Cam – Scion of Ares

With glowing red eyes, the wolfspawn slowly stalked down the darkened corridor, sniffing at the air. “Come out little boy, I know you’re in here. I can smell you.” The creature’s gravelly voice echoed through the abandoned apartment building, it’s six-foot form nearly filling the width of the rubbish-filled corridor. Suddenly his quarry, a teenage boy in ragged clothes, burst out of one the rooms and began running down the corridor. He was clutching his arm, blood trickling from between his fingers. Baring its fangs in a smile, the wolfspawn began running after him, its paws pounding on the floor; the hunt was on.

The boy darted down the corridor, leaping over obstacles and gaps in the floor. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the wolfspawn was rapidly gaining ground. He appeared to change his mind, instead of continuing to run towards the stairwell, he jumped through a hole in the plasterboard walls into one of the apartments. The wolfspawn followed, making a hole of its own as it ran straight through the thin walls in pursuit of the boy. The boy scrambled across the floor, shielding his eyes from the flying wall fragments. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” He yelled desperately.

The wolfspawn didn’t answer and instead paced back and forth in front of the boy, savouring the smell of his blood. Without warning, it launched itself at the boy, its fangs bared and ready to strike. However, the boy quickly rolled out of the way, ducking under the wolfspawn and evading its jaws by a matter of inches. As the wolfspawn landed on the floor, the boy jumped to his feet and ran towards the boarded up windows. He brought both his arms up and leapt through the window, splintering the wooden planks. Sailing out the window, he plummeted towards the alleyway five stories below. The boy reached out and grabbed a telephone cable strung between the apartment building and its nearby neighbour. He grunted in pain as it arrested his fall but the strength of the cable wasn’t strong enough to take his weight and it snapped. Still holding onto it, the boy was swung down against the neighbouring building, slamming into the wall. The impact was hard, and try as he might he couldn’t stifle the yell of pain as he hit his injured arm. Watching from the window, the wolfspawn snarled as the boy let go of the cable, kicked off the wall, and somersaulted through the air before landing crouched on the floor. “You can run boy,” the wolfspawn called out, “but you can’t hide. I can smell your blood from a hundred miles away.” They locked eyes for several seconds, the boy panting heavily.

“I’ve gotten pretty good at running the last couple of years,” he yelled back before bolting down the alley.

Running into the deserted street, the boy jumped onto the bonnet of an abandoned car and used it as a launching point to leap clear over a chain link fence topped with razor wire. Landing on his feet, he quickly disappeared into the darkness of the junk yard beyond.

The wolfspawn howled in delight; this quarry was proving to be a little more elusive than he had first suspected. This was going to be fun. As the last echoes of the howl were lost to the wind, the wolfspawn leapt out of the window, bouncing from wall to wall on its way down to the ground. It ran across the road and used the same trick as the boy, using the abandoned car to leap over the fence. The immense weight of the wolfspawn crushed the car, causing the still unbroken side windows to explode outwards. It failed to clear the fence but the flimsy steel wire was no obstacle to the wolfspawn as it tore through it, buckling the fence as it chased the boy into the junk yard.

The air in the junk yard was a jumble of smells, oil, petrol and diesel, rusting metal, decaying rubber, decomposing body parts. From the smells, the wolfspawn knew that somebody had been busy in this yard, and not just in the scrap metal business. However, the many overlapping smells obscured the boy’s scent; he’d have to track the boy the old-fashioned way, by following his footprints.

Slowly, it began to creep between the mounds of scrap metal, keeping an eye on the piles of rusting cars. Any of them would make a good hiding place for the boy. A clatter of metal on metal echoed through the night, the sound bouncing around the junk yard like pulses of sonar. The wolfspawn could almost see the waves of sound as they swept past, tracking them back to their source and locking on to the boy’s location. It bounded up a pile of scrap, sliding down the far side into a cul-de-sac formed by three overflowing piles of scrap. As it landed, a miniature avalanche of scrap caused by its slide blocked the exit behind it and it looked over at the terrified boy, grinning a fang-filled smile.

The boy looked around, desperately searching for an exit and the wolfspawn watched as a look of terror passed over the boy’s face when he realised that he was trapped. He backed up against the pile of scrap behind him, trying to get as far away from the wolfspawn as possible. “Little boy, scared and all alone in the night,” the wolfspawn taunted as the boy nervously fiddled with an amulet around his neck, “got any last words before I feast on your heart?”

Taking down his hood, the boy looked up at the wolfspawn, smirking slightly. He grasped the amulet firmly, a wolf talon on an old leather string, the fear in his blue eyes gone and replaced by a mischievous twinkle. “Who said I was alone?” There was a burst of white light and a spectral form erupted from the talon, landing in front of the boy. The spectral form coalesced into that of a wolf, smaller than the wolfspawn, but no less impressive, it’s white and brown fur a stark contrast to the wolfspawn’s blood spattered grey. “Say hello to partner, Orin,” the boy said cracking his knuckles. A tattoo in the shape of a twisted four-pointed star on his right shoulder briefly glowed, its blue light shining faintly through the material of his hooded top. The light spread down the veins of his right arm before racing over the rest of his body, fading moments later. “You’ve hunted scions for the last time, spawn breath.”

Snarling, the wolfspawn charged at the pair, he wasn’t going to let some whelp and his mutt get the better of him. It was time to end this game.

—-

“How’s the arm Cam?” Orin asked, walking over to the boy as he sat on a pile of tyres with a small backpack at his feet.

“Meh, I heal quickly enough.” Cam took off his hooded top and inspected the gash on his arm. It had been hurt when he had allowed the wolfspawn to slash him with its claws whilst it chased him. He had done this in an attempt to appear weak and helpless. It had been a calculated ploy, luring the wolfspawn into the ambush; one that Orin had not accepted without argument. Cam could tell that his friend and guardian was still a little mad at him for not listening. The gash wasn’t deep and it was still bleeding. He reached into the bag and pulled a strip of “clean” cloth that he used as a makeshift bandage, wrapping it around the wound. A little bit of blood soaked through but the material stopped the bleeding. The gash would probably leave a scar, but it wouldn’t be his first; he had a few already. With his top off, the scar he had received from a wolfspawn three years ago was clearly visible, slashing across his belly and left side. It was the first time he’d seen a monster and it was a night he’d like to forget, if only the nightmares would let him.

Satisfied that his arm was okay for the moment, he put his top back on, hopped off the tyres and walked over to the corpse of the wolfspawn. The beast hadn’t taken long to defeat, little more than five minutes. Between the two of them, they had managed to do it without sustaining any injuries more serious than a few grazes and bruises.

Taking out a small knife tucked into his sock, he reached down and cut off the long central talon from each of the wolfspawn’s claws. The creature’s eyes had also solidified in its death becoming red crystals. “These should be worth a bit on the market,” Cam said digging them out with the knife, “this city does have a goblin market, right?”

“As far as I know.”

There was a squelching sound from the corpse and it started to sag. It had only been dead for a couple of minutes but it was already starting to dissolve into a black, oil-like ichor. In a matter of seconds, there was nothing left of the wolfspawn except a pool of ichor. Cam knew that too would soon disappear, evaporating in the dawn sun. “Let’s get out of here Orin, I’m beat,” he said, putting the talons and eyes into the backpack.

—-

What a sight they must make, Cam thought as they walked down the street. A scruffy homeless kid with dirty and ripped clothes, a blood soaked makeshift bandage around his upper arm visible through the torn sleeve of his stop, a scar on his face, and a large wolf-like dog following him like a loyal pet. Lucky for them it was past midnight and there was no one around to see them, at least no one who cared that is.

“You need to be more careful,” Orin said cautiously, coming up alongside him.

“What do you mean?” Cam asked innocently, knowing full well what Orin was going to say.

“Using yourself as bait like that, it’s reckless and stupid.” The wolf hopped in front of Cam, forcing him to stop. “The last time you faced a wolfspawn you were almost killed! This time you got lucky.”

“Last time,” Cam snapped, “there were four of them and I was just a kid.”

“You’re still a child Cam, and the only reason you survived before is that your father saved your life.”

“I’m not a kid anymore, I’m fifteen. And I asked you never to talk about that man!” Cam was almost yelling; his face flushed red with anger. He pushed past Orin and continued walking briskly down the street; his shoulders and back tensed.

Orin walked behind him for several minutes before Cam broke the awkward silence. “Sorry for yelling at you like that. You’re my oldest friend Orin; I know you’re only looking out for me.”

“You know, if you had been born in Ancient Greece, you would be considered a man by now,” Orin said, “and you would have been trained from birth in how to use your abilities.”

“Yeah,” Cam said smiling, “but the nearest I’ve been to Ancient Greece is Athens in Ohio. I guess I’ll just have to make do with what I learned in Ms McKenna’s seventh grade history lessons and watching way too many Jackie Chan movies as a kid.”

Orin laughed, which was a disturbing sight to those not used to the large wolf spirit. “I suppose that would explain your terrible form and lack of technique.”

“Did you just insult the fists?” Cam asked in mock indignation. “You do not insult the fists.”

Eventually, after nearly an hour of walking, they arrived at a sleazy motel. The sort of motel frequented by prostitutes and drug dealers and didn’t think twice about renting a room to an unaccompanied fifteen-year-old boy who paid in cash. He was sure the manager thought that he was some runaway kid or gang member and if wasn’t already involved in business of its two main group of clients, he soon would be. It was a dangerous place to stay, marginally safer than sleeping on the street, but only just. On his first night, he’d been accosted by a junkie attempting to steal what little money he had, probably trying to get his next fix. All that the man got of it though was a broken nose and a few bruises. Not long afterwards, he had been approached been a group of men decked out in bling and carrying poorly concealed handguns; their get up screamed gang members. They’d offered him a job, saying they could use a “scrappy little punk” like him. Cam had refused, politely but firmly; there was no way he was going to get involved with the drugs trade; or the sex trade for that matter, they had been disturbingly vague on what they wanted him for. He hoped they had gotten the message; he didn’t want any trouble from them.

