 
Golden Boy

Benjamin Tikerpae

Smashwords Edition by Benjamin Tikerpae

Golden Boy text and cover Copyright 2017 Benjamin Tikerpae

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favourite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

''Come down from there, you wimp!''

A stone the size of a grape wisped past his head, missing his teeth by a fraction.

''Come down here, now!'' yelled the fat-faced boy, panting from the long run - far too tall for his years.

He noticed a large clump of dirt next to a flowering rose bush, amongst the flora of a flower bed. With one clammy hand, he picked it up with ease and hurtled it up towards Billie, who scrambled his way up through the branches of a large oak tree.

The throw was good and whacked hard against the back of Billie's head, causing him to smack his forehead against an outwards branch. The dizzy sensation made his whole-body flop, but he managed to hold his tight grip, and drew his dangling legs back close to the oak truck. He continued to climb - ignoring the blood flowing down from his skin.

Billie dodged another onslaught of sticks, mud, stone, and other debris being hurtled his way. Three quarters up the tree forked in two; he crouched himself low at the base of the fork, making use of the tangled coverage of branches to help shield most of what came his way.

Billie slowly turned his head towards the three boys below. He could see the biggest, and fattest; the fat faced ring-leader of the group, walking back and fought, exaggerating his stomping - waiting impatiently. Whilst the other two boys hurriedly gathered whatever they could find close-by, to throw up at Billie.

One was rooting around for suitable material in the flower bed, trampling small, innocent flowers into a wet mush as he went; the other, smaller of the three, panted back and dropped a pile of twigs and broken brick by the feet of the fat-faced boy - with a smug look on his face.

''What are you doing?!'' the fat-faced boy shouted.

''I got us some stuff to throw,'' he replied, whilst his smile began to fade.

''So? Go get some more!''

''That's all I could find...'' the small boy managed to say as he was thumped in the arm by the fat boy.

''I don't care, go find some more!''

The small boy hurried off as a large kick was delivered to his buttocks. The fat kid looked at the pile of twigs and brick, he sifted through the lot until he found a nice jagged, sharp looking piece of broken brick.

The fat boy walked around the base of the tree to get himself a better throwing angle. He turned to look at his friend still rooting around in the flower bed, and called out to him, gesturing with his head up to Billie - so he got the gist of the idea.

Before Billie realised what plan was going on below, he eyed another large bit of mud flying up towards his head. An almighty throb of pain screeched out from the side of his left shin, forcing him to slump down, just as the lump of mud flew past him - lightly touching the tips of his hair.

The mud scattered into a hundred pieces through the branches behind him; raining down over the fat-faced boy.

''Mot, you bloody moron!'' shouted the fat-faced boy, shaking bits of dirt from his short, brutish hair.

In a quickened pace, he hurried over towards Mot - who unaware, continued fumbling around under a rose bush. Mot found a suitable ballistic intertwined under the bushy growth, and used the majority of his strength to dislodge the long branch entangled under the mess of roots.

Over-exceeding his force, the branch dislodged itself far easier than he had originally thought. The sudden jerk forced Mot onto his rump, with the branch flying over his head; a heavy clump of wet mud on the other end, broke itself over the fat-faced boys head.

Frozen in shock. Mot stared at the boy with his mouth gawping, wide-opened. The redness in his face retreated inwards, replaced by a rather pale, whiteness. The fat boy used his left hand to wipe a clot of mud off his face, from brow to chin, while his right arm coiled backwards as his pudgy, clammy hand, lazily collapsed into a fat fist.

Mot instantly understood the fat boy's intention. He tried to vault over the stomach-high rose bush - his illogical first choice for the fastest escape route. With his right leg over the bush, he tried to pull his left over too, but having a less than flexible body, his left foot became tangled in the mass of rose branches and leaves. In his panicked state, he ended up caught upside down, with his foot trapped, and he squirmed around like the frightened animal he was.

The fat boy loomed over, with little more than pity in his face.

''Please, Tuck. You saw that wasn't my fault, mate,'' Mot managed to squeal out, fighting his left foot free of the bush.

Fat-faced Tuck lurched closer over his body. ''Look at you! You're an embarrassing, worthless piece of-'' Mot's left heel walloped Tuck under the chin, jarring his head backwards and spraining his neck muscles. It was all Mot could do to free himself by kicking both his legs around wildly. Alas, his final efforts for freedom helped to nil effect, and Tuck's pouring in red face, dived into the bush with fists whirling and knees smashing.

Despite his best efforts for retaliation, Tuck also became a prisoner inside the bush, alongside his upside-down friend. And for what he pictured to be a brutal beating, in aid of his manly ego, turned out to be a pathetic mess of slapping and whining. Both fools defeated by this once pretty, rose bush.

Looking down from his tree, Billie seemed to forget the blood seeping from his shin, which his hand gripped tightly. He couldn't help but let out a little snigger, aimed at the two, foolish boys.

What initially came out as a light sound, was not quite quiet enough from entering inside Tuck's eardrums - infuriating the fat boy beyond belief. His face changed to the colour of a badly sunburnt back, and as he hanged entwined in the middle of the bush, he used all of his force to turn to the side, and used his fat weight to collapse the poor rose bush.

A large, multitude of cracks strummed their sound as the bush broke, stabing itself into the fat boy's blubber as he tumbled into the dirt. This gave Mot his chance for freedom, to scramble away; without daring to looking back, he ran as fast as his spindly legs could take him \- all the way home.

Tuck stood to his feet, shaking off bits of twig and dirt embedded into his clothes and skin. He walked over to the oak tree, rather calmly, not seeming to feel the thinly lined scratches of blood scattered up and down his face, arms and legs. Arriving at the base of the tree he stuck out his arms, and in an undignified manner, clambered up onto the first branch.

Billie looked down at the threat heading his way. He had to try and find a way to get higher onto thinner branches above him; ones which would not support the weight of the fat boy. Yet those branches were far and between - too small and frail to even comprehend climbing, and mostly out of reach.

This was really the furthest he could climb... unless, a branch he had overlooked at first, due to its difference in colour - a hollow looking, dead thing.

Billie had climbed trees a lot in his young, eight-year-old life, much to his mother's yelling at, or general unawareness of - as he often went climbing in secret. However, he'd learnt pretty quickly to always test the branches he was going to climb first, and to never have both hands on one single branch, unless you could be absolutely certain it wouldn't crumple beneath you.

So this little tree expert knew, that he'd never even think to climb a branch that looked so dead, nor even think about testing it out... that is, unless a fat boy with steam racing out his head, was scuttling up towards you - to taste your blood and batter you blue.

Though before Billie could contemplate that thought any longer, a pudgy hand grabbed sharply, and dug nails violently into his shin's wound. The hand dragged Billie's left leg down, and without even thinking, Billie hugged the trunk of the tree like a coconut crab. He used his upper-body strength to hold on while he swung out his right leg \- kicking out indiscriminately at anything within range.

He raised his right leg up to the furthest point and plummeted it downwards. A tough clunk sounded, as his heel bashed the top of Tuck's head; the almighty crack made Tuck blackout for just a few seconds. When Tuck awoke, he found himself in a protective ball at the base of the Oak tree.

He bolted upright to his feet, enraged - pretty rapidly for a fat kid. His hatred had reached its peak, just as the poor, small boy ran up to Tuck with a large bundle of twigs and sticks in his arms.

''Tuck, are you O-'' was all he could say, as Tuck bashed a horrendously large fist into the small boy's head.

''Aghhhhhhhhh!'' Tuck yelled to the highest range his voice could possibly go, lurching over the unconscious, broken jawed boy by his feet. Twigs and branches sprayed out everywhere from the boy's arms. Tuck looked down at the mess by his feet and grabbed his right fist; it was bleeding and sore from the impact on the boy's face.

He looked back up to Billie hiding in the tree. ''You see what's happened! You see what you've made me do?! This is your fault! Your fault, Billie!'' He jumped up and grabbed the first branch again, lifting his large body upwards and back up towards his prey.

Billie knew he had been lucky on the first instance to kick Tuck out of the tree, and he wouldn't have that opportunity again. His mind went back to the discoloured, hollow branch just within his reach. Billie danced his feet out of the way of Tuck's hand, which grabbed hold of the fork where he stood.

Tuck's face appeared; his jaw snapped as he tried to bite into one of Billie's legs. With no choice, Billie jumped up for the hollow branch and lifted himself up with haste, onto it. Creaking and cracking, Billie slowly straightened himself out to hold onto an overhanging branch, but before he could reach out his hand - the branch snapped.

Billie and the branch fell in a shower of wood chippings, on-top of Tuck; who had just clambered up onto the fork of the branch, where Billie had been moments ago. He too, was taken in the plummet of falling leaves, wood, and Billie. And while they all fell off the tree together, the poor, broken-jawed boy below, just opened his eyes out of consciousness, and quickly closed them again, as the heavy masses above fell upon him.

*

''Mrs. Bucket. Mr. Reills will see you now. Please, this way.''

''Ah, Mrs. Bucket. Please, take a seat.''

Seated, Mrs. Bucket stared with heightened concern at Mr. Reills, the headteacher.

''May I ask how your son is faring since the incident?''

''Billie,'' Billie's mum said, agitated with a great deal of worry to contend with. ''He's fine, not one single scratch on him. Fighting fit, as you'd say.'' She grimaced at her last, unwisely chosen words.

''That's very good to hear, Mrs. Bucket-''

''Sarah, please. I hate my surname.''

''Sarah, then. After our group meeting with the other parents of the children involved, we have had one last staff meeting to discuss the final outcome of this sad occurrence.''

Sarah nodded intently to every word spoken.

''You know the injuries sustained to the two boys: Tucker Browning is in hospital with a broken shoulder and knee, plus an arrangement of other ailments, and Theodore Hammerhead will be in hospital for at least 3 months; he's only just come out of his coma - the poor lad. I've read nearly a page worth of broken body parts he's suffered to his anatomy. We wish them both all the best.''

Sarah held the thought of 'that's what they both deserve,' in her head. She knew not just from Billie, what a nasty bunch of so-called homo-sapiens they were.

''We are still all quite amazed how Billie, the smallest of the lot, came out with only a couple of superficial bruises, and that's if you can even call them that. I'm afraid, however, that we've no choice but to suspend all four boys involved, for the rest of the year-''

''Pardon?''

''They are all welcome back after the summer holiday, when they've all had long enough to cool down and learn from this hideous conflict. I'm sure you'll be strict when it comes to properly disciplining Billie, Mrs. Bucket... Sarah.''

Sarah tried to dispel the thought of Mr. Reills lying in full-body caster next to the three, foolish boys - including the one who'd escaped, physically-wise, anyhow. Sarah sat there, words stuck in her throat. She knew exactly what to say, however, the frustration from Mr. Reills had caused some sort of ballooning in her windpipe.

''Sarah, are you all on-board with our decision?'' Mr. Reills said, trying to continue the flow of the conversation.

''My son.'' She stared into the headteachers eyes, in disbelief. ''Why... why are we punishing my son, when he's the innocent one involved here?''

Mr. Reills cracked his back in a strange, reassuring manner.

''Mrs. Bucket... Billie was targeted in this fight, there is no doubt. Yet, several witnesses have all placed Billie as the cause-''

''Cause?! Are you telling me that these 'several witnesses' seem to have forgotten that Billie was rescuing my daughter and her friend, from these thuggish bullies?!'' Sarah grabbed the bottom of her seat tightly. It seemed the only fitting place to tighten those fists around... for the moment.

''We understand that Billie was trying to help these girls, but he just made things worse. If he had waited for the teachers-''

''Who were nowhere to be seen!''

Mr. Reills paused for a moment, wishing he had some glasses to lower, to help make his next statement sound ever so more important.

''We have a dire incident here. Where it is in everyone's best interest to punish each boy equally. Showing no favour to any side.'' He paused too quickly for Sarah's to interrupt. ''Your son was helping these girls from being picked on, Mrs. Bucket. Yet despite this, we cannot award favouritism towards your son's vigilantism, and show that we approve of his methods, by awarding him a less severe punishment.

''I have discussed this vigorously with the deputy head, and we understand that the three boys involved all come from - shall we say - unsavoury backgrounds and similar relations to one another. In the interest of your son's safety, we would rather show that your son has no higher regard over us than the other boys; to ensure we have killed off - in their parents' eyes - any kind of special treatment.

And in doing so, we hope to stamp out any possible growing flames of detest, which these parents might hold towards your son and your family,'' Mr. Reills explained, trying to keep a backbone.

Sarah's right hand grasped her throat, due to the sudden dryness inside it. ''Excuse me? Are you saying we're being threatened? Does this not require imminent awareness to the authorities?!''

Sarah had an idea that the three boys might wish for retaliation when their injuries had healed, but for their parents to wish the same... it may not have seemed so far-fetched - yet, from such unruly characters, who knew what kind of redemption the boys' parents might have planned for them?

''I'm sorry, Sarah.'' His cheeks began to bruise. ''We had wished to keep these details away from you. Yet, alas, once again I couldn't stop my mouth from running away with me.''

''If you suspect something or are worried, then why don't you contact the police, immediately!''

''By all means we have, Sarah. The police have told us they are fully aware of the boys' families, and always have a watchful eye out on their behaviour. You see they've become very notorious for irrational behaviour, and mostly all of their relations have a list of criminal convictions as long as themselves.''

''This really doesn't do a lot to comfort me, or my family. Why don't they just lock them up? Do I need to go to the authorities myself?''

''We have nothing to prosecute them for, Sarah. We just have prediction, based on their history of convictions, and previous methods for how they have dealt with situations. This is precisely what the police have told us - they can't just arrest the boys' parents on predictability. There needs to be evidence: threats, abuse, intimidation - for which so far, we've received none.

''I apologise, Sarah. It was not my intention to cause you discomfort. I fear I may now have caused you undue concern and stress.''

Sarah stared at the man, as though he has just spoken the punchline. She wasn't sure if she need laugh or cry.

'Well... fucking, bloody hell, yes! There's quite a lot of discomfort actually! I'm sorry for my language, but you're an idiot! You've basically told me my son can't return until after the summer break, as some punishment for his heroism. While individuals who cannot be punished, will more or less likely attack us when they feel up to it. Because what is another one crime added to their boasting lists of tyranny?''

The bruise that had slowly seeped into Mr. Reill's cheeks, decided it was most appropriate to then spread all over his head - to complete the clown effect.

''Mrs. Bucket... Sarah... w-we-''

''I might as well talk to yesterday's left-over cabbage.'' Sarah quite calmly uplifted herself from her seat. ''What else is there to say?'' She turned around and exited the lonely room.

Mr. Reills was left abandoned, like a child on his first day at nursery. ''Well, Mr. Reills,'' he told himself. ''You buggered that up didn't you, you bastard?''

Madder than a cat who had not only lost a nice bowl of milk, but also had a large, lump of a foot stood disrespectfully on their tail. Sarah marched straight towards the nearest police station - all be it a car was required.

Just as she had marched in, she had marched out with the same disappointment and brooding madness on her face. Quite certain that the police had fed Sarah with the same, tepid cup of broth as Reills, Sarah's internal expanding bottle of rage and disbelief required expelling - so, who better to burst that bottle of skin blistering water upon... other than her loved ones. So, she headed home.

Bang, went the front door. Not the kind of casual, every day bang went the front door. This was, bang went the front door, which instantaneously thickened the previously light atmosphere.

''Billie...! Toby...! Chlo...!'' Silence persisted. Sarah headed into the living room where Billie sat upon the sofa, happily rocking his little legs while watching some cartoon on the television.

''Billie... why didn't you answer me?'' she said, ready to begin some kind of argument. But the look on the happy boy instantly killed any kind of kindling, hot-temper.

The little boy looked unconcerned towards his mother and gave a small, sweet smile. All he had to prove for his incident a few days ago was that of a single Spiderman plaster, stuck diagonally across his forehead.

Sarah quickly raised her eyes. ''Where's your sister?''

''Um, she's outside playing, but I'm inside. I'm not allowed outside. I have to stay inside... where dad can see that I'm causing no more trouble.''

''And where's your father?''

''In his study'' they both overdubbed each other.

''Where else... you stay here, Billie. I'll talk to your stupid... your father.'' So, Sarah left the room.

''Dad's in trouble again,'' Billie commented, with a funny giggle.

She headed upstairs to the study/hobby-hole, that Sarah's husband/father to Billie and Chlo, liked to hide in most days... especially when Sarah was in this kind of foul mood.

A double tap rattled the study door. So naturally, Toby sneakily turned up the volume of his questionable music. He kind of wished he had propped a chair against the handle, so no man, nor wife, could enter his den.

Unsure why she had even knocked in the first place, Sarah harshly pushed the door ajar. The guilty look on her husband's face, very nearly made her laugh out loud, but she had a position of a mother to adhere to - there was no leeway here to be found.

''Tobias!'' she spoke with that chiselled look, capable of cowering any man to any dark corner.

''Darling,'' he replied, in a ridiculous fake act.

''Oh, balls off, Toby! What is that in your hands?''

''This... erm... Lego?'' He looked down to the table, more ashamed with himself than if he'd been caught doing something much worse.

''If I were anyone else, I'd swear that Billie and Chlo were your parents. Billie's watching television, and Chlo is out in the garden, playing with her gardeners' set. While Toby the toddler, sits in his room playing with his Lego men.''

''It's actually a Star Wars set, so there's women figures too...'' She flicked his ear. ''Ow! What's wrong with you?!''

''You of course, what else? You need to be watching over your children, instead of being one of them! Can't you do your work downstairs, play with your plastic bricks with Billie?''

He scrunched up his face. ''He's not touching my Lego.''

''Oh my God, Toby! What's going on with you today? Please talk to me, it never helps when you shut yourself up like this,'' Sarah said, knowing that when Toby had a bad spell with his depression, she couldn't just take it out on him - even though some days she really wished she could.

''It's nothing.'' He tried to bluff, whilst making two Jedi duel.

''It's something.'' She placed her hand on his shoulder and gently rubbed the bright red earlobe, she had just flicked.

''I... I just wish, some days I were like these figures,'' he finally said, in a very soft and sad tone.

''A plastic man?'' She grasped his shoulder tighter.

''It's just... just some days, like today. It just comes over me, absolute fear... worthlessness. No point to anything, really. All this stress and pressure, all day, every day, until you die. Why do we hold out for so long, when we could just already be there? In a world of nothingness. No more pain.''

Sarah stayed quiet.

''That's why I'd like to be one of these plastic men; they have a place... like a chair, or a table, or a door. That's their purpose, simple. What's our purpose? It's all so complicated, and hurts my brains. I just, just hate it. That's why I love to sleep, it's all so perfect there, all the worries disappear. I rule my sleep, and I'm free there,'' he finished, and pulled off the head of one of the Jedi.

Sarah's hand was tighter than she knew, around Toby's shoulder. She tried to hold back the water in her eyes, but she failed, and let them rinse past her cheeks. She was just grateful that Toby couldn't see.

''I don't know why you say these things, Toby,'' she managed to speak out, despite the croakiness. ''You have a gentle son and a beautiful daughter... you... you have a comfortable life, we have enough money, and... and this lovely house, and... and you have me, Toby.'' She closed her eyes firmly, while another wave of water flushed down her face and dripped onto Toby's shirt - both of them unaware.

''You just don't understand.''

She raised a fist. She could have so easily whacked him hard with it. But she knew, she didn't understand, how could she? That was their dilemma. No easy solution.

''I wish I could.'' She opened her fist and stroked his face, instead. ''When you say things like that, it hurts me so much. I'm sick to death that you'll do something to hurt yourself. I want to help you.''

Toby grabbed her hand off his cheek and kissed it meaningfully. He was shaking slightly, his eyes were red, as were Sarah's. His eyes stared at the Jedi, unmoving - there was a hollowness inside them.

''Will you talk to someone again? Please, maybe someone who knows something different.''

He let go of her hand, the words seemed to sting his insides. ''It doesn't work, I've nothing left to say. I'll just keep taking my medicine... and focus on my work.''

''Toby, this doesn't help...''

He stood up from his seat and grabbed his laptop, turning around to smile at her wet face. The smile stopped when he saw the pain he'd caused, and he rushed past her. Sarah closed her eyes again. Once she opened them back up, she surveyed over Toby's desk and replaced the head back on the Jedi - then left to follow her husband.

Sarah returned to the living room, where Toby had started up the Nintendo. He was about to play a game with an excited Billie; one of the latest Mario and the gang adventure - though this one just seemed to be punching each other, repetitively.

Chlo was happily seated in the recliner. Again, she had brought her 'Kittie's Happy 'ittle Garden Trough, For 'ittle Green Thumbs' in, despite several past tellings-off. She couldn't wait for her pansies to grow, and thought that by bringing the trough in from outside, would encourage the seedlings to sprout faster. Though by the sad look of things, there was more soil spread around the living room floor than in the actual trough.

Sarah made a mental note to remind Chlo later, of the several reasons why we don't bring the ''ittle Garden Trough' indoors, yet it would only be back inside again tomorrow - what else did she expect from a four-year-old, who shared half her genes with Toby? Poor souls.

Finally, Chlo diverted her attention away from her trough, and noticed her mum. A massive grin took up her whole face. She took out a rather, petal-less rose from under her dungarees, and held it out for Sarah with her ''ittle Gardeners Gloves.' Sarah shook her head; she'd be surprised if there were any roses left on her bush now. Again, despite the warnings that the rose bush preferred to keep its roses... they kept disappearing.

A curious, scruffy terrier walked into the living room, and instantaneously pounced on the sleeping tabby cat - dreaming on the last, empty recliner. Naturally, as always, the cat screeched in protest at the scruffy thing, and gave him another claw mark around his head. The dog, looking so very confused, plodded off into the centre of the room, whilst the tabby cat went back to her peaceful dreams.

Chlo noticed the scruff ball and shouted ''Doggy!'' She jumped off her seat to engulf herself around the dog; Sarah just about managed to catch the trough, which Chlo seemed to fling in the air, more or less.

Despite their best efforts to give their scruffy dog a simple ringing dog name: like Max - Chlo insisted he was Doggy; just as the tabby was called Catty - instead of Tulip.

Sarah observed Chlo, enwreathed in the dog and dirt, and her two boys eagerly engaged in their mindless game. Her face gave rise to a smile; it almost seemed like a happy, normal household... but the smile slowly faded away.

With the dog in mind, Sarah was reminded of other pets. ''Billie, don't you have some furry friends to clean out?''

''Ergh!'' Billie let out.

Sarah knew this would happen, just like it seemed to always happen. They look so fun and cute at the pet store, but a child's mind has the attention span of a drunkard - they can also walk and talk the same too, which is kind of worrying.

Despite this, Sarah couldn't help deny that some of the blame lay with her... after all, she agreed to let them have their pets; once again, those deceptive, cute little faces with their shimmering eyes, had won the day.

''Billie! Don't make me spell out your whole name. One more game then you go clean out those poor things. I don't know why you even wanted them in the first place?'' Sarah put her hands on her hips and let out a large huff.

Overlooking her family, she pondered the thought, that if she wasn't here to keep order, then most likely the whole house would be in ruins. Toby can get off being depressed, but she doesn't have that excuse. She paused a bit. That was mean. Sarah thought that she better prepare the dinner - she didn't have a wife to palm that off to.

After the last four games, Toby scruffed up Billie's hair and pushed him onto his side - in a playing manner.

''Go on, BB. Clean those poor buggers out.''

''Buggers?'' Billie enquired.

''Erm... yeah... I thought you had rabbits?''

''They're called bunnies, silly,'' Billie laughed.

''I am silly. Now go on, BB, off with you.''

Billie made a sad face, and purposefully walked as slow as a snail out of the room. Toby kicked him up the bum to fasten his pace. Pleased with himself that he hadn't taught Billie another naughty word, and was once again safe from Sarah's wrath... for now.

Billie looked back to see a screaming Chlo being picked up by Toby and held upside down. He then wished that he'd asked for a dog instead of his gerbils. He'd been ecstatic when they'd first arrived, and couldn't stop laughing at their silly mannerisms and thumping feet. He loved the way they would make tunnels in their aspen and wood shavings; every now and then popping their heads up, littered with little shaving hats on top. Yet after a while, they would just stay in their tunnels for most of the days and nights, seemingly scared of Billie - he didn't know why.

He had two grey gerbils, but more recently they would fight one another. Billie was too frightened to hold them, in case his fingers got caught up in their teeth. He'd noticed a lump on one side of the larger of the two, which he daren't tell his mum - in case he got into trouble for causing it.

Recently, he'd noticed that the lump had doubled in size. He knew his mum would find out soon enough, and he'd be in trouble again; just as he'd been in, with the incident involving the boys and the tree. Billie didn't want to think about that thought any longer, so he took the lid off the gerbil cage to begin cleaning.

As usual there was nothing living to be seen, just aspen and wood shavings with intermittent holes here and there.

''Icky... Sticky,'' Billie said nervously, afraid that they might shoot out of one of the tunnels. ''I've got to clean you, so let's make this easy for both of us.''

He waited, slightly turning up the shavings in hopes that this would cause a stir. Yet still nothing happened. Billie quickly became inpatient and started to whack the side of the plastic cage to move the shavings. This caused a slight stir inside, then he heard the thudding of gerbil feet. He laughed, that always amused him. They were so skittish, that the slightest movement would make them run and hide, followed after by the thudding of their back legs.

''Why are you two so silly?''

Billie opened up a black bin bag and began to scoop out the old wood shavings with his hand - they'd soon appear now.

A quarter of the way through, one of the gerbils stuck his head out of a tunnel, in the corner of the cage.

''Icky? Is that you? Yes, yes it is. Sorry, but I've got to clean you. Mum says you're stinking,'' he laughed. ''But you know all about that don't you, Icky. Now tell me, where's Sticky?''

Billie dug his hand deep into the gerbil food bag and found a couple of pumpkin seeds; his gerbils loved these, and he knew this would do the trick. He used the seed to poke Icky's nose. Icky and the seed soon vanished into the hole in seconds. Billie took another pumpkin seed out of the bag and placed it a few inches, just outside of the tunnel. Icky popped his head back out and darted towards the seed. Billie scooped the squirming gerbil into his hand and went running into the bathroom, to place Icky in the bath. Billie always did this trick with his gerbils. He thought they were a bit dumb, as they never remembered it.

He hurried back into his room, calling out his usual, ''Gerbils in the bath! Don't sit on them!'' He kneeled back besides the cage and dug the rest out, until Sticky rushed out of a collapsed tunnel. He didn't run like Icky, he hobbled out of the wood shavings, and tried his best to scurry up the corner of the plastic cage. After a few minutes of failing to get anywhere, the gerbil turned his head and starred into Billie's eyes, thumping his back feet.

''Don't worry, Sticky. I'm just cleaning you out.'' Billie noticed that the lump had gotten even bigger.

Timidly, he drew his hand out to Sticky, and very delicately started to stroke him. This didn't stop his back feet from thumping, but Billie thought Sticky was relaxed, and he decided to pick him up. In an instant, Sticky cut his teeth into Billie's index finger, and Billie jerked his entire arm backwards.

''Ow! Ow! Sticky! Get off!'' Billie wailed.

Billie shook his hand vigorously. Somehow, he'd convinced himself that Sticky had flown off. He placed his hand back in front of him to see Sticky's jaws still around his finger; blood poured out over the gerbil and his hand, the pain and image shocked Billie into a primitive fear.

''Get off! You stupid Gerbil!'' Billie shouted, trying to pull Sticky off his hand. But the gerbil did not budge.

He was glued on that finger like a gerbil on a mission. With panic rising to its ultimate level inside Billie, he had no choice but to hit the gerbil onto the side of the plastic cage. Sticky gave out a high pitch shriek, but held on in, with his teeth deep into Billie's finger flesh.

''Ahh!'' Billie screamed. ''Mum! Help! Sticky, get off!'' Billie hit the gerbil on the side of the cage again and again. It was a nasty picture. Sticky still held on, while his body was broken upon the side. Gerbil hair and blood flew, splashing all over; lines of blood stained the walls, ceiling, and furniture.

After several minutes of bashing the poor gerbil onto the side of the plastic - Sticky finally let go - flopping back into the cage; blood and hair pooled around the little critter. Poor little Billie ran back into the bathroom to hold his hand over the sink; blood poured out the gaping wound in his finger. Billie's face was a mess of tears and blood. He couldn't really get a firm grasp on what had happened. He froze up.

He took some bandages out of the medicine cabinet and over-wrapped his finger into a massive bulge of cloth. He carried Icky with his undamaged hand and threw him into the cage, next to Sticky's lifeless body. Icky gave him a quick sniff and hurried into one of the last, intact tunnels. Billie dropped the lid on the cage, and tried his best to clean up the messy trails of blood.

