumbled to the ground. The proceeding fight continued in a show of rolling and scuffling, concealed mostly by a cloud of dust from the dirty platform tiles – a real life imitation of a cartoon brawl.

Henry and Alex watched from the sideline.

"Remember when we talked about sticking up for yourself?" Alex said to Henry. "You did good, but maybe take it one step at a time."

"I think so too. I feel bad, this is all because of me."

"I don't think so, Henry. They're just trying to work out some emotional issues the only way they know how."

"But they always fight like this."

"They always have issues."

"It's getting rough, aren't you going to break them up?"

"Not this time, Henry. Let them go through with it. Maybe when they realise fighting like this is useless they'll start using words to communicate their problems."

"I know it's strange, but I sort of like seeing this."

"You like seeing two people beat the crap out of each other? I can relate."

"No," Henry protested. "This fighting makes me feel nostalgic. They haven't fought in so long."

"They always fight."

"I mean fight like this. Reminds me of times in the subway station near Middle Park, where we used to get our food. Even the layout here reminds me of the one back home."

"It's a subway station, Henry. They're pretty much the same everywhere. You probably need to get out more."

With a momentous easing screech a train pulled into the station. Stopping with a swish, the automatic doors opened and waited.

Sierra wrestled from Rum's grip just to get a look. "That's our train!"

She hopped straight up through the train door. Alex and Henry followed without question. Rum on the other hand continued scuffling on the ground as though he didn't register Sierra's absence. He had closed his eyes to prevent dust blinding. He opened them to find himself wrestling thin air.

He sat up dumfounded, and with slow dawning realisation, rushed the closing train door.

"Wait for me, assholes!"

Chapter 14

Rum fell through the closing door, and again nearly when the train kicked into motion. He grabbed a support bar to stabilise himself. Settling on a long empty seat across from the others, he looked at them with relative calm in his eyes.

"This train is thrashing all over the place. No wonder the seats are empty, it's an outdated hunk of junk."

"It's probably been a while since you've been on a train, you'll get used to it," Sierra replied passively.

"And exactly how long will I have to get used to it?"

"You mean, how long is the journey?" Sierra rested back and closed her eyes. "A long way from now."

"A little clearer please? Probably should have mentioned my stomach goes a little funny when I'm travelling."

"Imagine that, Rum actually held back a complaint," Sierra replied.

"I'm too tired for your bullshit."

"You weren't tired back there, Rum. You were gunning for a go at me a minute ago. Did I hurt little Rummy wummy?"

"That's right. You beat the snot out of me. Well done, now feck off. Wake me when the rides over."

"You only got out of bed a while ago!"

"I'm not into all this travelling, reminds of my working days. Brings back bad memories."

"They call that laziness. You're afraid of hard work."

"I'm not afraid of nothing."

"Then why don't you get a job someday? You can go back anytime you want."

"We've been through this before. I don't need a job. I don't care about money. I never want to go back."

"So this is you forever. You're a thick bum and that's all you ever want to be."

"No shit, but if this thick bum wasn't around you'd all be face up OD'd in a gutter somewhere."

"That's right. We all rely on you. Everything happens because of you."

"More than you appreciate. Who looked after you when you were some dumb kid on the street with no one to fix your booboos? Then the moment you get wise you go and kick me in the balls, and that ain't even a metaphor."

"Well what would you do if some creepy old man started following you around all day? Some people might frown on that sort of behaviour."

"You calling me a pervert? I taught you the ropes and this is my thanks. You're a bitch Blondie, a no good backstabbing bitch."

"That's right. I'm a bitch. The only reason I let you stay with us is to feed on your vast treasure trove of knowledge."

"You've no say in where I stay. You can leave anytime you want. If I'm such a big problem to you then why do you hang around? All you ever do is tell me to shut up anyway!"

Sierra recoiled into silence. "That's not true."

"It is a little," Alex interrupted.

Sierra smacked Alex back out of the argument, where he belonged.

"I'm not a waste of space, Blondie. Time was you knew that."

"I... didn't mean... I know you're not a waste of space. It's your habits I hate."

Rum settled back into his seat, and away from his temper. "My habits? I'm a bum, I have bum habits."

"You don't have to be that way. You don't have to comatose yourself on beer everyday. I want you to lay off the drink... by a little even."

"There's that little girl I used to know, the four foot brat who used to hide my bottles all over Middle Park. I didn't think she was still around any more."

"She still hides your bottles when you're too drunk to notice."

"I'm happy you told me that."

"Really?"

"Sure, now I know there's some hundred bottles stashed around Middle Park."

"It's always one track with you. You could just quit and sort yourself out."

"Yeah, get a hair cut and put on tie, all so I can stand in front of a mirror looking spick and spam. Except I wouldn't have a mirror, I'd have a filthy puddle of water and some miserable degenerate staring back at me. Life's easier with no mirrors and no memories."

"You live in nothing but memories, that's why you live the way you do."

"But at least drink helps me forget. You can take the drink away from old Rum, but old Rum won't go anywhere. It'll be the same old me with the same old problems, except sober."

"Speaking of drink," Alex interrupted a second time, searching the carrier bag. "These were in the bag when I found it."

Rum sat up with renewed interest, as if he could smell what was about to come. Alex held up a six pack of beer. Each can glimmered like a holy grail under carriage lighting. At least that's how Rum perceived it.

Rum snatched them like a giddy child.

"Consider it a late Christmas present, payback for your 'grand sacrifice'," Alex said.

Sierra frowned vehemently at Alex. "This is a really inappropriate time."

Alex shrugged wryly. "I needed to lighten the load." He placed the bag down on the seat to use as a head cushion. "Can't rest easy with those things inside."

"Your logic is astounding."

"I think so too!" Rum yelled with glee. "This'll definitely settle my stomach for the long trip."

"I thought you wanted to sleep," Alex said.

"Sleep, ignore you - same difference. Beer helps me do both. At least this way cuts the boredom out of public transport."

"You should treasure the experience," Alex said. "All sorts of people use public transport, you never know who you might meet."

Chapter 15

The train screeched to a halt for the next station. Though tossed side to side, Rum showed no signs of unease. So long as his beer didn't spill he couldn't care less about his travelling issues. It would be the one new passenger who caused a stir in him.

A man past middle-age stepped on board, one wobbly leg after the other. He wore a long grey trench coat torn at the ends, and like a downtrodden Santa bore a grey beard thick with grit. There was a face somewhere under those whiskers, and from what little they could see it had been badly burned some time ago. Everything about him indicated vagrancy, that's why Rum hid his beer cans.

The man fit the part of a wino, the kind likely to be seen on busy streets shouting randoms at passers bye. They figured this before he spoke.

The train kicked off again, but the man didn't sit down. Though many seats were available, he stood on the walkway clutching a handrail, square centre between the group. And he looked at each of them without speaking. He simply stared obtrusively and breathed loudly as if to prevent others from talking.

The new bum stared mostly at Henry, who in return stared politely forward, and away. Henry had intended to let Sierra and Rum continue talking things out, but this visitor capped that plan. Instead he chose to make small talk with his own group, if only to tune out that intrusive breathing.

"How long did you say this trip would take, Sierra?"

"Maybe... a few hours."

"Right. That's a long trip then."

The intrusive tramp's eyes widened with devout interest, facial skin flexing in preparation for the next booming words. "That's a very long trip!" He spoke in a dialect unfamiliar to their ears. It sounded like a worn devolution of an Irish accent. It was difficult to pin it down while distracted by his two beady eyes bobbing up and down on every word he spoke.

Henry nodded with the same polite intention to ignore him. He wouldn't make the same mistake he did back on the bridge, when those two thugs approached. Rum warned him back then to avoid making eye contact with unusual sorts, and this one time he would heed the old man's advice. It hardly dithered their new guest's intrusiveness.

"How long have you four people been on?" the wino asked still.

Henry now figured the safest way to end this to be to at least answer once. He opened his mouth to reply, but didn't get the chance.

"I've been on this same carriage for two hours myself, like you know," the haggard belted loudly. "I was sitting here all on my own until you four people showed up."

"You were?" Henry replied. "I thought... we were here... first."

"Don't bother, y'stupid dud," Rum said.

Henry grit his teeth. He could have cursed himself for answering since he now found himself trapped as mediator. The others were happy to sit back and let him do it.

"Absolutely! Been here all day now," the wino exclaimed. "I went for a long train ride over the Christmas. I'm on my way back down now. May even ride back up again for the fun, like you know. Did you enjoy Christmas as much as I did?"

"It was okay," Henry replied.

"Christmas should always be 'okay'. Never anything less. I'm always happy for Christmas through New Year."

"Looks like it."

The haggard grinned wide, presenting his gummy toothed mouth. "Always stay cheerful this time of year. I tell you, like you know, this whole holiday I stay smiling. Let it drop and everything else does."

"Keep a positive outlook," Henry muttered.

"Exactly! Can't stop to think or else bad thoughts start slipping in... like fire. It's hot you know."

"I guess it is."

"Very hot!" the man echoed with greater devotion

The wino's eyes drifted away from Henry and to nowhere else. "Should have fixed the ventilation, cleared the mould. The things I could have changed to change the way things are. Fire. It's hot. Wraps around you, takes over so you can't move. Stay in it, burning, until bleeping lights come to save you. Cooking flesh. Having your life flash before eyes through fiery goggles. Trapped."

Henry began inclining away from the wino somewhere halfway through his little speech. A senselessly drunk tramp could be easily tolerated, not an inanely mad one with skeletons to unload.

Henry's next words came with great expectation from the others. "Next carriage?"

A unanimous nod followed.

They shifted to the next carriage down using little imagination in their excuses. Rum peered through the view window to the previous carriage. Even abandoned to his own devices the wino didn't sit down, even still he noticeably mumbled to himself.

Rum looked away, resting back against the joining door. "Guess things really could be worse. Well Alex, so much for 'you never know who you might meet'."

"I guess this makes us hypocrites," Alex replied.

"At least this carriage is empty too," Sierra said.

She noticed Rum plonking himself on a seat, unsnapping another can. He fell back and gorged it thoroughly, tossing the empty can away. He caught wind of Sierra's judgemental glare.

"What now? Alex gave me the cans, blame him. I'm on a break." He put the cans in his pocket, folded arms and shut his eyes. The rate he fell asleep appeared genuine and immediate.

Her eyebrow twitched at his vain excuse. It twitched a second time because it was in large true. She'd be happier chastising Rum, but the true culprit stood beside her. Her menacing gaze fell up to Alex.

"Did it give you a kick, second guessing me like that?"

"I didn't see any other use for them."

"You could have thrown them away."

"Would seem like a waste."

She glanced at Rum to make sure he still slept. Her next words came in whisper. "The old fart will never give up if you keep handing him beer. He wants to quit drinking but it keeps falling into his lap. It's as if the beer companies have placed a curse on him."

Alex stared at her remorselessly. "Sometimes I swear you've never met the guy."

"Say that again."

"It's like you expect better. You always seem so stunned every time he screws up, when everyone else just nods and says, 'that's old Rum.' You try blame others for what he does, but the truth is he screws up because that's what he wants. The old man could save his own life any time he chose. Maybe you see him the way you want to see him."

"What do you know." Sierra shrugged Alex off.

"I know he took care of you when you were a kid. He looked after you when you were out on the street on your own. I understand you might have looked up to him. Maybe you're still blinded by kiddy goggles. You focus on trying to save him, when really you should be saving yourself."

"You're the one who doesn't know him." Sierra replied. "And you don't know what I want either."

"I know you want a normal life."

"You don't know anything."

"Then why were you carrying around all those self-help leaflets? Unorthodox reading material don't you think, particularly the one about strained father-daughter relationships?"

"You read my stuff? I told you to mind your own business."

"For a girl who goes traipsing across the city for someone she's never met, you sure are defensive about your own history.

"There's nothing to tell that I haven't already told you. I was an orphan. I spent the first years of my life jumping from host family to host family. When I was sevem I was adopted by John and his... girlfriend. I lived with them for three years until John hung himself. I became homeless at age ten. Happy?"

"And you still want a family?"

"Of course I do!"

"You always did?"

"What kind of dumb question is that? I was a kid, all I wanted was a family."

"You told us you ran away from a few homes. You were so desperate for a family yet you ran from every chance you got. Why did you run? You could have stayed with any of them."

"You want to know why I left so many homes? People don't want a baby who cries too much. They don't want an infant who demands attention. They don't want a pre-teen who sets fire to the couch. They don't want a kid too big to hold, they don't want someone with a 'problem child' sticker on her head. By the time I reached that point the only people willing to adopt me were... I ran from those people."

Alex bowed understanding. Her garbled little summary painted a clearer image than any painter might. In truth he merely sought to test the waters, to see how she would reply about Rum. She did so in a satisfactory manner, and something close to what he expected. For the first time in a long time, he uncovered something new about Sierra, and something he truly did decide, wasn't his place to pry.

He remained in silence until the silence took over to a point of pungency. A break came when Rum shifted with a pig like snore. It cracked some smiles and lowered tension to a stable degree.

With no more qualms to rid, or personal space to invade, Alex took note of Henry who sat up attentively throughout the exchange, but dipped his head thoughtfully afterwards.

"Something the matter, Henry?" Alex asked.

He sat up surprised at having been acknowledged. "No... well, one thing. If you want a normal life again, does that mean you really think we stand a chance?"

"You mean if we'll ever slip on our big boy shoes: get a car, house, family, grab a cat and call it mittens? All that bullshit?" Alex replied.

"Yeah... that bullshit."

"Nothing stopping you," Sierra said. "If you want it you could start climbing back up the chain whenever you want. Why are you asking this now?"

"I've been thinking. Maybe when this is all finished I could get a job somewhere, nothing too fancy just something simple. It struck me how much time had gone by since my parents died. I haven't changed much since then. Even as a bum I'm still the same person. It can't always be like this."

"It won't be, Henry," Sierra said.

"Just don't go moving out of the shack too soon," Alex replied. "With you gone it'd be me against Sierra and Rum. Stuck with that pain in the ass I'd end up throwing myself into a lake." He nodded at Rum to emphasize his target.

He realised then that Rum had awoken some point prior. In fact he hadn't changed position since the time he fell asleep to the time he snored pig-like. The rag lines on his face merely concealed his little shifty eyes squinting out. They stared at Alex and had been for some while. A trace fury stifled in his glare.

"Rum," Alex said. "You're awake. I didn't notice. Don't get too angry. It was a joke I could put up with you."

The glare didn't fade. From under the shadow of his beard, lips moved slow with daunting words. "You ever talk that way to Sierra again I'll smash your face till it looks pretty." The glare hung on his words until the train began easing into the next station.

Alex nodded. Since the day he'd met Rum first he'd never heard words so dedicated coming from his lips. The old man meant it. And Alex wouldn't take this path of conversation again.

Passengers began boarding the carriage. Some took one look at the bums and retreated to the next one down. Those who stayed sat at the opposite end. Some of them pinned their noses against the bums' natural odour. The ones who didn't, struggled to keep their hands down in general courtesy. When the train started moving again a man stormed into the next carriage in a show of clear unease for these unwanted passengers. He might have hoped for better company but merely walked into the wino's path. Suffice to say the man returned with renewed perspective.

The journey continued in relative ease. Few passengers glanced their way, only sometimes scornfully to demand their silence. Alex and Henry stayed complacent. Sierra and Rum responded more generally with raised middle fingers.

Rum yawned loud enough to cause a stir through the carriage. He spoke in kind. "So much for my snooze then. What's wrong with these stuck up fucks? Look at them trying to avoid us. How snobby can they be riding on a public train? At least that wino could see us."

"Something tells me that guy sees a lot of things," Sierra replied.

She chanced a glance through the view window to the previous carriage. The wino was gone now, replaced by a new multitude of passengers. The train jolted in breaking for the next station, pushing her face against the glass.

The automatic doors hissed open for an empty platform. They remained open for the average length of time and began closing shortly after. It was then a woman's voice cried from the station floor. She screamed lividly for someone to hold it, but wound up crashing into the doors and getting stuck between. With all determination she hung on, forcing the doors apart. To make some blind claim on the train she tossed her shopping bag on ahead of herself.

No one moved to help, the four bums included. There hung a certain survival of the fittest notion over the event. Most passengers watched with interest like spectators of a dramatic comedy.

This caused Rum to shift to her side and stand over her with a deducing stroke of his beard. Grabbing one half of the door, the other parted to allow her a chance to fall through, which she did, quite harshly.

She quickly regained composure, retying the buttons of her brown winter coat and shaking her blonde hair free of snow. This was her first reaction having safely landed on-board. The thought of properly thanking her saviour of the hour came right after. She turned to face Rum with a wide smile, which cracked the moment she saw him. None the less, she thanked him politely yet quickly, and scurried to the rear section with the rest of her wayfaring kin. A large gap of empty seats slashed the carriage into two social divides.

Rum shrugged off the woman's reaction as one more obliging than most would offer. He sank back to Sierra, awaiting credit for his effort.

"See that, not such a bad guy now am I?"

Sierra stared halfwittedly past Rum to the blonde haired woman. Cautiously slinking back behind a seat to peek out, she began deciphering past the woman's age wrinkles to see a familiar face from some early reach of her past. Sierra shrieked inwardly, falling flat behind the seat for cover.

"Blondie? The hell are you doing?" Rum asked.

"Nothing. I'm not doing anything. I'm not even here. Go away," she whispered.

Rum sent a glance back and forth between Sierra and the woman he saved. "What's the matter, you know that chick or something? She looks about my age, kinda cute too."

"Quiet! Yeah, I know her all right – now shut up."

"Then what's the problem?" he asked again.

"Best do as she says. No point making a scene," Alex added.

"So you're just going to stay tucked down there for the rest of the trip?"

"No. I'm going to stay tucked down here, and you're going to sit in front of me for the rest of the trip." She indicated Rum should land himself on the chair she hid behind. "And please, try not draw attention."

"Fine. But you owe me for this."

"Whatever. I'll buy you lunch when we get off."

Chapter 16

The journey continued in relative silence.

Tucked down behind the seat, Sierra really did wonder if this was even necessary. Even if the woman did at some point bother looking their way, the chance of recognition seemed slim. It had been some ten years since Sierra last saw this woman, and she might have by now put behind what Sierra couldn't.

All passengers dwindled till that one remained. Even on an empty carriage the woman locked her eyes straight ahead. It was a wonder why she didn't change coaches, probably for the same pity that caused the bums to tolerate the wino - for a time.

It happened then, following the tension, the silence, Rum's devout shunning of Alex and Henry – the woman stood in wait for the door to open at the next station.

Sierra counted her fortune. Their stop was the next one after this. Last thing she needed after hiding the whole way was to bump into her while getting off. She found herself peeking out to watch the blonde woman depart.

The train eased to the station. The doors opened. The woman stepped out onto the platform. She froze right there, with some anticipation turning to look back into the train. She frowned curiously at that girl peeking out from behind a seat, beady little eyes almost hidden by tangled blonde hair and green ear flap hat. Focusing for a moment she seemed about to dash back on-board.

"Sierra!" the woman called.

The doors closed. The train took off. And she was gone.

Sierra released a gallon of tension in the form of a wide exhale. A hairs breath, she thought.

Alex, Henry, and most of all Rum gazed her way for explanation. She simply ignored by staring straight through, head conjugating thoughts. Regret followed relief. She felt like a school child having escaped safely from a bully. There was no fight and no reward, only safety and fear of the next encounter. Only now she did desire a next time, and sort of wished she'd done it this time.

A muffled voice on the intercom called out the next station. In response Sierra stood and looked at the rushing lights in the tunnel outside.

"Get your things. This is our stop," she said.

They bid a welcome farewell to the close-quarter box carts. The train in return splashed them with a shrill frosty wind as it heaved off down the tunnel. If it could be so cold down here, they could only look ahead with grim expectations for the temperature on surface level.

They made their way up the subway stairs to the main street, where all four nearly jumped back in to cover from the biting wind. They spent so long indoors they'd lost that special immunity from the cold. Surely they'd have plenty of time to recover it.

Since boarding the train first, a fresh foot of snow amassed over the old. It overflowed the curbs making the roads inaccessible to motorist. Regardless, they'd not likely be driving with this ghostly mist encompassing the streets in its own tranquil silence. Perhaps the lack of visibility could answer why other pedestrians were absent from the scene, or perhaps they were simply stumbling out there in the thick of it all.

The four stood clueless outside the subway staircase, all huddled in a stammering group. Sierra glanced up and down the empty street for direction.

"Let's see, we should be heading down... I'm not too sure where we should be heading."

"You said you were familiar with this place," Rum said.

"Yeah, over ten years ago. I remembered the general area, that doesn't mean I have it mapped down in my head."

Sierra hummed a thought, hurrying to check a nearby bus sign. She checked a map on it and called back with directions.

"The place we're looking for is on this bus route. Looks like it's the next block over - walking distance. I figure we can find it if we stick along this road."

"Checking the bus routes," Alex said. "I'd have thought four homeless people would have better street sense."

"Vagrants have better street sense. We're more like Middle Park décor," Rum stated.

"Then it's time we were upgraded," Sierra said from the bus stop, carefully tearing the map clean off. She held it up to show them, and tucked it into her pocket. "At least now we'll know our way around."

"That thing list diners?" Rum said.

"It's a bus route map, Rum," Sierra replied.

"Shame, now we'll have to go look for one. Remember, you promised you'd buy me lunch."

"Now?"

"I asked cause I'm starving. I haven't eaten since we left the hostel."

"I see your point," Sierra said with a grumble in her tummy. "But after buying the tickets I don't have enough cash for four meals.

"That's okay. We can ditch Henry and Alex for a while."

"I suppose, but I don't think they'd like that."

"We are standing right here, you know," Alex said.

"Yeah, that's the problem," Rum replied.

"It's fine with me," Alex replied. "After that long train ride I think we could all use a little time apart. You two go buy something to eat. Me and Henry will get lunch the old fashioned way."

"Enjoy your bin meal then. Today Sierra and I eat like kings," Rum said.

"Dethroned kings," Alex stated.

"Let him count his grains," Sierra said. "We'll meet back here outside the subway steps whenever we're ready."

"And what time is whenever?" Alex asked.

"Whenever is whenever."

Alex nodded his vague understanding of the plan as he watched Sierra and Rum disappear down the street and into fog. He hummed to himself, motioning Henry into movement.

"One thing's certain, whenever their whenever arrives, it'll be long after we do."

"Alex?"

"Just thinking out loud. Sierra still wants back at us for visiting the graves and leaving them waiting at the station. This is a good time for her to do the same to us. Besides, I think those two just needed some time to talk. They couldn't really get it all out on the train with us two staring at them."

"I guess. But I think we should go back early anyway. We made Sierra and Rum wait on us, so if we're stuck waiting it'll balance things out. I'd rather straighten my karma now rather than let it pile up."

"Karma?"

"Karma... it's an Eastern philosophy. It's all about positive and negative forces running through the universe. I only understand the easier parts, but basically it means that your good and bad deeds will be reflected back onto you. You know, every bad deed you do brings the bad onto you."

"I know what Karma is, Henry. I just didn't know you cared about that stuff."

"Of course I do. That's why I became Buddhist in the first place."

"You're Buddhist? Was I supposed to know this?"

Henry shrugged inwardly with a weakened gasp of breath. "I suppose I've never been too vocal about it. I guess in reality you could call me a failed Christian. To be honest, I never knew much about the religion I was born into, whereas with Buddhism everything was laid out for me already. Reincarnation, Karma, liberalism, these were things I already agreed with and could relate to. Legally speaking, I'm still Christian, but I'm Buddhist in the way I think."

"Far as I know that's all it takes to convert to Buddhism. And strictly speaking, you're not registered anywhere so you aren't legally anything any more. I don't think baptism counts on a welfare cheque."

"I never thought of it like that. That's nice to know. Now I can be fully Buddhist."

"Good, now I can have all the meat we find. Far as I know Buddhists aren't supposed to eat meat."

"Really? I thought that was only the monks."

"You really haven't researched this whole religion thing have you, have you?"

"It is a little gun-hoe. It's fine if it works.

"You did already give up one religion because you didn't know anything about it. Are you going to let it happen again?"

"Suppose I really should research the rules sometime... but I'll do that after we eat."

"Just don't rely on me too much. I don't know enough about my own religion to start lecturing others on there's. Let's worry about theology later and focus on foodology." Alex grinned for his joke, but no one else did.

Today's lunch came from a selection of different bins: an apple from one, half a sandwich from another, and so forth until they could all be gathered together to form one decent meal. Their bin tracking took them from one to the next until arriving in a whole new district.

This area seemed isolated from the rest of the city. It gave the impression of a rural town, with its one main street lined with unfamiliar store names. It looked as if a small rural town had been picked up and jammed right into this bustling metropolis. Or maybe the town came first and those tall buildings crept up around it over time. In any case it remained unmoved, in scenery and retailers – the entirety of which seemed reliant on that single road cutting through the centre.

Picturesque snowfall on the aged buildings might easily conceal apparent financial difficulties. In another time, this would be a fine place to live.

Alex and Henry moved at a leisurely pace, somewhat sauntering as they crossed the snow clotted main road. With the road in such a state it was no wonder all the shops were closed up. It seemed this area wasn't privy to same snowplough service as the rest of the city.

The pair sought shelter down a tree strewn lane way, something of a turn-off from the main road. The trees, though barren, provided ample cover while they sat and ate. Amidst the city's silence and the howling wind rustling leaves, they for a time forgot the metropolis around. The middle of the countryside would be so peaceful.

"This is alight, isn't it?" Alex said to Henry.

"It doesn't feel right. I screwed up once already, I feel like I've run out of time-outs. We should stick to the plan and stop making idiot moves."

"We're idiots. We move."

"I'm tired of it. Sitting around here won't accomplish anything."

Henry stood to usher Alex on, when the howling wind drained to a whimper. The trees stopped rustling and there came dead silence. Not a car, not a bird, not a word.

"Crazy weather," Alex said. "I've never heard silence like this in the city before."

"The calm before the storm? That Len guy did warn us about a blizzard due."

"Old Len also warned us of an impending alien invasion once. That was after he and Rum landed some tequila."

"He didn't seem too drunk when we saw him last."

"Too drunk... that's a very relative statement in the land of bums."

The silence shattered on the gasp of a horrible phlegm ridden cough. It descended quickly into a torrent of gasping, like a cat coughing up a hairball. It sounded awful, and though they couldn't see the source, the sound echoed throughout the lane way, bouncing at them from every angle. It settled into arid gasping, and heavy pained breathing. It died suddenly, as though someone had.

The few previous traces of noise were easier to track, leading Alex and Henry straight to the source. It was some way down the lane amidst the trees, and lying comatose in a ditch.

A man lay with grey beard fallen backward over face, outstretched arms clutching a whiskey bottle. Another of the same brand lay empty beside. If his sorry state didn't give it away already, his tattered grey trench coat and patchwork pants seemed suited for a bum's life.

Alex and Henry stood on top of the ditch in expectation for some sign of life. It popped up in an unconscious belch. They deemed it enough, and slid down to heave the man out. Belches came abound until they set him down on level ground.

He lay in noiseless slumber, and would for some time.

Chapter 17

Sierra and Rum ordered from the nearest diner. They shared a bag of chips and took a burger each for take out. Despite this biting cold they settled for the nearest side walk bench, and ate there as they would inside any diner.

Snow fell sparsely and soft like the last traces of flour sifting through a strainer. It came at just the right speed to be admired without ruining their lunch. With the silent road before them and glitter like frost in the air, it seemed a worthwhile endeavour to endure this heavy cold. Those who bottled up in warm houses would seldom see such placid streets. For a few days this city would be changed into a whole new location, with changed scenery and changed atmosphere. For a few days a year every person in this city could take a free holiday without ever boarding a plane, and most chose to spend it bottled up inside.

Sierra chomped down the last piece of her burger, dug into some chips and waited for Rum to finish. "Just because I bought you lunch it doesn't mean you should take your time. You said you were hungry so eat like a hungry man."

"It was my booze we sold. I'm buying you lunch, all you did was hold my money."

"If I let you hold the money it'd be spent on booze by now, then we'd have nothing to eat. Think of me as a financial planner."

"One who gives shitty deals - I'd rather booze."

"Booze, booze, booze... same old Rum."

"Don't talk like that. You know it ain't true."

"Alex seemed to think otherwise."

"Alex don't know shit. Don't listen to that freak."

"Then stop drinking and prove him wrong."

"I'll stop drinking when-"

He snagged there.

"When hell freezes? When you die? When you get rich?"

"Two of those might work. I couldn't give a crap about getting rich."

"You did once."

"Never."

"Course you did, I saw it in your face the night we met. It started to die a little every day after."

Rum's eyes gazed straight ahead into the foggy haze. His thoughts went someplace else. "You were just a kid back then. Too dumb to know better."

Rum fell silent. Sierra fell silent. Together in misty mid-evening snow the two reminisced to a bygone decade to the night they first met.

It was a dark and lonely night...

***

The rain fell in torrents that night. The hostels had opened their doors and shut them the moment they filled. While others banged outside for entry, one ten year old girl relinquished her position in fear of the place. She didn't like the noises, or the darkness. She had only recently quit her night lamp, now to find herself alone in a room full of warty men and women, coughing and groaning. It was more than she could handle so she braved the rainfall, running to the only familiar place nearby.

John, her foster father, had taken her down this end of the city a few times before. Thanks to her fondness for ducks and tall trees, the pair of them always inevitably came back to the same location, Middle Park. In days before she would tug John's hand the whole way along. She had led the way here so much she came to know it by heart.

This would be the very first time she travelled to Middle Park without towing John's hand behind. This was the very first time she'd been out on the streets alone. She worked on childish instinct, but somewhere within she hoped the familiarity would calm her fear. So she travelled to the heart of Middle Park, settling at the base of a great Oak tree. It lay at the bottom of a shallow hill, hidden by bushes and various other trees.

This used to be their private picnic spot. Sierra could never understand why this particular location received so few day trippers. It lay in a prime location, based just off the mid-intersection of the whole park, where the usual central themed statue resided – in this case a General on horseback.

She intended to let the familiarity calm her. Instead she found herself huddled at the base, fending from cold and droplets bouncing off her green ear flap hat. It was a noisy quiet, a lonely quiet. Through thunder and rain, noises of memory boomed inside her skull. She could hear John laughing – she could hear herself laughing. She could hear them laughing together. It was the memory of the first time she genuinely laughed with a would-be parent.

Thunder clapped, and clapped away the memory. That noisy memory became replaced with the noisy storm. And it was of her own free will to disperse the thoughts. John was dead, and she sat alone under an Oak tree in bitter cold. This would be the new reality.

Her huddling stance collapsed, and she fell in on herself. She tucked her head between knees, and for the first time in her life wept in total silence.

She wasn't all alone in the park that night. Somewhere out there was a man walking by himself nearby. He couldn't yet hear her crying and she couldn't yet hear his cursing.

The man was too busy in his own misfortune, gracelessly stumbling his way through the mid-intersection of the park. Originally the man entered Middle Park in pursuit of someone, as he went deeper into the park, and deeper into a bottle, he soon forgot the reasons why, and instead staggered slowly with little direction.

He lost track of time until arriving at a statue of a General on horseback. It bore a clock on the front of it. He shrugged for the late hour, and sat himself down at the base of the statue.

He eyed his drenched clothes. He'd started the day in his favourite, and most expensive black suit, neatly ironed and fresh from the cleaners. Now it hung low, the stitching tearing more each step he moved. It would never be the same again. Only one week ago he would have cared about this suit.

"Rain!" he yelled. "Miserable rain... ripping my suit! Ripping my life!"

He knocked back for another slug, shocked to find the bottle empty. He held it to the rain as if waiting for a godly refill.

"Rum!" he yelled. "More rum!"

When his prayers died after his echo, he arose in a stupor, falling forward in effort to stabilise himself. His footing slid to and fro until he came to a wobbly steadiness.

"Where are you God!? Create a disgusting little mess like me then bugger off when I ask y'help. Moron can't even fill a lousy bottle with lousy rum. What kind of fucking God is this? Sure you've no trouble ruining lives, but fixing them... that's a whole other story."

Against the rain, the man stared up to the cloudy night sky.

"Give us something! Let's see those miracles! If you won't catch me when I'm goin' down, let's see if you can catch this!"

With one great swing he thrust the bottle skyward, and in his stupor aimed the wrong direction. He threw the bottle into the foliage of a tree. Beneath the leaves, it shattered so suddenly and chimed as to have struck solid metal.

The whole tree began to shudder in response. A creaking sound followed like something leaning onto a branch, then the tree shook a second time as if a heavy object fell to the next branch down. It continued like this, a concealed object rustling and snapping branches, falling bit by bit from branch to branch.

The man did little but stare in dumbfounded curiosity.

"God?" he mumbled.

The weight pressed a branch till breaking point. It gave way with one solid snap. The object revealed itself from the leaves, rolling out backward. It took him a moment to realise what it was, or maybe to fathom what it was. It was the rear bonnet of a pink car hanging onto a branch by its front wheels.

In that second of realisation, the man dived away as the car came crashing to the ground behind him. The leap sent him thumbing down a shallow hill, through thorny border bushes designed to keep day-farers out. He stumbled with face to the dirt and arse in the air until sliding to a steady halt at the base of the hill. Grovelling in mud and wet grass, he sat up on knees, panting till the shock left.

"Not what I had in mind. Elaborate though."

His words went eclipsed by the noise of wreckage rocking back and forth at the top of the hill. He hardly beckoned the reason of it all when a new noise overshadowed the old. Low pitched like something of a whimper, a brief one existing no longer than the time it took to notice. It came from a bundle of wet rags sat at the base of a Great Oak. Of course there was a person under there, a bum no doubt.

He shied a glance and intended to carry back up the hill from which he fell. When he found the climb too thorny and awkward, he shrugged inwardly and turned to the bum for directions out.

Only when he stepped closer to address did a second whimper peep out from the rags. It was of a lighter tone than he realised first, and those rags looked too small for an adult. He saw tiny hands and tiny legs, a tiny head lowered in tears.

"You're just a kid," he said, expecting the girl to react. She didn't seem to hear under her oversized green ear flap hat.

She would have stayed down there crying had a cold hand not touched hers. She fell away in shock, back pressed against the Oak tree. In her hurry the hat fell off, revealing a length of blonde hair that seemed to shimmer in this darkness.

In a plea for solidarity, the man formed a less aggressive stance and backed away some. "Hey now, come on, I won't hurt you. Are you alone out here, where are your parents?"

"My parents?" she replied still shaken.

"I see... No matter how locked, I'm not one to leave a kid here like this. How long you been out on the streets?"

She didn't move, only frowned like all she wanted was to keep crying.

"You're too young for this. Whatever happened to you must have happened recently. This isn't your first night on the street is it? I suppose... this would be mine too. Can I know your name?"

The girl seemed to eye his pricey black suit as if to question his honestly. The more she stared the more worn down it appeared, and the more it looked like he'd been wearing it quite a while.

The man leaned down and picked up her hat, placing it back on her head. "Shy thing ain't ya."

What childish tenacity she tried to maintain shattered for an instantaneous bout of tears, starting then stopping. Following the brief on-pour her face hardened and stayed that way.

He placed his hand on her shoulder to provide comfort. "Hey, come on now blondie, things'll be all right."

For that instant he stared at her and she stared back at him. In the next instant he stared at her tiny foot booting toward his face, and heard the words:

"Get away from you old freak!"

The kick didn't hurt. If he hadn't seen it coming he probably wouldn't have noticed. In any case she stood above him, fist raise as if she'd sent all the forces in the universe pummelling into his face. He let her believe it too.

The man held his nose, falling backward. "Oh my nose!" he cried, rolling about in dire pain. "It hurts so much!"

The girl frowned curiously. She'd like to believe she'd successfully toppled an adult, but this man was a poor actor. His tone was largely sarcastic, even a little mocking. John often attempted the same fits of pain during their many play fights.

The girl smiled, and even released a little titter. It caused the man to stop rolling in the mud and smile up in kind. The girl laughed more freely, this time at his muddy state and stupid grin.

The man looked himself over, making attempts to wipe the mud away. "You're right. It is muddy out here. Going to be tough getting a good night sleep on this, but I have an idea."

The girl continued to watch curiously as he crawled about in the mud, picking up sticks, logs and even fallen leaves. He brought them under the Oak and laid them down.

"We'll build a house right here, just you and me, blondie. Sure it'll start as a small dank shack, but this dank shack'll be the greatest dank shack! You with me?"

She ran away to the bushes. For a moment, as he sat muddied amidst quiet rain, he felt very much abandoned.

In another moment she repapered under-duress from a hefty bundle of sticks. She smiled and he smiled.

