I go back to my house, it's easier that way, and step out again in a place on the outskirts of London. I walk across the bridge to the edge of an abandoned industrial estate with dilapidated warehouses watching the world darkly through smashed windows, and a rubble filled courtyard.
A few straggly dogs sniff amongst the rubble and run yelping from my scent. I sense humans close. This is a place where I know the hopeless gather... the homeless, the drug addicts, the abused: perfect for my purposes. I am tired of fighting with my new pets, it is so much easier to take and train those with no fight left in them. There is a part of me that is drawn here because of Bridge, because these people are like him. I smile at that thought. No one is like him, no one.
Feeling angry with the world I stalk across the courtyard climbing over rubble, skirting the larger mounds. Dog faeces and rat urine provide a pungent background to the visual decay. It is the perfect foil for my current mood.
Approaching a building that is a little less dilapidated than the rest I sense life within. I crack open the door, which is reasonably intact, and slip into the darkness beyond. On the far side, about as far away as it's possible to get from where I am, someone has lit a fire, in a rough fireplace built from the stones and rubble.
The light from the fire casts eerie shadows on the walls and floor. The whole place is darkened by the years of accumulated grime on the windows and it smells only a little better than outside.
Grouped around the fire are a number of rough bed spaces. It is impossible to see from here what they comprise of. They are only visible as long mounds radiating outwards from the fire like the spokes of a wheel. From what I can sense, none of the mounds are currently occupied.
I can feel and vaguely see a couple of indistinct figures around the fire but they are not what I am interested in. There is someone else, more than one person, together. They are cold and hopeless, on the point of giving up on life but there is something between them that interests me.
Across the space in front of me there is a metal staircase to an upper floor. Here and there across the room it is clear that the floor above has collapsed, leaving gaping holes in the ceiling. Carefully and silently I climb.
Upstairs, it is even darker than downstairs and it is colder. There is no light, no shadows, no life. Except that there is.
Even with my unusually sensitive eyes it is not easy to make them out but, as I acclimatise to the darkness, I see them. They are huddled against the wall; one sitting upright and the other lying across his legs, his head cradled in his friend's arms.
I approach slowly so as not to startle them but, when the upright one looks up at me, his eyes are dull and dead. Nothing would startle them now. There is nothing that can come which is worse than the hell they are living. Even death would be a welcome visitor here. From the feel of it he is already knocking on the door.
I crouch in front of them and he tightens his arms around his friend, who doesn't stir. Slowly and gently I reach out and touch the sleeping boy, brushing his hair away from his face. Even thick with grime it is beautiful. I smile inwardly. My instinct has led me right again. When he is clean he will hold his own with any of my boys.
Looking down into his face and then up at the other another realisation comes to me. "Your brother?" I ask softly, knowing the answer without needing it to be given, which is just as well as the boy says nothing, simply stares emotionlessly.
I gently brush my fingers against the boy's throat. His life force is weak but he is in no danger of imminent death. Another day perhaps, but for the moment it is safe to concentrate on his brother. There is a hint of hostility in his eyes now. They are coming to life. A threat to himself he would accept; a threat to his brother he will fight with the last ounce of his strength, which is not far away. He is running on empty.
"I can help him. I can help you both."
"He's dying," he says flatly.
"Yes. If you stay here he will die; you both will." He nods silently. "Is that what you want?"
There is a spark in his eyes again but then it dies and he shrugs.
"What if I can offer you a chance to live?"
He blinks curiously at me, a guarded hope flaring somewhere in his eyes.
"Why?"
"Because I can."
"What do you want from us?"
"Does it matter?"
He stares at me with the same look that was in Bridge's eyes when I first looked into them. And then he shakes his head and lowers his eyes.
"Will you come with me?"
"Are you going to kill us?"
"No. I swear to you that I am not going to hurt you."
"Will you save him? Will you take care of him?"
"I'll take care of you both, I promise."
I raise his face with a finger under his chin and look into his eyes. There are tracks in the grime on his cheeks where he has wept bitter, hopeless tears and I brush them gently with my thumb.
"Stand up."
"But what about...?"
"I'll take care of him in a moment."
"You won't make me leave him?"
"No, I won't separate you."
Very, very gently he lays his brother down on the dusty floor. A strange look passes through his eyes and he screws them shut, a look of pain crossing his face. "He hasn't eaten in days," he says softly and huskily. "Yesterday he went to sleep and today he won't wake up." He opens his eyes and strokes his brother's face, with a look that is way more than familial. Perhaps I should start with the other one after all.
