Chapter 1
Jamie's heavy footsteps echoed through the dark alleyway, the noise amplified by the thick brick walls. The sound of his heartbeat bounced off his graffiti splattered surroundings, and all that kept him running was the whirring of distant police sirens. His heavy pack severed through his clammy skin, and sweat trickled down his blonde hair, gathering in a large pool at his shirt collar.
Jamie wore tight black cargo pants and a Chelsea football club away jersey. Over that he had layered a black denim jacket and pulled a FOX cap over his fringe, and a pair of fake Polaroid sunglasses and some Nike Air trainers capped off his burglars outfit. His heavy pack clattered as he ran, £7 000 worth of stolen goods rattling as he rounded the corner.
The crisp evening air pierced his clothing, but adrenalin kept his body warm. The grubby London streets and desolate granite buildings were merely large shadows in the moonlight, but the cobbled terraces were dotted with small gas lamps, piercing the evening's darkness with a subtle yellow glow.
Jamie's feet pounded the pavement, the steady thumping resembling that of his heartbeat. He turned another corner and pulled up next to a large convenience store, pausing only to gather his breath.
As Jamie's breath returned, he took some time to study his surroundings. He was in West London, only a few miles away from his small Chelsea flat. Part of him wanted to go home and crash out, but he had told his mum that he was sleeping over at a friend's house, and wouldn't be home till 10:00am the next day.
A department store robbery wasn't exactly headline news, but Jamie was still worried. If his mum heard about this she would massacre him, and he would probably get an absolute grilling about morals and choices and a hefty grounding or Xbox suspension. But for now he was more worried about the police siren, now identified as belonging to just one unmarked sedan.
The patrol car sped past the outlet store, and on into the distance, its red and blue lights becoming lost in the foggy haze. Jamie considered his options. The police were clearly not informed about the robbery, so they weren't after him yet. And even if they found out they would only send one or two officers, three tops.
The only fail-safe plan was to hide out until morning, then come home at around 10:00am. In his haste to escape the police sirens, Jamie hadn't been paying attention to where he was heading, and he found himself jogging through a large tarmac stretch dotted with parking bays, belonging to a small shopping centre. He headed up the parking lot and towards the mall, squeezing through the glass double sliding doors at the last moment.
He walked up the escalators, trying his best to look inconspicuous. There was no good reason for a fifteen year old boy to be wandering around London at 11:00 at night, so Jamie was relieved when he made it up without being asked any awkward questions. The desolate passage was nearly empty, and Jamie's only company were a few tired managers pulling metal grills down over their doors, and locking up for the night. A loud echo bounced around the large tiled hall, with the smell of floor polish heavy in the air. The cinema was the only part of the mall open at this time of night, so that's where he headed.
Two right turns led Jamie through to a small cinema complex, displaying large posters for six month old movies. He thought that it would be best to kill some time and hide out in one of the movie rooms, so was relieved to find a £5 note and sixty pence in his back pocket. He dawdled up to the cashier, scanning the display board above his head. There were no lines at this time of night, so Jamie had only moments to decide.
"Ah... Umm... one ticket for Aliens vs. Predator... please ..."
"That's £5 lovie," the cashier smiled goofily, "Enjoy".
Jamie strolled casually up to the ticket collector, who took his ticket and directed him towards Room 5. He pushed open the heavy glass doors, and walked slowly down the aisle, stepping over a teenage couple snogging madly on the floor. Jamie sat down near the front of the cinema, ogling a cute goth in a denim micro-skirt in the row in front. As the lights dimmed Jamie settled into his seat, diverting his eyes towards the screen.
As the pre-movie advertising started Jamie heard a thud from the back of the cinema, near the entrance. Another thud followed, louder this time, and most of the cinemas' patrons turned in alarm. A third thud was followed by a loud shout, then the pounding of heavy footsteps moving down the aisle.
"Freeze!!!! Put your hands up! Step out from the aisle, hands on your head!"
But the words were drowned out by the slam of the fire exit door; Jamie's pounding footsteps and the droning of the wind, as he clambered down the metal stairwell, dropping to the tarmac stretch below.
Chapter 2
As soon as he touched the ground, Jamie started running. He had no time to think, only one dominating thought sat in his mind. Run! The slam of the fire door had only caused momentary confusion, and the angry cop was soon hot on Jamie's heels. He rounded the front of the building and sprinted past the entrance. Jamie vaulted over a steel barrier, taking out an old codger with a walking frame in the process. The copper tailed, gradually gaining ground.
