REMAIN THE SAME

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Another Fine Mess

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Five

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Spike hugged Lynda as she shivered in the night air on Rickmansworth High Street. 'Well. Here we are. The sunny suburbs.' He looked over at Liz, her arms clasped around herself. The poor girl looked terrible. 'Hey, look on the bright side – we're out of the Inner City. You get a whole better class of Hobo round these parts.'

Liz shook her head. 'This place is miles out. He's not here, I'm telling you…'

'One way to find out,' replied Lynda, indicating a dreadlocked young woman smoking a roll-up beneath a cashpoint.

Liz sighed grimly and approached the woman. 'Hiya.'

The woman squinted up at Liz. 'Hello?'

Liz squatted down next to her, fishing through her pockets. 'Fancy some proper ciggies?'

'Yeah,' replied the woman, rubbing her nose, 'what you got?'

Liz produced a small cigarette packet and offered it to the woman, who pulled a face.

'Silk Cut? Lights?'

'I know. I'm trying to quit. Officially, I already have.'

'Ah, I'll take 'em off your hands anyway.' The woman took the packet off Lizzie, snorting a small laugh. 'Beggars can't be choosers and all that.' She sniffed, watching Liz take the photo out of her purse. 'Now, don't tell me you're looking for this little Blonde bird an' all… I told the other bloke, I ain't seen her.'

Liz's eyes widened. 'You have seen him?' She showed the woman her photo. 'This guy?'

'Yeah, about half an hour ago… maybe a bit more.'

Liz licked her lips, trying to control her breath. 'How did he look? Was he OK…?'

The woman shrugged. 'Bit cold, bit tired, bit bonkers. He ain't your bloke, is he? Coz I think you're barking up the wrong tree there. He seemed pretty obsessed with finding this Candy…'

'Cindy,' Liz corrected. 'Did you see which way he went?'

'I sent him over to the shelter,' replied the woman, 'thought there'd be more people there to ask around there. And I reckoned he could probably do with a cup of hot tea or something. Bet you he's still there now.'

'Thank you,' Lizzie gasped, 'you don't know what good news that is to me. Where's the shelter?'

The woman pointed up a side street. 'Up there, just the other side of the train station.'

'Thank you, thank you so much!' Lizzie dug into her purse and offered her a handful of coins, but the woman shook her head, lighting up one of the cigarettes.

'Consider it my good deed for the day,' the woman replied.

She watched the red haired Scottish girl grab her two friends excitedly and pull them up the side street, towards the shelter. She took a drag of the cigarette and shook her head.

'Poor cow,' she muttered to herself. 'There but for the grace of God…'

-x-

'Right…' gasped Lizzie, turning around in the station car park, 'right…'

'I can't see a homeless shelter,' said Lynda, 'can you?'

'It's supposed to be just the other side of the train station,' Lizzie told her for the seventh time.

'According to some bag woman who's probably out of her face on boot polish,' Lynda replied.

Liz turned on her. 'You're the one who believed in Rickmansworth…'

'I didn't believe in Rickmansworth, Liz. I'm not a Rickmansworth Witness or anything. I just worked out that he'd be here. And I was right, wasn't I?'

'…you lost, then…?'

'Ladies, please…' insisted Spike. He broke off suddenly, realising that the last voice that had spoken hadn't been a familiar one. He turned his head and looked down. On the ground of a dark corner of the car park, next to a narrow alley leading around the back of the station, sitting on an opened cardboard box and nursing a flagon of strong cider was a large, bearded man in his 50s. Despite their previous dependence upon help from the homeless all evening, there was something about this one man that Spike didn't like, didn't trust. Maybe it was Spike's natural talent for reading people. Or maybe it was the fact that the man was twice his size and leering dangerously.

'We're OK, thanks.'

Liz blinked at Spike, then back at the car park, searching for an exit. She pointed at a dark pathway at the far end of the tarmac. 'What about that cycle path?'

'We are not asking that psychopath,' hissed Lynda, mishearing.

'You looking for someone, then?' asked the bearded man in a louder voice. 'Let me help, I might've seen them.'

'Well…' muttered Liz to the others, 'you never know. If Colin passed this way looking for the shelter he would probably have spoken to this guy.'

'I don't know…' muttered Spike.

Liz turned and took a couple of steps towards the man. 'I'm going to ask him.'

Spike grabbed her shoulder, stopping her. 'No you don't. If anyone's gonna do something that stupid it should be me.'

'We'll all go,' Lynda told them both.

Hesitantly, the three of them approached the bearded man.

Spike cleared his throat. 'Yeah, um…' he took the photo out of Lizzie's hand and held it out to him. 'You haven't seen this guy tonight, have you?'

The bearded man squinted at the photo. 'Not sure… can't see too well.'