With Orin close behind, Cam walked across the parking lot towards their room. The lot wasn’t deserted, even at this time of night; two men sat on the bonnet of a car, watching Cam closely. He kept his head down, watching the two men out of the corner of his eye. They were probably just lookouts for the gang that used the motel as a drug den and whorehouse, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Cam had been on the run for three years, hunted and tracked by monsters and individuals who wanted to kill him for what he was or wanted to use him for that same reason. He hadn’t survived this long by being complacent.

Cam didn’t relax until he was safely in his room; the door closed and jammed shut with a baseball bat. “I’m telling you Orin, if it weren’t for the fact that this is the only place we can stay without attracting too much attention, I’d seriously consider finding somewhere else.”

“Pity,” a voice said from the darkness, “this place has character.”

Cam span round, slapping the light switch and dropping into a combat crouch. Why hadn’t Orin detected someone was in the room? His heart was pounding, adrenaline coursing through his system. Then, he saw who the intruder was.

Sitting in a chair, with a bottle of beer in his hand, was a gruff middle-aged man in a leather jacket. Leaning against a wall shotgun and massive sword, its blade at least two meters hilt to tip. Cam stood up and fixed the man with a smouldering glare. “Ares, what the hell do you want?”

The Greek god of war sighed. “Just once, would it kill you to call me dad?”

Skater Kid

 

Ryan / Alex

Had a geography exam on Monday, finished early so started doodling in my notebook. One of the doodles caught my eye and when I got home I decided to do a proper version.

 

It was of the main character Ryan Henderson the Ryan’s Story series. Until now, I’ve pretty much drawn him in warm bulky clothing. Decided to try something more “summery.” Like this, I suppose he looks more like a skater and less like an emo kid. This particular version of the character is taken from a future point in the story after he gets a new skateboard and tattoo. The tattoo (which since he is only fourteen was done illegally) is a ritual tattoo. Its magic protects Ryan from hostile magics like curses. He gets it sometime after part 9 (which is the part after the one I’m currently writing). His foster parents weren’t exactly pleased when they found out.

I’m also planning on using it for a supers game. In that game, the character (Alex McCendrick) will have the ability to “summon” a magical sword by pulling the image of it off the bottom of his skateboard which also becomes a shield in the process. Not thought too much about THIS character apart from whats written above. That said, I may use the sword idea for Ryan as well.

Click for the full version

Ryan’s Story – The Runaway

 “Jake Matthews please report to the principal’s office.” Jake looked up from his workbook as the message came over the PA. Suddenly everyone in the class was looking at him.

“Dude,” Spud whispered sitting next to him, “whatever you did you are so busted for it.”

“There’s no way they could’ve found out about that,” Jake whispered out of the side of his mouth.

“Well, you heard the disembodied voice,” the teacher said at the front of the class with little enthusiasm, “better take your things in case you’re not back before the end of the lesson.” Jake quickly packed away his workbook and pen, picked up his school bag and walked the dead-man’s walk across the classroom, every pair of eyes in the room following him as he walked through the door.

As he jogged across the quad separating the classroom blocks with the main building, keeping to the trees in a vain attempt to stay dry despite the rain, Jake mentally ticked off a list of things that he had done recently. He shrugged of the raindrops as he entered the main building and arrived at the principal’s office. Ms Cunningham, the principal’s secretary showed him into the office. Sitting there, waiting for him was the principal and a policeman.

“Relax; you’re not in any trouble.” Was that a hint of sarcasm Jake was detecting? “Officer Ballard here just wants to ask you a few questions.” Jake nervously sat down in the other chair.

“Good afternoon son,” Ballard said by way of greeting, “I understand from Mr and Mrs Johnson that you’re friends with one of their foster children, Ryan. Is that correct?”

Jake nodded, “uh huh.”

“When did you last see him?”

“Erm, I think it was on the boat after school yesterday.”

“Are you sure,” Jake nodded, “how was he.”

“Well, he was a little distant, like he was preoccupied with something. We usually meet up at lunch but I couldn’t find him.”

Officer Ballard jotted some notes on his notepad. “And what about before yesterday?”

“What’s with all the questions about Ryan, he’s not in any trouble is he.” Jake was more than a little concerned now. He had only known Ryan for two months and only been friends with him for half that time. There was still a lot he didn’t know about the younger boy but he did know one thing. Ryan had a strong moral compass and he knew right from wrong. Jake found it hard to believe that Ryan had done anything worthy of police attention. A look passed between Ballard and the principal.

“Ryan’s gone missing.”

—-

Early last night…

As Trey and his friends continued their game, Ryan watched from the bedroom window. In one respect at least, Mark had kept his word, Trey had no memory what Ryan’s older brother had done to him. Turning away from the window, he went back to his bed and pulled a large bag from underneath it. Scared that his brother might one day find him, he had always kept an “emergency bag” packed in case he ever needed to leave in a hurry. The events of the last 24 hours had shown Ryan that Mark knew where he was living. It was only a matter of time before Mark showed up in one form or another to finish the job he started four years ago. It was because of this that he had made his decision to leave.

He knew that leaving would be dangerous, he had no childish illusions that it would turn out to be a Grand Adventure like it always was in the storybooks and movies. However, if he stayed, he would be putting the people he had come to care about at risk. Mark had already proven once with Trey that he was perfectly willing to get at Ryan using those around him.

Ryan opened up the bag and checked the contents. As always, the clothes were packed tightly in the bottom of the bag. Tough, hard wearing and weather proof, with luck they should be warm enough. On top of the clothes sat an envelope inside of which was nearly two hundred pounds in cash that he had saved over the years. As well as the money, there were several leaflets; timetables for the local train and bus services which he had gathered shortly after arriving in Cliffport. Everything was set, as it had been for the past two months. He popped off the PC’s side cover and took out the antistatic bag. He had a feeling that he might need the book within so he carefully packed it in the bag. With everything packed and ready, he stowed the bag back under the bed, hidden behind a roll of spare blankets.

He sat down on his bed, wondering whether he should write a note to his foster parents. When he suddenly disappears during the night, Ryan knew that they would worry. Lying back on the bed, mentally composing a hypothetical note, he felt a lump under the bedcovers. It was the flick knife that Mark had used when threatening to cut Trey’s wrist. Attached to the knife was a note. It read, “See you soon” and it was signed “Mark.” Obviously, a parting gift left behind by Mark before he released the possession on Trey’s body. Ryan picked up the knife and the note. “Not if I have anything to say about it,” he said looking at the knife thoughtfully.

That night Ryan slept lightly, pretending to be ill so he could go to bed early wearing his street clothes before Trey turned in. At around two in the morning, he was woken by his watch’s vibrating alarm and he quietly slipped out of bed. Carefully picking up the bag, Ryan tiptoed across the bedroom carrying his trainers, making sure not to wake Trey as he opened the bedroom door. Only when he got downstairs did he stop to pull on his trainers. Before he did so, he took out the flick knife he had hidden in the left shoe. After he put his shoes on, he tucked the knife into his sock, hiding it under the bottom of his trousers. Ryan had never carried a knife before, he was all too intimately aware of the type of injury that they could inflict. However, tonight was different. He knew from the other children that he had met in the children’s home or in foster care that the streets were not a safe place for kids. Somehow, he knew the he was probably going to need some protection.

The night sky outside was clear and cloudless, the moon shining brightly amongst the twinkling stars. Closing the front door quietly, Ryan stepped out into the cold night air. There was no traffic on the walls and the only sound that could be heard was the surf washing against the base of the cliffs. Ryan hopped over the front gate, avoiding the horrendous squeal of its rusty hinges, stood on the pavement looking back at the darkened house. After a few moments of contemplation, Ryan set off towards the main road.

—-

Next morning…

The alarm clock buzzed incessantly, rousing Trey from a dreamless sleep. “Ryan, shut off the damn alarm clock!” When there was no answer, the boy lifted his head and looked across the bedroom. The bedcovers of Ryan’s bed were thrown aside but there was no sign of the bed’s former occupant. Glancing around the room, Trey could see that Ryan’s shoes were gone as was his coat. Assuming that Ryan was up and had already gotten ready for school, a reasonable assumption given that the older boy was often up before him, he grumpily got out of bed and began to get ready. As he pulled on a sweatshirt, he noticed a folded piece of paper on his desk with his name on it written in Ryan’s handwriting. Curious, he picked up the piece of paper and unfolded it. As he read the note, his eyes widened in shock and bolted out of the room.

Trey thundered down the stairs and skidded into the kitchen, narrowly avoiding Susan. “Trey, what have I told you about running in the house?” She said, almost dropping the cup of tea she was carrying.

“Ryan’s gone!” Trey blurted out.

“What do you mean gone?” She asked slightly confused, “has he left for school already?”

“No, he’s run away and he says he’s not coming back!” He cried, shoving the note into Susan’s hand.

—-

During morning lessons…

“What do you mean he’s gone missing?” Jake said, only just resisting the urge to jump to his feet.

The Principal cleared his throat, “The indications are that he has run away. Of course we’re very concerned for his safety.”

Jake slumped back into the chair. “I knew he’d been a little depressed lately, and he was acting funny yesterday but I didn’t think he’d do something like this.” Ballard jotted something down in his notepad as Jake spoke.

“Do you know if he was depressed about something in particular?” Before Jake could respond, Ballard’s radio squawked.

“Control to two-six-zero, come in.”

“Two-six-zero to control, go ahead.”