***

A strong chilly wind flushed by, seemingly carrying the metropolitan sounds they had tried shut out. Rum finished his burger, tossing the wrappings to the ground. He didn't get up, only sat as if waiting for Sierra to say something. Rum wouldn't move yet, and neither would Sierra. Standing now would only disrupt their moment.

"How much did we sell my old black suit for again?" Rum asked.

"About fifty bucks."

"It was worth a grand. I think you owe me another lunch."

"It was a good sale price for the state of the thing. To be honest I just wanted to get rid of it anyway. Made you look sort of pathetic."

"Suppose it was a little worn.

"In shambles."

"Okay, okay. But I would have liked to keep it... for safe keeping."

"We'll buy you a new one when you start job hunting."

"Knock it off."

Sierra giggled slightly, Rum did too in his crotchety own way. If not for a sudden passer-by emerging from the fog they'd have continued laughing, but they silenced to preserve the moment for themselves.

The passer-by, head shielded under thick winter hood, nodded partly in greeting. Sierra and Rum nodded back, then he disappeared as he had emerged.

A bum would rarely be fit for such a greeting. Normally Sierra and Rum wouldn't be either. It was however a peculiar thing, as they sat there on side walk bench, coated in winter fog and drifting snow, they would have seen to any passer bye, a father and daughter sharing a moment.

Rum poked his hand through his pocket, taking out a stubbed cigarette. Lighting it with a spare match he fell back lazily into the bench. He took a drag, and released.

"This is good, isn't it?"

"You smoke now too?"

Chapter 18

Alex went to call an ambulance from the nearest phone. He'd been gone a while and by then the old haphazard bum began stirring from his daze. Left waiting for Alex to return, Henry stirred awkwardly over the old man in hesitant expectation. He couldn't handle this on his own. He would need Alex to do the talking when the man eventually came to. Most importantly, he needed Alex should this creature prove not so thankful and a little more hostile. He would have reason for it, in a sense.

Since Alex and Henry had pulled him from the ditch to the lane pathway, the snow began building around him as to set an outline like a lazy snow angel. Henry would have washed it all away but feared waking the man while his hand lay in the wrong place. Sure it was just some tired old drunken bum without worth to his name, but so was Rum.

Henry's time to prepare ended when a few breathless words uttered from somewhere beneath that matted beard.

"I... can't feel my back."

"You're on the ground," Henry replied.

The old man shifted, lifting his arms and with it the snow covering them. He stared through to the whitened scene around, wondering what took place between now and his last memory.

"Seems a while since my drink ran dry," he said, voice hinting of a slurred Irish accent.

"Are you okay?" Henry asked.

"Strange fellow you are, like you know. I've me arse planted dead in snow and you ask if I'm all right?"

"Sorry... My friend is calling an ambulance, they'll be here soon."

"No apologies. You did stop to help me. I saw five people looking at me and none said nothing of me. Every time another passed I went a little deeper in, like, you know."

"Shouldn't be too long now."

"Sorry son, could you lean down a little? Me eyes are near shot on a sober day. I'd like to get a good look at you, the one person who stopped."

Henry did so with an awkward smirk, not at all hesitant in his retreat away from that pungent breath.

"I see," the old man continued. "So it's yourself again."

"Again? Can't imagine we've met."

Only on the end of his words did it click. Henry had seen this haggard old face before. He recognised the grey trench-coat he wore, those bobbling eyes, the accent, and those aged burn marks near hidden under that matted beard. This man was the wino they ran into on the train over here, the one who in his own disconcerting enthusiasm drove them to flee into another carriage.

Henry let his shoulder's drop. "Yeah... it's me again. You know, you've got a good memory, must come in handy."

"Back in my youth it did. Back when I was a no-good smarmy swindler. It had its uses, believe me it did. These days it's more of a pain, remembering faces of people who don't want to know you. Now I just ride around on public transport, hassling the faces I remember and pulling in some new ones. Faces... Used to be good at reading them too... until I read this one guy wrong. Let's just say I nearly died and leave it at that." He sighed. "Have you got a smoke, son?"

"I think you need a break from stuff like that."

"Stuff like that's all I got left. They say it's all bad these days, only selfish people smoke and drink. But I've no one left to call me selfish for doing it, so I suppose selfish is all I can be any more. I suppose... someone like you could never understand."

"Someone like me?"

The old fella grinned. "This is just one moment in my long life, understand? You might have stopped to help me but when that ambulance gets here you'll go back to wherever you were going. You're listening to me now because you feel sorry for me, but really what's happening here... it's no different than when I caused you trouble on the train – ill or not I'm still spilling stories from the past. This time I'm on my back, that's the only difference. You'll never really know what it's like to live like this, living in the gutter."

"Not exactly."

"You... you homeless too? Wouldn't strike me as one. I've never seen a homeless man wearing glasses. And you look too well dressed."

Henry eyed his own shabby clothes, his torn tracksuit bottoms and stained hoodie fished from a hospital laundry bin. He passed the compliment off as a relative observation.

"You're too young, lad, so let me tell you this... get out while you can, or it'll suck you down. Get out before concrete starts feeling good on the ol' back."

"It'll never come to that. I've no intention of staying on the streets forever. I can get a job any time I want."

The old man laughed mournfully to himself. "How long will you want to? One day it's easy to say these things, the next you're too drunk to think about it. Next thing you know you're riding on trains just to fill the time, and you talk to random passengers until they get annoyed and leave." The man closed his eyes as if to see back into a corner of his past. "Now look at me. Stop talking lad, stop saying 'I will', first thing you need do is act, act and get out while you're young." His eyes didn't open, and his head laxed, falling to the side.

"H-hey, are you okay?" Henry asked, checking for life. He sighed relief when he found his pulse still beating.

Alex returned shortly after to find the old man in much the same condition as when he left. The paramedics would be coming soon, he assured Henry. So they waited.

In time red and blue flashing light flickered into the lane way. The paramedics set the old man on a gurney, placed him into an ambulance then drove away.

Alex and Henry watched those flashing lights flicker into distance. Commotion over, they began making way back to the station.

"Poor bastard, he'd be better off in the ditch."

Henry eyed Alex curiously.

"You see the sign on the ambulance? They're taking him to the same hospital we were at. He'll be tossed into the nearest room and forgotten until they need the bed again. I'd rather stay sick on the street than stuck in that place."

"They weren't all bad. I guess I might have been lucky to have a nice doctor."

"Nice? Smiles won't go very far when they're all out of insulin."

"He helped me a lot. Actually, he was the one who replaced my clothes when they were damaged in the fire. He pulled my new ones from the laundry bin."

"So he gave you some dead guy's clothes. Can't imagine the hospital would have much use for them."

"That's not all! He even helped me escape when the cops..." Henry faded into sketchy mutterings.

Alex stopped to eye Henry curiously. "Did I just hear you say the words 'escape' and 'cops' in the one sentence?"

"They were going to arrest me."

"Arrest you? For what? You haven't done anything wrong. I don't think you've ever done anything wrong in your life."

"When I woke up in hospital the police were keeping watch outside my door. They were going to blame the fires on me, so they could wrap up the case for the media."

"That's ridiculous! Did they say anything to you?"

"Not as such. I overheard some of the other patients talking. I heard them call me a criminal. Shortly after the doctor on duty told me what was going on. He told me the police came to arrest me."

"You didn't start the fire. They wouldn't have arrested you. They would have no evidence and no reason to think that."

"Evidence doesn't matter to them half the time, especially when the media's bugging them! Everyone knows what the police in this city are like. They'd sooner frame a bum than look bad in front of the press. It's a big case, Alex, and big cases have jobs on the line!"

"The incidents of arson are hardly 'big news', and no cop in this town will lose sleep over them, let alone their jobs. If they're focusing on anything right now it's that serial killer case. Look at it this way, if they wanted to arrest you they'd have spoken to me too. They pulled us both from the fire, remember?"

"They only need to frame one person. They probably took one look at me and said I was easiest. It'd be nothing new. In my old life people blamed me for all sorts just because it was easy. People could always see it in me. If I had gone with the police, I'd wear this big trusting smile the whole way to the station. Then the moment they get me in a closed room they'll demand a confession. I'd break and give it to them too. I know I'd break."

"At this rate that's exactly what they'll do if they find you now, and it'll all be that doctor's fault."

"No! He's a good person. Everyone in that room was eying me, snickering at me. The doctor looked after me. He told me what was going on. I trusted him. He told me he knew that I went into that fire to save someone's life. He told me I was a good person, so he didn't want to see a good person hung out to dry. He gave me a second chance, Alex."

"And helped you escape. How did he bypass the guards?"

"It was tricky. He gave me some... pills."

"He drugged you."

"Don't say it like that. The pills put me asleep so I wouldn't draw attention while he wheeled me out in a gurney. He took me to the basement level where I used a fire exit to escape. Have to admit I was still a bit nauseous for a while after."

"I see now. That explains where you got those weird pills from. The way they went to work on that pregnant woman who crashed her car... I knew there was something different about them."

"I still have one left if you want to check it."

"I wouldn't know anyway. Hold onto it in case someone else does."

"Then what about the police?

"The doctor made a mistake. He probably overheard some people talking and jumped to conclusions. You were trapped in a fire, so naturally the police might want to talk to you. He obviously overreacted."

"But he seemed so genuine."

"He could have been, for all he thought. Next time someone accuses you of a crime be a little more inquisitive before swallowing their pills."

"When you say it like that... I don't know... He was a doctor... I was scared. I needed a way out. I didn't care how it happened."

"Henry, in future try not to be so trusting of strangers. It's not the way you look that attracts swindlers, it's the amount of trust you allow yourself to place in them."

Alex sighed, starting them back off again.

"In any case there's not much we can do now. It's getting late, time we met up with those two gits."

Chapter 19

So it seemed their karma rebound would have to wait a while. Alex and Henry hurried back to the station, but Rum and Sierra were already sitting on the top steps waiting. Sierra sat stammering her feet for a good plan foiled.

Alex apologised to both with Henry mimicking at side. They attempted to explain what happened but Sierra gave no ear. She stammered away in something of a huff as if she and Rum had actually intended to arrive early. In truth she did attempt to dilly-dally so that Alex and Henry would arrive late, so that she might return the favour for their earlier abandonment.

Rum stood to his feet like a possessed pile of rags. "I gather you're late then."

"Yeah," Alex said. "Looks like you'll have to spite us some other time."

"Don't bother me none, the longer you took, the longer my break. I suppose we'll have to follow her before she goes too far – and she probably would." Rum directed them to Sierra, stammering away into distant fog.

"Our leader's getting away," Alex said.

All at once they hurried after, following Sierra until the next block over where she needed to recalibrate her direction. Judging her surroundings, she nodded to herself then carried on in her chosen way.

"This side walk should take us the whole way there - if I remember correctly."

"So... you said you were from this place, Blondie. You born here or something?" Rum asked.

"I don't know where I was born. I had a lot of different homes. This was just the place I lived longest."

"Don't seem to know your way around all too well."

"This part of the city's changed a lot since I was a kid. The buildings are higher and I don't remember any of the stores. They even tore up the old estates and slapped down these clunky apartment blocks. Looks disgusting. They were starting construction around the time I ran away, I can't imagine what it looks like now."

"Still beats a cardboard box any day."

"This whole city seems to hate old things. I've sometimes wondered what I'd be going back to if I ever did. I probably wouldn't recognise the place if I saw it. Maybe if I recognised something it wouldn't be so hard."

"You recognised that blonde woman on the train, the one you hid from. She was like a neighbour or something?"

"Her? No, she was someone else. I'd rather not talk about it."

A number of police cars drove by blaring sirens for the empty road. They couldn't help but skid as they drove, but couldn't help driving in this weather either.

When the commotion ceased, Sierra found her eyes casting upward into distance. There, over rows and rows of rooftops, stood a church steeple perking highest of all.

"Wait! That's the place!"

She leapt into a sprint toward the church. The others followed in a lazy jog. After much rushing they arrived at the base of the church steps, with much tired panting and groaning. Only Sierra herself seemed unaffected.

Rum rested hands on knees for breath. "You want to warn us before you run off like that again?"

"What's the matter, need time to stretch your calves?"

"The church ain't going anywhere!"

Rum wallowed his way over to the bottom step, planting down like a man finished for the day. He stayed there while the others got their bearings.

The church itself stood at no great stature, save for its high steeple which, in retrospect, stretched no higher than those surrounding apartment blocks. It, the church and steeple, merely stood out unique from everything else around.

It seemed smog and general neglect had done their fair share of damage. The walls were noticeably cracked and what paint jobs done had been applied sloppily. The main arched door had been sealed, bolted heavily against an obvious crime problem. The church in acting as representative of the neighbourhood, boasted the first sign of enmity here.

In its placement the church could be seen clearly for some distance. It had been positioned on a turnpike of a wide river, which ran directly straight from the churches view. The river split this neighbourhood into two banks, joined only by a stone rigid frame bridge. Light from apartment windows ran along each bank, flickering upon the rippling water surface as though candles lay beneath. Windows ran the whole way along up to the eyesore called horizon, where stood heavier apartment blocks dominating all save the full moon in a night blue sky.

Snow fell down like a panorama of celebration, framing the scene in a deceiving coat of tranquillity. It tumbled like glitter, falling without sound, sparkling without shine. It could make a traveller gasp to lose his breath, and on noticing its defacement, hurry forth and wander more.

"I remember this church," Sierra said. "And that bridge. I thought they'd be gone by now. It's amazing how this place changed so much, yet this same church is still standing. They're the last pieces of my old town."

"It's a dump," Rum said.

Sierra fobbed Rum off, wandering over to balustrades lining the river side. She leaned over to look in, and found the church steeple reflection staring back behind her own.

"We've been to this river before. Do you know when?" she spoke to the whole group in general.

"Enlighten me," Rum yelled from his camping post.

"Remember when we went to the Grey Oaks retirement home? This is the same river from there. It runs the whole way up here - funny how they're connected like that."

"That's not funny," Rum replied.

"I guess both places have taken a beating in their old age. They say rivers bring fortune, maybe this one's cursed – some witch from the Dark Ages wasn't allowed on the ferry, or something."

"There's more than two places along this river, Blondie. Not everyone who lives along it is prone to mismanagement."

"The neighbourhood started going like this around the time I left. They weren't running out of funds or anything, more the opposite. A lot of locals had more money than they knew what to do with. Some started buying second homes and renting out the old ones. In time the owners stopped coming back and let them out all year, year after year. Families, college students, tourists - locals never saw the end of them. In time we started noticing all the houses getting torn down, or revamped. Turned out all the owners in one area had cashed off their property. Before we knew it, up went the first apartment block. Silly fools didn't know what was coming. But they did it to themselves in the end. The remaining locals started moving out around then. I doubt anyone I know still lives here."

"I doubt anyone above welfare line does," Alex said, also moving to lean on the balustrades. "So this is where our mystery family lives. The place looks so empty I'd swear it was abandoned."

"Nobody who lives here goes out after dark. Before John, my foster dad died, he started stopping me from going out at night, and he'd never stopped me before then. I didn't understand at the time, and we used to fight about it, but now days I understand he was worried about the kind of people coming in."

"A little ignorant of him," Alex replied.

"Protective. He was protective."

Behind them, on the church steps, Rum arose with an attention grabbing yawn. "So everything's different than you remember. Then where does this leave us, you know the way to this woman's house or not?"

"You weren't listening to me," Sierra replied, facing Rum. "There aren't any 'houses' left in this area. They're all apartment blocks. And I might not recognise them but I really don't need to. The address we're looking for is, 'Bridge View Block, room 13.'"

Sierra wheeled round to look straight down the river at the old style bridge. She pointed over the bridge to the only apartment block with a view of it. "Pretty self-explanatory. Our lady's there."

They followed by way of her index finger, past the bridge toward the intended building. The closer they drew the more it became apparent that this promised 'view' of the bridge was some distance from it. In reality, the building stood buried behind corridors of alleyway wrapped outside apartments of similar structure. One could easily become lost for the monotony of the sights. Unsightly, decaying, and dull all seemed to have become the basic epitome of the modern structural complex. Even the lanes were so tight a squeeze the four bums had to walk in single file.

The lane ways twisted round like maze walls, collapsed sections the only distinction between social outcrops and some inescapable labyrinth. In essence, this neighbourhood and a labyrinth promised similar kinds of damnation, many people trapped forever, never moving on.

These four tramps were already far below that level of damnation, but at least their damnation allowed them to leave this labyrinth when finished with their business.

Henry kept at the back of the queue, behind Rum. "I can't imagine anyone would stay here given another way out."

Rum glanced back to Henry. "When someone hits a place like this, the only way out is a solid fall through to the streets."

Their travels took them to an open space bordered on all sides by the walls of different apartment buildings. The space was small but looked big enough to park a few cars in, if not for the lack of a driveway.

Sierra ran up to the only door around. Next to it, there was a battered door sign poorly nailed to the wall. It bore the building's name, or at least half of it.

"This is it. This is where his ex-wife and kid live," Sierra said. "I guess we should go in."

The door light flickered once, and on a second flicker stopped dead into darkness. For a moment the four stood still, as if using this darkness as an excuse not to move. There would be no hurry since they didn't know what to say anyway.

Back from the way they came, the church bell struck a chord for seven O'clock. It acted as a mark for twilight hour, the true moment of nightfall when all the street lights shimmer up their fire. They did so consecutively like dominoes until hitting one lamp in this small space. It became brighter than the door lamp could have made it.

In new lighting, Rum sighed of joy despite the toppled bin cans and vocal alley rats busy in this area. "Seven O' clock. My favourite time of day."

Alex eyed him wearily. "Seven O clock? What's so special about it?"

"You don't remember?" Rum looked at Sierra and Henry for follow up – none came. "Fuck off then."

Alex pondered the thought. "Seven's when the lights switch on in winter... but aren't you a little too old, and crabby, to take pleasure in something like that?"

"That's not it. I just like it, but never mind."

"For once I think we should listen to Rum," Sierra stated. "No more stalling. It's a bit late as it is to be banging on people's doors, let's not make it later."

Sierra pushed the door open. It had been loosely closed and opened with a moaning creak. At once they became overwhelmed by a smell of damp accompanied by a stench oozing from a stagnant mop bucket. It only exemplified the need for haste.

Sierra stepped stepped on the wooden stairwell, footfalls banging like an echo in an old manor. Again they found themselves moving in single file, this time more as a security precaution.

"Room 13, room 13," Sierra muttered to herself in fear of each up-coming corner.

Alex picked up on her worry, and tried adding another. "Any idea what we're going to say to her?"

"The truth," Sierra replied.

"The truth? You mean: 'hey, how's things? I know it's late and all but I'd just like to tell you that your ex-husband is going to kill himself. It's probably your fault but don't feel so bad.' Something tells me she'd slam the door in our face."

"Not exactly how I'd phrase it, but we'll see when we get there." Sierra entered the second floor hallway and stopped. "We're here."

They inched closer to the door with subdued eagerness. Before they could prepare, Sierra banged trice on door thirteen. They waited.

"Wouldn't it be funny," Rum said, "if the cheque we stole from that Jack Matters guy turned out to have been made by an entirely different person. I mean, we could be tracking the wrong guy right now."

Sierra silenced Rum with a kick. Alex and Henry added some ill-appreciatory groans.

"What?" Rum asked. "I thought it'd be funny."

Rum's anecdotes aside, three of the four made some effort to appear respectable. The other one just leaned against the wall, head tucked under trench coat collar as if to snooze.

Illegible whispers came through from the other side, growing nearer until the door creaked open with a hint of wariness. A red haired woman peeked trough the opening, hand clutched to the frame in anticipation to slam. A broken locking chain suggested she had good reason for apprehension.

Each of the bums sighed some relief. It was indeed the woman from the photo.

Her pale face peeped through the crack like a frightened mouse, her voice could use the same description. "Can... can I help you?" she asked.

The four late night callers failed to respond beyond a show of scattered mutterings.

Her eyes shifted over each visitor until freezing on the eldest of the bunch, who concealed his face. She balled her hand in trepidation and the door would have slammed then.

"Wait!" Sierra called. "We were... we were looking for John Reagle?"

Her retreat stopped and eyes flared with awareness. "John Reagle? My ex-husband?"

Sierra sighed relief.

Suddenly the door tore wide open. She stood before them in full sight, less a mouse and more a giant. "Bullshit. Nobody ever wants to see John. That worthless piece of shit doesn't have any friends!"

Sierra flushed red with embarrassment. "We... need to talk to him about something."

"What about? I get it, the cunts in debt again, right?"

"Well... he might be in a bit of trouble and we were-"

"Good!" the woman leaned lazily on the doorframe and began, or resumed, filing her nails. "Cheap bastard should just die already and leave me the insurance. Almost tried to finish himself once, but as his luck would have it, he wound up with the only decent doctor left in that entire hospital. To think I could be out of this dump by now. Now I'm stuck sharing all his debts and everything that comes with them."

That seemed to explain the broken door chain.

A scurry of movement came from inside the room. A tiny voice piped out, and through the open door appeared a child to match. She stood about the height of an adult's knee, red haired and clothed in pink pyjamas. She removed her pacifier in preparation to speak.

"Da-ddy?" she said.

The mother flung a blocking arm across the door frame, as if to prevent the late night callers from seeing her. "Go back to bed Emma!"

"Daddy's visiting tonight?"

"No! Your father hates you, he's not visiting."

"He said."

"He lied. Remember, your father likes to lie?"

Alex dipped under her arm to get a look at the child, to reaffirm something he noticed on that previous glance. She stood in shallow light but there seemed some pale discolouring on one of her eyes. It looked like an over glossing of various creams and makeup dashed on for concealment.

The child sulked away in tearful silence. Sierra couldn't help but choke at the sight of it.

"Now look what you people have done. You call around late like this then you end up getting the kid upset."

"Us?" Sierra replied.

Rum pushed up front. "Look, abuse whoever the hell you want on your own time. We're looking for John Reagle, your ex-husband, can you tell us where he is?"

The woman scowled. "Haven't seen that bastard in months."

"Have you tried 'looking for him?'"

"Look at you acting up on me, you can't even dress yourself. You look like some dumb drunk bum. What do I have to say to you - nothing!"

"Yeah, this whole trip's starting to make sense now. What d'you know, I'm actually starting to feel for the guy," Rum said.

"You people end up bringing that idiot back here and I'll sue you worse than him. John's got a mile wide restraining order pinned to his ass, what do you want?"

"Bitch," Rum added eloquently.

Suddenly the door went slamming to close. The woman screamed something illegible but quietened when the door bounced back for something blocking its way.

She re-opened it to clear the blockage, but instead stared vehemently at Henry, who held his foot firmly in the way.

"Move it."

Henry returned the glare with one of his own. He bore an oddly vacant expression, one so vague it offered a multitude of possible meanings while presenting nothing clear at all. It was the look of a man capable of doing anything. Under it all, a callous little smile cut from one cheek to the next.

"Let's reaffirm our priorities," he said.

The woman stuttered on her words as if trying to argue the point further, then seemed to freeze as if re-examining those on her doorstep. First she had looked down on them and seen only four lowly wrecks, now she saw four figures draped in the sullen shadow of the hallway. They grouped together under darkness, each larger than her and only now showing their true colours.

"Jack Matters sent you to collect the payment," she stated.

The four bums half looked at one another curiously. It was a name they hadn't heard in a while, but seemed finally to have some use.

"You're damn right he did!" Rum proclaimed, with a show of hesitation from the others.

With that the old man became inquisitor.

At once the woman's demeanour collapsed, voice returning to that frail little squeak with which she first greeted them. "I always try helping Matters, you know that, right? He told you that, right? I even stole one of John's cheques and gave it up to Jack."

Rum's interest peaked. "You mean the donation cheque for Grey Oaks retirement home? So you gave that to Matters?"

"How was I supposed to know he couldn't cash the thing? Do I look like I use cheques? I tried help, that's all. John's the one who was giving Jack's money to that slut who worked at the retirement home. It's his fault."

"So that's how Matters got hold of that. You know John got beat up over that?"

"Like I care."

"What was that cheque worth, like two grand? I can see why the two of you stay so distant."

"I threw John out months ago. Last I heard he moved further up North. It's a place called Apple-glade."

"Apple-Glade... rings a bell. Fancy corporate owned estate by the seaside. What's a bum like John doing living up there?" Rum asked.

"His parents died, see, and left their house to John and his sister, Anna. John used to look after the house with his sister up until she died after all that fucked up shit with the... well forget it. He started running out of money, and last I heard he was about to be kicked out."

"So he might not live there any more?" Rum asked.

"That's all I know. If he ain't up there then he could be anywhere. Don't come knocking on this door again, I don't know anything else. I want nothing to do with John any more."

Rum nodded satisfaction.

Henry took it as an order to remove his foot.

The woman faded back behind the door. "That's it now. Don't bother me any more or I swear to God..."

Her empty threats vanished behind a slamming door. The four had only turned to leave when muffled voices began yelling on the other side.

"Little brat, I told you to stay in your room!"

"They were talking about Daddy."

"Forget about him and go to bed!"

Rum sent a frown straight through the closed door frame. On a kind of instinct he stepped up as if to kick the whole thing down. He'd show that woman what's what.

Sierra tapped his arm for calm, shaking her head to disperse the thought.

Rum huffed compliance, turning to lead them back downstairs from whence they came.

They retraced their steps out the maze-like lanes to riverside, wandering to that arched bridge at the heart of this district. It was there Henry sat on the bridge wall with a need to soothe his foot.

Alex stopped to wait for him. "I suppose your foot must hurt after all that."

"To be honest I didn't think she'd slam the door so hard."

"She's deceivingly strong, that woman. Guess people can't always be so predictable, right Henry?"

Henry grinned with guilt. "I did act a little strange. I suppose she caught me at a bad time. Figures... We've been walking all day and it's getting late – call me cranky."

"Cranky? Downright despicable is what I'd say," Alex said.

"Old hag looked ready to wet her pants!" Sierra added.

Rum laughed. "I'm the one what scared her. Henry makes a good doorstop though. Ain't that right Henry?" The old man delivered a jesting punch to Henry's shoulder.

Short of keeling over on it, Henry rubbed his shoulder to health. Now he'd two places in need of heeling.

"I need a break."

"Not until you tell us what got into you," Alex said.

"Nothing to tell - I just haven't done anything in a while."

Henry laughed wryly and the others couldn't argue.

Chapter 20

They chose to set up camp at the nearest location granting privacy. It so happened to be a cosy patch of land directly beneath the bridge. A ladder took them down to what appeared to be a small docking point or platform for bridge repairmen. In either case it was something of a concrete ledge hanging over the water surface.

Despite the hail of snow this little area remained dry enough for Rum to spark a fire from the rubble of an extinguished one. When in full blaze, the old man sat back to admire it with architect's pride. Lavishing in its heat, he removed his green trench coat and everything from waist up. He could bare the cold for this rare chance to let his clothes dry out. Bare chested, he leaned back against the bridge arch like a man already asleep.

Alex sat washing his feet over the side when he glanced at Rum. It was an odd sight to witness the old geezer without those many layers of clothes. Maybe it was merely unconventional to go through the trouble of removing them all. He looked somehow smaller without them. A bony outline stuck out through his skin, his ribs most prominent of all. Anyone who saw Rum like this would be forgiven if they took him for a pushover.

Alex looked away toward the now distant church. Lamps on the streets above took away much of the Victorian allure to this place, instead painting it in a coat of neon white light. The surface of the river had been caked in a carpet of pure light. It glowed with a certain ominous foreboding, while rippling beautifully on the current. Alex took it with a sense of awe, for both its ability to inspire and the shear unnatural allure of it all.

Alex placed his thoughts on hold in lieu of an itching feeling rising from his chest. He held hand over mouth to pre-emptively catch a cough. It came, and more came in quick succession. He descended into a short, but horribly choking coughing fit. When cleared he removed a case of pills from his pocket and popped one into his mouth.

Sierra sat down beside him. "Your cold coming back? It's probably the water."

Alex took the hint to remove his feet from the drink.

"Those are the pills you got at the hospital?"

"Yeah. They're useless though, nothing but supplements really."

"Can I see them?"

Alex already threw the pill case into the water by time she finished asking. It splashed in and went away with all the other floating garbage.

He shrugged. "That was the last one."

"So you don't need them any more?"

"Weren't you the one who said you never rummage around in other people's business?"

"I know but... you've been sick a long time. I'm worried."

Alex smiled. "I know."

"Ain't that sweet," Rum bellowed behind them.

"What? You got a problem with this?" Sierra screeched back.

"Not you, look at him!" Rum pointed at Henry, who lay sprawled out in total slumber, suckling on his thumb.

"So? He does that all the time," Sierra said.

Rum leaned over and smacked Henry back to consciousness. "Hey Henry! I said isn't that sweet!"

Henry stirred dumbfounded. "Wha-? Something happen? Who woke me?"

"I did."

"Why?"

"So you'd pay attention. Gotta pay attention."

Henry stared back unimpressed. "But I was sleeping."

Sierra giggled inwardly. "Rum! That was mean. Henry, since you're awake could you help manage the fire?"

"I don't want to be awake! We've been walking almost three days straight and this is the best chance to sleep I've gotten. Even in the hostel there was this creepy old guy who kept staring at me through the dark – gave me chills, kept me awake all night."

"Mirrors will do that to you," Alex mumbled.

Sierra lay back in contemplation. She stared out at the snow flurried sky. "Wow... three days down already, five more to go. It's taking longer than I expected."

"Not long to go now though," Rum said. "We've finally got his address. Apple-Glade ain't so far away. With any luck we'll get there tomorrow to find him waiting."

"And if he's not?" Alex asked.

"Game over. Things will turn out however they were meant to turn out."

"Since when do you care anyway?" Alex asked.

"I don't suppose I do, really. But after meeting John's ex-wife I've a right mind to run around this whole city telling everyone who knows her to forget about her. If she's in any way responsible for John's predicament, then that's exactly what I'll tell him. People like her don't deserve the trouble."

"What happened to, 'don't judge people you don't know'?" Alex asked. "When I got mad at the Nurse at the Grey Oaks, you all said I was looking down on her. Now it's open game with this woman?"

"You saw how she treated that kid. She doesn't deserve to have a child."

Henry sat up. "It's... not really our place to judge. If she doesn't deserve to have a child... then something will work itself out. Something will get the kid out of there, I suppose."

"Ain't that simple. They're in poverty, not prison. What if that something never comes?" Rum asked.

"Kids grow up... their fists get bigger."

"Something tells me the mother will be long gone by time that kid grows up," Sierra said.

Henry sighed and lay back down. "Then we'll just have to make sure she's left with a Dad."

"Just when things look simple we get another worry on our plate. In any case, whatever needs doing should get finished tomorrow," Sierra said.

"Let's hope all's finished before that storm gets here," Rum said.

"Storm?" Sierra asked.

"Old Len warned us there was a storm due. Just look out there at that snowfall, bet my right nut it's building to something. We haven't had it this bad in some years."

"Snow has been a bit sparse over the past years. Come to think of it, it only really snows around Christmas these days, and melts the next day."

"Tell me about it. Last year they promised nothing but sunshine for Christmas, next day I wake up under a mound of cold white crap. Last time I ever listened to the news for the weather."

"Come on Rum, they can't always get it right, especially not on Christmas. Christmas is... special. Snow on Christmas is like a tiny miracle for a lot of people."

"It's something special all right. Everyone else gets to stare in awe while it makes our lives hell. People need to start praying for better miracles."

"Suppose I was just raised to think of Christmas that way."

"Your old foster father a religious type?"

"Not really. His fiancé, Maria, was sort of into that stuff though. Maybe some of it rubbed off on me. More likely I've built a self nurtured fear of God over time."

"Why fear?"

"Because at some point God decided to make four worthless people and turn them into four worthless bums. If there was any sense in that decision it was nothing but humour. If God laughs at that then he should be feared. It's not like I don't think He's there. I always feel him around, but we never seem to be on good terms. Others might feel Him and love Him. I feel Him and fear Him."

With a howl, the wind flushed under the bridge, whooshing in with a hail of snowfall. The fire flickered like a wavering spirit vanishing in and out of existence.

Rum dived over to shield it. "Henry! We told you to watch the fire!"

The little man lay slumbering with a discarded takeout wrapper in hand. He must have dozed while trying to keep the fire lit using what litter lay about. He seemed to have put up a good fight against his weariness, but succumbed without realising.

"It is getting a bit late," Sierra said. "We'll be up early. You two better get some sleep or you won't be able to wake up tomorrow."

"What about you?" Alex asked.

"No worries there. Early to bed early to rise has always been my motto."

Chapter 21

Sierra yawned with waking discomfort and stood to greet a new day. She at once found sunlight beaming into her eyes but in no way directly. The light merely reflected off snow, magnifying its intensity. It gave the deceiving impression of a warm day.

She didn't hear any cars driving in the distance or on the bridge above. There was only the clear crisp silence of a pre-rush hour morning.

The others lay fast asleep, individually snoring one after the other. Sierra kicked Rum to rise.

"Hey! Come on, get up. We have to go." She mumbled it in a sleepy, careless sort of way.

"Fuck off. Too early," Rum replied with less regard for linguistics.

"I won't say I told you so. Fine, have it your way, I'm heading off for a bit." She mounted the ladder up and began climbing en-route back to the street.

"Where you going?" Rum mumbled, eyes closed.

"Exploring my old town."

"Shopping? You going shopping? Since you're going shopping bring back beer." He fell immediately into snorting slumber.

Sierra rolled eyes vainly and climbed up to the side walk where she shrugged up against a sudden chill previously shielded by the bridge. A hazy fog hung over the street as if the cold froze itself into a visible substance. It looked something like steam without source, something which could be cut by the hand if only she'd the energy to try.

Snow fell like the last grains in a salt shaker, but last night's fall didn't pass without leaving its mark. The path ahead now lay under a few inches of snow. It scrunched as a man came walking toward her. He happened to be passing in time to see Sierra emerge. He gave her something of a nod, showing no wonder as to why she came climbing out from under a bridge. It must have been something of a common sight around here as to attract so little attention. Even in this modern era those same old clichés remained popular abodes for the homeless.

This would all prove to her benefit. At least if bums were a common sight she could tour the area freely with little hassle. She'd like to visit some of the old places she used to know, and wander around long enough till she found those old sites. Shame that's all they had become.

It actually took her a while to notice them. She'd passed some of those familiar places once or twice without realising, until stopping to clear snow from her boots. They were so easily concealed by more prominent buildings she had trouble noticing those hollowed out hovels. It happened on a glance toward one when she saw a much worn, but familiar sign. She breathed inward, skipping a heartbeat to take it in.

The sign read: Mulvin's Candy Store. It was her childhood sweetshop. The building lacked doors and windows, which seemed trifle to the caved roof and walls.

Sierra didn't know what she really expected to find here. Perhaps she would have liked to see old Mister Mulvin and his wife smiling warmly as they always had, sharing free sweets for those who couldn't afford, as they always had. Sierra hadn't seen that jolly grin of his in a long time.

A memory placard for the deceased had been nailed beside the entrance. From her distance she could make out a photo of an elderly couple in one another's arms. There was another black and white photo of the same couple in their younger selves. They must have been together a long time, whoever they were.

Rather than look closer, Sierra turned around and carried on with her sight seeing. Old Mister Mulvin and his wife must have sold up shop. They got out of this place before the bad things started. In the end they retired some place tropical, living happy lives till the end. So long as Sierra didn't read the placard her wishful thinking could defeat the fact.

As Sierra left she thought it strange, how all those fond memories of this place came sweeping back. She only lived here for three years, but to her, the people really did make the place. Shame they destroyed it in the end.

She moved on until arriving at another place she recognised, though the place changed so much she arrived without realising. It was one particular housing block with a small park in the middle. All the old houses she knew had been torn down for newer ones. Sierra could point to one familiar location now flattened by two story apartments. It was at one time the home of a go lucky writer, and his naive adopted daughter. It used to be Sierra's home. Today it had been so renovated as to make it unworthy of further attention.

The park was the only place that remained the same, albeit it did seem larger in her youth. But the changes weren't all down to adulthood. What was once bordered by pine trees now had a spiked rail fence surrounding the perimeter. Its swings and slides stood rusted, its vibrant flowers replaced with plastic bags, cans, needles.

One little piece of the past did remain relatively intact. It was a band stand placed at the heart of the park. She remembered it used to be painted white, but it had lost its coat and become ravaged by the grace of time.

Sierra allowed herself to be drawn over to it. This used to be her favourite play spot as a child. Her foster-father would often set up picnics here and call it their own little house in the park, leading Sierra to become somewhat possessive of it. Now as she stared at it she failed to conjure up those same feelings of envy. In the bandstand's time worn state she feared stepping on it should the whole thing collapse.

