A/N - Thanks to everyone for your messages and reviews. It's always appreciated!

Chapter 9

Let It Come Down

Wrapped up in his own thoughts and what had happened, Ed kept on walking.

It was getting darker. There were noises; the high-pitched squeal of brakes, the menacing bark of a dog, the crunch of footsteps behind him, people talking nearby. He ignored it all. He didn't care anymore. He was tired. And hungry. And sore.

All he had to do was keep walking until daybreak.

The rain started to build so he pulled his jacket closer, folding the lapels round his neck, hoping to keep the worst of it off, at least for a little while. The last thing he wanted was to be cold as well, even though that felt unlikely in the close, sultry air of the evening. His hair was wet and he could feel thin trickles running down his neck and under his shirt collar.

He sighed.

Could his day get any w-

The sound of loud voices ahead roused Ed from his circling thoughts. A short distance in front of him, there were three men standing just to the side of the path, having what looked like an intense argument.

The closest man was short and well-built. He had scraggly, blond hair and swayed as if he was drunk. From that distance it was hard to tell how old he was. He stood face-to-face with a slender man with dark hair who looked far more calm than his companion. On the other side of him was a much younger black man with a crew cut, who stood nervously behind the others as if not wanting to get involved.

Ed hunched his shoulders and dug his hands deep into his pockets, ignoring the stinging in his right palm. He'd had enough of arguments for one day. He wanted to look inconspicuous, but was uncomfortably aware of the cut on his lip and the dirty, dishevelled state to his clothes. The rain only made it look worse.

Fortunately, as far as Ed could tell, no one in the group paid any attention to him, they were far too engrossed in their argument. They were talking loudly enough for Ed to catch the occasional word, such as "money", "due", "respect" and "pay".

Mentally, Ed shook his head. It was no different from most of the conversations that took place in this park at night. There was always some sort of trade going down, half the people in the place could probably be done for possession, and a large fraction of those you could get for dealing too. And that was just the drugs.

Knowing that changing direction to avoid the group would only make him look more obvious, Ed shifted over, closer to the opposite side of the path from where the men were standing. It didn't look like they would be any trouble, they were too caught up with their own lives to bother about anyone else.

Unexpectedly, there was another sound behind him, running footsteps. Ed stopped himself from turning to see what was going on and who it was. He felt a brief flare of anxiety, not knowing what to expect, but the group ahead reacted to the noise, pausing briefly in their argument. The dark-haired, slender man grinned at whoever was behind Ed, lifting his hand in greeting.

His worry died down but didn't leave, and Ed tried to assure himself that he was being paranoid. In the three nights he'd walked around here, no one had given him a first look, let alone a second, and the only people he'd interacted with during that time were a couple of lonely kids and a drunk that had now passed out on a bench.

The footsteps grew louder, and Ed moved further over again, to let them get past. He lowered his head, not looking at the group of men, wanting to get on with his solitary walk in the rain.

Afterwards, Ed wondered how he'd missed all the signs, they were so glaringly obvious, and anyone who was paying even the smallest amount of attention would have picked up on the danger and acted accordingly. But his instinct, along with the rest of him, was too far gone to care about anything else and Ed kept on walking towards the three men, his mind wandering back to what had happened in the previous few hours.

He was only about ten feet away from the group, and still looking down towards the ground, when the following footsteps suddenly sped up and became much louder. Within a few seconds they were right behind him, just as he came close to the group.

There was another noise, Ed was never certain what it was, but he abruptly looked up to find the blond man looking directly back at him, a triumphant half-smile on his face. From behind, Ed heard and felt a whoosh of rushing air.

And in that single moment his instinct spiked red with fear as Ed realised what was about to happen and how completely he had misjudged the situation.

A heartbeat after that insight, something struck him hard across his shoulder blades, connecting with a solid-sounding thud.

Pain exploded down Ed's spine and upper arms, and the force of the blow made him stagger, disorientated. He heard the other men move forward, but instead of helping, the blond one shoved him backwards. Stumbling to the side, Ed somehow managed to keep his balance on the wet ground.

The pain in his back faded as an intense, all-consuming rush of adrenaline flooded through his body. Part of him didn't react to the fear or the danger, but instantly zeroed in on what was happening in a cold, clinical way, just like he'd been trained to do at the academy.

He turned. Time slowed, he could see the situation as if it was a photograph.

It was four against one.

The person who'd run up behind him was a thick-set, black man in his thirties, dark hair and casually dressed, and he was wielding what looked like a baseball bat. Less than a foot away, the blond man who'd pushed him was stepping up to take a swing. All pretence at being drunk had vanished, and there was a vicious, smug smirk on his face. The slender man stood close behind, also balling his fists, readying himself to attack. The last one, the young black man, hung back and glanced left and right, as if on look-out.