Jamie soon reached the end of the carpark, and so diverted his course across the street towards a rusted bike rack, designed for use by the patrons of the small McDonalds outlet directly opposite. Jamie was relieved to find a muddy red GT chained to the rail. He fished a small penknife out from his side pocket, slowly sawing his way through the plastic chain, the officer now on the other side of the street. Frustrated, Jamie lashed out with his foot, snapping the weakened chain. A few people inside the shop craned their necks, or pushed their faces up to the glass, to get a better look at what was causing the commotion.
Behind Jamie the chasing cop was trying unsuccessfully to halt the traffic with his baton, and almost got flattened, when a dark Nissan sped past at over fifty miles an hour. Jamie wasted no time, jumping on the bike, mounting the curb in one clean movement, and pedaling off around the street corner.
As Jamie cycled, jumbled thoughts raced through his weary head. He was in deep trouble, by far the worst of his life. He wanted to stop, but his aching body struggled on. Jamie headed west, towards Chelsea. Over the last few years, Jamie had become accustomed to the bustling London streets, and so weaved confidently through the city.
Meanwhile, the chasing officer had slowed to a stop, abandoning his hopeless chase. His hand strayed towards his belt, clutching his radio transmitter from its holster. He raised it to his mouth, trembling slightly as he radioed his current position and situation to all available units in the area.
Jamie's heart raced as he slid through a puddle and around another corner, the bikes loud freewheel startling a group of clubbers out of the gutter. The rain began to pelt down and bullet-like drops speared his sweaty flesh from above. Still Jamie cycled on, crossing a road and rolling over an overflowed drain before riding up the curb. He sped through another puddle, splashing water up the sides of his pants.
Further ahead Jamie spotted one of the many London tube stations, the domed structure glowing with fluorescent lights and the hum of electricity. Jamie quickly glanced down at his digital watch, the bright screen displaying 11:23pm.
He ditched the bike, jogged up the pavement and down the metal stairway, then strolled up to a ticket machine and purchased a Zone 2 ticket with some change from the cinema. Jamie stood at the end of the empty platform, the artificial air chilling his clammy skin to the bone. It seemed that no one had followed him down, but Jamie's nerves still stood on edge. Even if the copper hadn't continued the chase, he had probably called for a more mobile unit, who would be on his back in seconds. Jamie was relieved to hear the drone of an approaching train, the carriage pulling closer every second.
He boarded the train as soon as the doors parted, sliding into an empty seat at the front of the carriage. Jamie dropped the heavy backpack on the seat next to him as a prerecorded voice told him to, "Mind the gap".
As the train finally pulled away from the station a burly forty year old, with thinning hair, slammed his fist into the glass door, demanding the train to stop.
"This is Michael Oliver, Chief Constable. I demand you to stop this train!" the cop panted, to no avail. As the train gained speed Jamie couldn't resist flicking off the red faced copper, but the train had already rounded the bend and he only got a short glimpse at the man's startled face.
Chapter 3
The train ride to Chelsea passed in a blur, dreary tunnels and blinking lights flashing through the graffiti stained windows. Jamie sat motionless on his seat, his weary mind swimming and his aching stomach turning somersaults as the train sped on. Livid thoughts passed through Jamie's head, as memories washed over him like a long forgotten wave. Jamie was always in trouble, about to get in trouble, or getting someone else in trouble.
For example, in First Grade, Jamie smashed a window outside the principal's office with a concrete slab because he received a detention. In a Fourth Grade art class he hurled a three litre tub of orange paint over the art teacher and tried stabbing her with a large paintbrush, all because he had to stay in at recess to finish an art project. And when he was twelve he broke into the neighbour's house and stole their poodle, returning it a week later and claiming the reward for finding it.
Jamie didn't think he was a bad person, but he always made bad decisions. And now, once again, he was in trouble. Jamie already regretted the crime, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He couldn't just return the stolen goods, say sorry and all would be well. He just had to hope the cops weren't too hot on his tail, because getting caught now would add 'resisting arrest' to his growing string of law violations.
Jamie's mind slowly drifted back to reality, the memories becoming lost once again. Seen as no one else was in the carriage, Jamie decided to take a rummage through his stolen goods. Inside his bag was a brand new Xbox 360, stolen from the display counter, a PS3 from behind the counter, three Nintendo DS consoles and £5 000 worth of cameras, mobile phones and a few dell laptops. All this was crammed inside his Nike backpack, the contents bulging from inside.
Jamie reached down to the small front compartment, unzipping the canvas and resting his hand on the small glock pistol inside, the cold metal soothing his sweaty skin. The glock had been especially modified to fire three rounds a second, much faster than your average 12mm street pistol. Under this was a wad of £50 notes, which Jamie had stolen from the till, reaching a sum of £2 000.
