I do not own Leverage

I don't like this building; in fact I don't like any building I've been in for the last few months. How many, two, three? I don't know; timeline is just one big blur for me: the days are all the same just like all of these stupid buildings!

They're abandoned, either former or never-got-to be houses. They are always cold because the wind runs freely across the hallways and the rooms without windows or doors to stop it.

I hide on the old vents, preying this useless scrap of metal won't give in under my weight; I curl inside an old blanket, knees to my chest, Bunny in between.

I hate these buildings, yet they're still better than foster homes, there are no parents or siblings to push me around and point out what's wrong with me, and they are better than juvenile prison because I'm free.

Prison. I still hide every time I hear the sirens, and on a neighbourhood like this one you hear them a lot. Shooting, robing, drug dealing, domestic violence, juvenile delinquency... It's all here.

In fact what I hate it's not the buildings by itself but the people in them.

Horny teenagers, crack addicts, dealers, hookers and their clients, hobos... They all wander around here like ghosts and after a while you start to notice they are all the same. Their faces; they all have the same look on them: men, women, they all have dead-like faces with eyes that seem empty of life... These people are already dead, but death herself didn't come to take their souls yet so they come to this underworld where the living ones with their good clothes and shiny objects don't have to be confronted with them.

Sometimes people come here just to die, I found a couple of dead hobos on other buildings, they are all dirty and smell, they go there to spend a night shielded from the rain and don't wake up anymore, other people find them and steal their shoes and clothes so they just stay there, naked, undressed of their dignity, for days, sometimes weeks...

I hear footsteps approaching me and go back a little more even though I know those steps. Even though I know the man I spend my entire night watching him carefully, you can't close your eyes here for long because you never know where or how you are when you open them.

These steps are like so many others, their drag a helpless body languidly through the hallways, they stumble on the stairs, they're searching for something, but they don't know what it is...

Tommy is one of the junkies that come here to try and have some little peace. He steals the pay checks from his blind momma so he can buy heroin. When he can't get some he comes here and I know he's sick. He shakes like he's really cold and sweats a lot; he's agitated and keeps scratching himself like if he has a bad rush. Tommy needs his dose or otherwise the voices inside his head creep up on him and start screaming louder and louder until he starts banging his head against the wall.

Today though, he's calm because he has his drugs with him. He uses warned out clothes that are too big for his skinny body and has not teeth, his eyeballs move quickly, always searching in the shadows. I bet Tommy's clothes once fitted him, just not anymore because drugs ate his flesh. He uses his belt as a garrotte and injects the heroin in his veins, he talks alone until the stuff kicks in and he doesn't talk anymore. He drools and falls asleep with the needle in his arm. He wakes up a few hours later; he takes the needle of and drops it on the floor. I never touch those needles; I know they carry death in them; a slow painful death...

I always leave in the morning and never let anybody seem me, I know what happens to young girls in this place; I've seen it. Sometimes they're drugged and unconscious, en bring them here, they do what they do to them and leave, the girls wake up a few hours later with their clothes of and panic. Sometimes though their wake and they scream the entire time, men laugh at them. Those are two of the few situations when I cover my eyes and ears.

On my first night I didn't know the rules yet and a hobo showed up and saw me. He asked me if I was hungry because he could share his food with me "We gotta have each other's backs!". I trusted him. Stupid, stupid, stupid! When we finished eating he said I had to pay for my food and started unbuckling his belt. I tried to flee, but he grabbed me and was stronger than me. I stabbed him, left him shouting and bleeding and left without turning back. I never went to that building again.

Yesterday was a really sad the day, the night was falling and I had just arrived when I heard footsteps, I quickly hid on the vent hugging Bunny. It was girl with a really big belly, she should be my age or a year older and she seemed really scared.

She crouched on the floor and screamed. She was in pain. I wanted to help, but I couldn't move.

After labour she left leaving everything behind; the baby was dead. Somehow I felt that was better...

My biggest fear is to become just like them; a ghost so every morning I leave the building, taking Bunny in my bag pack with me. I wonder on the big crowded streets where I still can blend in even though my clothes are starting to wear out. I bump into a few people, they shove me off of them, more disgusted than angry, scream at me and push me away. They never notice I took their wallet, watch or jewellery. It's two p.m. and I still haven't eaten anything, I spot what seems to be an easy target: a wealthy old man. Old men are always nice targets because even if they spot me they can't run fast. I slip behind him and follow his movements discretely, I reach for his wallet.

I never get to touch it; the old man grabs my wrist firmly not letting me go.

-What on heart are you trying to do? - I panic, if he calls the cops I'm screwed! He's smiling strangely at me. - My name is Archie, what's yours?

So I wanted to give Parker a context on her life at the time she met Archie. I hope you like this; please let me know if you did. : )