We saw Jimmy in Choices, and he was mentioned in Family Locator
"Quit hiding from me you little—"
The last word abruptly cut off, and he ducked around the corner, constantly checking to confirm the window remained closed.
Father was nowhere in sight. He was free.
"So's I told 'er I 'ud come back tonight," a nearby voice slurred, "'n she gave me her address. Do ye reckon she might like me?"
He would not stay that way if he stopped moving, however, and he hurried away from the two men talking outside of a bar to crouch behind a nearby rubbish bin, grinning widely when another check proved nobody paid him any attention. No more beatings. No more ducking things Father threw at him. No more worrying if he was going to wake up to a fist swinging at him—or hitting him. What should he do first? Where should he go?
Food, he decided when his stomach growled. Father had not let him into the kitchen for days, and while he had learned to go without, there was no reason to do so if he was free.
The rubbish bin at his back provided a quarter loaf of stale bread. He tore into it. Even the crusts so dry they were difficult to chew were better than nothing, and a half-moldy piece of cheese he found on the next block made the meal a feast. Water became his main priority when the bread and cheese had disappeared, but he forced himself to bypass the first three pumps he found. His escape would mean nothing if Father found him because he was thirsty.
People filled the street around the fourth pump, and he paused in the shadows, watching. A mother called to a toddling girl, gently rocking the bucket in her hand instead of the infant on the other arm. She glanced down after a moment, blushed, and started rocking the child. An older man nearby grinned, obviously noticing the tired mother as well, while a young woman sitting on a bench read from the book in one hand. Two men in nice suits talked on the other side of the street. A man carrying a large bag in one hand and a cane in the other limped down the cobblestones.
Everyone was caught up in their own tasks, their own day. Nobody noticed the small boy watching from a nearby alley. He gave it another minute—recognizing no one—before darting towards the handle. One push brought water, and he stuck his face beneath the stream. His day's ration of tepid, old water had disappeared hours ago, and he had never tasted anything as refreshing as the water straight from the pump. He gulped it greedily.
"Breathe, son," a man's voice said behind him. "The water's not going anywhere."
Run!
The same instinct that had so often warned him of his father's presence sounded at the unexpected comment, and he abandoned his drink, swallowing the last mouthful as he bolted into a different alley. He took a hard left, jumped over the refuse can, then crouched behind a crate and looked back, breathing heavily.
The alley was empty, and a thorough scan of the street corner revealed no one appearing to look for him. He was safe, he decided with no small amount of relief. The man had probably shrugged and gone about his day, disregarding yet another skittish street kid in the alleys of London.
The thought brought a faint grin. Street kid. He was a street kid, now. That was better than being his father's son any day.
He needed to keep moving, he reminded himself, and he walked two pumps east before trying again. This was a slightly poorer part of town, and there was no one to comment when he again drank straight from the outlet, nearly inhaling the water several times in his haste. A sigh of relief escaped when he finally stood upright. That was much better.
Now what did he want to do?
He sheltered in the comfort of the shadowed alley as he considered that. He would want something better than stale bread and moldy cheese eventually—or at least something in addition to it—but that could wait a few hours. Where should he go now?
Away, he decided. Direction did not matter provided it was away from his fath—that man. The further away he got from that horrible excuse for a home, the safer he would be. He had no wish to be found.
He wandered the alleyways, digging through debris here and watching the crowds there. He easily ignored the twinges of pain from his many injuries, his ribs in particular, but without a looming adult forcing him to find a new hiding place every few minutes, the hours seemed to drag. Whenever he glanced up, expecting the sun to be touching the tops of the buildings, he found it only slightly lower than it had been the last time he had checked. Had the days always been this long?
Probably. He had just been too busy—first helping his mother, then avoiding his father—to notice.
The smell of freshly baked bread drifted on the breeze, and he followed the scent to a bakery, then stole around back. He had no money to buy anything fresh, but maybe there would be more stale bread behind the shop. Something too stale to sell would still be more edible than the loaf of that morning.
The closest rubbish bin yielded nothing, but another, smaller container near the door caught his eye. That might have something he could eat. He crept closer, watching the door to see if anyone would claim the container. When nobody appeared, he lifted the lid to find five large loaves and three smaller ones, all over a day old and therefore unsellable but still plenty good enough to eat. This was no rubbish bin. The baker had left this on purpose, but another glance confirmed the area deserted. He claimed a small loaf and left the rest.
"You're sneaky," a high-pitched voice said appreciatively when he was halfway to the closest alley. "I don't think the baker even noticed you."
Run!