The gun had just been a precaution, in case there was still some staff lingering around the store at 11:00pm. Jamie had found no such hindrances, and so only had to smash a window before raiding the store. He had acquired the glock from a dodgy street dealer around West London the night before, and the cash was a bargaining tool for any staff or bystanders that thought about grassing. Jamie was a smart boy, and had planned the raid well in advance.
Once again, Jamie glanced down at his watch, now displaying 11:34. As the train rounded another bend the Chelsea underground station came into view, the bright lights burning Jamie's eyes.
As the train slowed, a computerised voice echoed, "The next station is, Chelsea". As the doors parted, a few tired passengers stepped out onto the platform, along with Jamie. The train pulled away and Jamie sauntered sleepily up the stairs, stepping out into the cold London air. Mercifully, the rain had stopped and the dark clouds above had cleared, improving his mood slightly.
Jamie turned the corner, heading away from his flat and towards Chelsea High Street. He crossed the road and jogged briskly down the sidewalk, dodging stray puddles. He walked a few paces then stopped, doubling back to a 24 hour convenience store and sliding inside. Jamie squelched passed a display shelve and up to the counter, resting his hands on the glass benchtop.
"Ah... one snickers bar and an ice tea," Jamie declared rudely.
"One pound and thirty pence please," replied the shopkeeper, "and mind your manners young man."
Jamie shot the shopkeeper a patronising look, before paying him with the last of his change and grabbing the food from the counter. Jamie sauntered out the sliding doors and into the street, walked back the way he came and turned into a side alley that smelt of urine.
He rested his bag against the wall, using it as a pillow as he laid on the asphalt ground, before tearing apart his chocolate and cramming half into his mouth. Jamie took a massive gulp of his iced tea and, feeling better, rested his head against the bag and took a deep breath of cool air. He tilted his head and finished the last of his meal, then turned in for some sleep.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 4
Patricia Beckett sighed noisily as she rolled over once again, wrapping her bed quilt taut over her body. Her digital alarm clock read 4:03, the bright display severely hindering her chance of sleep. Outside the rain had just stopped, and the eerie silence sent a chill down her spine. As there was no chance of a decent sleep, Patricia decided to whip herself up an early morning snack.
Patricia rolled carefully out of bed and onto the carpet of her bedroom floor, stepping gingerly out the door and closing it silently behind her. She wandered through the kitchen sleepily, rubbing sleep out of her tired eyes and glancing through the shelves for something appetizing.
She finally decided on a cold plate of stew from the fridge, the remnants of last night's dinner. Patricia greedily grabbed the plate from the rack and placed it in the microwave, setting the timer for three minutes. As the timer began its descent towards zero Patricia sidled into her living room chair and pushed her son's Ralph magazines off the armrest and onto the floor. Patricia's head slumped, her weary head resting on her shoulder. She felt her eyelids droop to a close and her tired body relax. "Just a quick rest," she mumbled to herself before falling into a deep sleep.
While Patricia dozed the microwave display counted down, now displaying two hours and fifty eight minutes until zero. Around three hours later Patricia woke with a start, a loud BEEP interrupting her dreams. She sat up and dazedly walked towards the microwave, turning the corner into the kitchen just as a huge chemical explosion rippled through the house, the blast destroying everything in the room. She was dead before her head hit the tiles.
Chapter 5
Bright sunlight emerged from the horizon as dawn broke over London. The birds were out and the air carried warmth, not felt since summer. Jamie opened his eyes and yawned, his body sucking up the early morning sunshine. His back ached form his night spent sleeping on a bag and he had a massive bruise on his left thigh, but other than that he was feeling okay.
Jamie stood up and walked off some stiffness, before stretching his arms and hooking his bag over his shoulders. He stepped out from the alley and walked down the street, there were only a few people already up and about so early in the morning.
He walked the familiar route back towards home, merging with a group of businessmen crossing the street. Jamie strolled alongside his high school, past the muddy football and rugby pitches, and on past the classrooms and main office. As Jamie rounded the corner onto Langdon Street, flashing lights outside his flat alerted him. Three police cars, an ambulance and a fire truck were parked along the curb. Smoke billowed from the roof, flames licked at the walls, and the group of emergency vehicles blocked other residents from reaching their homes. Jamie weaved anxiously through the medical staff and their cars and stepped warily through the open door. Nobody tried to stop him; presumably they were too busy to notice him.