Sierra shed a tear but not for this old place. She shed a tear for a man, a man she used to know. His name was John, and one time near his end, he bought Sierra a tiny puppy even though he lacked the proper funds to support himself.

Sierra began to remember why she started playing in this park in the first place. This is where she and John walked that puppy. This is where they played together. The puppy's name was Jess, a Golden Labrador. Before long it died due to the short-sighted nature of its masters. John had bought the puppy despite a lack of funds to support himself. In the end he couldn't support the puppy either. Jess succumbed to various ailments in its short life but it died on the pinch of a needle.

Sierra only fully realised what happened to Jess when the needle came out and the tiny thing sighed its last. She remembered wanting to shake Jess back to life right after, but succumbed to one of the more abundant grown-up emotions – futility. From that exact moment Sierra did what any child would do, she turned around and looked for someone to blame. John happened to be right there.

She blamed John and didn't stop blaming. Before either one knew it that blame sunk so deeply into their relationship they each forgot the source of it all. John would be blamed for idle things, for uncontrollable things, for things he didn't understand. Sierra would in turn be punished for each spout of anger she indulged in. The puppy named Jess became a faded memory in the ever expanding heat of blame.

John was always quite reasonable, something Sierra failed to appreciate at the time. He was always such a placid man, not necessarily kind hearted as willing to take the back seat. In his theistic nature he labelled himself a Buddhist despite lacking knowledge of the basic workings. An onlooker would have classified him a failed Christian, one who handed up one faith for another the moment times got tough. At least that's how Sierra considered it.

In some ways that religion damned their relationship. Sierra always bore an ambitious streak, while John allowed himself to become more and more docile in his outlook on life. Near to the time of his death, the backseat became like second nature.

Things will work themselves out, everything is as it should be – these were some of his more common sayings. They were minor issues though, nothing but character flaws.

The main gripe arose after Jess died. One day, John came into her room to find her crying on the bed. He took her by the hand and assured her, outright assured her, that Jess wasn't truly gone. He said Jess would return in another life, and always come back, again and again with no memory of the pain it endured.

Or the love either. The thought of it stung Sierra bad. To think her tiny puppy would come back with no memory of her. She didn't like thinking Jess would become someone else's and forget about those days in the park. To her, this was a futile effort to make her feel better. Even still, because she knew Jess was gone and flowery fairytales wouldn't bring her back.

Sierra froze. A tear snagged her conscience. If she only knew back then how insignificant these qualms really were... things might be different.

She felt like falling down for the futility of those hurtful things said. How they could never be taken back. But Sierra froze on the call of a woman's voice, a familiar voice.

"Excuse me!" she called with a British accent. "I've gotten a tad lost, could you tell me where the subway..."

The woman stopped, and stood staring, really quite awe-struck.

Sierra stood back staring too.

The woman wore a long brown winter coat, hands in gloves. Even in this dire cold morning she looked quite perky and youthful, despite noticeable worry wrinkles and crow feet. It was her hair creating the impression of youth. She had golden blonde hair which even in age never settled for greys, not once in the years since Sierra saw it last.

"Sierra... you've come back," the woman said.

"Maria."

Chapter 22

Her name was Maria, formerly fiancée to the man Sierra sometimes called dad. Maria broke up with John shortly before his demise. They had argued quite loudly in front of Sierra until Maria stormed off, bringing end to their relationship. That was the last either John or Sierra saw of Maria. In a sense the silence following that door slam stamped a finalising seal on an already broken home. That memory marked the end of happy times.

In this chance encounter with Maria, Sierra thought back to somewhere along that downward spiral. John, Maria, and Sierra all lived together for a time. Considering everything else to follow it might have been a happy memory.

Sierra was living under John's roof for over a year when Maria entered their lives. John still hadn't fully recovered from the death of his wife but with Maria he felt a certain pre-destined duty to take her hand, or so he put it.

He never had much luck with women, so anything pre-destined tended to be whatever came along. He was a short man with skinny features and glasses to booth. He would stutter as he spoke and rarely stood up for himself. Or as Sierra often thought, John could pass for an older version of Henry. John was a dud too, no question about it.

Sierra was a child at the time and unfamiliar with other women so she took an irrational jealously to this intruder taking her place. With the weight of her dead puppy still in her heart her tantrums only increased in folds. In a childish, directionless, way she focused her temper on John's possessions, stealing money, thrashing furniture and breaking rules. The tantrums increased relevant to the amount of attention she received. It continued until she targeted his most prized possession.

John was a writer. His writing represented the embodiment of his very soul. One day she accessed the writing stored on the laptop only for John to find her in the act. The details of the room and such were hazy to her but she remembered the words exchanged as though they'd been etched in her mind.

***

"Sierra! What are you doing?" John said.

Sierra recalled slamming the keys with both palms then standing to meet John. "I'm deleting all your writing files!

"What? Why would you want to do something like-"

"You hurt Jess! It was your fault my puppy died. The vet said you weren't feeding her and didn't take care of her. That's why she died."

"Jess... again."

"You didn't have the money to look after her. Other dad's work so they can make money to look after pets, but all you do is write. You never make enough money, that's why Jess died."

"Sierra... none of us could see how things would turn. Look, you have to stop all this. It's been long enough. You can't just go around blaming..."

Sierra remembered looking away disobediently.

"Sierra, I might not have made enough money to look after Jess but I earn enough to look after us. If you go deleting my writing then all that is going to change."

Sierra recalled Maria entering the room around about that time. She wore a nightgown and dried her hair as if out of the shower.

"Another argument is there?" she asked.

"It's about Jess again," John replied.

"What has she done this time?"

"She was just playing around with my laptop. No damage done though, she doesn't even know how to use a computer yet anyway."

***

It was a trivial argument. Only significant in its place as the last trivial argument Sierra and John ever had. It was the last she shared with Maria when they all lived together, and the last trifling argument she had with John before he died.

Near enough in silence, Sierra and Maria left the park together. As they walked Sierra liked to think Maria was thinking of the same instance, their last family argument, and not the last time they laid eyes on one another.

In unspoken agreement, they wound up ordering tea and scones in a side street cafe. Sierra picked into the food cautiously as not to alert Maria of her true hunger. This woman across the table happened to be the most prevalent adult female in her life. Maria could pass for Sierra's mother, if ever there was a person deserving of the title. Pity it took Sierra so long to come to that conclusion.

Although John did have a wife with whom he adopted Sierra, as fortune had it she didn't live long enough for a lasting impression to set. But her name would always be on the adoption papers. In spirit she would remain the closest Sierra had to a legitimately official foster-mother. At least she remained the only one who hadn't scratched her name from the page. Sierra would always thank her for that. From now until eternity Sierra would know someone through which she could associate the word mother. That was good enough a dream for Sierra. To think some orphans actually dream of finding their real parents. Perhaps Sierra would like to meet her true parents one day, but only to spit on them both.

Maria sat across from Sierra, sipping her tea as if on a casual outing. Sierra recognised the awkwardness of the silence, but she admired Maria's ability to remain composed throughout. Sierra on the other hand dashed eyes awkwardly about the room in search of a conversation starter.

Waiters dashed to and fro rattling pots and plates for customers eagerly awaiting their first meals of the day. Not that there were many customers so early in the morning.

Maria finished her tea, banging the cup down as to startle Sierra into making eye contact. It worked.

"You are actually Sierra correct? Tell me I haven't just brought another homeless person out to eat?"

Sierra grinned awkwardly. She couldn't tell if Maria recognised her living situation, or was just cracking a joke. If Sierra remembered the woman correctly, she would likely do both together.

"Relax, I'm joking. So are you willing to talk to me yet? I haven't seen you in ten years. The least you could do is say hello. You came all this way with me and now you won't talk?"

Sierra sipped tea shyly. Thoughts of diving head first into the scones came abound. Despite her earthly temptations, Sierra piped out some words.

"I'm sorry, Maria."

"We'll do the easy bits first and leave the hard things for last. Now, what have you been doing this past decade, living the good life I presume?" Maria said, eyeing Sierra's shabby clothing. "Is there a girl under all those rags?"

Sierra grinned hesitantly. "Things have been a bit rough."

"I can see that. Aren't they paying you enough at..."

"I'm... not working at the moment."

"I could have guessed."

"I... quit my last job. My boss was an ass."

"You developed a tongue too. It's the first time I've heard you swear... to think. I hope you were busy learning something else this whole time. You must be... nearly twenty now. Where did you graduate from?"

"Graduate?"

"What college have you applied for? Come on Sierra, do we have to sit here playing question games until I get answers from you?"

"Maria..."

"Tell me something about yourself. Where do you live?"

"I'm... staying with friends. We fight a lot but they're nice."

"I think I know the type. They must keep you supported while you're out of work."

"You could say that. One of them did provide the home I live in."

"Provide the home? Then he must be... not an older man surely?"

"What? No. Yes. No. it's not like that. I've known him quite a while. Actually, I've known him since my first night on the... I mean, since the day John... Well, you know what I mean."

Sierra whisked up a scone as to restore herself. Nibbling like a titmouse she averted whatever effort Maria made to strengthen eye contact. When it seemed Maria gave up, the woman changed her sights once again on Sierra's clothing.

"I regret letting you go that night, Sierra. Just to think if I hadn't taken my eyes off you that night I could have brought you back inside and talked things out. I looked for you. I know we never really got along, the two of us, but it's what John would have wanted. And by the time I started looking expectantly around every corner, I realised it's what I wanted too."

"I was a brat."

"I was around long enough to watch you grow into that brat. You were our brat, mine and John's. Even if we did break up, I didn't think that would ever change. Didn't you think there was something worth holding onto, between the two of us, I mean?"

"There wasn't much in the way of competition. My last foster-mother practically made me eat dirt."

"I see."

"It was a joke."

"All of it? I have read your adoption papers, you know."  
"Forget it. You were nice. Best mom I ever knew."

"Another joke?"

"No."

"I'm quite pleased to hear you say that. Would you believe that's been something of a weight on me? I often wondered if you'd simply gone away, grown up and forgotten about all of us."

"Not even if I tried. When people talk of families, I realise I only ever consider one family as my family. I have one family. I'm happier with that."

"John would be happy too. In the end that's all he wanted from you."

"He'll always be my dad."

"That poor fool. He doesn't know what he missed." Maria choked on that, pausing to wipe her eye with a tissue. "I hope he can forgive me."

"It isn't your fault."

"I loved him so much. At first it was just a fling but he grew on me so quickly. He was such a sweetheart. I never really understood why we started arguing."

"It's not your fault."

"I walked out on him. I still loved him but I was the one who walked away, not him. I wanted to make him feel bad but I never expected him to..."

"He was lonely."

"If only I was there for him. I should have stood by him."

"You made him happy. I only knew John for three years but being with you was the happiest I'd ever seen him since his wife died. You made him feel happy. What happened wasn't your fault."

"If only I'd been patient with him, John would still be here."

"It was my fault."

A memory passed into Sierra's mind. As she sat there now staring into Maria's eyes, she could see the very day those petty arguments stopped and the real feud began. Down to the last detail, she could see the very instant Sierra pushed John down with her own special lies.

***

It was a warm day for winter. John was loading the last of Maria's belongings from her car into the house. Strictly speaking she'd already been living with them for some time, but this final drop off marked the official beginning of her stay.

Sierra remembered sitting on the doorstep, watching John scurry back and forth between the house and car. She declined an offer to help Maria move in.

"Maria owns a lot of stuff," Sierra said passively to John.

John took a break to respond. "We are moving her whole house into ours. It took a long time but this is finally the last of it all."

"Won't she need this stuff in her own house?"

"Not any more, her house is totally empty now. You know what that means?"

Sierra drew blank.

"This is it, Sierra," John continued. "Maria has finally moved in with us for good."

"Why does she have to move in with us?"

"She doesn't have to do anything. She makes me happy and I make her happy. When two adults make each other happy they move in together."

"But... what about Maria's money problems?"

"Maria's money problems?"

"I heard Maria saying she ran out of money for rent."

"Now where did you hear a thing like that?"

"A while ago, you were out and Maria was minding me. She had her friend in the house, and she told him her landlord was throwing her out. She said she would stay here until she got enough money, and she wouldn't be able to see her friend again until then."

"You heard this, did you? Are you sure?"

Sierra nodded.

"This friend of hers, what did he look like?"

"Can't remember. Maria has lots of friends over when you're gone out."

"Forget it. This is silly, Sierra. It takes a lot of manpower to move home. They're probably just workmen. You must have heard them chatting and... misinterpreted."

"Why would workmen talk about your writing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes when they're in the house they talk about your writing. They ask Maria about, 'John's latest masterpiece'. After that Maria usually says something funny that makes everyone start laughing."

"Don't talk like that. You misunderstood. Maria understands how difficult it is to get published these days. She would never do something like that, especially not to me."

"What do you mean? Is there something wrong with that?"

"No. No Sierra, nothing is wrong."

John resumed his work. He moved in and out of the house at a faster rate, carelessly enough to drop a box containing dishes.

That was the beginning. With one lone seed of doubt to build upon Sierra grew something more ferocious. In time she began planting evidence: a man's sock or tie under a cushion here and there, prepping bedroom's to appear hurried out of whenever John retuned home, throwing away John's own clothes to make it appear Maria gave them to someone else. They were mostly little things, but on the brink of the big lie they each infuriated John's anxiety, and most of all, his curiosity.

Sierra knew her scheming to be successful when John began asking Sierra to spy on Maria.

***

Maria placed her mug down.

"Your fault? What ever are you talking about? It wasn't your fault. It was the fault of two adults behaving like idiots. We should have talked to one another. I should have talked to him. It was all so confusing. One day we were fine, a nice happy couple. The next he started asking me all these bizarre questions, trying to trap me with word play and always trying to catch me out on something I didn't understand. Of course I never had much patience. He would become suspicious and I'd just shout my way of the room. I was an idiot. If anything made me look guilty it was my own temper. One sentence. I could have resolved everything in one simple sentence if I wasn't so damned stubborn."

"If it never happened, John would still be here. So simple."

"I had to leave him. The silence between us was enough to drive me mad. I wanted him to say something, anything at all just to break that silence."

"I would always blame other people for my own problems. It was easier at the time. Now there's no one left to pin the blame back on me."

"You were just a child. You were certainly a handful but to say you had anything to do with what happened to John is... John loved you. I know you were the anchor in this world preventing him from going to the next."

"It didn't hold very long. John knew what I did to him. He must have realised it, that's why he did what he did. He must have felt so betrayed."

"Betrayed? What could you have possibly done to him? You were just a child back then."

"I tried to delete his stories from the computer so he'd have nothing left."

"I remember that. You couldn't work the computer so you just banged away at the keypad. You were upset because Jess died. That was your puppy's name – Jess?"

Sierra nodded. "She was a golden Labrador. Very sweet dog, though I don't really remember much about her. She was cute and I played with her, she made me happy – that's all I remember of her really. Selfish of me, I guess."

"That's all most children would remember – all they should if you ask me."

"You make it sound like I was a normal child."

"Weren't you?"

"I went through five foster homes before I was eight years old, you tell me."

"Get that out of your head. They were unfit to be parents in the first place."

"Apparently I was just a noisy kid most of the time. I wasn't anything like the angel they were expecting."

"Tell me of one good parent who would drop a kid for being too noisy? You're blaming yourself for things you had no control over, with this and with what happened to John. You were a child then. You had no control over what happened."

"Stop saying that."

"Well weren't you? What could you have done that was so awful?"

"I told him lies about you. I made it look like you were..."

"-Having an affair?"

"You knew what I did?"

"Of course, John told me."

"John knew?"

"You don't give the man much credit to think he could be outwitted by a child. John didn't believe you. In fact after he told me we both thought it was quite cute how jealous you were."

"But he... asked me to spy on you."

"That's right. You were his 'little secret agent.' That's what he used to say to you, right? It was the perfect rouse to keep a hyper active child out of the way while we were trying to get my things settled in the house."

"A rouse? But then... why did you break up in the end?"

"I don't know - adult stuff. We grew apart... John did start drinking more too. A lot of things built up in the end. It just didn't work out for us."

"No."

"Sierra?"

"This isn't fair. It was my fault!"

"Never. You just think it was your fault. You're exaggerating the things you did and trying to take the blame yourself, like any son or daughter would when they lose a parent. What you remember doing might have seemed big to you, but in reality they were nothing but childish games."

"But I remember..."

Maria reached for Sierra's hand, leaning across the table to whisper. "And I remember Sierra used to be a quiet little girl. She lived in many terrible foster homes, with many terrible people. They were monstrous people."

"They weren't monsters. There was something wrong with me. There had to be something wrong with me. That's why no one wanted me. I remember always being noisy and getting into trouble all the time."

"John told me about the first day he adopted Sierra. She was such a quiet little thing. He said, she looked ready to shriek at a pin drop. She was so quiet it didn't look like she'd ever spoken in her whole life. You don't remember being so quiet, do you?"

"I might have been. My other foster parents would scream at me for being so noisy, or doing bad things. I must have been trying to behave when I moved in with John first. I didn't want him to yell at me too."

"That's what they told you. Right to this day you still take the blame for it all. It wasn't your fault. None of it was. You became so used to being blamed you started to accept it as fact. Now you're afraid to let go of it all."

Sierra stifled into choking sadness. Her lips chattered and she lowered her head. She coughed out a whimper, sealing her mouth to hold it all back. She lowered her head to the table as if to hide away. It didn't matter even if she tried to hide, at least she could hear herself cry for the first time in many years.

Maria didn't release her hand the whole time. "John never liked to see people hurt on account of him. Even if they deserved it."

"He never did, did he?" Sierra bundled down crying into her own arms. "John."

Sierra remembered something else.

***

She remembered bursting the front door of their house open, waving test results in hand. She had hurried home from school quickly to boast over her positive results. It was an event too rare to waste chatting to her friends outside in the dull darkness of a winter mid-day. She'd hurry home and reap the rewards.

She entered to find that same dull darkness looming over the walls of her house, as though light hadn't reached here all day. In truth it had been this way since Maria left, but without John waiting to greet her she somehow noticed this depressive atmosphere.

"John?" Sierra called to an empty hallway and up empty stairs. "I got a C+ on my test."

John rarely went out since Maria left. Not that he went out much before then. The thought that John got a sudden urge to go for a walk when Sierra would be due home from school, felt somehow wrong. She would have shrugged it off and proceeded to watch TV, when she realised she didn't actually use a key to open the front door. It had been left unlocked. She rushed in so thoughtlessly it might have even been left open.

Sierra proceeded deeper into the house with cautious step. She began climbing the stairs one foot after another. Both hands clutched the banisters as if she could rip it off and use it to club any potential burglars. It was a cowardly state of vigilance yet she knew little else to do as she walked bit by bit toward the shadow at the top of the stairs. She'd never seen it like that before, it was as if those steps at the top had been swallowed to another dimension and only darkness remained like a staircase to nowhere.

When she did reach top the darkness cleared. She glanced about the landing for signs of struggle yet found everything as normal. She tried calling again.

"John? Are you hiding? I don't like being surprised."

John's bedroom door had been left ajar. Sierra could see through the opening to a figure on the other side. It was dark in his room, darker than the landing. She couldn't really see the figure only hear noises it made – something like creaking.

On one tap from her tiny hand, the bedroom door swung open slowly.

John was on the other side. He hung in the air, noose tied at the throat over a fallen stool. He swayed left to right in tune with that sickly creaking sound. His skin was stark pale, face ham-locked into a twisted scream. His eyes bulged wide with an empty glare that tore straight through the child in the doorway.

Paramedics didn't arrive until close to her bedtime, roughly nine o clock. Sierra couldn't remember if she had called them herself or merely slumped crying to the curb for any passer-by to respond. There was a missing space of memory between the time she stood at John's bedroom door to the time she sat at the end of the driveway watching that sealed bag being wheeled out.

By that time Sierra slipped into a state of quietness as to distance herself from the man in the bag. When those paramedics did arrive first they regarded her with passive glances as if to any curious onlooker. She didn't make any effort to rectify it. She merely stayed back, watching. They could have asked her to move along and she would have easily obliged. They never asked simply because they barely noticed her. She was like a tiny shadow sat at the end of the driveway.

The paramedics had wheeled him about halfway up the driveway when a woman screamed John's name. Sierra could remember Maria rushing by her.

Sierra watched Maria run to grab the black bag despite the paramedics' lax restraint. Maria fell on the bag and for a few moments those paramedics let her.

It was in those moments, as Maria lay across the bag, she looked to the end of the driveway where Sierra sat. Maria stared at Sierra with total absence of emotion in her eyes. To the child they felt like damming, hate-filled eyes.

Sierra could remember her feet moving backward as though the look itself pushed her away. For some great visible distance their eyes remained locked even as they became further and further from one another. When Sierra did eventually lose all sight of those flashing ambulance lights in her driveway, she turned and kept walking the other way. Neither of them, not Maria or Sierra, could have known she would never go back.

Sierra walked some time before using pocket money to board a bus. Without direction she rode the bus for as far as it would go, her only distraction a single piece of unfurled paper she'd been clasping some time. It was John's suicide note. She must have taken it from the scene.

Under blinking aisle lights she read it again and again as if it could illuminate these events happening around her. It didn't. All the same she kept on reading. She would have liked to memorise this as the final massage left by John, but the general structure was so formulaic as to have been written by anyone. She could almost guess the next words before reading them.

"I'm not really sure who I'm writing this for. I don't want Sierra reading this at her age, and Maria, I'm not sure if she'd care any more. Funny now, writing this I realise how few friends I've made in my forty plus years of life. I would have liked to have directed this at someone. But I can guess I'll just write it to you, whoever you turn out to be. My head's not together so it's not a masterpiece, but I guess it wouldn't be no matter how hard I tried. So here it is - my very own diatribe. Don't worry, it's shorter than most.

"The money issues have gotten worse. I'm jobless and my writing isn't changing any of that. At this point it costs too much to send them out just to receive rejection letters - so many now. They never bothered me before but now they do. I decided to quit writing last week. I just have to face facts, even if I have lived in denial this long. It was my one great joy in life, but I guess the muse never really found me. Realising that was, I suppose, the icing on the cake for me. That's when I decided to write this one last piece.

"When it boils down to it everything changed in one day. Things were never great to begin with, of course, but when I woke up that morning I never would have guessed I'd be going to bed without Maria. She was a flame of warmth against all those bad things – I didn't realise it until she left. Fool. Her friends were right when they said I didn't deserve her.

"Sierra... I don't know what to say to her or what message I should leave. Shows the kind of person I've been all my life. Sierra deserves a better father. I couldn't even look after her right. I hope... as she grows she'll forget about me, forget this sorry old man she used to know. Sierra... I'm so sorry I tried to love you.

"I know this is the New Year, and we're all supposed to be happy, but I have to do this when I'm at my most low. This is it now.

Goodbye.

Signed – Jonathon Simes.

Chapter 23

Sierra spent her last tears crying against the table. She wiped her face dry then looked back to Maria, who waited patiently drying her own tears.

Sierra looked into Maria's eyes and she in turn looked to hers. There they each saw a window back to that night some ten years ago when last they saw one another. So it seemed that same expression which drove Sierra away still hung in her eyes. But what the child had recognised to be hate the adult saw as despair, a feeling of sadness so deep the child in her failed to comprehend – a hopeless kind of loss.

Maria never looked at her with hate in her eyes that night. She never meant to push her away. She merely offered up her one present feeling at the time.

Had Sierra taken a moment to check at the time, she would have noticed the same expression lodged in her own eyes. She never knew it then and only realised it now.

Sierra never ran in fear of hate. She ran from all the unknown things to follow that alien expression. She ran from unspoken words she failed to understand. She ran from everything her life would become starting that night. That night her life changed in ways she didn't understand, so she ran.

Maria smiled across the table. Sierra smiled back. In an instant they both sat at full composure and finished their meals.

"I miss him so much," Sierra said. "I wish I could go back and be nicer to him."

"It wouldn't be real. We already lived our lives together, don't get lost in wishful thinking or it'll pull you down too."

"Can't see much lower than this. I was always afraid of living... I guess now I'm living dead."

"Sierra?"

"I was too afraid... that's why I ran away. John never made any threat to give me back to the agency. He treated me like a human. I felt safe knowing I would never go back to that place. At that age I didn't understand a lot of the things going on around me, but I did know that with John gone they would take me back to the orphanage. That was the one feeling I recognised at that time. It was the only thing I could relate to. So I ran away rather than go back there. I was afraid... of a lot of things."

"I would have let you stay with me."

"Really?"

"Of course. I mean, we did fight an awful lot but we had some good times. I wouldn't have let them take you back to any orphanage."

"You mean that? Thank you."

"Forget about the past, come stay with me now," Maria said. "I mean, if you're in trouble you can come stay with me."

"Why would there be trouble?"

"Sierra... your clothes."

Sierra eyed her own heat insulated wrappings. Style had become something of an unknown to her after all this time. She had come to forget the difference between casual pedestrian attire and the rags she wore day in and out.

"Well... it is pretty cold out."

"And just how long has it been cold?"

Sierra shied into herself, peeping quiet as a mute.

"Well... if your apartment is that bad then all the more reason to stay with me."

Sierra nodded. "Not yet. I have to go back to my friends."

"You seem quite invested in them. They must be good friends."

"They are. I came out all this way with them. We've been walking for days."

"You walked out here? Sounds like quiet an adventure."

"It's more a string of misadventures. A few days ago we all agreed to do something, now we're out here and we're not quitting till it's done."

"So I won't be seeing you again for a while. Well... I have waited ten years just to see you now. This time it won't be so hard a wait."

"Don't worry. I'll come visit you... once I finish what I came out here to do."

They parted ways on that note. Maria left Sierra a letter detailing her home number and address, and two more of them for insurance purposes. She actually lived on the other end of the city now. She happened to be passing on her train route when she decided to stop and reminisce.

Sierra took her time returning so as to enjoy the moment that passed. She felt a little lighter, so she moved in a lazy, clumsy manner to indicate such.

She couldn't help think of that bus journey all those years ago.

She rode it all the way to the end of the line, to the city centre, near Middle Park. It was the first bus journey she'd ever taken on her own. Strange to think it had proved to be the last. Even as she grew older she never really ventured far from Middle Park. It was such an easy place for a tramp to earn a living so she never saw the point in going further. It was the first true journey she'd ever taken, running away from home to escape a suicide. Strange to think another suicide would start her on her second big journey, and finally bring her home.

Busy wrapped in her own ponderings Sierra found herself back at the bridge before realising. She came across Rum clambering up the ladder back to the side walk, followed by Alex then Henry. As if preparing for a marathon the three men began stretching their limbs, grunting for unfamiliar pains in their muscles. Sierra couldn't help giggle for the sight.

Having heard the titter Rum turned to address Sierra as she approached. He seemed about to ask where she'd been all this time when he noticed something else. "You been crying?"

Sierra made a quick go at wiping her eyes clear even though she'd been doing so since parting with Maria. She'd made every effort to wash away the evidence. It was a wonder how this old man noticed.

"Don't try hiding it," Rum said again. "If someone hurt you I'll bust his face open."

"Protection when I need it – who'd have thought? Thanks Rum, you're always around."

"What's that? Quit acting weird."

"Nothing happened. I ran into someone I used to know – that's all."

"Who?"

"That's for me to know."

"That's right. Run into one of your old school chums and all of a sudden old Rum ain't so good for you."

Sierra laughed openly.

"Yeah, go on laughing. You should know while the three of us been sitting around here freezing our asses waiting for you, we've lost two hours on the clock. Now we're stuck here."

"You're right, I'm sorry for making you wait. But we're not stuck. We'll just have to make up for lost time."

"Afraid it's already too late, Blondie. Looks like God ain't up for granting easy passage."

Rum let his finger do the explaining by pointing to the sky. Dark clouds were massing on the area fast, and even as they stood there specks of falling snow reappeared all around them. The storm was coming as quickly as last night's snowfall ceased. So it seemed they would finally have their blizzard.

"Hiding under a bridge won't help," Sierra said. "We better get walking."

In an effort to prevent any protesting, Sierra walked ahead to kick start them into motion. Like ducklings to their mother they followed without thought.

"What d'ya know," Alex said, "old Len was right after all. Suppose I owe him some credit."

"No worries," Rum replied. "The man's a bullshit artist and he knows it."

Henry crept up beside Rum and Alex. "S-speaking of which, Rum, we only woke up a few seconds ago."

"Zip it!"
Chapter 24

The weather made a turn for the worst. A wall of white flurry began cascading from the skies, drenching the path in snow a foot thick. At least it might have been the path, they couldn't see much save vague outlines of buildings and themselves.

Sierra's forward march lasted only so long. The downpour coming in hard, she found herself pushed to the back of the group. Even Henry moved faster than her, though he did so by walking behind Rum's relatively larger frame, who unknowingly acted as a shield on Henry's behalf. Alex, his outline at least, had vanished from sight. They didn't worry about him. Being the largest of the group he had more advantage against the wind than both Rum and Henry combined.

Rum's trench coat lacked buttons so he pinned it closed with both hands. He moved little by little with his movements slowed by the downfall and feet plummeting into deep snow.

"Sierra!" he called without answer. "Sierra, you there?"

"What?" Sierra's muffled voice called back, belted into silence by a roar of wind.

"W-We need shelter!"

"I can't hear you!"

"I said we need shelter!"

"Rum, I think we need to find shelter! T-this isn't what I was expecting. T-This reminds me of that hurricane that hit ten years ago."

Rum looked back to Henry. "What did she say?"

"S-Something about a h-hurricane!" Henry replied.

"What hurricane?" Rum yelled back to Sierra.

"Y-you remember the hurricane ten years ago? It happened before the night we first met. It was the strongest s-storm to hit the city, I remember looking out my bedroom window and seeing cars being pushed down the street. My neighbour even swore he saw a pink car flying through the air! Isn't that weird?"

"Pink car!?" Rum yelled. "What the hell are you talking about? I can't hear you."

"What!?"

"What you say, Sierra?"

"D-did someone say something to me?" Henry yelled.

"Sierra, can you hear me!?"

"No I can't hear you, Rum."

"But you heard... Screw it."

Alex reappeared like a being from another dimension, diving from the thickness of the flurry to stand before them. All this time he had been walking in front of them when they thought he'd fallen behind. At first he couldn't speak over the gales so he yelled his highest.

"I found shelter! People are starting to take shelter in a shopping mall near here!"

"It'll do!" Sierra cried.

"How come y'heard him?" Rum added.

Alex retraced his steps, leading them to the main doors of the mall. Barrelling open the glass double doors he found himself falling into the main hall of the mall. It was a darkly lit hall but brighter than the light outside. He breathed a queasy sigh of relief when the others followed suit shortly after.

The four took a moment's breather. The three men squeezed the damp from their clothes and unwittingly made puddles all over the tiles. Sierra shook snow off, but at once scolded the others upon noticing the mess they were making.

"What did we do now?" Alex asked.

"Look at yourselves! Don't draw attention or they'll throw us out."

"I don't think that's going to be a problem."

Sierra followed his gaze toward the crowd of people gathered throughout both floors of the mall. Her fears of being singled out ceased when she realised all these people were just like them. They weren't homeless. They'd merely been beaten down so bad as to pick up a few similar traits.

These people stood around sniffing enflamed noses, warming hands over what heat they could find, and no longer caring for filthy drenched clothing. And they all wore big thick coats, extra layered for added warmth. It could have been a charity lunch set up like those in Middle Park for all appearances. How the owner of this place must have felt to wake up with a shopping centre, and go to bed with a refugee camp. Time makes fools of everyone like that.

Sierra relaxed with this atmosphere. She liked feeling big among bigger people. Most of all she liked how nobody stared at them. When they entered the shop they could have been greeted courteously by a door greeter, had he not skipped off work to avoid this rabble.

Sierra sighed. "All right... looks like we're in the clear. But remember, Rum, just because they look like bums, doesn't mean they want to fight you. They're normal people and don't work on the same ranking system as you."

"Right - they got their own one," Rum said. "But it ain't my problem if they got the problem. They start – I finish."

"Don't worry Rum," Alex said. "It's so dark in here they won't be so inclined to wanna punch your ugly face."

"The hell that supposed to mean?"

"Just saying it's dark in here, the power must be out. No wonder, half this city's power is built on outdated junk. All it takes is a strong gale and the whole grid goes flat."

"That all you're saying? Well the lights are on up there," Rum said in reference to dim lighting on the second floor which hardly reached their location.

"They must be running the backup generator. See how dim they are? The battery must be getting low. But they're lucky it works, I suppose. Remember that hospital me and Henry went to? I once heard that their backup generator conks out every time it's activated. They can't even afford a decent backup generator. I'd hate to think what's happening there now."

"From what I gathered through our experience there," Rum said. "The doctors would probably just lock all the patients in their rooms so they can't hear anything. Then go off drinking."

"I'd like to take that as a joke but I had the same thought. It's pathetic how something nobody really needs, like a shopping centre, can receive a fully functioning backup generator while a hospital gets scrap metal."

"Ain't no accident. Thing is, this shopping centre is privately owned and the hospital ain't."

"So the shopping mall receives more funding than the hospital?"

"That ain't even the thick of it. The thing is – see - in reality this city has two competing industries, only two. One is a multi-market corporation spanning its influence over everything it needs to survive. It wants to grow bigger, it wants more money, and to do that it needs to remove all competition. It began small-time here in this city and since grew to encompass over half the city's industries. They own the trains we used to get here, electrical companies, shopping malls like this, you name it. But it wasn't always like that."

"Yeah, once upon a time the government used to pay for all those things."

"But public industries get in the way of business so the private sector began focusing on damaging their credibility. They took the best engineers to their own side to make the public trains fail. They took the best cooks so small time mom and pop restaurants went bust. And right now they're working on stealing the best doctors from the city's public hospitals to make their own one appear better. All the while the members of public stand back watching the public hospitals get worse and the private ones get better. Who do you think they're gonna choose when little Jimmy gets typhoid? Money wouldn't be an object, and they know that. By cutting out the alternative the company can do what they want. At this stage of the game their only remaining competition are the public sectors. Hell, why am I telling you about them? Chances are you probably worked for them at some point... if writers ever work."

"I've heard of it before. I used to run stories on them when I was working freelance as a journalist. Since the original owner died it's been divided up among a number of anonymous shareholders and been growing since. They're nothing big though. The company doesn't even have a name for itself outside this city. It's all confined and fairly low scale, in retrospect."

"What was it you said before about caged monkeys throwing shit at each other?" Rum said. "People need hospitals and rest homes, but hospitals make money and so do rest homes. The company wants to ruin these publicly funded industries and replace them with their own special brands. Behind the scenes, they make the public hospitals turn to shit so people will run legs open to their own private hospitals. It's the same thing all over the city, for every public domain industry created the company sets up a more expensive double."

"You think these shareholders are that cunning?"

"If a man wants to succeed in business he only has to use his brains and cunning to outdo his opponent, but if has neither then he should focus on ruining their reputation instead. The people behind this company don't see hospitals and rest homes, all they see is competition. The company has little other purpose other than to make money and that's all the shareholders see too. A company run by shareholders is as intelligent as a turkey running around with its head chopped off."

"I suppose it's not a crime to offer doctors larger pay cheques but don't you think the government could step in? I mean they are supposed to be running the public sector."

"Would they want to? Would you? With the private sector paying for the hospitals, transport, and the electrical companies the government now has more money to relocate elsewhere. Of course half the profit gets relocated straight to their own pockets so it's as good as a bribe. No one can say it's against the law because they're the law makers."

"This all seems a bit above you. Where'd you pick up all this anyway?"

"Here and there. I've been to that hospital more than once in my time, every now and again someone brings it up and occasionally I listen."

"On those sober days," Sierra said, pacing back to them. "You're more attentive when you're sober... and talkative too."

"Anything to fill the gap."

"Like now? Can't say I've ever heard you use so many words together."

"She's got a point," Alex said. "How long has it been since your last drink?"

"Been running on the six-pack that was in that bag you found. I lost the last can out in that snowstorm."

"Poor Rum... of all the times to run out of booze. Now you're surrounded by people and may actually have to put up with them. How you going to handle it?"

"By staying right where I am. They're over there and we're over here. Fine for them, works for me."

"You're just going to sit here?" Sierra asked.

"What of it? Not much else to do."

"We might as well look around. I haven't been in a shopping mall for years."

"We'll be seen, and then I'll get thrown out like I always do. Besides. You shouldn't risk seeing anything you might want. Trust me, you'll see something you want then get all depressed because you'll never have it. Seeing things that remind me of the past always make me sick in the stomach. Then I try stealing it."

"That'd be why they throw you out," Sierra said. "Fine, you guys can sit here till the snow clears, I'll go for a breeze around."