These men were here to take him out, Ed understood that now. The attack wasn't a random act of mindless violence. They were well organised and the first strike was perfectly timed to catch him off-guard. It was obvious they'd been waiting, and had deliberately targeted him, not anyone else, although Ed wasn't sure why. It wasn't as if he had anything much to steal and he didn't recognise any of them. Maybe they'd seen that he'd been roughed up already, and thought he would be easy prey, but he considered that unlikely. The way they had waited, and the expressions on their faces now, implied that this was something serious.

And he was already at a major disadvantage, having walked into the trap without watching what else was going on around him. There wasn't a lot he could do to even up the odds. Four against one wasn't a fair fight and he had already taken the first blow. The best he could do was to keep standing for as long as he could, and pray that someone came to his aid. He didn't hold out much hope of that happening.

At that thought, time suddenly jerked forward. The blond took his swing but Ed managed to dodge it by less than an inch. At the other side, the man with the bat grabbed at him, and Ed twisted out of the way as best he could, his agility hampered by the sudden sheet of white-hot agony down his back. He gasped, feeling his arms go slightly numb.

The blond moved again and swung a hook at his chest, Ed stepped back to avoid it. At the move, he felt a pulse of elation, his confidence growing. Maybe this wasn't going to be as bad as he tho-

Something struck him hard on his side, just above his left hip, missing his ribs but knocking the air out of him. He could only give a low grunt at the pain and staggered, more off-balance than before. His optimism vanished. He suddenly knew that there was only one way this was going to end, and panic closed around his heart like a steel trap.

For the next few seconds, Ed desperately tried to stay on his feet, and deflect the barrage of blows, but the lack of sleep and the lack of food had taken the edge off his reflexes and his skills. Then came three well-aimed, deft punches and one knee in his stomach, and Ed's legs buckled.

Once they had him on the ground, he knew it was over.

They dragged him off the path and towards the bushes, pulling him over the damp grass. Ed still struggled but it was like fighting a landslide, nothing he tried made any difference, and only depleted his strength. All he got for his efforts was a kick.

Three of the men stood over him as he lay on the ground, he could see the younger one further away, still looking left and right. The rain trickled into his eyes making it hard to see all the details. Then the blond grabbed him, shoving his hand tightly over Ed's mouth and not caring how far round he wrenched Ed's arms. The black man leaned over him, and Ed was very aware of the baseball bat he put on the ground beside him. Then the man crushed his ankles together, using his considerable weight to make sure Ed was immobilised and couldn't try to strike out at anyone. Then, once they were sure he couldn't move, the slender man stepped up and searched him, very thoroughly, pawing roughly through all his pockets.

Ed tried to focus and to remember his training, but it was almost impossible to think through the dread and fear. He'd been in a couple of tight corners before. He'd taken a few punches but had always considered himself capable in a fight and confident in his ability to handle tough situations.

As a cop on the beat, he'd seen the aftermath of an assault while on duty. But he'd never experienced the brutal, dehumanising nature of an attack like this, and now he understood how the victims could feel so crushed, feeling genuinely powerless. He couldn't stop these men from taking whatever they wanted, or doing whatever they wanted. The two men who held him down were too strong. He couldn't move, and felt a choking surge of helpless panic.

How had he let this happen? He was supposed to be a cop, for God's sake. How had he let this happen?

'Come on, man! Come on!' called a younger voice from close by. 'We're clear, but this is taking too long.'

The hands stopped searching him, but he still couldn't get free.

'It's not here,' said the slender man in anger. 'There's nothin'! We don't get paid if we don't find it.'

'Y'ain't doin' it right, Beck,' said the man with the baseball bat. He gave a loud, sullen growl. 'Y'ain't!'

'Fuck you, Gator!' came the reply, the sneer tone clear even to Ed. 'You fucking try.'

'I'll do it,' said the blond suddenly. 'You do this.'

Before Ed realised what they meant, the pressure on his arms lifted, but only for a moment. The hand on his mouth moved as well, and he took the chance to gasp as much air in as he could before another hand took over, this time clamping down more firmly over his face, forcing his head back painfully. He tried to pull away, finding it difficult to breathe, but that made the man push harder.

Then hands were searching him again, more roughly than before, scratching and tugging him. It felt as if every stitch of clothing on his body had been pulled at and examined.

'Shit, you're right,' the blond man hissed eventually. 'There's nothing here. Fuck it, what we gonna do? I need the bread.'

The hand at his mouth forced his head round, and Ed had to blink hard to keep the faces in focus. The slender man was staring at him, looking both furious and coldly determined at the same time. Someone had said his name, but Ed couldn't be sure what it was. He needed to do better, he needed to keep focused and remember everything he could.

'What you done with it? You stashed it? You got it hidden away? We need it!'

