The calm within Homerton Station only lasted for a few minutes. For another man had come running to the station. Searching for his target. Searching for Emily.

  The thirty-five year old man called David Hyde arrived at the entrance to the platform and stopped there, standing with purpose but mired with an angry and unnerved composure. David whipped his head up and down the platform. He pulled up a photo on his phone. It was a shot of Emily, unaware of her picture being taken earlier in the day. She was seated on a park bench, listening to music. Look at her… sitting there, smiling and blissfully unaware. I can imagine she’s a precocious sort.

  He wondered what music she was listening to. He wondered if it was to his tastes. He loved female singers, especially from the 1960s and 70s. Maybe she likes them too.

  “Ah, damn it!” he snapped and slammed his fist against a metal pole that supported the roofing of the platform. The sound of his blow echoed along the metal piping.

  He was so close. She had been here only minutes before.

  He was so close to grabbing her right there and then!

  So-god-damned-close.

  But he hadn't counted on the madness that unfolded here.

  Why? Why did I take that piss? I could have been here first! Before any of them. Damn it! Fuck! FUCK!

  He wished that she would still be here when he arrived. It would have made the kidnapping so much simpler. He spat on the floor in fury and stalked back towards the entrance. His phone suddenly rang out shrilly as soon as he took his first step.

  He chewed his tongue in deep exasperation then he answered it.

  “Hello?” he asked sharply.

  He had expected a call from him sooner or later. He didn't like talking with his new employer. And despite being raised to be polite to all he came across until they proved otherwise, he was not in the mood for such effort considering his failure.

  Michael’s voice answered. On the phone, Michael’s voice was garbled and broken like a scratched vinyl record. David decided that either poor reception was the cause or Michael’s weirdness himself.

  Whatever the cause, the sound made David think of his mother’s old vinyl player. David grinned momentarily at the memory of his mother. But Michael’s voice quelled David’s moment of cheer.

  “Have you found her?” Michael demanded.

  “I’m afraid not. She’s gone. I don’t know where. Sorry.”

  “Hmm… Unfortunate. No matter, I know where she has gone.”

  “But you said she’d be here!”

  “I did. But she is not. That is fine.”

  “You know, she wasn't alone.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the call. David could hear the man breathe slowly. It sounded almost like excitement or anticipation. David knew those feelings well enough to hear them from anyone.

  Then Michael asked, “Picture it in your mind, David. I shall see what your eye saw.”

  David closed his eyes and conjured up the image of the CCTV footage still fresh in his mind.

  After a minute or so, Michael spoke.

  “I see… I had a worry that this would happen. No matter. All is still going according to plan. Need not worry for now, David.”

  “No need to worry? What can’t I still follow her? Where did that man take her?”

  “She has gone to where you and I cannot follow. Trust me on this.”

  David sighed through gritted teeth. “Perfect… So what do I do now?”

  “I trust you and your skills to find out. She will return to this country, but where? Ahh… That is the question you shall answer.”

  David leant back against the wall and pushed his black hair from his eyes. “Okaaaay… Right… So you’ve never told me… Why her? What’s so special about this… ‘Emily Davidson’ anyway?”

  “Believe me, she is special. She is more special than you can imagine. Just be ready to leave the city when I sense her return.”

  “Fine. But don’t forget our deal.”

  “Oh yes. I am a man of my word, David.”

  “I find that hard to imagine.”

  “You are wise for that. But rest assured, I can be trusted. Farewell.” The call ended.

  David looked at his phone. “Yeah. Sure…” He kicked at the ground, slid his phone back into his pocket and headed down the stairs with heavy footsteps and out of the station.

  His mind was still reeling from what he had seen on the CCTV footage.

  When he had arrived at Homerton station, ten minutes before his phone call with Michael, David first noticed the dead man in the ticket booth with stab wounds all over his chest.

  There was a look of dumb surprise on the dead man’s face. It was rather funny to David. To him, it was funny how people did not really expect to die, even though that they knew sooner or later, they will.

  He critiqued the stabbings. They were wild and clumsily done. If he had a knife - and on most occasions, he did - David knew that he wouldn’t have done what he saw. Too much effort and not enough targeting. Piss-poor work.

  He stepped into the office after giving the weak and rusted security door three good shoves of his muscled shoulder. He stepped over the upended corpse and, leaning in a relaxed state on the blood-flecked desk, he looked through the CCTV footage feeding from the platform’s various cameras. He was careful to have his black leather gloves on as to not leave any fingerprints for any police to find. If they ever decided to get here…

  On the footage there was no audio, so David could only ascertain what happened through the visuals alone.

  He saw Emily, entering the platform alone. He watched her sit on the bench alone. He cursed under his breath. The timestamp was thirty-five minutes ago. He shouldn’t have taken that piss in the restaurant.

  If he hadn’t, she’d be in his grasp by now.

  The footage fizzled and glitched out. The imagery then restored itself, suddenly revealing a tall man seated with her. David had not seen this man before. The timestamp had jumped twenty minutes.

  Shitty equipment.

  He watched the two talk. There was soon an altercation between them. An argument.

