By the time I got to London, it was dark out. The saying goes, though, that cities never sleep, and London was no exception. Light spilled from streetlamps, neon signs, barroom doors, and apartment windows. People hunched into taxis or scuttled into the Underground entrances where they were whisked away to all corners of the city. And out before me stretched miles of streets and skyscrapers, basements and alleyways, yielding endless possibilities. If it weren't for the fact that I would have been trampled by the crowds, I probably would have been frozen with awe. Instead, I exited the station and chose my route with no clear idea where I was going.
My instincts told me the first thing I needed to find was a place to stay. Unfortunately, it was unlikely that I would find anywhere to sleep at this hour. My pride would not allow me to resign immediately to sleeping in the streets, so I spent a few hours roaming, searching for nothing in particular. The chocolate in my stomach kept my mind off dinner, and I stopped in a public restroom once or twice for a drink of water from the sinks- not the healthiest plan, but water is an essential.
Finally, I wound up in a more residential area of the city, not a particularly run-down area but not apparently wealthy either. This, I decided, would be the best area to resign myself to, because I wouldn't be kicked out by rich snobs, and I wouldn't be harassed about being on someone else's turf. I preferred not to deal with the rich side of town at all, and the more run-down side of town would be better to scope out once I had somewhere to crash, instead of in the dead of night when I hardly knew the city. I was alone, homeless, and with no source of income, and I had to remember that well.
That was certainly the first thing on my mind as I ducked into a dark dead end alleyway. It was empty other than a dumpster, the trash overflowing from it, and a door, the cracks of which showed a small enough amount of light to let me know that I really didn't want to know what it was I was laying myself down on. The stench was rancid, but I could suck it up. It was just one night, anyway. I would be safe for just one night.
How wrong I was.
I seemed to have attracted an unknown visitor in the alleyway. I hadn't heard his approach, and he was about halfway between the opening and the wall when he spoke.
"Hand over the bag."
His face and body were obscured by the shadow of the light from the streets, leaving him a dark silhouette. The only thing I could make out was one arm, which he held outstretched towards me. Extending from his hand was an object that glinted silver in the light- a gun.
I was no stranger to guns. As one of L's most likely successors, I had been amply exposed to them from a young age. I left before we were taught to fire them, but Roger had made sure we saw, held, dissembled, and thoroughly examined guns of all shapes and sizes, so that when faced with them we could see them for what they truly were instead of magical death-bringers. That being said, there's nothing quite like having one pointed threateningly at you for the first time.
However.
There is something in the way a person holds a gun that can tell you a lot about him. For instance, when someone holds it like a toy, you know that you are either faced with a fake gun, an empty gun, or someone who has fired his gun so many times that he won't think twice about killing you. On the other hand, when he holds the gun delicately, his hand trembling just enough to cause the light reflecting off the weapon to flicker slightly, you know you are dealing with someone desperate, someone who may never have fired a gun at all, let alone with the intention of harming someone.
The secret to guns is that most people have no intention of firing them. For such a long time people have gotten what they want by merely wielding them. Those being threatened are so afraid of the gun being fired that they act according to the gunman's wishes, regardless of proof of a viable threat. Anyone could use an empty gun to rob a place with low enough security.
As the victims assume that the assailant will use his gun, the assailant assumes that the victims will comply based on this threat, or else call the police on him. In my situation, I had no way of calling the police. However, I had the benefit of knowing that the thief was too afraid of his gun to fire it. A swift kick to the hand and the weapon was knocked across the alleyway. It didn't take much to knock him down, and I was out on the main streets again before he had a chance to get up.
After that little escapade, I knew that sleeping in a dark alleyway like that was out of the question. What little possessions I had were my key to survival at the time, and I could not risk losing them by a poor choice of sleeping place. As soon as I had put enough distance between me and the alleyway, I took all of my money out of the pack and stuffed it down my pants- I figured if someone were to get it there, I would have more to worry about than a robbery.
I wandered a little more until I found a bench under a streetlamp where I sat down to think. I was getting more tired by the second, but I knew sleeping on a park bench was asking for trouble from the police. Eventually I decided that perhaps it would be better not to sleep at all, to keep myself awake until I could find a proper place of residence, hopefully the next day. I had pulled several all-nighters before, and though my mental faculties were diminished by a lack of sleep, I had succeeded on many tests and quizzes. Figuring motion would be the best stimulus to keep me awake, I rose to my feet and set to wandering again.
By the time the sun rose over London, I was exhausted. I realized, however, that staying up had been a good plan of action in many ways. I had seen a good portion of the city in my wanderings, and though London was large and I still had much to explore, I had at least gained a little familiarity with my surroundings. I had also located a few possible places to begin my job search in the morning. Finding a job as a homeless fourteen-year-old was not going to be easy, I knew, but it wouldn't be impossible, and at least now I had a vague idea of where I could start.
With no dinner, no sleep, and no prospect of breakfast, I steeled myself to wait for stores to begin to open, hoping one of them held my future temporary job.