Somehow, he managed to convince his mum that his finger wound was nothing to worry about. He managed to go the rest of the day without anyone finding out about Sticky. Later, when he was ordered up to bed, he looked back into the cage to notice that Sticky was still lying in the same spot. Too worried and guilty to tell anyone, he went to bed, and tried to forget about the awful incident.

*

Morning came and Billie opened his eyes. Trying to fight a fading memory of a dream, he eventually lost the fight, and the dream involving something to do with falling trees, vanished. Another memory came into sight, on this occasion it was called reality, and the case of a bloodied finger and gerbil.

Fear stricken once again, Billie burst out of his duvet covers and slid on his knees to the base of the cage. Sticky was gone. A small trickle of hope took flight inside himself - maybe Sticky was alright? Though the thought seemed unbelievable.

Billie picked up the gerbils' food bag and shook it about for a few seconds. He searched for some pumpkin seeds and threw in every single one he could find. Then he waited, patiently.

After several minutes, a furry face appeared and started to nibble away at the seeds. Icky, Billie knew. With the hope dying inside himself, another face appeared the other end, and too began nibbling away at the seeds. It was Sticky! Billie couldn't believe it, Sticky was OK... better than OK, strangely. He hopped around even faster than Icky, and the two of them squeaked together as they fought over the last pumpkin seed.

They both searched the rest of the surface for any last hidden treats; that was when Billie noticed Sticky's lump had gone - like it had fallen off or something. Billie thought that maybe he had burst it, when he had slammed Sticky against the side of the cage. It was perplexing for the eight-year-old, but nevertheless, Sticky was fine, and Billie was safe. With a satisfying sense of relief, Billie raced downstairs and hunted for some breakfast, to start his glorious new day.

Billie's dad was already in the kitchen, and what looked like the aftermaths of a breakfast feast remained on the table. Billie slid on up onto his preferred table seat and spooned himself out some porridge from the communal pot on top.

His dad was too engrossed in building his latest Lego set, to even realise Billie had arrived. Nevertheless, this did not matter, Billie was used to his dad's silence when around said sets.

The porridge was thick this morning, but Billie liked it that way. Once the porridge had slowly slopped its way into his bowl, he pointed his right index finger out, and made a pop sound to complete the effect. Billie twiddled his finger into the porridge, making five small-circled divots around the inner circular edge of the bowl.

He licked his finger and made some-kind of attempt at a hydraulic noise, to indicate his finger retracting back into its fist. Then he made a deeper popping sound, and his thumb came out of the imagined mechanical fist. As if his arm had lost muscle function, he dropped his thumb into the centre of the porridge to make the master hole... to rule all other holes.

Politely, he picked up the milk and poured some into each hole. Billie certainly was impressed, looking happily at his final product - though it really didn't look any different from his last five hundred-plus, other attempts at this routine.

Billie grabbed a spoon and swirled his work into a gloopy, milkier mess, and began shovelling heaped spoonfuls into his mouth, and thus his tum-tum. He made a pleased smile after every mouthful and a sweet, mmmm sound, to compliment his enjoyment.

A high pitch shrill intruded itself into Billie's ears, he looked up to his dad, who made a face of pure distress. Billie looked to where his dad's eyes focused; on a Lego figurine whose head was covered in a mess of porridge - the thick mass plopped onto the table.

Toby's glaring eyes faced Billie's, and he started to shake. ''You... you've ended poor ol' Chewbacca... he's suppose' to be one of the good guys... what have you done?''

''He was hungry,'' Billie said, whilst sticking his spoon back into his mouth.

''He rejects your offerings,'' Toby replied, flicking the porridge back at Billie, where it ended up on his nose.

Billie wrinkled up his face and wiped away the sticky oats from his nose. He looked at the spoon in his hand and thought of a silly plan. He flicked his spoon at his dad, gasping as more porridge than he thought flung its way towards Toby; it splattered over the table, figures, and his dad. Toby looked back surprised, he grinned as he plopped an unused spoon into the communal bowl of breakfast, and swatted it back at Billie; covering his face and the surrounding kitchen in the goop.

Billie decided to go into full-army attack mode. He dropped his spoon and plunged his right hand, deep into the porridge, bringing it up behind his head. Bits of it slopped out of his hand, falling to the floor beneath him. He was ready to throw it at his dad, until Toby's eyes glared - he began to regret what he had caused.

''Billie Bucket! BB! Put that back in the bowl now! You silly boy!'' his mum said, sternly.

Billie froze with what little left remained of the porridge in his hands; the rest slowly slid down his arm and covered more of the ground in gruel.

''Which one of you is my husband? I forget in moments like these.'' Sarah picked up a cloth and wiped away a smearing of oats that had reached its way over the kitchen counter. She managed to stop herself from flinging the thing at Toby's head.

The silence in the room further infuriated Sarah - she hated that she had to be the one the kids associated discipline with - and that Toby would always get away with being the fun, kind parent, who would let their children get away with anything and everything. But someone had to initiate order in this household... she surely wouldn't get it from Toby - so what choice did she have - yet to be seen as the bossy, no-fun parent.

''I assume you'll be clearing up this mess, Tobias?''

''Tobias? Eek, we've done it now, Billie.'' He didn't look at Sarah, and instead the two of them kept their heads down.

Sarah rolled her eyes and muttered something, hoping that perhaps anyone listening above could sympathise with her.

''Billie get dressed, we're visiting your auntie in the hospital today.''

Billie let out a small protest, which he'd hoped his mum wouldn't hear... he hated hospitals.

''Toby, are you coming too?''

Toby kept his head down. He made that usual face Sarah had come very familiar with. The face he pulled when asked to go do anything social.

''That's fine, Toby. I'll go take your son to see your dying sister. I'm sure she wasn't expecting you anyhow. Can I be confident in that you'll walk the dog this morning? Or vice versa, probably really doesn't matter.'' She took the silence as a no.

She tried with all her existing being, left inside her, to not escalate the conversation any further into another argument. Without a word, she left Toby to himself - finished her make-up, and began her solo-parent mission to the hospital.

It was a quiet ride to the hospital in the car. Billie sat in the passenger seat playing some unintelligible game with his hands, though the explosion and gun noises he made had yet to test Sarah's nerves - her mind was elsewhere in deep thought.

Chlo sat behind her mum and was occupying herself with half a dozen of her slender, plastic dolls. Again, it was difficult for any bystander to precisely tell what Chlo's story entailed. However, from the look of one of the doll's decapitated heads, which lay upon the other side of the seat, it was clear Chlo possessed the capabilities to enforce a strict regime.

The journey wasn't far, but that just made things worse, less time for Sarah to mull things over in her brains. She must have visited Toby's sister twice as much as he had, and those times that he did decide to come along were becoming fewer by the days.

His sister had suffered from random bouts of severe dizziness for years, but it wasn't until she nearly drove herself off the road, due to a complete blackout, that she was examined by doctors; who then found out she had a very ugly friend, living deep inside her brain - a tumour, a hideous, cancerous thing. And of course, was one of those rather tricky ones to deal with. One of those ones you don't return from.

She very much lived in the cancer ward, treated daily to prohibit a thing which could not be stopped. Day after day she waited for the day when she'd sleep, and no morning would come.

Sarah had to be careful how she worded Toby's sister's condition. Any mention of the T or C word and he would turn into a cringeworthy state, swiftly removing himself from the room to be alone. He couldn't deal with the reality... any reality for that matter. So, one like this which brought on such strong emotions - he would always run away from. Leaving Sarah, once again, to be the mediator. The one who didn't have the luxury of walking away - because someone had to hold things together. That's what she just did.

Sarah withdrew herself from another string of complex thought processes, to latch onto the suddenness of bizarre noises that came erupting out of her two offspring's mouths. The continuous imitation of gun noises and explosions from Billie's end, combined with the equally loud sounds from Chlo's voice box, mixed together to form a music piece which had full content to draw pure rage out of its listeners.

Sarah ground her teeth, ''Quiet now, children.''

''But mum. You said that we have to get all our hyperness out, before we see Aunt Lucy in the hospital,'' Billie said - wise before his years.

Sarah made a face that looked as if she was peering into the top of her skull. ''Well... how much do you both have left in you two?''

Her kids both made the same mannerism as Sarah had just done.

''Quite a bit left,'' Billie said.

''Lots and lots left,'' Chlo finished.

Sarah blew out a long breath of air. ''Hurry it along, then. Fast-forward mode, quick!''

The rest of the drive was predictable. Once the car was parked, the walk to the ward was even more so. Just another autonomous routine. Though the reasons for going, were if anything, opposite to a mindless routine.

The hospital seemed far too familiar to Sarah, as she walked her two kids through the typically white, narrow corridors; left at the stairs, right by the coffee machine, five steps into the cancer ward, say hello to Nurse Nancy, and waddle into room six. Unfortunately, room six housed six patients, on... floor six... Sarah tended not to dwindle too much on that.

Most staff and inpatients at the ward were well accustomed to Sarah and her two nippers. The poor souls, whatever concoction of chemicals and radiation they had all been induced to, certainly gave them all similar characteristics; each a hollow ghost of what they once resembled to their loved ones - like a cast from a well-to-do Victorian family, with that stylish, milky-white skin.

The ones who were having better days, managed to smile and give a little hand gesture to Sarah and her two. Amongst the unusual calm of the beeping machinery, another family sat by the bed of their fighting friend. Opposite them, by a large window with a calming view, a lady as delicate and white as bone china turned her head; a large, white smile grew over her face at the site of the three - she had just enough strength to show her pleasure.

''Oh, hello you,'' the lady whispered out.

Billie swung out a bunch of gerberas he had been hiding behind his back, like he always did, and held them out to Lucy - copying her with a big, nervous grin. Chlo decided to jump straight onto Aunt Lucy, which immediately forced Sarah's heart to smack against her ribcage. Though this again was Chlo's ritual, which she did each and every time they came to visit Lucy.

''Chlo, get off your aunt! You know what she's going through,'' Sarah tried to say in a peaceful tone. ''Billie, put the flowers on her bedside, next to the others.''

He laid the bunch down beside older flowers and flinched like a rabbit when his aunt tried to stroke his thick, brown hair. Needless to say, he wasn't keen on hospitals, unlike his more care-free sister. It was the mixture of foreign sounds and unknown sickness that frightened him here.

He took a quick glance out of the window, to see several large trees sticking outwards, towards the sun. That was for him. That freedom out there. He may have only been eight, but the chains of conformity from school and his parents had thickened more tightly in the last few years - especially even more so after the incident.

He grew weary of the expected conformity. He feared that one day, all he would be would be just a man looking out of a window, looking out at what he once had. Never to have again. Only for him to look out at and be tormented by the separation... but then... he was only eight.

Chlo was only just pushing five, and maybe like the way of the hippie, she hadn't the time for such gloomy thoughts. She was starting to redden Lucy's cheeks with each kiss she kept pecking at her. After a couple of pecks, she would say, ''That one makes you stronger, that one makes you better, and that one makes you happier.''

Lucy didn't seem to mind this intrusion to her solitude, and quite welcomed the distraction from the constant reminder of what she faced. Be it the never-ending weakness she felt, or the pain she jointly shared with her fellow inmates in equal-measure, in good ol' room six - on the sixth floor of the sixth ward in the sixth room. Yet that weird thought gave her strange comfort every now and then - number thirteen's gotta be lucky for someone.

''Chlo, I think Lucy has had enough of your saliva on her face. Just think of all the germs you're giving her.'' That gave a thought. ''No, seriously, Chlo. Just sit like a good girl next to your auntie. Remember, you told me you'd used up all your energy in the car getting here.''

Chlo gave her mum a most ridiculously offended look, and huffed loudly as she slumped herself down to sit next to Lucy.

''I was just trying to be nice.''

''Oh, you are, Chlo, so very kind and lovely,'' Lucy said, giving her a kiss back to make up for the few dozen she'd been given.

Chlo made a cheeky, menacing grin, and poked her tongue quickly out towards her mum and Billie. Sarah laughed a little, but Billie just stared at Chlo, unamused.

''How are you feeling today?'' Sarah questioned, whilst she sat careful on the side of the medical bed, softly holding onto Lucy's hand.

''The usual, Sarah. The usual. It's the tiredness that's the killer; I'm so lethargic, I want to be out running again. I'd love that for one day. But it's good to see you lot here... and remember what healthy human beings are supposed to look like. I'm so happy you all look so well... I guess Toby couldn't make it... again?''

Sarah tightened the grip. ''I'm so sorry, Lucy. You know what he can get like. It's like trying to remove mud out of a hole, you keep on pushin' and pushin' it out, but it just always seems to go right back to where it came from.'' Sarah quickly removed a forming tear from her right eye. ''This is why I'm so upset and angry at him. You're going through the most life-changing moments of your life, and he can't be here to support you... I just... don't-don't...''

Lucy smiled and stroked Sarah's face. ''You don't worry yourself, Sarah. It's fine, really, it is. We've dealt with Toby's depression in the past before, and fought through it. It can seem like Toby is being selfish, but it's not. The thing I've learnt about cancer, is that it's easier for people to sympathise with and understand. When it comes to mental health, it seems that if you don't suffer from it yourself, the changes it has on someone else's behaviour can seem so alien, that you just think they're being difficult to spite you.''

''I know what you're trying to say, and I do understand,'' Sarah said thinking back to previous memories of Toby's unusual behaviour. ''I'd love to have a balance though. He suffers daily, but I have to deal with all the other burdens he doesn't wish to partake in... like these two troublemakers.'' She looked at her two offspring, who each returned back their own unique style of smirk.

''I don't envy you, Sarah. I think I've got it bad, but all I have to do is sit here day after day. You're a brave, strong woman, you know that. It's a strange thing, me and Toby. Brother and sister who both have defects within our brains. Yet for some reason, my physical manifestation of an uncontrollable growth of cells, means people can easily relate and understand what I'm going through.

''However, Toby's unstable balance of brain chemicals, means that people can't seem to understand or relate to his bizarre, behavioural changes. When you think about it, it's really strange how one side you get sympathy and the other side you get the opposite. Just because of some differences of biology in our heads \- the social outlook can be so vast, it's frightening.'' Lucy stopped to face the view outside the window.

Sarah really didn't know how to answer that, or if there really was anything to answer back to.

Lucy turned her head back around to face Sarah, and she laughed, ''Oh dear, you can tell I've had counselling. Unfortunately, when you've read your eyes dry, and have nothing else to do... all you have is your thoughts. So much thinking to do. You mull it all over. Not really healthy, but that's just what you do.''

Sarah grabbed Lucy's hand tighter. ''I think the beauty of a human mind is also its curse, too much over thinking. I often look at the cat and know they've got it all sussed out. I tell you, if I ever reincarnate and I have a say to where I go next - then a wealthy, western family will be where I choose.''

''Muuuuuum,'' Chlo asked coyly.

''Yes, Chlo?''

''Cynthia said she wants to go and visit the other dolls in the play area.'' Chlo held up the decapitated doll in her hand. ''I said that we're here to see Aunt Lucy and don't have any free time to play in the play area. But she's got no head... so she can't hear me.''

Sarah and Lucy both chuckled amongst themselves, to the look of a very unamused Chlo. Billie didn't find it funny, he found Chlo's 'quirkiness', how others put it, to be irritating and the usual attention-seeking that she got away with.

''Well, I think Cynthia is going to have to learn some proper etiquette when she gets her head back,'' Sarah said, trying to hold in the giggles.

Chlo scrunched her face up tight. ''Etti... what? No, it's gone.''

''What's gone?'' Lucy enquired.

''The head. Out the window. She was naughty and she was punished. It-it wasn't just me, all the other dolls decided too. Cynthia was always bad and never learned from her mistakes. So out the window it went. Now-now she's learnt her mistakes, and I think it would be very good... etti-what... from you mum, to let Cynthia play in the play area... to-to let her know she's still loved.''

Sarah and Lucy both giggled again - it was a proper challenge to hold it in.

''Shut up, Chlo,'' Billie loudly whispered.

''You shut up, stupid smelly boy,'' she hissed back.

He rolled his eyes.

''Come on you two,'' Lucy softly said. ''It's OK, Sarah. Guss text me to say he'd be popping by soon - you know how useless he is with directions. If you want to take Chlo to the play area for a bit, you can meet Guss when he arrives. It's right next to the main entrance.''

Sarah thought back to one of Lucy's husband's, classic, directional nightmares. She closed her eyes and smiled to herself, over the memory which had now become funny.

''Of course. Is there anything at all I can get for you while I'm down there?''

''Chocolate!'' Chlo screamed.

''Chlo! Shhh, these people in here don't want to hear your yelling voice.''

''I'm pretty sure I've everything I need, Sarah.'' She pulled up her left arm to indicate the countless cords coming out from various machinery into her veins - including the drip, which she had ample nutrition from.

''You look after your Auntie Lucy, Billie. We won't be long,'' Sarah said.

At that notion Chlo jumped from under Lucy's arm, and ran out the ward to get to the play area. Sarah sighed and pelted after her, down the corridors.

Billie was left a little awkward being on his own, without his mother's shroud to keep him secure in himself.

Lucy patted the same spot that Chlo had been warming. ''Why don't you sit here next to me, Billie, and we can talk about what you've been up to.''

His face flushed with a bit of nervous red. He climbed up and over Lucy's legs, so he could sit to the left of her. He wasn't quite as light as Chlo, so the climb lacked the gracefulness, but he made it anyway – himself feeling more embarrassed than anyone actually cared.

Lucy placed her arm around his shoulder and held him as tight as her body was capable of. ''So, tell me, Billie. How have things been going for you since the incident?''

''Good.'' He fidgeted uncomfortably around her arm; the tubes had entangled themselves around his back. ''Just been helping with things.''

''You've been helping out with your mum, too?'' She used her free arm to tidy up his messy hair, though it just made his muscles stiffen even further. ''She's got a lot to deal with, and needs all your help at the moment, you know that don't you?''

''Yep, we try our best.'' He didn't know what else to say.

''Your dad, also. How has he been?''

Thinking of his dad brought a grin to his face. ''He's funny. We play games and build Lego together... mum and Chlo don't like those things... but me and dad find them fun.''

''That's what's unique about people, they all have their different likes and dislikes.''

''Not just people. Tulip and Max are silly too. Max wants to be Tulip's friend, but she always tries to scratch him.'' Thinking of these familiar things made Billie's muscles ease up slightly.

''And what about Chlo? Are you looking after her?''

Billie made a funny, mad face to himself. ''I'm always looking after her. The only reason I'm in trouble is because of her.'' He started to pick at the bandage he'd made for himself the night before.

''You're a very special boy, Billie. Better than you know.'' She looked down, noticing his bandaged finger. ''Oh dear, what has happened there?''

Billie quickly stopped what he was doing, and hid his hand away from Lucy's sight.

''Nothing.''

She patted his shoulder. ''That looks like the very opposite of nothing, Billie.'' She lowered her head and sniffed his hair; it still smelt of that innocence that rapidly seeps into oblivion, once teenage years turn their lights on. Her eyes closed and she opened up an old, happy memory of when she was Billie's age. Divulging further into the thought, she dived herself through into the dream and slept.

''It was just my gerbil - he was being mean. I don't think he likes me... he...'' Billie turned his head up to see his auntie asleep; her soft, delicate breathing - it made him realise further just how ill she was.

In such a vulnerable state to begin with, sleeping made the weakness seem even greater. An unusual sense of sadness sweep throughout his body. He thought if she didn't open up her eyes again, that would be it - her human existence ended and forever gone.

He stared deep over her sleeping face and continued to pick at his bandaged finger. Opening himself up to the reality of the situation. All the people in the room, including his auntie, would they ever be themselves again? He thought about death so deeply, that he forgot how intensely he was picking at his finger, when the nail of his thumb cut through the linen and sliced the scab underneath, clean off.

Billie flinched so fast, that he slammed his arm upwards, and practically punched himself in the corner of his jaw bone. ''Ow!'' he said loudly at first. ''Ow, ow.''

The finger began to bleed again; the cloth readily drank up the steady flow of blood. Billie held his finger tight, pleading to his body for the blood to stop. He didn't want anyone to know, or worse for it to get over the sheets. Luckily, his auntie was still in a deep sleep, and everyone else in the room was either following suit or engaged in a deep conversation.

Holding his finger as tight as possible, he kept looking towards the door-less entrance to room six, hoping his mum and Chlo would still be too far away from coming back. He didn't really have a lot of choices for things to do, other than hold the blood away.

He slightly jumped when his auntie made a deep huff out her mouth - her jaw opened a few centimetres and she carried on sleeping. He saw the empty blackness in her mouth. It looked dry. She was thirsty. And then the fear Billie had mustered in his mind and body vanished.

He envisioned the craziest idea he'd ever had, in his short eight years. But it made sense. Normally under usual circumstance he would never even contemplate such a fiendish thought. But naturally, this wasn't a normal circumstance, and he had to try... because he might just have that power, and with all his being, if he could help, he would.

So, he unravelled the bandaged finger and very, so very carefully drew his finger above the opening of his auntie's mouth. With a moment of uncertainty, cultivating in his brains, he quickly withdrew his fingers away from the wound, and let a small drop of blood drip from his finger and into Lucy's mouth.

He thought for certain that she would wake, but he didn't realise just how much their visit had already taken it out of Lucy's remaining parts of energy. Another drop of blood fell into the blackness of her mouth, and she swallowed, making a curious face, but she slept no matter how unfamiliar the taste.

After about another four drops had disappeared into her mouth, Billie slowly lowered his finger down until it touched the bottom of her lip. He just left it there - he didn't know how much it would take.

He focused on Lucy's throat, as she swallowed again. It seemed at one point that she even began to suck at the blooded finger herself. The whole situation was a surreal trip into untrodden territory. However, instead of withdrawing his finger from her mouth, he decided to see this phase out until the very end.

Lucy swallowed again, and Billie kind of knew his bleeding had stopped. But he kept it there, just in case.

''Billie!'' Sarah shirked, oblivious to how this would stir up the other patients.

He turned around to see Guss and his mum in a state of pure shock and fright. Chlo just stood with her jaw half-opened, and looked back in disbelief to Cynthia. Billie withdrew his finger out of Lucy's mouth with such force, that he whacked his hand into the centre of his chest, and toppled off the bed.

Lucy spluttered and woke up out of her nap. Her chin was red with Billie's blood. Sarah held her hands to the side of her head, dazed from what they had all witnessed.

She came out of her dream to feel something strange on her chin, and wiped it away with the back of her palm, to reveal the glistening blood that stuck to her pale hand. Unaware to what had just gone on, she thought it was her own, and immediately pressed her buzzer for the nurse.

Guss, whom like the others saw the incident, raced to his distraught wife's side.

''Oh, Guss,'' she gasped at the sight of her husband. ''I only went to sleep for a few moments. I don't know why this has happened?''

''It's all alright, Lucy.'' He grabbed a handful of tissues out of a nearby box, and helped clean Lucy's blooded chin.

Billie rose up from the side of the bed to face the carnage he had created. Guss was helping his wife drink a glass of water, to clear off the metallic taste from her palette. He only looked at Billie for a few seconds - he'd leave him to his mother's wrath.

A sense of guilt consumed Billie's body, from the distress he had inflicted onto everyone - especially his auntie, who looked like a vampire after a successful feast. Though he had little time to contemplate the current situation, as his mother's shadow began to loom over him.

Sarah yanked Billie by his arm and carried him half-way up into the air, to the other side of the bed. Without thinking she slapped him hard, onto the right side of his cheek.

''Chlo, take your brother and wait outside.'' She pushed him on his way, and let his feet carry him out of room six.

Billie carried on walking to the furthest point he could reach \- the empty reception. While his sister trailed off behind. His face was sore and red, but he was more embarrassed with the thought of anyone seeing his cheek, than the throbbing coming off of it.

He placed the palm of his hand over the broken blood vessels, and wished for the colour to fade away. Billie was positively numb. He fixated his eyes onto a specific spot in the corner of the room, and watched a little, black bug slowly move from the skirting to the floor; vanishing, as it snuck behind the tiniest crack.

He wasn't really thinking of anything, more or less just trying to understand the mixed concoction of emotions his brain was feeding him. A small shadow appeared by his feet, so he followed it to where it joined his sister's red shoes. Chlo took his hand away from his face and stared intently at his mother's work. With two fingers, she slowly and carefully touched the area from top to bottom, giving it a hardened kiss, with which she also made Cynthia kiss too - with her neck hole. She walked off to another spot in the reception, muttering some gibberish to her beheaded friend.

Billie thought over the family list of names, with which Lucy had told him all need help at the moment, in these such stressful times. He knew that this latest incident would only help increase the further dilemmas to come. Billie was only trying to do his best to help, even though it was such a bizarre method of caring. He just wished that he could revert everything back to several months' past, when it all seemed normal. Yet, that time and place was so far in the past, it felt like it had never existed in the first place.

The car journey home was so opposite to the arrival trip, that it was like the whole family had been replaced with a bunch of alien conformists: Sarah was mute, and in a state of half over the edge and half who gives a fudge; Chlo was still playing with her dolls, but she was politely whispering and telling them not to speak too loudly, as it was very important for everyone to be quiet now.

Billie was in the back, and probably sitting on one of Chlo's playthings, but he didn't care. The uncomfortable doll was a most needed distraction, to keep him reminded of his future discomforts to come.

It was a quiet rest of the day once home; unknown for Chlo, she actually spent the remaining hours of the day in her room, avoiding the countless spoils to be found outside - living and writhing in the soil.

Billie kept himself to his room too, but it was almost like he had been banished there, waiting for the clock to chime the entrance of his fuming mother, and the punishment that came with it.

He mostly heard arguments from downstairs; his mum and dad talking about what had occurred in the hospital - his dad probably giving the wrong answers back, or not showing enough care. So, the familiar circle of accusation and anger consumed. Usually, Billie was used to that, but knowing he was the cause for this argument made the anxiety inside himself that bit more severe. He couldn't think about anything else.

He fed his gerbils. Tried an attempt to draw a monster smashing over city buildings, and another of an idyllic picture, with him in the back-garden with his sister, at calmer times. He just wanted it to be over, but wait was all he had to do, so wait he did.

*

He located it at last. A tiny, scruffy brown ball of feathers; made even more hilarious by the light-coloured arrangement of fluff, puffed over its head - sprayed outwards in all directions. Even though Billie stared directly into the baby bird's black eyes, it still carried on chirping away for its mother. The fledgling found itself more than suitably protected in the large conifers, setting the boarder at the back of the garden.

Billie had been nestled on his most favoured spot on the old oak tree; which must have been growing for over a century, at the bottom of the garden. He could sit there for hours without his body complaining of aches and stiffness. For hours to sit there, just far enough away to still be seen, but far enough to feel solitude. It was the closest he had to an escape from the world - suspended up just shy of two meters, by the most reliable structure he could think of.

Even better was the view; he was high enough up to look past most of the conifers, which aligned the back fence, and spoil himself with a rare piece of hilly land. No houses here, just vast fields with a few roaming sheep in.

Further up from the sheep, a large, circular forest stood tall; above it, a clear, red sky hung in the air. That was the backdrop of this fading evening. Blissful, that's all he wanted. Nothing could beat this most simple of pleasures for Billie.

He'd been enjoying the peace, planning some kind of latest adventure to have himself in the woods past the sheep. He was lost in a thought, as if he had left his body on that tree branch, and a physical manifestation of himself was playing out those imaginations for real.

Billie found it so peculiar how those woods were seen as a place of creepiness to his younger sister; somewhere where foul things played out. Yet to him, it was a place of the greatest joy and happiness.

It was so peaceful for him to run through his imaginations. Until he came to realise that there was a constant piece of background music through it all - the song of the little baby bird, camouflaged in the conifers.

He came out of the spiritual plains and became one with his body. Instantly remembering the troubling pain hiding in the back of his head. He felt strangely compelled to thank the bird for kicking him out of his happy state-of-mind. So, there he spent a further five minutes, thoroughly searching to locate the hiding bird again, confined within the conifers. The task was maddening, the sound so clear yet the eyes deceived - he'd only been looking at the thing not that long ago.

Luckily, for his sanity's sake, he locked onto the bird and thanked the odd-looking thing in his thoughts. Maybe the bird was trying to tell him something? Though it did make his mind wander back into unfavoured memories of present happenings: Two very drawn out days had passed, since his casual trip to the hospital had turned into a very troubled one. He never received the expected telling off he had been preparing for in his room that night. No one came in, nor did anyone explain the rights and wrongs of sticking a bleeding finger into someone else's mouth, without their permission.

His mum couldn't bare to look him in the eye if she saw him. Only the sound of a tut or sigh came out her voice-box; one occasion she managed to say, ''I can't look at you, Billie. I-I just don't know what to say.''

