Page 2

2

GHOST VAMPIRE

I stand at the bus stop by Melinda’s office building, looking at the digital screen inside the shelter. I have six minutes until the 134 to Muswell Hill arrives and takes me back to my house, my parents, my brother and our typically formal family dinner, which I cannot be late for. I can’t have them worrying about me. Not any more.

This means I only have six minutes to commit my ruthless act.

I’m going to rob someone.

I’m going to rob them, using force if necessary. Take something of value that they desperately need and will struggle without – they have to struggle, that’s vital. Its loss must result in pain and misery – also vital. And I do not have good intentions.

Yes, people can steal and have good intentions. Robin Hood, Aladdin (the Disney version – God, I really fancied him when I was younger). Alas, tonight I will not be joining them in their honourable thieving ways. Tonight I must inflict suffering. (I did fancy Disney Robin Hood too, come to think of it. But that was a cartoon fox so probably best not unpack that now. I’ll save it for Melinda. She’ll love it.)

Just to be clear, this isn’t some mindless game. I do have intentions – they’re just not good ones. I intend to sit and observe my victim from a few seats back on the bus as they realise what’s happened and quietly watch their distress unfold.

The screen is saying five minutes now. I scan my eyes over the people congregating at the bus stop, looking for a potential target. I do know this is not a decent or acceptable thing to do. But that’s the whole point. Before everything last year, this would not be happening. None of this would.

This isn’t just senseless cruelty. It’s a little side project, if you will, to go along with all the therapy. It has a purpose. More of a purpose than the sessions with Melinda, but I won’t tell her that. She thinks she’s doing great and I’d like to keep it that way because I’ve been lying to her. I’m not as recovered as she thinks I am. I really hate that word, recovered .

Anyway, I’ve decided I’ll steal a phone.

I’d initially thought a wallet, because driver’s licence, bank cards, cash – all things a person needs. But a phone has everyone’s everything on it. And, most importantly, their means to call for help. A phone will do more damage. Yes. This is the level of suffering I must aim for.

I appreciate this might all sound a little … overly thought out. A little … (I’m cautious to use the word because it’s a bit serial killer-y, but hey) premeditated. Well, that’s because it is.

A few people catch my eye. A few potential targets. I try not to stare at them as I’ve been told I can appear creepy. I dyed my hair bright pink last week in an attempt to subdue the creepiness after what that guy at work said, but it only made things worse. Mum had a meltdown and told me I couldn’t leave the house until I sorted it out, so I took a pair of scissors to it. Now it’s all different lengths and the dye has left drip marks down my forehead that I can’t get off. It has a red glow like blood and I must admit I do look a bit mental.

Four minutes now.

I see an old lady with an umbrella. She blinks into the rain and I think: maybe . She’ll be scared and stranded without her phone. This is the hallmark of a good target. I have found Option One.

I then see a mother with a toddler on her hip, pulling at her hair. She’d also make a good target because, well, the child. Option Two.

I see two boys – all gelled hair and Adidas tracksuits – probably about fourteen. They’re sitting on the plastic bench inside the shelter, laughing at something on one of their phones. Hmm. Perhaps. I squint through the pane of glass behind them to see they’re watching a TikTok of a man’s face being slapped repeatedly by a piece of fried chicken. My forehead accidentally touches the glass, making a soft thud directly behind their heads. Oops.

They both turn. Their laughter stops. They stand.

‘What the hell?’ one of them says. For a moment he doesn’t know what to do so he just spits on the floor. I think it’s his way of telling me without using words that although he’s just hitting puberty, he’s absolutely terrifying. He’s even sporting a little fluffy tash on his top lip, bless him.

‘A mistake,’ I mutter.

‘I bet you were,’ says the other. It’s actually quite a good comeback for someone who hasn’t fully grown into his arms yet.

His mate doesn’t get the joke but laughs anyway. ‘You gay or summat?’

I am, but it’s strange for him to have got that from just my head at a bus stop. He smacks his hand on the glass right in front of my face. It doesn’t scare me. Damn it.

‘What you staring at? You wanna be slapped like that, do you? You like that shit?’

I decide not to answer. I just continue to stare through the glass.

‘Hellooo?’ The long-armed one waves at me like I’m stupid. ‘You dumb? Or just some kind of ghost vampire?’

Ghost vampire? Um. Yes, please. I smile in a way I think a ghost vampire would.

