A/N - Thanks again to everyone for their email/pms and reviews, especially on "Playing Dead". Hope fully now I'm back on track and I should be back to posting once a week.

Chapter 6

Between Friends

'I didn't expect to see you here, Bob!' Dennis Randall said with a wide, welcoming smile as the Chief stepped inside his office. 'This is a surprise.'

It was almost as much of a surprise to the Chief as to his friend, he'd assumed he'd be back at the office with those tapes by now. But Anderson was nowhere to be found and, during the wake, Ironside had the growing feeling that he needed to go back to the start, to find out as much as he could about the entire operation. The funeral was over, and now his priority was the investigation. He needed to go through it a step at a time, carefully uncovering the facts and putting them all together.

To do that, he needed information. And not wanting to challenge the Commissioner, he had picked the Deputy Commissioner as the man most likely to know, and be willing to help him.

'Afternoon, Dennis!' Ironside nodded a greeting and Randall gestured towards the chair opposite his desk.

'I thought you'd still be at the wake,' Dennis said.

As the Chief sat down, he took a careful but surreptitious look at the papers on the other man's desk, more out of idle curiosity than anything else. There were a couple of closed files with case numbers on the front, and a report on the monthly arrest statistics; never an exciting way to spend an afternoon. The Chief smiled inwardly. No wonder Dennis looked pleased to see him, if that was what he was reading.

'I left the wake early,' Ironside replied, sitting down and leaning back. 'You know how it gets. And it never gets any easier.'

He gave a slow sigh. A wake was his least favourite part of a funeral, especially when he was there as a fellow member of the profession rather than as a friend. Ironside had accepted the hospitality with genuine gratitude but knew his presence only made the close family feel uncomfortable. There was a brittleness to the atmosphere that was made all the more obvious by the murmuring of quiet conversation and the occasional clink of a glass, as everyone tried to be kind, and no one could relax.

'But,' Ironside said, 'the day I find it easy is the day I change career.'

Dennis' smile changed to a grin.

'The only time you'll find it easy, Bob, is when it's your own wake,' he said. 'And by then you won't have to worry about it.'

For the first time in a number of days, Ironside huffed a little laugh.

'In any case,' Dennis continued, 'I don't envy you that particular funeral. Especially with the crew from Channel 6. It will be on the evening news, no doubt.'

Randall disapproved, the Chief didn't need to be an old friend to recognised that from his tone of voice. Ironside disapproved too, but the strength of the other man's feeling surprised him.

'It's not entertainment,' Dennis said, still sounding annoyed. 'The least the family should have is a little privacy at a time like that. News crews, they're like vultures.'

The Chief nodded. Vultures was a good description of them, but it was also true that he was pleased there was a recording of the funeral. He'd anticipated going straight back to the office after the wake, expecting Anderson to have returned with what he needed. He was both surprised and disappointed that he hadn't been. He wanted those tapes, as soon as he could get them.

'And of course it had to be Channel 6,' Randall said. 'I don't know how they dare show their faces.'

'Miss Schiller ha-'

'I haven't forgotten what happened,' snapped Dennis. 'That last piece of hers caused the department a lot of trouble with the Mayor. A lot!'

Ironside nodded again but didn't reply. He had no intention of defending Miss Schiller, especially not when he wanted a favour.

There was a short silence then Dennis gave a heavy sigh.

'It's not that I don't enjoy it when you drop in, Bob,' he said with more than a hint of irony in his tone. He looked at the Chief over his horn-rimmed spectacles. 'But I take it this is not a social call. So to what do I owe this pleasure?'

Ironside took his time in answering. He looked around the office, admiring Dennis' taste in decor. He had always liked this office. Tucked away on a back corner of the second floor, it wasn't the most prestigious in the building, or even compared to the office of the other Deputy Commissioner, but Dennis always managed to make it look both professional and comfortable at the same time. It was one of the few places in the department where Ironside felt at home, not counting his own office. But today he wasn't here to be sociable, but to leverage information out of an old friend. He wasn't sure if Dennis was going to make it easy this time, but he needed answers.

