Prologue

"The only thing I've got left is my boy. And they're going to take him away from me."

A man dressed in sheep hide with cheap boots resembling more mud than leather, leant against the cold brick walls of the London theatre. The cries of hysterical drunks, followed by flocking women attempting to gain an exit of their abusive husbands did little to comfort the poor beggar. Standing behind him, not even reaching six foot was a man. He was better off:

Hair trimmed so that it rested around his ears, like a crescent moon. A dark green jacket, covering a crisp white shirt, and a pair of black trousers.

The boy hid under a hat far to large for his head. The shadow hid the blood stains and fresh cuts on his cheeks. Hands hidden in pockets, shoulder quivering while trying to fight back tears of shame. The boy was sick. Not with a typical disease. But with a need to kill. The beggar wasn't his father. He was just a poor man whom the young boy took pity on. Occasionally bringing him food hidden with bloody blouse's of dead women. Shuffling his feet, the boy rose his head slowly looking towards a well dressed man. A true gentleman of London.

(All true gentlemen hid darkness behind their professionally trimmed moustaches.)

Taking a step forward the gentleman grasped hold of the boys chin, forcing the hat back to inspect the boys face.

"He has good cheek bones. Piercing blue eyes. Rare." The man spoke like inspecting a stallion; the boy wouldn't be surprised if he was grouped in decently. "Not good enough for my work house."

Such words would usually send any man leaping for joy. But not the boy nor the beggar. The work house was their last hope. If the boy was there, the men they ran from wouldn't be able to claim him. He would be part of the growing London nation. The beggar stepped forward, blubbering pleading. Even grasped the boys hands rolling up the sleeves, exposing working hands that could take the hardship of burning wool on a daily basis. The gentleman scoffed, pulled the golden watch from his pocket to inspect the time.

"My decision remains the same. Here." He flicked the beggar a golden coin. "For your troubles. Don't spend it in one place."

Winking the man swung his cane in the air, before turning flagging down a cab. The boy took great displeasure in the rudeness of the gentleman. While the beggar inspected the coin, the boy jumped up dragging his finger nails down the mans face. The howling cry of agony made the beggar drop the coin, causing it to role into the passing sewer stream.

"Ryan!"

He screamed as he ran forward. The gentleman touched the jagged wounds upon his face, pulling back to look at his blood palm. Snorting like a bull, he rose his cane bringing it down across Ryan's face, boxing his ear in the process. Ryan fell onto his knees, hands rose to cover his face, only to arch and twist as the gentleman rained down more painful blows. The beggar didn't help, to busy fearing for his own bodily safety. He did let a few tears fall for being to cowardly.

"Filthy scum!"

Rising a crocodile leather boot, the gentleman shoved Ryan backwards. Ryan arched in agony as his head dipped into the stream of human waste.

Tugging at his collar the gentleman turned looking towards the bored look of a cab driver, who held his horse firm.

"Fleet Street. Make it snappy and there's an extra gold coin in it for you."

Grinning the cab driver rose his whip. It snapped against the chestnut quarter of his horse, who sprinted into a fast jog.

Finally going to Ryan's aid, the beggar fell to his knees as he began to collect Ryan into his arms. Ryan knew he should turn away in disgust, should punch at the beggars chest, spit at him and call him a coward. But all Ryan could bring himself to do was turn slowly into the embrace. Face buried in the inviting neck, tears streamed down his face knowing that their plan had failed.

"I'm not going to let them take you. I promise Ryan. I promise."

The words became muffled as the beggar buried his face into Ryan's hair, not caring what contaminated it.

Three days later...

Sneaking out of the pub, an hour before the land lord came for rent, the beggar followed by Ryan headed down the streets of London. Iron baskets loitered the corners, a live with fire causing their shadows to stretch across the vast business buildings. The beggar held onto Ryan's hand tightly as they past a woman exposing her breasts asking, if the two men needed some form of relief. Squeezing Ryan's hand when the boy didn't go for the woman's throat to feel her veins crunching under his teeth, it gave the beggar some hope that they would reach the track with little disaster.

"Just up there Ryan. We're going to make it."

For once the beggar was correct.

Standing almost out of place the professional train station casted shadows for the men to hide in as they jumped down from the platform. Carefully stepping over iron rails, they walked across the wooden planks, heading North towards the country side. It was a three hour walk at least. Already the hem of Ryan's trousers became capped in mud.

Ryan hissed in distaste. These were his best clothes and already they'd become dirty.