The smell hit Jamie like a brick wall, the scent of burnt wood engulfing the stuffy space. As Jamie turned cautiously into the kitchen a sickening site beheld him. The room was full of medics, police officers and a group of firefighters working on the kitchen wall. There, on the bloodstained tiles, lay Jamie's mother, caked in dust, grit and blood. Jamie lent down and held her wrist, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. A piercing scream echoed from deep inside Jamie's lungs, his voice filled with dread.
Jamie began sobbing uncontrollably, his face a teary mess. His whole body shook with fear and sweat chilled his flesh. A female medic grabbed him by the shoulders and tried comforting him, but it was all too much for Jamie to bear. He ran from the room, through the living room and out into the fresh air, hands on knees as he struggled for breath.
Before he knew it, Jamie was grabbed from behind by a large cop; his reflexes too slow to do anything about it. Jamie's hands were cuffed behind his back, as the cop shoved him into his sedan. "You have the right to remain silent, but anything you do say will be recorded and may be used as evidence in court," boomed the copper as the car sped away.
Jamie watched helplessly out of the window at the horrific scene, but he turned away suddenly, in disgust.
Jamie was read his rights and his charges, which included theft of goods, breaking and entering, arson, and resisting arrest. His head was full of troubled thoughts as the car sped towards the police station. Jamie was dragged kicking and screaming from the car and up the granite stairs to the heavy double glazed glass doors of the Chelsea Police Station. The policeman held down a red button and was quickly buzzed through the doors and on to reception. "Wait here," he ordered Jamie as he shoved him down onto a wooden chair, "and don't move!"
After a long wait Jamie was ushered through to the back of the station and into a long dark hall with small concrete cells lining the graphitized walls, the dank room giving off a nasty odour. Jamie was pushed into an empty cell and told to, "contemplate his sins". The officer retreated from the smelly cell and continued out through the door, back into the station.
Jamie lifted himself from the floor and turned his head towards the barred window, the glass splattered with something that looked uncannily like dried blood. Jamie sat on a cold steel bench in the corner of the room and wondered what was going on. What had happened to his mother? What, or who, had killed her, and why? Who could do such a thing? Maybe it had all been a great big accident, maybe Jamie's mum had left the stove or the heater on. Yeah that's what happened, Jamie told himself. I bet that's it. Jamie consoled himself with this simple thought, hoping it was true.
Jamie had never appreciated his mum, and for that he was instantly sorry. He would never feel her touch, never breath her smell, never see her face again. It was all too much.
Jamie changed the subject quickly, fearing he would break down in tears. Where was he going to live if his only parent had perished in the blaze? He had no relatives or friends who could look after him. It looked like the only option was foster care or some demented children's home for troubled youths. Jamie was horrified.
Chapter 6
Michael Oliver sat at his large oak desk, halfheartedly reading the morning paper over a scalding latte. The London weather was typically grim, dark clouds forming overhead and heavy rain splashing down the gloomy streets. The Chelsea Police station was empty, apart from himself and the guard currently on duty. Only the poor conditions ruined the view from Michael's third story office, the large buildings and grand cathedrals lost in the smoggy miasma emitted from passing vehicles. "Oh well," he sighed, "that's London for you…"
Jamie's eyes fluttered open as he brought himself back to reality. He was still in the same smelly cell, but it was four in the afternoon. Jamie made a quick decision. He wasn't going to spend the rest of his life in jail, he was busting out of this damn police station.
Jamie peered over his left shoulder at the guard on duty, currently resting his bald head against the wall while he dozed. Jamie thanked God and moved silently to the corner of the room, where a small basin sat beside a grubby toilet. He slipped his fingers under the drain plug and levered it out of its socket, cleaning the circular metal disk on his pants.
Jamie knelt down on the cold floor and began rubbing the plug against the ground, hoping to sharpen it to a point. He stopped immediately when the concrete emitted a squeal caused by the friction. Jamie moved on to the steel bars covering the window, grinding the disk continuously up and down. This caused less noise, but Jamie was still wary.
Jamie worked tirelessly, stopping only when he heard the guard stirring. Finally, twenty three nervous minutes late, the steel disk had been ground to a pointed triangle. Jamie slipped his homemade knife into his right hand and shouted, "Ummm…Guard!" Jamie thought quickly "My toilet's not flushing, I think it's broken!" The guard didn't even stir. "C'mon!" Jamie pleaded "I really need to go…"
Frustrated, the guard left his chair by the door and began ambling irritably towards Jamie's cell. As the guard approached the cell door Jamie tensed, his knife poised behind his back as he backed away into the corner. The officer pulled the key from his belt and turned it in the lock, pushing the steel frame inwards, towards Jamie.