Ed stared back. He would have shrugged, but he couldn't move. Instead, he looked blankly at the man, more confused than before. They expected him to have something? He didn't understand what they meant but had no way to explain, even if they let him try.

'Here,' the blond said, pushing past. Again the two men swapped positions, but just as before Ed was too slow and too disorientated to take advantage. The blond suddenly loomed large, bringing his face close to Ed's, taking up the whole of his vision. Ed could smell alcohol on his breath.

For a moment, Ed expected the man to hit him square in the face, but then a furious, deadly snarl crossed the man's features. He gripped Ed's throat, leaning down, crushing his windpipe and making the blood pound in his ears, his heartbeat racing in fear.

His panic spiked. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He couldn't stop them.

Without warning, the blond man pulled his hand away and grabbed the front of Ed's shirt and his tie, pulling his head up off the ground. The sudden spear of pain through his shoulders made sparks of light burst through the back of his eyes.

'Where d'ya put it?'

Even if he knew what they were talking about, he couldn't speak, only gasp for short, staccato breaths. The man stared at him, holding him at an awkward and painful angle, then he slammed him back down to the wet grass, snorting in disgust. Ed's vision blurred, and he had to fight to keep his eyes open as a hand was shoved over his mouth again. Passing out wasn't going to do him any good.

'He's not got a fucking clue,' the blond hissed. 'Fuck, man! What we gonna do?'

With a loud huff, he stood, muttering and swearing. The two other men who held him didn't move, but even in his injured and confused state, Ed could tell that they were just as furious with the way this had turned out.

Struggling again the insistent urge to pass out, Ed forced himself to remember his training: to stay aware, to keep thinking and to keep his eyes open. He tried to concentrate on what was happening, who these men were and what they were talking about, but it was getting harder to get it all straight in his mind.

The sudden, blissful burst of adrenaline that made everything feel so clear was starting to fade and there was nothing but cold reality to take its place. He was panicking and desperate, he hurt almost everywhere and was soaked to his skin. And no matter how he tried he couldn't do anything more than twitch, unable to find enough strength to push or find a way of getting free.

'People are coming!' said the voice to the side. 'Speed it up, man!'

The blond turned to glare at the young lookout, then swore more loudly.

'It's gotta be here,' he growled. 'It's gotta be somewhere.'

He looked down at Ed, who guessed what was about to happen and had a moment to tense his abdominal muscles to try and make the inevitable hurt less. The man sneered at Ed then gave him a sharp, harsh kick below his ribs. Ed coughed and gave a low moan, tasting blood again, curling up as far as he could in response. As soon as he moved, he was pushed further forward, then held face down into the grass, wet dirt going up his nose and into his mouth. Then someone grabbed the back of his jacket at the collar, and ripped it off his arms, all the time grumbling about his lack of anything valuable.

'Here, Sanger!' he heard someone say. 'Stop fucking around and make yourself useful, boy. Check the inside.'

There was a rustle from close by, and the noise of ripping fabric, presumably as the lookout tore the lining off his jacket.

The men search him one more time, just as thoroughly as before. Ed wanted to move but they took no chances with him and still held him down. When he tried to react, nothing happened, as if his body no longer did what he wanted it to do. He had no strength left to put up a good fight, or any fight at all, they'd made sure of that.

A cold chill of terror surged through Ed as he lay there, making his head feel very light. It was getting more difficult to hold on to the details. But the men were angry, he knew that. They couldn't find whatever it was they were searching him for, and he would be unable to stop them beating him to death, if that was what they wanted. They were in complete control of this situation.

He didn't know what to do. The panic intensified.

'Nothin',' said the young voice. He heard the sound of his jacket being thrown to the ground, close to his head. 'I told you, he don't look like he got nothin'.'

'But we don't get paid if we don't find it,' said one of the others.

'Shit,' the blond said quietly. 'Just my luck that this is gonna be a bust. I need a score, man. I need it. I can't go another night without.'

He stooped down and shoved Ed over onto his back, staring pitilessly at him. There was a wild desperation in the man's eyes.

'You've gotta have something,' he growled. 'And I want it.'

He lifted his hand and slapped Ed hard across his face. The blow stung like a burn, there was a shooting pain at the top of his jaw and Ed tasted blood from the cut on his lip. The world shifted from reality to washed-out grey for a few moments and Ed tried to force his eyes to stay open. The blond lifted his hand again, and Ed braced himself.

The blow never came.

'Hey,' said one of the others. Ed was losing track of who was who and what was going on. His head was spinning, and the ground felt as if it was staring to drag him under, like he was trapped in quicksand.

'Ah!' said the blond, sounding unpleasantly pleased about something. Ed felt his left arm being pulled and twisted round. 'It's not gonna be a bust!'

With a sickening jolt of panic and helplessness, Ed knew what was going to happen: They were going to take her engagement present away from him.

