Bystander to Another Destiny

Months had passed. Nothing had got better - though he was no longer living in fear of the police turning up at his door, not feeling his insides constrict with nerves every time there was an unexpected knock at his apartment, not having to keep his eyes down very time he passed an officer on the street, in case somehow they just knew. It had been months, and the police had not come for him. They would not come for him now - the trail must be cold. He would never have to think about his life of crime again. It had been brief. But it was over.

Although … Neither the dogs or the ponies had been paying out recently. Things were getting tight. He had lost money on a game just last night and he found himself, against his will, starting to eye up cars in the neighbourhood. He knew how to hotwire them now. And Lenny the Rat - one of the guys from the bank job - knew how to give stolen cars a complete face-lift so it wouldn't be found. Doyle could sell a car to one of Lenny's chop shops. Maybe. He shouldn't. But if it came down to that and borrowing money from someone dangerous … he'd have one last flutter. One more go at the bookies and then he would make his decision.

He walked through the streets. It was a bright, sunny, Spring afternoon - but he already had a bottle of scotch cracked open, thinly disguised in a paper bag, and he walked home swilling from it, openly.

He passed a high school just as its final bell rang out shrill and clear and he crossed the road away from the building, not wanting to be caught up in the swirling mass of vacating, human teens. The scotch was starting to get to him, he felt a little dizzy, unsteady on his feet. Maybe if he could just find a nice bench…

He bumped into a parked car, and swore at it. It said nothing back - obviously. The guy in the driver's seat just ignored him. Maybe that was lucky - the guy looked to be in an even worse shape than Doyle, from what the Irishman could see through the dirt smeared windows. It was a rusty, beaten up old car - and the grime on it was thick. Well, if he did go back to stealing cars - this one would be safe, He wouldn't get fifty cents for that hunk o' junk.

He stumbled onto the sidewalk, shambled over to a bench and sat down in the shade. He took another long drink from his bottle and then wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. The kids were starting to leave the building, his eyes tried to focus on them blearily. It seemed impossible that it was less than a year since he had been a teacher, since he had worked in a place like this - had worked with kids like these, though his kids had been younger.

His kids… it seemed crazy to even think those words. What would they think if they could see Mr. Doyle now? What would Harri think … he turned his mind away from that particular train of thought. He didn't want to know. She had left him, and so what she thought about him - what he was doing with his life - didn't matter. He did not care what she thought. Absolutely not. He didn't care what any human thought of him. He wasn't one of them - so their opinions didn't count.

He sniffed, wiped his mouth - and watched the kids. The normal, human kids. Living their normal, human lives. They would never know, everything that was out there, everything that could be taken from them … he hated them a little for that. And he was jealous. He wanted not to know too. He wanted his wife and his job and his life back … but demons didn't get those things, so he sat on his bench and drank.

A group of girls came down the steps. 'Is Tyler taking you?' one of them asked. The blonde girl she had spoken to took the lolly from her mouth, 'where were you when I got over Tyler? He is of the past. He would have to crawl on his hands and knees to get me to go to the dance with him … which actually he's supposed to do after practice - so I'm gonna wait.'

'Okay - see you!'

'Bye, call me!' the blonde girl waved, then waved at her other departing friends, 'call me, call me.' As her friends walked away she stuck her lolly back in her mouth, took off her jacket and sat down on the steps.

The other girls crossed the street - past the filthy Chevy Impala and right up onto the sidewalk, beside where Doyle was sitting. They took one look at the inebriated half demon, wrinkled their noses and giggled.

'Eww!'

'Why is that dirty old homeless guy just sitting there?'

'Eww do you think he was looking at us? Ewww!'

Still giggling and still vocalising their disgust at Doyle, they disappeared down the street. Doyle took another drink. He didn't know why they were picking on him, they had walked right past the battered old tin can of a car, with its blacked out windows, without even giving it a second glance. But what? Some guy on a bench gets the full valley girl ewww treatment?

But then … maybe they could see what he was. Without knowing, of course, but maybe they could just tell he wasn't right. In a way that guy driving the car wasn't. It was something that Doyle was beginning to think more and more, that the ordinary people on the street could tell he wasn't one of them. That car was dirty, the guy driving it was dirty … but Doyle was dirty on the inside - and he was sure, getting surer by the day, that everyone could see it.

He got to his feet, just as the filthy car drove away. The blonde girl was gone from the steps, he had been too busy brooding about the state of his stained soul to see her leave. Humans didn't want him around - and he didn't want to be around demons, there was nothing and no one for him in this world. He just had to accept it - no matter how much it hurt. He just had to cut everyone off. No one cared about him - so he cared about no one, hell take the lot of them. It had already taken Doyle.