'I need a little information,' Ironside said. Randall frowned at him.

'Yes, Bob,' he replied, his tone still ironic. 'I know! That's obvious!'

'You are too suspicious for your own good.'

'Only with you,' Dennis said.

Ironside gave him an innocently surprised look, but Randall just looked back at him, his eyebrows slightly raised, waiting.

During the funeral the Chief had watched and waited, taking note of who was there but thinking all the time. There were altogether too many questions and coincidences about this case. Too many loose ends and unknowns. He needed to fill in the blanks. And the biggest, most awkward blank he could think of was the money.

'I need some more information,' the Chief said. 'About that reward.'

Randall gave him a scowl that would have scared anyone else, but it only made the Chief more determined to find out much as he could.

'I see,' Dennis replied, crossing his arms. 'Any particular reason?'

'Don't I always have a reason?'

That didn't please Randall.

'And why now?' he asked, narrowing his eyes. 'You've had days to come and ask me about it.'

That was a very good question, although Ironside wasn't going to admit that to his friend.

'I just wondered about-'

'Really, Bob! You don't have a better way of asking?'

'You'd rather I tried to trick it out of you?' Ironside asked, sounding surprised by the suggestion.

'Well, no, Bob, that's not what I meant and you know it!'

On the way over after the wake, the Chief had debated the best way to get what he needed from Dennis, and had decided to play it straight. They were old friends and he didn't want to put Randall in an awkward position with his boss, especially since Ironside had declined to speak to Sewell directly.

'I just want to know some more of the details.'

'Is that right?' Randall replied. 'Just more details?'

'Yes.'

'Is there some particular reason?' Randall asked. 'Something more than just the idle curiosity you are so well known for?'

The edge of sarcasm annoyed Ironside and he thought carefully about the answer. He needed information, and quickly. Dennis knew it. He should use that to his advantage.

'Yes, I do have a reason,' he said at last. 'But before you ask, I'm not going to tell you what it is.'

Dennis looked disappointed but not surprised.

'We're friends,' Ironside continued.

Dennis muttered something under his breath, looking furious.

'And I wouldn't do this unless it was important,' Ironside said.

'Damn it, Bob!'

'I need to know, everything you can tell me. And I'm not going to give you a reason.'

'You're impossible sometimes!'

Ironside nodded.

'I know. But I don't want this to be an official conversation,' he said, watching Randall's response carefully. 'I'd rather this was a chat between friends.' He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. 'This is important. I wouldn't ask otherwise. You know I wouldn't.'

Randall let out a long sigh, his shoulders sagging. He was quiet for a few moments.

'I don't know why I let you do this,' he said.

'Because it's the right thing to do,' Ironside said. 'I need to know, and you are the only one I trust to tell me.'

'Flattery will get you nowhere,' Dennis said sourly.

'But honesty will get me what I need.'

The expression on Randall's face told the Chief that he'd won. Sure enough, Dennis gave a loud, defeated-sounding huff.

'Well, let's just get this over with,' he snapped. 'What exactly do you need to know so badly, Bob?'

'The reward,' Ironside said. 'I need to know as much as you can tell me about it. Who put it up, why, when. And most importantly, how did some of my officers find out about it.'

'It's been gossip for-'

'No!' interrupted Ironside. 'I mean who knew before the raid on the Rum Runner.'

Dennis looked confused.

'Before? What do you mean before?'

'Officer Carelli knew before the raid that there was a big reward for whoever brought the suspect in.'

Dennis' expression changed from one of confusion to one of outrage.

'What! Bob, are you sure?'

Ironside nodded.

'How did you-' Dennis stopped himself, giving the air an angry flick with his hand. 'Of course. You're not going to tell me.'

'Sorry!'

'But you are sure he knew before?'

'Yes. Positive.'

'I can't believe that.'

'I have a first-hand witness.'