“Bill, we’ve just had a report forwarded to us from Liskeard saying that a youth matching the description of the Henderson boy was seen hitchhiking on the A38 earlier this morning.”

“Do we have any indication where he might be going?”

“No, the sighting was a couple of hours old by the time it was reported and he was already gone by the time a patrol car arrived but according to the report, he was by the westbound lane.”

—-

At that moment…

“Thanks mister,” Ryan said closing the car door and waving as it drove off down the road. He pulled up his hood and started walking into Truro, his hometown and the smallest city in the UK. This was where he had been born and lived up until that night four years ago. As he walked through the town, memories rose unbidden to the surface. He had bought his first skateboard from that sports shop. The restaurant over there had been where he had had his ninth birthday party. His friends had used to play in that playground. Now it was a block of luxury apartments.

After walking almost all the way across the town through the rain, he reached his destination, Truro’s cemetery. With some apprehension, he walked through the gate and began to make his way through the cemetery. It took nearly an hour of searching but he eventually found what he was looking for. Sitting down in front of the grave, he traced his fingers across the engraving on the tombstone. “In loving memory of Paul and Tracy Henderson, died 14th March 2004, along with their son Mark aged 16.” As his fingers crossed his brother’s name, Ryan felt the anger rise in him. Taking out the flick knife, he spent several minutes obliterating his brother’s name. The body buried in the grave was not his brother like everyone believed. Even if it was, after what Mark had done, he did not deserve to be buried with the parents he had murdered.

“Hi mum, dad, it’s been a long time. I should’ve come sooner, I know, but they wouldn’t let me out of hospital to come to the funeral and afterwards they moved me out of the area. I could’ve asked to visit, but I could never bring myself too. Guess I couldn’t face it you know? As long as I didn’t have to see a grave, I guess I could pretend, at least to myself that what happened that night didn’t really happen. But it did happen; I have to accept that because nothing is going to change it.” Ryan shivered and pulled his coat tighter around him in an attempt to ward off the rain. “I came here to say goodbye, I’ve got to go away and I don’t think I’ll ever have a chance to come here again. Mark’s found me and it’s only a matter of time before he comes for me. If it was just me it’d be bad enough but the people I’m staying with are good people. They’re the closest I’ve had to a family since, well, you know. Mark’s already used one of them to get to me. He didn’t hurt him but I can’t take the chance that he won’t next time. I’m going to head to London. It’s big enough that he won’t be able to find me there. It’s not going to be easy, but I have to do it.” He stood up, wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve and wiped away a few tears that had mixed with the raindrops on his face. “I’d ask you to watch over me, but if what I’ve learned over the last month is true, then you’re probably not in a position to help.” He picked up his backpack and fastened the waist strap. “I swear I will find out what Mark did and I’ll find a way to reverse it, that’s a promise.” Ryan turned to leave but he stopped himself. He turned back to the grave and knelt down. “And you,” he whispered addressing the body of his brother’s anonymous accomplice, “when I find a way to lift the pledge, I’m gonna make sure that you’re left burning in hell where you belong.”

—-

After leaving the cemetery, Ryan was walking through town with his head down on his way towards the bus station when a hooded teenage boy riding a BMX careened out of an alleyway, almost colliding with him. “Watch where you’re going dickhead,” the boy spat as he righted his bike.

“You watch it, you almost ran me over,” Ryan retorted stepping back. Anger briefly flashed across the other boy’s face, but it was quickly displaced by a quizzical expression, eyes narrowed.

“Ryan? Ryan Henderson?”

Ryan leaned forward, “Do I know … wait a minute, Doug?”

Doug jumped of his bike staring at Ryan incredulously, “Jesus, Ryan, I can’t believe it’s you!” Douglas Roberts had been Ryan’s best friend at primary school; the two boys had grown up together living on the same street. Ryan was the oldest of the pair by four months.

Ten minutes later they were sitting in a fast food restaurant. The man behind the counter had sneered disapprovingly at the two boys as they entered but had said nothing. “So where’ve you been? It’s been like four years.”

Ryan crammed a handful of fries into his mouth. “After the fire, social services thought it would be best if they moved me out of the area. Been bouncing around the foster care system ever since.” He pointed at Doug’s half-eaten box of chicken strips. “You gonna finish them?”

“Err, no, help yourself,” Doug said shrugging and pushing the box over to Ryan’s side of the table. “That sucks…” he paused as he leaned forward across the table and pushed the collar of Ryan’s jacket aside, ignoring the boy’s protest. Seeing the scar on Ryan’s neck, Doug whistled. “Whoa, that is an awesome looking scar. Did you get that from the guy that killed your family? Looks like he tried to take you head clean off!”

Ryan grimaced at his friend’s lack of tact. “Yes, the person that killed my parents gave me this scar. Now, can we change the subject?”

“Um sorry,” Doug said realising that he had broached a taboo subject, “So where’re you living now then?”

“A small town just down the coast from Plymouth called Cliffport.”

Doug snorted, “Cliffport, that boring little shit hole? Hang on; if you’re supposed to be in Cliffport what’re you doing here?”

“Erm…” Ryan began, as he struggled to come up with a believable excuse. Doug’s eyes strayed towards the oversized backpack on the seat next to Ryan. He suddenly understood the situation and started laughing.

“No way, you’ve pulled a runner haven’t you!” Ryan tried to quieten Doug down whose loud voice had started to draw unwanted attention. “So what’re you planning to do now?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” Ryan lied, “just had to hit the road for a while. I got some stuff I need to sort out in my head and I need some space to do it.”

“You need a place to crash or something ‘cos mine’s free?” Doug offered.

“What about your parents?”

“Nah, they’re not a problem. My old man split couple of years back, and mum works nights. She’d never notice. She don’t notice anything anymore.”

Ryan thought about the offer, it was tempting. “Sorry, but I’m not planning on being in town that long. You caught me on the way to the bus station.”

They eventually left the fast food restaurant; Ryan was getting uncomfortable at the looks they were getting from the few staff and customers. The two boys walked through the town catching and reminiscing about all the scrapes they used to get into. Talking to Doug, he was almost able to forget his problems.

As they were walking down a street, Doug suddenly shoved Ryan into an alleyway, a hand clamped over his mouth. Surprised by the sudden movement, yelled a muffled protest from behind Doug’s hand. “Shhh!” Doug hissed, indicated with a nod of his head towards the street. A police car leisurely cruised past the alleyway. When it disappeared from view, Doug removed his hand and breathed a sigh of relief.

“What the hell was all that about?” Ryan asked angrily.

“You finally fried that oversized brain of yours or something?” Doug responded, “The police have probably got your description already.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Dude, you’re the like the poster child for a ‘vulnerable youth’ what with your history and everything. Cliffport plod probably sent your picture out as soon as they realised you’d gone.” Doug’s words caused Ryan to pause; he had assumed that he would have at least 24 hours grace before the police officially considered him missing.

“You think so?” Ryan asked, then a thought struck him, “and the fact that you should be in school had nothing to do with us ducking into an alley?”

Doug grinned. “School’s for muppets or brainiacs like you.”

Ryan’s face became serious and he placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Look Doug, I gotta go. I don’t wanna miss the last bus.”

“Take care of yourself buddy, ok,” Doug said pulling Ryan into an awkward adolescent hug, “see you around someday.”

“You too Doug, and stay out of trouble,” he said playfully pointing an accusatory finger, “I know you.”

—-

By the time Ryan had arrived at the bus station, the last National Express coach to London and the South East had already left. The next coach was not due to leave until the morning and it appeared that Ryan was stuck in Truro overnight.

Wandering through the town, he looked for somewhere to stay the night. Obviously commercial accommodation was out of the question. What kind of hotel or bed and breakfast would rent a room to an unaccompanied fourteen-year-old who paid in cash? His meandering route through Truro’s streets eventually brought him to a small industrial estate on the outskirts of town. In one corner of the estate, lying forgotten and fronted by a weed-ridden car park was a vacant warehouse. The company that used to own the industrial unit had gone bankrupt years before Ryan had moved away leaving behind an empty warehouse.

Ryan climbed through a hole in the chain-link fence surrounding the warehouse and quickly jogged across the cracked concrete heading for the loading dock. The fire door next to the dock was ajar, its lock still broken even after all these years. Slowly he walked inside, waiting a moment as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. The fire door led into a warren of corridors and partitioned offices that had once housed the company’s non-warehouse staff. Apart from the extra graffiti, the interior was just as he remembered it had been that one summer he and Doug had explored the derelict warehouse.

He ventured further into the offices, eventually reaching the former manager’s office. The room was dry and its roof was intact. It wasn’t much but it would have to do. Unrolling his sleeping bag under the abandoned desk, Ryan prepared to settle down for the night.

That night, his dreams were disturbed by images of fire and blood. A sinister hooded figure dominated the nightmare, its inhuman size and proportions causing the ground to tremble with every one of its steps. Ryan woke drenched in sweat still feeling the heat of the flames. “It’s just a dream,” he told himself, “get a grip.” He lay there, tossing and turning, unable to get back to sleep.

Not long after his watch beeped midnight, Ryan began to hear voices coming from nearby. The voices were punctuated by a scream, a high-pitched and desperate cry for help. She sounded young, probably not much older than Ryan. Her cry was cut short by the sound of flesh striking flesh. “Shut it bitch,” an angry male voice yelled. A door somewhere in the complex of offices slammed open and harsh laughter could be heard. From the noise they were making, Ryan could tell that there were at least three people with the girl.

With a cold feeling growing in his stomach, he realised that he was probably about to hear the girl being raped. He had to do something but charging in there like some sort of hero would be virtual suicide, it would be three against one and he was no Jackie Chan. There was a voice in the back of his mind. The same voice he had ignored four years ago, telling him to be quiet, stay hidden, to play it safe. As he stood up, he realised that just as before, he was going to ignore it.