  David wondered whether the man was a predator of girls or something along the lines of his own profession. He prayed that was not the case. He wouldn’t get what he wanted if the girl died.

  But the argument seemed to die down and the two resumed talking. Then they snapped their heads to the entrance.

  On another screen, which filmed the office, David saw the ticket officer being stabbed to death at the same timestamp. The wounds.

  And then there was her father. And there’s the killer.

  Fredrick Davidson was known to David. He had been on David’s radar ever since David took on the job. He had him marked for death.

  He watched Fred leave the office for the platform. David swivelled his head to the other screen to survey the scenario.

  He watched with curiosity as Fred confronted his daughter. David couldn't work out what was said, but it seemed Fred was getting more enraged by the second. His heart leapt in his mouth when he watched the stranger appear by Fred’s side.

  David stared dumbly at that. He rewound the footage to be sure.

  Yes, he did do just that.

  Then he watched the stranger take a knife to the face without so much as a reaction.

  And he did that. Right…

  Next, Fred ran for his life. David sighed heavily. This was getting crazier by the second.

  He watched the stranger enter the office to pluck a single hair from the dead man’s head, placing it in a silver cigarette case only to return to the platform afterwards.

  Emily and the stranger talked some more.

  Then a train came, not any London train that David was familiar with though. Emily entered the train with the stranger and they both left.

  Before he headed up to the platform to investigate and to receive his call from his enigmatic employer, David fell into the vacant chair beside the dead man to gather his thoughts.

  He turned to look at his reflection in the small mirror that sat on the desk beside him.

  His reflection was a carbon copy, expect for one thing.

  His right eye, where it once shone green like his left, held a white scar that was etched across his black pupil which bled the colour out across the iris. It was a sigil; a small circle with a dot in the centre. He leant close to the reflection and pulled down his eyelid to fully inspect the eye. He wasn't blind in the right eye, David could see perfectly well enough. Which was odd considering how he received the scar.

  A needle to the eye… Jesus… No wonder I had to be knocked out for it…

  It was yesterday evening when that happened. David was sitting in a dingy, half-dead café on the corner of the street that he lived on within the Islington Borough. He had his wiry hands wrapped around a full mug of hot chocolate.

  He was tired and had no home.

  He had lost it all. His money, his clothes, his newly built life. He wasn't evicted nor told to move out… No. It simply burned down.

  How simple.

  How easy.

  His life, which only took him years to build, was now a pile of cinders for the rain to transform into muck. David survived it, only because he was out doing his work on the streets while his home burned. It was a worthy night too. His knuckles bled from the work and he was happy with it. So it wasn't a total loss. But now he was contending with the fact that he was homeless once again. What was he going to do now?

  Crowds gathered outside in the street to watch the building burn down. Firefighters rushed back and forth to organise an attempt to save what was not already ashes. David didn't care if they succeeded or not. David didn't care much for anything at that point, save for his work.

  The work never ended.

  He had lost count of how many men he had encountered and dispatched. How many wrongs had to be made right. He shrugged and decided that he would have to start all over again. Find another home perhaps… Maybe even leave London.

  If that was the case, he was going to have to break the news to Father Daniels.

  David shuddered at that. That was the last thing he wanted; a lecture of goodwill and faith from the old bugger.

  A man appeared by his table. He was of average height, wearing a brown suit and black tie, with black shoes and black leather gloves. The man smiled and pointed at the chair opposite David.

  “May I?” he asked.

  David said nothing, but waved at the chair.

  The man nodded and sat down opposite him. “So. My name is Michael. I have need of your skills.”

  “Huh?” David muttered as he sipped his drink. He just wanted the night to end.

  “I would like to employ you in finding someone in London for me.” Michael looked around, then he said as plainly as one would explain the process of drinking. “I understand that you kill people. As an indulgence, I take it.”

  David’s demeanour of morose silence snapped away to allow high alertness to charge forth. His eyes snapped open, he lowered his drink and glared at Michael.

  “Who are you? Police?” he hissed.

  “No. I am far beyond that. I require you to help me complete a great feat in the name of longevity.”

  “What?”

  Michael stood up. “Meet me around the back of the café. All shall be revealed.” He turned and walked out. David didn't even bother finishing his drink before he followed Michael with the absolute intention of murdering him.

  Once David reached the alley behind the cafe, his fists were clenched and saw that Michael was waiting for him. Michael noted David’s hands.

  “You mean to kill me? We have only just met.”

  “You know too much about me. Somehow, you do. You’ve got to die.” David took a step forward and stepped over the corpse of a pigeon laying on the ground. “You’ll be dead as that pigeon.”

  Michael raised his hand. “Before I am, perhaps you wish to hear what reward you can reap if you would assist me in this endeavour.”

  “Not like it will save you.” David closed the gap and grabbed Michael’s shirt. “Firstly,” David growled, “I’ll tear out your eyes. They’ve got a mocking look about them.”

  “I will bring back your mother.” Michael said.

  David froze. He was still holding Michael but he did not move.

  Michael was unfazed by this and continued. “She was quite young when she perished to the illness, yes? A shame. That doesn't have to be the case. I can return her to you.”

  “What the-? She- She’s-…” David uttered. “She’s been dead for years. How the hell can you bring her back?”