Ironside was about to add the word "reliable" but he paused. All of his instinct was telling him to trust Brown, even though he could not articulate why. And he while thought Ed was reliable and had told the truth, he also knew not everyone agreed with that interpretation. And if Dennis knew who his witness was then he was most likely going to be in the latter camp as well. Getting bogged down in the details wasn't going to get him the answers he wanted.

'Someone told Carelli about the reward,' the Chief said in a low, conspiratorial tone. 'Either from the Commissioner's office or from the DA's. It had to be.'

'And before the raid…' Dennis murmured.

The Chief could see how surprised Randall was. There was a long silence. Then Dennis looked shrewdly up at him.

'And do you think that's why he was shot?'

Ironside almost replied immediately with "I'm not going to tell you", but he didn't. He should give a little to make sure he got what he needed. He didn't enjoy getting one up on Dennis, at least not in this kind of circumstance.

'It's connected,' he said. 'I'm just not sure how.'

'I see.'

'So can you help me? As one old friend to another?' Ironside asked. 'Can you tell me what I need to know?'

On the morning of the raid, all he'd been told by the Commissioner was that the suspect had been wanted in a different state and there was a reward for the man who brought him in. He hadn't needed the extra details, he was too concerned about organising the raid and bringing the man in as cleanly as possible.

'It's quite straightforward,' Randall said. 'The reward's been on the files for a few months.'

'Months?'

'Yes,' said Dennis with a sigh. 'You know what it's like. These notices come in and no one really believes that anything will come of it. I mean, when was the last time a reward worked in this sort of case?'

Dennis had a good point.

'So how did you connect it all? How did you know it was the same suspect?'

'When Burwell passed on the tip-off, one of the men in the DA's office recognised the description and checked the details. There were a few phone calls. The DA was convinced it was the same person. No one disagreed.'

'You saw the file?'

Dennis nodded, but looked sombre.

'It's not pretty, Bob,' he said. 'It was a big case in New York, at the end of last year. A professional hit on a young family. A father and his three sons.' He paused. 'The youngest wasn't even in kindergarten.'

A wave of pure disgust rose through the Chief. It was bad enough when members of the underworld killed each other over money, but who would take out a hit on innocent children…

'Exactly!' Dennis said. 'One of the extended family offered a reward for an arrest. And New York are very keen to close it up.'

'And it was the same man?'

'They checked and cross-checked, but you can never be one hundred percent sure.'

'How sure were they?'

'Enough to get the Commissioner to authorise the raid at short notice,' Dennis said, giving him a pointed look. 'They wanted the suspect brought in as quickly as they could. But if you want to know more, then you'll have to ask him yourself.'

Ironside accepted that with a nod. He didn't have access to all the information, and he had trusted that Sewell and the DA knew what they were doing. He still had no reason to doubt that.

'So then what happened?' he asked. 'Who knew about the reward? How did it leak out?'

'I have no idea,' Dennis replied. 'But I don't like it.'

'You and me both. I wanted it split between the men on the raid. Both the Commissioner and the DA didn't.' Dennis looked surprised at that statement. 'They said it would be an incentive.'

As he said the word, something clicked inside his mind. He was silent for a moment as the idea settled in his mind.

'But it would only be an incentive if the men knew about it,' he said softly.

Dennis looked shocked.

'Bob? Are you suggesting that Vaughn Sewell or the DA deliberately told some members of your team behind your back?'

Ironside paused. Was he suggesting that? He wasn't sure.

'The Commissioner did call it an incentive,' he pointed out.

'I can't believe either man would be so foolish,' Randall said. 'Or deliberately unfair. These are the two highest ranking officials in the department and they know what they're doing! You have to be wrong about that.'

The Chief made no reply, feeling his annoyance turn to anger at that statement, mostly because Dennis made a very good point. It would be highly out of character for either man, both were considered honest and upright members of society, neither man had even as much as a parking ticket.

'Well someone let it out, and it wasn't me!' Ironside said tersely. 'I need to find out who.'

He wanted to know "why" as well, but finding out "who" would be a good enough starting point.

'Okay, Bob. You don't have to get so cross about it.'