He was given all the usual amenities that were expected for a child his age - fresh clothes, food, entertainment - but the lack of anything verbal to assure a sense of stability, caused excessive anxiety.

Even his dad would look awkward if he came into passing with him. ''Sorry, Billie. You're on your own with this one... you'll be fine.'' A light tap on the head and his dad had vanished back into his upstairs cave. So, weather permitting, Billie took his usual escape to the oak tree. He knew better than to leave for the forest. Just as long as he was in distance to his mother, he could half-escape.

''Billie! Come inside!'' It was shrewd, but it broke the blasted silence. It was such a splendid relief, in a very odd way. Maybe this would finally give the closure he needed for the last two days of uncertainty.

He ran back towards the house, with a strange sense of happiness. Too much so, that he prematurely convinced himself that things were back to normal. So, when he saw his little sister bending over, while digging up yet another curiosity from her allocated allotment of mud; he couldn't help but kick her lightly on the bum, as he flew past her.

Though what seemed like a light touch to Billie, actually accumulated to a hefty force to poor Chlo's little frame, and she ended up face down in the mud. Billie didn't realise what he had done, until she threw a large chunk of earth to the back of his head. He looked back, aghast, to his sister - an instant flashback of his incident with the boys and the tree popped into his head.

Chlo lay in the soil with her face completely mudded; she had her usual grumpy face, tightly applied around her head. Luckily, this time she decided not to yell her lungs out at their mum, and instead carried on with her fanatic digging quest, not even clearing the mud from her face and hair. Billie gulped down a big sense of relief from the hideous prospect of what Chlo's complaining could have further added to his much-stained reputation with his mum - he'd thank Chlo later.

Billie entered into the kitchen, where his mum and dad were seated around the table. He had never faced an inquisition like this before, but chose the most suitable looking chair and sat.

''Billie...'' his mum started, but didn't know how to finish. She looked at Toby for some guidance, but his clueless face held no answers. ''Billie, get your shoes on. We're going back to the hospital to see your aunt.'' Sarah elbowed Toby, and she quietly left the room.

''You're a special little kid, you know that, BB,'' was all he could say. He wasn't sure what else needed saying - for now. ''Come on. Erm... this will just be easier when we get there.''

Shock took hold of Billie. Why back to the hospital? What had he done? This secrecy didn't help at all, no wonder his parents found it so difficult to talk to him. His head felt light. He whitened. Billie was so hoping that things would be fixed, but now it seemed he'd made things even worse. He was at a new level of low, with no idea what to expect at these depths.

It was a kind of strange déjà vu in the car. Yet this time his dad was driving, and Chlo's face was all muddied from her fall; like a retelling of the same memory, with a few small tweaks to the story.

Billie was dizzy for the whole journey. His stomach a constant churning of emptiness. It all hurt.

Like the story before, they parked in the same old spot, and walked through the same old footprints; climbed those familiar stairs, and turned those predictable corners.

Billie kept his head towards the ground throughout the whole thing, until he noticed a different turn in the usual routine. They'd entered the ward and walked past reception. Billie even remembered to look out for that bug from before, but he/she was long gone. Past reception they only needed to go a few yards up and then right into room six, but this occasion they overtook that room, and made a left into a far smaller, singular room - with one bed, one nurse, and one aunt.

The bed was empty. That's all he saw to start with, but further into the room he noticed a lady sitting on a chair by a window, reading a book. She had redness in her cheeks, a glint in her eyes, and a large grin to greet them with.

''I can't believe it,'' said Toby, walking towards his sister, who stood up to hold him tight.

''I'll let the doctor know you're here.'' The nurse left.

It wasn't the lady Billie remembered from his last trip here, but sure enough it was his Aunt Lucy - looking like herself from an old photo on the mantelpiece.

After kissing Chlo and Sarah, Lucy sat back down on the chair and turned her gaze to Billie. Almost like she was trying to get the attention of a pet, she tapped both her knees and nodded towards him. The audience of hospital staff and his family lined the way for him, as if he were the final presentation at some award ceremony. He did his usual skittish mannerisms, whilst being watched, and walked over to his aunt.

Embarrassed, he half-eyed the floor and half-eyed his sweet aunt. His muscles ridged up again, as Lucy's arms tried their best to pick him up. Instead, she went for a gentle hug and a kiss to the temple; she twiddled her fingers through his thick layer of hair and slid them underneath his chin, pushing his awkward stare up into her eyes.

''Let me see your finger again, Billie?'' she politely asked.

He raised his hand up for her, so she could see the finger in question. Lucy warmed inside to the innocence of his small hands, and put her delicate fingers upon his plastered one. With her other hand, she delicately pulled half of the plaster back, to reveal the scabby wound it sheltered. She applied it with a loving kiss and laid the plaster back over it.

''Do you know what you've done?'' she enquired to Billie.

''Something bad?'' he replied with a look of sorrow.

''Nothing bad.'' She gave a second kiss to the plastered finger. ''Did you know what you were doing?''

''I think it worked before...'' he hesitated, and fixated his eyes to the floor.

''Go on,'' Lucy encouraged. The room lay quiet, eager to hear his answer.

''I-I think it worked before on Sticky. He bit my finger. And-erm, the next day his lump had gone.''

''Who is Sticky?''

''My gerbil, Sticky. I didn't tell my mum. He had a lump that kept getting bigger and bigger. It made him funny. A bad funny. I tried to hold him and he bit my finger and wouldn't let go. He was hurt, even worse when I got him off... I thought he was dead. I was too scared to tell anyone... I thought I would get in trouble.''

''Oh, Billie,'' his mother sighed. ''You could have told me what happened. He said he'd cut it on some flint that Chlo had found in the garden.''

Billie wasn't finding things any easier - his bright green eyes began to swell. But he wouldn't let himself submit to emotion, especially in a room full of so many crowded faces.

Someone knelt behind Billie, and laid two, large hands on his shoulders. Billie's body tightly tensed further. The hands turned him around to face the doctor, who had snuck into the room earlier on.

''Billie, I'm Doctor Monsoon. What I can say is that you're doing an absolute, fantastic job telling us all the truth today. You can be ensured that we are all very proud of you.'' That did seem true - apart from the miffed look that suddenly plastered itself over Chlo's face upon those words.

''You have my word, Billie, that no one here today will be getting you into trouble. I've heard that you may have twisted the truth around the incident with your gerbil, but that's quite understandable considering the extreme stress from the situation you were under.

''What's essential today, Billie, is that you can tell us everything around this incident leading up to what happened with your aunt.''

He backed away from the hands, heavy on his shoulders. ''I told you, Sticky bit my finger... and the next day his lump had gone. Then... when we visited Aunt Lucy, my mum and Chlo left to find someone, and she fell asleep. I don't know why... but she looked so weak, and-and her mouth was opened... something just told me, in my head, to put my finger into her mouth.'' He turned to Lucy. ''I'm sorry, Auntie Lucy. Blood isn't tasty. It was a weird idea, but I thought it might help.''

Lucy's face bloomed with a mixture of emotions; Toby and Sarah held each other tightly; Dr. Monsoon gasped to himself; Chlo... just did Chlo.

''Billie.'' Those hands came out again to grasp his shoulders. ''You do realise that your Aunt Lucy was diagnosed with an irreversible brain tumour. One which she would have died from, guaranteed, in only a matter of weeks. However, since your last visit, her tumour has dramatically reduced in size, and Lucy is showing the signs of remission.

''You can imagine that all of the staff here are quite perplexed. We can't prove anything scientifically yet, but there is no doubt that your blood had something to do with Lucy's impeccable recovery. You realise, you have saved your auntie's life.''

Billie looked like a concrete slab. ''...I... guess... that's... what I was trying to do?'' he said with such uncertainty.

Dr. Monsoon smiled and patted Billie's shoulders. He stood up and talked to Billie's parents for a while, to which he gave a thumbs up to a nurse hiding by the door. With the signal received she opened the door, and a flood of unknown people entered to join in with all the fun.

A stranger placed a seat by Billie and told him to sit. Being just an eight-year-old boy, the only option he had was to obey. Things started to make even less sense now; lots of people talking, handing medical looking objects to one another, while his parents stayed by the bed, talking and giving him reassuring smiles. Lucy did the same, staring at him with her loving smile, and Chlo continued to seem unimpressed with all the goings on.

Once the multitude of doctors had finished introducing themselves to one another, the nurses had just about finished setting up seats and trolleys - taking certain apparatus out of sealed packages. Lots of medical terminology was passed around, but one Billie seemed to remember - beginning with 'Phle' - struck a chord of fear within himself.

He hoped it wasn't what he'd attached that word with in the past, but for now, all he could do was hold onto the fear and stress of the whole situation taking place.

A seat was placed in front of him, and a friendly lady sat on it. The rest stood tall, muttering things Billie couldn't understand, as they intently observed.

''Hi, Billie. My name is Jennifer, and this is my friend Bucktooth.'' She held up a battered stress ball, which kind of resembled a beaver, once. It had two big, foamy teeth which stuck out from its brown head; the foam was cracked and flaking in several places, and one of the big teeth was half-missing.

Billie sucked in his breath and produced a bearable grin. Jennifer handed him the beaver head, with gloved hands, whilst someone to the side of him rolled up his left sleeve. Instead of fighting it, Billie just drew himself into the delusion that nothing of the prickly-kind was about to happen.

The man who had rolled up Billie's sleeve, wrapped a heart monitor strap around his arm - giving him a great sense of relief. He didn't even mind the intensity of the pressure, as it strangled the blood out his arm. Billie looked over at the beaver and gave him a few squeezes - this beaver needed to retire. Billie wondered how many others before him had squashed the life out of this poor thing? Maybe Bucktooth fed on the fear of others?

Once the reading had been read, the man to Billie's left read them out to another lady by his right side, who wrote everything onto a clipboard she held. He really was the centre of attention tonight. Though not really something he ever wanted.

There was an array of alien things they did to Billie; testing this and that, he had no idea what it was all for - perhaps he might have guessed if he'd the courage to?

After a long fifteen minutes of random tools pinching and prodding Billie's body, Jennifer leaned in over him once again, and shone something in each of his eyes. She retreated back into her seat, and investigated the trolley of packaged goodies - which was her assistant for tonight's entertainment.

Billie couldn't make out what she was unravelling, due to the bright lights that stuck to his retinas. The man to his side held his left arm and straightened it out. Billie's heart rate rapidly increased, he knew he wouldn't get away with things so easily today.

''Keep squeezing Bucktooth,'' they kept telling him. How it made him cringe every time they said it, but every time they did, he instantly forgot what they were implying - hoping they'd forget too.

Once the light had faded away, he saw it. Then all the panic in the world set in, he went white - naturally. He wanted to faint, he wanted to develop super strength to throw everyone back and fly out of the window to safety. He wanted to... he wanted to give up. There would be no use trying to get out of this one. Damn that blood.

''OK, Billie. You might feel a sharp prick, but it's worse that it looks. Just focus on Bucktooth, he's helped many people before. He's a healer.''

Billie kept quiet, just like he had been doing throughout this whole pleasure ride. Though he still couldn't help but conform to the authority's words, and opened one of his closed eyes to see that stupid, dumb looking stress ball.

_I'll live long enough through this to see you burn_ , he thought. Yet noticed a faded smile that the beaver concealed, maybe he too had lost the will to live, or took sick enjoyment from all of his victims he pretended to heal. Fortune not in Billie's favour, these odd thoughts didn't have the desired effect to numb nerve endings.

The needle went through his skin fast; the pain that swiftly followed was ever so more exaggerated with the excruciatingly, slow build up. Luckily for Billie, the pain died fast, and he opened his eyes to see a tube filling up with his dark, red blood. It was strangely satisfying.

''Keep squeezing Bucktooth,'' they liked to remind him. Why he needed reminding, he didn't know.

Without a warning the needle was struck out of his vein with gliding precision, and the appropriate cotton wool pad was taped over yet another wound. Though now Billie was in a state of euphoria, as he knew the whole situation was soon to be over, and that bastard, bundle of nervousness, fled just as quickly as it had been summoned - it's constant reminder of life's insecurities.

''You did really good today, Billie. I've never seen a kid as mature as you have been today,'' Jennifer complemented him. However, he presumed it was a lie... or was it? ''You can give me back Bucktooth now. He's done his job again.''

Billie was more than relieved to hand that thing back. He could sleep well knowing he'd never have to see that thing again... though probably in his nightmares.

Billie sat perched in his usual, favoured place on the oak tree. Taking simple pleasure in another setting sun; fading the landscape into a warming, orange glow. The woods that lined a portion of the horizon, soon would fall into blackness, and would lay in waiting for him - for some future adventure, he hoped.

His arm was sore, it didn't seem like the same tree he was so adept at climbing. He had needed to use so much more energy just to get up to his favoured branch. That weakness was not something he wanted to have stick around him for too long. But naturally, he was going to feel some fatigue while his body mustered on - resupplying his fallen blood comrades.

He vaguely remembered what the doctors had spoken to him and his family about, after the manhandling he'd been dealt with... or maybe an equal-gender-handling would be more sounding? They'd talked something to do with his blood; to see if there was anything special it contained - which helped kill the nasty thing living inside Lucy's brains.

It seemed so surreal. Maybe he would have to find an appropriate superhero outfit? Like all those larger than life characters loved to wear, in all those movies of his. But that was silly. He tried to not let it go to his head. Yet he didn't have to worry about that, as all the weird endorphins, adrenaline etc., had dizzied his mind.

He had trouble recalling any of the peculiar ordeal in the hospital. Maybe it had never really happened? But anyway, all Billie had to do was wait - like everyone else. He could enjoy being himself again - no dull school, no simple-minded bullies, no pointy-metal things. Just his tree and his view.

*

The trough had been inside again. The incriminating evidence was bleedin' obvious. This offender had been sloppy. Time and time again this repeating thug had been cautioned, had such offending objects confiscated, and had even been sentenced to bed before bed time. Yet what this menace lacked in clean-up, they gained in stealth - for they were ninja-like.

Billie tried to forget the dirt-ridden, kitchen table whilst he enjoyed his chocolaty, breakfast cereal. However, one of the accomplices of this renegade couldn't help but tickle his fingers, as the woodlouse crawled up his hand to view the chocolaty sea, where Billie's spoon was swallowed in. He wanted to flick it off, but decided against. It was only following orders. Some insects he respected, and this was one of them.

''I'll call you Bob. This is freedom, Bob. Enjoy it while it lasts.'' He tucked back into his cereal, and let his mind wander off into a bizarre, monster/alien affair.

Toby casually wandered into the room, and plopped a small, handled cage onto the grains of grit and dirt; inside, a crazed beast scurried through thin layers of wood chippings and flaked paper.

''Your creature returns, wizard BB,'' his dad called - he'd been calling him that ever since they'd discovered his strange, potential power.

Billie pushed his bowl to the side. He stuck out his hands and pulled the plastic cage towards himself. There he was. Little ol' Sticky, scrambling his forearms in a crazed fashion, into one of the corners - he'd never get anywhere doing that - but it didn't stop them from doing it for hours on end.

After their last family outing at the hospital, to witness Lucy's miraculous recovery from a once certain death sentence. The doctors and scientists, who were immensely interested in Billie's potential, decided to organise a more relaxed meeting at their family home, instead of the intense white-washed walls at the hospital.

When the time arose, a flurry of people had gathered in their modestly sized kitchen; a few professors here and a couple of scientists in their appropriate field dotted there - all came in to huddle around Billie, sat at the table.

This time he had to describe the circumstance leading up to his bloodied finger, stuck in his auntie's mouth, in a precisely methodical manner - no umming here - he had to recall every single last thought within that time-frame as best he could. While what seemed like an army of specialists, quickly took note of every single word he spoke - be that audio recorded, videoed, or written down.

It was another odd experience for Billie. It seemed the more he gave them, the littler they gave back. Such is the way when they themselves know so little for answers to return. Questions and questions, they had. Billie thought this was a pinnacle moment for defining déjà vu, a word he'd only just got to grips with pronouncing properly.

He could have sworn he'd already answered all the question that came piling his way - at least five times beforehand. But poor Billie had no choice but to keep answering them; he tried using a different word in the same sentence - reconstructing the exact same thing ever so slightly differently - hoping maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to satisfy their demands.

Eventually, they were sufficed. Yet, Billie didn't know that they had agreed with his parents to take Sticky away for some testing, to further understand and prove if Billie's lump story was true, and if so, had actually worked. So, once they decided to leave, after an excruciatingly drawn out interview process, they visited the frightened furries, and took Sticky away with them on their travels.

Which now brings us back to the maniac which is Sticky, or just any general, mad-minded rodent of his sorts. They promised they wouldn't do anything to hurt Sticky; yet the white bandage on his side proved otherwise. Of course, they did suggest a small biopsy to the offending area, where Sticky's lump had once been, might be removed.

Like Billie, they had also pricked poor Sticky - draining him of his much-needed blood, for future and further testing. For now, they had what was all required. Sticky could come home, and they could all go back to waiting again.

Billie wasn't the most enthused about Sticky's return. It was the foreign nature of the appendages that he had returned with, which made Billie a bit uneasy to what they had done to him.

''Aren't you happy to see your friend back, BB?'' his father said. ''What's wrong? He won't bite... well, he might bite, but... he loves you... sure, I'm sure he does... see how happy he is to see you?''

''Gerbils only love pumpkin seeds,'' he replied, and looked up to his dad as though he was an uneducated, gerbil fool.

Billie let go of the cage and sat back upright in his seat. He continued to eat his soggy cereal.

''Who's that?'' his father enquired.

''Who?''

''In your cereal.''

Billie looked closer at what he was eating. His poor friend, Mr. Woodlouse, was swimming frantically in the chocolaty sea.

Billie looked back up to his dad. ''That's Bob... he's my friend.''

Toby raised an eyebrow. ''Well, it looks like Bob's-a-bobbin'.'' He finished with a proud smile.

Billie spooned out the drenched louse and waited for it to crawl back onto his hand.

''At least you now know he's a boy.''

''What? How?'' Billie gave his dad a priceless, miffed looked \- one to make Chlo proud of.

''Ah, forget about it. I guess I'll acquaint this little critter with his best mate Icky, then?''

''Please do.''

Toby made a slightly concerned look towards Billie. He was never this... Chlo-like. He drew the connection between the onslaught of doctors and nurses, which must have drawn fire to his tempers. Especially when they surprised Billie with the needle again, on their home visit - he even tried to make a run for it.

It was never easy to willingly allow your son to be a doctor's personal pin cushion. However, they made their best efforts to tell the doctors that they would not be allowed to take any more blood from their eight-year-old son. They graciously accepted, of course Billie was more than delighted, yet still suspicious that a nurse and a needle was out there somewhere, coming for him.

Toby needed to get a plan together, to bring back his hyperactive son and his trust. What better way to do that, than the offer of slight freedom, and the promise of sweeties.

''BB, how would you like to be the owner of some newly acquired tooth-ache?''

''Not really,'' he replied, while intently observing the woodlouse on his hand, amusing over its twitching antennae.

Toby hastily rummaged in his pockets to find the treasure of bribery. ''Billie, I have in my hands, a lavishly, lushfully, lovingly, lathered, lash... whatever... ten-pound note, up for your taking.''

This promise took Billie's attention, and he at least approved this message by taking his gaze from the woodlouse and to meet up with Toby's.

''I'm talking sweeties, chocolates, hard-candy, soft-candy, weird, squishy foamed jellies to tantalise your wildest fantasies, and all topped with that creamy, gold ice cream - you know the one I mean, wizard.''

''Hmm, I think I do.'' He looked up into his mind to really picture it good.

''All this could be yours, so long as you take your sister with you.''

''Blagh!''

''And don't tell your mum... and maybe get me something too.''

''It is a good offer. I accept. Though mum will find out, she's good like that.''

''Those are all things to be dealt with when they arise. You've got to live in the moment, Billie. Don't think about the consequences, just do whatever.'' Like a bird, he flapped the note down to Billie's seated height, and tucked it down his top. His father then slowly backed out of the room and out of the kitchen. ''Now go, Billie, go and be free... just please don't forget to pick me up something, it is my money in the end.''

After a couple of seconds went by, Toby slowly popped his head around the door arch. ''Just to recap what I said then, about doing whatever you wanted without a care for the consequences.''

''Yes?''

''Just, erm, please take 100% note of that statement, it is correct in its finality, however... the other way round. Do you understand?''

''No.''

''I thought you wouldn't... just... don't... tell... the... mother!''

''I know that part.''

Toby wasn't quite sure of himself then on. So, he just continued to make an odd face - timidly nodded in agreement, and left fast and confused.

He checked the ten pounds was still secured in his pocket, he'd be walking faster if it wasn't for Chlo's slow pace - as usual she dawdled, easily distracted, never in a hurry.

The walk to the small, local shop wasn't the most visually stunning, just some roads, houses of concrete and brick, and the smell of car fumes in the air. Nothing compared to his various hideaways in the forest. He couldn't wait to be let off the noose to go back there, but for now, this was the best he could get.

''Come on, Chlo, don't you want any ice cream?'' he said to her. His mouth was salivating at the thought of engulfing down the foamy snake jellies he loved so much, but Chlo was simply distracted by a bumble bee wrestling to get on top of a flimsy daisy.

''But Misses Bee needs our help.'' Chlo kneeled on the grassy verge and tried to prop up the daisy with a small twig. That idea came to no avail, as the bee clambered up the stick instead. ''No, silly. The flowers what you want.'' She flung the stick on the grass, and the bee clambered off the twig and went back up the same floppy stem.

''He'll be fine. Come on, Chlo. The ice cream will start to melt.''

''She!'' Chlo said in protest. ''Maybe if I give it some flour, the flower won't bend.'' She placed her hand into her left pocket and pulled out a clump of white flour, which she threw all over the flower and bee.

Billie didn't even bother to make a quip about the randomness of the flour that Chlo had with her - this was quite a normal thing for Chlo. Yet, if she were to pull out something from her pocket that could be classed as the norm - like a handkerchief - then you would know something peculiar was going on.

The poor bee had enough problems to contend with than this ordeal, so she decided that maybe it would be best to go off and wander elsewhere. The flour ball gathered its courage and buzzed away, like the drunken bugs they are; a little puffy trail of flour was left behind in the bee's wake, as she zoomed off to a happier place.

The puff of flour left behind from the bee made Billie giggle to himself, but that soon dissolved away. As from when the floury puff disappeared within the air, a face was revealed from behind it, only a few meters away - Tuck, that sweaty punk.

Billie wasn't sure if he'd just imagined that awful brute's face, once the floury veil had fallen - alas, me lass, 'twas not to be true. He was there for real. With an arm in bandage and a leg in cast; he held one crutch with his healthy-ish arm, and stared at Billie and then to his sister, with utter disgust.

The foretold promise of sweets and tooth-rot shrank very small into the horizon of his furthest mind-pit.

Chlo hadn't noticed the fatty boy, only a few meters away, as she tried to pick up what she could of the remaining flour and place it back into her pocket.

It was an unsettling site, more so from the box of repressed memories it opened for Billie. Thoughts that he decided were best forgotten; he was planning to open them up... maybe, in a year or so \- but he didn't have that luxury anymore. He'd have to deal with those thoughts much sooner than he would have ever liked. But before that could happen, he'd have to deal with this situation first before the mulling could begin.

It was an awkward affair of silent staring, made ever so worse by Tuck's preying eyes, hovering over Chlo's crouching body. He ignored Billie and fixated his eyes on the poor, innocent girl - oblivious to any sort of predator nearby.

It was like that morning all over again, or at least starting to feel like the beginnings of it. That day when all this trouble began: Chlo and her friend Poppy, all they were doing was playing in their usual spot, doing their usual things. Yet, as bullies are, they targeted them just because they happened upon them, and took an instant dislike to their happiness.

No bully likes to be reminded of that piece of contentment they seem to lack, so naturally they grew so envious, and did what simple, primitive boys do. They hurt them.

Luckily, a nervous Billie had stumbled upon it. He would have usually been the first to cower, but seeing his sister in pain caused something inside himself to take hold of the controls, and he tried his very best to help. Help it did, but not for him, for as we know a few short minutes later on; a pile of broken-boned boys lay squirming in pain, next to an old Oak tree - one on top of the other, with Billie on top. He'd strangely won, yet would he win this one?

He didn't want those concrete memories returning to a liquid state, but they had, and closing them back away would be like trying to place peeled skin back in its place - it would take time to heal. Though he had little time to contemplate on this, as the larger boy started to creep up on Chlo. He was closer, near enough to balance his heavy weight without the crutch's support. Tuck lifted the crutch up high to his side, and then the next sequence to this scene became immediately obvious to Billie.

Enough frightened rabbit. Billie grabbed Chlo by the elbow and flung her into his chest, turning her around from the wind-snapping blow. It caught Billie on his arm, painful it was, but a small price for the battering Chlo was about to receive. It seemed the swing had taken it worse out of Tuck, who had twisted himself onto squatted legs - forming an uncomfortable sitting position.

He had a horrendous, wide grin plastered over his jaw, smirking at them both. Billie had Chlo wrapped protectively in his arms, but she was making an uneasy, low sounding 'errrrrrr' noise. He looked to see if she was OK, but instead terror grew inside his bones at the red, glistening blood, dribbling down his arms - it wasn't his blood.

''Chlo?'' He loosened his grip around her, and she turned her head up to face him - all bloodied it was. A frightful scene, but it was either a lip or gum that was bleeding badly.

Tuck was watching the pair on his twisted legs, making a torturously, evil laugh - breathing in as he did so - croaking out those shivering notes. Chlo returned the favour by digging out all the flour she had in her pocket and chucking it over Tuck's face. He didn't even flinch from it. He just sat there laughing like a mad man; one eye closed and one eye looking out from his flour-impacted head - mouth wide-opened and full of flour.

Then he stopped. Flakes of red started to trickle into his cheeks. He was trying to breathe in, but it was a slow process and sounded agonising. Once the fool had filled his lungs to their limits, he popped the air out in a large yell, ''Raaaaayyyymooonndddd!'' He continued to laugh, breathing outwards.

Billie stepped back, with Chlo securely in his arms. It was best they leave now. But Chlo managed to wriggle out his arms and ran up to Tuck - giving him a nice, eye-full of phlegmy blood.

''Stupid fat, boy! You're a monster,'' she proclaimed to him.

He sat there still amused, with one eye barely opened, as spit ran down his tear duct and damped the flour - he didn't even care to wipe it off his face.

''Chlo.'' Billie protested, trying to grab her arm, but she was stomping around too much to catch.

This unfortunate act of vengeance, on Chlo's part, only aided in giving Tuck's allies more time to arrive to the summoning scream of this poor, overweight fledgling - who'd fallen from his nest.

Two boys, running with haste, came around the corner. One, who looked striking similar to that of Tuck, was of course his older brother - Raymond. The other, was that pitiful minion, Mot - who was still hanging out with his aggressive boss.

''Oh geez, Tuck. What... what have you done?'' Mot said, instantly paling at what he was viewing.

''I will kill you, Mot!'' Tuck's facade faded. ''If you don't fetch me that shit-head!''

Mot did as he was beckoned and ran up to grab hold of Billie. Like most, he was taller than Billie, but that didn't stop him from fighting back, and a tussle between the two quickly unfolded.

Raymond was blind to this, he couldn't work out what he was more shocked at - his flour covered brother, or the girl with the bleeding face.

''Tuck, you alright?'' he finally came to the conclusion of saying.

''Just grab that stupid girl,'' he commanded.

Raymond might have been four years older than his brother, but it was clear who gave the orders.

It wasn't much of a fight between Billie and Mot, more of a pushing match, followed by who would get the upper hand at grabbing and holding onto the most limbs. It didn't matter, a short whistle was blown and Billie froze instantly. Mot held on tight to Billie's arm, and pushed him over to Tuck and his brother. The whistle came from Raymond, who also had a matching hand around Chlo's arm and a crazed contraption in the other - a sort of half crowbar, with an axe head attached to the top.

''Wha' you wanna do?'' Raymond asked his brother.

Tuck squirmed his way back onto his feet, holding onto the crutch like a babe to its mother. ''Let's get off this road and to somewhere quieter.''

They had been nestled on a verge, just off the road. Even though there were plenty of overlooking houses, this place where they lived, it was too quiet.

Billie and his sister had little choice but to follow their captives' orders. Chlo was brave, she didn't make a sound. She was chaperoned in front of Billie, as he trailed behind with Mot's tight hand, slowly cutting off his blood supply.