  “Observe that bird.” Michael pointed at the dead pigeon.

  David released Michael and watched in growing amazement as the still form of the bird suddenly began to writhe. Its wings flapped and its body upturned onto its kicking feet. The pigeon was still missing its eye and the majority of its feathers, but it was alive. It even bobbed its head as it waddled around on the floor in a confused manner.

  David stumbled back into the wall as the bird tried to flap its wings to fly, but it couldn’t. Michael then waved his pointing hand away and the pigeon, once so fuelled with life, instantly fell still and died once again.

  “Holy-… holy shit.” David turned to Michael. “What the hell are you?”

  Michael smiled. “Your saviour. Now, will you help me? Help me, and your desire shall be fulfilled.”

  David nodded instantly.

  “Good.” Michael said and then waved his hand at David. David began to feel dizzy and then he crumpled to the ground.

  After what seemed like seconds of darkness, David awoke under the rays of the following afternoon. He was still in the alley and lay there with no clue as to how he was able to sleep on hard concrete. But then he remembered. Michael had put him to sleep.

  He raised himself up onto his rear and rubbed his eyes. Especially his right eye, it had hurt a lot. Michael was nowhere to be found.

  “Michael?” David called out. And as he did, his phone rang. David took out his phone and saw the name MICHAEL on the screen. He sighed and answered it.

  Sure enough, it was Michael and after a few moments of torrential questioning from David of what the hell had happened during the previous night, Michael had calmly explained to David.

  After David was put to sleep by him, Michael carved a sigil into his right eye using a sewing needle imbued with his magic. David had panicked and thought that he was going to be blind. But Michael assured him that it would not be.

  In fact, it was a gift.

  “That eye of yours, David… Before, it was a simple eye. Normal, perceptive and ordinary. The sigil I carved into your pupil… it shall allow you to see what no one else can. You have been gifted the power of second sight. The power of this is connected to me. What you see with that eye, I shall know. You shall be my hound in the country. The act itself tired me greatly, so I must regain my strength. I shall only come when you have found Emily Davidson and restrained her. I shall give you a head start. She lives in Hackney. Happy hunting.”

  And tracked her down he did. It was easier that he imagined. David couldn't describe how he was able to turn the corners of the streets and believe that he was going the right way. He just knew. It was as if a connection drove him towards her. He found her at the bench and for his memory’s sake, he snapped a photo without her noticing.

  Then he followed her back to her home in Elsdale Street. He watched her enter her home. He nodded and headed for the house to take her right there and then, but he was forced to turn back as a large man appeared from nowhere, barged past him without an apology and entered the same house.

  David sighed and retreated. Obviously he was her father. She was not alone, of course she wasn’t. She was only a child.

  Dejected that he was denied an easy victory, David headed away to get some food and planned to get her tomorrow when she would have to leave her home.

  But as night drew in and he was in the middle of answering nature’s call, a spark of instinctual warning flared in David’s mind and he sprinted back from the restaurant and towards Emily’s home. And when he returned, he found the lights on and the front door opening to see her father charging out and up the street.

  David suspected something awry was going down and followed at a safe distance.

  Which led his mind’s memorial meanderings back to himself, seated in a dead man’s office and staring at the reflection of his magical eye.

  That was when something incredibly odd happened. The screens for the footage, especially of the tall stranger Emily was with, suddenly turned off and the electrical machinery for the CCTV began to exude smoke.

  A small fire began within the workings of the mechanisms.

  Licks of flame leapt from the gaps in the keyboards and from the televisions’ ventilators. David did not wish to stick around any further to see the office go up in flames with him inside, so he took his leave immediately. He’d be damned if he’d be caught up in yet another burning building.

  Upon leaving the station, David stopped by a chicken shop to snatch a soft drink and a bag of chips soaked with vinegar and salt. He found a chipped road pedestal, bent out of shape by a recent car crash, and seated himself on it. He needed to eat. He was tired, homeless and very, very angry that he had allowed Emily to escape London so easily.

  Cars passed him by. People ignored him, all too wrapped up their lives. He liked that, he really didn't need interactions with strangers. Using his phone and his earphones, David blocked out the world around him and started bobbing his head to his new playlist, all in an attempt to push aside the whirlwind of questions in his mind.

  David was truly shaken by the last two days’ events.

  The undead pigeon. Michael and the existence of magic. His inscribed right eye. Emily. The unkillable tall man. The train office going up in flames. Madness.

  David was not one for superstition.

  His mind was centred around the substantial and the physical. You know, reality.

  Any notion of some ethereal being like God watching over everyone and deciding everyone’s fates as such sat badly on David’s mind. He didn't like the idea that there was someone whose whole existence was to decide how much pain could be inflicted on someone.

  Goblins, vampires, fairies, dragons? Utter bollocks.

  But try as he might, David knew that there was no chance nor any way for him to deny what he saw. Magic. It was magic, or sorcery or some haunted demon-shit he’d seen in films or TV.

  A train, that had no scheduled arrival definitely came and took the two of them away.

  And the man teleported across the rails. Like magic.

  Magic was real. Real and in his world.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  David sipped his drink with his hand shaking as he did so.

