Mistaken Identity

Alley

Warning: Implied child abuse.

He sat in the alley desperate to get the blood out of his eyes. There was a rusted metal bucket filled with what he supposed was rain water; dipping his hand into it, he washed what he could of the mess off his face and pulled his hair out of his eyes. He knew the fights were bad, but never like this. They made sure to keep him out of the line of fire.

He leaned his head against the cool wall behind him and tried to forget about the past hour of his life. He shivered from the cold night air against his sweat-slicked skin, trying to ignore the voices crashing against his mind. He wasn't going to cry—crying was for the weak, and he wasn't weak anymore. His mother accidentally hit him with that cut-glass dish. After all, his father was extremely quick on his feet, almost a blur. He just wasn't so lucky, that was all. It was his fault for entering the living room when he knew his parents were in another heated argument.

His head ached and the blood from his wound was slowing now. Soon he would return home and everything would be better.

Better until the next fight. But he would be gone by then, though he didn't know it at the time. Why couldn't I just have a normal family instead of people who hate and throw things at each other?

He rested his head on his arms, propped up on his knees.

Why can't I just be normal?

A car door slammed and footsteps approached. He didn't need to look up to know who it was—these people had been looking for him; he surmised they were the police. He wouldn't put up a fight, would answer their questions politely, tiredly, as if asked the same things countless times. They would knock on the front door, his parents would be all smiles, relieved to know their son wasn't dead, that he would be fine, that they loved him…

"He's the one we were sent to look for?" said the man, and he realized the man had someone else with him. "A boy?"

"What does it matter if he's a boy or he's a grown man? Our job is to locate them and take them in."

The man who spoke first shoved his partner forward. "You collect him then. I'll wait in the car."

The second man approached the boy and knelt down next to him.

"Your parents aren't very nice, are they?" he said in strangely accented German. He must not be from around here.

"That would be correct," the man said, answering the boy's thoughts. "I can help you get away from your…family problems. No one would ever hit you or 'accidentally' throw things at you again…"

The boy looked suspiciously at the man. "No one can help me get away from my parents. They always manage to find me again."

The man laughed. "I guarantee they won't find you if you come with me. I promise."

Promises mean nothing, the boy thought bitterly. Mama and papa promised they'd stop fighting, papa promised he'd stop drinking, mama swore she loved me more than anything else in the world… They were feeding me lies.

The man held out his hand. "If you come with me, you will never be hurt by your family again."

The boy looked at the offered hand and then at the mouth of the alley, where police cars were beginning to show up.

My parents have found me, he said, recognizing the sleek black car amidst the police lights strobing. I won't let them take me back.

He took the offered hand and the man dragged him over to a beat up looking car away from the police, away from the rest of the town, away from his parents. His mother caught a flash of his garish red hair and pointed in their direction. Naturally the cops' gazes followed her finger and drew their guns.

Go away, the boy thought, eyes narrowed in anger. Go away and don't look for me again.

There was a blank look in their eyes and the boy didn't understand what that meant. Perhaps they didn't know how to proceed, or maybe they had given up the fight.

-x-

"There's still blood on the walls."

Crawford followed the trail of cigarette smoke into an alleyway that looked like it hadn't been used in years. There was mould and ivy all over the walls, rusted metal tools and objects leaned against the crumbling stone façade, and dried blood on the walls. Schuldig stared at the blood with an amused look on his face.

"Did someone get shot here or something?" Crawford didn't understand why they had to make a special detour just for some alleyway in a small Bavarian town. "What is the significance of this place?"

Schuldig shrugged, nonchalance coming easily to him. "Just a reminder, that's all."

"Of what?"

Schuldig smirked. "Of how humans can be so cruel." He glanced at Crawford from the corner of his eye. "Let's go, there's nothing else of importance here."

They exited the alley just as a woman in her fifties approached that same spot. She glanced at Schuldig for the briefest of moments, recognition alight in her eyes.

"Andreas? Is that you?"

Schuldig nearly swallowed his cigarette and Crawford gave him an odd look. Schuldig managed to recover and nonchalantly responded, "You must have me mistaken with someone else."

The woman watched them walk away, a look of sadness on her face as she laid a wreath of flowers against a bloodstained wall. It had been sixteen years since her son was taken away from her.

Schuldig chuckled as they crossed the street and went past a rundown looking house.

I wonder if Mama still swears she loves me more than anything else in the whole world.