“Told you this place was perfect,” one of the voices said, “no one knows about this place but me.” Ryan froze at the sound of Doug’s voice. He could not believe it, there was no way that his old friend would be involved in something like this. Maybe he did not know him as well as he had thought. After all, people can change a lot in four years.

The voices were getting nearer, heading towards the back office. Ryan reached down to take the knife out from under his sock when he stopped himself. “No,” he thought to himself, “using this is the sort of thing that Mark would do.” He instead put the knife into one of his pockets and looked around the room. Picking up a length of metal pipe, he took up position against the wall beside the door.

The door crashed open, kicked with such force that it almost broke the doorstop embedded in the floor. Any harder and it would have smashed into Ryan. Hidden behind the open door, Ryan watched as the girl was pushed into the room. Three thugs burst into the office behind her, two of them carrying flashlights. Two of them were teenagers in their late teens but the third, the one without a flashlight, was around Ryan’s age. All of them had the faces hidden behind hoods and bandanas but Ryan didn’t need to see his face to recognise his old friend. As one of the older boys held the girl down, Doug hurriedly unfastened his pants, egged on by his two friends. “Come on D,” the other older boy said, “if you want in, you gotta make her scream.” He was holding a mobile phone recording the scene using the phone’s camera as he addressed Doug who was now straddling the girl and struggling to undress her.

With everyone’s attention focused on the girl, Ryan decided that now was the best time to act. Stepping out from his hiding place, the pipe held above his head, he approached the group. With his back to Ryan, the impromptu cameraman didn’t see Ryan approach him, the pipe held above his head. He brought the pipe crashing down on the thug’s back. With a grunt, he dropped the cameraphone and stumbled forward, crashing into Doug. Before they had a chance to react to his sudden appearance, Ryan had slid across the top of the desk kicking the other older boy in the chest. Channelling his favourite freerunning comic book superhero, he used his momentum to carry him off the desk, rolling into a crouch spinning the pipe like a martial arts staff. “Ryan, what the fuck!” Doug yelled as he scrambled off the girl pulling his pants up.

His two friends quickly recovered from Ryan’s surprise attack. “Get him!” one of them yelled, Ryan couldn’t tell which, and the two older boys charged at him. He swung the pipe like a baseball bat, striking the arm of one of the boys when he tried to block it. The sound of bone cracking reverberated through the room and the attacker fell to the floor, cradling his now broken forearm and screaming in pain. The other boy charged into Ryan, knocking the pipe out of his hand and pushing him on to the floor. Sitting across Ryan’s waist and pinning the smaller boy to the floor, he punched Ryan several times in the face. Ryan grunted as the older boy hit him, the punches dazing him with their sledgehammer-like impacts. He started to panic; he was already starting to feel woozy from the first few blows, any more and he would be in serious danger of being knocked unconscious.

“Kill him Chris!” someone yelled. To his horror, he realised it was Doug.

“Little bastard broke my fucking arm,” the wounded teenager muttered.

Ryan saw the teenager sitting across his waist reach into his pocket and pull out a slotted screwdriver. As the teenager attempted to stab him, Ryan wrestled with him, desperately trying to disarm the screwdriver-wielding thug. For several tense seconds, the blade of the screwdriver hovered over his chest. Slowly, Ryan forced the screwdriver back, wrenching it out of the boy’s grip. Still holding the shaft, Ryan slammed the screwdriver handle first into the boy’s eye. The boy squealed in pain, tumbling off Ryan clutching his eye. Ryan wasted no time, springing to his feet and delivering a vicious kick to the boy’s side. He was relieved when the two injured boys scrambled to their feet and fled the room leaving Doug behind. His plan had not exactly been thorough, he didn’t know what he would have done if they hadn’t ran.

There was a scream from across the room. Doug had drawn a knife and was holding it to her throat, using her as a human shield.

“Jesus Christ Doug,” he yelled in frustration, “give it up already.”

“Shut the fuck up, get away from me!” Doug yelled backing in to a wall, still holding the girl.

Ryan placed the screwdriver on the desk and stepped away, his hands held out in what he hoped was a placating gesture. “Come on Doug, just let her go.” In the light from the discarded flashlights, Ryan could see Doug’s eyes, wide with panic, dart from side to side looking for an escape route. He deliberately took several steps away from the door, hoping that his former friend would take the opportunity to flee but he didn’t. “You don’t want to do this…”

“Shut up; don’t tell me what to do!”

“This isn’t you, you’re not like this,” Ryan pleaded although he knew at the back of his mind that he wasn’t getting through.

“And how would you know!”

“You’re right, people change. But you’re better than this; the Doug I knew would never be involved in something like this.”

“Fuck you Ryan! You disappeared for four years, don’t you dare think you got the right to judge me!”

“My parents were murdered, it’s not like I had a choice!” Ryan snapped. The two boys stared at each other across the room, each waiting for the other to make the next move. “Fine, if that’s what you want,” he said reaching down and picking up the mobile phone dropped by one of the thugs and forgotten, “we’ll just let the police sort this out.”

“You wouldn’t,” Doug said, his voice not as confident or arrogant as before.

“Abduction, attempted rape, possession of a weapon with intent to wound, you want me to add any more? Even at 13, they’ll bang you up for crap like that for sure.” Ryan pressed a few buttons on the phone and turned it around so Doug could see the screen. “Especially when they’ve got video evidence. Face it, you’re finished.”

The fight seemed to drain out of Doug as he watched the video footage. It was blurry but unmistakably him. “But,” he said pathetically, “we’re friends.”

“We were. I might not have many friends after moving around so much, but ones that yell ‘Kill him Chris’ are ones I can do without.” As Ryan’s words sank in, his grip on the girl faltered and the knife moved away from her neck. Taking advantage of Doug’s inattention, she grabbed his hand and bit down on it hard. He yelped and dropped the knife. Ryan surged forwards, slamming his fist into Doug’s face. Doug reeled backwards with the force of the punch, blood pouring from his nose. He stumbled against the wall next to a closet. “Open the door,” he yelled at the girl. She opened the door and Ryan shoved a stunned Doug into the closet slamming to the door shut and jamming it closed with a chair.

Ryan slid down the wall in to a sitting position as Doug banged on the door cursing at Ryan. He rubbed his aching jaw. His face was already starting to swell up. By tomorrow morning, he would probably have an impressive set of bruises.

He got up and crouched in front of the girl. She was bleeding slightly from the neck where Doug’s knife had nicked the skin. Apart from that and a few cuts and bruises, she appeared physically unharmed. Slowly, he put her coat around the shivering girl’s shoulders. He moved carefully, not wanting to frighten her; she’d already been through enough tonight. “It’s alright,” he said trying to reassure her, “they’ve gone and no one’s going to be able to hurt you. My name’s Ryan, what’s yours?”

“Megan,” she said in a very small voice.

“Okay Megan, I’m going to phone the cops so that they can arrest this bastard,” he said banging the closet door with his fist, “and an ambulance so they can make sure you’re alright.” She nodded weakly in response, still in shock. Ryan dialled 999 on the mobile and was quickly connected to the emergency operator. He gave the operator their location and told her what had happened before hanging up. Turning his back on the girl, he retrieved his things from where he had hidden them, quickly repacking the sleeping bag.

“Will you stay with me until they arrive?”

Ryan turned around and looking at her, found that he couldn’t say no even if it meant having to answer awkward questions. Making sure that the closet door was securely jammed; he picked up his backpack and led the girl outside to the car park. It didn’t take long for the sound of police sirens to be heard. They screeched to halt in front of the hole in the fence, an ambulance following close behind. A policewoman approached the two teenagers; she guided Megan towards the waiting ambulance while her colleague came over to Ryan. Two other officers went in to the warehouse He looked up at the policeman. When he asked Ryan to come over to the police car so that he could take a statement, Ryan knew that he was in trouble.

The policeman took one look at the nervous boy in the passenger seat next to him, glanced at the bag Ryan was holding in his lap and asked the question Ryan had been dreading. “Is your name Ryan Henderson?” Ryan nodded. “You do know that there’s quite a few people worried about you back in Cliffport?” Ryan looked at the floor, unwilling to look at the policeman or answer him. A shout from outside attracted his attention and he watched as two officers dragged a handcuffed Doug out of the warehouse and into a waiting police car. “So, do you want to tell me what happened tonight?”

After handing over the mobile phone to the officer and describing what he had seen, Ryan had been taken to the police station. He sat opposite the officer as he phoned Ryan’s foster parents. Half asleep, Ryan only paid the vaguest attention to the conversation whilst stifling his yawns. When the officer put phone down, he looked at the bleary-eyed boy.

“Was he … was he angry?” Ryan asked tentatively.

“Of course, but he was also worried.” Ryan could not hold it in any longer. He let out a long, exhausted yawn followed by a muffled apology. “Someone will take you home in the morning. Until then,” the officer continued, “you can wait in the first aid room and get some rest.”

Within minutes of him lying down on the hard bed, he was fast asleep.

—-

Later next morning…

A sullen Ryan got out of the police car. Shouldering his backpack, he followed the police officer towards the house. Anthony answered the door and he looked at Ryan. “Get inside,” Anthony said tersely. Ryan did as he was told, not meeting his eyes. “Wait for me in the kitchen.”

Ryan sat down at the kitchen table, his heart racing and a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t hear what was being said between Anthony and the police officer. After a few minutes, the police officer left and Anthony came into the kitchen.

“Sorry,” Ryan said, “for making you worry.” Anthony remained silent. “Guess I screwed everything up. You’ll be phoning social services tomorrow to get them to take me back.”

“That depends,” Anthony said after a moment’s further silence.

“On what?” Ryan asked looking at him for the first time.