  What had he got himself involved in?

  What was the endgame for this Michael person?

  How was Michael going to bring back his mother who was no more than dirt in the ground by now…? And that girl… why that girl?

  Anger surged forth from his gut at the thought of her out of his reach.

  David shook his head and cursed under his breath.

  I was so close to getting her! Why did I wait?! Calm down, man…. Calm down… There’s certainly time for those pressing questions, there’ll be another chance. Now’s the time to eat and recuperate and calm the fuck down. Calm down, David. Calm down, David. Calm- fuck! Fuck. FUCK!

  Nancy Sinatra tempted his eardrums at that point with her iconic Boots song. The music drifted through his body and soothed his anger with a gentle lather of melody. David loved listening to the female singers. To him, they were the best.

  They had the sincerity. The style. The identity that could never be taken from them. When the world had so much taken from these women, they always had their voices to save them. Their talent kept them going. God he loved them and he loved women in general.

  Women just had that quality that made him weak at the knees and light-headed. They had that intoxicating power over him. He never really considered himself a woman chaser, but it wouldn't be too far from the mark. He had known several women over his life and instigated plenty of hook-ups and one-night-stands. None of these relationships or trysts lasted more than a year or even a month. The hook-ups lasted a week on average. The one-night-stands were just that.

  He never settled for any of the women he was with because he never really found his place with any of them. It was the infatuation of the encounter that drew him in. It started off strong, with plenty of drink and sex and laughter.

  Only to fade with time and complacency with a half-hearted text dump or phone call or awkward meet-up over drinks. David just reasoned that he hadn't found the right one yet. Maybe she was out there somewhere, just around the corner of a street or just five seats behind him on a bus.

  But even if he were to find The One, would he even want to settle down?

  Well, if Michael truly held up his end of the bargain, maybe I could get more from this than I hoped. Only time will tell, I suppose- Oh son of a BITCH! Oh my god, man. If you don’t calm down in the next two seconds…

  With some time to kill before he resumed his hunt, David started watching the people passing him. Londoners were out in force, arms linked or talking with friends.

  Despite the intense chill that frosted the air, the Halloween spirit was alive and well. Cry Little Sister, the theme song from The Lost Boys, could be heard echoing from one of the open windows of buildings that sprawled behind David. He smiled. That was a great film.

  That was his mother’s favourite. She watched it with David every Halloween. He had wished that both he and his mother were vampires, so they could live forever young. Just the two of them. It would have been perfect…

  Scanning with his eyes, David saw a plethora of pumpkin paraphernalia sticking on the windows and walls of the shops and buildings. A plastic skeleton, coated in fake spiderwebs, hung on a noose from a streetlamp. Witch stickers, plastered to the corners of the shop windows. Werewolves and ghosts doing their best to scare any pedestrians with their frozen boo! expressions.

  Droves of the Londoners were dressed to the nines in the classic costumes that celebrated the ghoulish holiday.

  David smiled at them. He never really much experience with the celebrations of the year. Not with his unique childhood… David shuddered. A painful memory sprung up and killed the good one he was having about his mother.

  David quelled it instantly. But it came up again. And with it, the anger of losing Emily and endangering his mother’s possible return rose in reply.

  He could feel his heart thudding in his chest. He knew what was going to happen if he didn’t calm down. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.

  As he battled within himself to try and Settle The Hell Down, David noticed out two young women, linking arms and sharing deep looks of love with eachother. He smiled warmly at that sight and once again, the anger simmered down. And hopefully for the last time…

  Women should only be with women, really. He believed this.

  It always seemed simple and proper to him that women-only relationships were always filled with kindness and mutual understanding. They always seemed happier, less complicated, less violent. No masculine toxicity. No foolish misogyny… It might be just down to the similar temperament and gender. Having been fostered by two women after That Bad Night… That was certainly a factor to his way of thinking.

  Okay. I am calm. Relaxed. No issues. Cool and cold as a cucumber.

  David spied, out of the corner of his eye, a man who was heading up the pavement across the road. He had a swaggering gait that suggested crass overconfidence.

  All is good. All is right. Everything is good…

  When the women passed this man, he turned his head and wolf-whistled at them.

  “Can I get involved, ladies?!” he crowed with a smug smile.

  The tenuous string of David’s already unstable anger snapped.

  Son of a bitch.

  One of the women ignored the cat-call while the other gave a scared look in response. But they quickened their walk, obviously frightened by him.

  The man cackled as he walked on with a swagger and a swig from his can.

  David watched him leave.

  Well. Looks like I do have some time to kill.

  David curled his lip in disgust, downed his drink and threw his half-eaten bag of chips into the bin next to him. He stood and started following the wolf-whistler. The waylaid and motiveless anger that broiled within David’s gut finally had a target to focus on and burn.

  It didn't take long for them both to be in a secluded area of the borough. David pulled out his pair of leather gloves and slid them on. He cracked his knuckles and readied himself for the retribution.

  Those women were out to have a good time, but that was ruined now! Wasted!

  He quickened his pace. To Sir with Love by Lulu began playing in his ears.