Spike took another step towards the man, so he could see the photo better. 'He might have been asking where the shelter was, or asking after a girl.'

'A girl…' muttered the man, 'a girl… could you bring that picture down to me…?'

Spike crouched down in front of the man, who took the photo from him, peering at it.

'It would've only been half an hour or so ago,' Spike added.

'How old?'

'Twenty-one. Look, you can see… can you remember?'

'Twenty-one,' sighed the man. 'Those were the days…'

'Sure. But have you…'

'How old are you?'

'Same.' Spike frowned. 'Um, listen, thanks for your time, but we should probably get going…'

'School friends, are you?' added the man. 'Were you at school together?'

'As a matter of fact… can I get that photo back please?'

The man leered up at Spike. 'Did you wear a uniform?'

Spike waved the women away behind him, not seeing that they were both refusing to budge. 'We have to get going.'

'Did you have to wear a uniform?' continued the man unabated, 'did you ever get the cane? Did you ever… experiment at school?'

Liz sidled up to Lynda urgently. 'Get your phone,' she hissed out of the side of her mouth, 'I think we might need it.'

'We really have to go now,' replied Spike with a tight, polite smile. He began to get to his feet, but the man grabbed his wrist, pulling him down.

'Get your phone out, get your phone out…' whispered Liz.

'Um…' muttered Lynda, frantically rummaging through her full bag.

Something glimmered in the man's free hand.

'Ah, Jesus…' panicked Spike, desperately clawing at the fist that was grabbing his arm.

'Do you know what this is?' the man asked. 'Do you know what this is?'

'Um… yep,' stuttered Spike, still trying to prize the man off him, 'I'm pretty sure that's a box cutter. Am I right?'

'Lynda!' Liz insisted to her foraging Editor, 'hurry!' Liz tried to dart to Spike's aid, but the bearded man waved the box cutter menacingly at her, forcing her back.

The bearded man turned the blade back to Spike and resumed bombarding him with questions. 'Did you used to touch yourself? Did you do it in the mirror? Did you have showers with the other boys?'

'Oh God, oh God…'

'Lynda, hurry!'

'Do you know what this is?' added the bearded man, indicating to the flesh that was now protruding from his flies.

'Jesus!' screamed Spike, pulling at his trapped wrist.

'Lynda!'

Lynda grabbed hold of her phone and pulled it out of her bag.

'Lynda,' yelled Spike, 'do something!'

The bearded man was suddenly hit on the temple by a large, flying mobile phone. His eyes rolled into the back of his skull and he slumped sideways, releasing Spike's arm. The American got to his trembling feet, scooping up the hurled device, and hurried towards the two women. He handed the phone back to Lynda. She put her arms around him briefly. He gratefully received the hug for a second before moving away.

'We gotta get out of here before he wakes up.'

'I agree,' said Lynda. 'Are you OK?'

Spike nodded. 'Thanks to your killer aim. C'mon. Let's try that pathway.'

They turned and broke into a jog towards the cycle path.

'You know,' Liz said to Lynda, 'I kind of meant you should use the phone to call the police.'

'Really?' Lynda replied. 'My way was much faster.'

-x-

Anita Baker was just getting to leave the shelter after her evening of providing hot soup to those unfortunate to need it when three youths crashed in. From the looks of them they weren't homeless, although they didn't look like the types who would turn up to cause trouble either.

'Hi, can I help you?'

'This is the homeless shelter, right?' asked the young man – an American.

'Of course it's the homeless shelter,' hissed a dark haired girl at his side.

'Well it's not exactly signposted,' snapped the American in reply.

Anita gave them a small, polite smile. 'Sorry about the lack of any neon signs,' she told them, 'but this is the shelter, yes. How can I help you?'

The other girl – a short lass with dyed hair – piped up. 'We're looking for our friend. We were told he might have come here.' She pulled out a purse and opened it. 'Bugger,' she muttered in a Glaswegian brogue, 'you left the photo, Spike.'

'You'd recognise him if you saw him,' the American told Anita earnestly, 'he would probably be wearing a suit. My age, about five foot five… five six… mostly eyebrows…'

Anita laughed a little. 'Yes, I think I know the gentleman in question. I'm certainly glad he's got friends who are looking out for him, although I'm afraid you've just missed him.'

The Scot sighed. 'You're joking.'

'I'm afraid not,' Anita replied. 'I managed to get some soup and a cup of tea into him – he was in need of it. Apparently a couple of undesirables had managed to get his coat off him this afternoon, including his wallet, so he was a bit cold and miserable.'

The red haired girl put her hand over mouth. 'Oh, God! Why didn't he stay here for the night?'

'Well, he was a bit surprised as to where he was, to be honest. He seemed to think he should be in Inner London, for some reason. So he's gone to the station to see if the trains are still running to Marylebone. He seemed to think he'd be able to sweet talk his way on for free.'

