Rising slowly, Ian turned to face his attacker for the first time. Three months he had been waiting, longing to know who it was that had sent those letters, revealing his past, darker nature. And now here he was, face to face with the man behind it all. Staggering towards the closed doors of the Arches and into the light, Ian brought his hand up towards his face. Nose bloody, and with stars popping before his eyes, he swayed, surveying the muscular figure in front of him. Chances were if he tried hard enough, he could overpower his quarry and make a break for it. But no, he had waited too long for that, it was time to identify his demon. Stepping forwards an inch, Ian dragged up the courage that had so often evaded him.
'M-move into the light'. The words sounded gasped and pathetic. That's right Ian, real tough, he thought to himself sarcastically. 'Come on, step forward!' He was getting stronger now. His balance was recovering too, maybe this could finally be it.
'If ever there was a useless weasel of man, Beale, it's you.' The words were flat and definite, and they cut through the dark alley hitting Ian where it hurts most. He knew that voice, and with that he knew their motive. But how could they know? She must have told… No surely not.
'Whatever she's told you, she's got it wrong, she…'
'Silence, Beale! You've been found out and now you are going to pay'. The attacker sounded determined and, moving into the solitary light of the single streetlamp, moved around Ian, piercing him with those blue eyes he recognised so well. 'See you soon, Ian', he said, before turning and walking away into the night.

Heaving in a grateful sigh of relief, the cold air filling Ian's lungs felt like a respite. But he realised it wouldn't last much longer, and as he began to stagger in the direction of home, his next moves would have to planned flawlessly. For if they weren't, he knew all too well it could cost him his life.

Thursday night, and the Queen Vic had become unusually quiet.
'Mick! Where are you?!' Linda's mood had done nothing to liven up the situation, and with Mick mysteriously absent when he was supposed to be manning the bar, he wasn't endearing himself to too many people either. Storming up the stairs and walking into the living room Linda found herself facing a sleeping Stan in his chair and a TV playing to itself. The paperwork from Lee and Mick's outing to the brewery meeting that morning lay on the coffee table. Turning off the TV Linda caught sight of her reflection in the screen. Tired looking, and a bit old. Jesus Linda, you need some time away. The sound of the cellar door slamming downstairs soon brought her away from her musings. Walking onto the landing she saw her son Lee stepping into the kitchen. 'Have you seen your dad?' No sooner had she asked than the door was slammed in her face. What the hell is the matter with him?

Pushing her way into the room, Linda noticed Lee bent over the sink, his head in his hands. Moving cautiously, she placed her hand to his right wrist, prising it away from his face. The blood on his hand was unmistakable. 'What's happened son?' Lee jerked upwards suddenly.
'I had to do something, Mum, he was asking for it, he, he…' Lee tailed off.
'He what?' Asked Linda. 'What have you done? Who is it?'
Before Lee was able to answer the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs interrupted Linda's interrogation. In through the door came Mick, a self-satisfied smile on his face, a bounce to his walk and a white carrier bag in his hand.
'Been to the Minute Mart, you'll never guess who was…' Mick noticed Lee's hand and stopped himself mid- sentence. 'Please Son, tell me you didn't?!' The look of terrified anguish on his face made Linda worry.
'Look! Is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on here?!'

The staring between the two men seemed endless. After a few seconds and with bated breath, Mick motioned towards the open door behind him.
'Go to the bathroom and get yourself cleaned up and straightened out, I need to have a word with your mum'. Reluctantly, but sure enough, Lee took his father's advice. As soon as the door clicked shut again Linda rounded on Mick.
'Well, what's been happening?'
'Sit down L, there is something I've got to tell you.' Walking towards the window as Linda sat down, Mick noticed Phil walking across the square. This was going to take some clearing up tonight. Filling a glass with tap water, Mick sat opposite his wife and prepared to tell her everything.

Out on the square, Phil Mitchell had a job to do. But first he needed to know the truth before he did anything else. Taking out his mobile and sitting on Arthur Fowler's bench, he brought up his list of contacts. Placing "M" in the search bar he called the number of the one he knew he could count on to help resolve this situation. The phone began to ring. An answer came quicker than he had expected.
'It's me. Did he come back?' The answer clearly didn't please Phil, who merely screwed his face up. 'I knew it, he's gone to talk with him, giving away what little we had left. I've started this already tonight and you know full well im gonna finish it!' A small mumbling from the person on the other end sounded before the long drawn out beep that could only signal hanging up. Standing up and cursing, Phil looked to his right. David Wickes was outside his car lot talking to Carol. The only people around. Sighing deeply and looking back towards the house before him, Phil thought of Beale's Chippy, and what had happened at the Arches. Walking briskly, he made his way towards Ian's house to exorcize his demons.