As the guard entered, Jamie pounced. Using all his strength, Jamie pushed up from the floor, using his knife to stab the guard twice in the chest. He landed a barrage of quick blows to the cop's skull, followed by a roundhouse kick to the rib, the guard stumbling back. Jamie finished with a killer blow to the neck, snapping his spinal cord and rupturing his vertebrae, killing him instantly.
Jamie lived in a tough neighborhood, and had therefore learnt how to defend himself, with the skill of an expert. Jamie scooped up the guard's keys and stepped out the open cell door. He looked down at his bloody hands, astounded at what he had done. But there was no time to dwell, as the commotion had probably alerted another officer, and he would be on Jamie's tail in a matter of seconds.
Jamie sprinted down the corridor, away from the station, and out a fire exit at the end of the passage. A loud siren blared as he opened the door, but Jamie didn't care. He kept running, down the metal stairwell and out a locked wooden door, into the daylight. Jamie sprinted through the carpark, his bare feet burning on the sun-warmed tar. Jamie stopped beside a green and black Cobra and, making a split decision, smashed the car window and unlocked the door, sliding into the driver's seat.
Jamie scanned the dashboard for the ignition and, to his surprise, found the keys still in. Jamie thanked God once again and turned the key, bringing the V12 engine to life. Jamie shifted the beast into drive, and dabbed the accelerator gently. The car pounced forward, engine roaring. By now two officers were chasing Jamie, hot on the heels of the car as it sped out the carpark and away from the police station.
Chapter 7
Jamie eased his way through to fifth gear, controlling the car like a master. Maybe those evenings wasted playing Gran Turismo 4 hadn't really been wasted after all. Jamie made another perfect ninety degree turn, landing himself in some nasty gridlock on the entrance to the M14. Frustrated, Jamie swerved onto the sidewalk, up a steel barrier and down onto the motorway twenty feet below, smashing the car's bumper and ruining the suspension.
Jamie shifted back into gear, accelerating up to eighty mph in a matter of seconds. He swerved into the emergency lane, whizzing past traffic at over one hundred mph. Jamie looked down into the glove box, and, to his surprise, he found a Micro SMG rapid fire machine pistol, along with two hundred and sixty rounds of ammunition. This could come in handy, seen as his Glock was back in his back pack at the station.
Jamie began winding down the window with both hands, leaving the wheel free. Once he finally got the window down and started concentrating on the road again, it was too late. A policeman at a speed camera noticed him bearing down, and tried to jump out the way.
Jamie smashed into him and his camera at over one hundred and twenty mph, sending the officer flying over a guard rail to plummet fifty feet down onto a granite courtyard, a loud crunch heard has he slammed into the ground, killing him on impact. Jamie himself flew through the windscreen, shattering the glass and landing a few metres ahead of the stalled Cobra, the camera a total write-off. The impact knocked Jamie unconscious, with three pieces of glass lodged in his skull.
Chapter 8
Jamie woke up with a gun at his head. He recognized the gunman; it was the cop that had been chasing him the night before. "I got ya,' punk!" he declared. "I finally got you! I've been chasing you since you stabbed old Ernie!" The man's heavy Newcastle accent was easily recognizable.
"So, why'd you do it, kid?" Jamie was too drained to answer. "Why'd you kill your mum?" So she definitely was dead, thought Jamie. "Why?" the copper asked again. A wave of anger passed through Jamie's body. "I didn't kill my mum," he replied flatly, "I don't know what the hell happened to her, I'm still trying to figure that out, so why don't you just leave me alone, because I'm the victim," he added.
"Wrong answer…" the cop pulled the trigger, firing molten lead into Jamie's brain, his head slumping as his forehead exploded in pain. He fell from the chair, but he was dead before he hit the ground.
Chapter 9
Jamie's eyes burst open as he shot upright, sweat trickling down his forehead, his body and bed saturated. His damp hair hung infront of his eyes, sweat tickling his back and neck. Jamie felt himself all over, patting down his body through the sheets. He rolled out of bed and staggered to the window, opening the wooden blinds with the pull of a string.
Jamie let the sun's rays warm him, the blue sky shimmering like a sapphire dotted with marshmallow clouds. The birds were chirping, the bees were buzzing, and it was a beautiful summer's day.
Jamie showered, changed, and walked down the stairs to the kitchen, where his mum was cooking breakfast. "Morning Jamie, how did you sleep? It looked like peaceful dreams when I saw you, sleeping beauty," she joked, as she flipped a banana pancake.
"Fine," Jamie lied, as he rushed towards his mum, embracing her in his arms and planting a kiss on her soft cheek. "I love you, Mum" Jamie whispered.
"I love you too, Jamie…"
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