“On what the hell you were thinking,” he said looking at the fresh bruises on Ryan’s face. “You were lucky you didn’t get yourself seriously hurt, or worse.”

Ryan looked down at the table, gazing at his own reflection in the shiny surface. His eyes drifted to the scar on his neck. “How much did they tell you about what happened to my parents?”

Anthony glanced at the top of the boy’s head. Ryan had never spoken a word about his family before. “Just the basics, that there was a home invasion, a fire and that you were the only one that survived. They never caught the people responsible.”

“That’s mostly true,” Ryan said quietly, barely above a whisper.

“What do you mean?” Anthony asked, sitting down opposite Ryan. He had the feeling that this was going to be one of those conversations.

Still looking down at the table, his finger traced along the line of scar tissue. “He didn’t die in the fire.”

“Who didn’t?”

“Mark.”

Anthony thought for a moment, thinking back to what the social worker had told them before they had agreed to take Ryan on as a foster child. “Wasn’t Mark your brother?”

Ryan shot out of the chair, glaring across the table at his foster father. “He’s not my fucking brother, not after what he did,” Ryan yelled. Anthony jumped back slightly, shocked at the sudden outburst. “He killed mum, he killed dad, he cut my throat and he … he…” his voice faltered and he stormed out of the room, thundering up the stairs and slamming his bedroom door. Anthony sat there stunned, he’d known that talking about his past had always been a touchy subject for Ryan, but there had never been anything in the information given to them by social services that his brother had been responsible for the deaths of his parents.

After a moment, he got up from the table and slowly walked up the stairs. Carefully he opened the door to the boys’ bedroom. Ryan was sitting on the floor with his back to the wall hugging his knees and hiding his face. Anthony sat down next to Ryan. “Do you want to talk?” Ryan shook his head.

“I can’t,” said a muffled voice.

“You have too,” Anthony said softly, “it’s obviously eating you up inside.”

“No,” he said.

“Look, I promise whatever you say stays between us. If it’s affecting you this much, then you HAVE to tell someone.”

“You won’t believe me; no one did about what he did to mum and dad.”

Anthony laid a hand on Ryan’s shoulder and simply said, “Trust me.” Ryan looked up at him, his eyes red and puffy. Anthony realised that Ryan had been crying.

“I couldn’t stop him; I wasn’t strong enough or brave enough. I could’ve fought back but I ran to my room. He chased and caught me. As he tied me up, I can remember wishing that Mark would come and save me.” Tears were beginning to spill down Ryan’s face. “I didn’t know that my brother was the one… the one who was… he raped me.” Ryan once again buried his head against his knees.

“It’s wasn’t your fault,” Anthony began pulling Ryan into a hug, “you were only ten years old, there was nothing you could have done.” Ryan broke down, sobbing uncontrollably against Anthony’s chest. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

Ryan’s Story – The Accident

It had been nearly four years since his parents had been killed, murdered by his then 17-year-old brother Mark. Ryan had been left for dead, his throat cut and soaked in petrol as his older brother torched the family home. Luckily, he had escaped the fire, releasing himself from his bonds and climbing out of a bedroom window. A neighbour had found the ten-year-old, lying burned and near death from blood loss in the front garden. He had been rushed to hospital where he eventually recovered. The burns had healed but the cut to his throat had left a vicious looking scar. The mental damage however would take much longer to heal. When he tried to tell the police and the doctors that the third body they had found was not his brother, but that it was the body of his brother’s accomplice murdered to make it look like Mark had died, no one believed him. Eventually he stopped trying and pretended to accept the “official” version of events. Deep down however, he never stopped believing what had been burned into his memories on that night. Having no living relatives, Ryan had spent the next four years bouncing between foster families and children’s homes. All the time knowing his brother was out there.

Ryan was of average height for his age, his scruffy brown hair and green eyes often poking out from under his favourite red baseball cap. Both his ears were pierced. He kept a low profile, trying his best not to stand out from the crowd. The scar on his neck made this difficult; it was often the first thing people noticed about him. Consequently, he often tried to hide it by wearing a scarf, bandana or wearing the hood up on his hooded sweatshirts.

Today was his fourteenth birthday but since no else seemed to know or care, Ryan did not feel like celebrating. With his headphones on and his head down, Ryan was trying his best to ignore the group following him as he trudged up the steep cliff path. The loud music drowned out their jibes but he still knew they were there. At least they weren’t throwing things at him this time. He had been living with the Johnson’s for just over a month now. A new set of foster parents meant a new town and a new school. Yet again, he was the freaky new kid that sat at the back of the class that some of his so-called classmates had decided was an easy target. There had been a couple of scuffles but nothing major and it was nothing he hadn’t had to deal with before.

The path that Ryan was taking was a shortcut from the lower town where the local school was located up to West Cliffport where his foster parents lived. It led from the harbour up the side of the cliffs to the road that ran along their top. Cliffport had once been a bustling fishing village. However, as the twentieth century rolled around, fishing gave way to tourism and over successive decades, the village had expanded outside the steep-sided valley. Now new residential developments had begun to sprawl up the sides of the hills surrounding the town and its enclosed bay.

He had just reached the top of the path and was about to jump skateboard when the gang made their move, knocking into him from behind. Jake, an older boy a year above him, snatched the skateboard from out of Ryan’s grip while his two partners in crime grabbed his arms. “Hey, give that back!” Ryan demanded shaking himself loose of the grip of the two other boys.

“Not unless you beg for it freak!” Jake taunted.

“I don’t beg for nothing,” said Ryan as he glared angrily at Jake, “especially from dickless morons like you.” On any other day, Ryan would never be so confrontational but at that moment, something inside him had snapped. Today was different; he had been experiencing this kind of aggravation for the last four years and normally he would have endured it, unwilling to get into trouble or make a scene. As Jake held his skateboard out, daring him to take it, Ryan realised that he just could not stand by and let people treat him like crap any longer. Balling his fists, his face became red with adrenaline-laced anger and he took a step towards Jake.

“You want this back, you better be prepared to fight for it.” Jake grinned menacingly, confident in the belief that Ryan would back down as usual. “You fucking…” He never finished the sentence because the smaller boy’s right fist slammed into his midriff winding him. Ryan’s left fist followed up with a sharp jab that connected with the side of Jake’s face. Jake staggered back surprised more by the fact that Ryan had actually attacked him than by the force of the blows. “You punched me, you bastard!” The other two boys were similarly shocked by the act and were stunned into inaction as Ryan caught the skateboard when Jake dropped it.

“I’ve been taking shit from you and the other’s since I got here,” Ryan yelled as Jake rubbed his cheek, “You think that just because I’m the new kid, that means it’s open season on me. That ends here, any of you wanna mess with me and I’ll beat the crap out of you. I don’t care if they kick me out of school and move me to another foster family. I ‘aint taking shit from any of you anymore.”

Red-faced, Jake pulled back his fist to launch a punch at Ryan’s face but the sudden sound of a car horn and the screech of tires from further up the road interrupted the brewing fight. Careening out-of-control down the steep and slippery road, the car swerved onto a collision course with the group, the desperate driver wrestling with the steering wheel. Jake’s two lackeys leapt out of the way of the approaching car but as Ryan was about to dive to the side, he saw that Jake was frozen with fear in the vehicle’s path. Without hesitation, he grabbed Jake and shoved him to the side at the last moment. The car slammed into Ryan and its impact forced him up over the bonnet, his head striking the windscreen. As the car crashed into the wall, it broke through its dry stone construction coming to a rest with its front wheels hanging precariously over the edge. Ryan slid down the wet bonnet, sent over the edge of the cliff by the momentum of the impact. Semi-conscious, he plummeted into the water seventy feet below.

The shock of hitting the cold water roused him from his stupor. Disorientated by the impact with the car’s windscreen and the fall into the water, his arms and legs flailed about in a desperate and uncoordinated attempt to keep afloat. Coughing and spluttering, his head repeatedly sank beneath the waves as the strong current pulled him away from the shore.

Back up at the top of the cliff Jake picked himself up off the tarmac, staring incredulously at the wrecked car as the driver staggered out. “Dude, that car almost pasted you!” One of his friends said as he grabbed Jake’s arm to pull him away from the scene.

“Uh, yeah,” he said vacantly, “I thought I was a goner until…” Jake stopped when he saw a school bag pinned crushed underneath the car. “Wait, where’s Ryan?”

“He um, pushed you out of the way and then the car hit him and I think he fell.”

Jake ran over to the wall and looked over the side. He could see Ryan struggling in the water, his panicked attempts to keep afloat already becoming weak. “Christ,” he said quietly, “I don’t think he can swim.”

Ryan was beginning to tire, fatigue from the exertion and lack of oxygen starting to set in. As his strength began to give out, he sank under the surface. Panicking, he thrashed wildly in a desperate attempt to get back to the surface but the more he tried, the faster he tired. Soon, his struggles weakened to the point where he was barely able to move and white sparkles of light were starting to flash across his vision as he ran out of air. “I’m not going to make it,” he realised dimly, his thoughts becoming as sluggish as his attempts to claw his way through the water. Eventually, he could hold his breath no longer and he involuntarily opened his mouth, breathing in the seawater and passing into unconsciousness.

Jake watched as Ryan disappeared under the choppy water, as the seconds dragged on and he did not resurface, a black hole opened in his stomach as he realised that he was watching someone drown. Unwilling to just stand by and watch it happen, he tore down the cliff path. H he knew that jumping from the cliff top would be potential suicide, there were numerous rocks hidden just below the surface of the water at the foot of the cliff. It had been a miracle that Ryan had missed them when he fell. Less than a minute after Ryan had gone under, Jake reached the point where the path turned onto a footbridge that crossed the river before it joined the sea at the harbour entrance. Taking a deep breath, vaulted over the guardrail and dived into the water. Jake was a strong swimmer and he quickly breaststroked to the point where he had seen Ryan go under. Frantically, he ducked under and searched the murky water for Ryan. It took several attempts before he finally located the smaller boy and pulled him to the surface. After making sure the Ryan’s head was above the water, Jake swam towards the quayside where the few fishing remaining fishing boats were moored alongside tour boats and private vessels. He headed towards the stairs that led down to the water, the nearest point where he could exit the water.

