Oh I see your scars I know where they're from
So sensually carved and bleeding until you're dead and gone
I've seen it all before beauty and splendor torn
It's when heaven turns to black and hell to white
Right so wrong and wrong so right

Now

Feel it turning your heart into stone
Feel it piercing your courageous soul
Beyond now - redemption
No one's gonna catch you when you fall

Oh I see you crawl you can barely walk
With arms wide open you keep on begging for more
I've been there before knocking on the same door
It's when hate turns to love and love to hate
Faith to doubt and doubt to faith

Now

Feel it turning your heart into stone
Feel it piercing your courageous soul
Beyond now - redemption
No one's gonna catch you when you fall

HIM- "Beyond Redemption"

--

Cammy trailed her eyes down the blue and gold embroidery of his frock coat. It was elegant and proper. What a gentleman of honor would wear. Not the attire she was used to seeing adorn Vega's body. His voice broke her thoughts.

"Do you like it?"

"Actually yes. For a moment I could pretend it wasn't you."

"Oh come on lover, I know you have become accustomed to our chats."

"I've become tolerant of them. You're just bullshitting the whole time anyway, so what's the point?"

"The point is I am proving a point."

"That point being?"

"You have become like me."

"Yup, I was right. You're just bullshitting."

"Who is lying in the bed with you Camilla?"

She paused, not sure what to say. She opened her mouth to speak but he put his finger across it.

"Shhh, I always knew you were passionate."

Pushing his hand away she spoke.

"You knew no such thing. You raped me. That's not passion."

"Oh but do not forget your escapade with Mr. Masters. A married man. You threw yourself at him with such raw lust. He did not even have the strength to tell you he was married."

"I was seventeen years old."

"Exactly."

"That proves nothing. You have no point. Get out of my head!"

"I have a point my love. You have realized what a gift passion is. How wonderful it is to get away from everything when you are in your lovers arms. And even more like me, you have come to the conclusion that one lover isn't enough. You want them all."

Cammy wanted to hit him and raised her arm to do so. He caught it in his hand and twisted her body against his. She was always powerless in these dreams. He rubbed the side of her face and trailed his tongue down her neck. He littered her chest with soft kisses.

"You are as wicked as I ever was."

Cammy moaned as her eyes opened. They were used to darker than the light in the room so she could clearly see the naked back of…well come to think of it, she couldn't recall his name at the moment, but he was laying across her, kissing her neck, trying to wake her with his cuddling. He noticed she was awake and spoke, his voice a lustful whisper.

"You drive me crazy."

She smiled at him, running her fingers through his thick brown hair. Cammy pushed her dream into the back of her mind. What Wolfman said had her having all kinds of crazy dreams. Why couldn't he just mind his own business? She was a grown woman. She pulled Devon, (Yes! That was his name!) into a deep kiss, letting all the negative thoughts wash away as she became lost in his arms for the second time that night.

What seemed like only minutes later, Cammy peeled her eyes open slowly, adjusting to the morning sunlight, the unfamiliar bedroom and Devon's arm slug across her stomach. This is what was called coyote ugly. Not that she had been drunk last night or that Devon wasn't good looking, but she just didn't want to wake him. Then there are questions and last names and second dates...it was easier this way.

"Much easier."

She whispered to herself as she expertly slid out from under Devon's arm and collected her things.

She was glad she didn't have to work today. One of the perks of being a special agent of MI-6 was time off after missions. As soon as she was dressed she was out the door, staring a new day, last night's escapade already forgotten. She may have been choosing to ignore her promiscuity, but it was slowly taking a toll. Her dream last night proved it. Little by little she was becoming someone she despised. Life's hard when you hate yourself.

--

Early morning sunlight bore down on his shoulders, making it feel twenty degrees hotter than it already was. The dirty ball cap covering his red hair happened to also shield his eyes from the passersby. He was ashamed, but it was a feeling he had come accustomed to over his life. On the streets since he was fourteen, Craig Doyle Crankurt had developed a tough skin. Now at twenty-four, nothing fazed him. He had a bucket next to his folded legs on his perch next to the curb. He held a sign that read, in scratchy writing, 'need money for food'. Few people dropped coins into the bucket. More than not cursed him as they passed. While London was a tough crowd he couldn't feel too bad. After all it was a lie. He didn't need the money for food. It was for a plane ticket back to Osaka, Japan, where he had spent most of his adolescence picking pockets in the busy streets. As he had grown older, his face grew less innocent as it began reflecting his hard life. Besides, it happened to be quite easy to spot a six-foot-two Irishman in Japan. He did still have a few connections there though. He figured it would work out, at least for a while. And he did have charm as sure as his hair was red. For the past year he'd been conning the fine British people out of their money. But his gig was up and it was time to go. Get the hell out of here rather. A voice broke his thoughts.