"Trust me, it's a mistake. You said it's been a long time since you've been in a shopping centre. There's a reason for that and I'll let you figure it out now. Good luck. Get lost."

Sierra fogged him off with silence as she vanished into the crowd.

"And you'll be leaving too, Alex?" Rum said.

"I was sort of enjoying your... lecture."

"Cram it. I was bored, now you're boring me so go for a walk or something."

"Cold turkey side effect number two – sudden change in temperament. Fine. Henry, you coming with me?"

"I... can't. There's too many people... I'd rather just stay out of the way. I'm still tired anyway, might just get some sleep here. To be honest I appreciate the lie in."

"That's all this detour is worth," Rum said. "I don't know why we have to go through this crap, now of all times. When you think about it all we had to do was commute from one end of the city to another. Anyone could do that in a day let alone a week. Now all we have left to do is walk down the street. Think about it, that John guy lives just down the road from here. And we're stuck here, in a blizzard. How many fucking blizzards have ever hit this city? None. Never."

"It must be karma," Henry said.

"Probably something Rum did," Alex said.

"Don't care much for karma."

"Why not?" Alex asked.

"Cause if it's real karma don't much care for me. Right now I'll stick to God granted destiny so a support beam doesn't fall on my head."

Chapter 25

They waited and time passed. Time passed more and still they waited. It would come to a time when the chattering rumble of the masses died to scattered whispers, and the roar of wind and beating snow became most vocal of all.

The group divided four ways to pursue their own interests. Sierra continued window shopping until it bored her while Rum did as promised and stayed put, all the while bearing the grim frown of boredom on his face. Alex mingled among those strangers who would let him – few did. Henry stayed sleeping on the floor through the hours. He wound up waking up in a manner customary for those who decide to sleep on floors in the first place.

"Don't step on me!" he yelled, rubbing his hand.

Woken abruptly he found his clothes drenched by water dripping off all the people forming massive puddles on the floor. So many people had amassed around his chosen sleeping location, many of which had decided to nap on the ground too. They'd likely wake up to the same drenching, yet nobody seemed to be stepping on them.

"Step on them!" Henry yelled in frustration. "Why step on me and not them?" Nobody paid attention to his pleas, at least nobody pleasant.

"Cause you got doormat written all over you," said a gritty old voice which needed no introduction.

Henry stood to greet the old man. He would have replied in his own shyly informal way only to find himself caught off guard by an unusual facial expression on Rum. It came off as something of a smile for the 'doormat' joke he told, yet hung down slightly as if it were there for show alone. It took Henry a moment to recognise the expression, but only because he'd never seen Rum holding a thought in his head before – at least one he didn't express too soon after thinking.

It unsettled Henry. In all the years he knew old Rum he'd never seen him with a face so troubled. With his liquefied courage stripped from him he must have come face to face with all those restrained thoughts and troubles he had long buried behind a bottle. Rum had become a bum, the expression said he was realising this for the first time.

"Quit staring at me," Rum said. "And don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"I might be a bum but you're a wuss."

"Sorry?"

"Forget it. Get back to work."

"Back... to work?"

"I said forget it. I'm off." With that the old man walked away with his shoulders held low.

"Weird," Henry said to himself. "Maybe he is a bit drunk after all."

***

Sierra roamed around on the second floor, browsing shop windows. She stood before a general goods store window when she realised Rum was correct in his warning.

Everything here she caught fancy to didn't seem made for her lifestyle and came with a ridiculously pricey tag. All the more shop items she viewed, all the more she began to regret her current social standing. Throughout her time on the street she'd learned a bum's life could only prove bearable without having to endure the alternatives.

When she saw families playing in the park, she always turned away. When she saw people buying high priced objects they would never need, she would turn away. And when she saw students her own age modelling new clothes for their friends, she would always look away. Here in this building stood everything she tried turning away from, amassed and stock piled into this one location. And she couldn't help but stare in disappointed wonder.

Shop windows seemed like pieces of a middle class life framed and put on display. Sierra saw many people walking in to admire it closer, yet she had no reason to. Inside the walls of this shop lay the middle class lifestyle, all kinds of possessions that can define it.

Rum had pinned her current feeling down to a tee. Really, she should have known better herself but failed to resist the urge. At least in future she would know better. Right now she learned never to gawk through the glass, as Rum must have learned before her.

It troubled her to know that the only wall between homelessness and success was a quarter of an inch slab of transparent glass.

"Sierra," a voice spoke from behind.

She could see Alex in the reflection on the glass. "What is it?" she said without turning.

"You look deep in thought there."

"And upon noticing this you decided to walk up to me and break my train of thought. Nice."

"Sorry, I suppose. Don't think too much. They say it's bad for the mind and we've too much time on our hands to spend it thinking."

Sierra closed her eyes in frustration. "The weird things you say... I'd like to keep on thinking right now so quit trying to give me a headache."

"It was just a suggestion. Some people can overload like that."

"People don't think enough, how could they ever overload on it?"

"You're right. I've never been one to trust expert opinion anyway. I'll get out of your hair."

"Please do. Catch y'later."

Alex nodded his understanding and drifted slowly back into the crowd. He'd never known Sierra to be the irritable type so he took the treatment as a minor breakdown, or lapse in judgement. Besides, for the amount of times he'd ignored people while wrapped in thought, he couldn't be one to judge.

Alex stopped walking to look around over the heads of the crowd. He stood taller than anyone on this floor and could get a bird's eye view simply by standing upright. He appeared to be picking up some curious glances for that reason alone. Even in a mall full of shabby laymen he stood out from the rest. On this thought, a familiar face in the crowd caught his eye.

He saw a man standing by the escalator who appeared to be trying to get through the crowds, doing so with little force and plenty of patience. The man wore a brown swathe coat and cream pants to match, and his brown hair lay buried beneath a woollen cap.

Alex preyed closer to reconfirm the recognition. He kept his pace cautious and slow should this man recognise him in turn.

They had met once before, quite briefly, in the thick mist of a church graveyard. But when the man took one look at Henry he ran panic stricken out the gate in such a hurry as to leave his bag behind.

At this point even Alex had to congratulate himself on the identification, though he'd rather hoped on keeping the bag. He did make a promise to return it and a deal was a deal. Now he need only give the bag back without alarming the man.

First things first Alex checked to see if there was anything he needed inside. Nothing but scrap paper and the leaflets Sierra threw inside. Nothing important. He didn't feel like emptying them out here so he left them there.

The man had since given up in his endeavours to pass the escalator, instead sitting on a nearby bench.

Alex took his chance, inconspicuously nearing him one step at a time. Reaching within arm length distance, Alex placed the bag on the floor and kicked it under the bench to the man's feet. When he reacted, Alex quickly slinked away and watched from a distance.

The man at first startled at the sudden re-appearance of this familiar bag, glanced about for another owner before diving straight into it. First item he pulled out was the receipt of house slip, which he smiled for. Then he mulled over all those leaflets with an air of curiosity. He paused on one of them, which Alex couldn't make out due to random group of nattering people getting in his way. Whatever the man had seen in the bag it got him standing with a strong show of thought. He pondered there a time before heaving the bag over shoulder.

A curious spectacle followed as the man returned to the crowded escalator without pause, pushing and slamming people aside to form a tunnel straight down. Reaching the bottom he didn't stop to look back but merely kept going, straight for the entrance and out to the storm.

The wind whooshed in with the door he opened, and silenced after other people hurried to close it.

Alex stood along the second floor railings overlooking the fiasco. "Maybe it's his lucky bag," he said to himself, sighing for the loss of it. Nothing forced him to return it save conscience so in retrospect the deed was an utterly pointless one, as he figured any truly good deed should be. Maybe that sheer pointlessness brought him to do it. If karma were an angel watching over him, he'd certainly gained some credit. With any luck it would aid him in his final spree to the finish. For that instant it made him feel unstoppable.

The instant ceased and Alex succumbed to sudden light-headedness. He fell into a hunch, clutching the railing for support. He began coughing roughly, forcing it down to avoid drawing attention. It didn't stop people from looking so to avoid their notice he rushed shambling to the nearest bathroom.

He collapsed through the doors and again atop the sink. Removing hands from mouth he found blood on them. Perhaps psychologically, the sight triggered a second coughing fit from which he nearly collapsed.

It eased almost as quickly. Like a man woken from a dream he stared up into a mirror to find his face paler than it had been. He expected as much. His skin always became a little paler following each bout of coughing. This would be his fifth and strongest one so far.

Up until now he'd only managed to hold it back thanks to the pills given to him at the hospital. They gave him one case of pills and he had long run out already.

It would only be a matter of time until the next fit. He could only wait. In the meantime he did what anyone would. He splashed his face and returned casually outside.

Fortunately nobody in the crowd appeared to be looking at him. Those who had noticed the coughing seemed to have forgotten the moment he left their vicinity. He'd made the right move running into the toilets. And the wrong move when he walked straight into Rum.

"You throw up?" Rum asked. "You look sick, like you threw up."

"Just tired. So you decided to shift your-"

"You see Sierra anywhere?"

"She didn't seem in the mood for company."

"That's not what I asked."

Alex paused to take note of Rum's dim, hanging expression. He looked highly alert yet stuck half asleep, like a man waking into a long due hangover. No need for metaphor that's exactly what it was.

"Speaking of looking sick... You sure you should be walking around like that?"

"Like what?"

"Well... sober, I suppose."

"Sober?" he said. "Sober... is that what you think of... Forget it."

"I just meant..."

"I know what you meant."

"And you're arguing?"

"I can't argue. That's the problem."

"Look... I didn't mean to... I'm sorry, Rum."

"That ain't my damn name." He began turning away. "I'm gonna go find Sierra."

He didn't intend to, and if he did he'd likely give her the same treatment. Right now he just wanted to be alone with his sorrows in case he spilled it on anyone. He tended to have a mouth to run when drunk and a conscience to leak when sober. The first could be forgivable but the latter unforgettable. He'd lost enough pride this week without looking like a wuss.

These were the things Rum thought of as he scampered through the crowd. The constant thinking, while doing little for his sanity, did help him deal with those most abundant eyesores, some people called them families. And in this place, they were everywhere.

Mothers and sons. Fathers and mothers. Mothers and daughters. Brothers and fathers. Families. Rum hated to see families all banded together in their little co-existing units. Sure he'd seen them on the streets, passed them regularly. But he never had to hear their petty arguments. He never had to look at them for more than a fleeting glance.

He could avoid these things on the street, not in these closed in walls. He hated families. Every one of them, no matter how different, reminded him of one family, a mother and son gunned down due to the arrogance of one wretched old man. He shook this thought away the moment it hit the front of his mind. As with the booze, he began seeking out distractions to purge the thoughts.

In his wanderings Rum found himself standing at the base of a large notice board. There was an advertisement for the new private hospital being set up in the city. In the poster's lower right corner the company's logo had been printed. It was small, designed to avoid the eye while still creating presence. Most people wouldn't notice that little 'c' surrounded by a hexagon shield, but Rum knew where to look. The symbol on the poster helped transform him into a well to do person. It once offered hope, dreams and the ambition to take it all. He did just that.

A long time ago this logo allowed him to conquer everything he targeted. The logo allowed him to take everything, until it took the lives of a loving wife and a baby too young to know better. This is the logo that ruined everything. This is the symbol that made him the man he is today. If not for this logo he wouldn't have to hide away down here in the gutter.

In his melancholy he found his eyes dropping to a different, smaller poster bearing a different symbol. It was a crucifix. The words on the poster ranted on about redemption while begging for donations. A mixed message likely to turn the competent away. Rum, however, paid more note to the address line.

"Church. Well, it has been a while. Pretty close to where we're going too. Might be worth a..." Rum leaned closer to look for the pastor's name. "Pastor: Daemon Crawford. Crawford, is it? Looks like I'll have to pay you a visit."

Chapter 26

The storm didn't end quickly as most would have liked. It simply died down little by little until those brave enough dared to venture out. Those more fearful stayed until the strong howling ended and the snow diced into emptying drips. The homeless group decided to leave somewhere between the two.

There didn't appear to be much movement on the street, save people clearing snow from cars. Wasted effort since even if they did remove the popsicle coating, the roads had become filled above curb height. Futility could be seen in all their faces, yet still they tried.

Walking on what would once have been mid-road, Alex kicked a fallen orb decoration out of the snow. "All those decorations gone to waste, at least they don't have to worry about taking them down now."

"Who cares? Christmas is over. Decorations are dead, time to bring on the New Year booze," Rum said.

"And they'll be drinking it right where we live," Sierra said. "Every year they have that big ass New Year celebration in Middle Park. People come from all over the city just to get locked on our doorstep."

"And last year a good few of them decided our shack would make a fine kicking post," Rum said.

"Then you decided they'd make better ones," Sierra added.

"Ah yes, I kicked a few heads that night."

"Only after I bailed you out," Alex stated. "Might want to mention that part." Alex looked back when the old man didn't retort. "Rum?"

He'd wandered down a turn off in the main road, a smaller alley like lane leading to a red bricked estate. In soothing echoes the sound of seaside waves drifted out.

"This is the place, Appleglade estates," Rum said, pointing to a massively notable sign reading same.

They followed through the lane to where it opened into a wide expanse of a parking lot overlooking a harbour like portion of the sea. There were a few boats anchored, small like those for the lower-upper class. A red bricked wall ran alongside which seemed to border the estate from the outside world. Entryways into the different sections of the estate opened in the wall at regular intervals. They looked like checkpoints without barricades.

Sierra wandered to the harbour line, drawn by the smell of salt air and thrashing waves under a sublime winter mist swirling over the water's surface. She decided to let the others plan behind her while she reacquainted herself with this old joy she hadn't seen since her days playing on the beach as a child.

"Classy place," Alex noted. "They even have this car park for people who don't live here. Looks like it could be patrolled by a security guard too. Have to say, not what I was expecting from our John."

"This place looks big," Henry noted. "Really, really big."

"Appleglade must be the name of the complex," Alex said. "It's split into smaller housing areas. The ex must have forgotten to mention that part - bitch. This could be tricky."

"Morons," Rum said, walking to the end of one of the ten entryways into the different sections. "This is a company estate. Company estates always list their residents outside. Each entryway has a list of names and addresses outside, pick a listing and look for John Regal. Simple."

Rum led by example. He chose the listing nearest to the alley from which they entered then moved to the next listing board on the next entryway. Alex and Henry took heed and checked the remaining signs. They did so until finding one address listed under Regal. But

not their Regal. This one was listed under Joseph and Marissa Regal.

"What do you make of it?" Rum asked Alex.

"His ex-wife did say he inherited the house from his parents. It's possible they never got around to changing the name."

"Works for me."

"One thing though," Alex said. "How did you know this was a company estate? For that matter how did you know where it was?"

"Look around, you're supposed to be the perceptive one. Their logo's all over the place." Rum pointed to a symbol on the nearest address board, a copyright C within a hexagonal prison. "And I already told you, I don't need a special reason to know something. This place is pretty well known anyway. It's where the company holds up a lot of its executive workers. In a sense, the company provides for their lodgings so they don't run away. Technically all these people own their own houses, but the company offers to maintain upkeep on the homes and the area. It places border walls like this one and security cameras like that one." He indicated a previously undisclosed camera set atop the wall.

"John's parents must have been on good terms with the company to live in a place like this."

"Quit admiring the sights and let's get moving." Rum looked to Sierra by the harbour. "That goes for you too!"

She snapped to them while they were crossing the line, through the driveway gateway and past those red bricked prison walls - though they really were quite nice to look at.

It was a straight single road walk to a dead end drop into the ocean where waves splashed straight onto the road. Bungalows ran along both sides down, all equally similar in their thatched roof white wall appearance, all equally parallel in their placement, all equally complacent in their success.

The estate appeared to be so eerily even-sided trash cans might have been placed parallel, if there were any to be seen. To call it conformist would be something of an understatement. Even as they walked further and further down this long road the bungalows passed like pictures on a repeating film reel. Their snow crunching footsteps mixed among the bare silence of the neighbourhood did little to dispel the image.

"John's parents must have held executive positions," Sierra said. "At least now we know where he got all that gambling money."

"We don't know that," Alex said.

"It's typical of people like that," Rum said. "Drunken gambler feeds off his parents' gains all his life, even when they're old, even when they're dead. We don't know it for sure but it's sure safe to assume."

"Talk about depressing the end game," Alex said.

"Whatever. Came all this way I can depress who I want."

"Save it till we're done talking to him," Sierra said.

"Got something to talk about yet?" Rum asked.

"I'm still working with the 'wing-it' angle. Unless any of you can think of something to say between the next couple of hundred yards?"

"A few hundred yards," Alex pined. "All this way and not a drop of advice to offer."

"Bag and grab sound good to you?"

"Keep it within the box, Rum," Sierra stated.

Henry hobbled up with a raised index finger. "I have a... thought." He cleared his throat. "Remember when we were taking to the nurse in Grey Oak's retirement home? She told us... John's face would light up every time he saw a picture of his daughter. Well, we have a picture of his daughter."

"We have a picture of his daughter?" Alex said. "Why the hell do we have a picture of his daughter?"

"Well... the nurse scribbled his ex-wife's address on the back of the photo then gave it to us. We were... supposed to return the photo as well since she said this is his last one."

"You got it from the retirement home? I must have been busy getting the snot beat out of me to notice."

Sierra hummed thoughtfully. "That... could work. Come to think of it, since the photo we have now is the only one he had left... he probably hasn't seen his daughter's face in months. If that's the case we could hold it up to the peep hole and he'd probably tear the door open just to get it back."

"Or add us to a child-offender list," Rum said.

"It's a sound plan so long as he doesn't panic," Alex said. "Naturally, had I known about the photo I'd have thought of it first. That was a joke."

"Fat chance," Henry said.

"You're right."

Sierra brought the group to a halt. "With both the suicide note and the photo of his daughter we have quite the bargaining chip. At this rate we won't even have to open our mouths." She held a receiving palm to Alex. "Now just hand them over so we can sort things out."

"Hand them over? I thought you had them."

"No. I left them in the bag, and you were carrying the bag. Alex... where's the bag?"

"The bag?"

"The bag... You know the thing with pockets and straps that should be hanging from your shoulder right now. Why is there no bag hanging from your shoulder, Alex. What's up with that, Alex? Where's the bag, Alex?"

"I... gave it back."

"Come again?"

At this point Sierra pressed closer to his face, but Rum and Henry were quickly closing down too.

"Well," Alex said, "I did say I would return it if I ever saw the owner again. And well... I saw him again. He was in the mall."

"We thought you were joking. How in the fuck could anyone take a statement like that seriously?"

The three of them closed in more so with foaming dedication.

"Well, I happened to spot the guy when we were waiting in the shopping centre. I sort of felt... obligated. I mean, what are the chances?"

"Obligated... And in this obligation you never thought to take the important stuff out?"

"Not true. I checked to see if there was anything I needed." He presented it with pride. "Everything else looked like scrap paper to me."

"Suicide notes tend to be made of paper."

"It's not so bad, maybe the guy I gave it to will decide to pick up our cause. Should be easier for him, he might have a car."

Flustered by the attempt at humour Rum fell away, pacing into a mild tantrum like state. Henry sighed passively for the same reason with same result.

Sierra remained staring with a keen prying glare. Perhaps somewhere, she hoped, down the back of those lazy eyes of his lay a glimmer of humour to say this was all some convoluted joke. Like Rum and Henry, she fell away, realising a cock-up of this calibre could well be within his characteristic spectrum.

"I'm sorry," Alex pleaded. "Look, we haven't lost anything. We can go ahead as planned. He's right down this street, right now probably looking at us through his window wondering who's doing all the shouting. He's right there. All we have to do is walk."

Sierra sighed. "He does have a point. I suppose John is right down there. Whatever the case, it looks like we'll have to do it the hard way no matter. Let's get it over with and beat on Alex when we're done."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

"You... fucking weirdo," Sierra scolded.

Rum stormed out from his tantrum like pacing and down the opposite direction. "Forget it. Forget about this loser and let's get the hell out of here. There's nothing we can do. Let's go back to Middle Park."

Sierra grabbed the old man's arm. "What the hell are you talking about? You're going say this crap right here? Fuck sake Rum I thought you were over this."

"There's nothing we can do."

"So what if we lost the note and photo. Alex is right, there's other ways around it."

"You don't get it. Open your bloody eyes!"

Rum pointed to the end of the road, to one bungalow similar to all the others positioned over a shoreline dead-end drop. The number mark on the curb out front read number 24, the last house on this part of the street. It was the house they were looking for – John's house. Only it wasn't exactly like all the others. Their hearts dropped when they saw it.

Chapter 27

They stood at the end of the driveway looking down, daring to go further for the line of yellow police tape encircling the cottage. Even without it, it was abundantly clear this house had been uninhabited some time. All the lights were off, but by a glimmer from the street lamp they could see a section of the sitting room empty, furniture totally cleared out. Some of the downstairs windows were smashed and disposed beer cans suggested who by.

"We're too late," Sierra said. "He cheated. He went early."

"I'm going in," Rum said, ducking under the tape.

Glancing about cautiously, Henry followed his lead.

"It is what is," Alex said from outside the tape. "The place is littered with dead man's tape."

Rum wheeled round to address him. "Then where are the cops? Bastards just cordon off the place then feck off to let teenagers have their way?" He kicked an empty beer can to emphasise his point.

"In this city-"

"It's open," Henry said, pushing the front door which had been left ajar.

Rum followed Henry inside, speaking back. "Something bad happened here. But it ain't fresh."

All four found themselves divided and wandering the inside as though browsing a display house. It was bare. The furniture, kitchenware, even the carpets had been stripped away to a barren concrete floor.

The reason for the missing furniture had been chalked into the sitting room floor. They all stood gawking down at it, at first unsure what to make of it. But it wasn't a puzzle. It was what it looked like. It was chalk outline of a human figure, laying on its side, hunched into itself.

"Is that... John?" Sierra said, staring into the empty shape of a missing body.

"He's... really small," Henry noted. "Shorter than me."

"Almost feminine," Alex added.

Sierra resigned herself back into the hallway, where she sat on the ground, leaning on the wall. Everyone followed suit, gathering about her as if to reconfirm what they'd seen.

"So that's it?" Sierra said. "This is our rescue? What happened to our New Year deadline?"

"We did this," Henry said. "Getting robbed must have pushed him over."

Suddenly, torchlight blasted in through the open front door, glaring in their eyes. An aged, roaring voice followed from its source.

"You junkies! I told you teenagers to stay the hell away! This isn't a tourist stop. Show some respect!" He paused to asses the four. "You're not kids. Pathetic. You people come to take pictures?"

Rum shielded his eyes from the glare. "It's okay. We're not doing anything. We're... friends of... John?"

"Friends of John?" the man replied, and let the torchlight disappear. "He had friends?"

Without light in their eyes they could see an aged man of roughly sixty. He wore a short beard off-tracked by his barren head and stood with an arched back. He limped as he entered the hallway.

"Quite an hour to pay your respects."

"Well... to be honest we've never actually met the guy. We just needed to talk to him about something," Rum answered.

"Well that is honest – appreciate it. Sorry about the alarm, folks, y'see we've had a lot of day trippers come round here. As you can tell from the mess it's also attracted a few unsociable drinkers. Since it happened this house has become something of a tourist destination."

"Really?" Rum replied. "Suicides aren't usually so interesting where we come from. They happen all the time and no one notices."

"Suicide? That ain't no suicide - it's a crime scene."

Sierra jumped to her feet. "A murder!"

"You... didn't know. By God you don't know."

A grim silence fell about the hall as they waited for the old man to speak again.

"Old man," Rum said, "what did happen to John in there?"

"That ain't John. It's his sister, Annette Lucille."

"Annette Lucille? I know that name, " Alex said. "It can't be..."

"Alex?" Sierra spoke up.

"Don't you have a telly?" the old man asked.

Sierra shrugged.

"She died over seven months ago now. Someone got into the house and managed to drug her. The police said she was kept in a comatose state and abused repeatedly... until the monster finished her."

"So... it is her," Alex thought aloud. "Annette Lucille... the serial killer's first victim."

Rum, Sierra and Henry shrugged uncomfortably at the allegation and waited for the old man to clarify.

"That's right. She was murdered by the same serial killer harassing the city till this day. Annette was his first victim, his warm up, if I can say it like that."

A guilty silence fell over the four bums. It wasn't easy to feel out of place upon arriving to such a scene. The old man seemed to pick up on it.

"It's fine that you're here. It's just good to see someone who isn't holding a camera."

"Why is this place so deserted? Not exactly becoming of a high-profile crime scene."

"Police spent long enough here. They tore through everything and eventually took everything in the house to forensic labs. They looked so hard eventually they'd nothing to look through any more. Now they just keep the house cordoned off in case they need it. They keep it cordoned off just in case... but not by much."

"And leave it for drunken teens to tell ghost stories in? What about the press? Don't they ever come back?"

"Annette used to be famous for it. Press would run her picture every day. Now she's just one face in eight. Not much traffic from either police or the press these days. Only people who watch out for this place any more are those who live around it. We look after the place best we can, but even the flowers are starting to die."

He bobbed flashlight to a memorial bouquet which they failed to see outside at the end of the driveway. No wonder, it lay mostly covered in snow and looked more like a framed photo tossed among shrivelled leaves.

"It's winter now," Alex said. "They'll sprout again in Spring."

"I can only hope."

Sierra made way quietly out the front door to the memorial on the driveway's end. She sat before the framed photograph, brushing shrubs aside for a better look at the picture.

She could hear the lulled steps of the old man approaching behind. Other, heavier, footfalls reeked of her three companions coming to her side. So they all gathered there in the front of the house, staring silently at the memorial.

"She's kind of pretty," Sierra said regarding the photo. "What was she like?"

The old man sighed. "She was sweet. Chatty. A little obnoxious at times but... we didn't see much of that toward the end. She was sick y'see – cancer. We always thought it would claim her in the end. Now we wish it had."

"Cancer... so she couldn't defend herself."

"The police said that might be why he targeted her. He singled her out just to flex his muscles before moving onto the stronger prey."

"Coward. He never moved onto stronger prey. All he does is target women when they're alone."

"She used to be a strong and assertive person but became such a frail little thing – poor girl. Before the end she rarely left this house - couldn't risk taking her to hospital so doctors from across the city would visit her home. Most of our communication with her came through them."

"Couldn't you speak to her family?" Sierra asked, still looking at the picture.

"Not much left of them. The day after her diagnosis her husband died in an accident. Her parents were older than myself and didn't last much longer after. She lost her whole life and all she got was this house in the inheritance. In the end it became her grave."

Sierra stood round to face the old man. "She wasn't alone. She had her brother, John... surely?"

"Right... she had John."

"Then he looked after her?"

"Sure, he did as a brother should for his little sister."

"Then what's the problem?"

"She was better off without him, that's the problem. John was a leech, plain and simple. He took money off his parents when they were alive and gambled it away. When they died the torch was passed onto his sister. Even when Annette was at her worst we'd often see him driving down to the track with her money, wasting it away. He couldn't even leave it for her treatment. Sure he'd kneel by her bedside, but only to beg for more money."

"All the treatments in the world wouldn't change the way she died," Alex said.

"The way her life ended doesn't change how her brother treated her. The only reason I never labelled him a suspect in her murder was because even he wouldn't dumb enough to cut off his only source of income."

"You're holding quite a grudge for a man you've never spoken to," Rum said.

"I did keep an eye on him after his sister died, you know. It looked like it hooked him pretty bad. He lived down a bottle for days after, never leaving his house or turning on the lights. We'd see him through the windows moping around his home like a ghost in the shadows. I even saw him crying once. Really felt bad for the guy. Some of us were even starting to worry he might do something stupid."

"And what happened?" Sierra asked

"He went and did something stupid, but it wasn't what we thought.

He sold this house to a foreign land owner, then up and ran out of here. Yup, all that time we thought John was in there grieving for his sister. He wasn't grieving for her. He was grieving for his empty pockets. Turned out the only reason he kept the lights off was because he couldn't pay the bills. The whole scheme had been set in motion not one week after Annette's death. It sickens me to think I actually felt sorry for the guy. He's got a one track mind straight to scum." The old man sighed. "Naturally the sale wasn't applicable. John still got away with the buyer's money though."

"And he sold it for less than quarter the full house price?" Rum asked.

"That's right. The house is worth three hundred thousand but he only took a down payment for fifty thousand. How did you know?"

"Typical con stuff. Fifty grand is chump change to rich people and not worth chasing after. Conning for a greater amount would have attracted too much attention."

"Clever. I always figured he'd miscalculated the price, or done it in a panic. Certain people had already informed us John was something of a con-man, but they said his cons always backfired. Guess he finally managed to get something right in the end."

"I'm amazed it worked," Rum added.

"Amazing he could ever get anything to work. Sort of demonstrates the man's character, I'm actually glad he managed to work something out."

"Quite the sad-case, John, wasn't he?" Rum mumbled.

"There's only one word for a man like that. John was a los-"

"Don't say it," Sierra interrupted. "Everyone keeps saying it."

"I'm sorry but it's true. His parents were well loved here. His sister was a kind hearted woman despite illness. John was a selfish person and, and to be honest, we just didn't like the look of him."

"Didn't like the look of him? Sounds selfish all right," Henry said, turning and walking away with total indifference to proper etiquette.

"I'm sorry if I struck a chord," the old man said.

"It's okay," Sierra replied. "No reason to get mad at you. Everyone seems to be saying the same anyway. You just cleared it up a little more. Thank you for all your help. Goodbye."

Sierra bid farewell on that note, leaving Rum and Henry to clean up.

"Look," the old man said to the remaining pair, "I'm not able to tell you where John went off to, but I can direct you to his ex-wife's apartment. If anyone knows where he is it's her. I hear she's real pretty too so she's bound to help you."

Rum sighed irritation, following in the footsteps of the others.

Alex considered doing the same but harboured appreciation for the old man's tolerant aid. Unlike the others Alex returned thanks, then followed Rum, Sierra, and Henry.

The old man remained standing on the driveway's end, watching the four walk back the way they came. "Well, goodbye to you then. Sorry I couldn't help you find the man, though you're likely better for it," he mumbled for none of their ears.

***

They retreated from the private estate. For a change they found themselves moving from a safer destination back to one more dangerous. It seemed everyone they'd met around John lived in notorious areas, except for John himself. Unlike their other destinations they now left slowly, half-heartedly with nowhere else to go. The first place to sit down became their next objective.

It so happened to be at the mall which held them prisoner during the snowstorm. All four seated themselves about the rim of the penny fountain which entertained earlier.

Henry stared into rippling water. Many thoughtless people came and tossed change to the bottom. He couldn't help but see the senselessness in their actions, yet at the same time couldn't understand why he himself didn't just reach down and grab a handful. The money was meant for charity - Henry was a charity, of sorts. A passing security guard did grant him a good reason to stay out. It only made him wish he'd grabbed the change on their first visit, when the guard was absent, but he wasn't so hungry then. In any case the allure of cash kept him busy during the grim silence his allies seemed intent on maintaining.

There wasn't much to say, even Rum could appreciate that. Sierra sat hunched with head bitterly held between knees. Alex remained in his usual thought filled state, apparently unlikely to break from it soon.

"Waste of time," Rum mumbled. "All a bloody waste of time."

For the first time no-one could disagree. Sierra did seem about to speak up but Rum had started walking away toward the entrance.

"Where you going?" Sierra called from her seat. A cry crossed over by a church bell ringing in the near-distance.

"Nowhere important," he replied, stepping back outside. "Just got some stuff to think about."

"Okay," Sierra replied. "We'll be getting something to eat soon. Look for us in one of the diners when you get back."

The main door closed without response from the old man. It didn't seem clear whether or not he heard. It didn't matter. Sierra wasn't going to chase him regardless.

"He's taking it bad," Sierra said. "What's up with that?"

"The man's been sober all day," Alex replied.

"It's not that. There's something else."

"He has his own demons. Let him sort them."

"Alex?"

"Rum seems to know his way around here pretty well, doesn't he?"

"You think he used to live around here?"

"I said let him sort it."

"I see."

"So... about this food proposition. I didn't know you had money left."

"Henry's got it covered." She nodded his way.

Henry sat with arms half-lunged into the penny fountain, reaping up change to his pockets. He stopped upon noticing the attention coming his way and froze like a fasting monk caught rapid with teeth wrapped around a juicy chicken leg.

"You'll do Buddha proud," Alex said.

Henry shrugged.

Chapter 28

Rum followed the sound but the church bell stopped ringing by time he arrived. It was quiet when he arrived and stood below the church door at the bottom of the church steps. The silence became worse when he mounted the steps and opened the door. It was a deadening quiet inside. No movement. No life.

As he walked the aisle between pews he considered his long driven fear of churches. That was wrong. He didn't fear the churches. He feared the silence within church walls. It was the sound of presence, the constant presence which watched in eternal muteness. The sound of a church.

Nobody came to greet him so he entered the confessional of his own accord. He sat there waiting in deeper silence, until footfalls began tapping this way. The door opposite opened and a shadowed figure entered into a blessing. When the blessing ended the silence returned.

"Have you something to confess?" the shapeless form asked.

"I... I'm not too sure how to go about this."

"You don't need to recite anything."

"I know. I'm just not used to it."

"You could tell me your name."

"No."

"Then how long has been since your last confession?"

"Not since I was a kid. Never cared for it."

"Then why have you come here?"

"On a hunch. I want to tell a story but I'm not sure how I should start."

"Forgive me father for I have sinned, is usually a good starting point."

"I'll think of something better."

"Of course you will."

"Before I begin with my story I need you to know a few things. I'm a bum. I wasn't always a bum but I'm a bum now."

"The good lord doesn't care for titles."

"Figured you'd say that. How old are you father? You sound young."

"I guess I am young. I'm twenty five."

"Sounds about right."

"Pardon?"

"I'll continue. I've been a bum for quite a while – ten years nearly. Ten years... Never thought about the time much, but it is a long time now that I think of it. I want you to know how I got this way, so I need to tell you something of a story first. It's not that I want to waste your time by rambling about my woes, but if I'm to ask for your forgiveness I'd at least like to tell the truth once. I've been telling people lies and half truths for so long, I'd like to speak honestly before I ask for anything more."

"Then tell me about yourself."

"I wasn't always a bum, of course. Time was I had a lot of change to spare. I wasn't completely loaded, just well-sorted, more so than most men. But I never knew how to spend it. I used to gamble it away at the track all day. No not just the track. Anywhere they played I went looking for an easy win. Suppose at this point you'd like me to say I spent heavy and lost big, and that's how I became this miserable wreck sitting here now? That would be too easy."

"It's not my place to judge."

"Gambling became a rush for me. I became so arrogant that I actually grabbed our life savings and bet it all on one big race. My wife... she found out and hurried straight to the track to stop me. She even brought the kid along too, just to rub the guilt in my face – not that it changed anything. But the bet was already through. For the next hour my wife roared in my face non-stop, breaking between panic stricken fits and back to yelling. Then the bell rang and the intercom buzzed with our results. We won. Quadrupled our money. Suddenly she wasn't so mad no more."

"She forgave you?"

"Never. But with all that extra money who's going to complain, right? Thing is, this other guy there wasn't so lucky. He started running his mouth about how we must have cheated, and how he deserved the money. Things started to get ugly."

"He hurt your wife? Your child?"

"No. He didn't hurt the kid or my wife. He boxed me in the face, ploughed me straight to the floor then took off."

"Ruined the moment did it?"

"No. It felt amazing, actually. I'd never been hit harder yet it really did feel amazing. I didn't care about being hit, that's why it felt so great. With the money I made, I never needed to care ever again. That's what the punch made me realise."

"You became euphoric in your joy. Anyone would. If you really did gamble so much I'm sure you felt the opposite effect more than once before."

"You're a priest not a shrink."

"Sorry. I used to council gambling addicts - old habits."

"I kept smiling even as my wife drove us home. The money made me feel... powerful – a little click in my mind that made me feel a little closer to invincible. I don't know... it was a little dreamer's click at the back of my mind which only served to enhance the big win. No. That little click, it became the purpose behind the win. The new, better high. It changed everything. I wouldn't understand until I went back to the track with half my winnings."

"Surely you didn't?"

"I would have. I'd have tossed it back right then and there, when something caught my eye. The business section of the local paper had been left open on the betting shelf. Nobody came to serve me so I took the paper and sat down to wait."

"I'm to imagine this was an unusual action for you to take."

"There were all kinds of deals going on. Suffice to say, I realised the market in this city had fallen to something of a state. Local businesses were literally begging for investors and unfinished housing estates needed funding. And there was me with all that money."

"You decided to help fix the city?"