They were going to take his watch.

The searing, blinding shock at the thought hurt more than everything else that day combined. It was the last thing he had left of that perfect moment. He couldn't lose that too. But even in his desperation, Ed still couldn't move. They had him pinned down too well.

He had nothing left to describe the emotions that swept over him as his watch was pulled from his wrist. If felt like he was being dragged in a riptide, being torn away from everything he knew and understood. He couldn't do anything to stop them.

'Fuck, it's broken,' said one in disgust. 'What's the point in wearing a broken watch?'

Another gave a low grunt.

'Guess it's still gonna be dollars to someone. That's all I care about.'

Ed watched with blurry vision as a man turned it over in his hand, examining it. He felt ill at the thought of someone else touching his watch. He struggled to focus.

'Been inscribed. Shouldn't be that hard to get off.'

'But that's not what we were gonna get paid for!'

'But we'll still get something, and something is better than nothing.'

'Can we get goin',' said the young voice, interrupting. 'There are people, man! They're comin' closer! We gotta go, now! We gotta go!'

'We'll have to cut and run.'

'We've gotta go!'

'Shit, no more time,' the blond said, glaring down at Ed, his lip curled in a look of pure contempt. It looked like the man was finally going to trip out and end it.

Ed tensed again as best he could, expecting more violence. But his assailant turned away without even a shrug or a second glance, as if he was bored of the experience and it had all taken up too much of his time and effort. He walked off.

Before Ed could understand what had just happened, the pressure on his legs and arms suddenly lifted. Everything lurched violently up and the abrupt change made it feel like he was flying. There was nothing underneath him, there was nothing to hold him down and he was about to drop off the world. The sensation of vertigo rushed though him and he was almost sick. If he had been standing, he would have toppled over it was so intense.

As the nausea faded, he stared after the men, who were now only dark figures shrinking away in the distance. Ed tried to reach out, but his hand only moved a few inches and all that did was make him feel all the more sick as driving lances of pain shot through him. His vision began to turn fuzzy and grey at the edges.

He lay there, devastated. The rush of adrenaline was long gone, the edge over reality it had given was gone as well. All the sensations crowded into him, each one trying to shout more loudly to get his attention. His back ached, so did his hand and shoulders and legs, the side of his neck and throat, and his abdomen where he'd been kicked and hit, one side of his face burned where he'd been slapped.

But not even the overload of pain from the beating was enough to distract him from the most important thing. He'd lost the present she'd given him.

That was all he had left of their engagement party, a night when he felt he'd been king of the world. The ring had gone back to the jewellers within a week; even if he had wanted to keep it, he couldn't afford it. But he'd kept her watch, selling his other possessions to keep up with the rent, knowing that he would rather starve than part with it.

In the dim light and the relentless rain, Ed blinked sluggishly, his awareness fading, fighting against the feeling that it was all slipping away.

He could hear her, a memory of just before their party. The way she'd giggled when she'd presented him with the pale blue box tied with a red ribbon. She'd had a look of mischievous pleasure at his confusion. He hears her say: 'Oh Ed, what sort of party would it be if you didn't get a present too?'

It was much darker than before. There might have been voices from close by, but he couldn't make them out, it all faded to a disjointed buzz. His eyes felt sticky and sore, he could still smell blood and earth. And he was cold. For the first time in days he could feel himself shivering, feeling the chill of the rain seeping through his dirty, stained shirt.

The detached, objective part of his mind was calmly trying to make sense of what had happened. The men knew what they were doing. They could have killed him if they'd wanted to, but had only used enough force to disable and disorientate him, using his own fear to panic him into submission. His body throbbed with an ugly, visceral pain that was unlike anything he'd experienced before. But no bones were broken and, not including the cut on his lip, it didn't feel like he was bleeding. He hurt, but that would fade in time. Apart from a few bruises, and the blow to his pride, he would be okay.

That wasn't how the non-detached, non-objective part of him was reacting. That part was in shock, still overwhelmed and driven by unreasoning fear. It scrambled wildly through the experience, jumping from memory to memory, trying to understand what had just happened, reliving the terror at events that were completely out of his control. Mixed in with that was the chilling feeling that he had only survived because it was too much effort to kill him.

He didn't try to move as the rain poured down. What was the point? He had no strength left to do more than just twitch. And even if he could move, he had nowhere else to go. Lying here was less effort than doing anything. In the morning he would be swept up with the rest of the trash and that would be it.

Nothing mattered. He'd lost her watch. He was never going to see it again. It was gone from his life, just like Anne. There was nothing in the world he could do to change it.

Ed closed his eyes.

A/N - The chapter title is the only genuine Shakespeare quote I know: Macbeth, Act 3 Scene 3, when the First Murderer says (about the rain) "Let it come down" just before they murder Banquo.