Every so often Raymond would turn around to look at Billie and pretend to swing the axe into the back of Chlo's neck. He would stop just in time, but the swinging was getting faster and faster. The pain from watching his innocent sister in such ugly hands was so severe, that he thought his stomach was bleeding inside.

Billie felt like a failure. The weakness to do nothing for his sister hurt too much. Just seeing Raymond's hands on her arms, the red marks he was leaving on her, and the mocking of the axe. He wished he could turn into a fabled superhero and save the day; fly Chlo up to the clouds for safety, and leave these morons bloodied and dying on the ground below... but that power he did not have, maybe that was why superheroes were invented - for we all long to be saved, in a soulless world.

Billie knew the route Tuck was taking them: A few yards down a pebbled path - past a couple of closed gates hiding within the forest - whilst picking up a collection of stinging nettle souvenirs through their passing. Maybe, this would have taken five minutes on a normal day out, but due to Tuck's insistence that he would go over each closed gate unassisted, the journey took nearer to thirty minutes.

Billie found it hard to hold in his laughter at the sight of Tuck painstakingly gluing himself to the gate and easing his broken limbs over - a slug would have bested him. It made him feel guilty to think that he could find humour in such dark times. This in turn made him ache with worry at the prospect of what punishment was waiting for them both, especially for this overweight boy to go to so much trouble for.

It was a field, a usual green field, with grass and trees - nowt much else. This one had a large, mucky pond, with one half overshadowed by a border of birch trees. You might have wanted to visit this place on a hot summer outing, or a rest from a bike ride \- it didn't really offer much else.

Billie came to a simple conclusion, which gave him a kind of false-relief inside - maybe they wouldn't be murdered today? Raymond let go of Chlo's arm and pushed her hard onto the grassy floor. It hurt Billie again inside, but he still couldn't find any words to shout back - he thought it pointless.

Tuck laughed like a feral beast and hobbled over to Mot. ''Hold him tight.'' He clanked his way back to his brother and waited in time for Chlo to stand back up, wiping the green stain off her forehead.

She was facing towards the pond, but it may have been for the best, as she missed seeing for the second time, the swiping crutch \- but she did ever so feel it against the back of her head; cracking with all his thuggish might, the blow sent Chlo toppling over herself into the algae-ridden pond.

It must have been a reflex-arc, for Billie could bear the pain no more, and he slammed the palm of his hand straight into the side of Mot's nose. The adrenaline was so intense that he didn't even hear the crack, nor must have Mot, as he kept his grip tight around Billie's arm.

Billie was resorted to pure survival instincts. He prodded his right index finger, firmly into Mot's eye. That did it. Mot let go and brought his hands up to his face so fast that he cracked his own nose further out.

Surprisingly, the howling sounds coming from Tuck's mouth, overshadowed the brawl that had gone on. He was too fulfilled in his hysterics, jabbing his crutch on top of Chlo's hands, as she tried to grab onto the grassy bank to free herself from the deep pond.

Billie set his sights on a new target and raced towards him like a bull to a matador. The time for teasing was over, now the tormentor would pay. It surely was the heat of the moment. Billie had never played rugby before, but today he would show his potential. The idea to go for the legs was quite ingenious; Billie jumped and aimed his pointy shoulder directly into Tuck's mending knee. The squeal that came was savoury - best brought out for those special occasions, with a fine cheese board and a perfectly aged port.

''Arghhhhh! Kill him! Kill him! Arghhhh!'' the wretched lard-cake bellowed. He lay pulsating on the grass, his hands couldn't make up their mind if they wanted to hold the knee or dance around it; either way, Tuck was hurt in an unimaginable agony.

Raymond couldn't understand what had gone so wrong in the last thirty seconds; Mot rolling on his back with his hands stuck to his head, and Tuck following suit, repetitively grabbing and letting go of his displaced knee. It was like watching two dying fish, giving one last fight before they were to fully suffocate on the sweet air.

Billie wasn't going to wait for Raymond's permission to get his sister out of the pond, so he slid straight in and lifted her out. He didn't care if he was soaked, he wanted to get out of this horrible place and back to the safe land - home.

The murky pond hadn't seen this much movement in an age, and it was more than happy to let everyone know this by releasing its stagnant stench to all nearby nostrils. Raymond still stood bewildered at the sudden change of events, even as the two bog monsters ran out of sight, back the way they had come.

''Raymond! You're letting them escape! Ow! Ow! Get them, you idiot!''

''Tuck, forget 'em. You need dire help, mate.''

''I don't need help! Agh! Just bring them back! I don't... argh... care about the girl! Get Billie! Get him now! Ow!''

''Jesus! Fine!'' Raymond sprinted off to chase after the two, leaving his younger brother squealing in the grass, thumping his piggish fists into the ground, like an angry baby.

''Kill him! Kill him!'' he continued to shout. Loud enough to even annoy Mot, who had managed to get to his feet and slowly follow after Raymond.

Billie was ignoring the stench of the stagnant pond festering off them both - at least it had cleaned the blood out of Chlo's mouth, for a short while. However, this next part of the journey consisted of a lightly-covered wood, a few gates, and the pebbled path to meet back up with the main road again, towards home.

''I can't walk,'' Chlo said trembling.

''Come on, Chlo! It's not that far.''

Her eyes started to swell - she'd made it good up until this far. Billie could hear the distant rustling of someone closing in on them. He didn't know how he could out-run the faster, less-fat brother. He had little choice but to pick Chlo up and run her back.

Even though she was half his age, she certainly didn't feel half his weight. Despite this, his adrenaline was working as expected, and his arms managed to hold her in place for longer than if he was causally playing about in the garden with Chlo. He begged his muscles to hold her for the remainder of the trip back, but he'd have to thank his adrenal glands later - for the menace behind grew louder.

The first gate came into view. ''Chlo, you're going to hate me for this,'' Billie said, as he had no choice but to fling her over the top of it. He was impressed for a second or two that he'd actually managed to pull it off. The poor girl wasn't too happy about rolling around in the dirt and leaves on the other side, but it did the trick.

He jumped over and helped Chlo back to her feet. As she stood up, she saw the other approaching boy, who had yet to reach the gate. This gave her ample courage to continue back on foot, racing ahead to the next gate. Billie looked behind at where Chlo's frightened gaze had been attending; Raymond was but a few meters from the gate itself.

Billie continued to run. He wouldn't look back now. Chlo was boasting with her speed - she was quite far in front. Billie felt some ease, better she escaped and he took the fall. He knew Raymond had got over the gate and was catching up fast; his footsteps were becoming all the more clearer.

Billie was pressed to the last resort again. The open, wooded path to the next gate was boarded with an old stone wall. One which had seen enough winters and rain to corrode the toughest steel to dust. Many an odd stone had fallen off here and there, so Billie ran and collected a few suitable sized ones up in his hands, for the task which was about to come.

He had practised this before, but never at a living, moving object. But what more excuse did he now need, to delay further honing his skill. He turned around in a short, quick circle, to face the oncoming intruder; he had more time than he thought to get the stones to their marks. Out of the three in his hand he threw the lightest first, but was too hasty and it missed behind the target.

The second one quickly followed, yet again too hastily, and it bounced in front of the target and hit their leg. They weren't deterred and still came, running even faster, with this new threat being thrown at them.

Billie eased off the excitable adrenaline rush, crazing his muscle fibres. He held his breath, and threw the biggest, and last, towards his running target. It made a deep thud, like the beat of a drum. That stone was more like a rock, and sharp too; it had left a clean, vertical wound on Raymond's forehead. The blood inside was more than happy to escape - it too had become tired of feeding this head.

Though Billie's plan had worked, it hadn't had the full force effect of stopping Raymond in his tracks. His head bled wildly, he could barely see through the fountain of blood, yet he didn't alter his course and carried on running - like he'd only been lightly kissed.

The roles had been reversed, now Billie was the matador whose red veil had been torn, and this mad bull could see right through it. The last hurdle was up, five more paces and Billie's face would be cushioning that right, raised fist.

Praise be to bull-gods, for they denied that mind any further consciousness; Raymond succumbed to gravity and fell on limp legs - his body slid right up to Billie's feet, with his face rested in the dirt. Billie backed off slowly from the fallen giant, turning around to meet his sister at the second gate.

''Chlo!'' he shouted. He couldn't see her at first.

''I'm here!'' she shouted back. With her head looking through the bottom of the gate. She'd stopped to witness the fight. ''You killed him.''

''I... I didn't kill him, Chlo. He's sleeping.''

''I guess it doesn't matter.'' She started walking off, towards the third and final gate.

The idea to go back and check on the boy was a ridiculous thought, though he could be hurt. It didn't matter, what was important was to get home.

A weird sound was in the air, it kind of sounded like Tuck still screaming in the grass. Never mind, forget and leave - follow the strange, wet and algae covered creature in front - they both looked the same - stinky and drenched.

They made it to the third one unhindered. Once over the top, their feet crunched together on the pebbled path, and they made their way back up to reach the main road. Billie's mind was askew with emotions; did the events of the past few minutes really take place? It was surreal, but being in a state of denial was his best bet for now. Chlo could easily remind him of the past events if she turned to face him, with her bloodied mouth, or her hand cradling the back of her skull. He evened the space and walked next to his sister; she even accepted the hand that he gave her to hold while they walked away.

The main road was closing into view - the bigger it got the greater the relievement.

''We're going to be in trouble when we get back,'' Chlo suggested.

''You'll be OK, Chlo. They hurt us, we're innocent in this.''

''Hmmm, that didn't help you when they last hurt us.''

''Don't worry. Let's just get back home and sort it out there.''

They both instinctively fastened their pace and made it to the road. Looking each way first, they crossed over. Something hit Billie's foot and he stumbled across the road, falling onto his hands on the pavement at the other side. Chlo raced over and helped pick him up. Just as Billie got to his knees, he saw Raymond on the other side of the road - panting madly.

The rock that Billie had thrown at his head was surely still having a great effect on Raymond's perception. He took a short break, propping his right hand on the back door of a parked van in the road. Raymond held his other hand to his chest, and after some time used the back of it to wipe away a newly laid trail of blood, seeping from his head.

Billie too wiped away a smear of blood which began to form out his shin. He managed to upright himself to his feet, but felt strange as to why Raymond just stood there, watching them before striking; like a cat getting a kick from the play before the kill.

Chlo was pulling at Billie's arm, ''What are you doing? Run!''

Somehow, he didn't want to. He was waiting, like Raymond was waiting. Waiting for the first one to break their gaze. Why Billie stood there waiting? He did not know. It seemed natural, like a strange, mutual agreement had been made between them, to let the other opponent rest. That fear he had was gone, and now he just needed to wait until he broke the other boy.

Raymond carried on breathing deeply in and out. He turned to rest his back on the van doors, whilst he grinned at the two of them; crouched on his knees and looking down, contemplating the grit on the road.

Something clicked in Billie's mind, and he knew the time was right; with Chlo still pulling his arm, he began to slowly walk backwards and extended the distance between himself and Raymond.

Raymond was too busy concentrating on the grit to notice, until he rotated his head back around to see what Billie was doing. He took a large breath of air, straightened his legs, and cracked his neck. Raymond smiled wildly and prepared himself in a runner's stance - waiting for the figurative gun to sound.

He made his advance... straight into the wind shield of a passing car. His body rolled up and rolled down. Raymond lay broken upon the road - unconscious again - face back in the grit. The car hadn't been going fast, but it was enough to shatter the safety-glass and fly Raymond a hefty distance across the road. This really wasn't Billie's true intention.

''You've killed him again,'' Chlo reminded Billie.

He didn't have any words to say to that. It looked like he most probably had. Several witnesses appeared out of the mist, and looked out in horror at the incident that had unravelled - strange that the people they so desperately needed help from, now decided to show themselves. Though they provided little purpose. Other than collectively gathering around, being useless, hoping that someone would take control, and take control soon.

Someone else had also caught up with Raymond, it was Mot. He stopped by the road with one hand over his eye and the other attached to his nose. He was oblivious to the incident and more intrigued at finally finding Billie and Chlo, on the other side.

Mot's face was full of glee, with the prospect of bringing them back, and he dropped his jaw like a dog; smiling in thought of the rewards that would ensue. He even started to walk across the road, over to them, but the sound of crushing glass underneath his feet took his attention away, and he looked in wonderment at the attraction the road was having.

He became one in the collective of staring onlookers, and eventually found Raymond in the road. Mot began trembling first, but before he could even speak his hands flopped to his sides, and he stumbled backwards - falling over boneless legs.

So, there the two of them stood. In an unsure world at an unsure time. Two boys sleeping - plenty of people fussing... and Billie and Chlo holding hands, trying to reassure themselves that they were the actual victims in this story.

Toby watched from his study upstairs, as the two vehicles stopped outside the house together. Not the greatest of timings. Billie and Chlo emerged from the police car, just as Sarah came out of her car. The state of their two children was obvious to suggest something bad had happened. Sarah looked up at Toby in the window - she knew he would be there.

He backed up and sat down at his work/games table. ''I'll probably be gone an hour, just make sure you keep an eye on our children.'' Sarah had reminded him before she had left to go food shopping.

Toby really wanted to hide from this one. He leant back on his chair to have a look under the table... nope that wasn't going to work. He could prop a chair up against the door handle, that way no one would be getting in; but from the looks of the old wooden chairs, it wouldn't take that much force to barge your way in. Or maybe he could smash through the window and knock himself unconscious on the ground below? He much preferred being asleep anyway, the closest he could get to death... thus far. However, the urge was not as strong to end his life this day, and instead he bravely headed downstairs, to meet all the happy faces.

They were already in the kitchen, which had now become the usual spot for such interrogations. Two police officers, male and female, were taking a statement from Billie and Chlo.

''Chlo, what happened?! Are you alright?'' Toby said, as he immediately noticed the white pad taped to his daughter's mouth.

''That's what we're all about to find out!'' Sarah balked back at him. She tried not to raise her voice too loud. Instead she harshly threw her car keys against his chest. You could even hear his sternum crack as the metal keys thudded, painfully against his ribs.

He held on tight to the keys, and held on even tighter to the pain which was rather severe. He did as he was ordered, and left without a sound. Guilt, nerves, worry, uncertainty, and pain... just another day for Toby at this household.

It got repetitive and repetitive fast. Relaying over the past again and again, in such a meticulous fashion. Just like when all those doctors and nurses had been around this exact same table beforehand. Being the older sibling, it was his responsibility to explain what had gone on before. Chlo was not really called upon to say much, she nodded or made a single sound to agree with certain topics Billie was discussing. Though she had plenty to say when it came to her part about the pond incident, and the swinging of certain crutch to one's head.

Sarah could have easily run out of the house by that point, and finished off the fat lump herself, by ringing his lard neck. However, the police thought this was not the most suitable cause of action. Instead, like the doctors and nurses before; wait for the investigation to come to some conclusion, and then they could decide what suitable punishment these perpetrators would be liable for.

The waiting game again. They did extremely recommend not letting Billie or Chlo leave the house, until this muddle could be rearranged into a slightly less, befuddled mess.

So, after a long few hours, they left. The door closed. Sarah froze. Sarah unfroze. She turned on her heels, on the spot, and drew her head upwards to the passage the stairs lead towards. She straightened her back, and headed on up - to face her hiding husband.

Billie and Chlo were still sitting around the kitchen table, unsure now of what to do while in this unhealthy environment. That's when it started, what they were expecting, the shouting from upstairs - mostly from Sarah's voice box.

Chlo slipped off her chair and hid under the wooden table; Billie could have joined her too, there was plenty of room. Instead he turned his head towards the large, kitchen window, to find his tree at the bottom of the garden. He would have loved to go sit up there, but at the current time, it was best to stay put.

Max, their scruffy dog, hurried into the kitchen too, and joined Chlo in her hiding spot. Billie wondered where their cat, Tulip was. If Chlo was achieving relievement to her stress from stroking Max, Billie would need the tabby to help control his anxiety too. But that cat was always out having a blast in the long-grassed fields. Billie wished he could be a cat, and more in particular their cat. He didn't know any other animal that had such a stress-free life, than that cat.

Around thirty seconds earlier, Sarah had made her way to that, always-shut, door. She pushed it open with ease. Just as well, as in her current mood she would have been more than obliged to have smashed that door down. Yet open it went, entered she did, and back that door shut.

Toby wasn't sitting up at the table, he was sitting on the floor, propping his back up onto one of its legs - the furthest one away - where he could look out of the rounded window frame, up into the clouds - it was peaceful there.

''Don't think that you can get any sympathy from me by sitting down there,'' she spoke.

He huffed, nervously. ''Just... just get this over with, Sarah. Add to my stress.''

''Jesus, Toby. Why can't you act like an adult for once in your life?! You're not a seventeen-year-old any more, you have two young children who rely on you to look after them! Don't play the fool with me!'' That's when they heard the shouting from downstairs.

''I just... just thought I could give them the tiniest bit of freedom. Just like five minutes, that's all it takes - go to the shops, come back with some sweets. Especially after all they've been through, in these past we-weeks.'' He continued to look out, at those luscious clouds, oh how he wished he could portal up to them right now, and forget everything.

''A four-year-old, Toby. You let your four-year-old daughter leave this house, with an eight-year-old as her guardian. I don't care if it was a five-minute journey, anything can happen, and as you can rightly see something did happen. I can't believe how irresponsible you've been. I left you in charge for less than an hour, and once again everything has gone balls upwards.

''You think you're stressed and depressed. What about me?! I've got to hold this whole household together, while you sit up here all day, not doing your work to bring money in, but building stupid sets all day - that have an age rating that go up to the ages of twelve... what hope is there for you?'' The hurtful truth was laid bare, but there were more than enough exposed nerves in this room to take a painful note from them.

Toby was shaking, slightly. ''Exactly... there is none.''

''None of what?''

''Hope... for me.''

''Oh, please. I can't go through this pitiful, melodramatic act of yours again!'' She had no tolerance of his problems today.

''Act? Of course... it's not an act!'' he screamed out. That even took Sarah aback. ''Damn this.'' He actually got up and turned to face her. ''You think I like living like this? Don't you understand? I thought you did?''

''Toby...''

He interrupted, ''-I can't do this! I want to get out of this horrible existence, it's a nightmare. A living nightmare that I can't, fucking escape!'' he continued to scream.

''You don't have to swear!''

''I'm sorry, but I'm fucking swearing for this one!'' he punched his head repetitively with his right fist, and he punched it hard until he went dizzy.

''For goodness sake, Toby. Stop this!'' She tried to walk up to him, but he backed away and swooped a mass of paperwork and Lego pieces at her from the table.

''Don't come near me! I'm sick of pretending to everyone that I'm OK. OK! Therapy doesn't help, drugs don't help, nothing helps. The only thing that will help me, is to die. But no, I can't do that, because everyone tells you 'you've got so much to live for.' They don't know what it's like, I'm afraid. All these people telling me not to do the one thing that will solve everything, make me truly happy.

''What's so wrong with suicide, if that's what you want? Just let these people do it already! Stop interfering! Life really isn't that special to stay living in! When I hear that people have killed themselves, you know what I think?! I think that they're the smart ones. They know how shit this pathetic existence is, and they have the courage to get out of it while they can. And right now, they're living it up, in that glorious oblivion... that so, glorious oblivion I want to be a part of.''

The silence that followed was haunting. The tears Sarah was shedding only made Toby feel sadder and more conflicted inside.

''Aghhhhh!'' he screamed out again. ''I just cause pain! I just cause pain! That's all my purpose is! Before I was born, if someone told me exactly what life was going be like, and then said 'do you want to be alive, have a go at living?' I would have said no, no, no! Why would anyone want to live in this horrible, evil world?!''

He found a pen amongst the scattered paper work and picked it up. Toby started to jab the pointy lid into his neck, near his main arteries. He prodded harder and harder, hoping that the blood would come out quick, and that black, dream-like emptiness would follow swiftly.

Sarah grabbed his arm and threw the pen out of his hand. ''Stop this, please stop this,'' she begged at him.

He did, freezing in position, his eyes firmly shut. The skin was red and slightly bleeding around where the pen had been striking. He stood like a rock - not moving or speaking. Ashamed in his mixed emotions. Sarah couldn't help but give him an enormous slap across his face. But she hugged him afterwards. Kissed his sore neck. Kissed his sore cheek.

''I love you, Toby. It would kill me if anything happened to you. I want to help you. I wish I knew how to help you.'' She tightened her hand around his own. ''My soul is your soul. I want to make you happy. Please tell me how to make you happy?'' She waited for an answer, if any would come.

He dropped his head. ''Let me die.''

The gentle river of tears broke its banks again, out over Sarah's face. She gently nodded to herself, carefully released herself from Toby's body, and left him on his own.

She made sure to leave the door open when she left.

After several unknown minutes, Toby slowly let his body turn to liquid, and he collapsed with his back on the floor. He kept his eyes firmly shut, and tried to move his mind onwards to a happier place.

Sarah stood in the hall for a few moments too; letting her eyes do what they do, until they'd had enough. After a reshuffle of her thoughts, and a face clean-up, she headed back downstairs and into the kitchen, to check on her animals - at least there would be joyful comfort in them.

The kitchen table had been completely redecorated in white flour. Small bowls and big bowls littered the table and surfaces around. Max was busy licking a puddle of milk that had congregated around a disused milk carton, and Tulip was doing the exact same to an empty pack of butter.

''What is going on in here?'' Sarah croaked out first, before coughing her normal voice back into position.

Billie hadn't moved from his spot - it was the usual culprit again - Chlo. She was busy trying to whisk an odd concoction of ingredients, into the largest bowl the house had to offer.

''Don't look at me,'' Billie said, trying to get out of this one.

''Chlo? What have you got in there?'' Sarah asked.

''Cake!'' she yelled, whisking furiously.

Sarah grimaced as she looked further into the bowl; maybe... if you looked past the pieces of eggshell, lumps of butter, and random array of flower petals in the mix, you might, possibly could... have what some people call cake.

''Chlo, what is this?''

Chlo stopped her whisking and turned a very offended little face up to her mum. ''Cake,'' she said again, but not so loudly this time. ''It's my special, 'get everyone back to liking each other again' cake,'' she finished, and went back to ferociously whisking the cake mixture.

Sarah sidestepped out of the path of a flying clump of flour and eggshells. In attempt to reduce the cleaning she'd have to do later on; Sarah plucked the whisk and bowl out from underneath Chlo's hands.

''Hey!'' she screeched, now even more offended.

''Chlo, you adorable monster. I know you have the best intentions at heart, but why don't you let me finished this off for you?'' She loved that miffed look that Chlo would always make. ''How about this. I'll make the cake, and you go check on your dad to see how he's doing? There'll be a mucky, chocolaty bowl for you to lick out after.'' Sarah's tactic worked, and Chlo made a cheeky, smiled face in acceptance. She zoomed out of the kitchen with only a rising, flour trail to prove that she'd once been there.

Sarah didn't even know where to begin with this mess, but a starts a start... whatever that means. She looked back around to Billie, who hadn't moved from his favoured seat.

''Billie, you better go up too.''

He nodded and quickly followed his sister upstairs.

Billie was surprised to be there first. Chlo could be quick when she wanted to be. It didn't matter. He came up to the half-shut door and proceeded to push it open, though timidly he did so.

''Blarghh!'' Chlo jumped out of the door and grabbed hold of Billie's neck. He almost fell over with her weight on him, as she attached herself like a monkey to his body.

''Chlo! Get off!'' he said in protest, pushing her to the ground and catching his breath back. Billie's heart was pounding like a crazed beast all over again - the poor little muscle had suffered enough this day.

Chlo giggled to herself, as she pounced back to her feet and ran into the room. Billie sighed to himself and followed his wild sibling. She was lying on the left side of her dad, who was still flat out on the carpet with his eyes shut.

''Be quiet, Billie. Dad's sleeping,'' she said giggling to herself, still.

Billie wasn't as mislead as his sister. He'd heard some of the argument from downstairs. If his sister hadn't been so distracted with the dog and mixing a cake, she might have heard some too. But she was only four, and he'd lived her life over twice already - such a thought strangely made him feel more adult-like.

''Dad? Are you OK?''

''Shhh!'' she yelped. ''He's sleeping!'' her high-pitched voice shrieked.

''Dad?''

''Shhhh! Stupid boy.''

That was when he attacked. Without mercy, Toby shouted back an ''Arghhhh!'' an emerged into a beast, playfully wrestling Chlo around on the floor.

''Ahh, he's alive!'' she screamed, and they laughed together.

Toby held his arm around Chlo and went back to his former pose \- now with his eyes opened.

Chlo couldn't stop laughing to herself, until she burped loudly into her dad's ear. ''Silly dad. What are you doing? Why are you being so silly?''

''I'm just resting, Chlo.'' He licked a thumb and forefinger, using them to clean Chlo's floury nose. Toby gave the white pad, covering her mouth wound, a gentle touch. Anger rose deep within him them. He wanted to teach those punks a lesson. How anyone could hurt this little treasure of his, he couldn't comprehend.

Ideas floated in his head: Imaginations of finding that boy at night and hitting him around his own dumb-head with his crutch. Or maybe to dress up in some hideously, disguised Halloween costume, and threaten the boy with a knife; ensure him that if he ever harmed another animal again, then this Halloween menace would come back for him. He could quote his home address and his friends full names - really scare the boy good. Off Toby went again into his mind-hole - forgetting where he was.

The touch to the white pad reminded Chlo of the day's events too. ''Do you think they'll put those boys in jail?''

Toby broke out of his unconscious again. ''I'm sure they will. I think karma's dealt out a hefty blow to all three of those boys today.''

''Who's karma?'' Chlo wondered.

''He's like a wizard... he makes sure the worlds in balance. If someone's mean to you, he sorts them out for you... like today. He's like an all-seeing wizard... like Santa Claus... but talking about wizards, I do believe I can smell one in this very room.'' He pointed his hand, blindly up to Billie.

''I don't...'' Billie then realised they hadn't actually showered or changed their clothes since they'd returned.

''Don't worry about it, BB. Chlo's fifty times worse.''

''Hey, no I'm not! Boys are always stinky! They're born stinky, no matter how much you clean them, you can never get that smell away from them!'' Chlo informed them all.

''You're darn right there, Chlo.'' He laughed. ''Now come on, wizard. There's an empty space here, hurry to it.'' He lifted up his right arm, and Billie cautiously crouched down onto the other side and hugged his dad like Chlo; it looked as if Toby had two monkeys cemented onto each of his sides. Just then, he realised a bit of what goodness he had in his life, and Sarah too, he did love her so.

''Dad, why do you keep calling smelly Billie a wizard?'' Chlo enquired.

''Well, Chlo... like his old dad, he's part wizard... that's how he helped save your Aunt Lucy.''

''When he stuck his finger in her mouth? That was icky.''

''It was. But it saved her life, and now they want to see what's the cause of these wizard-like abilities of his.''

''Does that make me a wizard, too?''

''Of course, Chlo.''

''So, do I need to stick my finger in people's mouths?''

''Erm... no, no, Chlo... er, you're more like a shield maiden. Strong and powerful. You can show all the boys that you're one hundred times smarter and tougher than they all are.''

''That is true.''

Silence became the room. It seemed that even though the positions they lied in were not of the utmost comfort, the support from one another was enough to provide a state of happy-being.

Sarah didn't know if they were sleeping, but she was glad to hear the normal Toby again. He needed this moment. She stood out of view in the hallway and gave rise to a small smile. She wished she could have joined her three, but this was a special interaction that they needed. She'd get her chance another day.

She slowly walked back downstairs, so no one could hear her, to start on the cake. Then made a quick note to clean the children as soon as they came back down. The stench in the house was quite vile, but she wouldn't let them know that.

*

Billie sat back in his usual spot, in that usual tree, looking out at that usual view. He loved it. A place of contemplation, in a familiar and relaxed environment. Mostly every part of stress, worry, and anxiety had left his body. This was his place, and they weren't welcome. Apart from that, there weren't many rules to this place. You just needed to be quiet and enjoy all the sensations of nature.

It was contemplation time again. So, what had Billie learnt? Stay put... well, that was pretty obvious, but at least he could go outside. Still in sight, but far enough away that it seemed like he was on his own. From what he had heard: Tuck was back in the hospital again, having his shattered knee cap re-operated on. Even better, he had violated a strict, parole offence, from what had gone on before - which explained that he was to stay in his house all through summer. Now, he had broken those terms, and once again initiated acts of violence, his expulsion from primary school was highly likely. This naturally gave great relievement to Billie - that and the constant limp Tuck would now have for the rest of his life.

Raymond was attending a few weeks in hospital, for the car he'd plummeted into. He would receive punishment too, when he was out. Mot, for some reason, was seen to be a kid just hanging around with the wrong crowd - some-sort of potential was seen from him. So as long as he kept himself away from those trouble-makers, he would be in no further trouble. Maybe the teachers had taken pity from his broken nose and pirate patch covering his sore eye. That thought made Billie giggle every time he visited it - just punishment, given to all of those nasties.