  The wolf-whistler was shorter than David and had a pudgy form about him with brown hair that was styled into a tasteless mullet. He also had a double chin. In sort, he was an easy target and the perfect relief for David’s anger.

  After looking over his shoulder, David reached the man. The poor fool was oblivious to the danger coming up from behind him. It was only when David was upon him, hands outstretched, that the man turned too little, too late.

  David wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, choke-holding him in a tight anaconda-like embrace. David’s muscles grew taut as he did so. The man became frantic, trying to call out in a gargled voice, which was now cut off from air.

  “Not wolf-whistling anymore now, huh? You piece of shit.” David hissed. The poison rage narrowed his eyes to a tunnel vision. The horrid stink of the wolf-whistler’s aftershave that filled David’s sinuses seemed to only enflame his anger even further.

  He saw nothing but what was in front.

  He saw his man. His target. His work.

  His teeth ground against eachother. He hissed and snarled.

  David tightened his arms, pushing his experienced forearm against the man’s oesophagus. The man tried clawing at David’s face, even scratching his cheek with cracked fingernails. David stumbled back with the man and dragged him into an alley between two suburban houses. He needed no witnesses to see what was to transpire.

  He threw the dazed and air-starved man into the wall, face first, and kicked at his knees. The man fell down to his knees, only for David to catch his dropping face with a swift uppercut across his jaw.

  The man coughed and spat blood as he was thrown onto his back. He was wheezing.

  “Wait-” he gasped, raising ineffectual hands at his attacker.

  David raised his hands in a mocking tone.

  “Oh? Wait? Wait? Why? Why should I? I bet you get asked that by all the women who you pursue and hurt, huh? Huh? You scumbag. You fuck! You dirty fuck!”

  David dove down onto the man and began pummelling the man’s face in with his gloved fists.

  His balled first made a cracking sound as skin broken and blood rippled from the torn flesh.

  The man struggled, but was losing this fight for his life. His hands dropped down their sides.

  It didn't matter to David if the man hadn’t hurt one woman or a hundred.

  Wham.

  It didn't matter to David if it was the first time he ever catcalled a woman.

  Wham.

  It didn't matter to David if he was innocent of any crimes beforehand.

  Wham.

  What mattered to David was that he did catcall the women in front of him.

  Wham.

  In David’s mind, the decision was all that mattered. He gave David the excuse.

  Wham.

  David needed relief from his failure tonight. His failure to bring back his mother. This.

  Wham.

  This!

  Wham.

  He!

  Wham.

  Needed!

  Wham.

  This!

  Wham. Wham,wham,wham,wham,wham,wham-

  After pushing his whole weight onto the man’s neck, David was finished in his act. He fell back away from the dead man, took off his gloves and pushed back his bedraggled hair. He was dripping with sweat. The exercise tired him out utterly. His heart drummed against his ribs.

  David looked up to the sky and exhaled deeply.

  He couldn't lose any more control than what he already lost. It’s done now. Just calm down. Calm. Down.

  His heart, thudding within his chest, throat and ears, started to recede its rhythmic drumming. His composure slowly returned… Better now? Good. Get your arse up.

  Once relaxed, he looked upon his work to appraise it with a recovering smile.

  The man’s face was a red pulped mess. David sought to rob the man of his identity. He did just that.

  David searched through his victim’s pockets and found a wallet filled with plenty of cash and a driver’s ID.

  “James Gaddis, aged 25. I think I’ll call you Wolf. Better than you deserve.”

  He put the wallet into his pocket, turned away from the dead Wolf and left. Right. Back to work.

  David stood outside Emily’s house in Elsdale Street. From the street, David could see through an upstairs window that there was a light on. Her father had returned home. David turned off his music - sadly halting another Nancy Sinatra banger, Bang Bang, as it just began - nodded to himself, assumed a sense of professionalism and walked to the front door.

  David knocked. There was no response. So he knocked again, harder this time. Still no response.

  He knelt down to the post flap and peeked inside. It was too dark to see.

  So David tried the door handle. And the door opened wide. It was unlocked. Oh dear, that’s very unsafe.

  David stepped inside and locked the door properly behind him. He stood still to hear faint sobbing coming from upstairs.

  David sighed heavily, psyching himself up and formulating his new persona as a policeman. One fight was enough for him tonight. If he could get the information he needed without violence, that would be preferable… When he was ready, he headed towards the stairs.

  “Hello?” he called calmly, using the composed tone of the police. “Is anyone home?”

  There was a frantic rumble of movement at the flight of the stairs. Then a crash.

  Fred fell into David’s view, his head lolled over the top step. The knife was still in his hand, though he was not dead. He was instead heavily inebriated.

  Fred’s eyes flew open and automatically aimed his knife at David. David raised his arms and quickly stepped into the living room.

  He called out at Fred. “Sir! Please, put down the knife. My name is Detective David Hyde. I just want to talk. Can we talk?”

  “Who-? What are you doing here? In my house?” Fred spluttered spit and alcohol from his cracked lips.

  “You door was unlocked. Listen, I just want to talk. That’s all. I got a report of disturbance from a neighbour down the street. Fred? Put down the knife.”