"In a way," Rum laughed. "It occurred to me then that if I gambled the money here and now I'd be risking it for what had become buttons to me. Sure, if I won the bet, money would be great. But it wouldn't be the same as that first win. That day I had come to the track for another satisfying rush. I wasn't going home without one. Funny, the things that went through my head at that time. By the end of the day I hired a guy and set about my investments."

"It does sound a bit more honest than gambling. I'm sure your wife appreciated it."

"My wife saw it as nothing but another crock. Sure I'd quit gambling but all she saw was a new way for me to catch another risk based high."

"It wasn't?"

"It was. Of course it was. Whether gambling or investing, my mind was always centred on the rush. Difference was, only one of them could cure that little click that had been biting into me since that guy punched me. I began investing just to feel it again. No. More like I threw money into it. And that's probably why my wife left me. Hell, I know that's the reason. When I decided to invest all that money she went through the same motions as that night back at the track. She screamed. She panicked. Except this time when the good news came in she'd already packed her bags. Didn't matter that I made profit, she took off with the kid without little much else to say to me."

"So you regret choosing power and money over your family. Time isn't so forgiving but God will forgive so long as you are truly sorry."

"It's fine. I didn't give a crap about them."

"So... that isn't why you came here?"

"No. It never really fazed me."

"Didn't you love them?"

"Things had always been shaky with that wife of mine. My little summary didn't show much of it, but she was a gold digging bitch, truth be told. She only ever worried when she stood a chance of losing big."

"But if she only wanted you for money then why would she leave you in the end?"

"Because I'm a loose cannon. I was a gambling addict, no denying it. She couldn't handle the stress that I might eventually take a gamble and turn up short. She was happy with my money. Of course she was also happier with more money but never at the risk of losing everything she had. She decided to throw in the towel and take everything she could before I wound up pissing it down the tube. She took half my money and fled into the sunset with some Spanish banker or something. That was the worst of it all."

"Losing the money was really worse than losing your child?"

"Hey now, I didn't say the kid was mine. The woman already had that kid before I even met her. He was a spoiled little brat too, I hardly knew him. He was worse than his mother."

"Surely she loved you, and at some point, you her?"

"Reverse it, father. I loved her to bits when we first married - I was a fool to trust her. Sure I loved her, but at some point I had to grow out of being a fool. Frankly, it felt good to be rid of her. The separation opened doorways. I could do what I wanted without that greedy little nagging voice over my shoulder."

"So you tossed your wife and decided to invest in land instead. I have to wonder what business a man like the one you speak has coming to my church."

"She tossed me. I couldn't do much else so investing's what I did. Of course, time came when it bored me too. I decided to stop investing in other people's companies and set about starting my own. That is to say I threw other people out of there's. They were going under any way so I thought of it as a favour."

"You really did, did you?"

"Not very reassuring of you there, father."

"I'm a priest not a shrink."

"I couldn't think the way I used to. I became proud. I became arrogant. Remember that little click at the back of my mind I mentioned? Well it burrowed right into my skull and stayed with me 24/7 – the constant high. The only method of matching a buyout was planning the buyout. I had these schemes, see. I used to take the best employees from my rivals. That way their quality of service tended to decline. Add a few paid rumours and bribed technicians and it'd be enough for them to sell out at the first offer. It was like a giant board game and I was the only one who realised the game started."

"It did used to be a relatively sleepy city, at least, as I remember it from my childhood."

"And that's who I am - the character of our story. I know it's not the best character introduction but I hope it gives you some insight... or knowledge into the kind of guy I was. I need you to know these things so it's easier for you to hear me out, and hopefully forgive me."

"So... have you thought of your first line?"

"I'll start with: it happened in a launderette ten years ago..."

Through the dividing screen the priest's silhouette shuffled up with renewed interest. He remained in such a position listening more keenly than he thought he might.

***

Back then the man, who would later be known as Rum, had a fancy for suits. He'd buy one from each store, some in doubles if he liked the designs. He preferred suits. It's all he started wearing since regular clothing became something of a drag to him, tattered rags like he wore in the past. He'd become a success and with it he needed to dress the part, which he did with proud avengeance.

It was something of a hindrance, however, that with all his suits which held him in this lifestyle there were few launderettes in this whole city catering for them. Most considered it a risk to clean such expensive fabrice. He had just the one laundrette nearby. It was a nice little place at a nice little intersection which he seemed to always pass wherever his office of the day turned up. It was a prime location for a prime market. Naturally, even as the man relished their honourable service he'd being eying up the land since day one.

So he continued to use their services, returning weekly for pick ups and drop offs. Time would come though, as it so often does for the snake in the grass, when he relinquished his devotion for their services. So he went from saying please and thank you, to angered screams and claims of disappointment.

Rum couldn't remember if there was something valid in his complaints or if he fabricated the whole dispute. With his mindset back then he'd do both and think the latter.

He'd started complaining about damaged suits mostly, which, when seen by enough people couldn't be good for public relations.

On this one occasion when he complained, which was his fourth occasion, the store was empty save one clerk and a female ginger haired customer holding onto her newborn who cried persistently in her arms. Her older son, of perhaps ten years with a head of equally ginger hair, ran around the store playing imaginary aeroplanes. It was clear by the woman's expression that she harboured no sympathy for that man in front of her and his inconsequential nit-picking.

Rum could remember standing on the customer side of the counter, both staring and screaming down the weedy little clerk opposite with little regard for the red haired woman's tried patience.

Rum had an eye for people back then - at least he thought he did. There was a look about this be-speckled clerk. The way he wore that tight buttoned up shirt with those ghastly circular spectacles, the way he shied under his unkempt gelled down hair. Any sod could tell this fool wasn't going to stick up for himself. The way he spoke confirmed it.

"Now... hold on a second... you. I-I don't want any trouble here. I keep telling you your suit is exactly as you left it."

Rum waved the bagged suit in anger. "The hell it is! Look at this thing! All these crinkles weren't in it before. What about this rip here? What about the dirt? You have any idea how much this cost me."

"B–but we didn't do anything. You won't even show it to me."

Rum swung the suit straight to the clerk's face then pulled it back as fast. "There, see the damage?"

"I couldn't see."

"Like I need your opinion."

With child in arms the red haired woman approached the clerk aggressively. "Look, I'm in a hurry here. Can I just get my clothes and go? I need it for a party in two hours." She snapped back to her eldest who whizzed about making rattata sounds for an epic plane battle. "Sit down!"

Rum turned to her. "That's right, shut your eyes and let them rip you off. How many times have they tried this on you? Bet you always let them away with it. Of course that's what you did. You've no other choice. There's not another cleaners for miles."

She looked straight over the man to the clerk. "Please, I need to go now. My friend will be here any minuet to pick me up."

From a backroom behind the counter a rather plump woman wearing a grey dress suit walked out to address the situation. Before speaking she finished tying her long black hair into a ball.

From previous encounters Rum recognised her immediately as the store manager.

"Is there a problem here, Leon?" the manager asked the clerk.

"It's this man again," the clerk replied.

"So I see. Has another suit been damaged on you? This is the third time isn't it?"

"Fourth."

"Leon, help the lady. I'll deal with this gentleman... again."

"Help me by offering a refund."

"For the suit in your hands? May I see it?"

"No."

"I can't help if you won't let me look at it, sir."

"There's nothing wrong with it," Leon could be heard mumbling as he attended to the red haired lady.

"Shut up you bag of sticks!" Rum snapped him down.

A heated exchange of opinion followed between the manager, the clerk and the man in his expensive black suit. The red haired woman merely combed fingers through her hair in frustration.

Overshadowed by all the noise, the entrance bell over the door chimed with little attention for it. As they argued, a man wearing a dark blue hoodie entered and stood, for all they noticed at the time, passively in third place behind the red haired woman.

Even as the three continued yelling it was oddly noticeable how the eldest son's whirling and rattata noises ceased suddenly. No one but the mother herself noticed the boy when he spoke up.

"Mommy," he said.

"Not now," she replied, fingers massaging forehead to lessen the ruckus.

The child ran to her side, tugging on her hand. "Mommy," he said again, pointing at the hooded stranger.

The mother carried a lazy eye down to her son, only to carry the same eye back up to the hooded gentlemen.

The hooded man only allowed them to see the lower section of his face, which presented itself with certain calmness. Or as calm as a man could appear when holding a gun at three people too busy raging at each other to notice. There was a toothy grin too.

That grin cut it most. That's what sent the mother, with her children in arms, hurdling back safely into the black suited man, who turned in surprise. The clerk named Leon and the manager too turned in surprise.

For all the hooded man's patience they'd finally acknowledged him. He held a gun which none of them could identify but it was small like a pistol and appeared capable of firing in rapid procession.

"Money!" the hooded man yelled. "Now!"

The manager curdled up like a scared hamster, shaking head as if unable to understand. By all appearance the clerk could do no better. He didn't seem consciously aware when he opened the till and handed a bag full of cash over the counter.

"You too! Give me your purse, your jewellery – come on, come on!" the hooded man yelled at the red haired woman.

She obeyed, shielding the kids behind her.

Then the gun turned to that black suited man.

"You look well loaded. Show me your wallet." His eyes rolled over the man's clothing. "That's some suit - looks expensive. Strip it."

The man stared quietly. Over shoulder he could hear the clerk's voice begging for obedience.

Rum shook his head against the suggestion.

By some nervous response the gun man wiped his nose. At least that's how Rum perceived it. It looked like panic rising in the gunman's eyes too. Back then Rum thought himself good at reading people. And what he read told him this robber was bluffing. If he could hold out a while longer this punk would run away.

So Rum grinned. "No. I'm not scared of you. You think that gun makes you look tough – I bet it's not even loaded."

"Just give me your stuff man!"

"I like my suit. It's my favourite."

"Listen – man!"  
"No you listen. You're just another sorry little punk brat out for some easy cash. I see that face under there, you don't look twenty. I bet I could snap that gun out of your hand before you pull the trigger. What you gonna do? The cops are coming."

The gun man moved, or jolted, or twitched. In any case Rum read it as aggression and flicked the gun arm aside in an attempt to disarm.

A string of bullets fired. Cries followed.

When the bullet spray ended Rum stood there with a ringing in his ears. He heard the gunman cry something, which most certainly did sound like panic, right before he fled stumbling out the front door.

In the field of vision granted by swirling gun smoke, the man could see bullet holes lined along the wall. The line gapped in spots where the blood splashed.

The ringing in his ear died down for a horrible screeching of a young larynx. The eldest ginger haired son wailed, cradling his lifeless mother in arms, batting not an eye for the river blood flowing from a bullet hole in her head. It was something else to witness, or realise, that the child was not cradling her but attempting to lift her. She'd fallen flat down and the baby lay crushed beneath her weight. Blood too spurted from the thing. And it twitched too, and like its mother stopped shortly after.

As if to escape this scene the man turned away to face the counter where the manager and clerk stood previously. They were gone now. One hand had slipped out from under the counter. It was a plump hand of female delicacy. It didn't move.

***

Old Rum finished the story with chin rested serenely on his palm. It didn't matter in what tone he told the tale or how much he sobbed or what regret he could vent. All that mattered now was this priest had paid attention, and understood his words.

A shrill silence resonating from the opposite chamber suggested the priest understood all too well. It took some time for the priest to speak up again.

"Aubern... Nathan Aubern... is that you?"

Rum contemplated then sighed before answering. "Yeah... it's me."

Chapter 29

Rum clicked the confessional door open and left for a pew in the front row. He gazed straight ahead at the altar in wait for the priest to follow. By all appearances Rum sat like a man waiting nervously for a job interview.

In time the other confessional door did click open and Rum could again hear those hard bottom shoes tapping up closer from behind.

"You came all this way, you could at least turn and look me in the eye," the priest said. "It is you isn't it? It really is you."

"I've changed a lot," Rum replied, still without turning.

"Your clothing has, at least," the priest retorted. "You didn't come here for confession. Why did you come here?"

"I came on a hunch. I saw a donation request for this church over in the shopping centre. I saw your name signed at the bottom of the notice and figured it too high a coincidence to ignore. I couldn't be sure if it was you but... I just had to come here."

"Well... I'm glad some use came of those notices – even if it does bring a man like you here... over someone more decent."

"Believe me, I'm not the man I used to be."

"I always thought you'd say that when did eventually make your return. I didn't want you to either, to be honest. I don't want to forgive you. I don't want anyone to think you're worthy of it either."

"I understand but..."

"But you haven't changed. The way you live has. As for the way you think, the way you act, I doubt very much those things have changed.

"You won't even let me speak."

"I don't need to hear you. You come here with that stench of alcohol hanging all over your clothes and expect me to believe you've been trying to change."

"It helps me..."

"It helps you forget. It makes hiding easier. Is this what you've been doing with yourself, Nathan? You spent these last ten years half dead down some alley hanging onto your bottles. Honestly, I'd have thought better from you."

Rum turned to confront the words but instead found himself staring vacantly upon meeting with that face again. The priest, with his ginger hair and turnip cheeks seemed not to have changed since Rum last saw him as a child, when he tried in vain to lift his own mother's lifeless body. The eyes had changed. They'd changed from dripping tears to a stern glare which seemed never to have cried since. Rum could see his own reflection in them - he looked miserable under his beard and rags.

"No... you can't say anything, can you?" the priest continued. "Yeah, I thought with the life you had made for yourself you might present a little more dignity. Even though you dropped off the face of the Earth I always assumed you'd show up one day, just to apologise, but you never did. So Instead I started to look for you."

"You did? I never realised."

"Even from the very day it happened I went looking for you. I wanted you to see... I wanted to show you... Well, I don't know what I wanted. I was only a kid back then. I didn't know what I was feeling."

"How long did you look for me?"

"Five years from that night I wandered the hospital with no mother to cry to. You remained at the back of my mind. With every morning newspaper, I would read it subconsciously scanning for your name. You didn't appear in one until I was seventeen."

"I can guess which one. Found the paper lying on the ground with my own picture staring right up at me. It was about the millionaire who vanished off the face of the earth. I might have disappeared long before it was printed, but my stocks kept going up, along with my bank balance."

"People started wondering who you were, and more importantly, where you were. It hit me then, when all those people couldn't find you rthat you really had disappeared. It left a hole in me to know I would never get a chance to face you down. It left me empty, like a huge space had been torn out of my soul. I actually stopped hating you then."

Rum perked up from his shame.

"But the emptiness was worse than hate. I realised where I was standing in life, going nowhere without a plan for direction. I had wasted so much time looking for revenge. It was then I found my path veering toward God. The change happened so suddenly but when it did I knew the change had been in the works for a long time."

"I'm happy things worked for you."

"You came here looking for my forgiveness... I can't give it to you. Part of me would like to, but a larger part still hates you. I can speak some words and make you leave with a smile built on a lie, but instead I'll tell you something... Nathan, it's time you stopped drinking and started suffering. When you make an active attempt to grasp the things that happened, come see me then and I'll try forgiving you."

"I understand."

"But remember what I told you... time isn't as forgiving as God. You can come to my church and ask for God's forgiveness but I am not God. God forgives you... so long as you are truly sorry. Unlike myself, who is mortal, God does not judge based on deeds but the testimony of the spirit. Don't try concealing the spirit with phoney deeds, but understand the deeds committed to quell the spirit... that is the first step."

"It's a long step."

"You'll have to take it. And most often it is easier to take the next step forward by taking one step back."

"Father?"

"Try returning to your past life and fixing the problems you left behind to grow. What I mean is, you're company has become quite a burden on this city. It's really gone quite out of control. Pretty soon I may even be getting offers to sell up."

Rum nodded understanding. "Yeah... I know. My own company's been such a pain in my own ass for a long time. But it's not out of control, far from it. It's doing exactly what I told it. Before I left to the street I put directions in place, orders really, with the leading shareholders. I ordered them to follow my rules as I'd already put down. That's all they're doing now. But there weren't any rules about going too far. The company continued to grow, swallowing anything it could, from hospitals to nursing homes. And it's all my fault."

"It used to be. One could say the old you did those things."

"I thought you said I hadn't really changed."

"Not really, but you did come to see me. Even if I would have appreciated the visit coming a lot sooner, it still stands as a sign of maturity on your part."

"Maturity," Rum said, grinning. "Look at me... taking life lessons from a pup like you."

The priest vented a half-smile. "It's not so bad. I am a priest you know. What I meant, Nathan, was that the old you has been running for some time. He ran so long until he finally ran up the steps of my church. When he did finally decide to come here, the old you decided it's time to hang up the gloves and pass away. He entered my church but you're the one who's going to leave."

"Shame the new me is still a drunken bum."

"Then go back to your own life, you're real life where you aren't a bum. From what I hear, with my limited understanding of all things business, is that a lot of people will welcome you back with open arms. You never have to worry about people rejecting your claim over the company."

"It's not that. I don't care about rejection. I just don't think I'm ready to go back. I might be a bum... but I sort of like being a bum. It's a bit strange, I know."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, you say the old me died today but, to be honest, I always thought he died a long time ago, when I should have."

"Excuse me?"

"Roughly ten years ago I wanted to kill myself. I'd written up a suicide note and everything. In all truth, I should have done it that night."

"What changed your mind?"

"Booze."

"I see."

"It's not that simple. See, half way en-route to the nearest bridge I started feeling a bit shaky, so I went to the nearest store and bought the largest bottle whiskey I could find. So I walked on toward my destiny, slugging back the fantasy squash, when out of nowhere this little brat runs up and snatches my wallet. I didn't have anything in it except my suicide note. That's why I chased after the guy."

"For what purpose?"

"Spite... maybe. If I was gonna die, I was gonna die with my own suicide note. Not a reprint."

"That's... forgiveable."

"The whiskey made more sense of it." Rum coughed. "So... I chased the thieving bastard all the way into Middle Park, where I lost him. With no other plan I just wandered around, staggering and drinking till the drink ran dry. The rain was pretty bad that night too – I must have looked pathetic. I stayed there at the centre of the park, miserable as hell, looking for an easy way to end it all."

"And what changed your mind?"

"God threw a car at me."

The priest stared curiously. "A car you say?" He waited for further explanation until none came. "Well... okay. It doesn't really explain how it saved you."

"You know, I think it does. I never really thought about it before but let's say it helped me meet someone that night, someone who needed me. If I hadn't met her, I'd have gone straight off to that bridge. And after that night, I always believed that's what happened to the old me. That night the old me died, the new me was born a bum, but a bum with someone to care for."

"And the two of you stay together despite your short comings?"

"Well, it's more a posse nowadays. And yeah, we get by, even if our lives are pretty much irrelevant to most people. Sure we fight a lot, and I pick on others more than some but we get along. I trust them."

"So you see, you're richer than most."

"I already was." Rum smiled wryly.

The priest laughed. "Yes... yes you are."

When the laughter died Rum allowed time for a sigh. "Listen... father. I know... there's probably not much room in your faith for a guy who's behaved like me. And I know you won't forgive me. I want you to know... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what happened to your mother and brother. If I hadn't been such an arrogant prick that day then the robber would have grabbed the money and run. It's all my fault."

"Thank you. That does mean a lot to me."  
Rum nodded.

"You make me angry," the priest continued. "If I'd chosen a simple man's life I would yell at you, spit in your face and punch you till you passed out. Part of me wants to. But I chose God. When God steers ship the savagery of a man's heart should lose the helm. Put simply, I wouldn't be much of a priest if I couldn't try to forgive you."

"That's all I'd like. Thank you."

"And no, Nathan, it may not have been entirely your fault."

"Father?"

"Maybe you did cause the fray which triggered the trigger but don't forget there was a man behind that gun. A man arrested two months later for the shooting of an elderly lady – it was the same gun I believe. She died. And as far as I know the man has failed to show any remorse for it. It may not mean redemption, or even be comforting to hear, but never scratch out the true evils of the world, Nathan."

"Damn... I'd almost forgotten the gun-man. Rat bastard. You know, I even felt sorry for the guy. How long did he get?"

"Ten years - served one. He's out now and lives quite the lifestyle. Nowadays he has his own army of youths doing the hold ups for him. Maybe you've heard of him before. His name is Jack Matters."

Rum's eye twitched for the familiar name. "Jack Matters? Yeah, I think I've heard of him."

"Are you... familiar with that scene then?"

"Not even close. I don't know how we do it but me and my group always managed to stay away from gangs - tough as it is sometimes. Not to say we haven't had our run-ins with crime."

"On the receiving end, I imagine."

Rum grinned in response.

"Have you had such encounters with Jack Matters since?" the priest asked.

"Indirectly. We've visited his bar and scuffled with some of his goons. Then there was that fire too – see, when we first decided to set out on this fascicle adventure we came across this burning building. Two of my friends went in to help someone escape. All three wound up in hospital. As I understand it Mr. Matters has a reputation for setting rival property on fire."

"That's true... rival meaning anyone who makes money. Whatever doesn't sell out gets burned down. It's one of those public secrets. Everyone knows except the police. In reality he's a coward, and a stupid one at that. He's going out of his way to draw so much attention to his name, inevitably it'll be his downfall."

"Yeah, he seems to be quite the vocal one that. It's a sure sign of a small time amateur. If a man wants to think big, he has to hide in the dark and sort out the pieces from off stage. Anything else is suicide."

"You don't sound in any way surprised. Doesn't it surprise you to know how you and he are connected?"

"One week ago I didn't know there was a Jack Matters. One hour ago I didn't know the gunman's name. One year from now no one will ever have to hear his name again. It doesn't matter what connection he has to me. Either way he's a murdering bastard with a bull's eye on his head."

"You don't wish he finds his own redemption? Some people seem to think God has a plan for all of us."

"Good luck to him. Good riddance too. I hope he finds a place on God's twisted plan train."

"There's always a reason. Jack Matters, no matter his life choice, still has purpose to him. In time I've even come to see the death of my baby brother and mother as more than coincidence. Same goes for your coming here today."

"If this is all a plan I don't see it working to well."

"People rarely do. It's not about seeing it. It's about looking back at it when everything is done and finished. Your life now in this instant is like one square on a huge mosaic. Finish it, then try looking at the big picture."

"And this is your big picture – become a priest? That's it? No offence intended, padre."

"Well, it's important to remember that your completed mural is but one section on the wall of life. It's all one enormous canvas with some murals intersecting and others staying on their own. Some cross each other in ways we're never even meant to see. The beauty of it is that we lay every piece ourselves. God will do little but guide our hands. Inevitably, it is we who decide whether we intersect or whether we stay alone."

"That's some speech but it doesn't answer my question."

"That was my answer. Since I became a priest that is how I view the world. It helps me cope, you could say. My closeness to God allows me to stand back and become more familiar with the canvas we call life."

"So you understand God's plan for us all then?"

"No. I'm more like a guide at an art gallery helping tourists understand the meaning behind their own pictures. Some people listen. Some people wander off on their own."

"But four people died in my picture... that's a lot of red paint."

"Three people, actually. Not that I'm any happier to tell you."

"Three people?"

"I'd feel bad for your miscalculation, if you hadn't disappeared quickly after the incident."

"Yes... father," Rum paused to absorb the repeated scolding. "So... who survived?"

"Leon. You remember Leon?"

"Leon... yeah sure. I remember. He was that scrawny little four eyed clerk who couldn't stand up for himself - actually reminds me of a friend of mine. How the hell did that wimp take a bullet?"

"He didn't. He fainted when the gun fired. They revived him in hospital later that night."

"You've really done your research on the whole thing. I mean, you even knew what happened to the gun-man."

"I told you. I was obsessed. I know what happened to everyone involved that day, everyone from the police who arrived first to the paramedics who left last. I made it my business to know... but to be honest I never did pay much attention to Leon. I just sort of glossed over him during my investigations, I guess."

"At least the mistake's not so rare," Rum said with a guilty shrug. "But... how did you find all this out then?"

"He came to me. Shortly after I became a priest in this church he showed up here to commemorate the event. This was the church she would take us to, you see. Like myself, he arrived at this place in honour of her memory. It was a grand coincidence."

"Of intersecting mosaics."

"One's which crossed right under this altar. We each stood there aside one another, each miserable with our heads bowed, until we looked at one another... then nodded greeting. In light of the bigger picture I now see that nod as a subtle gesture from God to reward my faith."

"And what about Leon's fate?"

"That was the topic of the hour. We got to talking, of course. It turned out Leon hadn't faired so well since that day – he had horrible, horrible luck which isn't in my place to divulge. So we talked anyway. He came back almost daily and we talked more and more until he eventually became part of my congregation. And then, eventually, we began to talk about missionary work. Leon saw it as his calling and accepted the offer with open arms. Who was I to disagree with a man's calling?"

"And he just dropped everything and ran off?"

"Yes... to Africa. He did leave a younger brother behind but he was at that age by then – too old to be held, too old to hang on"

"Leon found his calling through you. Intersecting mosaics... I think I see what you mean. I understand now."

"We never really understand – not really. We never understand the picture. We can only understand ourselves... where we stand and who we really are - not the cloak we put on show for others."

"Who I really am? Where do I stand? Are these things yet to be revealed, or has my doorway closed for good?"

"It opens when you decide."

"Father!" Rum bolted to his feet. "I've enjoyed our time together."

"Pity, I can't say it was all too entertaining for me."

"Sorry doc, bad word choice," Rum said with a nod. "I don't mean to run off but..."

"You have your friends waiting for you. I understand. Perhaps you, like Leon before, would return some day."

"So I can join your congregation too?"

"It is quite small."

"Sorry father. Not even sure I buy this whole God thing to be honest... sorry."

"Then perhaps... I might give you this instead..."

Rum held out his hand to receive what he knew would come. He took the small pocket bible and tucked it safely to his deep trench coat pocket.

"I'll read it if I find time."

"You're lying. You're a bum. You have nothing but time."

"True that. So... maybe next time we can talk outside in the real world? Man to man – you know?"

"Sure, we'll grab a burger somewhere. Bathe first."

"Only if you lay off the philosophical ramblings."

"It comes with the position. Maybe the atmosphere of the local burger joint will ease my edge a little."

"Make sure to pick one I don't already own."

"Could you even tell?"

"Not really. That list got away from me a long time ago."

Rum laughed wryly under breath, which the priest did in kind. It was when they finished and found themselves with nothing left to say, that Rum turned and made a hand gesture toward the exit. The priest nodded understanding and bid him last farewell.

It wasn't quite that they ran out things to say, but more so the realisation of the gathering crowd building outside the confessional booth. A crowd of five or so elderly gathered, one old lady stared her watch down as though waiting for a bus which had never once come late.

With the old bum already making way back down the aisle, the priest couldn't help but pass over the crowd and watch him make exit.

"You are a strange God," he thought to himself, "all this time building one man's faith and you end up testing mine. Intersecting mosaics... it had turned out to be a useful saying in the end. Those religious documentary sets I purchased finally paid off."

The priest quickly blessed himself to prevent his blasphemous thoughts from polluting the air. He then picked up some air freshener to lessen the other more literal pollutant lingering about, and trailing that old bum out the door.

***

Immediately after descending the church steps, old Rum examined the pocket bible. The way it suddenly appeared in his hand he couldn't help but feel like a tourist at the airport.

"A bible? Seriously?"

He shuffled the pages with passive interest then turned to the nearest passer by with renewed interest.

"Hey buddy!" Rum called to the blue suited man. "Here, take this. You'll need it more than I do."

"I don't want it!" the blue suited man cried back, bible having been slammed into his hand.

"Yeah whatever. Go with Christ."

"Fucking bums! They have you people on strings these days!" the man yelled again, but his target already got away. He shrugged for it then tucked the small book into shirt pocket as any man would for many of the brochures tossed in his face throughout the day.

***

Alex, Sierra and Henry waited at their restaurant of choice. The place didn't make any effort presenting itself as the fanciest dive in town, or the finest tasting, but it was situated on the lower floor of the shopping centre with a clear view of the main entrance should Rum decide to stumble through at some point. Which, talk at the table suggested he would be doing.

"That's it," Sierra said, "he's off getting drunk."

"But he's got no money," Henry replied.

"What else could keep Rum this long?"

"You've got me there."

"Maybe we should go look for him."

"I don't know. I'm sort of enjoying the... atmosphere here," Henry replied, inclining her attention toward a television set up on the wall. "I don't get to see TV much these days. I'm hoping they show some anime. That would be great."

Sierra sighed. "Can't see them doing that, this place looks geared more toward adults. Christ, Henry, you're such a nerd."

Henry laughed. "Guilty."

"Doesn't look like you'd have much hope anyway. Everyone's glued to the news."

The television had been placed for customer benefit but currently much of the staff dropped their duties to gather around its ever enticing screen. It looked like a news report. Whatever it was or whatever it said didn't go far into the attentive vision of the bums.

Sierra lay back in her seat and rested her eyes. "It's just the news. Who gives a fuck?"

"Looks like it could be interesting," Henry replied.

"None of our business."

"Looks like a local report."

"How do you figure?"

"People are paying attention. It's either really big news or small enough for this city."

"No reason it should keep us. Terrorists won't ruin my day."

"I'd still just like to watch it for a while."

Sierra sighed. "This is stupid. Maybe we should just vote on what we should be doing? Alex, you on for tracking Rum down or watching the news?"

Alex didn't reply. He sat staring into his coffee, idly stirring it over and over again. He hunched over a table like a man nights without sleep.

"Alex?" Sierra asked, leaning his direction. "What are you doing?"

"Watching..." he replied.

"Watching?"

"Watching... telly." He continued stirring and staring into his coffee.

Sierra fell away slowly with certain weariness. "I'll leave you to it then."

Both Sierra and Henry looked at one another quite perplexed but all too familiar with Alex and his attitudes. They let it pass and sipped drinks in silence. Another hour, they'd give Rum.

Of course time wouldn't pass in peace. Loud but distant police sirens rang forebodingly onto their ears. Their tires screeched round corners and drove on faster yet again.

Triumphant yells came from those in the restaurant who gazed fixedly at the news report.

"Can you believe it!?" one yelled.

"That's right outside!" another mimicked.

"It's near the church!"

"We'll keep you updated," the news report on Television interrupted, knocking the crowd to silence. The barman upped the volume as if to tell everyone to stay that way.

Then the news cast continued louder like a screaming drunk man with nothing of worth to say, leaving nowhere else to look.

"-happened moments ago," it bellowed in a soft quiet female voice. "-two armed gun-men burst into the bank demanding they hand over everything available. Reports are sketchy at this moment in time but it is believed they left with a minimum of two hundred thousand dollars. Police have begun chasing the suspects who are currently believed to be driving a silver van down Church-Street."

A picture of the silver van appeared on screen. Alex reacted to it like a zombie reacts to a shiny light in the sky.

"Silver Van... was... parked outside... Grey Oaks retirement home."

Sierra acknowledged Alex with the same weariness she had previously, then turned to the picture of the van. "Hey... that does look like the same silver van from Grey Oaks."

Sierra silenced to let the TV continue...

"Due to problems brought about by the recent snowstorm, and the incompetence of our city's police force, detectives have asked for the public's aid in identifying the couple. One of whom has been identified as a middle aged man, dark-brown hair, wearing both a black rain coat and matching trousers. His accomplice is believed to be female, middle aged, with light brown hair. That's all we have."

"Description matches them too," Sierra stated. "Oh boy... so they were serious after all."

"Now... remember we did agree to turn a blind eye," Henry added.

"I didn't take it seriously, to be honest. Well... so long as no one gets hurt..." Sierra replied.

"Someone has been killed!" the reporter cried triumphantly.

Sierra gasped.

"No... sorry. Not killed... someone has in fact been shot and may die shortly. Wait – what's that? We apologise for the mistake folks, someone has been shot but remains unharmed." She paused. "Sorry?" she spoke again to her ear peace.

"These clowns," Sierra groaned, "they're unbelievable."

"We have no footage of events at this moment in time but I have just been informed we have a live feed with the victim of the shooting now."

The screen clicked to a man in a blue suit. A reporter stood off screen holding a mike below the man's mouth. He asked some questions which the man spoke over."

"The bullet bounced right off," the blue suited man yelled, wielding a dented pocket bible in hand. "To think I'd be dead right now if this little thing hadn't been in my pocket."

The reporter asked if he was a religious man.

The man scoffed at the thought and explained how he'd never touched a bible in his life. He only received this one when some church freak, 'smelt like a bum', handed the bible to him moments before he'd gone to the bank. To think I'd be dead, he trailed off again.

Henry stared at the screen. "The Bullet was blocked by a bible... that's pretty cool. Lucky guy."

"Why can't we be so lucky?" Sierra replied. "They can keep the bullet but how about a lucky lottery ticket some time. Our situation right now seems like one of those scratch and win moments from the ads. Or maybe Rum could get lucky and stumble his way back faster."

"Not my fault you chose awkward seats," a gritty old voice spoke from out of sight.

Sierra spun round to find that old coot standing right there. "How do you always sneak up like that!?"

"You just gotta learn to be a little more attentive - just like me."

"Sure, attentive is your middle name," Sierra groaned, eying that grin on his face warily. "What has you so happy?"

"Paid a little visit to someone I used to know. That's it."

"From the smile on your face I'd bet it was hooker."

"Someone a little higher up the ladder. Just a little higher. So what's for grubs?"

"Our leftovers. The money's gone."

"That's too bad but it's for the best. Time's short, no point eating it away. We'd better set off."

"Set off? We've no place else to go."

"Sure we do. Home."

"Back to Middle Park is it? So that's why you're so happy."

"Can't blame me. Look, the party's over. We've run out of leads. Not that I don't want to sit around moping on this or anything but there's jack shit we can do now. We tried our best to help this guy. No one else did. No need to beat ourselves up over it now is there?"

"Old Rum, always the optimist in retreat," Sierra said. "I don't know what to say... there's nothing left do to do so you've had worse ideas. Can't believe we're just going back to the park after all this. It'll be like doing everything in reverse, except this time there's nothing for us to achieve."

"At least we won't have to go tracking down complete strangers."

"True. I don't know, it just doesn't seem right... us going all the way back to that place. I mean, for what? We don't even have a reason to stay in Middle Park."

"It's our home. Don't need a reason to go home."

"Anywhere can be our home. All we have to do is sit down on a bench and we're as good as home. What if we never go back?"

"You won't miss our crap shack?"

"So named for a reason."

"Quit the belly aching. That place is ours, public property or not. No one's lost so long as they have a home to go back to, and so long as we have our little crap shack, we'll do just fine."

"You almost make the shack sound nice. No doubt I'll find you plastered in it shortly after we get back."

"About that... I've sort of been rethinking things. Well... I was sort of thinking of-"

Alex coughed once then fell forward onto the table. The seat fell from under him, dropping him to the ground. His skin flushed with a sudden heavy paleness. Blood dripped from his lips.

Sierra caught him before he could hit the ground.

"Alex!?"

He didn't respond or open his eyes. He limped there in her arms like a lifeless mould of skin. Other spectators began gathering around the scene. Someone announced they were calling an ambulance.

It arrived on the scene after longer than it should have. With all the grace of circus clowns the paramedics bumbled from their wagon and plopped the tall man on an undersized gurney. For the ineptness they displayed it wasn't difficult to pin point from where they came, and to where they would be taking Alex. So it seemed they'd gained a short cut home, back to the hospital near Middle Park, where they had previously been taken after the fire.

In a matter of moments all talk of suicide and the man they failed to save became a fading memory as they gathered for an ailing friend.

Chapter 30

Darkness shrouded the hospital hallways. It was of course night-time when they arrived. Not night in the general sense but night-time as it falls in Winter. From the noises of New Years celebration building on the streets outside it might have been the thick of a busy Saturday.

The Hallways did ring with those echoes of celebration but that's all they were, the ringing cheers of someone else's

party bouncing around in an empty drum. The hospital was notably vacant sparing the odd nurse or doctor wandering with torch or sometimes candle in hand. The power outage had of course taken worse effect on this run down old place so the staff did what they could with what little they had. What few patients remained seemed to have been confined to their rooms. As for the visitors... well the only visitors on this floor happened to be three homeless people with nothing else to do but linger in the hallways to occasionally rest on the cheaply set waiting chairs dotted along the sides.

Rum kicked one of those chairs over to stress what ever declaration he intended to make. "Asshole doctors! This is twice they made us wait."

"It takes time, Rum," Sierra murmured with little resistance.

"It's already dark. In a few hours it'll be New Year..."

"What are you thinking?"

"We've been here hours and they haven't even told us if Alex is awake yet. Once all the drink related accidents start they'll forget all about us, maybe even Alex."

"We don't even know if the doctors are aware we're out here," Henry mimicked. "He passed through different hands before he even entered the emergency room. No telling who he wound up with."

With an agreeable smirk apparent Sierra straightened the toppled chair, for what it was worth. "We'll just have to go see him ourselves, like last time."

"Exactly like last time," Rum added.

Sierra responded with a sort shudder of realisation as she heard those words and noticed where it was they were standing. "Like last time... It is exactly like last time. To think we went all that way just to wind up back here."