''Billie! They're here!'' He heard someone shout out from the house. He wasn't looking forward to seeing these people again, but he knew this time was likely to come. So long as there were no hidden needles, he would be happy-ish.

_Goodbye_ , he said in his mind again, as he always did when leaving his view and his tree. He expertly slid off his branch and swung himself safely to the ground, into that same old, barren patch of dirt he'd created by this repetition. His dad used to go mad at him for the bald spot in the grass, back when he was an avid gardener, and would painstakingly pick out all the weeds and moss he could find growing in his beloved lawn. Back when his depression wasn't so severe. Now, he really couldn't care if the whole lawn went bald.

These days the garden was more of a Chlo possession; who Billie had to dodge past as he walked back to the house. No one is really sure what goes on in the intricate workings of Chlo's head. Nevertheless, from the determined look on her face, no one needed to. She was using her most-prised trowel to move dirt from her allocated allotment, over to the opposite side, near some hedgerow \- where she was building up a mound of dirt.

''Get out of the way, silly boy,'' she shrilled at him, while placing another load of dirt onto the piled up, earth mountain. There really was no point for Billie to enquire what she was doing, but she felt the need to let him know anyway.

''The hedge'ogs need my help. They're starving!''

''How do you know that?''

'''cause one left me a note!'' She gave him the classic Chlo look. ''Told me too many people have been destroying their homes... and that you're dumb... and they need foods before they all die.'' She barged past him and scooped up another, heaped load of mud into her trowel. Billie stood their shaking his head in disapproval of her ramblings.

She stopped in front of him again and pulled out a large, slimy worm. ''See this.'' She dangled the thing in his face. ''He's called Gaston, and this one's Leaf-fool. I love my worms, but I have to feed the 'ogs before they all die.'' She threw the two wrigglers into the mound and flung the dirt on top of them.

''What have you been watching?'' he said, unsure whether to be concerned or not. She ignored him then, and carried on with her urgent work.

''Billie!'' His mum's voice rang from the house. He hurried onwards.

He entered the backdoor, leading into the kitchen, and came in view of the guests that the house was giving hospitality to. A slight stir of madness became his brain then. He didn't like this picture. Again, the kitchen table was host to foreign entities; people who had great interest in him, but to which he could not return the favour to.

He didn't like the idea that he was starting to associate this room with a sense of panic and discomfort. It was supposed to be a place of happiness and laughter, one more akin to board games and food; Christmas and birthday celebrations... cake and more food. Though these days it was more linked to business - dull old adult-life... seriousness and mature talkings to.

What did it matter, though? There they sat, waiting to greet this wonder child. Hello, how you doing... all the same rubbish which comes out peoples' mouths, day after day, but what difference was this day to any other? So, it was said and all the same was returned.

There wasn't enough room in there, but it was the largest, welcoming space they had to offer. Toby was the only one left without a spare seat, but he didn't mind resting himself against the kitchen surface. Billie sat, Sarah sat, Dr. Monsoon sat, and a few others sat too... though Chlo didn't need that hassle, she played outside - a piece of background motion to this formal display and array.

''Billie, my name is Professor Suckeridge. Please call me Peter. I've been in charge of the team researching into your blood. We have some questions, but first I want to explain our findings to you. We are all very, very excited.''

Billie thought this was a most pinnacle moment to keep his concentration to the max. He found it all too easy to distract himself into some abstract, thought-process.

''First off, Billie, do you know what a white blood cell is?''

''Erm... no,'' he said. Quickly succumbing to the idea that his attention span would now suffer severely.

''They form part of the immune-system, Billie. Think of them as little knights in your blood, they protect your body from all-sorts of invaders: Bacteria, viruses - those rotten things that give you colds and coughs. They're in the air, on your food. Billions of them littered around every place you can think of.''

That made Billie worry slightly.

''These things are so minuscule, that they cannot be see with the naked eye, but only with microscopes. Your white blood cells, Billie, protect you from these trouble-makers. A common way they can deal with them is by ingesting them. Say as you would with some food. For example...'' Peter pulled out a sweet from his shirt pocket and laid it on the wooden table. ''You're good with using your imagination, aren't you, Billie?''

''Um...'' He looked to his mum for some help, and smiling she nodded to him. ''Yes?'' he said, though not really meaning to say it as a question.

''Alright, now pretend we're in the bloodstream. More particularly, in your bloodstream.'' Billie's white and confused face didn't offer much confidence in his understanding. ''You know the bloodstream, Billie.'' Suckeridge raised up his right arm to locate the vessels through his wrist. ''The veins, arteries, and capillaries, that carry your blood through your entire body. So, when you eat your food and it is digested, it can be pumped throughout your body, and feed every single cell that's hungry.''

Billie was starting to understand; he had lightly touched the basics of this subject at school. Now he had wished that he hadn't been drawing stick men decapitating each other on his work books, instead.

''Yes. The heart is the hardest working muscle, my teacher says. It has to beat 368 days... 365 days a year, all day, every day. Delivering food and oxygen to the cells,'' he said proudly. At least he had remembered something.

''Excellent, Billie. See you know more than I do. So, you understand that within the bloodstream, which carries food and oxygen, it also carries the white blood cells too - your knights that defend your body from infection.''

''Yes.'' Now he understood a bit better, his mind had less chance of wondering off into robots creating a dinosaur army.

''So, as we were. Now imagine we're in your bloodstream, and this sweet is a bacterium that has snuck in and wants to harm your body. You, Billie, are a white blood cell. Tell me what you're going to do with this threat when you come into contact with it?'' He slid the hard-boiled sweet over to Billie.

Billie just did what came naturally when one of these things appeared his way. He unpackaged the sweet from its confines and engulfed the thing in his mouth.

''Perfecto!'' Suckeridge gleefully spoke out. ''Exactly that, Billie. You, the white blood cell, found something harmful in the blood, being the sweet, and you consumed it. Killing the threat, dead. Keeping your body free from harm.''

Billie gave out a small laugh then, which brought out a happy laughter from the group.

''Now, here comes the tricky part for a white blood cell.'' He took a further three sweets out his pocket and placed them onto the table. ''Think of these as three cells in your bloodstream. However, one of them is a cancer cell... you're still a white blood cell, Billie. How do you know which one is a cancer cell and which one isn't?''

Billie looked confused as he scanned over the sweets on the table. Happily playing the game of the Professor's.

''How can you when they all look the same? As you can imagine, this can give some white blood cells a great deal of problems, when trying to locate a faulty cell. Remember, we're in your bloodstream, Billie, so we have a different method of locating a cancer cell.'' He threw another sweet from his pocket towards Billie. Billie looked hesitant at it for a while. ''Go on.'' Peter encouraged.

Billie did the same as before, he picked up the sweet and started to unravel it.

''No, no. This time around you do not unwrap the sweet.''

Billie decided to put both the sweet, with plastic wrap, in his mouth.

The Professor laughed. ''Great acting, Billie. Please, no need to go that far. Place the sweet back on the table.''

So, he did.

''Now for you, Billie, this sweet is an alga. Which, for some reason we have yet to understand, has not been killed when you ate it; instead, it has formed what we call a 'symbiotic relationship' with your white blood cell. Basically, it still lives, but inside your white blood cell. Somehow, you have millions of these white blood cells in your body, which have established a relationship with a particular type of algae, which we haven't yet been able to identify.

''You see, Billie, these algae contain an array of neurons, which you could class as being similar to brain cells. The benefit of this means they are actually able to locate cancer cells, as soon as they appear, and are very effective at killing them.''

Billie was halfway chewing through a sweet. Trying his best to pay attention.

''This is how you were able to save Lucy's life, when you placed your bleeding finger into her mouth. It seems that this particular type of algae, is coated in a protective-layer, which prevents stomach acid from breaking it down - like a food particle would be. This is also how it escaped being destroyed by your white blood cells.

''There are so many other aspects that we are fascinated to investigate further into your unique white blood cells, for example: How many other diseases can they cure? How do they continue to multiply in your blood? Why do they heal other people and how do they survive the hosts immune system? And is there a way we can artificially create them, without taking them directly from you, Billie?

''There are so many questions, but in order for us to test multiple hypotheses we have, we will need to take more samples from you.''

Billie grimaced at the thought, and that old panicky friend of anxiety enveloped his body.

''Absolutely not!'' His father stood in. ''We agreed that you would not be allowed to do any more testing on our son.''

Dr. Monsoon made a sympathetic smile, and took over, ''We all understand that we are asking more from you, and we sincerely appreciate the blood samples that we have already taken from Billie.''

''Well, you're welcome. But he's only eight years old, he's too young to go through any more.''

''You're completely right. We have no right to ask this of you. In your position as a father it is your underlining right to protect your son. In my position, and Professor Suckeridge's, and all the other physicians here today, it is our utmost duty to save a life. And what an unmeasurable honour it is for us all to be here in this moment, of historical relevance, where we have the potential to save millions of lives... nonetheless, your family will be reimbursed for further testing... if this is what you choose.''

Some arguing entailed shortly after that. Attuned to his quiet self, Sarah was rather surprised that most of the rage came from Toby's lips. It was a predictable affair of rowdiness: Toby took offence that these people were offering a bribe so they could take more bits out of Billie's body, and those people in turn, were defending, as politely as possible, their intentions.

It was like watching a pointless cycle of life; the same stuff happening, nothing learnt, over it goes again for another cycle. It was up to Billie to silence these naysayers, and like his father before, he broke his usual, quiet-demeanour for the masses.

''Can I say something,'' he spoke in an adult-like manner. The room fell silent before him. ''If I hadn't had pain. Then I think, maybe, Auntie Lucy would be dead. But... but that moment of short pain saved her. I-if, erm, if I could have that short pain again, so million people could live, then I will happily give you my pain. Though it may hurt, lots of people will be happy.''

People in the room gave themselves little smiles. Toby placed two fingers on his forehead, deep in thought, and Sarah huffed, yet smiled after it was done.

*

Somehow, and for some reason, it was agreed. Agreed that Billie would be used, for ONE last time, as a donor for scientific research. Yet knowing they were only getting one last shot of Billie's cells - they were going to make sure they took an ample supply.

Billie had wondered several times to himself, in the few days that followed his table intervention, as to why he had agreed to further undergo more needles and pain. He couldn't sleep from the nerves and anxiety that came upon him in the night, and the more he thought about it, the more he stressed. Luckily, the days of panic were to be few, as the doctors really wanted to get to work on him fast.

Once again, his terror prospered as he glued his eyes to the white walls of another hospital room, and once again he was displayed as a rare specimen of some kind. Two nurses were attending to his preliminary check-ups before the operation: Height, weight, blood-pressure - which ended in a nasty prick to the end of his finger. He'd no idea it was coming, and the anger caused from the intrusion to his finger, left him in a state of shock. Billie adhered his upmost to refrain a scream or cry, for the embarrassment he'd perceive from the onlookers would feel so much worse.

He surveyed his onlookers again - a bunch of doctors in the room he knew, but far more he didn't. He rested his sights on familiar faces - happy to see his dad, mum, and even Chlo. His Aunt Lucy was there too, able to stand on her own next to her husband. She looked so healthy compared to everyone else around her. That was all Billie needed to gain a small sample of strength, to remind himself of why he did his sweet speech at the kitchen table - to be placed back in sights of the beloved needle.

He'd focused so hard on the beauty of Lucy's recovery, that he misheard some mumbled words from a nurse. Billie understood them clearly enough, as he twitched his head to see a long needle shoot straight up his arm. The shock was so intense, that Billie's past experience with the squeeze-ball, Bucktooth, flashed before his eyes. He was so glad that chewed, sponge-ball hadn't visited him today, that he laughed aloud - just at the thought of envisioning Bucktooth lost and forgotten, on some rubbish heap.
People joined in with Billie's laughter, even though they were confused at what was so funny. Other people, deep-intent in their thoughts, didn't even realise Billie had laughed at all.

The next few hours/days, became a dizzy haze for Billie. He was kissed by his family, and Chlo gave him her most treasured doll \- one which had a head attached - with a messy rainbow of colours on her hair, that Chlo had dyed herself.

He was left alone with strangers then, and wheeled into a theatre room that contained strangely-decorated, plastic looking beings, in their surgery gowns.

Billie thought he was in trouble, as one of the surgeons pointed angrily at him. A nurse with a blushing face, hastily withdrew Chlo's pride, nestled under Billie's arm. It was either that surgeons didn't like little girls' dolls... or the mud which this one brought with it.

There was talking in the room. From who? Billie didn't know. Maybe it was there to relax him, but he didn't reply. He couldn't bear to watch whatever chemicals were being squirted into the tube, that hooked itself into his arm. The sensation was more than peculiar; maybe that's what these voices were trying to warn him about? These voices from these faces, in all these strange places, whirled around in his head like a collaged vortex, getting closer and closer, until that sleep became him.

He was weak, weaker than he had ever been. He'd heard tales of how people with flu were glued to their beds, how just sitting up was an ordeal. He thought that was just an excuse to stay home and watch TV all day. Yet, now he had a somewhat realisation, of what really the definition of weakness could be.

It probably had something to do with the holes in his arm, and the more than generous amount of missing bone marrow they had scooped out of his right hip; the twinges it would rattle through his body, were ample enough to remind him of what he'd been through. And if it were to be believed from the anger in his mum's voice, as she had a casual, heated-debated with his dad. The doctors had managed to find a way to bypass certain restrictions, enabling themselves to take nearly a litre of Billie's blood - they were gonna enjoy themselves for the final outing with Billie's insides, so enjoy they did.

To accompany the pain, he felt a lump prod his lower back. He removed the obstruction from beneath him, and found that prized doll of Chlo's - the one with the rainbow dyed hair. He placed the dirty thing under his arm, chuckling to himself. Yet that movement was far too great for his body to handle, and it protested from the exertion. He slid himself, slowly back into the duvet, with just his head popping out - looking like some kind of burrito, hermit crab.

The benefit of being this ill was that he had obtained his parent's bed, and his envy for this size mattress grew, along with his stretching limbs; no matter how far he moved them, he had yet to find the edges of the bed - one small, odd victory.

The door to the room opened by a few centimetres, but Billie could only see the top-half, the rest obscured by the bed and his position. It didn't take long for his mind to drift off into past thoughts, when Max jumped up onto the bed, and muddied the white duvet set with his damp paws. He was in an ecstatic state of frenzy; jumping onto the bedside tables, knocking off anything in his and his tail's wake.

He jumped back on the bed, and forced a feeble wheeze of agony out of Billie's lungs, as Max walked over his ever-so-sensitive skin.

Chlo popped in, with a bundle of coloured paper under one arm, and a very unhappy, protesting cat, locked under the other.

''Why are you wearing my hoodie?'' Billie whelped out, completely helpless from Max's heavy feet.

''It holds surprises!'' She grinned.

Chlo first dropped Tulip onto the bed, who immediately jumped off and squashed herself through the closing door - not before smacking Max with another line of claw marks. She slapped the paper onto the bedside table, and then dug her hands into the hoodie's large, front pocket.

Billie's head looked onward in terror. At least Max had stopped his rampage, to sniff out Chlo's doings.

She pulled out two tails from the large pocket, and let them go from a height, onto the bed. These tails were attached to two furry rodents, who scampered across the covers until they froze in place, when their eyes met with Max's. Chlo finished off her display by presenting one last item from the pocket; a small, clay pot, with a broken gerbera dangling from its crushed mid-stem. She placed it on top of Billie's tummy, and ruffled the doll's coloured hair, which Billie still had between his arm. Chlo applied a wet kiss first to the doll's cheek and then to his.

''Now all your friends are here...'' She stopped mid-sentence to do a quick count on the bed.

''What's that paper doing there?'' the head spoke.

''Your homework... Catty's gone!'' She ran out the room to re-catch Catty/Tulip.

''Ergh.'' Billie sighed. He picked up the first bit of paper from the homework pile and gave it a brisk overlook.

Sticky ran up to his leg and he swooped the squeaking gerbil into his hand, to give him a quick check over; he was still perplexed with the miraculous disappearance of the lump that once was. He recalled what the doctor had said, about some kind of algae in his blood, making his white blood cells smarter. He imagined these little cells circling around Sticky's body, keeping the wriggling rodent safe.

Billie let Sticky loose again on the duvet. He hopped over the folds on the bed, leaving a trail of water and poo behind. Billie handed Sticky the first sheet of homework; a menacing grin appeared once he saw Sticky eagerly shred the paper to an incomprehensible mess.

Chlo popped her head back in, with the cat under her arm once again - in a rage of distress.

''Billie! Why are you being so naughty?!'' She flung the cat on the bed, who once again, zoomed immediately out of the room. ''Why is Catty being so naughty?!''

In that moment, Icky decided to take Max unawares, by burrowing himself underneath the dog's tail. Max leapt to the highest height he'd ever been seen to do before, falling back down on Chlo's head and knocking her towards the ground; Max got to his paws, and ran with haste, out the same way as Tulip.

Billie just stared at Chlo, as she rose back up from the floor. She had her arms crossed and was miffed at the failure of her family get-together. To complete the debacle, Icky decided to fall off the edge of the bed. Leaving the broken gerbera, and Sticky and his mess, as the only attendees to this party.

Billie couldn't help but laugh loudly into Chlo's face. Chlo grunted out of the room, but made sure she left Billie with her iconic, death-stare look.

Karma soon showed its face, reminding Billie of his fragile state, and he soon got caught in a giggling-fit of pain and laughter. He organised himself into a stable state, yet the bouts of giggles still showed themselves every few seconds. He noticed that Sticky had just about finished tearing sheet number one, into some repurposed bedding. Billie though about it, thought against it first, but couldn't resist and handed Sticky sheet number two.

The dream unfolded in a web. It hung suspended in a cold breeze, and extended outwards in every direction - until finally fading into the misty night. The thick, sticky web held tightly onto him. The feeling of entrapment became evermore so claustrophobic, from the tight cocoon he had been weaved into.

The air smelt damp, he could taste the mould that lingered, stagnant in the air. A deep, crackling snarl echoed from the distance. An instinctual mix of fear and nausea crept through his body.

A black speck in the distance, spat itself down from the moody clouds. Its landing on the web caused a ripple effect, which bounced him in his unyielding cocoon - the force had nil effect on setting him free.

The black spot out in the distance was indistinguishable, but it looked as though it was moving towards Billie. It grew in size, and many black fingers appeared from either side. Yet the enlarging, black object altered its course, and faded underneath the web.

All that he could hear was the breeze and the blood pumping through his ears. The heart sounded so loud, that he felt completely vulnerable from any nearby-wanderer listening for him - he feared the dark.

Three black legs on either side protruded from underneath, desperately trying to latch onto him and enclose themselves around his cocooned body. The height of panic reached an unimaginable peak in Billie's mind, made ever worse by the clumsiness of the black legs, as they scrapped and stumbled over each other - desperately trying to form a lock. The pleasure for this boy was too much - the legs couldn't steady - causing them to move in an unnatural, stuttered fashion.

Finally, the hairy legs made a connection with one another, and thumped the air out of Billie, as the tight lock of legs felled upon his chest. He felt a heavy lump brush his back. A gnarled, crackled snarl of laughter, breathed hot air against his left ear. Billie had no choice but to move his head towards that direction, and face an otherworldly, disgusting sight.

A master of ugliness and skin-peeling nightmares awaited his gaze. The predator stared at him with a dozen or more black-hole, coloured eyes. The eight inched hairs, sharp enough to drill through mortar, sprang out all over the beast's head. The four, quivering fangs, salivated in equal measure to the opened mouth; the jaw of the spider cracked its joints, sliding from side to side. Stained, prickling teeth, ground up its own gums; causing blood to gush out from the wounds, and colour its own frothing spittle, in a red and black paste.

One of the beast's front legs rubbed itself abrasively back and forth over Billie's face, cutting deeply - painting the tips of its leg hairs with his blood. The leg curled itself, slowly backwards, to let the blood drip into its mouth. It suckled for a time. The taste made the eyes grow blacker and wider; the thick hairs on its head began to vibrate from the ecstasy of the taste.

A long tongue, coated with hard obsidian, floated from the pits of the mouth - swaying side to side like a snake. It smothered Billie's head, and sucked the blood clean off it, whipping back inside the mouth. Only to appear once again, to lick the saliva off its own fangs.

The head jolted forwards, sinking broken teeth, deep into Billie's belly. He screamed from the agony, but the shriek only made the spider more inseparable from its prey. It heaved, sucking in long gulps, and wheezed back out to begin the process again.

Billie's skin began to shrink. Everything tightened. His fragile body began to break - bones snapped outwards - identical in colour to his skin. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He was breaking under the weight. All he could do was stare into those eyes. All those multitude of eyes, that all looked back out at him - reflecting his haunting image - sucking out the last drop of Billie's innards. Soulless, lifeless eyes. Infatuated with him. Not knowing what they do, just what instinct demands - to drain the life out of this boy.

The last suck and his bones collapsed - insides squashed together - all that remained of him gathered into a small, little bag of skin, spinning around the savage mouth. The spider sucked it down, deep into its belly; deep into the unknown and forgotten - the blackest of all nightmares.

His eyes opened. Half of the dream was already forgotten, but the primal fear was all he could think about. The disgusting dream and that rotten face, ingrained itself into his eyes. He hadn't had one like that for many years, nor could he remember one so vivid. What made it worse was his weakness; he was too weak to switch the lights on, to eat the night away. All he could do was feaster in the darkness over his nightmare, and wait until the saving sun decided to reveal itself, through the crack in the curtains.

*

''The good news... is the bad news.''

''Explain?''

Dr. Monsoon plastered the newspaper headline on top of an open book Prof. Suckeridge was reading. The headline read out, 'The healing touch of a Golden Boy.' It didn't take Suckeridge long to get the gist of the article.

''Do the parents know?'' Suckeridge asked.

''Unlikely, we didn't know until the morning papers were delivered - five minutes ago,'' Monsoon replied.

''Any idea who leaked it?''

''Who's to say. We've kept the research to a strict number of people, but there have been a few interns working on this, too. Perhaps one of them was a bit slack with the rules?''

''I don't like this at all. I'm going to cancel my day and head straight to the Buckets'.''

''I'll come with.''

They quickly departed and made their way outside of the hospital research facility, which housed their experiments. Before they even had the chance to walk two steps into the outdoors world, a couple of people accosted them from either side.

''Mr. Monsoon, could you elaborate on today's story, concerning some-kind of miracle cure for all ails?'' asked a reporter, brushing their microphone against Monsoon's lips.

Monsoon retracted his neck back. ''It's Dr.''

''What about you, Suckeridge?'' The reporter blocked Monsoon's path, and passed the microphone to Suckeridge's lips instead.

''It's Professor.'' He more abruptly struck the microphone away from his mouth, causing it to fall out of the reporter's hand.

They both strode onwards, yet the reporters weren't so easily cast aside. They followed them all the way to Suckeridge's car, trying their best for a response. At one point even heckling the two, just for something - though it didn't work.

Once in the car, Suckeridge had to nearly run a reporter over, just to get past the two, who purposely blocked their way from leaving the hospital premises.

Monsoon made a large gulp. Suckeridge followed suit. An amply sized crowd of people, gathered outside the Buckets' house.

''Bugger!'' Suckeridge said aghast, parking behind a press van. ''If I find out who leaked this, I will end them!'' He dusted his shirt and stood out of the vehicle.

They had to push their way through the crowd of press, who at first were rather miffed at what made these people so important to just push through the lines. Until one reporter recognised who they were, then all of the press wanted to be their best of friends.

Monsoon tried his best to divert the presses' attention to himself, while Suckeridge began knocking on the front door.

''Doctor, what sort of vaccine are you producing through this boy?'' one reporter questioned.

''This is all very sudden. I could not possibly comment any further until we know what we are dealing with,'' Monsoon replied, swamped in the swarm of press.

Unsurprisingly, no one answered the door. So Suckeridge knelt down to shout through the letter box, to make his presence known.

A startled Toby opened the door by a fraction. Once confirmed, he opened it wider. They practically jumped through the door, and Toby bolted it shut, as if they were being chased by a plague of giant monkeys.

''You'll probably want to head into the living room. Just to the right.'' They followed his instructions, leaving Toby to catch some breath.

The letter box flapped up, and a reporter bellowed through it, ''Tell the Golden Boy we're here to support him, he's a hero!''

Toby nodded, ''Probably.'' He politely closed the flap back down. Two seconds later it was back open, with a camera flash going off through it. Toby huffed, closed the flap again, and produced a roll of strong tape from his pocket; he applied it generously over the letterbox and the old tape which had been poked through by the hands of the ecstatic press.

Monsoon and Suckeridge entered into the living room. Sarah was sitting on the couch, staring blank into an empty television; Chlo was resting her head on Sarah's lap, hugging the scruffy dog - she was noticeable quiet.

Suckeridge began, ''Sarah, we just heard. Please know that it was not our intention for it to get out like this-''

Monsoon took over, ''We will be making a thorough inquest into who leaked this.''

Sarah didn't acknowledge them. To the onlookers she was pale and rigid. They may have even thought she were dead, if it wasn't for her right-hand gently stroking Chlo's hair.

Just before the mood got too awkward, Toby motioned for them to follow him instead. So, into the kitchen they went. Toby drunk a mug of tea and peered through the backdoor window, making sure Billie was still sitting up on his tree branch.

''Can I get you gentlemen anything?''

''We're both good. You know we will have to give a statement about this. I'm not sure if this is asking too much, Toby, but it might be best if we get it out of the way, right now. Then at least you and your family will have some more privacy,'' suggested Monsoon.

''Really?'' Toby's face showed his anxiety.

''We didn't want it like this, but believe me once they know they know. They'll be sleeping outside your house, just for no more than a hello and goodbye from you. They want something, anything. Just a quick, short statement. You don't even need to say a word, Toby. I'll give a brief statement, and once they've got what they came out for, they'll be gone,'' advised Suckeridge.

Toby's face became gaunt, dark shadows lined under his eyes and cheeks.

''Well... if... if you say that's what's best, lead the way.'' He pointed his mug over towards the front door.

The three of them came back into the kitchen, after their brief encounter with the press.

''You did very well, Toby. I wasn't expecting that you would speak,'' Suckeridge commended.

''It was like the heat of the moment or something. I didn't expect it either.''

''Toby, would you mind if we had a word with Billie, outside? There are a few last questions we'd like to ask him,'' Suckeridge said, hastily aware of Toby's uncertainty. ''Absolutely nothing to do with any more tissue samples, just a question or two.''

''Yeah, sure, anything to help his understanding of what's going on.'' And again, Toby led the way with his mug of tea.

A common problem for people who climb trees, is that it can become insanely uncomfortable sitting for your posterior. Which Billie then realised as he shifted his position into a momentarily, more comfortable one. He'd forgotten how long he'd been sitting like that, and suddenly panic came over him that he might have killed off each of his buttocks. Yet his immature mind summoned a picture of himself with large prosthetic cheeks, each large enough for him to bounce on. Walking was then a thing of the past.

He giggled to himself with the impossible thought. Toby came up to the branch, overhearing his son's laughter, and part of some heaviness in his heart lifted at the sight of his boy's happiness.

''BB, are you behaving yourself up there?'' Doing his best 'dad voice.'

''Yes, dad.''

''What are you giggling about?''

''Um... me having a big bum, and bouncing all over the garden and over the hedges.'' Billie then saw the two men behind his dad, and a feverish bout of embarrassment fell upon him.

Toby chuckled to himself. ''That would be a good old sight of the master wizard. I think I'd have to fetch myself a couple of pins to pop them with, and then I'd see poor old BB fly away into the heavens.'' He laughed again, but understood why Billie wasn't laughing. ''Billie, you don't mind if Doc Monsoon and Professor Suckeridge have a quick few words with you? Nothing like going to the hospital ever again, just a few questions.''

Billie thought about it for a few seconds, then his saddened little face mumbled, ''Aha.''

This was his spot, it made him extremely uneasy for strangers to gather around it too. He really didn't like it, it was as if they were defiling his secret patch, making it dirty.

He jumped off his branch and landed on the barren patch of grass; once again destroying any hopes for the grass to return to the spot. Billie walked away from his Oak tree, past the two intruders, in effort to persuade the two scientists to follow him further up the garden - they were a bit concerned at first.

''Billie, is it OK if we talk to you?'' Suckeridge enquired.

''Aha.'' He stopped. Billie felt more comfortable, now everyone had moved further away from his tree.

