" 'The body of a thirty one year old woman was found in the Thames near Tower Bridge at two pm on the seventeenth. The woman has been identified as Jane Moriarty, a thirty one year old from Dublin. She was reportedly wearing a grey sweater, black skirt and a distinctive gold cross around her neck. Police now want to know if anyone nearby saw her near the banks around the time of the incident. It is thought she jumped on the fifteenth, although the motive and timing of the event are still unclear.

The death is not being considered as suspicious.'"

Jim nodded his head with a yawn.

"Next one. Go."

Sebastian shuffled through the papers and found the next article.

" 'Jane Moriarty, mother of two, had been on a visit to see her son in London when tragedy struck. It is thought she may have slipped into the river and been swept away by the powerful current.

City authorities and the tourist board wish to remind tourists to stay away from the river banks, lest a tragedy like this one happen again.'"

"Next," Jim commanded.

"This one's a tabloid," Sebastian warned Jim as he selected the paper.

"Yes, okay. Go on."

" 'Beautiful Jane Moriarty, young mother of two kids, was found dead on the seventeenth.'"

Jim interrupted with a scoff. Sebastian glanced up from the newspaper.

"Beautiful?" Jim said, face screwed up with distaste. "She was never beautiful. Was she, Seb?"

The blond pondered the question for a moment, trying to think back to the short time he had spent in the woman's company. He didn't think she was particularly beautiful.

"No," he answered honestly. "But she had nice eyes."

"Nice eyes?" Jim repeated. For a moment he looked appalled by this information, but then he smirked, lying back with a wave of his hand. "Continue."

" 'The Mail has discovered she lived an unhappy life in the poorer part of Dublin, caring for a mentally disturbed husband and young child. Sources (that do not wish to be named) even go so far as to say she sold herself to pay the rent.

'Odd family, them ones,' our source told the Mail. 'Not the usual type round here. Kept themselves to themselves, like. Thought they were a cut above, if you get what I'm saying. And there was plenty of rumours floating around about poor Jane, God rest her soul. Scarlet woman by night, some say. But I can't tell you if that's the way it was. '"

Sebastian stopped reading.

"Carry on," Jim demanded, sucking on his chocolatey fingers. Since his mother had been announced dead, he'd been given a lot of chocolate as a bribe to keep him from making a scene.

"No," Seb said. "It's rubbish. They're just stirring shit up. You don't want to hear it."

Jim rolled onto his front and frowned at Sebastian.

"Do you think I care what they say about her?"

"I would if it was my mum," Sebastian answered with a slight shrug.

"You don't even remember your mother," Jim pointed out coldly. "Don't be silly."

Sebastian puffed out his chest where loyalty was bubbling.

"Doesn't mean I'd let the papers write a load of rubbish about her."

"Sebastian," Jim said wisely, putting on his best teaching face. Sebastian listened intently, recognising the tone. "Never trust anything you read in the newspapers. They are made for the gullible and the idiots. Less than a quarter of what you read in them is actually true. Most have some form of political agenda or simply want to sell. Don't ever trust them. Especially not the tabloids. What you're reading is a fairy tale, nothing more. It's a story."

Sebastian sniffed and picked up the paper again, finding his place and continuing…

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Jim had cried in the meeting with Verity, of course. He had wept and wept, reaching out occasionally to sneak biscuits from the plate on the table and cram them into his mouth. He had also made Verity agree to his terms while under the guise of 'grieving son'.

Desperate to avoid Jim committing suicide in her care home, Verity had relented and allowed Jim to move back in with Sebastian for a couple of weeks. Just until the story in the papers died down and the funeral had happened.

Jim wasn't going to attend the funeral. Verity had offered him the chance to travel down to Dublin, but Jim was in no hurry to return to his grubby council estate or see his neighbours, who had never helped him when he was at home and his mother alive. He did not want to be reunited with his useless father and irritating little sister. In his mind he had already severed the cord years ago. Katie and his Da were ghosts of his past, and nothing more. Jim would not allow himself to be associated with such ordinary people.

He would have liked the opportunity to wear a smart suit with a tie and cufflinks, but he told himself he would do so another time. He had the money to buy a nice suit now, after all, what with the small amount of cash left to him by his mother.

The money left to him had been quite disappointing really, but it was enough for Jim for now, and he was going to save it. He had just enough to rent somewhere when he left the home at eighteen, and by then he assumed he would have added enough cash to the amount to pay for the electricity, water and occasionally food. It had been uncovered when Jane died, that she had been secretly transferring money into an account at the bank, saving for when Jim was old enough to go to university. Jim was not grateful for this, merely angered that she hadn't managed to make more. After all, he thought, if you were going to sell yourself you might as well do it for a high price. But his mother had never been intelligent or business minded, so like everything else, she had messed the plan up.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

"Does it still count as murder if you talk someone into it?" Jim asked on the evening he had been informed of his mother's death. He and Sebastian were sitting curled up on his old bed, the top bunk. By feigning grief all over again Jim had been left in peace and privacy with his best friend.

"Think it's officially suicide," Sebastian breathed out, his head spinning.

"But if you make them," Jim pressed on. "If you make them so they can't bear to live. If you give them the little push right inside their head, if you press the right buttons. If you force them to do it."

Sebastian felt like he was going to be sick.

"Call it what you want," he grunted, tone sharper than he'd intended.

Jim stroked Sebastian's back tenderly, feeling for where he knew the largest of his scars were. He felt Sebastian flinch at his touch.

"You're not pleased with me," he commented. "Don't be boring, 'Bastian."

"I'm not boring," Sebastian explained, his voice low. "I'm just… that's your mum, Jim."

Jim shuffled right over so he was sitting on Sebastian's lap. He reached behind him to grab for his arms so they could wrap around his waist like they had when he was younger.

"Do you think I'm a monster, Sebby?" he asked.

Seb shook his head.

'No, 'course not. You're just… it wasn't your fault, Okay?"

Jim chuckled quietly and rested his head back against Sebastian's shoulder.

"It was," he informed Seb proudly. "I talked to her and then she killed herself. It was sooooooo simple. Because I'm that good, Sebby. I can get into people's minds and convince them to do whatever I want."

Sebastian sniffed uncomfortably.

"What did you say to her?"

Jim turned around and bopped Sebastian on the end of his nose with a lazy smirk.

"Shall we go to bed?"

Sebastian looked embarrassed and he half shook his head, half nodded. He began to disentangle himself from Jim and move towards the ladder.

"Where are you going?" Jim demanded. "You're sleeping up here. With me."

"I don't like heights," Sebastian mumbled, already on his way down the ladder.

Jim looked furious, but then his expression softened.

"But I might get sad," he whispered. "I might get lonely and need you to protect me. Don't leave me, 'Bastian."

Sebastian frowned. He was used to this now, and the manipulations were having less and less of an impact on him as time went on.

"If you need me, I'll be in the bottom bunk," he said with finality. "But I sleep alone, okay? I need space."

Jim pouted and threw himself down on his back. "You're different," he said sulkily, as he peeled off his socks and threw them off his bed and onto the bedroom floor. He heard Sebastian wearily going to pick them up.

"Night, Jim," Sebastian sighed back.

Jim gave an irritated huff and didn't respond.