Rum eyed the girl. "Bound to happen eventually. Reckon this is the only hospital in the city we could afford."

"That's not what I mean. You don't remember?"

"If there's any reason I should I was probably drunk at the time."

"This is the exact same place we waited on Alex and Henry after they were caught in the fire. Remember, we were sitting on these chairs right here, you were going on about the big bad company when two police officers passed. They went up in that elevator right there." She first pointed to a stairwell some ways down the hallway to indicate the way the officers came, then pointed to the elevator next to them for the way the officers left.

"Rings a bell. Two noisy cops blabbing on about the biggest case they'd ever seen in their life. What was it? Something about an apprehended suspect in some big crime case. Probably some pointless backwater shit."

"Yeah," Henry muttered with something of a titter, "some pointless shit."

"That supposed to mean something?"

"W-what? No, it's nothing... It's just funny that's all. Alex is normally the one who notices those pointless little things... the ones that usually get on your nerves. Now in the end he's got the rest of you doing it."

"In the end? What's that supposed to mean?" Rum asked.

"Alex did seem pretty sick. Actually, he's been pretty sick for a long time now. We just didn't notice."

"So? They'll fix him up with some pills like they did last time. He just needs some supplements that's all. You know the guy never eats right... and with our lifestyle..."

"And if it's more than that? People shouldn't be sick this long."

"Yet he's made it this far. He'll survive. I've seen that guy take a two by four to the face. He won't let some god damned stomach bug take him out. He only collapsed in the first place because of all the walking we've been doing. Hell, I've been close to collapsing once or twice already."

"Don't compare yourself to this," Sierra said.

"All I'm saying is it's probably not as bad as it seems. They'll hook him up to some machine and give him whatever he needs."

"What machine runs without power?" Henry asked.

"What you saying?"

"This power outage doesn't exactly improve his chance."

"He has all the chance!" Rum shouted, echo ripping through the hallway and disappearing down the endless shadow which consumed it. "He mightn't even need a machine. Hell, we don't know anything. Hold your complaints till the end."

Sierra set herself down on the waiting chair. "Not much else we can do."

"Listen to you now. You managed to traipse across this city enthusiastically looking for a complete stranger but when it comes to the life of one of your friends you got nothing positive to add."

"It's just... he never told us. If this is nothing then why would he lie?"

"What makes you think he even knew?"

"Of course he knew. Think about all his coughing, his pale skin, how he never shows an appetite. And then the doctors gave him those pills... The signs were everywhere." Sierra stared at the floor. "It was so obvious and I didn't even notice."

Rum stayed silent. He could feel some touching words arising from that dead beat heart of his, but somewhere along on the trip up they jammed and erupted as no more than an agreeable grumble. The silence resumed for a time.

Henry sat beside Sierra. "He was always like that. I guess that's why he always came out with those useless facts and strange observations. He used them to avoid talking about himself... so he could carry his demons alone."

Sierra sniffed. "Yeah... I guess he was always like that. Since the first time Rum and I met Alex, he always seemed so intent to fight alone."

***

It was a dark night in Winter. From all the time past it came difficult to remember whether there was a light drizzle of rain or a watery mist hanging in the air. At least there must have been one or the other. Alex could distinctly remember a cold dampness on his skin and clothes as he wandered aimlessly from side walk to side walk.

Alex was always taller than most people, on this night the way his wet T-shirt clung to that skinny stretched out figure of his seemed to exemplify the point. Back then his height advantage came severely stricken by a lack of muscle to back it up. Indeed, he stood over six feet but often found himself stumbling in a strong wind. People would pick on him for it. Small men and their little girlfriends found it amusing to pick on a man his size. He was an easy target for anyone who wanted trouble, especially now he was alone.

It was one of his first nights on the street. Since the agent's building burned down he'd spent the next few days moving toward middle park. It was by no means on purpose. In that lifeless state of mind he simply succumbed his direction to whatever way the ground sloped.

He arrived in Middle Park to find himself doing no more than he had been, and in no better shape to do it. None the less he stayed there for a time, staying without talking to anyone, never risking the briefest eye contact for fear of being recognised, or so he told himself. In reality he simply didn't like the way people looked at him. He'd never liked the way most people would look at him, but now there was something more to look at. He'd always been ugly but now he was ugly and a bum, worse yet a newbie bum. Worse yet a newbie bum who came off as a severe pushover. One wrong glance in the wrong man's eyes could be enough to rip him from this state of incognito.

That's what happened. One time, on a normal night on a typical street on the outskirts of Middle Park, Alex passed a man using a bank machine, sipping what appeared to be a cup of hot soup. The man glanced at Alex for the briefest moment with a clear hint of contempt on his lips.

Alex ignored it by averting his eyes, and that caused a problem. Whether Alex bumped into him by some aimless fluke or whether the man purposely bumped into him he couldn't tell. But they bumped and that cup of soup went flying over both of them.

Alex immediately apologised. When the man seemed unconvinced he apologised more sincerely.

"Look what you did you ugly freak!"

Alex at once quietened in his grovelling. It suddenly dawned on him that this accident wasn't so much one, as it was an excuse for the man to vent that contempt on Alex.

"I-I said I'm sorry. Besides, I didn't... I mean, you walked into me," Alex replied, though unsure of the truth himself.

"Don't try turn this around on me you overgrown freak. Haven't you learned to get out of the way for people yet or does your intelligence match that beat up face of yours?"

"I-It was an accident."

"One you'll be paying for. You got your wallet handy?"

Alex stared down at his feet, pausing before answering. "No. Not on me. No."

"Not on you? You even got one? What's your work?"

"I'm... a writer."

"A writer?" The man laughed. "I bet you are! I know what you are, I can see it in your face and smell it on you. You're a bum aren't you?"

Alex flinched his upper lip.

The man picked up on it. "Yeah you are. I could tell. You people all look the same - ugly rejects." He posed in an upright stance, as if impressed with his own words.

And that appeared to be the reason for all this, as Alex suspected from the start. It usually tended to be a reason as good as any, at least for most instigators of the harassment. Odd this time, that the man should be on his own. The whole point of pestering a homeless person tended to be for the sake of getting a rise out of one's own group of friends. The lack of a need to show off to anyone suggested Alex was dealing with something a little more deadly, a pure grade asshole.

"Look... I did say I'm s-sorry."

"Like I care how 's-sorry' you are. My clothes are ruined, who's going to fix that?"

"I can't do anything else."

Alex tried walking away right then only to find the man tailing after. He caught up and grabbed his arm with certain aggression, pulling Alex closer till their eyes met almost nose to nose.

"Something's going to be done about this one way or the other. You expect me to feel sorry for you just because you failed at life?"

"No."

"You people think you can get away with anything, don't you?

"No."

"Well I'm not letting you away with this."

"But I didn't do anything."

"You're a bum, a dumb ugly retard bum. That's good enough."

"I'm not a bum."

"Then what are you?"

"I'm..."

"Well?"

"I am..."

The man laughed. "You can't even admit it yet. Your time's up fella, you aren't a boy any more. You fucked up. You were too fucking stupid so now you've wound up here. Look at you... I can treat you like shit and there's nothing you can do. That's your prize in life. You know that don't you?"

"Get away from me." Alex broke the man's hold. "I'll c-call the police."

"The police! Good God you are delusional. I could beat your head into this pathway and the cops would throw you in a cell for the night. The police won't take your word over mine."

That statement cut it most. Through all the man's bullshit rambling this was one statement he knew to be true, or one repeated to him so frequently he'd come to recognise it as. In the end it would come down to whoever yelled the loudest to the police, and Alex's voice had turned coarse and no longer up for the task.

Alex felt his fists tighten till nails pierced skin. He felt his teeth grit against one another till it hurt. He felt his eyes circle in on the man's throat so that his hands could find a good grip on his larynx. He closed his eyes.

"They're all the same. Bastards," Alex spoke through teeth. "It was mine. Give it back. You bastards!"

Alex punched the man across chin sending him to the ground. He followed through as intended, wrapping large hands around small throat and squeezing so the man gasped, arms flailing in all manner of apologetic movements one could be capable of in such a state. Again Alex hit him down, beating him again and again, harder till the man's face swamped with blood, till his mouth spilled over with it.

"You bastard!" he yelled, face awash in the red splashes he created. "It's mine!" he cried, voice distant from the scene in front of his eyes. "You'd no right! It was mine! It's mine! It's mine, you bastard, it's mine!"

It was the man's own fault. Not because of his ill-view of homeless people. No. Half this beating would pay for that in full. It was the man's eyes that prevented Alex from stopping. His eyes, and the way his face twisted with all the innocence one man could feel, as if wondering, with each blow wondering what he did to deserve such treatment. It wasn't an act. He really didn't understand. That would have been the last facial expression he ever made. When the police found him the next morning they'd find the face of an innocent man, perhaps beaten to death in some random attack.

Or they would have, had a pair of hands not grabbed Alex around the waist and pulled him backward. Alex kept swinging fists in the air in effort to escape the hold. Alex continued swinging even as the beaten man crawled away, holding his head as if to stop it from splitting in two.

"Bastard! You bastard!" Alex continued to cry.

"Hey now, I think he's had enough," the person who held onto him said, a crude stench of alcohol oozing out with a gritty aged voice.

Alex could feel the hands around his waist loosen so that he could turn and look at his captor... or saviour. There was actually two of them. The man who held him wore a short grizzled beard over an array of wrinkles. His long green trench coat seemed to be in equal condition. A girl stood by his side, smaller than his shoulder height, short but somewhat plump in her physique. Though it might have been the many layers of clothes she wore against this harsh Winter cold. Odd though how her blonde hair seemed to glimmer in this night, even as it barely peaked from under the green ear flap hat she wore over it.

"He isn't worth it," the blonde girl said, resting her hand on his shoulder.

"You saw what he did!" Alex replied, hand shaking with the release of adrenaline.

"Yeah, the guy's a dick, but he's had enough. It isn't worth killing him over. I hate to sound cliché and all but... if you keep this up you'll be no better than he is."

"Come on guy," the older, bearded man said. "Come with us. Come back to our place and we'll fix you with a cup of coffee."

Alex evaluated each of them and decided a moment after. "You... have coffee? I... like coffee. I haven't tasted it in a days."

"Well yeah... it's sort of like coffee," the bearded man stated.

"It's at your house?"

"Well... it's sort of like a house," the blonde girl replied. "It's in the middle of Middle Park. You'll like it."

"Middle Park? So... you're homeless then?"

"Yeah," the girl answered. "Welcome to the club."

***

Alex sighed. He had tried to forget about that incident. Though considering the other tragedies in his life this one hardly rippled the surface of the waves. Between arson and murder one harmless assault shouldn't stand out. Yet it still mattered to him. It mattered because he meant to do it. He never intended to burn down the building, he never meant to shoot the agent that night all those years ago. Up until that particular incident he always allowed himself to be carried along by the tide.

Beating that man, that was the moment he refused to be carried any more, and for the first time, willingly performed his own dirty work. It never stopped either. Once he tapped his inner strength any reason became a good reason for a fight.

Alex dug deeper under bed sheets and fell into his pillow in an attempt distract his thoughts. He'd hardly been awake an hour and already those negative images came flooding back. They'd started to give him something of a migraine, though it might have been whatever medication the nurse had been feeding him. It did the trick, regardless. His coughing ceased and he didn't feel so drowsy, it was just his head now, though he'd daren't say it to the doctor in case they took this private room away. It was a single bed, single cabinet, single window setup but all in all it beat those elongated chicken pens they called infirmary wards. He'd gotten kind of lucky this time. Since this was New Year's Eve most of the larger wards on the lower floors were likely reserved for drink related incidents while the more legit patients were kept separate on higher floors. He'd thought it would be the other way around since, naturally, the more serious patients would need faster attention. Then again, he found it hard to picture all two nurses on duty carrying one hundred or so drunks up to the top floors. It would be an easier task provided the patients couldn't move.

Some firm but polite knocks on the door suggested it was time for another jab. A nurse dressed in the regular attire opened the door but kept her trolley outside. She shrugged.

"You have some... visitors."

"Who?"

She shrugged again and stepped out of the way before Sierra could push her there. Henry followed with Rum shortly after. Rum turned to give the nurse a warding glare but she didn't stay long enough to catch it.

"Lazy bitch could at least ask who we are," he said.

"Give her a break, she's working on New Years," Alex replied.

"So you can talk now, that's good."

"Barely. I only woke up an hour ago. The doc said he'd let me rest a few before he'd let my visitors get me - that'd be you fine people."

"We kind of got ahead of ourselves," Sierra said. "Sorry."

"No matter. A little conversation won't kill me."

"So?"

"So what?"

"So what did the doctor say?"

"He said I'm fine."

"Alex! Stop lying, you are not fine."

"I said I'm fine, so I'm fine."

"You're not going to tell us."

"Would it matter? The long and short of it is I need to stay out of the cold, get plenty of rest and fill up on vitamins. Maybe you didn't notice but our lifestyle doesn't exactly tie in with all that."

"We could have-"

"Taken me to the hospital - this hospital? I'd be in the same place I am now."

"I wouldn't have dragged you across the city if I knew."

"Forget about it. Even if we failed to do what we set out to do, going all that way was the most worthwhile thing I've done in years. Sure, I had hoped stopping John would grant me some redeeming features before I die, but I guess the powers that be have something else in mind."

Sierra gripped the bed sheets and leaned closer to Alex. "What do you mean before you die?"

"Calm down, I was being poetic."

"Can the theatrics!" Rum yelled, stepping to his bedside. He leaned down till that grizzle of his almost touched the tall man's cheek. Breath most fowl oozed upon the stricken fellow, as Rum intended. "Answer the damn question straight and quit acting like a freak."

"Now's not the time for this, Rum," Sierra pleaded.

"Leave him to it. Wouldn't feel right without it."

"I hate when you just take it like that. Acceptance. I hate acceptance."

"Only because you want me to fight back. You can't live without trouble."

"Neither of you can," Sierra said.

An announcing cough sounded from the door bringing the matter to a close. A blonde doctor in white coat entered with notepad in hand. He walked past the visitors to join his patient at bedside.

"If the inquisitions are over, I think my patient would like to rest. I'm his attending, doctor Franklin. Call me Adam."

"It's no problem," Alex said.

Doctor Adam touched Alex on the forehead and set about scribbling on his notepad. "Not for you, but we have waiting rooms for a reason. We can't have visitors wandering around the corridors."

"Just sitting in them," Rum stated.

"I apologise for how the waiting areas are set up. I'm afraid we had to reserve the real waiting rooms to hold the overflow."

"Looks pretty quiet tonight."

"It is... at least for the moment.

"Then why not open them back up?"

"I'm afraid we can't get the doors open. The waiting room doors are electronically locked, you see. Most doors in here are. We hadn't counted on this power outage."

"Maybe you should have just cut back on the amenities and focussed on the patients. You go all high tech now you haven't the power to run the damn place."

"It could have been worse. At least no one's dying tonight."

"You actually have enough power for the patients?"

"We've managed to reserve enough power to take care of them, fortunately. Certain 'amenities' had to be cut, however."

"Like the electronic doors? What else you cut?"

"Televisions, rest rooms, electrical security systems and... lighting."

"Security and lighting... those are some amenities."

"They aren't necessary for the time being. We're focusing on keeping what our patients need to survive."

"That's good to hear, at least. Good to know this place isn't all bad."

"It might surprise you to know that not all the people remaining here are totally incompetent. I do what I can, that's all I can do."

Sierra leaned toward the doctor. "But what kind of hospital runs out of power anyway? It's good you're doing your best but come on, this isn't the dark ages, doc."

"It's a poor hospital being exploited by a company that doesn't know when to quit."

"Sorry," Rum said.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry for your troubles."

The doctor nodded. "We're not really sure what happened to the generator. It's frozen, old, rusted so take your pick. The engineers are on their way now, but the roads out there are... so they might be a while."

The doctor placed his notepad under arm and moved away from Alex. "Well, it looks like you've stabilised, for the moment at least. We'll keep you topped with medication until you recuperate fully."

"Thanks doc."

"I have to run my rounds over the rest of this floor so I probably won't see you for a while. Talk to the nurse if you need anything."

"You work this whole floor?" Alex asked.

"Most of the staff are handling the lower floors right now. At night I work the top floor with my brother. He's a doctor here too."

"The two of you must be good."

"How do you figure?"

"You said all the serious patients are on the top floor. They must trust the two of you to handle them."

The doctor smiled. "That's a good ear you got there."

"Hey doc, one more thing..."

"Yes?"

"How do I call the nurse?"

"Well you just press the alarm button beside..." He paused. "Well, not at the moment anyway."

"Would that be one of those amenities too?"

The doctor bowed in his slow retreat from the room. "Sorry. I'll see you again."

Conversation resumed when the doctor left.

"You think he has a problem with us being here?" Sierra asked.

"His problem's with our questions," Rum replied.

"I'm sure it's fine," Alex said. "He's a really good doctor - not like the others at all."

"He might be the best doctor in this place, that don't mean he's any good."

"You seemed pretty impressed last time you saw him in action."

Rum stared the tall man down. "Am I supposed to ask what that means now?"

"Of course, you wouldn't remember. He's the same doctor who helped that pregnant woman after she crashed her car."

"You mean after we first left the hospital. You can remember his face?"

Alex raised an eye.

"Of course you do."

Henry stepped out from the shadows, where he so often found himself residing. "It is him. I recognise the face."

"You should have said something," Sierra said.

"What good would it do?"

"We could get first preference. I mean, if you hadn't given him those pills he never would stopped the pregnant woman from kicking. He owes you."

"That's sort of why I stayed quiet. Thing is, you see, I wasn't really supposed to have those pills in the first place. Back at the crash he seemed really surprised I had them. He actually told me to go back to the hospital."

"It's probably for the best he didn't recognise you then."

"I just don't want him to start asking me questions. That's all."

Chapter 31

It would be midnight soon. Contrary to their expectations the hospital remained relatively empty, save the occasional nurse wandering like a ghost amidst candlelight. The quiet proved to their advantage. With Alex fast asleep the three bums were left with little else to do bar skulk around in the halls, not that the staff would bother stopping them in the first place.

Sierra left Rum to his own devices. Not that it was her choice, the man just fell asleep in one of the waiting areas. As for Henry, she hadn't seen him since visiting Alex. She left it that way. Truth be told she thought he might need some time to himself, like herself. Right now Alex wasn't the only one in need of a break.

Sierra wrapped her scarf tighter and breathed a warm breath, the greatest warmth in this place. Despite the odd candle the corridors were shaded with a grim tone of darkness. One that did little to conceal faded wall paint and cracked tiled flooring. It looked like an abandoned warehouse. An odd wonder she didn't find herself confronted with roaming crack addicts.

A horrible groaning snagged her to a halt. It came from a stairwell and seemed to be coming up. It stumbled over the top step then stared at her through thick glasses. Its name was Henry, and he appeared to be sweating.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Sierra, I was... I got lost."

"Why are you sweating?"

"I got a little frustrated so... I started running."

"And how would that... Never mind. What are you doing now? You want to come with me?"

Henry propped up with surprise. "You want me to go with you? Why? I mean, where?"

"To the roof. I want to see what the view is like."

No one was around to stop them. And even if they didn't need to hurry up the stairwell Henry still found himself fatigued upon arrival at the top. None the less he did open the roof access door in a genteel manner for Sierra, assuming it wouldn't be a draining task. He hadn't foreseen the foot or so of snow on the other side.

Door open, and Henry again humbled to a panting state, Sierra skipped over the threshold into a blinding force of cold. "Thank you." She sighed. "I didn't think it'd be so cold."

Henry shivered more dramatically than Sierra. "W-well, we are p-pretty high up. We c-can stay warm if we stay near those things." He pointed toward some tin ventilation pipes leaking trace amounts of steam, no doubt intended to melt the snow to a safe level.

Sierra nodded, walking over to one near the building's edge. She stopped to acknowledge two supply crates placed near the parapet. Both had been lazily covered with a blue sheet, almost like a bed sheet.

"Stupid bastards. What kind of idiot hospital staff would leave two supply crates in a place like this?"

"They probably ran out of storage space inside."

"Whatever happened it looks like they've been forgotten which means someone lost out on medication. Hope nobody died."

The girl shrugged it off, turning to lean on the parapet. She gazed out through the night toward Middle Park. "We won't stay here long. I can't see anything with this weather."

A light wind blew, and in its hale a flurry of snow washed over the buildings in view. It pulled with it a sudden quiet, and for this moment she and Henry could have been the only people in this city. At the very least this view would be for their eyes only.

"Lazy bastard," Sierra mumbled.

Still panting slightly Henry approached her side. "What did I do?"

"Not you - Rum. He fell asleep and left me on my own. He knows I'd be bored without him."

"I see now."

"You see what?"

"That's why you asked me up here, because no one else was around."

"Yeah, that's the reason."

"I thought so."

"It was a joke. Come on Henry, relax a little."

"It wasn't a joke. You never talk to me."

"We talk all the time."

"No, you talk to Rum. You talk to Alex."

"That's because Rum picks on you all the time. Anything I say to you would just set him rabid on you. I know the two of you have those... issues with each other, so I try spare you the hassle. I know you stay quiet because of the way he treats you."

"At least Rum speaks to me. Yeah, he acts like a... he acts like a... But yeah, at least he acknowledges me. I feel like furniture when you're around. Maybe... I don't stay quiet when Rum is around, maybe I stay quiet because you're around. Both of you just happen to be a package."

"A package?" Sierra gritted teeth a moment. "What's gotten into you? You don't normally act like this."

"How would you even know?"

Sierra turned away from the parapet, and Henry. "Okay, maybe I don't talk to you as much as the others. So what?"

"So what? What do you mean so what?"

"I mean, so what? It still doesn't mean I don't like you."

"What else could it mean?"

"Look... it's really not your problem. It's mine."

"You mean, 'it's not you it's me.'"

"It is me!"

Henry backed down till her furious breathing faded. "Yeah, it's always the other person with the problem. Nobody ever wants to come out and tell me my problem. If you ever bothered listening to me, you'd know that a lot of people tend to have problems with themselves whenever I'm around."

Sierra faced him, grimacing slightly. "You idiot, of course I listen to you. It's because I listen to you that I can't talk to you."

"What's that even supposed to mean?"

"It means... I mean... it's just... It's difficult to talk to someone when they lie as much as you do."

Henry shivered slightly. With it came a short pause. "I... don't... I didn't lie. When did I lie?"

"Come on Henry, own up. You've been with us all this time and you still won't tell us about your past."

"I-I told you... I owned a shop and it... burned down. I couldn't afford to..."

"Stop lying. I'm so sick of everyone lying to me. First Alex lies about being sick and now you're going to lie to me on the same night. Nobody believes that little story of yours, Henry. Hate to break it to you, but you don't seem like the kind of guy who could run his own business. Into the ground, sure, but that'd happen long before a random fire got its chance."

Henry hung his head low, expression speaking more truth than words could say. "I-I'm sorry. Y-you know, Alex said the same as you. I guess that's... good, right? I look and act like a failure... That's good right?"

"That's not it. You've been with us for a long time now. You said that you went bankrupt, and that's how you became homeless. You made it sound like you didn't need to be homeless."

"Why should I?"

"If you didn't need to be here you would have left by now. Any one of us can get some crummy little job somewhere and work our way back up, but we stay here because... this is where we chose to end up. Nobody who lives in the gutter has to. Everyone who stays, stays because they've no place else to go."

Henry sighed some agreement with her theory.

"Well then?"

"Well what?"

"What really happened to you?"

"Nothing. Nothing happened."

"Stop it, Henry."

"No. Nothing did happened, that's the reason. My parents died. My brother went away for missionary work. I had nowhere else to go... I was... I'm a loser, a no good dud. Rum was right."

"Don't say that. Those three words together spell rock bottom."

"Why not? Even Rum's got more friends than I ever did."

"Drinking buddies aren't friends."

"How many drunks does it take to beat zero?"

"I'm sure you had some-"

"No."

Sierra found herself snagged for further thought.

Henry, reading it on her face resigned himself onto one of those blanket covered crates. Seating himself there, he breathed out heavily, in regret of all he said.

"Then what about your parents? They cared about you, right?"

"They're supposed to. Maybe they did too much. Maybe if I hadn't lived under their protection so long I might have become a little more adventurous, set out on my own - at least that's what I used to think. Now I know the truth."

Sierra waited expectantly.

"I didn't stay with them because it was comfortable. I stayed because I was afraid to leave. In school I was bullied. In work I was ignored. Even in queues I'd be skipped. It seemed every normal social situation proved difficult for me, and it wasn't always my fault. A lot of people just don't like me. That's what I saw every time I went out alone. So I became afraid to leave. Then my parents' died. It hit me like a wake up bell."

"It was a car accident, right?"

"Something like that... I think of it as an act of God." Henry paused. "It happened during the hurricane a few years ago. They were driving home from work and... Well, it picked up their car. We didn't find them till a few days after."

"That's awful... What about your brother then?"

Henry laughed.

"What?"

"You didn't give me your sympathies."

"I think I've given you enough of those already. Besides, after all this time I can't imagine saying sorry will mean much."

"Thanks... I-I guess." Henry paused. "My brother? His name was Leon. He moved away after the funeral."

"How considerate."

"It wasn't his fault. He had to leave. He'd been through too much already. The death of our parents just cut it for him."

"He had it rough living here?"

"An understatement. One day the launderette he worked in got robbed. A customer interfered and well, things went wrong. If he hadn't fainted he'd probably have been shot too."

Sierra remained quiet a moment to vex her sympathies on Leon's horrible situation.

"Then there's that other story, the one I told you was mine."

"About the shop that burned down? That actually happened to Leon?"

"Except nobody died in his version. Leon did run away, and a co-owner did get trapped in the fire, but that guy made it out okay, in a sense. He'd been badly burned and wound up with more than a few lost marbles. Since the man lost his mind the search for the arsonist couldn't go forward successfully. The whole case was dropped and they never found the person responsible."

"That's awful. To think that person could get away so easily. He could still be out there. Creepy."

"It was probably just one of the many dissatisfied customers the co-owner left behind. He was a crook, a con-man. It could have been anyone. Not that I really care. That co-owner probably caused more problems for Leon than the other things. I guess that's why Leon wouldn't comment who was responsible. If the fire hadn't made that man mad, his conscience should have,"

"Then why did Leon decide to go away on missionary work?"

"Leon was ashamed of himself for running away, just like he was ashamed for fainting during the robbery. He collapsed emotionally, and well... became a recluse. He started to believe he wasn't meant to have a normal life. To be honest, it was first time I actually started to relate to him. And that's when he went to a church."

"A religious calling?"

"Sort of. It was the church a woman who died in the launderette robbery belonged to. Leon went to pay his respects when he started talking to the priest. It turned out he was the woman's son and was actually present during the incident. They got to talking and somehow the priest managed to talk Leon into taking up a cause."

"Let me guess, the priest had a plan."

"He somehow convinced Leon to try missionary work. One month later he shipped off to Africa. I haven't seen him since."

"Manipulative freak."

"No. That isn't fair. It was Leon's choice in the end. The priest just gave him an opportunity. I guess it was fate in a sense, meeting again the way they did. I'm glad something came from it all."

"Forget about faith, how did you feel?"

"I don't know. I guess I didn't want him to leave. I was just too gutless to argue, too gutless to understand my feelings at the time."

"And now?"

"I don't know... Maybe if I found out where about in Africa he is I could give him a call sometime. Wonder if he'd mind visiting his good for nothing bum brother."

"Don't say that. we're all in the same boat y'know."

Henry smiled. "The boat that's always shaking, the boat that never sinks."

Sierra returned a grin. "That's so stupid, like something Alex would say." She licked her lips in contemplation. "And John."

"Like John? Hey I'm not that depressed."

"Not him. I mean my foster father - John. You two are a lot alike in a lot of ways."

"I see, so you're trying to recover yourself now. A moment ago you thought I was too shady. Well I'm not letting you away with it so easy."

"I lied about that."

"You... lied?"

"That's not really reason I avoided talking to you, at least not the main reason. I just said that to find out a little more about you. It's just... whenever I hear you speak it reminds me of the way John spoke, even down to those awkward little stuttering moments of yours. You act like him so much you actually started looking like him... sometimes. I try my best to avoid thinking of him, so I avoid you."

"Did... you two have a falling out?"

"Sure did. I killed him."

Henry gasped. The action allowed him the slightest weight in his chest to prevent falling backward.

"At least I thought I did. All this time I believed I was responsible for his suicide. All this time I stayed in the gutter punishing myself. Only then it turned out to be all in my head. I thought I'd done something bad to him, when in reality it was stupid child shit hyped up in my own imagination. I always thought those I left behind would loathe me for it, but they didn't even consider it. Now it feels worse."

"Shouldn't you be happy? You were looking for redemption now you don't even need it."

"I guess, for a long time I've assumed I was the only thing in John's world. Turns out he had bigger things weighing down on him than a spoiled little girl. A lot of things I didn't even know about - a lot of things I didn't know about John. Reality is... now I realise... when he was alive... I didn't try and know him better. He was just there, and I took him for granted."

"I think you knew him better than you think."

"How could you know?"

"Well... you did say I remind you of your foster father. You obviously know him to some extent, no matter how you feel about it now."

"You can't know how I feel."

"Can I try anyway?"

"Knock yourself out."

"I think you've been feeling guilt all this time. I think since you spent all this time running from the blame, you've really been running from what you really want. Now that you've been freed from the guilt, you still crave the blame. So you want another reason for someone to blame you."

"You know a lot for a dud. I guess it's like having a strong desire, a love that can never go anywhere. I need to be blamed." Sierra let her upper body fall. "I want my life back."

"You... have someone to go back to?"

"I... guess. She's... sort of like family."

"Then go to her. You said yourself, nobody stays homeless unless they want to. You don't want to. I guess that means you're free."

"Free? Yeah, I guess I sort of am. Then again I still have that big bearded drunken ball and chain to look after."

"Yeah I think he'd miss you. So would I... and Alex too."

"I know. It'll be good when we're all back together in the park again. A little normality wouldn't go amiss."

Sierra leaned against the parapet to gaze out over the city again. The snowfall increased, near hiding the nearest buildings in view. Pretty soon it would be inadvisable to stay here.

"Hard to believe we're so close to home, isn't it?" Henry said.

"Yeah, the city looks like a winter paradise from up here."

"Only cause we can't see the dirt through the snow."

"Yeah."

A heavy swish of wind descended over the rooftop. A flurry fell along with, forcing Henry to huddle himself more intensely.

"Maybe it's time to go back down."

"Scared of a little cold? If I can handle it you should too."

"H-hey, come on! You're wearing almost four times the clothes I am. Besides, we should really get going. We've left Rum and Alex alone together, that can't turn out good."

"I guess. I'll see you later then."

"You're not coming?"

"I think I'll stay up here just a little longer. I've got some stuff to pine over."

Henry shrugged, making way back to the roof access door from which they came.

Sierra waited till Henry closed the door behind him. At once she set her sights on what had fixated her since coming up here. Hopping to her feet, she grabbed one of the storage crates. Junk or not, there could have been something valuable inside. Despite expecting a struggle to pull off the frozen down lid, it slid off easily. Suddenly she realised these abandoned crates weren't so abandoned. It seemed they'd been opened very recently. Her face twisted to horror when she found out why.

Chapter 32

Rum stomped his way out of Alex's room into an empty hallway. "Ungrateful jackass."

"Stay the hell out of here, old man!" Alex cried from his bed stricken state. "My heads sore enough without your help."

Rum had only been awake a matter of minutes and already their quarrelling resumed. For what purpose neither really knew, or cared to remember.

For the time being Rum let it wash off on his back as he strolled away and down the corridor. "Lanky streak of piss," Rum grumbled to himself. "Saying shit like that me after I bothered staying with him. The dud and Sierra didn't even bother. Yeah, so what if I was asleep - it still counts!" He stopped to look up and down the empty hall. "Who the hell am I talking to? Damn I need a drink."

"You weren't talking to me?" an ominous voice spoke from behind, echo bouncing on the walls.

Rum wheeled round, stopping in wait so the voice could make formal introduction.

A doctor garbed in the usual white emerged from a stairwell behind. He wore a head of brow flat hair buzz cut to a perfect flatness. There was a light scar over his right eye which curved as his bushy eyebrows narrowed with interest. Though his features were more worn than the doctor named Adam, he seemed to bear a close resemblance.

The doctor, apparently embarrassed by the intrusion, bowed slightly. "Sorry, it's been a long day."

"Don't do that," Rum said. "This place is too dark to be sneaking up on a fella."

"That's what I'm trying to fix." The doctor held out a box of candles, a lighter in his other hand.

"Candles? 'Scuse me, you are a doctor right? The hell you lighting candles for?"

"It's the New Year... who needs me, the drunks? We usually leave those people alone until they sober up."

"Mopping up after them would be more productive."

"We have plenty of nurses available for that. In fact I believe that's where most of them are now."

"Cut the crap, you got real sick patients in this place and you're out here fucking about with candles. This is some sick joke."

"The power's out, what can I do without morphine to shut them up?"

"You got some mouth for a doctor. Don't you people even check up on patients?"

"And ruin the peace? The patients are locked safely in their rooms. It's not morphine but we get the same result - silence."

"Should I pretend I didn't here that?"

"Judging from those rags you're wearing I can guess you're probably a patient here, so it wouldn't matter what you try remember between these few hours of sobriety and the moment you forget."

Rum could feel his fists tighten, his face red with heat and teeth churning top on bottom. "You sorry bastard. I always knew the private hospitals left the rejects behind, I never imagined there'd be someone like you."

"What the hell do you know? I come to work. I do my job. Nobody complains so I get my job done. I do the best I can, more than some sorry bum ever-"

"Walk away doc." Rum pressed his head up closer to the man's chin, face stern in his resilience. From their previous distance Rum failed to appreciate the man's larger stature.

The doctor turned, by all appearance merely resuming lighting candles. "Something like you trying to order me around. Pathetic. Stop wandering the corridors or security will mistake you for a drug addict. We've had quite a few lately and security's keeping an eye out."

Rum found that clenched fist of his rising slowly. He'd have smacked the doctor right over the head when Henry called from behind.

When Rum did return acknowledgement, Henry crept to the Old man's side. "R-Rum! W-what's going on?"

"A disagreement with staff policy."

"Disagreement?" Henry replied, unsure of the statement's full meaning. He looked passed those allusive words to the doctor, who had risen from his hunching to stare Henry down.

Rum eyed the two back and forth, making an attempt to push Henry away. "Ignore that fool. You'll get no help from him."

"You!" the doctor yelled. "What are you doing back here?"

"M-Me?" Henry paused to contemplate the question. "W-wait... I remember you. You were the doctor who helped me escape from the police!"

"The hell you talking about?" Rum asked.

"When they took me and Alex here after the fire, the police tried to pin it on me and this doctor helped me escape. I w-wanted to thank him for... He even-"

"Shut up! Shut your damn mouth. I told you not to come back here!"

"W-well... yeah but... my friend was sick. I didn't have a choice."

"I stuck my neck out for you and you don't even have the decency to do me that one favour."

The doctor made a violent step toward Henry, intercepted by Rum who body blocked the approach.

"Don't make me repeat myself, doc."

He seemed to take the warning, backing off with little joy. He did so without turning, walking backward, staring at Henry with a glare of deep contemplation.

When it seemed the doctor wouldn't quit, Rum simply turned round to resume talking to Henry. "Ignore that freak."

"But he-"

"I don't want to know. If that guy did anything good for you I'd bet there was something bad behind it. Just forget that freak. C'mon, let's go find Sierra."

"Don't have to. I left her on the roof. Said she needed time to think."

"Time to think? What's she really doing?"

"Well... to be honest, she seemed more interested in some storage crates that were left up there. It looked like junk to me but Sierra would know better."

"Even junk's worth something. Leave her to it, God knows we could use some cash once we get home."

Henry didn't reply, instead he sent a blank stare past Rum toward something else which needed no reintroduction.

Rum turned to find that doctor slowly creeping closer to them.

"Take the hint," Rum said.

"You said your friend is on the roof?"

"The hell you gonna do, call security?"

The doctor's lips briefly twitched with contempt, almost as quickly as he snapped from his approaching to a gentle backing off. He nodded with a kind of hostile gratitude, then turned and vanished up a stairwell.

"The hell is that guy's problem?" Rum asked.

"He seemed nicer the first time." Henry reminisced on it a moment and let it drop. "Will Sierra be all right?"

"No one's ever gone down for being up on a rooftop. She'll be fine."

"Should we go see Alex then?"

"Sure, he might tolerate me more with you here."