Ironside snorted. He was cross, he couldn't help but feel like that at this situation. He was angry at the Commissioner for his choice about the reward. He was angry at Dennis for not agreeing with him instantly. He was angry at Brown for his stupidity. He was angry at Leo Carelli for starting this whole mess off. And he was bitterly, uncompromisingly furious at himself for not seeing what must have been staring him in the face for months.

Carelli was a dirty cop: A man on his force was playing both sides of the game and he had not suspected anything. He'd not known. Not even Brown, a man who knew Carelli well, had suspected that he had crossed the fence.

Now he had to investigate the very real probability that other men under his command were just as crooked. He had no idea who.

He knew it was going to be a messy case, but as he worked the details he realised just how little of this made sense. The facts were straightforward, that Carelli knew about the reward, he'd used the fact to manipulate Brown so he could be the one at the back door and help the suspect escape. But how had he found out about the money? Who had told him? And most importantly, how did that fit in with being on the take and tipping off the suspect?

Ironside knew he had to keep pushing.

'But the news did leak out,' he reminded his friend. Dennis gave a grudging nod. 'We need to know who. But we also need to know how come Carelli knew. And if anyone else did as well.'

Randall nodded, but his expression was unhappy.

'From tip-off to the start of the raid only took a few hours,' he said.

'I know,' Ironside replied.

'More to the point, everyone knows about it now,' Randall said. 'Tracing the rumour back to the source, that's going to be a long shot. A very long shot.'

'We have to try,' Ironside said. 'Or rather-'

He left the sentence hanging.

'You mean, you want me to try?' Dennis finished. 'I will Bob, but I'm not holding out much hope.'

The Chief nodded, but Dennis was right about that as well, too much time had passed. This was likely to come back dry.

'It may be a dead end,' he said. 'But I'd appreciate it if you checked who else up here had access, and who might have passed it on to the men on the raid. I have to know.'

'I will. On one condition.'

Ironside scowled again.

'Condition?' he asked suspiciously. 'What do you mean?'

Randall gave him a thin, mirthless smile.

'We're having a little difficulty getting hold of the coroner's report of the shooting,' he said. 'Know anything about that?'

Ironside gave his friend a guilty look.

'I would rather you didn't push that,' he said. 'At least for another few days.'

Dennis was shaking his head in mock despair.

'I don't know why I put up with this,' he muttered. 'Is there any particular reason for all this secrecy?'

'Yes.'

Ironside didn't say any more, even though Randall waited for an explanation. After a few moments Dennis shook his head again.

'Very well, Bob,' he said. 'We'll do it your way.'

Smiling again, Ironside stood up and held out his hand. In spite of everything, Randall shook it as warmly as always. The Chief smiled to himself, grateful for their friendship and their trust in each other.

'Thank you for your confidence, Dennis,' Ironside replied, meaning every word. 'Thank you for agreeing to help, even though you don't know all the details.'

'But I'll need an explanation at some point. And so will my boss.'

'And you'll get it,' the Chief assured him.

Dennis gave an old-fashioned look.

'When?' he asked.

That was a question Ironside couldn't answer.

Ed walked.

He kept putting one foot in front of the other, threading his way along the busy streets of San Francisco, heading in the vague direction of his lodgings. He took his time, in no hurry to get to wherever he was going.

On the way to the funeral, the sun had felt unstoppable and he'd thought the sky would be blue forever. But now, as afternoon changed to early evening, the blue had dimmed to reddish purple. There were the grey, anvil-shaped clouds of a brewing storm building to the west and the air felt close and heavy with moisture. It would rain soon. But that prospect didn't bother Ed. So what if he got wet?

Most of the afternoon had been a blur since Reese had driven off. People brushed past him on the street, going about their own lives, and Ed barely noticed. His mind churned through the details for the past few days. The shooting, the nocturnal walks around the park, the argument with Sam, the funeral. But instead of dwelling on what had happened with Leo, as he had done in the past, Ed kept on coming back to what the sergeant had said at the end of their car ride: "It'll work out. The Chief will make sure of it."