  Fred said nothing. David, now standing by the stairs and away from Fred’s eyesight, waited quietly. There was a clatter of metal as David watched the knife tumble down the stairs. David poked his head around the corner and saw Fred seated on the top of the stairs, leaning his face into the wall and crying bitterly into the peeling plaster.

  David sat himself opposite Fred at the kitchen table, holding a mug of tea in his hands. Fred had his own tea and was very quiet. The knife sat on the table. David looked around the kitchen as he waited for Fred to break the silence. David curled his lip.

  The kitchen was dirty, neglected and there were two filled bags of rubbish piled on top of eachother in the corner of the kitchen. No love whatsoever nor effort to tidying it. David spotted the tail of a silverfish disappearing under the washing machine.

  The whole place, the atmosphere and especially the man before him gave him a shiver up his spin. Memories burned in his chest like heartburn.

  A tightened belt against bare skin.

  A blood-crusted wedding ring.

  The darkness of a much visited basement.

  The locking of a door.

  The hammering of fists upon, begging to be free again. But only to receive the response of more pain.

  There were shouts. Pain. Fear. Despair. Doom. And a wishing for a quick death… One which David took upon himself to achieve-

  “I miss her, Detective.” Fred uttered.

  David blinked himself from the past and back to the present. The blackness that shrouded his eyes cleared away, restoring the image of the pitiful man who watched his tears drip into his tea.

  “Hmm?” David inquired. His right eye began to feel itchy.

  “My daughter… I miss her. She’s my girl. I brought her up, you know? On my own. Ever since my wife died… I was all she got. I still am…”

  “I congratulate you on that. That’s respectful. I can only imagine it wasn't easy.”

  “It really isn’t… you- you got kids?”

  David shook his head. “No. Hence why I said I could only imagine. Is she a good girl?”

  Fred nodded slowly. “That’s nice. Now, speaking of your daughter… I’ve been here for a while and I haven't seen her. Do you know where she is? Right now?” David imagined that Fred wouldn't know, he just wanted to eliminate any other possibilities and narrow down onto leads he will find. Fred shook his head. “She left me. At the station… I tried to get her back… But I fucked up, you know… Like I always do.” Fred hit the table with his fist. “I tried, you know…I really really tried… I still try…”

  “That’s all a man can do, I suppose.” David looked past Fred towards the wall behind him. There was a hole in the wall, the size of a man’s fist. And near the hole was some flecks of dried blood. David’s gut twisted within him, twisted by the foul memories of his childhood. “…Do…you have a good relationship with your daughter?”

  “I- uh… no. Not really. We- we fight. Argue a lot, but fight too.”

  David’s gut twisted harder. And his blood started to thud against his eardrums. “I see.”

  “It’s not like I want to do that…you know? It’s just gets too hard. Too tough on me. All the stress, bills, rent, life… it gets you down.” Yeah, and people just get the fuck up and work with it. “It’s tough for some people, I suppose.”

  “It was my wife, Amy. She had it all under control, you know? She always did. She had all the plans, all of it worked out for her. She just had a grip on life, she understood how things worked. She had that strength about her… I just had to help set up shelves, buy food and do up the house. Manage it. The usual stuff. Don't get me wrong, I was fine with her being the breadwinner. That was fine with me. It was pretty great to watch her succeed. I would organise all the trips. Brighton was Emily’s favourite place to go too. Her mother’s too. She liked it there, even more than her home in York. We did so much together… So much. We should have moved to Brighton. It would have been good for Emily… It was a great life… But when she died… I was left with all the shit. And the girl… the fucking girl…” Fred put a hand over his eyes. He sobbed. “Why did she have to die, mate? It was so easy before.”

  David didn't know why he felt the need to look at the living room at that point. It wasn't to take his eyes off Fred because he was tired of hearing about his self-pity. He was certainly tired of that. But it was his eye… His right eye, the carved eye, seemed to no longer itch when pointed there. He needed respite from the irritation.

  Why was that? What was his eye trying to tell him?

  Fred wiped his nose and the tears from his eyes. “Yeah- yeah. She is. Smarter than me. Smarter than anyone. I wish you could meet her, Harry. You’d like her.”

  David couldn't ignore the itching in his eye now. It was stabbing at him. The magic bubbled inside. David turned his eyes towards the living room and he stared.

  The view through his eyes when he entered the house was utterly normal. Ordinary colours and lighting. But now? It was a whole new world. A merged veneer of different colours, like oils upon a water’s surface, merged and shifted around.

  It was a mist of colour. It coated everything and therefore outlined everything. David could see the coffee table, the sofa, the TV, the walls and windows, all present yet coloured differently. Then he saw the outlines of two people appearing in the room and walking around in the room. David opened his mouth to speak but silenced himself when he watched the two figures facing eachother. It was a taller figure and a smaller one. David recognised the mass of Fred and deduced that Emily was the other. Fred’s afterimage - which David considered the figures to be - reached out and grabbed Emily’s afterimage. He watched as Fred threw Emily into the wall. He watched him throw Emily on the floor and watched on still as Fred began beating her. David tore his eyes away from that sight and looked back at Fred.