***

Alex rested back on a pillow, looking sideways out a small window dominating one of the walls. From here he could see to the storage yard out back, illuminated by dim fog lights which flickered on edge, counting down the seconds it would take for those last few workers to finish up. Alex couldn't help think how this hospital's power generator must have been configured wrong, in how it cut out for the patients yet switched on so a few men could lift crates. Then again, those men were probably unionised and in possession of more rights than anyone forced to come to this place.

The snow worsened too so those workers moved faster until it seemed they'd dropped their work entirely. The way they left those struggling fog lights on would normally suggest they intended to return. So the yard stayed lit up and the snow kept building on top of all those walk in crates lining the yard, and in between the maze like spaces separating each.

"It's not going to end soon," a voice said from the doorway.

The blonde doctor from earlier entered, clip board in hand.

"Thought you'd forgotten about me."

"Distanced myself. It would have been difficult to do my job with your friends in the room. I assumed you would want to know the results of your tests in private."

"Results? I didn't think we'd done enough tests to start talking about results."

"Of course, with our machines down we can't be completely certain at this stage."

"Power looks fine from here." Alex looked to the fog lights outside in the storage yard below.

"The storage yard runs on a separate power line. It's been hit bad too but they squeeze out what they can."

"If they're not using it they could at least funnel a little power my way. Pretty sure those fog lights could power this whole floor."

"And half the one below, but it's not my section. I've no say in the matter."

"I'm pretty sure endangering the lives of your patients goes against the Hippocratic oath."

"Who said I'm endangering your life? As is, I don't need machines to keep you well, only to diagnose you."

"Didn't know they taught guesswork in medical school."

"There's no guesswork. You came up positive. The only question is how positive. Right now you seem healthy enough so it's safe to assume you're still in the early stages of the virus. To put it simply, you're lucky you collapsed. If you hadn't... well let's just say as it is we can treat the virus. There are certain medications, but right now all you need is rest and nutrition."

"That could be a problem."

"I'll do what I can for you here. Even if the diagnosis is wrong it couldn't hurt to give you some colour in your skin. That's all I can do for you. Your home life is outside my jurisdiction."

"Home life?" Alex found his head wandering back toward the snow tainted window. "This really isn't going to end soon."

"Depends how you deal with. It doesn't have to be fatal... with the right nutrients."

"I won't have a choice in that."

"Of course you have a choice. You can either choose to fall down and collapse dead in some gutter, feeling sorry for yourself right till the very end. Or you can get up, try to live a healthy life and do the best you can."

"I don't even have the option."

"Funny, I thought homelessness was a lifestyle choice not a disability."

"You would know?"

"I've worked here long enough to learn a thing or two about my patients, and how most of them view themselves. This is a good excuse for you to change."

Alex smiled. "I knew you were a good doctor."

"A man's philosophy doesn't speak much for his ability."

"It's not your philosophy. I've seen you work before. Maybe you don't remember."

The doctor shook his head, waiting patiently for an explanation.

"About a week ago there was a car crash near this hospital. When it turned out a pregnant woman was injured you came along, leaping over the car to help her."

Smiling slightly, the doctor nodded. "Well... it wasn't so dramatic."

"Seemed that way to me. Either way you saved her."

"I didn't save her."

"Of course you did. If you hadn't shown-"

"I saved the baby. The mother died one day later during pre-mature birth."

Alex gasped till. "I'm sorry. I-I thought she would turn out okay."

"She should have. There were... complications after she arrived.

"Complications? You mean screw ups."

"The crash didn't kill her... this hospital did. It was my fault."

"Your fault?"

"I never should have brought her to this place. I only did because I worked here. I thought if I could bring her in myself I could get her past the crowd. Turns out, beating the crowd can be as lethal when the people you count on don't know what they're doing."

"If it's so bad here why don't you leave? I'm sure the private hospitals would hire you."

"It won't change anything. Leaving this place won't stop patients coming here."

"And dying here."

"It's only a matter of time before this eyesore closes. Until then... I'll stay till then."

"And where will people like me go then?"

The doctor nodded, inching his eyes toward Alex. He sighed then continued to nod. "I sometimes forget negatives can be positives to people with nothing else."

"It's false hope really. This place is more a giant waiting room than a hospital, except some patients get to wait on gurneys instead. I agree with what you said."

"Which part?"

"You never should have taken that woman here. That was the first thing I thought after I saw the crash."

"It was a bad call."

"Made on good terms. You couldn't just leave her lying in the road. And, come on, the baby made it."

"Life and death, fate's great joke. To be honest the baby wouldn't have survived if the board hadn't decided to move it to a 'more efficient' hospital."

"Faculty members... our modern day heroes."

The doctor smiled. "They do what they can. They're broke but they do what they can."

"No wonder they have you working the whole floor. You make corruption sound noble."

"Word play runs in my family, if that's a good thing."

"It can be when the moment is right. Back at the crash you actually managed to make a screaming pregnant woman appear normal to the crowd."

"You could hear me speak? How close were you?"

"Right next to you. Actually, it was one of my friends who gave you those pills you used to calm the woman down."

The doctor froze and almost seemed about to drop his clipboard. "Your friend gave me those pills?"

"Yeah, you probably didn't recognise him. He was with the people visiting me earlier. His name is Henry: short skinny guy with glasses, usually found hiding in the back corner of the room."

The doctor's skin paled faster than his humour sank. His body tensed to a steady state of calm which seemed stuck between jumping in panic and succumbing to his knees. "Henry... that was him?"

"Yeah... is there a problem?"

"Those pills... your friend... I have to see him."

The door swung open in one great push. The doctor sprang to his feet in dreadful anticipation.

Rum entered, strolling vigorously as ever to bedside.

"Relax doc," Alex said. "Sure he's ugly but he doesn't bite."

"Thought you'd gotten rid of me, didn't ya?" Rum said, eyeing up the doctor. "What's up his ass? Not another nut job doc."

Alex looked past Rum to Henry, who came slinking in behind. "Hey Henry."

"H-Hey Alex, when did you wake..." Henry too found his eyes falling up the doctor. "Are... we allowed in here?"

"No use asking these people anything," Rum said. I think the faculty here just broke out a bunch psychos from an asylum and swapped one white uniform for another. If one doc can get away with acting like a psycho then why not all of them?

"Did Rummy have a bad run in with a member of staff? How surprising."

"Sure did but this time it ain't my fault."

"Sure."

"It's true," Henry said. "Rum was just... well I don't know what he was doing but the doctor overreacted. He started threatening Rum for no reason."

"Tip of the day, if you don't know what Rum did then don't defend him."

"But Rum said..."

"Tip two, never believe him either."

"He did it to me too. All I tried do was thank him for his help."

"What did he do for you?"

"He was the doctor who..." Henry glanced up to the present doctor. "He 'looked after' me the first time I was here. Last time he was nice, this time he acted... different."

Alex set his eyes questionably on the doctor. "Henry, this doctor, he was the one who gave you those pills?"

"Yeah that's him. It's strange though. One minuet he was ready to start a fight then next thing he took off in a hurry."

"Yeah," Rum said. "The moment we mentioned Sierra was up on the roof he got all quiet and sort of... strolled off."

The doctor exploded with awe, nearly falling on top of Rum. "She's on the roof! Is she alone?"

Chapter 33

Two storage boxes tipped over, Sierra removed the third and final one's lid as frantically as she did the last. Contents spilled to the snow lined rooftop, she began scraping through the items in a desperate attempt to ring doubt on the things laying in front of her.

The items were wrapped tightly in plastic bags, clear enough to make out the contents. Some contained pill cases while others contained lengthy chords of thick rope. It wasn't till she saw the photographs that she could put these items together.

Sierra took one photo up in her hand. The picture was somewhat blurry and the tinted monochrome suggested a night time shot. Still clear enough to make it out. It was a photo of an alleyway, angled so as to face out onto the main street where a silhouetted passer-by strolled casually in the distance. The lens must have been for night vision, otherwise that man should have noticed the woman laying dead near the opening of the alley. No. She didn't look dead. Her eyes were open. She lay still but her eyes were open. They gleamed wide in the night, awake but fast asleep.

There were more like this in the same bag. It looked like a set from a model's photo shoot. In some she lay sideways, in some on her stomach. In most of the photos toward the back her top had been removed. It continued like this until the very last photo at the back, where her eyes closed.

In another box, she noticed Cylinders filled to the brim with pills. Others half empty, half used. Suddenly the woman's peculiar state of unconsciousness became clearer, and all the more familiar. The pills Henry had were capable of producing the same effect. Even the eyes of the woman in this photo looked similar to the pregnant woman from the car crash. And Henry did say a doctor at this hospital gave those pills to him.

Sierra dug deeper. They were all like this, those clear plastic bags. The photos had been packed into them, a different bag for a different set, a different set for a different woman. The locations in them changed from alleys to bridges to riverside, but the posed positions of the women stayed the same in each set.

Something snapped in her then. In one move she bundled everything into her arms and dropped them at random back into the crates. One set pack of photos fell to the snow. She intended to snap it up and toss it blindly away like the others, when the woman in this photo set caught her eye. Sierra had seen this woman's body outline chalked on a filthy stone floor. She'd seen her face framed amidst a pile of dead grievance flowers. This woman, Sierra had seen her face before.

"Annette Lucille."

For a moment she stared in wide eyed wonder. The only moment needed for the roof access door to click open.

In her first reaction Sierra slid Annette's photos into her leg pocket along with one of those pill cases. In her second reaction she spun round to meet the oncoming visitor. Shame she'd spent so long staring into these photos to notice the increased snowfall and hazy fog to block her view.

The roof access door slammed shut with a heavy metallic bang. Crunching footfalls approached slowly.

***

Rum and Henry followed doctor Adam lazily down a corridor. The man stopped, trying again in vain to pull an electronically locked stairwell door open.

"Damn it! They're all locked," Adam yelled.

"Good. That'll stop your buddy getting to the roof too," Rum stated.

"My brother has the keys. He can go where he wants."

"Let him, I don't care. What's it mean to us anyway?"  
"That's because you aren't listening to me!"

"We're sure trying to but you ain't telling much. You go dragging us off all dramatic and shit without giving us a word why."

"We have to find your friend. If he catches her up there he'll..."

"H-Hell what?" Henry said, shaking from some bout of fear fused to his adrenaline.

"Yeah doc, I know she'll get in trouble for being up there and all but isn't this overreacting just a little bit?"

"That's not it. That other doctor... he's my brother... and he's... not what I'd call stable."

"Tell me about it but..."

"Look, I can't stand here explaining now. We have to get up there!"

The doctor set his sights on yet another stairwell access. He rammed it as if to run straight through, doing so quite successfully. Before ascending he stopped to address the two bums.

"I'll need help. Come with me." He didn't wait for answers.

Henry and Rum remained still, alone in the corridor. Rum looked down at Henry.

"Someone must have spiked the water in this place."

"Something's wrong. I have to go see."

Like the doctor Henry didn't wait for an answer. He too vanished up the stairwell, forcing old Rum to follow in kind.

***

Dense snowfall hitting her eyes, Sierra blinked desperately to bring shape to the shrouded figure. He stopped approaching, choosing to remain still, staring. He too must have been blinded by the snowfall. Rather than risk the intruder slip past he seemed intent on blocking off the only exit.

"What are you doing up here?" the faceless man yelled against wind's howling.

Sierra silenced, backing away to further decrease any visibility he might have of her. Pressed against the parapet, she slid her hands along the top as if ready to leap over any moment.

"I can see you, you know," the man called again. "Brown coats don't mix so well with white, unlike my lab coat."

Sierra hesitated. Suddenly the promise of leaping over felt far more appealing.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to get angry," the voice said. "Come with me, I'll take you back down."

"I-I'm fine," she spoke in a wincing whisper.

"Careful there, you wouldn't want to trip over the edge."

Those crunching footsteps exploded into movement. They came until he could see her straight. He stopped when she could see him too.

Sierra could make out a man of tall stature, his long white lab coat alone dwarfed Sierra's full size. On his right eye there looked to be a sort of scar, a scratch mark Sierra could only guess to have been caused by a woman's nails. His head turned to acknowledge those disorderly reorganised crates.

"Have you been playing with our storage crates? That's hospital property you know."

"Yeah right!" Sierra blurted, quickly sealing her lips with hands.

"So you peeked. That's a shame. The sewer rat couldn't mind her own business, had to go rooting through someone else's boxes."

"You killed John's sister... you caused all this. This is all your fault!"

"John? John... John... John. Doesn't ring a bell I'm afraid."

"Annette's brother."

"That one's equally forgettable."

The figure neared more on every word, until he stood within arms reach, staring down at her. There was no way around. There would be no escape.

"T-these pills... my friend had these same pills. Did you give them to him? Why would you-"

"The reasons why won't matter to you, not for much long-"

Sierra took her cue. In one spurt she drove her knee into the doctor's groin, allowing the chance to worm round his hunching figure. She didn't get far before his recovery. He jump tackled her down. Despite her squirming, the wriggling, he still managed to keep hold of her foot in one great grip.

"You little slut!"

He stood up at once, still holding her foot and twisting her body so she wriggled upside down. He started his counter with snapping kicks, each one increasing intensity until evolving into hard smashing blows. Sierra could only hang in the air, dangling like a punch bag. She took the kicks until his cursing and damning became a hazed mumble in her ringing ears.

The doctor, trapped in all his furious ranting, failed to hear the roof access door open and slam shut. He only stopped the beating to acknowledge those stampeding footfalls booming toward him.

"Who's there?" he asked, still holding the girl.

Rum emerged from the haze like ghost on the moors. Body taut, fist tightened, legs tearing through snow, he yelled, "Get off her you freak!"

Without hesitating in his assault, Rum delivered that one previously held back smack to the doctor's face. He followed up with blows of twos and threes and odd double knees till the doctor let his upper body crumble. Only then did he release the girl.

When Sierra did crawl to the safety of Henry and doctor Adam, Rum stood fit and ready for a second bout. His foe on the other hand, raised a palm for surrender, one quickly read by his brother who eased Rum down.

"Please stop, I can talk to him."

"Talk to him? No brotherly chat's gonna calm this psycho down."

"No wait!" the fouled doctor cried. "I give up! Please, I was only trying to tell her how unsafe it is up here when she... she attacked me."

Sierra didn't need to shout about his lies. Her body language told everything. Not that she could shout in her current state.

The blonde haired doctor approached his brother, hands held up in defensive neutrality. "Stop lying. I'm not letting you do this."

From his hunched down state the doctor nodded most knowingly, and from it pulled himself to full composure. "I didn't see you there, Adam, good brother."

"This isn't right."

"You brought them up here? You promised you wouldn't tell anyone."

"You promised you'd stop all this."

"I wanted to. She found my boxes. I couldn't help it. It's not my fault. If my trust in you meant anything, dealing with this girl would have been a whole lot easier. Now things will get messy."

"I don't want your trust. I won't let you do this any more."

"You've let me do it long enough. Now some bums are going to change that?"

"It doesn't matter who they are."

"Really? I've killed more of their kind in the infirmary and you never bat an eye."

"That's not remotely... You didn't mean..."

"Are you sure? I'm not."

The doctor named Adam took one step closer to his brother. "Say all you want. It stops tonight."

"We'll see."

"Are you going to fight off all four of us? Kill us all?"

From under his long lab coat, the doctor unveiled a small sledgehammer, and bashed it over his brother's face. He fell at once, unconscious. "You mean all three of you. Two technically, the girl will be sport."

Rum pushed Sierra into Henry. "Get her out of here!"

The old fool charged the doctor, laying two more punches, enough for the doctor to lose grip on the sledgehammer. Henry snatched it at once.

Rum looked at Henry. "What are you doing? Get out now! Get to the first floor! It's safe down there."

Henry took the hint. He carried Sierra, limping, through the roof access door. Before he could close it full, some not so positive grunts began emanating from old Rum.

"We can't let him fight alone!" Sierra cried.

Henry sealed the door behind. The grunts ceased.

It would happen once they dropped not three flights of stairs, when they heard that door rip open again. Heavy, loud charging footsteps banging on the metallic staircase suggested the wrong fighter won the fray.

In the rising panic, Henry dove into the first double doorway down the stairs. This access door separated the metallic roof access stairwell from the regular indoor tiled stairs. In this section of the hospital it was the only one granting a straight stair passage down to the first floor. He found himself hopelessly ricocheting back.

"This one's locked too!" he cried.

"We can't get downstairs?" Sierra replied, holding onto his arm.

"We'll have to go the long way down."

Henry grabbed the girl by the hand, both lifting and pulling her through the nearest floor access door. They hadn't intended on escaping through the top floor of the hospital but in this state saw little other choice.

Exploding through the only open door to the hallways, they found it empty, like all the others. No movement save the flickering glow of weary candles.

In pure desperation Henry ran to a ward door straight opposite the stairwell landing. Peeking through condensation covered window he could see inside to a long, packed hall like the one he stayed in before. All the patients inside appeared to be asleep, or unconscious. He saw no movement, not from the nurse who should have been in there, not from the patients too doped to respond.

"It's no good. Come on, we have to keep going."

Henry tugged Sierra by the arm in whatever direction he saw first. If he'd taken a second look into the darkness hidden from candlelight, he might have seen those electronically locked double doors blocking the way. Both Henry and Sierra skidded to a retreating halt, hastily trying to undo their steps. When they did turn round, that man was already there as though he'd been there all along. He stood completely still, staring at them from a thicket of darkness and flickering flame light.

"Come now, what's all this running for?"

"Get away from us!" Henry cried.

"I'm not really the bad guy here."

Henry craned his neck to see past the doctor. A person came limping down from behind, his husky build and gritted beard flickering on and off in candle light.

"You're evil!" Henry yelled.

"That's a very relative statement. I won't deny it, in your eyes I must seem bad, but then, so are they... in mine of course."

"Who?"

"Women." The doctor paused. "I wasn't born this way. They did bad to me so I merely do the same to them. It used to be a task... revenge. Now it's no longer about revenge. Now I merely derive pleasure from it. I can do it as much as I want because they deserve it, and it's fun to give bad people what they deserve, especially when the rest of the world is too infatuated with beauty and so called innocence to see it for themselves."

"You're mad! That's nothing but a mad man's excuse."

"I'm not a madman. Do you know the difference between all the real madmen and myself? I do what I've learned needs to be done. I do these things because of what life has thrust upon me. It is my right and a madman's flaw. The difference is... I sleep well at night."

"I'll make you sleep!" Rum's voice bellowed from behind the doctor.

The old bum raised an elbow over the back of his head, stumbling the doctor into a spinning counter. He smacked Rum in kind before he knew what happened.

The old bum fell to the doctor's chest to clinch. He peeked his battered face under his opponent's arm to see Henry and Sierra. "You wanna take bets or something!? Run you thick bastards!"

Henry nodded, swerving passed with Sierra in hand. This time the girl didn't seem so reluctant to run away. Rather she cried Rum's name in worry, then vanished.

Rum held onto the doctor until the sound of their steps faded. He then loosened his hands, by no means under his own will. Before he knew, he'd been lifted sideways then tossed to the floor.

"Persistent cunt! You have no right to stop me! Just lay down and die already." Downward kicks began. "Worthless! You have no right to be alive! Worthless bum!"

Rum allowed the doctor to lift him up by the hair. Rum allowed the doctor to punch twice more.

"Maybe you're right," Rum uttered, mouth spilling with blood. "Maybe I'm just an old worthless bum whose fights aren't worth a damn. Maybe that's true. But..." Rum drove a spiking knee into the doctors genitals.

Resuming his place as champion Rum sent a knuckle over the back of the man's head. "Not bad for a worthless old tramp. Yeah, and I ain't no karate expert but I do know it's never a good idea to gloat in the middle of a-"

The doctor returned the favour, dropping the old tramp to his knees. A kick sent him down to his back. Many more followed for his face. The doctor even took time to lean down and punch the old fool in the head. When the beating ended Rum lay there, a pile of groaning rags leaking blood on white tiles.

Calmly enough, the doctor stood up, turning his back on Rum.

"That girl is kinda cute. Chubby, yet still cute. She'll be fun. You know, I thought my whole plan had turned sour... to be honest. When I think of it now it's actually all starting to iron out... perfect really. I can do whatever I want to her and my patsy will still get the blame."

"Keep... your hands... off her!"

"Relax... to tell the truth I was lying. I don't think she's cute at all. She's really quite ugly actually. Fat women are the worst kind of woman, but she's ugly beyond that. It wouldn't be fun. Spite is fun though. I'll do it for spite."

"You... you won't find them... now."

The doctor began strolling away in pursuit of Sierra and Henry. "You really think I'd waste this much time talking to you if they could get away? The doors in this place are locked. I know which doors are locked and which ones are open because I locked them and opened them." He dangled a set of keys. "They won't get out that way. This is my hospital. It is my maze. They are rats in my maze. Good bye, old bum."

***

Sierra fell against another double door, desperately banging it with her fist. "This one's locked too! We can't stay here, we have to go back."

Henry vied for another option. Raising the sledgehammer, he began beating into the wooden frame. It didn't crack on one hit, and wouldn't for a few more.

"He's coming!" Sierra cried.

Footfalls tapped from out of sight. The sound tapped faster and faster until the doctor's shadow loomed from beyond a corner. Its movement slowed, confident in victory.

Henry continued to hammer. With each heavy bang that shadow seemed to become slowly more aware of Henry's plan. It burst into a sudden fury of movement until the doctor stood out in full, away from his shadows. From a range of but twenty paces, the doctor stormed upon them.

The door broke before the doctor made it in time. Henry had cracked a hole big enough for Sierra to be pushed through first. Henry on the other hand found himself grabbed, ensnared within one of the doctor's hands.

Sierra, now through the door, did everything to pull her friend through. The effort proved futile. For all her pulling she found herself being dragged back through the opening. Amidst all the struggling she heard Henry cry for her too run. His voice strained chokingly. He was being choked.

Salvation came when Henry dropped the hammer. By accident or not Henry let it slip within arm reach of Sierra.

Snatching it up, she rammed it through the opening and into the doctor's knee cap. He crumbled without dropping the lad. That's why she did it again, and again, until he did.

Henry still kicking back at the doctor's face, Sierra pulled him through the opening. With no time to stop Henry gasped for breath before setting into another blind sprint. What little ground they'd hoped to gain shrank when without any struggle, those double doors opened on the click of a key. Then through them came the doctor to resume it all. He chased without show of injury. There was no pain in that man. And he came, seemingly faster than before.

***

Rum only managed to get off his back. Pressing up from the floor, he formed a crippled hunch to inspect the damage. One wipe of his palm over face left a hand awash in blood. Considering the beating he received it could have been coming from anywhere. It certainly wasn't coming from his mouth, which oozed a separate spill of blood. Even still, Rum walked pain stricken on the doctor's trail.

"Damn bastard," he uttered. "Can't take this old bum out so easy. He's strong though. How does a pencil neck doctor get so strong?"

Rum stopped limping to examine an item at his feet, an empty syringe.

"Damn litter bug... so that's it... the bastard's got drugs."

Two more syringe needles provided a clear enough trail to follow.

Chapter 34

The doctor's nearing silhouette pursued Henry and Sierra with renewed resilience. For moments that darkness called a man would vanish then reappear for every corner they turned in this bland, familiar corridor. They continued till there were no more corners left to turn. One electronically locked double door blocked the way forward while nothing but a clear straight hall stood between the bums and the doctor.

Again they crashed straight into the door with nothing but a prayer. No such luck. Henry quickly turned to Sierra.

"Sierra, the hammer?"

"I-I dropped it."

"That you did, Sierra," the doctor yelled, in full view approaching with sledgehammer clutched in both hands.

Henry eyed back and forth between the doctor and a second door along the side wall. A notice labelled it as basement access. In those brief moments of contemplation he paid attention to the doctor's lack of regard for the door, and quickly concluded it to be another locked one. Even if he did make a run for it he'd likely be intercepted. Then he noticed a third option.

"The laundry shoot!"

"Henry?"

"There's an exit in the basement. Just go!"

He grabbed Sierra and pushed her down the laundry shoot. Sparing no time he dove in after, a large grabbing hand caught nothing but the air at the back of his neck.

Hurdling down the shoot, Henry's feet remained suspended above Sierra's head until crashing to a full laundry bin. Those feet of his suddenly became closer to that head of hers.

Wrapped in filth stained clothes they each fumbled about until recklessly falling out of the bin to a concrete floor. Amidst the silence of their resting gasps, pipes lining the roof burped and churned as if ready to burst open any moment. The sounds created an impression of total isolation, how the echoes reverberated against the concrete room like bats in an empty cavern.

Henry knelt by Sierra's side. "Are you okay, how's your leg?"

For a moment she held in pain, then released. "I'll be fine. I just need rest."

"We should go."

"He can't fit down the chute. Just let me rest a bit."

"More than likely he has the key for the basement access door. I'd give him a minuet to get here.

"And where will we go?"

"There's a fire escape in the boiler room down here, if we go now we can get out there in time. Come on, I'll carry you."

He lifted the girl into his arm.

"Do you know where it is?"

"I've an idea. That's how I got out of here the first time. I mean... that's how he got me out of here."

"Who?"

"Him."

The doctor appeared in the only doorway to this room. His body dominated the door frame. And his smile... The way he smiled, a frozen smile. He didn't breathe through it. Though he'd clearly stormed down three flights of stairs to get to the basement so quickly, he didn't even gasp. He tossed an empty syringe to the floor as if to show the reason for it.

"Poor babies, you wanted to get downstairs yet you came too far. I've always said this basement feels like a tomb... Fitting, I guess."

"You won't get away with this... not here!" Henry yelled. "You think you can chase us around a hospital without someone noticing?"

"Yes. I've done it twice before on a full house, what's to stop me now? Of course, I'd already given those women their 'medication' and people seldom shake their heads when a clearly unstable patience is pulled kicking and screaming through a crowded corridor. The doctor's trying to kill me, she'll say... mad woman, I'll say. It's a common sight around here actually... even on our better days there's always one or two who scream bloody murder."

"We're not patients here. They won't fall for that."

"You could be right. Of course, the police do already have you, Henry, on record for stealing pills from this hospital. Why... the very same medication as that darned serial killer, would you believe? Everyone does expect to return back here for more eventually... after all you've stolen most of your drugs from here, so why wouldn't you come back for more?"

"I never robbed any pills!"

"Really? You did run from the police Henry, and guilty men don't run. They simply wanted to question you about robbing medication after a doctor at this hospital witnessed you stealing them. You ran away. Now you're a suspect. You can imagine how alarmed I was when I learned those pills you stole are the same as the serial killer's."

"I don't have your pills any more! They're gone, you've nothing on me."

"I'll have a drug test on you once you're apprehended. Those pills, did you know they're also highly addictive and used as a powerful narcotic by those who need that little bit... of a difference? The police tell me, and as doctor I agree, it seems likely the serial killer takes for recreational purposes as well as for the murders... strange as that is. So... how long has it been since you swallowed those pills I gave you? Little under a week? They'll need to swab you good but they'll find it. It's still in your system."

"Y-you planned all that?"

"Call it an extra benefit to a separate very good plan. Now, I'll do away with the girl, apprehend you and be treated as a hero."

"You were lying to me the whole time! You tricked me! No! There's no proof. A drug test can't prove I killed someone! The police won't believe your story."

"They will when they test those clothes I gave you, the clothes I gave you to replace the ones you damaged in the fire. The ones you're still wearing now. Maybe they'll find the DNA belonging to several of those women drenched into the seams. Maybe they'll do a background check and learn that those trousers you're wearing belonged to my second victim. She was about your size."

"You won't get away with this. I'm going to stop you."

"Henry... you dressed up in woman's drag because I told you to. What could you even begin to try and do against me?"

Sierra stabilised herself by leaning on the laundry bin. "It's you... I remember hearing about you."

"What's that?"

"We were at Annette Lucille's house. One of her neighbours told us a doctor kept visiting her shortly before the murder... that was you wasn't it?"

No returning emotion told her all she needed to know.

"If you turn Henry over they'll piece it together. Police will know you were visiting her before the murder."

"That could be damning... a caring doctor visiting one of his many gravely ill patients... that's such very damming evidence. What an awful person they'll think I am. I'm sure your story might be of more interest to them... the good for nothing pathetic bum who returned to the scene of the crime to see everything he'd done. You even brought your friends around to show them. That's sick Henry. You're sick."

"Annette deserves better."

"Don't tell me what that woman deserves. With her husband dead she had no one left to truly care for her. Think about it... sure, I drugged her, tortured her, raped her, murdered her. But I was there for her. No one else came to visit. No one else stayed with her like I did. I was the nicest person she knew. That boring bitch had nothing better. I'm glad she's dead and so is she."

"She didn't want to die... no matter how bad things were."

"She didn't want to give up. That's not bravery it's human arrogance. People are afraid of quitting. In truth people always want to die, every one of us... even you. Death is easy like that. She was my first. If she didn't want it, I guarantee there wouldn't have been a second."

Henry stared the doctor down, shoulders slouched in rage. "It's because you're a coward. It's bad enough you target women, but you couldn't even start with a healthy woman."

"I had to see if I could go through with it. I did. It worked."

"Bullshit! Look at you! You can't even chase two stupid bums without your drugs to keep you going! You're weak! You didn't choose a sick woman to see if you could actually go through with it. You did it because you didn't want her to fight back. You were afraid... you were afraid that a strong target might actually fight back... then you'd be too damn scared to try again! You're a coward."

"Coward! Me? Careful what you point at others. Consider it... why do you think I chose you as my patsy? Look at you, you weak, pathetic, loner. A man so gutless he ran blindly into a burning building just to regain some sense of self-worth."

Henry quietened.

"You see, I'm right. Fact is, I could have told you my intentions for you when we first met... and you'd be in this same situation now. You would have strolled straight out the hospital doors with your head wedged deep in sand. So many people out there wouldn't be so gullible, but you ate it all up. I bet you didn't even tell anyone what happened because you were so afraid. Don't call me a coward, you wouldn't be standing here if you'd ever grown a back bone."

Henry flung his fist in blind rage. Too blind. He failed to connect with the target. The doctor had taken an effortless step back out into the hallway to dodge. For one instant he formed a cocky grin and seemed intent on continual gloating. All hint of confidence vanished when he began falling sideways, under force of an ominous silhouette bringing him tackling to the ground.

"Rum!" Sierra called.

The doctor reduced to the floor, Rum remained standing. The old man stood in the door frame, which he collapsed against.

Sierra leapt up to hug him, finding herself pulled cautiously back by Henry's arms. "Rum, you're okay!"

Gashed, bruised, panting and barely standing, the old bum stuck his thumb up. "Was... there... ever any... doubt. This guy... couldn't even-"

Sierra and Henry couldn't see it from the angle within the laundry room. It seemed a fist had jabbed him in the stomach. So the old bum slumped slowly to the floor, where the same hand lifted him back up. A second punched him in the face.

"What was that you said about gloating!?" the doctor roared.

Through the beating, Rum turned an eye to Sierra and Henry. No way they could get past with the two of them blocking the doorway. Drastic measures would be needed. Rum allowed himself to fall to the floor.

The doctor tried to pick him up, but Rum grabbed his hand and made effort to pull him down too. It didn't work as well as he'd hoped, but it would work enough.

Rum sent out a groan sounding similar to the word, 'run'.

So they did.

Henry squeezed round the doctor first with Sierra behind. The mad man freed an arm to snag the girl. So she struggled between Henry and the doctor, herself at the centre of a tug o' war she could never win. Trying to free Sierra proved futile so Henry quit, deciding instead on the more tactical option of bashing the doctor in the side of the head. He didn't dodge this time. He didn't feel them either for that matter. Though Henry slashed out like an ant biting a rhino, the man didn't have enough hands to deal with all three of their efforts combined, so he dropped Rum to deal with the nuisance known as Henry. That was a mistake.

Old Rum jumped on top the doctor's back, wrapping arms around his throat and pulling him backward to the ground. Sierra still squirmed without give.

With the doctor partially subdued Henry traded his pathetic little punches to pathetic little kicks aimed straight for that pathetic little face of his. That was enough to cause a snarl on his face and two vengeful eyes to glare wider, so Sierra jammed her fingers in them. His hands snapped open, he let her go.

Rum grabbed the doctor, holding him still. Henry stopped kicking. The way was clear and it was time to make a move again. This time they didn't need Rum bellowing orders for them to take the hint. Hand in hand, he and Sierra darted through the new opening almost immediately.

By time they left his sight, old Rum had been upturned. The beating started and ended with Rum left lying in a bloody puddle. He would not get up again.

The doctor's damning echo rolled down the stone corridor. "Stay dead!"

***

Legs worn to the strength of jelly, Henry stumbled into the wall. Sierra, no longer so tired having carried herself less, stopped to offer reassurance.

"Move it you bloody pussy! Get us to the boiler room."

Henry nodded with a replenishing gulp of his throat. "I-It's... down here... I think."

All this time they'd been running and now more than ever tiredness overwhelmed them. The basement layout caused it. How every corner rolled on with the same cavernous monotony, broken only by the odd fork on the end of another straight path. It looked as though this hospital had been built atop some ancient temple ground. Except this one came dotted with the occasional loosely stacked crates and odd slop bucket spilled along the side. As they ran these surroundings continued to repeat like the background reels of an old cartoon. It would take a creaking shriek to bring them to a startled halt. The noise pierced through the dull sound of silence. It came from the pipes above them. They were warping with sudden heat like the pipe system in a decrepit mansion.

"The power's back on!" Sierra said.

"It's just the heating system. See, the main lights haven't even come back on yet."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we need to find that boiler room."

"Sort of waiting on you for that."

Henry rested his hand on the wall, gasping for breath. "I know but... I was barely conscious at the time. Memory's a little hazy." He let his eyes follow the sound of creaking pipes running along the roof above. "The heat's coming from the boiler room... we can find it by following the pipes."

Sierra followed his eyes. "That sounds like a plan."

Another sound pierced the hallway. This time nothing mechanical but the sound of a man wailing in a running fit. Not a wail of pain, fatigue or even remorse. It was a call of rage, pure hate storming their way.

The path of pipes proved true. Reefing open the heavy bulk of the boiler room door, the pair hurried through, quickly barring it shut with a broom handle.

Sierra at once fell back against the door, sliding to the floor. She wheezed and panted in some hope of rest, like Henry who did the same by sitting atop a blanketed crate.

Henry gazed round the room in tired haze to remember the way. A small glow from the coal fuelled boiler tinted the room to some degree, though it still lay mostly shadowed. It was somewhere in that shadow, amidst the interwoven pipes running from along the ceiling down into the floor, where he'd woken from his drugged induced state before. Even without light to see, he was sure this was the same boiler room. The fire exit should be somewhere in that shadow. No sooner did he stand up to investigate did the boiler room door rattle on an awesome bang. A thump, that rattling turned to thumping. Each boom seemed powerful enough to fling the door open. The bangs increased as thumps and punches became replaced with kicks and knees. Then they changed for something else entirely, something heavier being slammed into the door. The broom handle jumped in tune with sounds of cracking wood.

Spurred by these sounds, Henry grabbed and pushed Sierra into the shadow, where he charged like a human battering ram. They hurdled, almost blind, through the darkness, bumping into pipes and continuing till touching what he assumed to be the fire door. He pushed the bar down and opened into a flurry of snow.

They entered outside, into a tight side alley lined with boxes. It was the same one Henry remembered from before, with the same high wall to the main street on his left. Except now snow filled the grounds. Crates he might have used to leverage his way over the high wall lay sheeted half to the brim in snow. Henry at once tried to claw them free.

Realising the small window of time, Sierra shook Henry's shoulder till he turned to her with desperate eyes lacking all common sense. It would take the thrashing bang emanating from the boiler room to really snap his senses awake.

"I got out this way before," he whimpered. "We need to stack the boxes so..."

"Not this time. Come on."

Sierra lead the way, limping instead to the right, out the alleyway and into the rear storage yard. In her haste she slipped on her dodgy leg, finding herself saved in Henry's arms. Once again Henry carried both of them.

There came a sudden boom of slamming steel, sounding even over the howling wind. It seemed the doctor had proved successful in his effort to open the boiler door. With their slow pace it would take him but moments to catch up. Knowing that did little to hasten their fatigued pace.

Still, they limped and gasped their way till their aimless escape brought them to rows of shipping containers. They enveloped the area in neat single file rows, forming lane ways between each like mazes of steel with no centre to speak of.

On the threshold to one of these tight lanes, Sierra tripped. Henry attempted to catch her but instead fell under her weight.

"My leg!" Sierra shrieked.

Henry checked the problem. She had tripped on a plank of wood left carelessly tossed to the ground. By time Henry mustered strength enough to lift her, a grim shadow fell over them both. The doctor stood above, a foreboding grin on his bloodied lips. The width of his shoulder blocked the entrance to this narrow lane between the containers.