Ed didn't know what to make of that comment. Because it sounded like Reese was trying to assure him that the Chief would help. And that maybe the suspension wouldn't end up being permanent. He hadn't expected that.

In the preceding days, Ed had assumed that he was for the long drop, and the delay was because they had to complete the report. The last thing he'd expected was to be back at the department, and to go back to being a cop.

The thought felt alien and disconcerting. But the more he let himself linger on it, the more he realised that it was perfectly in keeping of what he knew of Chief Ironside.

Of course, Ed admired the Chief for his work and his integrity, just as all the other officers in the SFPD did. But as he had gotten to know Ironside better, he'd discovered there was a warm and kind man underneath the tough, brusque exterior, and it was a man he liked. The Chief had a heart of tempered steel, or a heart of twenty-four carat gold, depending on the circumstances.

True, Ironside was most often like a bear with a sore head, and he could bawl you out better than anyone on the continent, but he was also thoughtful and compassionate, and generous with his time and experience in a way that Ed found totally unexpected.

The Chief hadn't needed to take an interest in his life and his problems. He didn't need to take him out to practice driving. He didn't need to assign extra overtime or put him on tough cases and keep on pushing him to do more, and to see his mistakes and do it better the next time.

It felt as if Ironside had been testing him, to see how far he could go. Each day there had been something different, new and increasingly complex. In the months since the car crash, Ed had done more police work than he'd done in all the time between then and starting at the SFPD, and somehow he'd managed to keep up. He'd even started to enjoy it, and the challenge that each new day brought was something to look forward to.

He had been getting better at being a cop. The Chief's instinct was legendary, and Ed could only wistfully aspire to such a finely-tuned instinct, but a little of it was starting to rub off on him. It was like driving a car, the more you worked at it the better you became. Ed had felt like a better cop, his skills were improving and he found himself more able to cope with the pressure.

His old friends at the boarding house hadn't understood. He had found a new goal: to be better at the job, and to keep getting better. And to make Ironside proud.

Ed started at that thought, surprised. But he realised it was true. He'd wanted to keep up and show the Chief that he could get better, that he was worth the time and effort, and that he was good enough to work with Chief Robert T. Ironside, a man the whole country admired and respected as a top criminologist.

And that had given him the tiniest sliver of hope that life might mean something again. For the few weeks after the car crash, he'd begun to hope for more.

Ed sighed.

It wasn't what he felt like at the moment, that ambition was more a source of regret than a drive to better things. Yes, that was what he'd wanted but now he wasn't sure, and not only because he was currently suspended, pending an internal investigation into the death of a fellow officer. It all felt so chaotic and uncertain. He didn't think it was ever going to be different. He didn't know how it could, or if he could go back to being a cop after all of this.

Even as Ed finished that thought, Sergeant Reese's words came back to him: "It'll work out. The Chief will make sure of it."

What did that mean? Ed couldn't answer.

He walked on.

Eventually, as the light began to fade, Ed glanced at his watch. It was almost six. He stopped at the corner of the next block, looking around to try and get his bearings. He'd walked in a convoluted circle and was close to the department, and the boarding house. It was only a few blocks away.

He glanced left to right, seeing the people and the cars swirling past him, wondering what his next move should be. He could keep on walking, round and round, until he collapsed. As tempting as that was, Ed knew that was a bad idea. He couldn't keep stumbling onwards and just hope that it was all going to go away.

The other option was to return to his rooms and start to pick up the pieces.

At the thought, Ed frowned. At the boarding house there was a bed, and some food. Maybe going back there wasn't such a terrible idea. He was genuinely exhausted in a way that he'd only been a few times before, the back of his legs ached, and he was hungry and thirsty for the first time in days. He could pick up an early dinner from Mrs Parker and get some rest. Tomorrow was another day. He could figure it out better on a full stomach and after a decent sleep.

A wave of weariness hit him, helping to cement the decision. Yes, he could figure it all out better tomorrow. He needed to go home.