Staggering forward the beggar said nothing. Typical. From what Ryan remembered of their conversation the beggar, hired a cab driver to wait for them at the next station. Ryan couldn't understand why the cab driver had to be so far away, though he guessed it would draw to much attention in the busy city. Glancing over his shoulder, Ryan narrowed his eyes. Since they left the pub he hadn't seen a single police man. Something wasn't right.

Twice Ryan fell over. The beggar always at his side willing to lift him up. Ryan limped felling less of a man. Face covered in sweat sending a chill down his back, he looked around with wild eyes. After an hour of walking, Ryan could just make out the start of a field under the moon light. The corner's of his mouth began to twitch, though he didn't allow himself to grin.

Heaving both men leant against one another. Ryan's vision became covered with stars. Head swimming due to lack of water and oxygen.

"Just think Ryan. When we get on the cab and away from this place, we'll have hot roasted pork, with sweet mashed potatoes, thick gravy and runner beans."

Ryan nodded. Beggar was in his own little world. He'd promised Ryan that when they reached the country side he would get a job, get enough money to rent a place of their own while saving enough money for one meal a day. Two on Sunday.

Feeling like his knees where about to give way, the heavy hand of beggar's hand on his shoulder startled Ryan, as he looked up. Relief flooded through him. There it was. The station. Clambering up, beggar heaved Ryan onto the platform causing the boy to scrape his knee at the same time. Neither man tended to the wound, instead they hurried towards the entrance eyes wide expecting to see a cab.

Instead, they got something much worse.

"No.."

Beggar whimpered in distress. Ryan looked down at his feet. They'd come so close.

Standing in front of them a line of cabs with men dressed in black. Policemen. One stepped forward, eyes showed a hint of sympathy though the pain in Ryan's gut told him it was mockery.

"Fancy seeing you here Noah."

Beggar flushed at his real name. He was a coward compared to the biblical name.

Turning towards Ryan the officer arched a brow clearly unaware on who this boy was. Clearing his throat, he produced shackles from his pockets, Beggar stretched his hands out willingly as tears began to dribble down his face.

"Noah, I here by arrest you for the murders of thirteen innocent women. And the rape of one."

At the sound of the shackles clicking into place Ryan ran forward, only to feel himself being pulled back, by two other officers, who held him firmly. It didn't stop him from kicking and spitting like some sort of deranged cat.

"Ryan. Ryan stop."

But Ryan didn't. He wouldn't let his friend be hanged for murders he didn't commit.

"Be- Noah didn't do it! I did. I murdered those women with my bare hands, I fantasised about it." The officer rolled his eyes ignoring Ryan, not finding himself believing the raving words of a emotional lunatic. "I let Rose go!"

Turning around sharply he looked towards Ryan. Beggar bowed his head down, quietly sobbing.

"I let Rose go so you could find me. I wanted to be caught. I need help."

The news reporters hadn't published the name of the surviving victim. Turning towards Beggar, the office examined the way he was sobbing. It wasn't for being caught. Removing the shackles he ignored Beggar who started to scream, that it was him. Walking towards Ryan the office saw the cruel smirk playing across the boy's lips. There was no doubt this boy had committed the crime.

"You'll get help boy. You'll get it."

Ryan didn't have shackles put on his wrist, instead a sack was tossed over his head, followed by something warm draping across his arms, forcing them around his waist so that his wrists were tied together against his lower back. Ryan screamed. As the men hoisted him from the ground, Ryan kicked his legs out. Watching in disbelief as Ryan was taken away from him, Beggar turned towards the officer who watched with a sad gaze in his eyes. After being on the force for five years, this was the first time he felt sympathy for a criminal.

Beggar shuffled forward, hand stretched as he grabbed the officers wrist forcing the man to look towards him.

"Please don't take him away from me..."

Sighing the officer pulled out some money which he poured into Beggar's hand.

"Here. This will pay for a train ticket out of London. Find a job. You can do nothing for the boy. He's sick. Just be grateful I don't send you to the gallows for protecting him."

Beggar watched as the man walked towards the cab where Ryan had been tossed inside. He climbed, hanging on the back of the cab before nodding at the driver who whipped his horse into submission. The cab swayed as the horse cantered. Beggar began to run after the cab, screaming Ryan's name as tears poured down his face.

"Ryan! Ryan!"

Falling down onto his stomach, breaking his noes as his hands didn't soften the blow. The money rolled around him. Beggar rose his head slowly ignoring the cabs which raced past him. Blood poured down his upper lip.

"Ryan..."

Five years later...

No one could've predicted this. The owner of the asylum gave up all hope for Ryan Kuhn, seeing him as a lost sheep.