Suckeridge knelt beside him. ''Let me ask you a strange question, Billie. Do you ever remember being in a situation which involved you drinking a lot of water...? And I don't mean water you get from the tap; I mean water which you wouldn't normally drink from... say a river, a pond... the sea even. Would there be anything like this from which you can recall, remember I mean?''

''Um.'' Billie's eyes rolled up to his brows.

Toby made a similar expression, and came to a conclusion much quicker than his son.

''I get the feeling I'm getting the gist of what you're implying,'' Toby said to Suckeridge. ''I'd be stunned if Billie could remember, but when he was around three or four, before Chlo was born, there was an incident. It was my fault entirely, Sarah told me it was too dangerous to have around, with such a young child about. And boy was she right. I left to go to the toilet, and when I came back, Billie was in the pond - face down.

''I can't even describe what that image felt like. I got him out as fast as I could. And the poor boy must have coughed up more water than there had ever been in that bloody pond to begin with... I'm just glad you never remembered that, Billie.''

''I remember falling in a pond,'' Billie said.

''You can't have remembered that, BB. You were so young.''

''Nah, a different pond.''

''Can you show us this pond, Toby?'' Suckeridge interjected.

'''fraid I can't. Naturally, after that happened, I had the pond filled in.'' Toby side-stepped to show where the pond had once been; just a grassy mound gave any indication that something had once been there before.

Jointly, Suckeridge and Monsoon's faces dropped - both looking as gaunt as one another.

''You two alright?'' Toby couldn't help but notice the obvious reaction.

''We had a theory that Billie likely ingested this foreign body, being the special algae. It would seem that it might possibly have come from this previous pond, you once had here.''

''Really?'' Toby said astonished.

''Yes, somewhere Billie had contact with the algae. He must have swallowed a lot of the pond's water, which contained the organism, and once it had reached his bloodstream it created some kind of symbiosis with his white blood cells.

''If there was any way we could find these algae, unbound and free, it would ever so help our research into understanding the complexities of this organism, and as to why it is so special.''

Toby puffed out his breath and gave the little mound a side-kick. ''I mean, if you wanted, you could dig it up and see if there's anything fossilised, or still surviving, maybe?''

''That would be ever so appreciated, Mr. Bucket,'' Monsoon said. ''We'd love to do this as soon as possible, could we tomorrow?''

''By all means. If it will help you further.'' Toby remembered his forgotten tea and had a taste, he squinted at its icy-coldness. ''Perhaps we better head back inside, discuss things further? If you're done with Billie.''

The two of them both looked together and unanimously nodded.

''We're all done for now. You take care, Billie. We'll be back again shortly, to let you know about any further updates,'' Suckeridge said, with a smile.

Billie returned a nervous smile, taking delight when they finally returned into the house and the backdoor shut. He was safe again. The uncomfortable worries had all left him be. He turned around and headed back to his old, Oak tree.

Once there, he did his usual little jump, and grabbed his branch with both hands. Suspended in the air, he stuck his feet onto the trunk of the Oak, and slowly walked them up a few paces to meet the junction between trunk and branch. He locked his legs around the branch, but this time decided it would be more amusing if he let his hands go and dangle upside down - which he did.

He liked that awkward sensation of his head piling up with blood. His mission now was to see how long he could go: Would his legs give out first, or would he succumb to the dizziness in his head? Yet, instead he divulged into a terrifying thought of the branch breaking, and what numerous possibilities could occur if he fell head first, onto the ground. That made him want to stop this game, but before he did, he noticed a face peering out of the conifers in front.

He bolted upright and manoeuvred himself to settle on the branch. The face had gone. He knew from before that there was a slight crack in the fence; just behind the row of conifers, which bordered the end of the garden. Yet too small, even for Chlo to get through. It would, however, make for an easy shortcut, straight onto the hill of sheep, and out on up towards his forest. But now it didn't seem so safe. Especially less so from all this recent news about him, which he'd rather forget about.

''Billie,'' an unfamiliar voice whispered, from beyond the hedges.

That was enough for Billie, he bailed out his tree and onto the ground.

''Billie, what's Chlo doing out here?'' the voice continued to whisper.

That was odd. Billie was sure Chlo was sitting nestled up to his mum. Chlo was a brave little girl, but intrusive photographers banging and shouting outside had unsettled her quite.

He decided to stand still, to become silent, by breathing as slowly as he could. His eyes fixed where he had seen a face. After a while he began to quietly walk backwards, towards the house.

''Billie,'' the voice came again, slightly louder. ''I saw Chlo running up towards the forest. Some boys were after her...''

Billie stopped. He didn't know what to believe. ''You're lying. Go away!''

''I promise I'm not. I swear she was out here, she said she wanted to get away from all those people outside your house. Then a group of lads saw her and were very angry. They chased her up to the forest. God's truth.''

''I'm gonna check with my mum first.'' Billie started walking again.

''She'll be mad. Ever so mad, Billie. That's why I came the back way, I know you've been in lots of trouble. I want you to be safe. Me and you, we'll quickly bring Chlo back and no-one needs know.''

Billie kept walking. He didn't want to talk.

''It's Mot and Tuck.''

That made him stop again.

''You remember what happened a few days past. Raymond got really hurt in an accident. Never seen his brother so mad. I heard him say that he wants Chlo dead, to teach you a lesson. You really think by talking to your mum this is going to make things any quicker? She might not even believe you. And when you've wasted all that time, Chlo could be dead, or worse.''

Billie couldn't make up his mind. His instinct told him to run inside, but his age made him more susceptible to this stranger's tale.

''I hate that bunch, that's why I want to help you, Billie. If you're with me we can teach those two boys a lesson, and they'll never harm you or your sister again. Trust me.''

Billie couldn't believe what he was doing, he knew it was wrong. But he was so use to conforming to what people told him, that he found himself moving towards the conifers, further to where that face had been.

''Billie!'' he heard Chlo shout from the house. ''Mum wants you back inside!''

Billie turned his head to his sister's voice, and from behind him a thick, hairy arm parted the conifer branches and lunged itself around his belly; drawing him inside the bushes - into the darkness.

All that remained was broken and rattled branches - the only sign of what had gone on.

''Billie?'' Chlo walked up to his tree and rolled her eyes. ''Silly boy.''

Sarah had decided to put the television on again. This time she had the pleasure of watching her husband blather out a sentence on why their family needed to be left in peace. The scientists next to him agreed that their son was the reason behind a possible, 'miracle cure,' yet more time was needed before any factual conclusions could be given.

She was surprised that Toby had gone out before the horde and delivered such a speech. It almost seemed like a delusion she was watching. She hastily turned it back off as Chlo entered the room.

''He's not out there, mum. Not in his room. He must be hiding.'' Chlo said brashly, beginning to lay her head back on Sarah's lap.

Sarah pushed Chlo to one side. ''What do you mean you can't find him? Where did you look, Chlo?''

''Um... outside... and in his room. I didn't see him,'' she huffed.

''Toby!'' Sarah yelled.

Sarah rushed into the kitchen, where he was talking to Suckeridge and Monsoon. ''Toby have you seen Billie?''

''Well... yes... he's still outside,'' Toby responded, quite taken back.

Sarah yanked the back door open. ''Billie!'' Chlo followed her mum. ''Chlo you better not be playing a silly game with me. This is very much not the time!'' She raced out into the garden.

''What?! I just did what you told me.'' Chlo looked slightly less stubborn now.

Sarah was panicked. She'd reached the Oak tree and began treading around to see where he could have got to. Moving items hastily out of the way.

''Is he not here?'' questioned Toby, who had caught up.

''What does it bloody look like, Tobias!'' she screamed, throwing a plastic tray of plants at him.

''B-but we just spoke to him less than five minutes ago. I've been in the kitchen... we would have seen him come back in.''

Sarah frantically tore up any item she could see lying around. She barged past Toby to continue searching for their son upstairs.

That's when Toby saw it, a couple of snapped conifer branches dangling from the hedge row. He sped up to it and snuck his head through; past the conifers, a rotten old fence lined the edge of their garden boarder. There was a hole in the fence, one he knew about, and had insisted to Sarah in the past that he would fix. He was going to replace the whole of it, yet that must have been several years ago now.

Toby crouched through the conifers and noticed how big the hole had gotten; it had obviously been broken through very recently. Now he became panic stricken too. He forced himself through the fence, and had little time to notice the layers of loose wood, scraping away his skin as he passed through.

Toby stood on the gravel path that lead around the back of the houses. He looked left and right. Peered up to the hill of grass and sheep. Scanned the forest on the horizon. Nothing.

Monsoon and Suckeridge had also pushed themselves through the opening. ''Just tell us, Toby. How can we help?'' Suckeridge said, out of breath.

''Please, one of you help Sarah. The other... go right and look for Billie. I'm going left.'' And with that he ran off, and left the two on their lonesome.

It must have been three hours before Toby returned back through the fence. He'd never wept so many tears in his life - he hated showing emotion. Toby came back through the hole in the fence, not even considering using the front door. He had one last, ditch effort of dwindling hope, that maybe his boy would be back perched up on his branch... he wasn't.

''God damn this. Why can't you just be sitting there, BB,'' Toby cursed to himself.

He tried the back door but it was locked. His brother-in-law came up to the door's window and unlocked it for him.

''Guss. I didn't expect to see you here.'' He walked into the kitchen to see his sister, Lucy, looking as healthy as ever, consoling Sarah. Seated opposite them were two police officers, both taking notes. Sarah was incredibly distraught - like her soul had vacated the body.

''Lucy. I'm glad to see you all here. I found nothing. Sarah, I'm so sorry, I could-couldn't find him.'' His face started to swell, but he stopped in time before it became noticeable.

Sarah held out her hand and he took it. Toby knelt beside his wife, kissed her palm and laid his head onto her lap. He thought he had done all his weeping outside, but now he wept the most. He felt like he was someone else, in another body, with someone else's family - dampening a lady's skirt with his sadness.

Sarah stroked his hair, as did Lucy to Chlo, who sat on her lap; the emotions in the room made Chlo sob, and she hugged and cried into her aunt's chest.

The two police officers decided it would be best to carry on writing into their note books, even if they weren't scribbling anything down.

Holding Chlo with one hand, Lucy leant over to stroke Toby's face with the other. ''They're out looking now, Toby. More police and locals. They'll find him, you can be sure of that.''

''And we're not going to leave you. We're staying here, if you like it or not. Anything we can do to help - shopping, cleaning, taking care of the pets - we will be here for you,'' Guss added.

Toby lifted his drenched face out of Sarah's skirt. ''Is it a kidnapping?'' he asked the police officers.

''We can't say for certainty. What is clear is that we all keep an open and focused mind right now,'' the female officer said.

''It's this report, isn't it? We're all in the news, and now some lunatic has taken B-Bill... taken him, because they think he's got some bloody, super-healing blood. Now they all want it... and that's what they've done!'' Sarah took his head and held him tight into her chest, as his tears flowed again.

Max came in, whimpering for attention, to see what all the commotion was about. Chlo sprang out of her aunt's embrace to suffocate the dog instead. Max protested at first, but he secretly loved the fuss.

''Doggy will find Billie, won't you?'' Chlo asked Max, who sprawled out uncomfortably in Chlo's irregular arm hold.

Sarah made a sympathetic smile for a second, at her daughter and dog. Some distraction was welcomed in this madness.

''Maybe, erh... maybe.'' Chlo formulated an idea in her mind, staggering with the dog, and wiping back her wet eyes with his fur. ''We could make a cake again, soooo tasty that Billie will have to come back to eat it. He loves cake, like me!''

''That's a good idea, Chlo. Why don't I help you,'' Lucy said, and looked to Sarah for her approval. She nodded.

*

Once the blindfold had been applied it was like a taste of claustrophobia - that and the heavy hand that embedded its fingers around his mouth. He could have screamed his lungs out at the highest note, yet that sweaty hand kept all sound waves concealed.

He heard a vehicle door slide open, then him and the man both went in. Someone else opened the driver's door, and they were soon away.

''You're a brave kid. Just keep acting like this and nothing bad will happen to you, I swear,'' that same voice Billie had heard behind the conifers, spoke - now in a much deeper and rougher tone.

The man held an arm around Billie's shoulder, not too tight, but firm enough to reinforce who was in control. It was a silent journey for the first five minutes. Then when it sounded like they were on a motorway, the man decided to speak again.

''Alright, I'm gonna take my hands off your mouth, OK? But, and I don't like being like this, 'specially just to a kid, but if you scream, I'm gonna have to slap you, or worse. Got it?''

Billie nodded fiercely.

''You can speak, mate.''

''Y-yes,'' Billie managed to squeal out.

''Good, good. Now I'd love to take this blindfold off too, but you know how it is. We don't want to kill ya, but we might have to if you see our faces. So, it's best for everyone's interest that we keep things as they are, alright?''

''Yup,'' Billie spoke again, this time trying to sound braver. Naturally, he was scared, frightened to his very marrow, but strangely he was coping, and he was proud of himself for that.

The rest of the journey was silence. It seemed to take an age before the vehicle eventually came to its stop. Billie wasn't quite sure if his heart could take the pressure; it had been rattling through his ribs throughout the majority of the trip.

''OK, I'd rather not carry you. So, like we discussed before, if you keep quiet, I'll let you walk by yourself, alright?''

''Yeah!'' he said loudly.

''And not too loud, or I'll have to squeeze ya. Got it?''

''Got it,'' he said normally.

The man lowered Billie out of the van and let him walk for himself. His thick hand clasped his left shoulder and shoved him the right way to go.

Billie could hear the other man clanking some keys together. He swore to himself, while trying to find the right key. Billie was pulled to a stop. The man with the keys fumbled around for a few seconds, and then finally entered the correct key in a lock.

The click as the door unlocked, sent a primal fear off inside Billie - a primordial fear of looming doom - and Billie instinctively reacted.

''Help!'' he screamed aloud, and ran blindly out of the man's hand. His voice echoed back to him. ''Help! These men are hurting me! Help someone!'' He removed the blindfold and threw it to the ground. All he could see was a derelict building. In an empty and wet place.

''Please! Hel-'' The large man slapped his face, and he fell to the ground from the force. The man grabbed the back of his shirt and lifted him up with one arm - the sound of the stitching ripping, rang out.

Billie kicked and screeched like a fish plucked from a stream. The man observed his catch, unimpressed.

''Scream all you like, kid. Ain't anyone nearby in at least five miles from here.''

The cloth of Billie's shirt gave up, and he fell through the torn fabric. Billie scampered to his feet and ran away, topless. The man looked peeved towards the torn collar left in his hand.

''Will you stop pissing about and go get him!'' the man with the keys shouted. ''You still don't know who could be lurking 'bout 'round here.''

Billie kept on running, but the building was shaped like a horseshoe, and he had just run further into it with no real escape possible. He turned around to see the man jogging towards him; he was muscular, largely built with a shaven head. The other man with the keys was thinner, less-built, and had greasy long hair.

Billie remembered what he had been told in the van, and he tightly closed his eyes as the thuggish brute caught him in between his hands.

''I could hit you! I really could! What did we agree about in the van, 'ey? Now you've seen both our faces too! This doesn't look good for you, boy. Really doesn't! You might as well open those bloody eyes and walk straight! I am gonna hit you, and hit you really hard if you do anything more, alright?''

Billie opened his eyes, but still squirmed in the man's hands; he held Billie in a tight grip around his right wrist, so tight his hand was starting to tingle.

The thinner man had opened the door and was already inside. As they got to the door, the man let go of Billie's wrist and kicked him into the building's hallway.

''Keep going! I'll tell you where to go.''

Billie followed the instructions. This place was horrible - decaying, rotten. Doors to old rooms smashed in or gone, and what lay inside was bare, pale and grubby walls. The derelict building had been ransacked, and water ran down from the cracked, concrete ceiling.

Shards of light sprayed vertically from various holes; wherever they touched, green plants grew and prospered. Billie looked into one room and jumed, as a flock of birds glided past him, touching his chest with their feathers as they flew by. His legs demolished through a woodlouse ridden cabinet, bringing him into a long corridor. At the furthest end, a deer and its fowl stare right back at Billie, the animals halted for a few moments, but then quickly departed through another exit.

''Through that 'ole.'' The man kicked Billie again.

The door was gone, and the doorway was lined by numerous weeds, protruding up the endless cracks - nature was reclaiming itself.

Billie entered a big hall; it was dull despite of the large windows, mostly covered in dirt and grime. Any cracks the windows had laid a gateway for bramble to wind its way into the hall.

The muscled man laid a decomposing, wooden chair by Billie. ''Sit on that, and don't make me 'ave to bind you to it. I've got plenty of belts and ropes here, I'll tie you up nice and tight with 'em. Just be'ave!''

Billie did as he was told, while the thinner man rustled through things on a table behind. The smell of mould and rot was intoxicating. Billie's nose was on fire from the intensity of the spores and damp.

''Alright, now hold your arm out.'' Billie hesitated at first. ''Hold your f'in arm out!'' Billie did so. ''See how nice I'm being, I'm not even properly swearin'. Well, at least now your shirts all torn up, this makes this next part even easier for us.''

The smaller man popped up to Billie's arm and presented a needle. Billie wriggled at the sight of it and screamed out.

''No! No! I don't want that! Please, no, no!''

''Hold him still.''

''Come on, kid. You're just making it worse for yourself.'' The heavy man held him tightly onto the seat and tried to steady his right arm.

Billie cried loudly. All that returned back to him were his echoing sobs.

''That's a good vein.'' The thin man double-tapped Billie's inner elbow with two fingers, and slid the needle through.

Billie cried louder and didn't give up struggling.

''Careful. You don't want to rupture anything, that will make the bleeding hard to stop.''

The thick man gave in and wrapped his hand around Billie's neck, squeezing with his strong hand.

''I'll fuckin' murder you right here, if you don't give up with this bloody, twating about!''

Billie couldn't breathe, his vision had gone. He gave in, and kept still for the two men.

''You're gonna kill him if you keep choking him like that.''

''Aghhh!'' The large man let go, and walked over to the counter to punch through the decayed wood.

The thin man plastered the syringe onto Billie's arm. He attached a plastic tube to the other end, and let the blood flow into a bag.

''Now keep flexing that hand. I'll let you know when we're done.''

Billie did as he was told, he didn't want to look at what was being done to his arm.

''How much are we gonna take?'' the big man said, plucking splinters out of his fist.

''I reckon two bags.''

''Can the kid take that?'

''Who knows.'' The thin man didn't seem bothered either way.

The rest of the procedure was in silence, only to be disturbed by intermittent grunts from the big man - removing embedded splinters from between his fingers.

Billie's eyes were firmly shut, he'd become unaware that he was swaying on the seat due to the bloodletting. His head was dizzy, and parts of his body felt numb. He winced as the needle departed his vein. Billie was still conscious enough to hold his hand over the seeping wound; the thin man wasn't interested in helping him cover up the hole he'd made.

The man cradled the two precious bags of blood like his own newly born. He walked them over to the rotten counter and gently slid them into a bag.

''You know where we're off to now?'' he said to the man, still finding bits of wood in his hand.

''Yeah! I know!'' he replied, annoyed. Though he wondered why the thin man was already walking out of the hall. ''Where ya going?''

''The job's done, Yate... the job's done, mate. We need to deliver this stuff before it dries out.'' He carried on walking through the hallway.

''What about the kid?!'' the big man shouted after him.

The thin man carried on walking down the hall, only to turn around at the last moment to raise both his arms up in a shrugging gesture, just before he vanished around a corner.

''Not our problem!'' his hollow words rang back.

By this point Billie was reeling over his legs. His body gave up the fight, and he succumbed to gravity and the mucky floor. The big man was at a dilemma. He looked like a robot as he stared at Billie's body on the floor, then back down the corridor his friend had gone through, then back to Billie's body again.

His feet made a peculiar little dance, in their efforts to go two ways at once. Yet in the end, the big man swore loudly, punched his right thigh, and strolled out of the room to find his friend.

There was crunching, a wet nose sniffed, cautiously over his face. Billie opened heavy eyes, to see a baby fawn curiously looking over him, judging what his purpose in this place was.

He felt semi-awake, his body screamed to be dragged back into sleep, but he had to fight it. His whole fragile frame wobbled, uncontrollably. The fowl stumbled backwards on tiny legs and scurried off to find its mother.

Billie found the dilapidated chair and managed to lift himself half onto it. The rest of the force he applied helped collapse the chair into pieces; it appeared to turn into dust, and evaporate itself out of the building's window. One upright chair leg remained. Billie used it to balance himself onto his feet.

Fearing that the two men may still be lurking nearby, Billie decided to head out an alternative route. He shuffled his way to one of the large, murky windows; the one that had a large crack, which spread out from the middle of the pain, all the way to its base.

A thick, healthy bramble bush prospered through the crack. Billie was able to poke away at the remaining glass, which happily crumbled away with the lightest of touches. Once an adequate space had been made, Billie hunched through the window and came out into a woodland.

Limping away on the old chair leg, he wandered through the bushes and trees, trying to get as far from that place as he could. His body protested a mix of emotions. Aches sounded off from all over his body. It was like he was back in his flu stage, resting in his parents' bed after his marrow had been sucked from him.

Pain was everywhere, each muscle as sore and delicate as silk. Every bone felt like it was a thin egg shell - each one covered in a thousand, hair-line fractures.

He had no choice but to continue through the pain and blurred, dizziness of his vision. He noticed how hot he was; his skin was all clammy, and the golden, setting sun poked its head through the trees, revealing to him just how white and pale his skin had become.

On his way through the forest, the old chair leg gave up, and let out a final, soggy snap. Billie landed hard on his knees. He stared out over the foliage, littered upon the forest floor. It almost beckoned to him that he rest his torso upon it. But before he fell, he located a branch nearby, and equipped himself with it. It was made of sturdier stuff, and was long enough that Billie had no need to hunch himself as low towards the ground anymore.

He wasn't sure how far he had gone, but he kept going, unsure whether he was getting himself further lost in this foreign place, or closer to that building and those people. The thought made him shiver. He had to carry on, because that is what his body ordered - survival.

A leafy tree branch, hung almost to the ground in front of him. He blasted his way through it, and his right foot came out the other side, but no ground was there to cushion it. He fell out, down a small mound, and sprawled himself onto the tarmac of a road.

Blood flowed from cuts on his elbows, arms and legs; a nasty, gaping wound had opened up on his forehead, which had taken most of the impact from the road.

This was it now. Billie had had enough. He wasn't unconscious, yet, but he came to a unanimous decision with his body, that he would prefer sleep to any more of this consciousness, malarkey. So, give into sleep he did.

*

White light reflected off the plastic walls, slowly the image pieced itself together, another hospital room in another hospital bed. Billie was more tired than he had ever known, goodness knows why he was stirring. It was a quiet room, just him in its solitary bed. A light breeze entered through the window, gently passing by the blinds; it was a comfort to have a soft touch of air attend his hot cheeks.

Someone opened the door and entered, they held something in their hand. Once the door was closed, they made sure it was locked. Dr. Monsoon sat on the side of his bed. He smiled, brushed Billie's fringe to the side of his head.

''How are we today, Billie?'' Monsoon asked, still stroking his fringe.

''D... d-do you know where my mum and dad is?'' Billie managed to croak out of dry lips.

''They're on their way. Here...'' He handed him a glass of water, that stood on the bedside table. ''Drink up, Billie, you need your fluids. You've been through a very traumatic ordeal.''

Billie could barely grasp the glass. Monsoon helped him hold it as he drunk the whole glass empty.

''You're a good boy. You know that, don't you, Billie?'' He continued to stroke his head.

''When will my mum and dad be here?'' He grimaced at the heavy patting, hurting his neck.

''Soon, soon. Don't worry.'' Monsoon stopped the grooming and gave Billie a kiss on his bandaged forehead. He moved on to shuffle some things about, that he had laid next to him.

Billie squinted his eyes, they were only half-opened, he wanted to see his family. He wanted them to tell him everything was OK, and explain to him that those bad men had been caught. The constant pain was yet again, agonising. Made ever so worse from the cannulas he had in his left, inner elbow and wrist - one to feed him a drip, the other to replenish his blood.

Monsoon sniffled, he calmly turned around and placed a needle in Billie's right, inner elbow, and began to mess about with plastic tubing. It happened so quickly and so unexpectedly the Billie had no time to squeal. He was being drained again, as one bag of blood filled him up, another took it back out. Monsoon held the tube out straight and watched the bag fill up. His hands were shaking wildly, his eyes reddened and wet.

''You're a good boy, Billie. Better than you know.''

''What are you doing?'' The flashback from that thin man emptying out his blood, eagerly came up to the forefront of his mind.

''I'm just... I'm taking care of you.'' Monsoon looked terrified. He denied Billie any eye contact, focusing on the blood entering the bag. ''You're a good boy, Billie. Better than you know.''

Billie's body felt numb; he had a yearning for sleep more intense than he'd ever known. He tried his best to keep those eyelids open. That prolonged pain he had, began to fade away, like a wet duvet slipping off his body.

''Forgive me someone.'' He heard a voice come from somewhere.

Billie was shrouded in a cloud of comfort, it begged him to close his eyes and sleep. He tried his best to fight it, but this was a fight that seemed pointless to win. What he saw through his eyes, was a blur and mix of colours: Blue spirals, a brown vertical line, green circles; maybe if he squished them all together, he could form his tree. Form the branch that sprang out from its trunk, where he would sit, those conifers that edged the garden's border, and the forest that awaited him above the hill. There was some guilt at first to except the sleep, but it felt so right. He took it. And into that eternal sleep he slept.

*

He was cold and pale, despite that, he looked peaceful. Cloth still bandaged his forehead and arms; from various wounds he'd accumulated escaping out through the woods. Sarah sat on a seat next to her boy, she held on tightly to his little arm. She'd sobbed enough over him for hours already, head embedded against his shoulder and chin. His breathless body was haunting. Why didn't it want to move? Why didn't his heart want to warm his skin and colour it pink again?

She had a lifetime of questions to ask herself. The pain she felt was unimaginable, how could she explain it in words? She wiped away a wet patch she'd left underneath Billie's collarbone, with one of the many tissues she'd wept through. What was this picture she was staring over? This little, silent child of hers. Sarah dabbed the wet tissue over his head, to clean an area of dried blood. His hair she smoothed over so it wouldn't look scruffy, though his hair was mostly a bit unkept, so that made things yet more peculiar.

She staggered backwards. Still in disbelief of what she was seeing. Maybe if she stared for long enough, the picture would change... but it didn't. Her lungs hurt, she was hyperventilating - diaphragm spasmed, unwittingly.

Sarah couldn't take much more of this horror, she walked to the door and opened it. Toby was sitting outside, his eyes lost in the void. She sat next to him and took up his arm. A crusted trail of tears, matched either side of his face. Fearing a new batch would arrive, he lifted his head up high, tilting it backwards, but to no avail the tears came out anyway. Toby sobbed into Sarah's chest, she held him tight and followed suit. Clasping him tight and stroking his hair. That's all you can really do in a situation as bizarre and terrifying as this one.

Sarah needed to piece the fragments of her shattered mind together again, somehow, even if they would never be as strong and stable as they once were. She started on the policewoman who had phoned that evening, when Toby had arrived back at the house - defeated at the last.

The policewoman on the other end informed them that Billie had been found by an elderly couple driving back from a social event, almost 100 miles away. The couple were stunned to find such a small child, strung about the road like that. No mention yet on how Billie had ended up in such a place.

Both Toby and Sarah raced, with an almost-legal drive, towards the hospital which Billie had been taken to. Chlo was left at the house in the capable hands of Auntie Lucy and Uncle Guss.

At the front desk they inquired about their situation, and that was when things turned foul. The receptionist's face didn't help to conceal the nasty truth. She mumbled and stumbled out words, which made no sense - not in the English language anyhow. That was until a policewoman, standing to the side of the desk, approached them.

''Mr. and Mrs. Bucket? My name is Rebecca, would you care to follow me, please?''

Sarah and Toby looked at one another, breathless from their long ordeal to the hospital. They did as they were told. It was only around the corner - a staff room - another police officer was inside, seated and patient.

''Mr. and Mrs. Bucket.'' The man rose out of his seat. ''I'm glad you've made it here. Please could you both take a seat.'' He pointed to the seats that were awaiting them.

''Could you tell us what's going on? We're here to see our son, he's been in an accident,'' Sarah said calmly.

''You need to take a seat, both of you first, please,'' he reiterated.

''Please just tell us what's going on?!'' Toby burst out.

''It's OK. It's all OK,'' Rebecca said, and she sat down on her seat. ''Just sit down and I can talk to you.''

''Jesus,'' Toby yelped, grasping his hair in his hands. Sarah held his side and they both sat down. The male office stayed standing; one hand tilted ever so close to his metal truncheon.