When he finally reached the stairs, people were already beginning to crowd the quayside and Jake hoped that one of them had had the foresight to dial 999. A man who looked like a tourist rather than a local helped him up the stairs. “Sarah,” he called out in an American accent, “get the blankets from the trunk.” The man took Ryan’s still form and carried him up the stairs to the quayside. Jake was met at the top of the stairs by blond-haired woman who wrapped the shivering boy in a blanket. Ryan was set down on the concrete floor, his eyes were closed and he was not breathing.

—-

Unseen to anyone, a figure watched the commotion from a distance. It was neither his nondescript attire nor his plain and average features that made him invisible to those around him. He was invisible because he chose to be. Azarin was a Collector, a minion that served one of the many demon lords that ruled the hell dimensions. His role, as his title suggested, was to collect the souls pledged to his lord regardless of whether they had been pledged willingly or not. The demon smiled. Collecting the souls of children was one thing but when they happened to be innocent too; that was just delicious. Scanning the growing crowd, he located his target watching the futile attempts at resuscitation in disbelief. This one had already escaped him once four years ago. This time, he would not be so lucky.

Unlike his physical body, Ryan’s spirit form was bone dry. At first, he couldn’t remember how he had come to be standing on the quayside but watching in horror as his own body was pulled out of the water, the accident and the events that had followed had come flooding back. He suddenly felt light headed, all strength left his knees and it felt like the whole world was spinning rapidly around him. As he bent over the railing, heaving up the contents of his stomach into the harbour water below, he was startled by a voice behind.

“Tough break kid,” it said conversationally, “of all the ways to go; drowning has to rank as one of the worst.” Ryan looked up at the man standing behind him. He was 6 feet in height, almost a full head taller than Ryan’s five-foot-five height and his powerful build made the fourteen-year-old look even smaller in comparison. The man appeared to be in his 30s and had short black hair.

“Are … are you talking to me?” Ryan asked the man, his voice still shaking.

Azarin looked down at him, smiling. “Do you see any other spirits around here?” Ryan looked at him confused.

“Am I dead?” Ryan asked, unsure if he really wanted to know the answer.

The man laughed. “Of course you are. Do you think that being able to look down on your own body while invisible and incorporeal is something a living person could do?” Azarin took the boy by the arm and lifted him to his feet. “Come on, time to go.”

“Go, go where?”

“Where do you think? The afterlife,” Azarin replied beginning to guide Ryan over towards the breakwater on the far side of the quay.

“Hold up,” a suddenly suspicious Ryan said, “just who the hell are you?”

Azarin smiled at the use of H word, “if only he knew,” he thought to himself. “I’m kind of like a guide sent to make sure you go to the right place.”

“Which is where exactly?”

“I suppose you could call it heaven,” Azarin lied, “it’s not quite how the scriptures describe but the idea is essentially the same. Besides, there are some people waiting for you there. Your mother and father I believe.” Ahead of them, a soft white glow had started to coalesce.

Looking up, Ryan saw only an honest face with kind eyes but Ryan had learned the hard way that people couldn’t be trusted, especially the honest looking ones. There was something about the man that made him uneasy. It was almost as if he was trying too hard to convince him. As they walked away from the crowd, Ryan looked back. “If I’m already dead, why is that man still using CPR?”

“Because humans have a hard time accepting death,” Azarin said tersely, “now hurry up, heaven won’t wait forever.”

“But,” Ryan said stopping and stepping away from Azarin, “he says I’ve got a pulse! How can I be dead if my heart is still beating?”

Azarin stopped and glared at the boy, his face smouldering. He grabbed the boy’s arm and dragged him roughly towards the swirling light on the breakwater. Screaming for help, he tried to pull away but Azarin was too strong and his grip tight enough to leave a bruise. “I fucking hate kids,” he snapped, “especially smart fuckers. You bastards never make it easy.”

“Help!” Ryan screamed in panic as he stumbled.

“Can it,” Azarin yelled half-pulling, half-dragging Ryan to his feet. “You’ll have plenty of time to scream where you’re going. That plane makes the sanitized place you call Hell look like Disney Land.” He stopped short of the glow and waved his free hand towards it. The soft light flared and erupted into fire. Angry red flames forming an oval ring of fire surrounding a black void, rippling like liquid as the light breeze blew across it.

When Ryan saw the flames, he froze in fear, forgetting his current situation. After the night when he had nearly burned to death four years ago, Ryan had been terrified of fire. Azarin picked up the petrified boy by the scruff of his neck and prepared to throw him into the portal. As he stood there, poised to throw, a white streak swept in front of him. It sliced across the portal, extinguishing the flames and dissipating the black void. The demon howled in rage and span around seeking the source of the streak.

Standing a short distance away was another man. The newcomer brushed his long chestnut hair out his face with one hand and caught a boomerang-like double-bladed weapon with the other. The weapon crackled with white liquid energy. He was younger than Azarin, probably not much older than 20. “Put the kid down demon,” he said with a cocky smirk.

“Who’s going to make me? A runt like you?” Azarin asked contemptuously.

“The name’s Daniel,” the newcomer said with a slight sarcastic bow, “and yeah, I’ll make you.”

Azarin sneered and threw Ryan to the floor. He landed roughly, smacking against the metal railings. Before he could recover, a wall of fire erupted around him cutting across the entire width of the breakwater. With fire in front and deep water behind, Ryan was trapped with no route of escape. “The boy belongs to my lord, he is soul pledged to him and there is nothing you can do about it. His blood was spilled with a blessed knife and by the terms of the deal his brother struck with my lord; this boy’s soul is forfeit upon his death.” Azarin flicked his wrists and two large swords appeared in his hands, their blades were wreathed in flames.

Daniel slowly walked towards Azarin, his boomerang splitting into two knifes, each crackling with liquid energy. “This boy is an innocent and you’re not taking him.” He charged forward, leaping at Azarin. The demon took a step back, crossing his swords in front of him as Daniel struck. Their blades connected and sent streamers of energy and sparks flying. Azarin pressed forward, his superior size and strength a clear advantage in the battle. Daniel was forced back, straining to hold his ground. His heart was racing, fear surging through him. He knew that he was no match for the demon, his training had not been completed but he had little choice but to fight. The demon thrusted forward, his left sword batting aside Daniel’s blades while his right slashed at Daniel’s chest. The younger man may not have been as strong as Azarin but he was faster. He saw the strike coming and twisted around the flaming blade. Azarin’s move had left his left side open to attack and Daniel seized the opportunity, raking the demon’s side with his blades. Hissing at the sudden pain, Azarin lashed out with his fist, striking the side of Daniels head. He rolled with the punch, moving swiftly around the demon and leaping onto his back. Azarin reached behind him, grabbed Daniel by the head, and flung him to the floor in front of him. Daniel grunted as he struck the ground and was unable to roll away when Azarin kicked him in the chest forcing him to drop his blades. The demon kicked him several times before picking him up and staring him in the face.

“In what world, did you ever think you had a hope in defeating me?” The demon sneered.

Daniel laughed painfully. “What makes you think I was trying to beat you?” He spat a glob of blood onto the pavement. “Crap, even in the spirit world this shit still hurts. I was just hoping to distract you long enough.”

Azarin looked at him confused. Then his eyes widened in realisation and he looked over to where he had left Ryan only to find the boy gone. “Dammit!” He yelled and turned back to Daniel to deal a killing blow. Daniel, however, merely smiled and waved goodbye as he faded from view, leaving Azarin holding nothing but air. The demon cursed, ranting and raving. Glancing around, he could see no sign of the Ryan’s spirit. Fuming, he reopened the portal. The boy had again avoided his fate; his master would not be in a good mood.

By now, paramedics had arrived and begun treating Ryan. His eye’s briefly fluttered open for a second before lapsed back into unconsciousness. Wasting no time, they loaded him into an ambulance for the 16-mile drive to Derriford, the nearest hospital with an A&E department. As the ambulance left, its sirens blaring, a policeman walked over to where Jake was sitting on a bench, shivering in his damp clothes. He sat down next to Jake and pulled him into a hug. “Let’s get you home and out of those wet clothes son.”

Jake smiled weakly and nodded. “Dad, I need a favour.”

—-

It had been over an hour since Susan and Anthony Johnson had arrived at the hospital. Over an hour since the police had turned up on their doorstep with the news that one of their foster children had been rushed to hospital. They had dropped everything, got in the car, and driven down to the hospital with their other foster child, twelve-year-old Trey Bennet in the back seat. The drive had taken nearly half-an-hour on the twisty Cornish roads but eventually they had reached Derriford.

They had been sitting in the relatives’ room since they had arrived waiting for a doctor. Trey was sitting in a chair, hugging his hitched up knees. Susan was next to him, her arm around his shoulder. The two boys had only known each other for a month, but in sharing a bedroom, they had both discovered each other’s love of comic books. A connection had been forged between them as they had argued over who made the best comics, Marvel or DC.

A doctor entered the room and looked over at the couple. “Mr and Mrs Johnson?” He asked.

They nodded in response and Anthony got up, walking over to the doctor. “Yes, how’s Ryan doctor? No one seems able to tell us anything.”

“Ryan was in a serious accident,” he explained sitting down in chair he pulled over to the couple, “he took a nasty blow to the head when the car hit him and was unconscious when he was pulled from the water. He briefly regained consciousness when the paramedics arrived but lost consciousness soon after. Ryan’s a lucky boy, if hadn’t received first aid when he did, things could have been a lot worse.” He didn’t need to say just how bad it could have been. “As it is, apart from a few cuts and bruises he’s in good shape.”