"Henry, get out of here! Leave me."

"I'm not leaving you."

"Please, Henry... run."

Henry clenched his teeth as if to block out her words. Sneaking a glance to that plank of wood Sierra tripped over, he conjured thoughts of grabbing it. If only the opportunity were there he could smash it over that tormenting face up there. But it wouldn't hurt much anyway, he needed something harder. He needed the doctor's own weapon.

The doctor looked wryly at the sledgehammer in his hand. "Something got your eye? I don't think it'll do you any-"

He froze in his mocking on hearing a distant yelling smothered by the wind. It dimmed in and out from under the howling, appearing then disappearing. It sounded like a man's voice calling from high up above, a man named Alex.

It drew their attentions high up to one of the top windows of the hospital, where a distant shape of a man hung out over the window's edge to see down to this yard below. He seemed unaware of the lack of coherency granted by the noisy wind yet yelled at them all the same. And all the same, it did the trick.

"Alex!" Sierra cried.

Henry lunged for the sledge hammer, quickly prying it from the doctor's grip he held it aloft and thumped it into the man's face. Though it felt to Henry like a deadly blow, the doctor merely fell down, grunting curses as he rubbed the pain away.

At once Henry dropped the hammer to lighten their load. Grabbing Sierra by the hand, they rushed deeper into the corridor of storage containers. With Sierra in arm, Henry rounded corner after tightly weaving corner. Though they had no place to run to, they couldn't stop.

A damming roar signalled the doctor's recovery. The sudden, and quickly nearing, tempo of crunching snow under foot suggested they'd left a clear trail of footprints behind.

Perhaps it was the fear of the roaring that caused Sierra to slip. Henry caught her in time, pulling her back up. At that moment the girl's eyes widened with hope when one sign of salvation appeared straight ahead.

There was a single frame glass doorway on the end of this straight, all tucked down here like a lone portal forgotten amidst all these crates. At that moment their movement hastened despite fatigue. In that same moment the crunching footfalls of their pursuer switched to thumping charges, booming in the quiet of this corridor like the last gunfire on the eve of a great battle.

The doctor's sudden insistence triggered the pair into a greater sense of hope. If the door had been locked the man would have slowed, confidently taken his time, like he had for the basement access door. The door, they knew, would be unlocked.

With all hope they charged into it, and went straight through, tumbling into darkness until landing flat on a cold tiled floor. What light seeped through the window from the fog lights showed them enough of this cafeteria to get their bearings. At once they began barricading the door with tables and chairs.

With nothing but a sloppily formed pile holding it shut, Henry turned for the only other doorway in the room, a double door which should take them to the first floor of the main building. Henry grabbed the handle, and pulled, and pulled.

"It's locked!"

"What do we do?"

The barricaded door began to rattle. In just one push, and one great bang, the makeshift barricade jumped a whole yard back. Henry ran to hold it shut.

"Hide behind the counter. I'll... hold him off."

"Henry?"

"You can't do anything here... you have to-"

The barricade collapsed. The door swung open then that man burst in like an invader to his rival's throne room. How Henry fell to the floor and crawled away only stood to amplify such an image.

His eyes settled to Henry down there on the tiles, crawling away in terror. He grinned at the man's futile state, switching his attention to Sierra who at once took cover behind the cafeteria cash register.

She attempted to hide behind what distance the counter top provided between herself and those arms reaching for her. She ducked back and dodged the snatching grabs for as long as she could. It wasn't long. He snared her throat with one hand, and punched her with the other.

Henry, still reduced to the floor, lunged for the doctor's legs. Hands wrapped round tight, he held and squeezed.

In utter passiveness, the doctor dropped Sierra to the floor then leaned down to lift Henry by the scruff of the neck. Holding Henry in the air, he stared into the little man's eyes as if to contemplate delivering a worse thrashing as he had to the girl. The doctor smirked then merely tossed him away to the floor.

That trace amount of pity, for better or worse, wouldn't last long. When the doctor did return attention to Sierra, he saw her lying there unconscious. She would wait there for him. His patsy wouldn't.

Sensing an imminent change of heart, Henry crawled away desperately till his back pressed against those double doors. Shaken by this sudden contact Henry sprang up to tackle the doctor blindly.

Smack. The doctor walloped his face with something, something hard. Henry fell back against the door and for the briefest of moments flickered in and out of consciousness.

With his back again pressed against the only door between isolation and salvation, Henry watched as the doctor drew over him, standing but a foot in distance.

The doctor held that sledgehammer triumphantly in hand. "Remember this? You really should pick up after yourself, Henry. You'd leave less incriminating evidence behind, that's for sure."

Henry groaned a mindless defence.

"I have to admit it's been a pleasure. Certainly, I'd hoped for the police to catch a live suspect rogue out on the streets, far away from here. At least this way I won't have to listen to you cry about your innocence on the news day after day. The media won't get their live convict to boo and jeer, so I'll give them a hero instead - me. Sure this is inconvenient, but at least dead men can't cry innocent. Goodbye Henry."

The one some people called a dud craned his neck up without arm strength for defence. He watched as that mad man raised his shoulders on high, the top of that sledgehammer gleaming in darkness. The doctor inhaled for the final strike.

Henry prayed behind tightened eyes.

The room shook with a thunderous shriek. The shrieking charged greater and greater, reverberating throughout this room, throughout this floor, throughout this hospital until a great and powerful explosion of light stormed in throughout the room. All shrieking ceased into a slow fade until there was nothing, only light wrapped around the darkened silhouette of his tormentor.

Henry squinted against the ominous glow until he could see a figure walking toward him. Wrapped in the glow of pure light the figure stepped toward them with proud duress, confident ease and full understanding of this strange occurrence. The figure came closer, clothes hanging loosely, swaying robe like with his gentle walk. A beard waved in the light, gloriously swaying to right on an unknown wind.

The figure raised a hand, just one hand.

That was all Henry saw until the doctor's legs crumbled and blood spurted from his lips. The light vanished by the time he'd hit the ground.

Henry rubbed his eyes to focus then looked up to see the one who saved him. The light almost gone the figure came to full form, and that glorious beard of his stumbled quite promptly from its pedestal. No longer did that beard sway gloriously on the wind, it merely lay in tangles, gritted solid so it merely stuck out that way. The robe wasn't so much one, so much as it was a long grey coat reaching down to the knees. Then there was that face with nothing glorious to speak of, nothing unusual save the oddly familiar pattern of scabbed burn marks covering one side of his face, hiding somewhat behind that sickly blondish grey beard of his. Familiar indeed.

The frail, gracelessly postured man rubbed his eyes as if only woken. "It's you! Like you know, I mean it's you again! It is you? Or isn't it?" His voice came slow and slurred, like some poor evolution of an Irish accent.

A smile found its way creeping across Henry's scabbed lips. It quickly broke into a light fit of laughter. "I-It's you again. I can't believe it's you!" he returned.

It was him - that man. They'd met once before on a subway train. He was a senile old hobo who made them feel so uncomfortable as to force them to change carriage. The same senile old man Henry and Alex later found laying in a ditch and summoned an ambulance for.

"It's you!" Henry began to laugh. "They brought you here!?"

"Sure did!" the old man replied enthusiastically. "Say... who's your friend here?" The ragged old hobo indicated the doctor plastered to the floor.

"Just some guy."

The old hobo cocked his eyes at Henry, who now sat hunched into himself in hysterical laughter. "Looks like you got some serious issues there, like you know." And with that the hobo too began laughing for no apparent reason. No apparent reason was needed to laugh.

From behind the counter top, the downed Sierra began to stir back to her feet. Leaning on the counter for leverage she peeped over to witness a far different scene from the one she'd left. The doctor downed to the floor... Henry and some strangely familiar old man laughing, almost manically, over the unconscious body.

"Did... we win?" Sierra muttered.

Henry stopped laughing, as the hobo did in kind.

"Why me?" Henry said. "Why does all this have to happen to me? God hates me."

"Probably," the hobo stated with little purpose.

"Where did that light come from anyway?" Henry asked.

"Fog lights outside. Power came back on y'know... guess it must have overloaded the lights, like you know."

"Really?" Henry sighed peacefully. "Wait... how did you get in here?"

"Fell asleep after eating... guess they forgot about me."

"Lucky. Don't suppose you know another way out of here?"

"You're leaning on it."

"It's locked."

"No it isn't. Y'gotta push it."

The old hobo demonstrated by pushing the door in. It swung open and Henry fell back to the floor.

Laying flat on the cold tiles, Henry couldn't help but laugh. "A push in door!"

Chapter 35

Their tormentor subdued, the four tramps were gathered together and taken back to one private room set specially for them. The room certainly looked nicer than those they'd previously experienced. Unfortunately they had trouble reeling in the luxury of it all. They didn't know whether it was a gift for heroes, or the holding cell for criminals. For all they knew that mad man waited in a room just like this, with his friends of staff at bedside asking all the questions he wanted them to ask.

At least they felt safe knowing the police were on the scene. Even though they made no formal introduction they did show up briefly to snatch Henry away for questioning. Their choice in suspect could only mean they gave the doctor his say first. The lack of security on their room suggested they weren't taking it all as seriously as he might have hoped... yet.

Sure they could have clicked the television over to a news channel for information, if the police hadn't taken Henry, the only person capable of standing under his own weight. They questioned the ethics of leaving three bed stricken patients in front of a TV with the remote on the other end of the room.

Sierra's leg hung suspended in a cast. It would strain her neck just to see half the television screen. Alex remained in the same state. Now he refused to admit his clear exhaustion after his relatively minor, yet pivotal, rescue attempt. Rum's wounds ran so deep they required little explanation.

In their waiting they spared little effort relishing that rarest of luxuries some people called a heating system. In this warmth they could hide under the soft bed sheets which these days felt so alien to them, and by all means to anyone forced into this hospital. The restored power, and therefore the television, set the cherry on the cake. Amidst it all, their came an all round feeling that jail mightn't be so bad for one day of this comfort. And in this frame of mind they began to miss the old novelties they used to have. And on that frame of mind the thought of jail became ever more worse.

All those comforts came for the most part in vain. It's difficult to make the most of anything when mummified stiff to a bed. To Sierra and Rum, thick sheets were no more than added strain. Television, with all its benefits, became nothing more than noise and irritating flashing lights. Alex enjoyed it all none the less. The mindless allure of the television screen provided a safe distraction from the less than positive chatter of a certain old bum.

"We're screwed," he'd say. "Cops ain't gonna listen to us." And so forth.

In time the door clicked open. Henry came slumping into the room like the living dead, sitting himself on a stool at the end of Sierra's bed. For some time he sat there in silence despite all the gawking eyes.

Then he'd sigh and say something like: "We're screwed. The cops will never believe us over a doctor."

Rum leaned over the side of his bed to grab his coat from the floor. Pulling a cigarette from the pocket, he placed it to his lips, lit it, and said, "The hell's up with you? Alex is sick as fuck, Sierra's legs are buckled and I've got the shit beat out of me three times straight, and you look the worst out off all of us!"

Henry drew attention to the hospital robe he was now wearing. "The police took my clothes... even my glasses. The doctor told me the clothes he gave me belonged to one his victims. They must know. They trust his word and not mine."

"They have to examine both sides," Alex stated.

"You so sure?" Rum said. "From what you told me this guy's obviously done some serious forward planning. Those cops are probably sitting in some interrogation room nodding their heads to every word he says."

"Not a good time for that unwavering support of yours, Rum," Sierra replied.

"I'm just saying-"

"Don't!" Henry snapped. "This isn't funny."

"Never said it was. All I'm saying is this guy does have the brains to get his way out of this. Hell, he planned all this from the start. Those clothes he gave you... how he tricked you into running away from the police... he set it all up. I'd reckon he was the one who put the cops onto you in the first place."

"That's true," a familiar male voice spoke from the doorway.

The doctor named Adam entered the room, dressed in civilian attire and limping on a crutch. He made way to the centre of the room so they could all see him.

"The police haven't been filled in on the whole story yet."

Rum eyed him over. "Aren't you supposed to be doing something about that? Don't tell me sociopath runs in the family."

"I'm... going to tell them what I know... but I wanted to talk to you all first. I think I owe you some explanation for all this. It's true... my brother was the one who called the police when you came here first, but it wasn't really part of his plan. He messed up and had to adapt."

"Speak clearer doc," Rum said

"Those pills my brother used on his victims, he robbed them from the hospital. Eventually members of staff began noticing the pills going missing and they were obligated to report it to police. It turned out the missing pills were the same as those used by the serial killer. They checked into it and found they'd been going missing on my brothers watch. So... naturally he needed an explanation."

"He needed a patsy."

"He told police that on more than one occasion he'd noticed a young homeless man rooting through our medication cabinet. Since police already suspected the serial killer to be a homeless man they ate it all up without too many questions."

"I can imagine," Rum said. "All that time without any leads must have had them desperate."

"Eventually the questions began to mount against my brother. As he was the only witness to these apparent thefts they returned consistently for updates. That's when my brother realised he needed to turn his imaginary character into a real person. He decided to create a genuine suspect. Henry just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It might have been anyone. All that really mattered was giving the police enough to suspect his patsy while making sure they never actually managed to get hold of him, or speak to him."

"And that's why he helped me escape. He made me believe he was helping me... when really he was framing me."

"The idea was to let you get away. By the time they'd catch you, if they ever did, you'd likely have forgotten all about my brother's influence. That is, if you didn't try covering for him out of sympathy."

"Henry would never do that!" Alex interrupted. "Would you, Henry?"

Henry slumped in his seat. Sighing, he bowed he head into his chest. "Thinking about it now... I think if the police caught me I'd have been so grateful to the doctor... I'd probably have covered for him. He'd have gotten away with it. I'm... such an idiot."

Sierra looked his way. "You're not an idiot, Henry. You're just a trusting guy, and he took advantage of that. It's his fault. He's a manipulative freak. No one should ever have to anticipate something like that in their lives."

"But he chose me... no one else. Just me. He knew I'd fall for it."

"Hey doc," Rum said. "If you knew about the whole setup, then what about the..."  
Adam glanced around the room, staring down to his feet then to an empty chair. He pulled it to the foot of Rum's bed to sit down. "I knew what he was doing. I found out about the murders."

The room silenced in a wave of surprise, confusion and all round anger. The latter being the only necessary emotion for Rum's response.

"You knew... all this time you knew he was the serial killer and you didn't say anything! Eighth people are dead. It was almost ten tonight!"

"I'm not going to make excuses. I found out roughly around the time of the fifth murder. See, we live together and those boxes you found on the rooftop... he used to keep them in our flat. One day, when I'd been off work with flu I started rooting through the wardrobe for some medicine when I found a box stuffed inside a vent. It was full of his... pictures."

"The question still stands."

"I didn't know what to think back then, so rather than doing anything I kept my mouth shut. Then... the sixth murder occurred and a second box appeared in the vent. That's when I worked up the courage to confront him."

"And a fine job you did. Last I checked those murders didn't end at six."

"He promised they would."

"And that's why you didn't report him? Cause the murderous bastard made a promise!"

"Look... I know I should have acted sooner... but he's my brother. He said he'd stop. He said things would change."

"Whatever he tried change doesn't matter, whatever happened happened. His punishment should be based on what he'd done, not on what he was trying to change."

"What happened did happen... it already happened. It should have been over... that's what I thought. I believed he could stop, I really did. When I did tell him I knew about the boxes he promised to take them away and have them destroyed. He said it would end then. Obviously, it didn't work out so."

"So he hid them on the roof... here," Rum concluded.

"Why up there?" Alex asked. "Why not somewhere - I don't know - safer."

"I couldn't say. I guess he must have been storing them temporarily. Then again, there aren't too many places to hide something like that, so why not up there on the rooftop? Considering the lack of cameras, the snow, and the all round inaccessibility it's a pretty safe place."

"Except from his own brother."

"I never found the crates."

"Then how'd you know they were up there?"

"I didn't... not really. I've told you before... most of the time my brother and I are the only ones working these top floors. Makes sense I'd notice him heading up to the rooftop once every few days. I knew something was there... I decided I didn't want to find out what."

"So you dug a sand pit and stuck your head right in - nice, real heroic," Rum said.

"I'm trying to fix things."

"Now? Why not sooner!" Rum yelled.

"Come on Rum. That's enough," Alex pleaded.

"Don't 'come on' me Alex! This whole thing could have been avoided if this sorry jackass grew some goddamned balls and told the cops! To hell with you... don't bother apologising to Sierra or Henry, least of all me. It's too late... you want redemption, go tell the cops before that schizo brother of yours spills his own sob story."

"He's my little brother. I... wanted to protect him."

Rum sprang upright in his bed with a rage stronger than the aches in his joints. "So who you gonna protect now? My friend ain't no patsy."

Sierra reached a hand from her bed to his shoulder. "Calm down. You need rest."

"I oughta beat the crap out of this jackass right now. He's just as bad."

"I wouldn't have come here if I wasn't going to help you. I'll tell the police about the boxes on the roof. I'll tell them everything."

"Will you tell them you knew about the murders?"

The doctor nodded.

Alex acknowledged Rum. "That good enough for you?"

"You know the sad part... if we never came back here this clown never would have said anything. Make sure you tell them that too."

Alex sighed. "It's probably better if you just go."

The doctor bowed his head, edging slowly to the door. Resting his hand on the frame, he stopped with his back to them. "That's not entirely true you know. Alex... remember the woman who died after the car crash? My brother was assigned as her doctor. He made impossible screw ups... that's why she died. I'd like to think I'd have eventually told the police everything even if you didn't show. Well... goodbye."

The doctor stood a moment like an empty spirit, then turned, and left.

Rum allowed his body to slump back into the mattress. Unable to vent the pain caused by his sudden burst of movement, there came just one word: "Jackass."

"He's trying to fix his mistakes," Sierra said. "Just be thankful we can at least get that much."

Alex sat over the side of his bed. "Have to say though, when we first left Middle Park this is hardly the result I expected."

"Tell me about it," Rum said. "Next time I hear about some paranoid git who thinks everyone's against him, I think I'll be a little more open minded."

"We still have to wait," Henry said. "We'll have to sit here and wait to see what the cops think of all this. Even if the cops buy our story tonight, there's no guarantee we won't be spending the next day in a cell."

Sierra smirked. "Don't get ahead of yourself... we'll just have to wait and see."

"Once they talk to us, this'll all be over," Alex said.

"Not that I trust the cops in this city or anything but they'd have to be some incompetent louts to let that psycho off now. I mean, how bad can they be?"

***

Two hours passed without word. Even those hourly visits from tight-lipped nurses appeared to have ceased. For the second time since coming to this hospital they felt like they were the only ones here.

Washed in a bleak aura of silence, Sierra sighed. "The police force of this city... truly an elite."

The silence answered in its own humourless fashion. The bleakness of it all mostly emanated from Henry, who returned to his shoulder slumped position, head buried between knees.

"Come on Henry, it'll be fine. I'm sure Adam went straight to the police," Sierra said.

"How can you say that? If he did the police would be here by now? He probably got cold feet and ran off somewhere. You really think someone would sell out his own brother?"

"That brother... yes."

"This always happens. Anytime I'm near when something goes wrong I get the blame. That's just the way things have always worked."

"I guess things could be worse, God knows it is for other people," Alex said, getting out of bed slowly. He made way to the window and stared out.

"Should you be getting out of bed?" Sierra asked.

Gazing into the window, Alex watched the snowflakes tumble through the air, falling against his own reflection on the glass. "If another one dies will anyone really notice? It's almost time, you know."

"Time for what?" Rum asked.

"New Year."

"So?"

"I wonder if John went through with it yet."

"John?" Rum pondered a moment then came to realisation with foolish shuffling. "Right... John."

"It slipped your mind?"

"A lot's happened... can't blame me... specially with the morphine and all."

"We failed."

"We tried," Sierra stated. "All we can do is try. It's more than some people do... it's more than anyone else did for John."

Rising from his misery, Henry looked to Alex. "It wasn't a waste. We did do some good. At least... I think so."

"Aye we did! Catching a serial killer marks one on the good things we did list," Rum said.

"Yeah," Henry said with a smile. "We did didn't we. We caught a serial killer. The police couldn't catch him... but we caught him. We caught him."

Alex turned to them. "I guess God works in mysterious ways after all."

"God?" Rum said. "Forget God, if God had anything to with this we wouldn't have been set on that monstrous detour. The hell's the point in doing things the hard way we could get there a lot faster? Forget God, I'm the only one you want to thank."

"Sorry old Rum, I've given up on coincidences."

Sierra smirked. "Speaking of coincidences... I ran into someone I used to know... my old foster mother."

"Really, when?" Alex asked.

"The morning after we slept under the bridge. I took a walk around my old neighbourhood, and just sort of... ran into her. We talked for a while and then... well, she said I could move in with her... if I want."

"And what did you say?"

"That I'd think about it."

"And... have you?"

"Well... I have a home to go to now. Whether I move in with her or not, I'm not homeless any more. So... seems the right thing to do."

Rum pulled himself to an upright position. "I see. So you won't be living on the street any more... with us?"

"That would be the definition of no longer homeless. Yes."

"Can you visit?"

"She lives way on the others side of the city. It'd be hard."

Rum took it like a punch in the stomach. "I... see."

"Don't be like that. You won't be homeless forever."

"Says you."

"Quit playing dumb you old bat. You honestly think I haven't figured out that little dark secret of yours? How stupid do you think I am?"

"Secret? What? No idea what you're talking about."

"Come on, Rum - that expensive suit you used to wear, how you know so much about business. Did you really think I wouldn't figure out where you came from? After all this time you've never been able to keep a secret from me, especially not the ones you want to keep."

Alex smirked. "What? Rum actually managed to keep his mouth shut about something?"

"A big something. Let's just say... no one in this room is going to have to worry about money for a while... at least with Rum's help. Right Rum?"

Rum uttered some compliant grumbles. "We'll see."

"Maybe with your influence you could even help Alex get his stories published."

"Even God don't have that kind of influence."

"Like you've read them," Alex said.

"What would it matter? Last I heard all your stories got snatched by that corrupt agent."

"They did. I found them again."

"How?"

"They were still there... in the same place I last saw them." Alex held up the CD between his index finger and thumb.

Rum nodded. "So that's what that CD's about. Thought you'd just gone a little senile with an imaginary computer."

"Funny. I guess you can buy me a real one when we're done, rich guy. I'll let you pick it out."

"I look like I know about crap like that? I used to just pay people to do it for me."

"How many people?"

"Lots."

"We'll seriously have to talk about this book deal."

"What would you even do with success?"

"I've always wanted to do something different."

"Different?"

"I want to achieve something in my life. That's why I need this money. I want to do good. Things no one else would do with their money."

"You want to be some hero?"

"I guess you could say that. Maybe, I don't know, I could give it to some charity and call it quits. Imagine what a million pounds could do for one African village."

"Sure why not? I always figured you'd go down as the biggest nut in history anyway. To hell with that! We're charity enough. If I'm gonna spend my money on you then charity your profit my way."

"So it's true then... you are loaded."

"I might have a little extra something tucked away some place sure. Y'know, money alone won't get your stuff published."

"I know... I wouldn't want to buy my way in anyway. Promotion can be your department."

"It'd be wasted if you think that's all I can do."

Alex paused in a build-up of excitement. "Just how rich are you?"

"Quite a bit."

"A bum with a hidden fortune... you're a cliché in every form."

Rum shied down under his own shoulders, eyes dodging back and forth between Alex and Henry leering in with greed filled eyes. In all awkwardness, the old bum demanded Henry pass the remote. Snapping it straight from his hands Rum began mindlessly switching stations.

"Let's see what else is on."

The volume on mute, a picture of this hospital from outside appeared. A female reporter in a red suit stood in front reading the story.

Sierra burst upright, flattening back out with aching joints. "Turn the volume up!"

Rum obeyed. The room silenced.

"It happened just moments ago," the speaker said. "We received word that the serial killer who has prowled the streets these past years has been apprehended within this hospital. Early reports indicate the suspect is a 34 year old male and believed to work at this hospital. Police have stated that the man in question was apprehended while in the process of pursing another potential victim, believed to be a patient here. While details of the capture remain sketchy we can tell you the victim managed to fight the culprit off in an act of desperation, a feat no doubt inspired by the two hundred thousand dollar reward for anyone who provides information leading to an arrest."

The report droned on against the silence of gaping jaws.

"T-two hundred thousand? For me?" Henry said.

"Nice of them to inform us," Rum said.

"Yeah what the hell?" Sierra said. "They call the press but nobody bothered telling us! What the hell could they be doing?"

"Milking it by the looks of things," Rum stated, indicating the television.

The screen changed to a detective delivering statements at the front of the hospital. Surrounding him stood a cluster of blue uniforms, all cramming together into the screen. From how they waved their hands and gave thumbs up they might as well have been brandishing 'hey mom' signs.

"That explains it... publicity seeking wankers."

"Idiots," Alex stated. "Haven't they ever heard of witness protection. Strictly speaking we're still sitting ducks in here."

"Why do we need protection, we're heroes!" Rum exclaimed.

"You almost make it sound like the cops in this city thought something through."

"Simplicity is hardly thought provoking."

Henry had frozen with a deeper paleness alien to him. "M-money?" He piped one more time as if speaking those final words before waking from a good dream.

"Guess you're loaded, bud," Rum added.

Sierra smiled. "Yes... Henry... money. That is if they don't forget about us all together. Speaking of which, you'd think the staff here would be a little more concerned about us. We did get beaten near to death and all."

"We already put one of their head doctors in jail. The rest want nothing to do with us."

"Or most likely..." Sierra looked into the television. Behind that rabble of police officers seeking their five minutes of fame, stood a second rabble of white and green scrubs pressed against the glass doors of the hospital entrance. Each waved as enthusiastically as those officers. It seemed even the patients were getting in on the mix. A voice over spoke as the detective continued his seminar.

"This shocking breakthrough comes with great misfortune, however, as on this very same night a new challenge for our city's police has entered the mainstream media. Earlier today two bank robbers who relieved a city bank of five hundred thousand dollars managed to escape without a trace. Police place the blame on lack of visibility due to poor weather conditions. It has however been speculated, by us, that the escaping van tossed bags full of money into the pursuing vehicles resulting in a pile up which tore a hole through a down town building. Information on this story is currently sparse due to a sudden and bizarre lack of eye witnesses. It has been said at least one man was seen picking up and bagging money before disappearing into the fog. If you know the identity of this man please report to the proper authorities."

"Lucky guy," Rum grumbled.

"At least that makes one lucky man this year," Alex added.

"You talking about our suicidal friend, John? Maybe it's the morphine speaking here but with all that's happened I might be coming around to your line of thinking, Alex. Maybe there's a little more to this god stuff than meets the eye. Sure... if something up there went through all that effort to help us I'm sure it's giving the same treatment to John. Nobody down here managed to help him but maybe... just maybe..."

"Maybe we were the ones who were supposed to save him... and we failed."

"Chances are we weren't meant to succeed. We were only supposed to leave the park. You know, stop sitting around and get back to reality."

"And what about finding the suicide note?" Rum said "I can think of less elaborate ways to make us leave the park. Why would fate connect us to John like that?"

"Maybe we weren't connected in the first place. We only thought we were. Finding the note only made us leave... actually saving him was someone else's problem."

"Maybe it is the morphine speaking, after all," Alex said.

"Shut up you damn freak. Here's me trying to be philosophical and you go ruin it. If I wasn't stuck in this bed I'd beat that ugly head of yours straight off. I've seriously got to beat the crap out of you one of these day."

"You wouldn't... and couldn't."

"Yeah, cute," Rum groaned. "Look... all I'm saying is good things might happen when you least suspect."

"Your philosophies a tad dated. You come with it all on your own?"

"That's what I learned... maybe he did too."

"Since when are you so optimistic?" Sierra asked.

Rum yanked his morphine tube. "Lots of reasons... we'll have to see when the morphine runs out."

"You're a strange old man."

"Never doubt it. Try remember that when you're all hampered up in your middle-class bed."

"We'll see... maybe I might know someone who's into strange old men."

"Really? She into drunks, bums, and a guys who haven't showered in years? I might stand a chance then."

"Well... she did once date a writer."

"I see... so she wants to upgrade then."

"Care to give it a shot?"

"I'll see if she meets my standards."

"That's a yes then. Though there's no harm in taking a bath, quitting the bum life and stopping the drink."

"Bath? Sure. Bum life? That's a given. Drink? She'd have to be some woman."

"And get a job. Wealth or no."

"Y'think?"

Henry sat upright on his stool. "So... what's this then? We're all done with the gutter? This is it?"

"I guess it is. Only if we stick to it."

"Hey well... we're not all exactly done in the gutter," Alex said. "Sure I've my writing back but... it's not as solid as a cheque."

"But Rum said he'll help you," Sierra said.

"Yeah... but... it'll take time. Even with Rum's help it'll probably be a year before a publisher even looks at them."

"Fine." Rum stretched into a yawn, using the position to rise to his feet. Clutching a crutch left beside his bed, he began groggily limping his way out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Sierra asked.

"To call a friend from the good ol' days. He knows a few guys in that line of work. There's a rumour out there that publishers don't favour the wealthy in their publications. Cram it. You'll have your book in a month."

"You serious?"

"Call it payback for all the shit I give you." Rum turned to leave, briefly looking back at all them one last time. "By the way... my name's Nathan. Nice to meet you."

Chapter 36

And so it appeared those four bums would be set for life. So long as fortune stayed their way, and old Rum managed to keep his head on proper, things might just work out for them. Either way their part of the story had finally come to end, though not with the outcome they'd hoped for since setting out. It was, however, one they'd each desired for quite a few days before then. That is of course if they stuck to it.

Still, it didn't all turn out for the best, not with one man tossed into the back of memory by these rampant change in events. His name was John, by no means a man most would even want to remember. A man few would even nod greeting to when passing by. A man few would care to save. A man... who at that time resided in the room directly above those four vagrant heroes. A man, who at that moment, sat combing out tangles from his four year old daughter's red, knotted hair.

"Ouch," the child groaned.

Her father continued to brush. Part to iron down that long neglected mess of a head, part to further examine the bruise marks splotched around her face. Hard to believe that woman could leave such noticeable markings and get away with it for so long. Then again, with that tongue of hers she could have convinced her friends and neighbours that this was all the father's doing, despite his being removed from the situation. Still... even with all her lies and misdoings, he never imagined his wife would abandon the kid like this.

If John hadn't gone to her apartment when he did... he wouldn't have found her. No one would have found her. One more crying child in that apartment block would go unheeded for far too long a time. If he hadn't braved that blizzard when he did, if he hadn't listened to his... instinct... things might have been different. But he'd done the right thing. The reasons as to why, or how, all this came to be remained something of a mystery to him.

It happened in a shopping centre. All he'd done was duck inside to avoid the blizzard. He'd been sitting there, minding his own business when one of his lost belongings appeared by his feet without reason, a bag.

Last he knew he'd lost that bag when visiting the grave of his sister, Annette. He was about to leave when he saw a short skinny man in glasses. He recognised the man as one of the band of four who robbed him just eight days ago. He had run away in fear, leaving the bag behind.

Then some days later it just reappeared at his feet without reason. Except the items he'd left inside were gone, replaced with... something else. And that is why he had to run. That is why he had to go to his ex-wife's apartment. That's when he found his child left there, alone.

Now he'd won. He saved his daughter.

"Daddy?" the girl said, questioning eyes.

Daddy, or John as some liked to call him, removed his brown suede coat. He placed it over the back of his chair. "What is it, Emma?"

"Where did Mammy go?"

"I... don't know."

"When will she be coming back?"

"I don't know. She might be gone for a while."

"She'll be back."

"You think so?"

"Yup... cause Mammy said you weren't coming back and you did."

"Mammy said that?"

"She said... you wanted to leave me."

"I wouldn't want to leave you. Besides... I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere."

"Will you look for Mammy?"

John allowed his lip to snarl inward. A motion that went unnoticed on the child. "Yeah... I'll look for her. I'll bring her back. Someone has to bring her back."

"Who brought you back? Maybe they can help Mammy too?"

"I don't know... someone must have been watching over me I guess."

"Like angels?"

John reached down to pick up his large swathe carrier bag. Sorting through the innards he removed a small wallet sized photo of his ex-wife and daughter... their apartment number scribbled on the back.

Staring into this forgotten second from a hopeful past, he breathed out one deep breath, handing the picture to his daughter. Turning back to the bag, he this time removed a single note of paper. He read the words in his head, and suddenly they seemed so foolish as to when he wrote them just eight days ago before they were stolen by those muggers. With one flick of his wrists he tore the note in two.

"Yes Emma," John said. "Angels."

Emma smiled wider. The child too fixated on the photo, failed to notice the tearing of the page. Her eyes lost deep in that single framed memory, John took as long a break as he could in a young child's eyes, a brief moment. He turned to the television, only then noticing the screen showing the outside of this hospital before it changed for a new breaking story.

A male anchorman spoke over images of a street side warehouse, its walls shattered from the outside. Women in short skirts, glittery ones, crawled from dust and debris to what their extended arms considered freedom. An overweight gentleman in a suit came crawling out, arms extended after the girls as if trying to continue whatever he started. The screen clicked over to a live feed where the scene of chaos changed to one calmer. Officers patrolled the area amidst layers of yellow tape. They took statements from the girls while that old chubby geezer in the expensive suit looked quite uncomfortable with those grabbing arms of his shackled in handcuffs.

John perked his attention. He actually recognised the scene. He'd passed it earlier while taking his daughter to the hospital. That was the exact same place he saw the van from the bank robbery crash, where police said it dropped several thousand dollars... where as John saw it drop six, and someone else saw it drop five.

The news reporter explained that the escaping van crashed open one of the building's walls before disappearing. When police and paramedics showed to help all those within, they uncovered what appeared to be an underground prostitution ring. The brothel, as it turned out, belonged to one Jack Matters. The camera zoomed in on that chubby man in handcuffs to indicate who. He'd apparently been apprehended.

"What's that daddy?"

John clicked off the television. "Nothing important."

Just happy to see her eyes again, John reached back down into his brown swathe bag. He reached down past his spare clothes, down past his hundred or so thousand sorted dollars and down to one slip of paper of lesser value. It was a self-help leaflet for creating a better home life for one's family. There were a lot of them inside, each for different things but mostly for families. The cover image depicted a happy smiley family around a dinner table, the mom in a summer dress the dad in Khakis and a blue shirt. On the side of this particular leaflet someone had scribbled a note in thought. It read: 'would Rum wear khakis?'

John read the introductory line out loud.

"Trust is the most important aspect..."

There roared a noise from outside, pouring through the hospital walls like heavy rainfall. It streamed down from Middle park, through the suburbs running then to the streets and through the alleys. It yelled numbers from ten down to one. On zero they let out the cry: Happy New Year.

Then good cheers ruled the night.

Chapter 37

Henry stumbled out over a garden fence as a woman behind screamed lividly for his roguish blood. A small crusted pie clenched in hand, he crashed to the side walk and immediately scurried to a safe enough distance to enjoy his new found feast.

At the time he'd only been homeless for about a month. Due to that bout of wetness behind the ears he'd not yet resorted to rooting in bins. When possible he plucked what food he could from open windows and doors left carelessly ajar. Each day he grew that bit more daring, that bit more careless. Today he takes a pie from someone's backyard, in a week their trash would meet the same fate. The downward spiral had long begun.

Henry ran until arriving at the subway station. Seating himself on top step, he took one long sniff of the pie.

"It was worth it," he mumbled, biting into the crust, wholesomely savouring each bite, appreciating every iota of flavour.

If back then he'd only been more aware of his surroundings, he might have noticed three other homeless people standing in his vicinity. Perhaps if he had noticed them he'd never have sat down here. They were an intimidating bunch. To this little speck of a man they did not 'seem' intimidating, they wreaked of it.

A shadow enveloped Henry, the shadow of bearded man, gruff and ill-kempt in his green trench coat. Behind that tramp stood two of his companions, a blonde haired girl and a tall man who seemed hardly interested.

Henry quickly jumped to his feet then backed away. For a time he stood blank, before muttering, "C-can... I help you?"

An amused smile crossed under the man's beard. "You gonna share that? I'm starving."

"You mean we're starving, you old fart!" the blonde girl cried from behind.

Henry squelched back and presented the pie. "Here, take it!"

The bearded man scratched his chin. "We'll just take a piece, thanks."

Those words knocked Henry upright and like that melt the fear from his quivering hands. Street lights flickered on in single file, coaxing the night to a brighter dye. Like a spotlight, one shone right above them.

And together, they stood in one another's company, on those cold damp streets where no one will listen and nobody learns. That night there started a story of just four people, who nobody saw.

The End

