Alex woke and opened his eyes.
Darkness.
A spike of fear went through him and he threw his arms out to the sides expecting to hit wood, to find himself in another coffin but there was no resistance. He was in a bed.
Feeling his way to the edge he found a bedside table and a lamp which he switched on, it illuminated the smallish bedroom and he stared around him knowing instinctively that he was alone in this flat but not wanting to believe it. He got up and winced, he felt like his lower back had been compressed and then stretched out again, his neck ached and on top of that he hurt inside.
"Yassen?"
The flat was silent and all the lights were off, he checked the bathroom turning on the light and caught sight of himself in the mirror.
"Shit." He breathed.
There were love bites all over his neck, huge bruises where the bullets had hit him and nail marks on his back where Yassen had held him.
"Yassen?" he walked into the living room finding it empty and then looked into the kitchen.
The streetlight coming through the frosted glass of the window at the end caught the shards of glass where they lay, scattered like glitter on the kitchen floor. Alex's trousers and shoes were in a heap by the wall and his school blazer by the fridge. Yassen's jacket was gone.
He leant against the doorframe taking a deep breath before numbly tip-toeing into the kitchen and retrieving his clothes, he shook the glass from them and put them on before walking out of the flat. Leaving the lights on.
His wallet was in his pocket and his phone, off.
Alex found himself on a residential street, he followed it along till he hit another street, one way with bollards wither side of the road, he turned right. It looked a little like a shopping district, there was a wine bar on his right a clothes store called Pokit on his left and more small shops and pharmacies all the way down the road. All closed for the night. Further up he walked past a Starbucks, offensively bright when compared to the dim orange street lights and next to it an empty supermarket . The only sign of life was nearer a pub called The Lamb which, as he came closer, seemed to be having a small party inside.
He stopped sitting down on a bench nearby next to a guy who was smoking and resting his head in his hands as he shivered.
"Yer'right kid, you look cold."
"I am cold." Alex said blankly, sitting back and looking at him. He was middleaged, slight cockney accent.
"You should'a put on a coat."
"I didn't think I'd be out this long."
"Where do yer come from?"
"Chelsea."
"The nice side'a town, what'choo doin in Brunswick?"
"Just ended up here."
"You in some trouble?"
"What?"
"Dat's blood on yer shirt not tomato sauce."
Alex pulled his jacket together over his shirt. "How do you know?"
"I used ter be a bouncer for one a the clubs in Soho, I fink I'll be knowing what blood looks like. You hurt cause there's a hospital just a block away?"
"No, and I didn't hurt anyone else either."
"Okay." He took out a box of cigarettes. "You want me ter splash you?"
"I'm underage."
"I started smoking at twelve."
Alex stared at the box and then took a cigarette putting it between his lips, the man pulled out a lighter and shook it before flicking a flame from the dregs of fluid in the bottom. He sucked the flame into the end and felt smoke fill his mouth, taking another breath in through his nose he took it down to the bottom of his lungs. As he breathed it back out he felt a dizzying rush go straight to his head.
"Thank you."
"Yer look like yer need it." he lit another cigarette for himself. "So what happened?"
"It's complicated." Alex started. "But I almost got shot, I worried someone that I care about, we had sex and then they left while I was asleep."
"She's some girl then?"
Alex took another drag. "You could say that."
"What's she like?"
"Dangerous, elusive, good looking, far too old for me."
"It ain't a woman is it?"
"No." He's a 36 year old Russian male assassin. Alex ran a hand through his hair. "How the fuck did I get into this?"
"How old are ya kid?"
"Fifteen." He sucked in more smoke seeking the head rush.
The man sighed. "Nuffink to be doin' but survivin'."
"I'm tired of surviving."
"Then go out and find yerself sommitt to take yer mind off it."
"I will."
"Listen kid yerve gotta be freezing, come in the pub and I'll buy you a hot drink."
"Thanks but I've got to go, thanks for splashing me." Alex got up, stiff and shivering throwing the cigarette end to the side. "Where's the nearest tube station?"
"Russell Square by the Brunswick centre."
"Thankyou."
"It aint nuffink, you take care a yerself. Don't let that charring crosser make a garden tool outa you. "
Charing crosser was cockney slang for tosser Alex dimly remembered, garden tool he didn't know but most of them rhymed so it was likely to be fool or cool. Probably fool.
"I'll try."
He walked away from the pub down the street until he hit another road and turned towards the Brunswick centre following the signs for the underground. Pulling his jacket together so hide his shirt so he wouldn't be arrested he bought a ticket and took the Piccadilly line to chelsea.
It was barely ten minutes but it gave him a chance to warm up even if he got strange looks from fellow passengers. He stole a man's black scarf as he got off and walked the rest of the way to his street winding it around his neck to hide the bites. Then he knocked on the door and waited for Jack to answer it.