Crossing the street, Phil almost bundled over Stacey Slater.
'Careful!' But Phil wasn't listening, he had work to do. Shaking her head, Stacey carried on around the corner, walking straight into Max Branning, who quickly stowed his phone in his pocket as she approached.
'Alright Stace? Eh, fancy going for a drink?'
'Erm, why? Stacey looked bewildered
'Just being friendly, sorry if that's a bit forward'. Max was a terrible liar. It was obvious he was hiding something.
'Listen, what's wrong Max?' Looking around him, Max made sure no one was listening.
'I've just seen someone Stace, he said he was looking for you and that if I saw you to tell you it's all in hand'. His voice was barely a whisper.
'Well, who?' Stacey looked worried.
A loud BANG suddenly erupted from Max's right, taking away his train of thought and ruining their conversation. Looking around he saw the cellar door to the Vic hanging inwards off its hinges. Someone had kicked their way in.
'This is gonna have to wait' said Max, running towards the newly made gap at the pub. 'We'll speak later, yeah?

Stacey wasn't listening. Running to her flat as quickly possible she grabbed for her mobile. Punching in digits shakily, she placed the receiver to her ear.
'Ryan, it's me, we need to talk'.

The bang at the Vic gave Ian Beale a start as he rummaged through the remains of what was left in his secret stash of letters. How had he found out? She MUST have told him?! At least now he knew for certain what the letters were about. Picking one up and unfolding it, he read the blue ink etched across the page. 'Your secrets are out, I'm coming to get you'. And to think, all he was doing was protecting his son. That's all he had ever seemed to do. Collapsing on to his bed, and dropping the letter into the box that had just come down from the top of the wardrobe, Ian reflected on life. On what had happened with Steven and the gun and having Jane walk out once. Then there was Bobby and Lucy. Stop, Ian thought. That one was just too painful.

And now here he was, only it was Peter this time that couldn't get it right. How did they all go so wayward? It would be so easy to just turn around and walk away. But no, he had to do what was right for his family, he'd been brought up that way.

A sudden knock on the door gave Ian a fright. Oh no, not back for round two. Jane could be back any minute. The knocking became louder and louder as the raspy voice of Phil Mitchell came through the letterbox.
'Ian, open up will ya?!'
'Phil, it's you!' Shouted Ian, running down the stairs and opening the door hurriedly, ushering in his guest before snapping it shut again.
'Of course it's me, listen I need you to… What the hell happened to you?'
'What d'ya mean? Oh, this is nothing, just got in a scrape that's all' said Ian, pinching his nose and feeling a bit embarrassed. 'Can I help you Phil?'
'Did you see him?' Phil's tone suddenly changed. He sounded desperate, even a little threatening.
'See who?'
'Don't play games with me Beale, I swear…'
'Listen, I've not had the best of nights either, so spare me the intimidation. You don't scare me Phil, now what is it you want?'
'I saw him coming out of the Chippy, you must have seen him' accused Phil.
'In case you hadn't noticed Phil, I've been a bit preoccupied tonight to be battering haddock!' Squaring up to Phil caused Ian's ribs to sting, but he needed to hold off another beating tonight at all costs. 'Now what is this?!'
'Who was working in there at about 6 o clock tonight?' Asked Phil, his temper beginning to rise dangerously.
' Well, it was Billy, I decided to give him his old job back after that business with the Coker's, thought he deserved a second chance'.
'Im gonna kill him'. Phil headed for the door but before he had chance to leave Ian was calling after him.
'Who is it you want Phil? What's happening?'
Turning back from the door handle, Phil looked Ian straight in the eye.
'You see my brother tonight, you let me know yeah?'
'What, Grant?'
'Yes Ian, Grant'. After a few seconds awkward silence, Phil turned his back and left. Off into the night to carry on his mission.

No sooner had one door closed than there was a knock at the other. Finally, Jane's got back. Wait the letters! The knock came again. Running from the hallway and up the stairs, Ian threw the letters back into the wardrobe. Sprinting back to the door in less the no time, and cursing Jane for forgetting her keys, he opened the back door. To his horror, looking back wasn't Jane but that pair of piercing blue eyes he'd narrowly escaped earlier. Ian's face hit the floor.
'Listen, I told you before, she's got this all wrong.'