Ryan had been forced into the basement where he wasn't even granted a window. The man now restrained permanently in a straight jacket, keeping all broken bones in place along with his own natural waste.

Sitting the darkest part of his cell, Ryan slapped his bare feet together clucking his tongue in glee. He was drenched. The men came with hoses that very same morning. The hoses were powerful. The men deliberately attacked his face making it impossible for him to breathe. They mocked at how he was useless as a baby, needing someone to change him. Ryan took the verbal abuse. The men weren't worth his cackles and spits. He reserved those for nurses who actually tried to help him.

Spitting on the ground Ryan leant against the padded wall, legs stretched out. Unblinking eyes looked towards the locked door waiting for it to open. It was around about this time, that the nurse would come in to comfort him after a tragic ordeal. The stupid bitches never learnt. It was like they didn't know who he was, or what he was capable of. Then again it just made it all the more fun for him.

Head bowed down to keep less of a strain on his neck, he thought about the ugly cage. It matched his soul. Or at least that it was the owner said, when he instructed a guard to put it on. Sometimes when he caused a scene, the owner would order Ryan to be hung from a hook on the ceiling. The pain which travelled through his shoulders was intense. But Ryan would only laugh like a child on a merry go round.

Ryan wasn't a masochist. He just knew which buttons to push.

At the sound of a scream Ryan didn't even flinch. He was used to such sounds. It was the cry of a word that did make him spring up from the floor.

"Fire! Fire!"

Running towards the door, he pressed himself against it, noes inhaling as he sniffed the essence of smoke. Thick. Heavy. A fire was defiantly heading towards his room.

He spat he hissed. The buckles melting through the Victorian jacket which had dislocated his shoulder to many times than he could count. The fire crackled. It sounded like laughter. Running around in a tight circle like a buck trying to confuse a hunting hound, the feeble victim resulted into a cowering mess in the corner. The heavy metal door began to melt.

Watching in hilarity as the flames began to flicker through the tiny gaps bringing him oxygen to survive. Laughing like an imp, the caged man began to stretch his feet warming his toes. Mocking the fire. Around him the padded walls of his cell began to turn to dust. Black smoke circled him cutting away any form of laughter or breathing. Truly this was a cruel way to die. But the victim saw it as a blessing. For once he was taking control of his life.

It was all part of his plan.

Ryan didn't feel the burn of his flesh melting from his bones. The smoke already made him unconscious. The heat of the flames melting the bars of his cage, free his mouth and face. The straight jacket turned a deep shade of golden brown, speckled with black squares from the burnt buckles.

It took two hours for the old fashioned fire truck to come galloping around the corner. Hoses rolled out. Powerful water putting an end to the thick black smoke. (If they were in Rome a new pope would've been chosen.) Men wiped the sweat from their brows, policemen kept civilians at bay. Others even held the weeping women who screamed, about where their children or family members were. It was almost laughable. Most of these crying individuals condemned those inside the burning building to mental and physical abuse. But there was one true heart broken soul in the crowd.

"Where is he?! Please you have to find him!"

Beggar. The man stood trembling as the policeman held onto his shoulders firmly repeating over and over, that they were doing the best they could. Beggar could only look over the mans shoulder, tears trickling down his face knowing that his boy was trapped in there.

It wasn't until dawn did the fire finally give in against the hoses. The street became covered in wounded victims and burnt corpses. Beggar walked the line three times, seeing no sign of his boy. Losing all hope he flinched as a heavy hand was placed on his shoulder, turning around he looked into the serious gaze of the fireman. Reality hit Beggar like a kick in the gut. He collapsed on the ground howling like a wounded animal. Fists pounding the ground.

"No! No!"

Repeating himself over and over again, he ignored the pitiful looks given to him by law enforcements. They couldn't help him. Most of those who watched were the reason his boy lay somewhere in the building dead. Covering his face with his hands, he sobbed into the palms. The head officer who arrested Ryan five years ago, looked towards Beggar. He took most of the blame for breaking the old mans heart. Turning he muttered towards one of the nurses to help the distressed man.

Beggar flinched as the blanket was draped over his quivering shoulders. Pulling his hands back slowly he looked towards the caring eyes of the nurse. Unlike others she invited him into a hug, cradling him against her chest, hushing him gently. The world carried on in a lifeless blur behind the pair. All unaware of how the fire started. None seemed to care. A new asylum would be built this one bigger and stronger than the previous. It seemed almost ironic that during the time of reconstruction the basement where Ryan's body laid, would be left untouched.

Welcome to:

Skin Deep

Hope you enjoyed this little dish of a chapter, and look forward to your reviews.

- Signed

The Broken Ghost