  But Fred was not alone now. There was two more afterimages, another Fred and Emily. Fred was doing the same thing to her again. David shook and closed his eyes. He pinched his nose and breathed out. Sweat began to form on his back. He wanted the images to stop. Just stop. Stop.

  And they did.

  David opened his eyes and found that his vision had returned to normal. Was that the magic in his eye that Michael told him about? Those images of Emily and Fred… they happened before. Did he just see the past? David decided to put that aside for now. Even so, that fact that it happened at all was amazing. It was incredible.

  Fred was still looking at him, then looking at his tea all the while blubbering about how unfair his life had become.

  David sighed as he struggled to contain his disgust and contempt for Fred. He knew exactly who Fred was and what he was to Emily. He had seen it for himself now. He knew what Fred meant to Emily.

  He was the abuser. The wastrel. The tyrant. The monster that Emily and David himself should never have had in their childhoods.

  Fred represented everything David hated in men.

  All their bravado, all their bluster and desire for an easy life and obsession for control… take all that away and they lose it. They get violent, depressed or pathetic. They murder, rape or beat whoever’s unfortunate enough to cross their paths. They blame everyone and anything except themselves. They never look within and realise that they are the problem in the first place. All of this agony and terror… Just because they can’t handle the pressure life throws at them? Really?

  David didn't get it. I mean, why not just get up, dust yourself off, sort out your life and make things better? Make things right? Bastards…

  David placed his hands on the table.

  “Fred. Do you know where she has gone? Was she alone when she left?”

  “No! No, she wasn’t. She was with some man… oh god…that man. He was the devil! The devil!” “Fred. Stay calm please. I need to know what happened.”

  “I can’t- I tried to get her to stay with me! He couldn't be hurt…”

  David leant back into his chair and sipped his tea.

  He judged himself being able to stay here in the house. Being able to sleep here? To recuperate within these walls? Could he? With the memories threatening to push against his mind? All the afterimages of the trauma that occurred…

  It was either that or finding a hotel where his money would bleed dry almost too quickly… Well, there was only one clear choice to be made. He had to stay here. David nodded. Yes. He had to. He just have to make it so.

  “Well… Fred.” David spoke as he pulled out his leather gloves, which were encrusted in the night’s blood. “I think it is safe to say that you were a shit father. Am I wrong?”

  Fred looked up with watery, bloodshot eyes. “Huh? Me? A shit father?”

  Keep going…

  “Yes, stop repeating what I’m saying. You beat your daughter?”

  “What are you doing-?”

  “You ever abused her? In a provocative way, I mean?”

  Fred blinked and stared at David, who remained nonplussed by his repulsive question. David pulled his glove onto his left hand, readying himself for the retaliation.

  That’s it… Get angry… Give me an excuse…

  Fred leapt to his feet.

  “NO! NEVER!” he yelled.

  The goading worked. David pulled the glove on his right hand and raised it.

  “Calm down, Fred. It was only a question. You only had to say no in a calm and collected state.”

  “What’s going on here?! Who the fuck do you think you are?!”

  David lifted his mug and savoured his tea. He also savoured his chance to let his pretence fall away. “I always believed that men capable of physical violence have the tendency to do that business as well. It’s a funny thing to associate with, but I imagine it could be quite true.”

  Fred grabbed the table and flipped it aside, sending his tea smashing on the floor. He seethed through gritted teeth, his self-pity quickly replaced with rage. “STAND UP. RIGHT NOW.”

  David remind seated and then pointed to his tea. “I’m having my tea, Fred. I can’t stand up.”

  “You get the fuck up, so I can knock you down, you twat. I don’t care if you're a policeman.”

  “Well, no need to worry, my man. I’m not a policeman. Just a man, looking to set things right…”

  Fred smirked. “Fair enough.”

  Fred leapt at David, hands outstretched for his neck. David threw his hot tea at Fred’s face and threw himself off the chair, skidding along the floor.

  Fred howled in pain as he blindly crashed into the chair and slammed hard against the kitchen’s oven.

  The glass of the oven door smashed, sending dark blue chips across the floor like gravel on a driveway.

  Fred rubbed the hot tea from his burnt eyes and chased after David, who backed away into the living room. Fred flung the kitchen table over in his pursuit, causing the knife to table through the air and follow David into the other room.

  Fred dove forward. David misjudged Fred’s speed as he grabbed David’s leg.

  David teetered and fell back to the floor. He bashed the back of his head on the floor. He cursed and saw stars.

  Fred was on top of him now and began punching his face with wild haymakers. Aimless, mad and feral punches.

  David put up his hands to block the hits. Three got through his blocks.

  David tasted blood in his mouth and his nose felt wet. He was getting dizzy. Fred was screaming, wild and abandoned to drunken spite.

  His right eye itched and stung. David closed his eyes and struggled to shake Fred off him. A memory surged forth from within his soul. This memory twisted and mixed into his right eye’s view, changing the multicoloured world around him and Fred. David thought that he was going to be sick.

  And that was when the image of a man appeared in his mind.

  The man formed from the blackness made by his eyelids. David thought that it was Fred. But no. It was not Fred.

  It was another man. Tall, bald and smiling. A cigarette burned in his mouth. David knew acutely who this man was. He whistled to David.