The Scottish girl paled, looking from the American man to the Brunette. 'The station?'

Anita nodded. 'To be honest though, the trains might have stopped by now. And he literally left five minutes ago. You should be able to catch up with him…'

The Scottish girl turned to her friends. 'Oh God, he's gone to the station! Scary Beardy Knife Man's station!'

'Shit!' exclaimed the American, turning on his heels towards the door.

With a frown, Anita stopped the dark haired woman. 'What does she mean?'

'The guy who sits in the station car park,' replied the woman curtly, trying to follow the other two. 'Big bloke? Ginger beard? Hobbies include drinking, drooling, stabbing and flashing?'

'Oh Christ.' Anita released the woman, who broke into a run after the others who were already out of the door. Anita recognised that description – and how. Alan was back. It didn't make any sense – he was supposed to still be in prison. She reached for the phone, and dialled 999.

'Police,' she told the operator, and waited for the next person to come through on the line. 'I think you need to send a van down to the Rickmansworth railway station, right now… It's a man called Alan Morris. I think he might have escaped or something, because… that's right. That Alan Morris. The Railway Rapist. He's back.'

-x-

Liz ran. She sprinted down the pitch black cycle path, boxed in by a hedge on one side and a fence on the other, and God alone knew what on the ground. At one point she must have tripped because she found herself on all fours, filthy gravel biting into her palms and knees. The adrenaline was pumping so hard that she didn't even notice any pain, and was up and running again before Spike had time to catch up to her and help her to her feet. Before she even reached the car park she heard the voices that made her heart leap into her throat.

-x-

'Do you know what this is…?'

'They took my coat. They took my coat! I don't have any money!'

'Do you know what this is?'

'I don't have anything to give you. Let me go… let me…' Colin winced as the man pushed the box cutter's blade against his throat.

'They put me away.'

'Did they…? That's… terrible, I'm sure you didn't deserve…'

'Banged me up! For years and years! I only wanted a bit of company!'

Colin swallowed hard. 'Doesn't everybody?'

The man stared at him, and slowly drew the blade away from his skin.

'We all of us get lonely, some times,' added Colin in a placatory tone, 'it's nothing to be ashamed about…'

'Some kids hit me tonight,' added the man in a softer tone, 'look.' He pointed at a bruise on his temple.

'That's awful,' consoled Colin as he took a sidestep away. 'Shameful. Thugs.'

'Whores,' replied the man. 'Filthy, cheating whores.' He reached inside his pocket and unfolded a photo, showing it to Colin. 'Do you know what this is?'

Colin paled. 'Where did you get that?'

'Do you know what this is?'

'Who gave that to you?' Colin reached out to the photograph, but the man jumped suddenly, pushing the blade into the valley between his Adam's Apple and his chest.

'Whores!' screamed the man, 'whores! You're one of them, you're the worst one. I know what you are.'

'Wait…' attempted Colin, but scratch of the blade digging into his skin stopped him.

'He said you were friends at school,' the man seethed, pinning Colin between the wall and his knife, 'he said you used to watch him in the shower, he said you used to touch each other, didn't you, you little whore…'

'I need to go now,' squeaked Colin, 'I've got a train to catch, I…'

With his free hand, the man grabbed Colin's hair and began to pull him towards the dark, narrow gap between the back of the station and the wall of the next building. 'How many have you had? Do you like them big?'

The sharp sting of the blade intensified. He could feel something wet soaking into his collar. 'God…' it was Cooper all over again. Only Cooper hadn't been obsessed with obscenity and had never had such a worrying bulge in his trousers.

'I bet you do. I bet you squeal. Do you squeal…?'

There was a flash of red, and a fist flying from the darkness. It hit the man hard on the cheek, forcing him to stumble. Colin fell back, just in time to see Elizabeth Fish bring a second fist down into the man's crotch. The man gasped and collapsed, as if all the air had suddenly been squeezed out of him, dropping his knife as he did. Liz kicked the box cutter, sending it skittering down the dark alley.

'…Fish…?' asked Colin.

Liz ignored him, concentrating on the bearded man. She brought her fists down on his hunched back, throwing him flat on his face.

There was the sound of sirens. Lynda was suddenly at Colin's side.

'What are you doing here?'

'Ssshhh. You're bleeding.'

Colin put his fingers to his throat. There was a shallow cut across it, around two centimetres wide. The wet sensation on his collar was from a thin stream of blood trickling from it.

'I've had worse.'

'I don't doubt it.' Lynda looked up. 'Liz, stop that!'

Lizzie hadn't stopped once the man was down. She was kicking him repeatedly in the back and screaming. Spike tackled her, pulling her back.

'I'll kill him, Spike, I'll kill him!'