‘Freak,’ the tashed one says, putting up his middle finger.

I sigh, clouding up the glass. Nope. Stealing their phone would not elicit the response I need because they are, clearly, two little pricks. This means they cannot be an option. Taking their phone would probably do the world a favour. The more vulnerable the better.

I glance at the screen. Three minutes now. Time is ticking.

I perch on the bin and watch the little old lady trying to read the digital board. Maybe Option One is the best option. It often is.

‘Three minutes,’ I say.

She turns. ‘Sorry?’

‘It’s coming in three minutes. The 134.’

‘Does that one go to Archway?’

‘It does.’

‘Oh, good. Thank you.’

Her eyes hover over my forehead. She frowns. ‘What’s wrong with your head, young man?’

Now there’s a question. ‘It’s nothing.’ I smile. ‘Hair dye.’

‘No, the … thing.’ She points to my temple, tracing a little line through the air with her finger. Oh, she means the scar.

‘I was bitten by a shark.’ The scar looks worse than it is because the pink dye has seeped into it, so she might believe me.

‘In the h-h-head?’ the old lady stammers.

‘Right in the head.’

She pulls a face at me like how awful . She then quickly turns to face the road and stands resolutely, holding her umbrella like a weapon. She should probably use it. Not to hit me with – it’s pissing it down and she’s getting wet. I kick the bin with my heel.

Two minutes. Not long now. I look for other options.

I see a man in an expensive coat and shiny, pointed shoes. He’ll probably have a replacement phone and definitely has the resources to get another quickly. Losing it will mean nothing to him. I watch a man in gym gear shovel a sandwich into his mouth as if it’ll disintegrate in the rain if he doesn’t finish it in three seconds flat. I can see his muscles through his tight fluorescent T-shirt. No, I can’t die tonight.

There’s only really Option One: nice old lady, and Option Two: mum with child.

And then I see her.

A girl. Probably my age, a little older at a push, leaning back against the wall next to the entrance of Burger King. She’s wearing a pair of purple wireless earbuds and is nodding along to her music with her eyes closed.

I think she’s probably an art student. She looks cool in an effortless way – fishnet tights, oversized checked shirt and Docs – like she has a bit of an edge to her but doesn’t really care much about the world outside her own head. (I could like this girl if I didn’t have such bad intentions.) I clock her purple phone case sticking out of the pocket of her denim jacket.

Hello, my target.

OK, that sounded a bit Gollum-like. I’m not going to eat her, don’t worry.

I look back at the screen. One minute. The time is upon us.

I keep my eyes down on the wet pavement as I hop off the bin and move towards the wall until I’m a metre or so away from her. I lean back and put my foot up against it so my leg is angled. Casual.

I glance at her. I like her thick eyeliner. And I’ve just bought a pair of Docs that are very similar to hers. We really could have been friends. Shame.

Her eyes are still closed.

I edge along the wall. Other people are gathering now, appearing from nowhere like they have inbuilt bus-tracking systems. A small crowd forms around us. Useful.

I look down the road. The 134, a red double-decker, is moving towards us.

A car drives past and splashes everyone. The noise of Gym Guy shouting you bastard makes my target look up. She removes her earbuds and puts them in her pocket with her phone.

As the 134 pulls up, she takes a step forwards and I follow. People push into us, squeezing together.

I move my hand. Put my fingers around the phone. Steady now. Gently.

She turns her head to the bus.

Do it. Take it .

And then it’s out. It’s free. As I slip it into the pocket of my jeans, I realise I’m holding my breath. I feel something. Adrenaline, maybe. A strange buzzing somewhere. A thrill .

Earbuds now? Fuck it, why not? They looked expensive.

I wait for the right moment. Until the crowd begins to push again. I then slide my hand back into her pocket. Just as my fingertips brush against the earbuds, the man behind shoves into me, slamming me right into the girl’s back.

She turns. Looks directly at me, our faces inches apart.

Not good. My hand is still in her pocket. Casual. Casual . ‘Hi,’ I say.

She frowns. She looks angry. Does she know? Shit.

The man pushes again, pinning us together.

The girl turns her head to him. ‘Leave off!’

‘It’s not my bloody fault,’ the man growls. ‘Moody cow.’

OK. Now. I clench my hand and pull. One swift movement.

‘Prick,’ the girl mutters, shaking her head.

I keep my fist balled up, the earbuds inside it. OK, that was risky. Risky, risky, risky .