  He beckoned to him, his teeth flashed. “Come give me a hug, Davey…”“NOO!” David screeched fearfully and his eyes flew open to Fred’s face. But it was not Fred’s face… It was the man with the cigarette. It was his father.

  David could see him clearly. As clear as day. Bearing down onto him with every intention to throttle him senseless.

  David yelled and jabbed his fingers at his father’s eyes.

  David’s father shrieked and threw himself back, holding his hands over his eyes.

  David rolled on his front and crawled away, spitting blood from a broken lip. He pulled himself to his feet and turned to his father, now half blinded by tea and David’s thumbs, running into him as a tackle.

  David groaned as the wind was knocked out from his gut as he and Dad were sent into the wall. David was pinned against the wall as they scrabbled with eachother.

  With rising horror, David saw the knife in Dad’s hand. He watched the knife rise in the air and come down towards his face.

  Instinctively, he grabbed the handle and blade of the knife and yanked it away from his face. A singing sharpness of pain flared in his left hand. David yelled.

  A thankfully small part of his left hand, the flesh between his thumb and his forefinger, was sliced through into a gory V-shaped gouge.

  Blood seeped through the pit of red, ripped flesh.

  Yelling and driven to the edge by pain and adrenaline, David grabbed the knife with both hands and, with a roar, swiftly raised his knee into Dad’s groin.

  Dad coughed and dropped down.

  David tore the knife from Dad’s hand and head-butted him hard.

  He went down. David spied a cushion on a seat beside him. He swiped the cushion and threw himself onto of his father.

  The screams of his tormentor were silenced by the cushion. “WAIT! NO- mmmmm!”

  Hands wildly scratched at David’s hands and face.

  He pushed the cushion down, hoping to smother the bastard to oblivion.

  But one finger jabbed at David’s magic eye. He cried out, and fearing the loss of his right eye and his magic, aimed the knife’s point right into the cushion, screamed “FUCK YOU!” then brought down the weapon twice onto the fabric.

  The steel pierced the fabric.

  Two plumes of feathers leapt from the stabbings with oddly comedic effect.

  His father’s arms stopped flailing and went limp immediately.

  David slumped down on the body, wheezing and panting. He threw the knife aside and rubbed his face. He looked at the ceiling. His vision was back to normal once more. And he cursed himself for his actions… He had lost control… Fully and with total abandon.

  “God dammit. God. Damn. It.”

  Then there was a knock on the front door.

  David froze. He had feared someone would come calling about the noise. They weren't exactly being subtle… David remained still, as still as one could as injured as he was.

  “Hello? Mr Davidson?” It was a woman. “It’s Mrs Gordon. Is everything all right?”

  David racked his brain for a way.

  He couldn't say silent. He recalled Fred’s voice. And as best as he could, attempted an impersonation. He coughed hard and put his hand over his mouth to muffle it the best that he could. “Ah, sorry about the noise. I- uh tripped up. I- I had too much to drink, I think… my mistake.” David braced himself. Please, go away. Please, go away. Don’t make me kill you…Please.

  Mrs Gordon did not say anything. She remained silent. “Are you alone, Mr Davidson?”

  “Yes. Emily’s not in. She’s out.”

  “Hmm. I thought so. You need to tell that girl to stay in. Girl her age shouldn't be out so late. It’s not proper.”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever you say…” David coughed hard through his mediocre imitation. “I have a bit of a sore throat. Sorry, I sound bad…” He coughed again harshly to put the point across.

  “Hmm… Understood. I’ll leave you be. Goodnight then. Sleep well…”

  David gritted his teeth. “Yeah. Goodnight.”

  He strained his ears to listen to a pair of shoes walking away from the front door. When the footsteps faded away, David let go of his breath and fell down on his bruised arse next to the body.

  He stared at his handiwork.

  David reached over and pulled off the cushion to see only Fred’s face, not his father whom he had seen in his mind.

  There were two messy stab wounds in Fred’s face. One tore an inch under his left eye and the other had cleaved his nose in two. Blood splattered over his face. Parts of the skull poked through the torn skin. His blood-filled eyes stared at nothing. David scrunched up his face and dropped the cushion back on Fred’s face. It slid off his head, down to the side and lay there by his obliterated cranium.

  David pulled out a pack of cigarettes, put one to his mouth and lit it. He drew up a gulping of smoke and exhumed his lungs of the rage. He also placed his earphones back into his ears and played his shuffled playlist. The Crystals arrived with their song He Hit Me (It Felt Like a Kiss).

  He allowed a smile at the fitting song.

  David leant against the sofa, and while sitting next to Fred’s corpse, slowly patted his knee along with the beat.

  He looked at his bleeding hand.

  Blood slowly seeped from the slice. Looks like I’ve got to get that sorted out… Couple of bandages… Maybe a stick here and there… But… fuck… I’m knackered.

  He was sick and tired of all the shit he had seen tonight.

  All the shit he had done tonight.

  He was tired and all he wanted to do was just sleep. He nodded.

  “Yeah… I’ll sleep… Just another night…” He stared at the ceiling again and closed his eyes to sleep, already readying himself for his nightmares to come to torment him once again…