"Sir, here you are."

He looked up and saw a young woman crouched beside him. She held out a brown paper bag emblazoned with the Subway logo. He gave her a puzzled look as he reached out for the bag. She spoke again.

"Some food, so you're not out here all day. It's damned hot. Hope you like turkey."

He stuttered.

"T-thank you."

She smiled, her green eyes sparkling. She was simply beautiful. He was thankful for his ball cap shading his eyes or she would have caught him staring. She spoke.

"Have a good day!"

She was gone before he could comprehend what she had said. He had to find out who she was. He stood quickly, almost forgetting his bucket, running into a few people as he rushed away. The plane ticket would have to wait. He had to find her, talk to her, and he certainly couldn't do that dressed as a bum. His impulsiveness once again controlling his life, he spoke out loud to himself as he entered a store to purchase some presentable clothes.

"Here we go Cranky."

--

The dull razor made a loud thump against the small bathroom trashcan. It had taken a pair of scissors and three disposable razors, but Julian was back to himself. He combed what was left of his jet black hair back from his face before he splashed on some aftershave. He felt so good, so alive, and so free. The sun shining on his face had roused him from his sleep. The sun! It was unbelievable. Julian couldn't remember the last time he felt so happy. However, it was strange to be in his father's home. In his twenty-eight years of life, he'd never lived in one of his father's homes. Julian walked down the stairs, surprised at the domestic scene in the kitchen. His father sat at the table, reading the newspaper, sipping on his coffee. Julian cleared his throat. His father looked up and his eyes grew wide. Throwing his newspaper aside, he hurried to Julian and grabbed the side of his face. Julian froze, scared of the sudden emotion of his emotionless father. He held Julian like that for a long moment, scanning his eyes, touching the rough features of his face before he kissed his cheek and pulled him into a hug. He whispered.

"My boy, all grown up."

Julian didn't know what to do. This was genuine love…from his father. It was surreal. His father spoke again.

"I'm sorry for what I did. Dorian died because of circumstance. You had no control. I had no right to put his death on you like I did."

That was the last straw for Julian. He crumbled into his father's arms, becoming a twelve year old boy; a boy who wanted nothing more than to make his father think him a man. Julian broke from the embrace first and spoke.

"Pa, I know this isn't why you came for me. You made that clear."

"No, no…it isn't. This is just an added perk."

"Not that I don't appreciate it, but cut the bullshit."

Julian wasn't that twelve year old anymore. He hadn't believed in his father since he forced him to get that tattoo. Since he forced him into his life. The life of a gang lord. Julian would have followed his father into hell, if only he had given him a choice rather than forcing him. His father had him fooled for a moment then. Like when he was smaller. His father's charm was unbreakable as he retorted.

"Some things never change Julian. I always loved you."

"Listen to your own words Pa. Some things never change. Like how I was never good enough."

"You weren't"

Julian clutched his fists. His didn't need this shit.

"Just what I should have fucking expected."

He turned to leave but his father grabbed his arm.

"We had a deal Julian. You work for me."

Julian roughly pulled his arm away before spitting back at his father.

"I was just going outside for some air. I wasn't leaving or skipping out on my responsibility…that's your department."

"You had the choice to come with me."

"I never had a choice in anything! You knew I wouldn't leave Ma. You left us to the dogs. You left me to your mother fucking gang dogs!"

Julian was breathing hard. This rage had built up for a while, a lifetime it seemed. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. Almost as if he could channel his anger. He yelled again.

"Can you imagine what my life would have been like if you had let me be a normal kid? I had my first tattoo at fucking twelve and my first woman at thirteen. I killed because of you!"

His father yelled back, enraged now also.

"I may have started you on this path but you kept going. You killed those people, you raped that woman, you got yourself fucked with Shadowlaw. Now you need to finish it!"

"So it's an obligation then?"

"I do love you Julian, unconditionally, but you got to help me too. I haven't had the easiest life either. You're out of jail; that's what's important now, not our pint up anger, we have work to do."

"Then let's get to it."

Julian nervously twisted his fingers around on another and continued, calmer suddenly.

"So…what do we got to do today?"

"I have some business, but you, you need to take a day."

"A day?"

"To yourself. We got enough problems without you going all culture shock on me. You have been in jail for seven years."

Julian nodded.

"Alright Pa. But this don't change shit."

"I never said it did."

--

Craig 'Cranky' Doyle Crankurt belongs to fellow writer and friend, noctorro. Thanks for letting me use him. I'm sure this will all turn out great.