'No you won't. You're not gonna go to prison for this bastard. Let's just go, OK? Let's make sure the police knows about what he tried to do and go.'

'I've got a feeling we might not have to,' added Lynda. 'Hear those sirens?'

They paused, listening as the sirens became louder and closer, until a riot van and a squad car turned the corner and pulled up in the car park. The squad car opened and a couple of large policemen jumped out.

'Well,' muttered the older of the constables, 'it looks here like we've missed the action. Has Alan here been up to his old tricks again?'

'Old Tricks?' Lizzie ejaculated. 'In the course of half an hour he's assaulted two men. At knife point. He wanted to… do things…'

'Yeah,' sighed the older policeman, 'that's Alan for you. They don't call him the Railway Rapist for nothing.'

'You…' Spike stuttered, 'you know about this guy?'

'Course I do,' said the older policeman as he handcuffed Alan Morris, 'I'm the one who nicked him in the first place!'

'So how long ago did he escape?' Lynda asked.

'Escape?' the constable snorted. 'He's been out on parole for a fortnight now.'

'Parole…?' echoed Spike.

'They said he was no longer a threat,' sniffed the policeman, 'that he'd cleaned up his act and was capable of re-integrating. Still. Isn't that what they always say?'

'Parole?' repeated Spike.

'Cheaper than incarcerating him for his full sentance,' explained the policeman. 'I don't make the rules up. Still, if you'd care to make formal statements it would help us to put young Alan away for a long, long time.' He looked the groaning drunk up and down. 'I shall turn a blind eye to a couple of minor injuries on his person,' he told Spike, 'since they were clearly obtained while you were defending yourself…'

'Actually, it was her.' Spike nodded down to the small, angry woman that he was still restraining.

The constable raised an eyebrow. 'Really?'

'She's Glaswegian,' explained Spike.

The policeman nodded, apparently satisfied by that logic. 'Well, let's get you in the van, Alan…' he turned to Liz. 'You said he had a knife…?'

Liz jerked her head at the narrow alley. 'Kicked it down there.'

'Very good.' The constable turned to his younger colleague. 'Fetch the evidence would you, McNally.'

Constable McNally tutted. 'Do I have to?'

'Go!' ordered the older policeman, bundling Morris into the riot van.

With Morris out of her reach, Spike finally released Liz. She wrenched herself away from the American, and made a bee line for Colin.

'Fish…' Colin gasped, holding his arms out to her, 'you…'

Liz slapped him, hard, on the face.

'You stupid bastard!'

She hit him again, and again and again.

'You idiot! You stupid, stupid idiot!'

McNally hurried towards her. 'Hey…'

'It's all right,' Lynda told the policeman as she stood next to a cowering Colin, cheerfully refusing to intervene against Lizzie's onslaught, 'he's her Boyfriend.'

'You idiot! You moron!' Liz began to sob. She gave Colin one last, half-hearted punch on the chest before she held him tight, crying into his shoulder. 'You could have been killed. I could have lost you.'

'You came to find me,' Colin whispered. 'You shouldn't have. I hate seeing you cry.'

'I was so worried.' She sniffed. 'You can come home now. That'll make me smile.'

'Oh, Liz.' Colin sighed. 'You came to stop me. You want me to stop. But I can't. I can't stop.'

'Come home,' sobbed Liz. 'Come home! It's too dangerous. You're… I don't think you're very well right now. I think you need help.'

Colin stared at her. 'You're right. I'm not. And I do. But so does she. And if it's dangerous for me out here, God knows what it's like for her on the streets…'

'She's not on the streets, Colin,' interrupted Lynda.

'You don't know that…'

'Yes I do.' Lynda paused, working out the best way to put what she had to say. 'Julie rang me earlier this evening. I haven't told the others because I thought you deserved to be the first to know. She'd had a call from Mrs Watkins. Cindy came home late this afternoon. She hadn't been to London. She'd been to St Margaret's church. Apparently she'd visited her Granddad's grave, then spent the rest of the day thinking, praying and occasionally pestering Nuns about what you have to do to join the Sisterhood. The message that was passed on to me is that she feels she owes both you and Lizzie an apology.'

'She's safe?' Managed Colin.

'She's safe, and home, and warm and dry,' replied Lynda, 'which is more than can be said for you. Your little self-destruct mission has been pointless, I'm afraid.'

It was as if Lynda had flicked an Off Switch on Colin. Without another word he barrelled forwards, noisily throwing up the little he'd eaten that day. Once he was empty he tried to right himself but reeled too far backwards. His eyelids flickered shut and, before Liz could catch him, he collapsed in a muddy heap across two parking bays.

'Have I killed him?' Lynda asked Liz and Spike as they rushed to his aid.

Spike looked up. 'No. I think he's fainted.'

Lynda sighed. 'Damn.'