“So he’s gonna be ok?” Trey asked.

The doctor looked over at the boy and nodded. “He woke up a few minutes ago, he’s still a little woozy but that’s to be expected. We’ll be keeping him in overnight for observation but I see no reason why he shouldn’t be able to go home tomorrow.”

“Can we go in and see him doctor?”

“Sure, follow me.” The doctor led them through the hospital corridors to the room where Ryan was lying in bed. There was a bandage across his forehead and the doctor explained that he’d needed a few stitches.

As they entered the room, Ryan’s eyes flicked over to the door and he smiled weakly. Trey ran over to the side of the bed with a concerned look. “You look terrible.” Ryan laughed, wincing slightly at the unexpected pain in produced.

Ryan’s foster parents joined Trey by the bed looking relieved that he appeared to be ok. “Hey champ, how do you feel?” Asked Anthony.

“Like I went five rounds with Hatton.”

Susan brushed a few stray hairs out of his face. “We’re glad you’re ok, you had us worried.”

“I brought you this,” Trey said holding out a small package, crudely wrapped in wrapping paper. “Happy birthday,” he said as Ryan took it.

“I … I thought no one remembered,” he answered.

“Of course we remembered, we wouldn’t forget something like that.” Susan said.

“But I…”

Anthony put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “You were up so early this morning and in such a hurry that you left before we could say anything.”

“You gonna open it or what?” Trey asked impatiently. Ryan ripped off the wrapping paper to reveal a stack of comic books. Flicking through them, he realised that they were all issues of his favourite comics that he was missing.

“Thanks, I mean it.” He reached over and ruffled the younger boy’s hair, something he knew Trey hated. Trey batted and slapped at Ryan’s arm who laughed warmly.

“Ow, hit a man when he’s down why don’t you.”

Ryan’s Story – The Incident

WARNING: This story includes incest, the rape of a small child and murder. If you are easily offended, do yourself a favour and don’ read any further.

Ryan awoke with a start, dragged prematurely from his dreams for some unknown reason. His room was dark, the moonlight filtering in through the small window and casting a square of illumination on his prized SpongeBob poster. When he looked over at the radio by his bed, he saw that it had only just gone midnight. Sleepily, he lay back in his bed and tried to get back to sleep. Just as he was about to drop off, he heard a sound from downstairs. It sounded like something falling to the floor followed by a muffled cry that was cut short. Sitting upright now, he listened carefully and could just about hear voices from the living room below. He couldn’t make out what they were saying but he could tell that the tone was harsh. Slowly he got out of bed, making sure not to make the floorboards creak beneath him as he walked. Ryan picked up the plastic hockey stick that he had received for this tenth birthday last month and quietly opened his bedroom door. A voice in the back of his head was warning him of danger, warning him to go and hide but he was too young to understand what it was saying.

Across the landing, the door to his parents’ bedroom was open. Light from the streetlights outside cast an orange glow into the room and he saw that the bedcovers had been wildly thrown aside. There were small sticky spots on the carpet creating a trail towards the stairs down. Ryan, only ten, was only dimly aware that they were blood stains as he crept down the hallway to the stairs, passing the closed door to his older brother’s room. He paused for a second before remembering that Mark was spending the night at a friend’s house. As he reached the top of the stairs, harsh laughter barked from the living room followed by a muffled scream. “Mum?” the boy asked quietly, grasping the hockey stick like a weapon.

A figure stepped out of the living room and stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up Ryan. The figure was 5’9” and dressed from head-to-toe in black. Black pants, black hooded sweatshirt, and a black balaclava mask hiding his face. He was holding a vicious looking combat knife, its 12-inch blade slick with blood. The figure’s front was covered with something that glistened in the light from the living room. As their eyes met, Ryan realised that the substance on the figure’s front was blood. A wet patch appeared on Ryan’s pyjama bottoms as he lost control of his bladder. The figure took a step up the stairs, Ryan’s bravery broke and he dropped the hockey stick, fleeing towards his bedroom. Behind him, he could hear the figure thundering up the stairs.

The boy ran into his bedroom, intent on escaping through the window by climbing out onto the roof of the garage and jumping down to the ground. However, the small boy could only run so fast and before he had even got more than a foot into the room, he was tackled from behind. Ryan was shoved against the wall and then to the floor, kicking and screaming. In the commotion, a picture was knocked off the wall, the glass breaking as it hit the floor. “Mumdadhelpgetoffmehelp.” A gloved hand clamped itself across his mouth, silencing his cries for help. Ryan punched at the figure’s face and kicked him in the groin. The figure grunted, releasing Ryan who tried to scramble to his feet but didn’t get far. Growling angrily, the figure grabbed Ryan by the throat, squeezing and cutting off the air to his lungs. Ryan brought his small hands up the figure’s wrists, trying to loosen the grip, but it was no use, he wasn’t strong enough. In desperation, he beat ineffectually at the figure, only ceasing when his vision started to cloud and his arms fell limply to his sides. Mercifully, the figure released his grip on the boy’s throat, dropping Ryan to the floor. Barely able to maintain consciousness, he was unable to resist as he was picked up and thrown roughly onto his bed. Ryan heard the sound of something ripping and felt his hands been pulled behind him and taped together at the wrists. Another piece of tape was wrapped across his mouth, gagging him.

Lying there, terrified breaths rasping through his nose, he could feel the menacing presence of the figure standing above him. For a few brief seconds, Ryan wondered what the figure was waiting for and then he got his answer. Rough hands dragged his pants down to his ankles and forced his legs apart. His strength returning, Ryan tried to crawl away across the bed only to be dragged back by his ankle. He heard a zip being undone as the figure pulled his own pants and boxers down. Ryan’s green eyes widened in horror, and his breaths became fast and ragged as the he saw the figure’s already erect penis. The figure wasted no time and flipped the boy onto his stomach. Strong hands gripped him, holding him down. Ryan closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face and soaking into the mattress as he wished with every fibre of his soul that his older brother would come home and save him. The bed dipped as the figure knelt astride the boy and then, without any warning, the figure’s penis slammed into his anus and Ryan screamed. The tape across his mouth muffled any cries but he didn’t care, he screamed until he became hoarse. The figure suddenly pulled out until only the tip was inside and then he slammed back in again, just as roughly as before. Ryan screamed again, his cries ragged as the figure began to thrust in and out of the boy. Unable to move under the figure’s grip as he lay beneath him, Ryan could only lie there and pray that it would be over soon. The figure did not pay attention to the boy’s screams as the thrusted harder and harder as he came to a climax. His semen spilled into Ryan, further lubricating his bleeding anus. Taking advantage of this, the man thrusted into him harder than ever, enjoying the sounds of the boy’s screams. Finally, the figure exited the broken ten-year old and pulled his pants up. Ryan lay there quietly crying into the mattress, the tape across his mouth muffling his sobs.

The figure grabbed Ryan by the collar of his t-shirt and pulled him to his feet. Ryan was he was half-dragged down the stairs and into the living room. Through tear-blurred eyes, he saw another person, his face concealed by a scarf standing over his naked mother, pulling up a pair of ratty long shorts. “Dude,” the person said as he saw Ryan dragged into the room, “what took you so long?” The person sounded young, probably no more than 16 or 17. “Oh, had a bit of fun with the runt eh.” The youth said when he saw the blood dribbling down the back of Ryan’s legs. Ryan was allowed to fall onto the floor and he curled up, whimpering softly. Looking over towards his mother, he saw her lifeless eyes staring vacantly into space. A pool of blood was slowly forming around her head, forming from the blood leaking from a cut across her neck. Next to her lay his father, dead from cut across his neck that had almost decapitated him.

The youth walked over to Ryan and kneeling down on one knew, yanking the boy up by his hair. Looking over to his companion who walked up behind him, he picked up a knife. “You were right, he is cute.” He dragged the flat of the blade softly across the boy’s throat. Ryan had retreated into a dark place in his mind unable to cope, virtually insensate to what was happening around him. “You remember the deal right? I get to bang him and gut him before you do that ritual thing.”

“Actually,” said his partner, the familiar sound of his voice causing Ryan to open his eyes. “There was something I forget tell you.” He grabbed the youth’s head and pulled it back baring his throat. In one swift motion his combat knife slashed across the youth’s throat spraying Ryan in the face with his blood. The youth fell to the floor twitching as he died. “The ritual requires the slaying of one’s best friend as well as his family.”

Ryan had trouble accepting what he was hearing as the figure bent down next to the cowering boy and looked into his confused eyes. He shook the hood off his head and pulled the balaclava up revealing the face of his 17-year-old brother.

“Mark!” Ryan cried from behind the tape as he tried to wriggle backwards. His brother looked down at him, a thing smile of contempt on his face. Ryan’s mind raced as the full horror of his brother’s betrayal crashed down on him. He became light headed; the room spinning as Mark grabbed his hair and pulled him into a standing position. Positioning himself behind Ryan, Mark whispered into his ear.

“You were always a whiney little bitch.” Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan saw the light glint off the blade as the bloodied knife was brought to his throat. Screaming, Ryan closed his eyes as he felt the sharp blade of the knife pierce into the flesh of his neck, slicing across it and tearing the skin. Mark dropped his younger brother onto the floor, laughing coldly as the boy’s blood began to soak into the carpet. As the blackness closed and he passed out, Ryan felt himself dragged roughly across the floor. Then he felt nothing.