I feel a tingling in my skin. A buzzing in my head. A rush.

‘What a tosser,’ I say.

The corners of her mouth turn up. I made her smile. I made the girl I just robbed smile.

Don’t get cocky now.

The queue in front of us is filing into the bus. We’re still pressed together, just behind the old lady who’s shuffling towards the doors. Suddenly my victim steps forwards and takes her by the arm. The lady looks startled at first until she realises she’s being helped on to the bus by a smiling young woman. I step back, ready to lose myself in the crowd. Nearly there.

But then the girl turns and looks directly at me. ‘Could you help us?’

‘Um…’ Do it. Pretend to be nice. ‘Sure.’

I step towards them, smiling like a good Samaritan might, and take the old lady’s other arm. As I do, she glances up at me. She looks scared. ‘You’re the young man who got bitten by a shark.’

The girl narrows her eyes.

‘That’s me,’ I say, still smiling. I glance at my victim and pull a face. This woman might be a bit off her trolley, the little love .

The girl smiles again. Wow. I’m so good at this.

When we reach the driver’s window, the old lady begins to root through her purse, struggling to find her pass. She drops it.

I instinctively reach down to pick it up, opening my hand as I do.

Oh, shit. Rookie mistake. The purple earbuds fall out and clatter across the floor.

I freeze. Not good, not good, not good.

‘Hold on…’

I gaze up at my victim. She’s staring at the earbuds, momentarily confused. She then pats her pocket where her phone was. She looks at me and her mouth drops open.

OK. Time to bail. Bye.

I turn and hurl myself at the queue of people still waiting to board the bus.

‘Stop him!’ the girl screams.

I shove myself into the throng of bodies, colliding with a sea of limbs, bags and umbrellas. As I force my way through the gaps, I can still hear the girl shouting.

A man grabs my arm, gripping my sleeve tight. Shit, shit, shitting shit.

I yank myself free, pushing forwards, dodging more hands, more limbs. Move, move, move.

I see a space in front of me and stumble towards it. Then I run. I run like I’ve never run before.

I can hear something behind me. Feet pounding right at my heels. Someone, the girl, screaming for me to stop. I glance over my shoulder and she’s right there.

Shit, bollocks, shit. I take a sudden left turn, down a side alley.

I twist through the backstreets, chest heaving, ears ringing, rain ripping into my eyes, the pavement blurring. I run until everything turns into an endless grey streak. Until my body hurts. Until I find myself halfway down a narrow passageway between two buildings.

I glance up and down it. Have I lost her?

I duck into a doorway surrounded by bins. Silence. Apart from the rain.

I take the girl’s phone out of my pocket. The case is covered with stickers, all overlapping. As I turn it around in my hands, I notice they’re trembling. Time to deduce an outcome.

I focus on what I have done. On my ruthless act. And I wait.

But nothing comes.

More. I need more .

I close my eyes and picture the girl. I see her crying, asking for help, desperate to get home because … her mother is sick. Yes. Her mother is dying. That’s good. And … she’s poor. Desperate. Working every day to pay her phone bill. Her dying mother bought her this phone. Brilliant.

Nope. Still nothing.

Come on.

I click the side button and the phone lights up. The song she was listening to is now paused.

NISHA’S PLAYLIST

Nisha. That’s a nice name.

DREAM 1 (before the wind blows it all away) [Pt.1] MAX RICHTER

Never heard of it. But actually, this might help. Yes. Good. Ambience .

I tap the screen and music starts to play. Soft and gentle. A piano. Not what I expected. I thought something angsty, but this is all rousing and stirring.

I hold the phone close to my chest and feel the vibrations of the music against my jumper. I let it move into my body. Let the music surround me.

Come on. Please, please, please.

I close my eyes again. I can feel my heart thrumming in my blood. And then, something happens. A memory flashes in front of me.

I’m in the garden back in our old cottage in Lewes, before we moved to London last year. Before everything happened. It’s night-time. Music is playing from inside the house, this music. Dad is with me on the lawn. Mum too, standing under the patio security light. Dad looks angry. And I can hear Mum crying, sobbing…

That’s … new. And not at all what I was after.

I still feel nothing. Empty. Numb.

My premeditated act has failed. I have failed.

As I stand in a doorway in a dark alley surrounded by bins with a phone that’s not mine, I must deduce this:

I am totally and utterly broken.