It took him only ten minutes to get there. As Ed turned onto the street, he felt an unexpected swell of relief. He'd never thought he'd be so pleased to see his own front door. He might not like it that much at the moment, but he'd have a roof over his head, and it was warm and comfortable. He walked up the two shallow steps and eagerly pulled the key out of his pocket, sliding it into the lock, pushing the door open with a sense of rising anticipation. Maybe Reese knew what he was talking about; it might all work out okay.

Ed took one step inside and realised he was wrong. Something was off.

The house was very still, as if no one was there, but there was a troubled, disconcerting atmosphere that sent a spike of cold foreboding down Ed's spine. It felt as if he was inside a thundercloud and his instinct, that had been curled up sulking in a dark corner of his mind for days, suddenly surged forward in alarm. Whatever this was, it could get very ugly, very quickly.

Letting the door swing shut behind him, Ed looked along the hall towards his room, but in spite of being tired and hungry, he didn't move. He could hear the low murmur of tense but subdued conversation. The voices were coming from the lounge, he wasn't sure how many people were there, but it was clear that the men were not pleased. Drawn on by his curiosity, Ed moved forward.

His four friends were there, as if they had been waiting for him to get back, and they all glared at him in silence. Larry and Dalton were sitting at either end of the sofa, Jerry stood nervously by the curtains as if on look-out, and Sam was leaning on the fireplace, holding an empty glass at a slight angle.

What Ed should have done at that moment was turn around and walk away, and afterwards he wondered why he hadn't. Ignoring his instinct and his better judgement, Ed waited, his racing heartbeat thundering so loudly in his head that he was sure everyone could hear it.

Clearly something had happened, but he couldn't guess what. He had no clues from the others and, in spite of being people he thought he knew well, he had no idea what any of them were thinking. His gaze went round the group in turn, but that didn't help. The silence stretched out painfully. At last, Ed couldn't take any more.

'What's happened?' he asked. He looked around the group again, but he got no response. Finally his gaze stopped at Sam. They stared at each other.

It was hard to keep breathing steadily, his chest felt like it was encased in stone and Ed could feel himself getting light-headed. Still no one else had said a word and the tension was growing more acute with every passing moment.

'Tell me what's wrong!' Ed demanded, dragging his gaze away from Sam, looking at the others for a response.

Jerry was the one who spoke.

'Leo's room,' he said, his voice shaking. 'It's been turned over. Someone's been in there.'

Ed swallowed hard. They all thought it was down to him, that was obvious by their reaction. As he shook his head, Sam took a few unsteady steps forward, so they were standing closer. Ed struggled with the urge to turn around and walk away. He should. He knew he should. Nothing good would come of this confrontation, but he couldn't move.

'It was you, wasn't it,' Sam growled, the effort he made to speak softly making the statement sound more threatening than if he'd been bellowing at the top of his voice. 'You did it didn't you? Before you left, you turned it over.' He pointed at Ed, poking at the air. 'What were you looking for? Something incriminating, was it? Something you didn't want the rest of us to find? Well? WELL?'

'No!' Ed replied, looking around at the group, seeing the hostile stares. 'Of course I didn't! Is that what you think of me?'

One of the others gave a loud snort of contempt, but Ed wasn't sure who it was. His attention snapped to Sam, whose expression of fury made him take a small step back, suddenly hyper-aware of the whole room.

But in spite of the powerful desire to turn on his heel and leave, Ed didn't. He looked back at Sam, trying to keep himself calm. One of them had to be calm. He gulped in a short breath.

'I didn't,' Ed repeat, surprised at how unsteady his voice was. 'I wouldn't.'

He'd expected more contempt, but instead there was a hollow silence and the tension grew sharply. The room suddenly felt much smaller, and stiflingly hot. His instinct was telling him urgently to leave. It didn't matter what he said, he was never going to win this argument. He was never going to convince them otherwise.

It was four against one.

He took another unsteady backward step to the door just as Sam took a step towards him.