''I'm so sorry to tell you, but Billie has died,'' she read out like a menu.

The words stabbed and stung deep. Sarah grabbed her mouth, tore her nails through her cheeks. Toby laughed; he couldn't believe himself - it was a joke - how can the impossible happen? What reaction do you make when you hear and see a miracle?

Toby tried to speak, but his voice had gone. He punched his voice box so hard you could hear the cartilage inside snap. It didn't take him long to understand the truth. He pincered a hand over his temples and squeezed with full force, taking delight in the pain. He screamed an agonising shriek, and punched himself, with a finger edged out of the knuckle into his right temple - three hits were enough before he almost passed out.

''Hey now. Come on,'' the male officer said, holding Toby's arm so he could cause himself no more pain.

Toby stood up, trembling, and hastened himself out of the door. The male officer hesitated, but Rebecca nodded, and he left to follow.

Rebecca offered Sarah a box of tissues; she plucked out one, two, three and four. Drowned her eyes in them. Hid her eyes in them. Rebecca sat next to her on Toby's seat, placed an arm around her. Sarah accepted the gesture and hugged the officer. Rebecca was taken back a bit, she tried all her might to keep up the professional front, but it became too much and she silently wept also.

Some time, took its time, to pass over. At last Toby was coerced to enter back into the room, with the male officer following behind. Rebecca gave Toby back his seat, next to his wife; though Sarah was almost glued to the officer, and it took some force before Sarah realised, and she stuck herself onto Toby instead.

After a brief reset, Rebecca continued, ''Billie was brought in around 9pm, suffering from hypovolemic shock, due to extensive blood loss. We believe that whoever kidnapped your son, removed several units of blood from him before abandoning him nearby.''

''Wh... who did this?'' Toby reclaiming his voice, asked.

''This is an on-going investigation. We have officers looking into this. We do have some early leads, but it is still too soon to tell. I need to tell you also, that the staff have had some concerns that someone may have interfered with Billie while he was here, recovering from the sever blood loss-''

Sarah gasped. ''You're... you're telling me... our son... I can't, I can't.''

''I'm so sorry to tell you all of this. But the staff believe someone withdrew more blood from Billie once he was here, receiving a blood transfusion and fluids. It-it was too much for his body to handle... and he-'' Rebecca saw no need to continue her statement.

''The evil... cruelty... these monsters... lurking over him,'' Sarah spat out. Toby held her tighter.

''We will find them, Sarah, Toby. We will.''

It didn't help. She knew it wouldn't - dwelling back over the last few hours. But like a pit of sinking sand, it drew her focus, her attention towards it. After some forgotten words, they were led up to this floor, so they could see their son. Toby had yet to build up that courage, as he lay with his head still in Sarah's chest. Did everything in the last few hours really happen? It seemed like an old, faded memory now. Yet, one glimpse at it again, and it's sharp teeth bit through her, with a fresh chill.

Professor Suckeridge turned up then, matching the sombre look of everyone. He shuffled closer and closer - he hadn't the courage to sit down on the seat in front of Sarah. She gave him a quick glance over, there was no energy left for her to yell insults or sarcastic remarks at the man.

''Sarah,'' he whispered softly as a feather. ''I can't even begin. Begin to explain how sorry I am. This, this was never meant to end like this. It was supposed... it was...'' He struggled to structure his words. It had worked so perfectly in his head beforehand.

Sarah eyed him with such a look of disgrace. He knew he looked pathetic in her eyes.

''Tell me. Anything I can do, just anything?'' He held his head down in shame.

''You know what you can do,'' she replied with a face made of concrete.

''Yes?''

''You can find out which ever member of your team leaked this story... and then you know what to do.''

He understood. At least the robotic nodding of his head suggested that he did.

Rebecca joined them, just as quiet as Suckeridge. The male officer stood beside her, forming his similar stance from previously, hand resting, quivering nearby his metal baton.

''We've had an update, Sarah.'' She was contemplative about this new guest listening in. ''Do you mind if we speak in front of everyone present?''

Toby lifted his head off Sarah's chest. ''He can stay!'' his voice grizzled out, as he swayed about.

''Someone has handed themselves in, confessing that they withdrew Billie's blood when he was at the hospital...'' Toby grunted in protest, to the unnecessary game-show-like manner into which Rebecca chose to present this information. ''It was Dr. Monsoon.''

A great loom of silence followed. Strangely, yet not so, Professor Suckeridge went the palest, mimicking 'The Scream' painting.

''I... I... this cannot-cannot be...?'' he said rhetorically, continuing to hold his face, as he walked away somewhere else.

Sarah and Toby ignored Suckeridge's absence, maybe in any other situation it might have been humorous - but not in this one.

''We saw him today,'' said Sarah's askew face. ''He even helped you look for Billie when he was missing,'' she said to Toby. ''How does this make sense?''

''He explained that his wife had been severely ill. Something which he had hidden from his friends and colleagues. He feared if Billie died in hospital, he might not be able to save her, because replicating Billie's blood was looking doubtful. So, he made the decision to take a sample, to give to his wife. He said he administered his wife the blood and now he wants to pay for what he has done. He is remorseful.''

''That...'' Sarah had an endless selection of words to choose from next, but she gave up after the first. She glimpsed further into oblivion, all that she knew seemed ever so fake and fragile. Was everything in this life a lie - rot behind a paper mask?

Toby stood up. He wanted to laugh to himself again, with all this absurdity he'd heard in the last few hours. He opened that door in front of him, the one which had been teasing him, taunting him of his worthlessness and weakness. He shut it behind himself, and shut all those people out too.

He needed to turn himself around to face what laid behind him, by the window, on the bed. He couldn't, so he was stuck. Couldn't face the people through the door, couldn't face that someone behind. A lot of couldn't, it drove him mad. He was so sick of this constant, invisible barrier; the anxiety that caused the impossible in so much of his daily life.

He needed an ignition, so he slapped himself hard, and he slapped himself hard again, and again. His last slap became a punch that twisted his body around to see Billie on the bed.

Toby wanted to run, to scurry off under the floorboards down into the deepest, blackest hole of the Earth. He stayed with it though, looked through his greatest fear, and walked inside it. He stopped by the bed, then shuddered as he looked at Billie's face - pale, rigged, foreign. Those tears revealed themselves again, Toby wouldn't stop them, so they dripped off his chin and onto the floor.

''Billie. Oh, BB. Tell me this isn't you.'' Toby reached out to touch Billie's skin, the oddity of its texture made him withdraw, like he'd touched a hot hob. He didn't give in to his insecurity though, he touched the skin again, forced it down, despite the cold, firmness of it all.

''I've loved all your jokes. All your silly... silly silly doings. Though, I'm not liking this one... please stop it. Let-let's play a different game,'' his voice tightened. ''Get up, Billie. Let's go home and do something else. Come on, BB. Stop it... please stop it.'' The water hazed over his eyes. He had to squeeze them tight to see clearly again.

He knelt beside the bed, before he keeled over. ''I'm sorry, BB. I looked for you... everywhere I could. I'm sorry I didn't protect you, that's my job, isn't it? It's my fault I brought all these people into your life. I thought, like you did, we were helping. You helped Lucy. You helped your sister. You helped everyone... but I couldn't help you. I've failed in every way. I lost you, my little boy. I love you, BB. Do-do good wherever you are now...'' Toby held his head down, closed his eyes, and rested by Billie's arm.

''You're a good dad,'' Sarah told him, knelling next to him. ''Not perfect... but neither am I.''

Toby nodded, gave the best sort of smile he could. She rested her head onto the bed too, one hand holding Toby, the other holding his hand which held Billie's. She closed her eyes too, and together they dreamt the world away.

*

Chlo planted some saplings in her trough, this must have been the twelfth time today. She'd plant them, admire her masterful gardening expertise, then five minutes later chuck the lot outside in her earth mound, and start again. Sarah mused over the fuss it had taken to grow the saplings in the first place, and now more than half were mixed up in the mound outside, feeding the worms.

On this one occasion, Sarah had let Chlo bring in her trough, and work away on it on the kitchen table; anything to defocus her mind, and that of Chlo's too. Chlo was putting all her effort into it, most of the lost soil was finding its way onto Max's head. He sat on the seat next to Chlo, and he'd give an unhappy whimper whenever another clump hit his crown, but he was far too lazy to remove it once it was on there, so his little hat of mud continued to grow.

''There... sunflowers, pet-unias, and croissant-fur-mums.'' She then planted a plastic doll in each of the trough's four corners, and covered the lot in an abrupt spread of sticky glitter, hidden in one of her several pockets. Sarah hadn't agreed for Chlo to go this far. It was a troublesome result when you added Chlo and glitter together.

Last time Sarah could remember, she allowed Toby to buy Chlo one last glitter related item. In Toby's genius, he decided that Chlo's choice of a metre long, glitter canon, seemed justifiable. That was until Chlo let it off in their bedroom, at around 6 the very next morning, for a surprise. Sarah could still see the glitter sparkle off the ceiling, even now.

''Chlo, look at the mess you've made again. Do you think that maybe you've finished your trough, now?'' Sarah asked in her politest tone.

''Yup, finished!'' She lifted up the trough, tipping another clump over Max. ''Something like this takes time to get right.''

''What are you going to do with it?''

''Um, a'give it to Billie. I put it by his tree. Erm... an then it might make him want to come back.'' Chlo wheezed out breath as she carried the heavy thing out the door, into the garden. Max followed her, but first shook the earth and glitter off himself - all over the kitchen, and all over Sarah's smart dress.

''Max!'' she seethed, looking down at the earth and spots of glitter covering her dress.

She wiped off the mud, but the glitter remained like it always did, teasing her with each shimmer. An array of nearby dry-cleaners flashed before her. Possible places to go if she wanted to see her dress clean again, but she closed that thought off. Why would she ever want to wear this dress again? Forever tainted with its association with Billie's funeral, and now here, in the aftermath of the wake.

Friends and family of all like had come and gone, offered words and a physical touch, a piece of card too with more words on, and plenty of decomposing flora. If only any of these things could have brought him back.

Lucy was busying herself at the sink, putting things away, cleaning up after the guests had left. Her husband, Guss, was out getting more supplies of food again. They had more than ample stock \- the current food could barely fit into the cupboards, but he wanted to be useful in any way possible.

Toby was in his usual spot upstairs, with the curtains drawn, and hiding himself in some odd activity. They hadn't really had a proper sit-down talk about things, ever since they went to the hospital that day. All they offered were saddened looks to one another, and grunts to suggest either yes or no.

''Sarah, can I get you anything?'' Lucy enquired.

Sarah shook her head.

''You haven't eaten all day. At least let me make you something, for some sustenance. How about some hot chocolate and a piece of fruit? Please?''

Sarah nodded. ''OK, thank you.''

''I'll make the same for Toby too. Can't let him stay in that room all night.''

It was no surprise that they had both been silent throughout the whole ordeal. Chlo didn't quite understand yet what was going on, maybe it was her way of dealing with it, or a state of denial. Sarah had just the strength within her to deal with Chlo's multitude of morbid questions, all throughout the ceremony. Toby wouldn't and couldn't help. He was a grey puppet, whose puppeteer had died. He was there, but where he stared into, was not.

If all-round crippledness, from the death of poor Billie was not enough to take in, other affairs had yearned for Toby and Sarah's attention. A trial was to be had for the on-going investigation into the now disgraced, ex-Dr. Monsoon. Though they had no time to mull over that, for a second investigation/trail was being conducted, over the two men who had been caught several days after Billie's kidnapping; fortunately, a couple of buyers put two and two together, after purchasing a small vile of blood from an undisclosed seller, guaranteeing a cure to any untreatable illness. It still didn't stop them from ingesting the product before they contacted the authorities.

With the prospect of future court hearings to come, one bitterness had still not reduced in size. The residue from the fight they had to make, just to bury their son. Professor Suckeridge had been working on an injunction, so he could use Billie's remains for further research. The last samples taken hadn't provided any positive results, so even despite the embarrassment of Monsoon, Suckeridge thought it wouldn't be a problem to cut up the remains - it's not like they would be needing them anymore.

In a grotesquely, fitting end, through the use of the media; the papers that had first caused the death of their son, now helped bury him - with no more interference from Suckeridge. Public outrage caused all legal matters to be dropped, in regards to the limbo of the hospital holding onto Billie's body. Officials oversaw to it too, that no one happened to stumble into the morgue, to accidentally take another sample of Billie.

Hideous memories Sarah wanted to bury, with a disturbing pun that saw no humour. At least Billie could be at peace now - no one left fighting after him. Just bitterness. The wound that stung the most from today, was the audacity that Suckeridge had to turn up to the funeral. He seemed shocked that no one wanted him there. After all, he wanted to pay his respects.

''We were going to call the cure after him. BB. What use is his cure now you're burying him? He died for nothing!'' was his response, when someone compared him to a body-snatcher. Sarah would have pounced on the professor, if someone else hadn't gotten to him first, and helped remove two of his front teeth. After the scuffle, the police took Suckeridge away, and some kind of normality followed - so the event everyone had been so looking forward to, could begin.

A chocolaty breeze took Sarah out of her mulling, she knew not to stew in these thoughts, but it was mentally impossible; the memories, like wounds, screamed out for her attention. Perhaps in future years gone by, they might heal over, but the scaring would always remain for her to feel far too often.

''Get this down you.'' Lucy placed the hot chocolate by her side, with a bowl of chopped fruit. ''I'll go check on, Chlo.''

Sarah jumped to her feet. How could she let her daughter wander out unaccompanied into the same garden where Billie was taken, she thought to herself. She left Lucy standing still, plummeted herself out the back door and flew down the garden, like someone falling from the sky.

Chlo hadn't noticed the carnage-wreck of her mother, who realising there was nothing to fear, tried to organise her hair and clothes, in a subtle fashion. The hole in the fence had been fixed, but it was a too awful picture. Billie's innocent, happy place by his tree, now smeared with a hedge row of snatching conifers, that symbolised much more than just humble trees.

Chlo was irritated, she was trying her best to jump up and grab the oak branch, Billie was so fond of sitting on - she'd need a few more feet on her, before she had any chance of catching it.

''Chlo?'' Sarah asked, regaining her breath. ''What are you doing?''

''Aghhh!'' she yelled, furiously. ''I wanna go up and put my flowers on Billie's branch.'' Chlo turned around to face her mum, looking as miffed as ever, fists tucked into her hips.

''It's rather heavy, Chlo. I think it would fall off if you put it up there, anyway.''

''No, it won't!'' her little voice squeaked. Max barked aloud. ''See, Doggy agrees with me.''

''Fine, fine, Chlo. You're always right.'' Sarah grinned and picked Chlo up, she was heavy, but Sarah was still strong enough to carry on.

Once Chlo was nestled on the branch, Sarah lifted the trough up for Chlo to grab, with surprising strength on her part.

Max whimpered, as he wasn't included. ''Come here.'' Sarah lifted Max up in her arms, and instantly regretted that decision as soon as he began frantically licking her face.

Chlo somehow managed to wedge the trough into the truck, where it became quite stable. ''Give me, Doggy,'' she demanded, kicking her legs eagerly back and fought.

Sarah gladly obliged. ''Careful up there, Chlo.''

Max settled once he was back with Chlo. He cuddled himself on her lap and looked so happy he would purr if he could.

''I've never sat here before. It's not too bad,'' Chlo considered. Max let off a soft ruff. ''Yeah, you good, Doggy.''

Sarah admired this image of her daughter. She wished she had her enthusiasm... maybe she did.

''Do you think when Billie comes back, he'll let me sit here still?''

Sarah grabbed one of Chlo's kicking legs. ''I'm sure it will be fine.''

She manoeuvred herself, so she stood in front of the branch; Chlo's little legs gently hit their heels against Sarah's chest, and Max began wildly sniffing through her hair - she'd let it pass for now. They both looked up to the top of the hill, where the round forest lay, and wondered what Billie saw when he would stare out into this view, for all those hours he did.

Another kit was almost complete, he must have completed four boxes in one sitting. Looking back at the sets and the Lego men's smiling teeth, it all seemed worthless. Toby clicked two bricks together and gave up, swiping the whole lot off the table and onto the floor. He could barely see them on the ground in this light, with the curtains closed and the sun fading, it looked as though they had all but vanished into the floorboards.

Toby decided to stand up on fragile bones, to switch on the lights. The light which emerged pained his eyes, but he forced them open, nevertheless, through the stinging. Eventually, re-opening them to see that most of the shadows had gone.

It was a dreadful feeling, the light. Darkness was so much more pleasing - it understood why you only wanted to partially be there, and gladly embraced you in the hiding shroud of its cloak.

Toby went back to the light switch again and turned them off. The blackness helped ease his pain, but he wouldn't be able to commit to his plan in this light, so back on they came. He tentatively, ambled over to the nearest chair by the table. Holding it tight he walked backwards - counting the steps. He blindly leant the chair against the door handle, quickly making sure the chair was positioned correctly, doing so in a second's glance.

He walked back to the table and leant himself over it, stretching his arms out wide, placing his opened palms on top of it. He allowed himself to slowly slip, a few centimetres at a time, down and down until he banged his head upon it. Toby hastily up righted himself and walked around the table again and again, until he became wildly dizzy.

He stopped and found himself looking directly over a drawer; a few dusty photo frames stared back, one of Chlo, one of Billie, and in between, one of the family all together. He swaggered over to them and knelt beside the photos. At first, he couldn't bear to look at them. So, he took a deep, ache of breath inside, and looked back at those photographs. He nodded to himself. Tears shed away from his eyes. He held each one up, kissed the glass and placed them back, face-down.

Like a rehearsal, he swivelled back up and sat on a chair by the table. His leg quivered, uncontrollably, other parts of him did so as well. He knew what was under there. He didn't really know if he wanted to do the next part of this continually, monotonous rehearsed act played out in his head - morbidly, it was all that kept him going.

Toby's heart cried when he picked the items up. He kicked back his chair and walked around the table to turn off the lights. He walked back over to place another chair in a precise spot, and he held his head down for some time. The last time for contemplation.

He wrapped the belt around his neck, and tightened it up - precisely as he had done so, countless times before. Toby stood up on the chair and flicked the other belt over a metal railing that came out of the wall; one previously installed when he was at a healthier stage, and wanted to keep fit by doing weights and pull-ups from the bar.

He tightened the belt on the bar and attached the belt around his neck through its buckle. Toby tugged the belt hard a couple of times, to ensure it was a good fit. It was.

He'd been in this same situation once before; he had leant himself into the belt and felt the pulse in his neck thunder through his head. He hadn't the nerve to go through with it, and withdrew before his head went too dizzy. But that was then, and this was now.

Pain and suicide were a close companion of Toby's, for more years than he could recall. Yet the pain of a lost son was something unfathomable, until it happened; its surrealness made his current existence all the more distance. He knew he was there, walking among everyone else living their lives. But for him he was in the distance, looking at his life from a window. One-part ghost, one-part an empty vessel - resembling him in some way.

The surge of guilt from the fallout he would cause to his wife, Chlo, and the rest of his family, placed him in a tight box. The way he saw it in the end, to justify his actions, was no matter what someone would be in pain. For too long now it had been his burden. He carried pain so others wouldn't have to. He was sorry that he couldn't take it any further. Now he would have to pass the pain on, so he could be free from it.

The chair tilted back and forth, back and forth... until gravity took over, and did the rest.

''Come on, Chlo, in you get.'' Chlo plodded back in the kitchen with Max, cradled like a baby in her arms. ''It's getting chilly out, no more garden today, OK?''

''OK.'' Chlo released Max from her grip, and he stumbled onto his feet and smelt his way to the cat, hiding nearby.

''You've got to promise me, Chlo, that if you want to go outside again, just please, please, tell me first. You got that?''

''Yup.''

''You sure about that?''

She rolled her eyes. ''Yussss. I know.''

''How about I make you some cookies? Just to make sure you do as I tell you.''

''Yes, yes, yes! Cookies! I'll be so good.''

''Go get the stuff then.''

Chlo was already banging pots and pans around in the cupboard, to ensure her sugary treats would be plated up fast.

Guss came in, straining like a bodybuilder, with three carrier bags in each hand. He panted and looked mighty pleased with himself, as he dropped them all over the table.

''What did you buy?'' Lucy gasped.

He looked blank. ''Well... erm, basics: Food, cleaning products, the works. No biggy.''

''We only did a shop yesterday.''

''Of course, of course. But I like a well-supplied pantry... cupboard-sss.''

''Thank you, Guss. I really do appreciate all you've done.'' Sarah smiled, and instantly felt guilty from making an emotion associated with happiness.

''There is absolutely, no need for praise. I won't have it. Call me a git. I'd much rather it. Now, I'm cooking, I've pretty much got ingredients for anything under the sun, so what do you want?''

Lucy and Sarah both made an equally measured, unpleasant face.

''What if I wanted something from above the sun?'' Chlo suggested.

Guss laughed. ''Well, I guess you'd have to pop with me to Mars, in my spaceship.''

Chlo made a quizzical expression. ''You don't have a spaceship. I'm not silly, like Billie...'' she stopped herself in mid-flow, unlike her, she looked as though she had broken something within.

''I'm grateful, still. I've no appetite really. Though, I'm sure Chlo would want something other than cookies.''

''Nu-ah!'' Chlo protested, though still frozen in her previous revelation.

''I'll make a buffet, small, and people can take what they want. If you don't eat, then no fuss, no worry, it goes back in the fridge.'' Guss waited for approval, and once received he made way for his master food plan.

Lucy moved out of the way, so Guss could get past to the plates she had washed up. She saw the full cup of coco on the side. ''Damn, I forgot Toby's hot chocolate.''

''Is it cold?'' Sarah asked.

''Hmmm.'' Lucy touched the side. ''A little.''

''Don't worry, he won't drink it anyway. Let me take it.'' Sarah picked it up out of Lucy's hand, looked inside it, poured half into the sink. ''Saves half the effort.'' She headed on up.

The hollow sounds of the creaking stairs, flowed back into her ears, with each step she took up the staircase. Into the upstairs hallway, she arrived at Toby's door. She waited a while; it was time to have their talk about things they'd rather have kept hidden. They'd gone on long enough with empty words. Sarah knocked a couple of knocks against the door. Waited patiently, in silence for nothing but silence to greet her.

''Toby.'' She knocked again. ''Just got some hot chocolate for you. I didn't want any either, but it's worth a shot.'' That good old silence greeted her again.

She tapped a tap against the door. Grew tired of waiting. Tried the handle and heaved against something heavy on the other side. She pushed again, but something blocked the door from its usual route.

''Toby, could you move that blasted chair away from the door?'' She pushed again, but the door bounced back. ''I'm going to break this door down, and then I'm going to make you buy a new one, or preferably keep it door-less. I don't care!'' she slammed her shoulder against the door, and swore when a load of cold chocolate swooped up out of the cup and went down her smart dress.

''Fine!'' She took a calm, step back. Placed the lukewarm coco on the floor, and floored herself into the door. A loud snap broke out; the back of the wooden chair collapsed in on itself, and Sarah kicked it out of the way, freeing the door. Darkness welcomed her, not much else.

''Perfect,'' she mumbled to herself, and reached her hand around blindly in the dark, to flick back on the lights.

*

''Where do you want this fragile one?'' the heavy-handed man asked.

''I think that's the glass-ware, in the kitchen if you would?''

He grunted and followed the directions.

''What about this one?'' another equally sized man asked, lifting a rotten, wooded flower barrel.

''Ah, that's for the garden, let me open the door for you.'' She led the man through the newly carpeted hallway, and into the lounge. Everyone had their shoes left on in this occasion, an especially irritating prospect with all the dusty footprints ground deep into the carpet, but it didn't matter, it could be cleaned another day.

Sarah lead the man up to the French doors and opened it up for him. A soft breeze swept in. The smell of sweet blossom, from a large peach tree acquainted her nostrils. It was revitalizing, a new start, in a fresh house.

Chlo appeared with an arrangement of potted cuttings, strewn in her arms: One homed a rose, another an apple and a pear tree. A giant bunch of cherry tree leaves stuck out another. Sarah wondered if any would take root, she'd left it all up to Chlo and her rooting powder she swore by.

Yet, the one that gave the greatest jerk of the heart, came from the pot that housed the Oak tree cuttings; Chlo was determined to keep this one, and four cuttings bushed outwards on each corner of the pot, with the largest, firmly upright in the centre of them all.

Chlo brushed past her mum, she was in her deepest, mission mindset, and would not be disturbed until she had completed her task.

''What a lovely view,'' Lucy said, entering into the room with a couple of light boxes in her hands.

''That's why we chose it.''

''Where can I put these bits?''

''Erm...'' Sarah tried to imagine the household layout. ''I think it's a given this place is going to be a cardboard hideout for a few days, just anywhere... I'm sure I was labelling the boxes.''

''Hmm, well I'll find a spot for them to go in then.'' Lucy departed, nearly treading on the two furries, as Tulip flashed past her legs with Max tearing behind her. They both disappeared outside somewhere, with a yelp from Max - probably another scratch mark to add to his collection.

Sarah surveyed the new surroundings, and the new sunny day that today was bringing. ''This will work,'' she told herself. ''This is what we need.''

The removal men had been gone for a few hours. Various boxes laid half-open around the house. Sarah didn't care, she liked it. They reminded her of how this was a new stage of progression, and a much needed, healthy step towards a positive future, from what had all gone on before. She didn't want to divulge back into that past-pit of traumatising months.

Guss had laid on a spectacular feast again. He felt awkward if he wasn't busying himself, and God-forbid if there was to be any silence in the room; he would rather hide under the floorboards. Sarah saw a lot of Toby in Guss, which was strange due to Lucy being his actual sister, but he contained many of his mannerisms. He was a healthy version of what Toby could have been like, possibly similar to what he once was like, before his mind went bad.

Everyone tucked into the food. Chlo kept herself occupied, by feeding Max and Tulip under the table; they only ever came to a truce when food was involved. Sarah felt she could do this, a less-guilty vibe laid inside, maybe she and everyone else could get past everything.

As long as she didn't dive too deep into her mind, and only skimmed the surface of recent affairs, she could continue to fake herself into a happy family.

''Ow!'' Chlo proclaimed. ''Max, you're so greedy.'' She pinched the dog's nose and he nipped back. ''Ow, ow, ow!'' Chlo's high shrill of a scream pierced everyone's ears. She drew her hands up, displaying bloody fingertips from her left, middle and forefinger.

''Max! Get out!'' Sarah shouted at the dog. He whimpered off, and Tulip gave his tail a swipe as he left. ''Chlo come here, let me see, what did you do?''

''He bit my hand.'' Her lips trembled. ''So-so I pinched his no-nose,'' she cried into her mother's arms.

''Oh Chlo. I know you love him, but he's an animal. You can't be too rough with him.''

''He... he's mean! When is dad coming back? He taught Max how to sit. He-he knows how to make him better.''

Sarah didn't know how to answer that one. Lucy and Guss both gave sympathetic smiles in her direction.

''...and Billie. When are they coming back? It's been ages.''

''Chlo, Chlo.'' Sarah stroked her face. ''I thought I'd been over this.''

Chlo leant back against her mum, sniffled and rubbed her wet eyes. ''Yes! They've gone somewhere together. But for how long? I want them back!'' she screeched in her mum's face. ''Even Billie!''

That flimsy barrier between this moment and past moments began to quickly crumble, within Sarah's mind.

''Chlo, I don't know how much more I can keep telling you this. They're gone. They're not coming back.'' Sarah felt so annoyed, as her eyes began to water in front of everyone else.

''That's stupid! You're stupid!'' Chlo tried to wriggled out of her mum's embrace. ''Let me go! Idiot! I want my dad!'' Chlo accidentally hit her mum's face, and a long nail cut her skin.

Sarah threw Chlo back on her seat. ''They're gone, Chlo! They're dead!'' she screamed back at her. ''How can I make this anymore clearer to you?! Dead! They're never coming back! Like your rabbit, remember? Buttercup, we put her in the ground, you never saw her again! It's the same concept.''

Chlo's whole face swelled up, bright red and watery. She burst out crying.

Lucy patted Chlo's back. She immediately attached onto her auntie like a baby monkey. ''It's alright, Chlo. It's all OK.'' Lucy stood up to take her niece somewhere quieter.

Guss saw his wife about to leave and looked terrified; he was good at making and buying things, but he wasn't up to the task of consolidating a grieving woman on his lonesome. He banged his knees against the table, trying to upright himself so fast, that a glass of juice fell over and swamped the table-top. He grabbed some cloth and embarrassingly tried to clean it up. Guss felt awful, but no one was paying him any attention.

''I'm gonna have to put you down, Chlo. You're too heavy for me.'' Chlo resorted to hooking herself around Lucy's right leg instead.