Ryan’s eyes opened sometime later and he found himself lying on the floor of his parents’ bedroom. The cut across his neck had not been deep enough to kill him outright but had had lost a lot of blood and was still bleeding. He was woozy from the blood-loss as he tried to sit up and failed. Listening intently, he couldn’t hear his brother anywhere near, only the faint sound of crackling. From where he was lying, he could see the bodies of his parents. He could also the body of the youth that Mark had killed. For some reason he had been redressed in some of Mark’s clothes, his hands bound with tape and gagged. The crackling sound was growing louder and the floor was getting warmer. There was also a strange smell, barely masked by what Ryan suddenly recognised as the smell of burning. It took a few seconds but he eventually recognised the strange odour as the smell of petrol. As he became more alert, he realised with a start that the floor was soaked in it and so was he.

With renewed strength, Ryan struggled to his feet and staggered over to the bedroom door. Using his elbows, he clumsily opened the door only to be assailed by the heat and smoke wafting up the stairs. Coughing, he made for the stairs. The stairs were already engulfed by fire and the flames were rapidly clawing their way up towards the first floor. Ryan was overcome by the heat and smoke, falling back against the wall. Lying on the floor, he gasped for air and started to feel darkness close in as he drifted into unconsciousness. However, the boy fought against it, forcing the blackness back out his vision. He vowed to himself that he wouldn’t give in; that he would survive to tell someone what had happened.

Crawling along the floor, he made it into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. With his hands bound behind his back, he knew he wasn’t going to get far. A piece of glass from the broken picture frame cracked under his knee, slightly cutting it. Realising that this might be his chance, he grasped the piece of glass and carefully began to cut at the tape. It took several minutes for him to cut the tape and by the time he was done his wrists were slicked with blood from small cuts caused by the glass shard. Ripping off the tape gag, he rushed over to the window. By now, smoke was filling his room and the paint on the door was starting to bubble from the intense heat on the other side. Ryan could see the orange glow of fire under the door jam, and little licks of flame were starting to leak around the sides. To his horror, he found the window was locked, a security bolt preventing him from opening it. It was getting difficult to breath, the heat in the room was soaring and the smoke caused coughing fits strong enough to make white light dance in front of his eyes with each cough. In panic, he looked around his room for something heavy, and in desperation, he picked up the Playstation and started beating on the window. It took several attempts but eventually the glass shattered

The cool night air flooded into the room as he climbed out on the garage roof, cutting his palms and knees in the process. At this point, the fire in the house flashed-over, exploding outwards and consuming the main structure in a fireball. Ryan was flung from the roof of the garage by the blast and into the garden where he lay dazed for several seconds. As he started crawling towards the road, he could hear sirens. The blue flashing lights illuminating the neighbourhood. As he passed out, Ryan felt gently hands pick him up and begin to carry him away from the house.

Dark Hawaii: Yamada Kai

Type: Hero
Life Points: 40
Drama Points: 10Attributes
Strength 3
Dexterity 4
Constitution 3
Intelligence 5
Perception 4
Willpower 4

Skills
Acrobatics 5
Art 6
Crime 4
Doctor 2
Knowledge 2
Kung Fu 5
Languages 2
Notice 3
Occultism 2
Sports 4

Qualities
Attractiveness 1 (1pt), Artist (2pts), Nerves of Steel (3pts), Photographic Memory (2pts), Spirit Medium (2pts), Criminal (2pts), Contacts (2pts), Hard to Kill 2 (2pts), Sorcery 1 (5pts)

Drawbacks
Misfit (2pts), Teenager (2pts), Secret – Off his meds (2pts), Claustrophobia (2pts), Reckless (2pts), Adversary (2pt), Dependent (2pt)

Notes & Modifiers
Languages: English, Japanese, Hawaiian
Contacts (2pt): Local tagger community
Adversary (2pt): Local gang
Dependent (2pt): Yamada Kiba (younger brother)

Character Data
Strengths: The ability to see and talk to spirits. Relatively fearless, even in the face of supernatural horror.
Weaknesses: Claustrophobia and recklessness
Role Within Group: Combat support and non-conventional weapons specialist (magic user)
Short-Term Goals: Prove that he can take care of himself
Long-Term Goals: Not end up like the guy from The Frighteners

Appearance
At just over 1.75m (5’9”) tall, Kai weighs 72.5 kilos (160lbs). He has a slight build, but not scrawny, with dark skin. Clean shaven, his hair is usually scruffy in the “I can’t be bothered” style and is murky blond in colour. Kai’s eyes are brown in colour.
Tattooed on his forearms, Kai as the kanji symbol for courage. Kai did them himself sometime after his sixteenth birthday. This act did not go down well with his parents but they eventually dropped the matter. Kai also has a single earring in his right eye.
Clothing wise, Kai prefers loose fitting garments that are easier to move around on. He tends to wear baggy jeans and a short sleeved t-shirt. When studying or tagging, Kai keeps his “art supplies” in a small backpack which has a couple of karabiners attached. A headband is used to keep his hair out of his eyes. Kai also wears his brother’s dog tags.

Possessions
Skateboard, cell phone/MP3 player, spray cans, markers, sketchpad, backpack, brothers dog-tags, cheap laptop, medication

Family
Kai’s father (Yoshida) and paternal grandparents moved to Hawaii from Japan in 1968 at aged 15. Nine years later he met his future wife (Liana, a native Hawaiian) and married two years later. Kai’s recklessness and rebellious attitude has strained the relationship with his father over recent years. The relationship with his mother is better. She was the one who persuaded his father to allow him to study art at university instead of something “more useful”. Or in her own words “let him study something that loves and is good at rather than force him to something you want and he’ll hate.” Yoshida currently is a freelance computer engineer and works on a number of government contracts at Pearl Harbour nava base. Liana runs a restaurant in a hotel on Maui.
Kai has two sisters (Keiko 7, Hinata 24) and one brother (Kiba 12). Apart from his brother, Kai is not particularly close to any of his siblings. Kiba looks up to his older brother and, to his parent’s dismay, has begun to take after him. Kai feels protective towards Kiba and in a rare case of responsibility, has been conscious of the way he acts around him. Hinata currently works as a teacher in Tokyo teaching English.
Kai did at one time have an older brother. Lee was the eldest child in the family, born in 1980. The two were pretty close despite the 9 year age gap and Kai looked up to his brother. Lee enlisted in the US Navy pilot straight out of high school. Unfortunately, in 2002 his helicopter crashed during a training mission with the loss of all aboard. Kai now wears his brothers dog tags.

Friends & Enemies
Being able to see ghosts is not a fast track to friends and fortune. Consequently being the “weird kid” meant Kai did not make friends easy. After nearly getting expelled from junior high spraying graffiti on the side of the gym, Kai began to make friends in the local tagger community.
Since moving to Honolulu to attend university, Kai has made a couple of close friends. Shortly after arriving, Kai was involved in a “Tag War” with another tagger he knew only by his handle. For two months the two competed until one night they both attempted to tag the same new highway bridge. His opponent and rival turned out to be a fellow student at the university by the name of Tobi Stevens. Tobi in fact took the same classes as Kai and the two soon became good friends.
Unfortunately, Kai has attracted the attention of one of the local gangs and for some reason they have it in for him.

Character History
Born on the 16th May 1989, from a very early age, Kai has always been able to see and hear spirits. To Kai, this has been a natural part of his life and never considered it unusual. His parents initially considered it harmless. After all, lots of kids his age have imaginary friends.
As time passed, Kai’s parents soon became concerned. Kai’s behaviour and personality were becoming increasingly erratic. At age 8, he was taken to a child psychologist who diagnosed Kai with a rare mental condition. Kai’s insistence that he could see ghosts was dismissed as nothing more than a combination of delusions and hallucination’s. He assured Kai’s parents that the problem could easily be treated by medication and therapy.
Of course, Kai’s medium abilities were not the result of a mental illness and as such the drugs would prove to be ineffective.
Over the next four years, Kai was forced to take an ever stronger series of drug combinations in an effort to suppress his abilities. Nothing seemed to work, so every few months, the doctors would try something new. The side effects got worse with each new combination. Loss of appetite, mood swings, headaches, nausea and an inability to concentrate or focus on specific tasks. By the time he was twelve, he was failing at school, isolated from other kids his age and was absent from school more than half the time.
After his twelfth birthday, he was placed on yet another drug combination. This time the side-effects were more than he could bear. He was unable to keep any food down and could not sleep for more than twenty minutes at a time. However, for the first time drugs affect his ghost sight. Normally he was only able to see ghosts and spirits. But after just a single dose of the drugs, his perceptions were pushed beyond the mortal world to some other place. This place was inhabited by strange beings that Kai new instinctively were evil. What’s more they seemed to notice and resent Kai’s intrusion into their realm.
Thankfully, the experience lasted only a few minutes but it was enough. He knew that if things continued the way they were, the drugs would either end up killing him or driving him insane. He had to stop taking them but he also knew that if he did and was found out, things could get very messy.
Kai began to fake the symptoms of the side effects while flushing the pills he was supposed to take down the toilet. Over a number weeks he toned down the drugs supposed side effects, pretending that his body was becoming used to them. Realising that unless people believed the drugs were working he would eventually be put on new ones, or even put in a hospital, he decided to pretend that the drugs were suppressing his abilities.
Since then he has successfully deceived both his family and his doctors. Something that he is not proud of in anyway but is necessary to his survival.
Kai took Lee’s death badly. He went off the rails, staying out over night, vandalising public buildings and hanging out with the wrong crowd. For a few years it seemed he was heading down a self destructive path. But after a getting in trouble with the police a few times, and concerned about how he might be affecting his little brother, Kai straightened himself out. Despite a shaky start to high school, he settled down (for the most part) and graduated.
He hasn’t completely calmed down and still has a wild side. Despite having an undeserved reputation as a slacker and a troublemaker, he is a hardworking student that always completes his class assignments on time.

Blogged with Flock