'What were you looking for?' Sam hissed, his voice growing louder and less controlled. 'Tell me! What did you find?'

'I did not search his room,' Ed replied, desperation taking over from the fear. 'I didn't go anywhere near it.'

Sam snorted, and turned away shaking his head.

'I don't believe you,' he muttered.

There was a painful silence. Ed looked to the other three. Dalton stared at Sam in disbelief. Larry did the same. Only Jerry returned Ed's gaze, frowning in confusion.

Suddenly Sam whirled round and took four quick strides towards him.

'Fuck you, Ed Brown,' he snarled.

Sam swung wildly, a classic haymaker, and Ed jerked his head back, avoiding the worst of it, the punch just clipped his mouth. Then Sam threw a second, less wild punch with his other hand but Ed was fast enough to avoid it.

Surprised more than dazed, Ed tasted the rich, coppery tang of blood and felt the sting of a cut on his top lip. He barely had time to reach up to his mouth before Sam grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket. Of the group, Ed was the tallest by an inch or so, Sam barely reached his shoulder, but he was so blindingly furious that the height difference was no disadvantage.

'Leo was my best friend and you let him die!' Sam hissed in his face, the smell of whiskey very clear on his breath. 'You let him die!'

Before Ed was able to respond, Sam shoved him backwards against the door frame, holding him there, hatred mixing with fury on his face. Ed could only stare in shock.

Behind him, none of the others had moved.

'This is your fault, Brown,' Sam hissed bitterly, his words slurring together with emotion. 'This is all your fault. If you hadn't begged him to swap, Leo would still be here. He should be here and you shouldn't.'

Ed tried to respond, but he couldn't find the words. Suddenly Sam moved, grabbing Ed's arm, twisting it behind his back and marching him to the front door. Disorientated and surprised, Ed struggled in vain to get free of Sam's iron grip. Ahead, one of the others opened the front door as wide as it would go.

'Get out,' Sam snarled. 'Get out, get out, GET OUT! I never want to see you again!'

With that, Sam pushed him as hard as he could through the doorway and out on to the street.

Ed staggered, off-balance and trying to keep upright. He took a quick step, hoping to stop the fall, and that worked, but he stumbled and missed the next one, his foot finding nothing underneath it to slow his descent. Trying to catch the railing didn't help against gravity, and only made him feel more unstable. A bolt of fear went through his heart as he realised he was out of options and that this was going to hurt. Ahead, he could see the ground looming closer very quickly.

Still hoping to break his fall, Ed reached out, but he landed heavily, face-down on the sidewalk, his head missing the concrete by less than an inch. His right hand skidded over the uneven slab, scraping off the top few layers of skin, leaving the burning feeling of a raw wound. The sudden jolt to a stop sent pain shooting up his arms and across his knees. His left arm was crushed underneath him and there was the faintest crunch of breaking glass.

Spread-eagled on the sidewalk, Ed barely had time to take a breath when the door banged shut behind him.

The sound made Ed start and the ugly reality hit him: They'd just thrown him out.

For a few seconds he stayed where he was, still breathing hard, too disorientated and unsure to do much else. Painfully, Ed struggled to move himself up and round so he was half-sitting rather than lying his full length. The door stayed resolutely shut.

Still unable to believe what had just happened, Ed carefully pushed himself standing, brushing away some of the dirt as he did, looking nervously up and down the street. No one paid any attention to him. It was as if he was invisible.

The initial burst of pain had lessened to a dulled ache, except his right hand which was stinging like he'd been burned. Shaken, Ed stared at the door, hoping that it would open again, but hope faded with every second that ticked past. His friends had just thrown him out of his home.

He wasn't even sure how it had happened. He'd been inside for just minutes. Now he was back outside, with the door slammed shut behind him. What was he going to do now?

Ed remembered Sam's voice, full of hate: I never want to see you again!

And they'd grabbed him, and thrown him out.

He had no idea how long he stood there, staring in shocked disbelief at the closed door.

At last, not knowing what else to do, Ed turned and walked unsteadily away.