Guss saw his chance to escape. ''Lucy, I'll take Chlo. We can go and unpack some of her things in her room.''

''What do you say to that, Chlo? Uncle Guss will help you unpack your favourite dolls?'' Lucy suggested.

''No!'' was a simple response from Chlo.

''Come on, Chlo. Then once you've got your dolls out, you can show me your new ones.'' Lucy began peeling Chlo off her leg, in the most kindest way possible. ''I'll be up in a few minutes, go on, Chlo. You can do that, right?''

Chlo let go, wiped more tears from her eyes, and held out her bloody hand for Guss to hold.

''We better get this cleaned up first, though. I bet you've got some fancy looking plasters... wherever they might be.'' Guss gently pulled Chlo away, and she gave Sarah the most distraught look imaginable.

''Oh, Chlo. I'm a terrible mother,'' she said to herself, covering the light cut on her chin, as the pair left.

''You're not!'' Lucy said tersely, sitting next to Sarah, so she could rub her back. ''You've been through the worst possible things imaginable. You're a great mother.''

''If you say so. I think I begin to understand that black-hole, that Toby got himself so caught up in.'' She withdrew her hand away from her chin, to inspect the blood.

''The pain is enormous. No-one expects you to get right back up and be your same old self, so fast.''

''I'm being selfish, you're going through it too. He's your brother. Billie's your nephew. How do you cope?''

''I don't know. Like you, you just do. But I think talking about this to someone professional could help, tremendously.''

Sarah gritted her teeth. ''I'm not sure about that.''

Lucy grabbed her hands tight. ''I'll tell you a secret. When I was diagnosed, before I was bedbound, me and Guss both knew I wasn't coming back. Naturally, we were both... terrified. I'd say Guss was more frightened than me. So, the doctors suggested talking to someone about it, and we had a couple of sessions, and well, it helped, helped us to think in different ways about the future.

''There's certain stuff that can be difficult to tell people you love. Talking to a stranger can be less... dramatic. Like me, you're telling yourself everything is fine, as long as you keep this way you're going. Let me tell you, it doesn't work. Please, just do one, one session, you don't ever have to do one again, but just give one a go, and see... see how it goes?''

Sarah huffed.

''If not for yourself, then for Chlo.''

''For Chlo, OK. She's the one little spark left in my life, keeping me going. I'll do it for her.''

''Mrs. Bucket?''

Sarah put her hand up like she was back in class, she wasn't sure why. Sarah got to her feet and followed the doctor to his office.

He shut the door and asked Sarah to take the seat opposite his one. The two front edges of the seat looked frayed; its yellow, torn sponge poked out either end. Sarah presumed there must be a reason for that, but her mind was on other things and she soon forgot.

''So, Mrs. Bucket, let me start by introducing myself-''

Sarah quickly interrupted, ''Sorry, I don't want to be rude, but just call me Sarah. I... I really hate my surname.''

''No problem. Sarah it is... you know, I really hate my surname too. Bobby Death.''

Sarah raised an eyebrow.

''Nah, just teasing. It's Pluto. Odd isn't it? You're either thinking of the planet or the dog, but anyway...''

''So, you're a funny doctor?''

''Comedy is certainly the best medicine... probably not scientifically, but it can't help in my professional opinion. I want us to be at ease. You really don't want to be talking to some stuck-up doctor, who thinks the sun shines out his... well...''

Sarah smirked, she pondered whether she had walked into the right place or not.

''You talk a lot,'' she said, not meaning to sound as rude as it might have seen.

''I get that a lot, Sarah. From my patients or my co-workers. But maybe that's just to lighten the mood. Now we get down to business.'' He applied his black spectacles onto his face, and crossed a leg over his thigh. ''Why are you here?''

''Is that rhetorical?'' she couldn't help but say, feeling a bit embarrassed with herself.

He giggled a tad. ''You know what. Let's say it is. But I'm going to keep my answer to myself, and you're going to tell me yours.''

''Sounds like the reason I'm here,'' she laughed to herself, contemplating who was really here for therapy. ''It was suggested to me by a friend, that I talk to someone about the recent past, which I guess, I've been blocking out of my mind.''

''I see.'' He looked deeply attentive at her. ''I've read some of the information you discussed with your GP, before being referred here. But I've seen enough on the news to know who you are and what you've been through. I'm sorry to say that I knew Dr. Monsoon and Professor Suckeridge. They were dealing with something very exciting, and on the cusp of something truly remarkable. I can't express how sorry I am with the way it turned out.''

''I've had that line told to me so much. It drives me mad. I understand its meaning, but it means nothing to me. A nothingness bunch of hot air, that assembles into something far greater than what it's actually worth.''

He lowered his glasses, like superman. ''The problem with being English, is that we're a society frightened to death... of death. We would rather not think about it, push it to one side and forget its existence.''

Sarah drank some water, she assumed was for her. She really couldn't care if it was Dr. Pluto's.

He continued, ''People don't like to talk about it. Which can make things ever so hard when you come face to face with it. Have you had the chance to talk about it properly to people? Did you and Toby talk about it after Billie passed?'

She gulped the water down too quickly and choked on it. ''I don't really want to talk about it.'' She pounded her chest.

''Of course. Why would you? I'm guessing in your head, anything you remember that causes great pain or stress, you try and find a way to counteract it, to forget its existence... but I bet it never lasts for long. I bet it always comes back, 5, 15 minutes later, and then the whole process begins again.''

She tapped the table, gave him a sinister glance. ''That's what you do. To keep yourself from going mad. Why would I want to remember all that stuff that has happened?''

''I don't want you to divulge straight into those most disturbing thoughts. I want to ease you into looking at them, and maybe see that they're not so bad. Sure, they're horrible... terrifying, but I want you to know you can deal with them, organise them around, so they're not as frightening to look at, once you understand them.

''Think of it like a metal tin.'' He held his hand like he was holding one. ''Inside are your most hideous thoughts, the most disturbing realisations. You've built this tin; you've built something to contain them inside. But it leaks, doesn't it? It isn't so water tight. Now what I want you to do, is to look inside that tin, and not close the lid. I want you to get inside of it, and realise just how unfrightening it really is.

''Now, we can't do that all in one go, we have to ease you into it.'' He actioned with his other hand a tool that was opening around the invisible tin. ''Slowly, easing the pressure inside, so it doesn't all spurt out at once, until you're comfortable enough to pop open the lid and take a look inside... you'll find you're much stronger than what's on the inside, staring back out at you.''

Sarah pondered for a bit. ''OK... a tin.''

''Hmmm...'' He was sad his little actions did nothing to impress Sarah. ''You're stubborn to have a go. Because what you've got built up now in your head works. Not perfectly, but it works. So naturally you're unconvinced anything can fix it, but that's what we're here today to try. So, let's try... talk to me about the court hearings you had to go to... the one which involved the men that kidnapped your son.''

She looked uncomfortable. ''I'm not talking about those disgusting men!''

''OK, OK. Relatives of Tuck and Raymond Browning, none the less, though?''

Sarah rolled her eyes. ''Could be.''

''Anything you wanted to say about those boys?''

''Boys? Bloody monsters those two! I'm glad they're both in jail now, though they won't stay there for long.''

Bobby picked up some notes from behind his desk. ''The younger of the two, Tuck. He had a previous fight with Billie, on two separate occasions: One involved a fall from a tree, the second when they were walking to the shops. Would you care to elaborate further on what you know about these two incidents?''

Sarah looked ready to bite. ''What I know? What I was told from everyone, from my son and daughter: The first incident happened because that boy and his friends were picking on my Chlo and one of her friends-''

''Do you mind telling me who, 'that boy' is?'' Bobby quickly interjected.

''You know.'' She laid upon him a stubborn look.

''It would help if you could say his name out loud.''

''Really?''

''Just try it, please, Sarah.''

''Fine! That boy...'' She struggled to get it out. ''Tuck Browning,'' she said with the utmost disgust. ''Picked on Chlo and her friend... I really shouldn't say pick, they were violent, they had them on the floor, kicking and throwing stones at them... it was after school... but Billie, who was helping me find his sister, found them first.

''He picked up the biggest, jagged edged rock he could, and threw it at his back...'' She saw the expression on Bobby's face. ''Tuck's! F-ing back... then they chased him to the village rec, and you know what happened, they all ended up hurt and in hospital, apart from Billie. Which I find quite fitting.''

''...and the second incident, quite similar? In that the Browning boys ended up in hospital along with their friend, Motley Quaker. How does it make you feel, thinking back at those events, and especially those nasty boys?''

''Dreadful, thank heavens those boys... Browning boys, ended up very hurt, and my children came out the other end, compared to the former, unscathed... it seems justified. Like, back then there was someone on my kids' side, looking after them... though whatever happened after that, someone wanted their pound of flesh.''

Bobby shifted in his seat and placed the notes back on the table. ''Would you consider talking about Yate and Kayne Browning?''

''I'm not ready for that.''

''That's fine. Would you consider, perhaps, saying their names out loud?''

Sarah tried, but it made her tongue feel dirty. ''I'm sorry. I don't want to.''

''It's not nice. Tell me how it makes you feel, thinking of those men's faces, and if you were to say their names out loud?''

She tried again to say them, but she couldn't, didn't want to. ''Horrible. I hate it. I want to forget them.''

''Come on, Sarah. Just give it a go, really fast.''

''Aghhh!'' she steamed. ''Ya-Yate Brown... and-and fucking Kayne Browning! Aghhhh! Fucking fuckers!''

''That's so good. You're doing so well. Tell me how you feel?''

She was shaking. ''Like... like I want to scrub the skin of my bones with a scourer... bloody clean myself in bleach.''

''That's perfectly natural. You don't want to associate your comfort-zone with their presence, but the more you try to block them out, the worse it becomes... to overcome something you must be able to confront it, and see that it is not as viscous as once perceived... have you ever read Harry Potter?''

''Harry Potter?'' she said bewildered, scratching her arm skin. ''Erm, yes, to my kids.''

''Well, in Harry Potter there's a character called Voldemort, you probably know this, but what's important about this character is that no one likes to speak his name, for bad luck or whatever... what's important to know is that by doing this they're increasing their fear tenfold, not confronting the issue makes it worse.

''Do you think you might be able to talk a bit more about Yate and Kayne?''

Sarah hesitated.

''Take it slow.''

''I'm-I'm not sure what else you want me to say about them? I saw them in court. I remember looking at their faces, seeing how they tried to get away with their crimes.'' Her eyes bounced around their sockets. ''So how does it go? Simple, as soon as the story broke about Billie, that b... Tuck, tipped off his uncles. Of course, coming from that family, they were all in dodgy dealings anyway. So, would kidnapping an eight-year-old boy really keep them up at night?

''£10,000, they sold each vial of my son's blood for! And people bought it! Rich bastards, who are that desperate to cling onto life. Sure, they pleaded they had no idea where the blood came from, didn't stop them from drinking it before they decided something was odd.'' She smacked her fist against the corner of the desk, the external pain eased that which grew wild in her mind.

''They're all doing fine if you must know, all of the fifteen people they managed to sell it too; they're living their lives back up again to the full, isn't that a happy story?'' She hit her fist in that same spot again, a stir in her thoughts saw how this route could fall down the one of Toby's. She stopped. Rubbed the sore indent between her knuckles. ''And after all that, the one man who we believed had our son's best interests at heart... he finished Billie off before we could get to him... does that mean something... is there a real valid point there somewhere, why it had to be him... Monsoon?''

Sarah looked at Bobby for clarification, he nodded in the most endearing fashion.

''It changes your whole outlook on life, that's what it does, Sarah.''

She nodded in agreement and wet the sore patch of her fist.

''Tell me, Sarah, did you and Toby manage to talk about Billie's passing together?''

Her eyes squinted. ''Not much. There was always so many different people in the house, helping out. And with the whole ordeal of Suckeridge postponing Billie's funeral, so he could try to do further testing... it was horrible... only when we went to bed, were we alone, but that was always silent. I knew Toby was getting worse, had been before all of this, but I needed help this time... we both did.'' Her body was crouching further and further over her legs.

''Do you want to talk about it?'' Bobby asked, crouching over his legs too.

''Talk about that?''

He nodded. ''Yes.''

''I think... the only thing that's stopped me from collapsing in on myself... is being surrounded by people... Chlo... she is the one thing that keeps me going. If I stay in a room on my own for too long, it's hell, I can't distract myself. I busy myself with Chlo... after all, she is a handful, which has its uses it would seem.

''But that? That, that, that. I mean... how do you cope coming back from your son's funeral at the first hand, then to find out that the man you loved has... has done that...'' Sarah noticed yellow fluff all over her trousers, she realised she had been hacking into one of those frayed corners of her seat. ''Sorry,'' she said to Bobby, in regards to the mess she'd caused.

He had already seen it. ''You can rip out the stuffing of that chair in its entirety, Sarah. I've been screaming for a replacement, but no one listens. Please, don't let me stop you, go on.''

Her hands instinctively went back to the foam. ''I shouldn't have left him on his own. But it was his usual. Even the chair against the door, he'd done that in the past too. I don't know what I was thinking. We just thought, time on his own is what is best.''

''He had put a chair against the door?''

''Yes, he used to have a lock, but I swore to him there would be no more door if he continued to lock it. So, the chair was his last resort... I broke the damn, old thing. The room was covered in darkness, I turned on the light... turned it on... and as you must know, there he was... gone. Han... hanged by some belts... his face...''

''It's OK. It's OK. Take one of these.'' He handed her a pack of tissues she used to dab those tears.

''...lifeless... what an image to remember... doesn't bear thinking about...'' She wiped her face again. ''That's why we moved... our home, which was once a place of happy memories... turned itself very sour, very quickly.''

''What did you do after you turned the lights on, if I may ask?''

She tugged more of the yellow foam out. ''Not really sure.'' She stared at a single spot in the room, where her eyes had decided to look through most of this conversation. ''That part I think I've managed to forget. It's just photos of five-second-clips. Panic, people trying to bring him down... resuscitate, maybe... paramedics \- hospital - death... time to explain it to Chlo again... how is she going to grow up? Is she going to have problems? I hope she's too young to remember this stuff when she's older.'' She moved her eyes to Bobby and straightened herself on the chair; it looked like the chair was suffering from a serious case of dandruff. ''Is it your turn now?''

''Perhaps in the future we could role-reverse. You keep an eye on Chlo, we can help her with things if she is unsure, or you're struggling.'' He straightened his back too. ''Do you find any of this helps? Opening up, not letting it build up?''

''I feel worse. Maybe, I don't know... can only keep going, can't we? For other people.''

''Would you say more to sessions like these? Like next week? We could talk about anything and everything.''

''I think so, at least for Chlo... gotta keep myself strong for her. Adult life, maybe I misheard someone say there was some fun in it.'' She looked up to the clock - had the time really flown by that quickly? ''Fix this seat, then maybe you can sit here and I can hear your problems?''

''We've all got problems, different in all varieties... I've never done it before, but trying something new always gives insight.''

*

''I can't believe you came. I can't fathom why you'd want to come here and talk to me?''

Sarah plonked herself in the seat opposite the table, and opposite the man behind it. She had no idea what she would feel, or what she would be capable of when this time came. But it had come. She hadn't slept for days; she needed this bizarre moment in such a devastating period of her life.

''I've been talking to lots of people about things, as you can imagine. I have to do this. In my mind, this will give me some closure that I need, so I can move forward, and live some kind of healthy relationship with what's left of my family.''

Monsoon's eyes looked away, guilt-ridden. ''I can't apologise enough. I know apologising leads to nowhere. I made a rash choice, now I'm living the consequences of those actions. I deserve this,'' he spoke to the floor.

It was strange for Sarah to see this man, once in his smart whites - some kind of authority figure - a doctor she trusted; now a gaunt, guilty looking speck of nothing, adorning his prison garms.

The room was full of tables and other people, adding their sounds to the drone of mumbling voices in the air. Though the people at those others tables were probably looking forward to their ensuing conversations.

''Tell me why you did it? Why you took advantage of my son, when he was already weak from those kidnapping bastards,'' she said with control, keeping her voice to a mid-range volume.

''You must know why. You do. You were at the courts, you've read the papers, the police reports. You know why, I've-I've said it all before,'' he said to the table this time, trying to hold his composure together.

''Yes, but I want you to tell me, to my face. Just you... and me.''

''I did it for my wife. You know this. She was sick, I thought our research could in the end cure her... but it wasn't working, the tests we di-did, we could replicate it. As-as soon as I was informed about Billie being taken to the hospital, I immediately left to visit him... I knew he might die... then in some kind of madness, I abandoned my oath for being a doctor to save lives... I didn't know he would die... he died... Jesus! While I was taking a sample of his blood, he died, I left...'' he trembled his whole way through.

''I left and saved my wife. I'm not a nice man, I realise this, but I saved my wife... and as much as I know I'm a monster, and a monster still for saying this... I would do it again, if it meant saving her life.''

''You're a hero, aren't you? I'm sure your wife is very proud of you, knowing you killed my eight-year-old son for her life... maybe she'll take to a rope and do to herself like my husband did to his?''

''You asked, I told you.''

''You did, but to the table.'' Her eyes didn't move from Monsoon's shameful, tilted head. ''I want you to say it again, but look me in the face when you say it. When you tell me the reason you killed my boy.''

Monsoon looked everywhere else but Sarah, he chanced a glance at her folded hands on the table, yet he looked backed to the floor, and then at the people on the table next to them - those people looked happy.

''You can give me that can't you? From what you took from me. Just a simple look in the eyes.''

''I... I-I-I,'' he repeated to himself, clapping his hand together. ''I rejected Suckeridge from trying to use your sons remains, the papers were told my story... they helped bring your son out of the morgue, and-and give him the funeral he deserved,'' his red and sweaty, pulsating face told Sarah. Though it looked more like he was talking to the people on the table to their right.

''Yes, we're all so very honoured by your amazing bravery in this matter,'' her sarcastic tone stung out. ''Have some balls and look me in the eyes!'' she must have yelled, due to the silence in the room that momentarily followed. ''Do you really want to be a pathetic, slimy little parasite like Suckeridge? Hiding behind other people, trying his up most to steal my boy's body for his failed research.''

''The-the papers, they helped-helped kick those people from your village, they, erm... erm...'' he rattled away, now seeming as though he was talking to the people on their left.

''Yes, the papers, wonderful, really helped inform that murdering family where to find my son. We are ever so grateful.'' A morsel of pity grew inside her at the state of the man in front. ''I'm not here for any of that. I want you to just look me in the eyes, explain why you killed my son, and perhaps, apologise for it? Does that seem really bad in comparison for what you have done to me? You! Doctor, or ex-Doctor Robert Monsoon - killed my son... killed my husband.''

He squirmed; arms folded so tight they were going bright red - his eyes traced for a guard to take him away.

''Do it for your wife.''

He stopped his excessive wriggling. ''I can't be the man you want me to be. I can't be a man. I'm nothing.''

Sarah laughed. ''I don't want you to be a man. What does that prove? Do I look like a man? Do I have to be a man to be strong? Just do what's right.''

He nodded, nodded again to himself - fingernails dug deep into his own flesh. He looked at her with his eyes - they were blue. ''I killed your son. I didn't mean to, I didn't want to, but that serves no point, for he died because of me. Why did I do it? Why did I betray my oath as a doctor? I did it for my wife.

''I'm sorry, Sarah. I'm sorry for killing your son, I'm sorry for killing Toby too. I'll be judged when I die. But for now... I can only pay for my crimes in here. I am sorry. I hate myself, but my wife lives, and that's why I did it... for selfish and coward reasons.

''I hope that one day you can forgive me, in some way... for now, all I can keep saying is that I'm sorry. Forgive me.'' He closed his eyes, held his head down, and shook like he was in the North Pole. Blood curved its way down his arms, dribbling from the wounds his nails had inflicted.

''You can do it, see. Maybe you'll find some kind of redemption in here, after all?'' She leant over the table. ''Do you want to know one thing you can do, well, perhaps two small things you can do... to win my forgiveness?''

''Please, please tell me,'' he said to her face.

''I hear that there might be two men in this prison with you, or maybe one day they'll be moved here, I'm not really sure. But if you ever happen to chance upon these two men... you know what to do.''

''Excuse me?''

''It just depends how deeply you mean you're sorry. The word sorry is hot-air, easily given. Try doing something which perhaps isn't so easy... you owe me that... and you know what, I think your wife owes me that, too.''

*

It was a picturesque spot. A lovely day for a not so lovely thing. Sarah edged nearer to the lip of the cliff, she made sure Chlo's arm was tightly in her grasp. This was far enough. A gentle breeze stroked their cheeks, the sea below looked more like a lake, and the vista stretched to all sides - on any other day in the past, it might have just been a perfect evening.

Chlo gave her mum a strange look, wondering what Sarah saw out in the distance. She combed her dolls hair, protruding out from her front, denim pocket.

Max raced around the grassy verge, with pure delight. He went ballistic when he saw several nesting seagulls. He raced to join in with their activities, yet the flock of seagulls launched themselves into the air, and released a horrible, cacophony of squawking in their protest towards him.

The high pitch squawks broke the moment. Sarah looked down to what she held in her left hand - the reason they were here. She crouched, still holding Chlo's wrist, and took out the urn from a wooden box; the original had been a mix of Toby and Billie's ashes, divided into four parts: Sarah's mum and dad had one part, which they took to Scotland; Toby's mum and dad had the second part, they'd release it in Wales; Lucy and Guss had the third part, it would find a home in the salty sea of Giant's Causeway, in Ireland; and Sarah and Chlo had the fourth and final part, to spread out into the southerly, English coast.

Sarah popped off the lid to the urn with her one free hand, but a gusty breeze quickly took hold of it and carried the lid away, spiralling it down into the sea.

''Oh, Chlo, I'm going to let you go, just promise me you will stay stuck like glue where you're standing, OK?''

''Yeah, I know,'' Chlo stated, giving her doll a kiss and planting the little plastic brush back into another one of many pockets.

''Do you want to hold this with me?'' She showed Chlo the urn.

Chlo vigorously shook her head. ''No! It's weird. I don't want to disturb dad and Billie.''

''It's alright, Chlo. They would be happy to see you do this.''

''Hmmm. Maybe, but BB can help.'' She pulled out the doll in her pocket and touched the urn with it.

''BB?''

''Yeah, this doll's called BB, after Billie. Like how dad always called Billie, BB.'' She urged the urn forwards with the doll.

''You adorable thing, Chlo. Don't you ever change.''

Chlo gave her mum her usual scrunched up look.

''Come here.'' She planted her free right arm around Chlo's waist and lifted her up. ''Phew, you're getting heavy, little lady.''

''Hey! It's BB! She's the heavy one!'' Chlo said offended.

''I know. I know. You're absolutely right. Come on Chlo... and BB, let's release this thing.'' Sarah began to pour the ashes out.

''Hey! Don't we have to say something before we do this?'' suggested Chlo.

A few flakes caught the wind, and Sarah tilted the urn back up before the rest followed. ''You know, I think you're right, Chlo... I think you're more than qualified to speak, what would you like to say?''

''Umm...'' Chlo pondered. She looked over towards Max for some advice; he let off a large couple of barks. Chlo giggled herself silly. ''I think that will do it.''

''I think you're right.''

They poured out the ashes, and they took to the wind and floated out below the cliffs - far into the horizon, over the sea. The last bits that blew out caught a seagull unawares, who flew past and got himself covered in the stuff; the confused bird decided to vacate as quickly as possible, leaving Chlo and Sarah to watch the dusted thing fly out seaward, to join his flock - slowly disappearing into a tiny black speck, far away out in the distance.

The heaviness was too much to bear for Sarah, especially with Chlo straining her back and arm. She dropped to her knees and swamped herself over Chlo - in one big, giant hug, and kissed her silly.

Chlo giggled for the first five seconds. ''Stop, stop! Eww. Stop stop!''

''No! Never!'' Sarah continued to kiss Chlo.

''Ew. Mum germs everywhere! Doggy help me!'' Max's ears pointed to the sky, and he tried his best to help his Chlo, by jumping in on the hug bundle. An awkward paw here and there was enough for Sarah to give up.

''Aghh! OK. I surrender!'' Sarah put her hands up and laid her back down onto the grass. Max sniffed and prodded, licked Sarah's face until it became too unbearable. ''Enough! Enough, Max! Ew!''

''But I thought mum liked kisses?'' Chlo laughed.

Sarah lifted her chest up and grabbed Max's wriggling body until he half-gave up with his frantic doings. ''Not much so when it comes to Doggy kisses, Chlo. Do you really want me to tell you all the places that tongue goes?''

Chlo giggled. ''Like his bum?'' She chuckled frantically.

''That's one of many places.''

''Doggy's good, he always brushes his teeth after, though.''

''I'm sure he does. Come here.'' She grabbed Chlo and gave her another big squeeze. Sarah held her arm tightly around Chlo and gave her such an endearing look. A few tears formed. She quickly turned her head back to face the sky, and smiled.

Sarah placed the urn on the grass, when immediately Max nudged it with his nose, and the thing rolled off the cliffs edge.

''Max!''

''Gone with lid.'' Chlo smirked.

Sarah held onto the wooden box that the urn had come in. She traced the wood with her fingers, felt the names of Billie and Toby engraved on it. No-one needed this stern, morbid reminder. She flung the thing over the cliff, to join up with the rest. She laughed tears.

''Stop littering! It's bad! Poor crabs and fishes will have no more homes!''

''Sorry, Chlo. No more littering. I just... needed that.''

''Uh-oh.'' Chlo prodded her two left fingers, still wrapped in plaster from Max's attack.

Sarah looked down to see what was going on, a small spot of blood peeped out from under it.

''Chlo what have you done?'' She held her daughter's hand to investigate further. ''Hasn't this healed yet? That was weeks ago you were bitten.''

''Hmmm. Maybe? I'm nervous.''

''Nervous? What for?''

''Um, I don't want to get in trouble, like Billie.''

''No one's getting into trouble, Chlo. I just want to make sure you're OK. Tell me what happened?''

Chlo bit the inside of her mouth. ''Um... you know when I cleaned Billie's gub-ills?''

''Yes... a couple of days ago. That was very good of you... did they bite you?''

''No... um, I saw that one was sick... um, with a lump... so I thought maybe I could help it like Billie did. I... um... picked at my finger scabs and made it bleed... I poked the gub-ill in his face, lots and lots with it.''

Sarah's face grew intensely worried. ''And?''

''Now he's all better! Lump is all gone... he can um... run and jump, just like the others... I like Billie, super wizard, dad would be happy, he has two wizards!'' Chlo sucked the blood off her fingers. ''Blargh!''

Sarah felt faint. ''Chlo... have you... have you told anyone else about this?''

''No, I didn't want to tell anyone. Nervous after what happened with Billie. I don't want needles in me, they nasty.'' She withdrew her fingers from her mouth and poked them again. Max sniffed them, and gave them a healing dog kiss.

''Chlo, can you keep a secret?''

''I the best at keeping secrets!''

''I'm sure you are. Now what you just told me, about the gerbil, your finger and the blood. I want you to keep it as our little secret. Just you and me, no-one else. Not even your Auntie Lucy and Uncle Guss, or grandmum or grandad, just us. Do you think you can do that?''

''Yeah, our secret thing.'' She then thought about it for a minute. ''But other people know.''

Sarah's heart had itself a little dance. ''What?! Who, who, Chlo?''

''Doggy and BB.'' She pointed at them both.

Sarah caught her breath. Laughed a somewhat hysterical laugh. ''That, that's more than fine. Me, yours, Max's, and BB's little secret. But no-one else's. Not even the cat, or... your dolls... or the plants... or the worms in the soil, or the bugs in the ground... just ours.''

''Yeah! Do I get cake for keeping it?'' Chlo tested.

''Bribery, Chlo? I'll give you a weekly cake and treats... but if you break it, no more sweeties.''

''I'll do it. For the sweeties.'' Sarah gave Chlo a look. ''...and... and for us lot.''

''Come here.'' She grabbed Chlo and gave her a big hug.

''Nooo, not this again!''

Sarah placed Chlo in between her legs. Max raced around in the midst of the commotion, and Chlo grabbed hold of his body and pulled him inwards, while his feet wriggled about.

Sarah kissed Chlo's head and looked outwards towards the sweet view. Chlo finally settled with Max in between her legs, and they all stayed there until the golden, setting sun departed. Each with some-kind of half-content, half-hope founded inside themselves.

*

Thank you for making it all the way here, and taking the time to read this book.

If you did enjoy it or would like to leave a comment then please do write a review.

I also have another book called - Ingenium - which you can download for free on Smashwords, or on Kindle.

Thanks again, and enjoy yourselves.

