Scared (27 page)

A gentle breeze laced with fine specks of rain pushed him gently as he walked the bridge, and he glanced down into the river, remembering how he'd likened it to melted milk chocolate. Was it wishful thinking of the boy he once was, hungry as he'd been that night, because the river looked green and thick with filth now. Refuse sailed on its watery journey, MacDonald's drink cups, a lollipop stick, a plastic Pepsi bottle. Green and brown fronds attached to the riverside stretched across the water, wavering with the current, catching the lolly stick and dragging it beneath the surface.

Almost like him, really, if his brother hadn't taken him under his wing after all that shit with Frost.

He stopped in the centre of the bridge and leaned his forearms on the ledge, staring over at the London Eye in the distance. He'd been on it, could afford the fare now, and it wasn't anything to write home about. Oh, he'd seen the city from the top, how vast the place was, but he'd barely been on the damn thing and it was time to get off again.

No bang for your buck these days.

Seeing things with an adult eye was so different from that of a child, wasn't it? What was glamorous then certainly wasn't now, and the sparkle of life tended to taint when reality reared its ugly head. He thought about that for a minute. His whole existence, up until being reunited with his brother, had been one long, freakish nightmare, yet he'd still had hope, had still seen the beauty in things and wished that one day he'd get a break.

And he had.

He went by the name of John now, a good old average name that didn't arouse suspicion. John Libere. He wasn't French, didn't even attempt to
sound
French when he spoke, but his surname meant “liberated", and that's what he became the day he moved into the flat in Camden with Ben. His brother had changed his name, too, choosing the same surname and going by the first name of Alex.

Official name changing was a good thing when you had people chasing your arse.

John sighed and continued walking, making it to the other side of the river, his hair only a little askew from the wind, a little damp from the rain. His suit, covered in a fine mist of individual, tiny raindrops that reminded him of fuzz, would need to go to the dry cleaners tomorrow.

He didn't like the smell of dried rain on his clothing. It brought back too many memories of nights spent out in harsh weather, chilled to the damn bone and wishing he had a warm bed to sleep in.

So why come here today? Why let the past back in?

Climbing down the bank, shoes sliding in the wet mud, he stood on a path he'd stood on so many times before, one he could have stretched out on as a kid but couldn't now. Too tall. He peered beneath the bridge. An oil drum, much the same as the one from years ago but painted yellow, the top lip blackened and rusty, held a fire that smelled of coal not wood. Whoever had lit it was a lucky bastard if he'd got a hold of coal.

John plunged his hands in his trouser pockets and walked under the bridge. As he approached the drum, he saw two feet poking out, covered in shoes much like his own. Black and shiny. Decent, no holes. Ankles encased in grey socks peeked out from beneath the hem of black trousers, and John smiled again, knowing no tramp warmed himself beside the fire this day.

Abreast of the drum, he looked down at the man sitting with his back against the bridge wall. A man who didn't look like a head sitting on top of a bundle of rags—one who didn't have shoulder-length grey hair but a neat, short cut like so many of the elderly today, and a trimmed goatee beard.

"Hello, Pete,” John said, tears misting his vision.

The old man looked up, eyes rheumy, and he narrowed them. “Fraser?"

That name sounded alien, seeing as he hadn't been called that in so long. “Yeah, it's Fraser."

"My God, boy. What are
you
doing here?” Pete struggled to stand, flapping John's hand away as he reached to help him up. “Get out of it. I may be old, but I ain't fucking dead yet.” He stood as upright as his old body allowed, shoulders stooped, back rounded.

"I came to reminisce. Just once before we move away."

"Ah. Finally getting out of the big jungle, are you?” Pete warmed his hands over the fire, eyeing John with a sideways glance.

"Yeah. Didn't expect to find you here. Thought you'd gone into sheltered housing after Darrow helped you out."

Pete smiled, showing pristine dentures. “I did, but old habits die hard, boy. Besides, I have to keep my eye out for the vans, don't I? They're white now, you know."

"Are they? Have you told Darrow?"

"Yep. He's on top of it. Been watching them himself.” He cleared his throat. “Some woman came and found me years ago. Did you know that, boy? Reckons they wouldn't have known anything about you being missing and where to find you if it wasn't for me. She said I was right about them black vans too.” He beamed, nodding, rasping his hands together to encourage warmth.

"Yeah. I heard you ringing the police had helped them a great deal."

God bless the old bugger.

"Yep. And I'll keep coming here, keep walking the streets like I always did. Got to do my bit to protect the kids."

"Aren't you scared, Pete? Seven years has made a big difference out there. The streets aren't like they were when we used to live on them."

"Nah. I ain't fucking scared. You?"

John thought about where his life was headed, to a new country where no one would find them. Frost and the men who'd been at the house that night were serving hard time, and those who hadn't been found were fuck knew where. Although John and Alex had new names, being in London, shit, even England, made him and his brother uneasy. Austria sounded good when they'd stabbed a pin in the map and the point had landed there. Life would be good from tomorrow onward, getting better every day they were gone from this stinking, evil place.

He smiled, feeling lighter of heart than he ever had. “No, Pete, no. I'm not scared."

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Sarah writes in many genres. Her love of fantasy and historicals often features in her work, and she leans toward the highly erotic. She lives in England with her adorable husband and children.

www.sarahmastersauthor.wordpress.com

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Individual Titles:

Wildfire

Blinded

Glimmer

Secret Society

Grave Findings

Beautiful Sunset

Burning

Vampiric Desire

Series:

The Marked One ~

1: Devil's Spawn

2: Le Frai de Demon

3: The Devil's Return

4: Devil's Torment

5: Devil's Revelation

The Master ~

1: In His Arms

2: Secrets Revealed

3: Promises Kept

4: Another Realm

5: Fate Unwinds

The Unusual ~

1: The First Kill

2: The Reporter

3: The Talisman

4: The Obsession

5: The Capture

The Master Series ~ In Print

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