He shoved the loaf down his shirt and bolted into the shadows, frantically trying to lose the footsteps that followed. Fool that he was, he had not checked the area as he left, and now someone had spotted him. He needed to escape, needed to hide. He refused to go back there. Would rather go anywhere than back to that dirty flat filled only with pain since his mother died.
"You're fast, too," the voice panted from somewhere behind him. "I won't hurt you. I promise."
He had no reason to risk it. He kept running, sprinting down one alley, over a low wall, and up the next alley. One of these would let him onto the next street.
Not this one, however. The path ended abruptly, and he found himself facing a tall wall on one side and a lower wall on the other. He jumped the lower wall and dove into an alcove instead of following the branch to its end, trying to silence his breathing. Perhaps they would think he had continued down the narrow alley, and he could use the distraction to escape the way he had come.
"Oh, good. A dead end." Footsteps stopped running, then slowly climbed the low wall. "I know you are here somewhere. I promise I won't hurt you."
That sounded like—He halted the thought, reevaluating the words. That sounded like a girl!
"My name's Doris," she continued, moving steadily closer. "A bunch of us street kids live together. The older ones, like my brother, take care of the younger ones. We have a bit o' food, decent clothes, and a bunch o' friends in our busy courtyard. Join us. You'd be safe there."
He made no answer. He was plenty safe here, provided no one made him go back to that flat. The alleys could be his home. He was sneaky enough to hide from almost any adult and fast enough to escape the rest.
"Please?" she asked. He could not tell if she had found him or was just lucky, but her steps gradually grew louder. "No one should have t' live alone. Even Mr. 'Olmes didn't like bein' alone, an' he tried it for three years."
He remained in his cubby. Maybe "Mr. Holmes" should have tried it for longer. Being alone was far better than ducking the knife thrown across the kitchen because he did not retrieve a magazine quickly enough.
"I know where you are," Doris announced, "but I really don't wanna have ta chase you again. Come out, please?"
No. He would not fall for that again. He was perfectly fine where he was.
A quiet huff reached his ears, and footsteps loudly came towards him, giving plenty of warning before red curls poked their way into his alcove.
"Hiya. I'm Doris. What's your name?"
He stared at her for a long moment, debating. She was about his age, meaning it was probably safe to introduce himself, but he had not yet decided what name he would give.
"I love you, Jimmy," she said with her last breath. "Always remember that."
"Jimmy's a girl's name," his father sneered. "Your name is James. Just. Like. Me."
"Jimmy."
The pain in his chest quieted the name, but she grinned, sitting on the ground against the opposite wall.
"You can come with us, Jimmy. There's more where that bread came from, and you won't need to run from everyone. It's safe. Nobody's gonna send you back to wherever it is you left."
James could still find him, though, if he went with a large group. He shook his head quickly. Better to be alone. James would have a harder time finding him if he was a lone shadow, and there would be no one for James to attack if something went wrong.
Understanding appeared on the girl's face. "The meanie lives near here, doesn't he?"
Jimmy hesitated then nodded once. He had very little idea how far away the flat was except that it was to the west, but maybe the notion would make her leave so he could eat the bread in his shirt. The scent wafting past his nose was making his stomach growl. How long had it been since he had eaten fresh bread?
"He won't find you," Doris promised, "but even if he did, he couldn't take you. Doctor Watson served in the Army, and 'e taught us all how to fight. George 'n me would box his ears before Jackson—that's my brother—pinned him down, then the inspector would come lock him in jail. We've done it before."
This slip of a girl would never be able to box James' ears, but interest sparked more at the name than at the impossible promise. He had never heard that name used to describe another.
"Your brother's name is Jackson?"
"Sure is," she answered, confusion appearing at his question. "His Christian name's David, but he's gone by Jackson since we joined the Irregulars years ago. Why?"
He did not answer immediately. The similarity was interesting, but did he want to give his own name?
She had already promised not to send him back, he remembered, even if she would never be able to fend James off should Jimmy's presence lead the man to the others. He could risk that much.
"My name is Jackson. Jimmy Jackson." Mum had called him Triple J, for Jimmy Jackson, Junior.
A wide grin split her face. "I didn't know I had another brother. How old are you? Eight? Nine? Which of us is older?"
"I turn ten next week."
She grinned widely, struggling not to bounce in place. "I turn ten next week! What day?"
He really should not be answering this, but she seemed genuinely excited. Even James had not been that good of an actor.
"Monday."
"Me too!" That came out as nearly a squeal, and she finally allowed that bounce. "We're twins! Please say you'll come with me!"
He wanted to. He very much wanted to, but if James found their home…He slowly shook his head.
"Too dangerous. He'll be searching for me."
"We can hide you."
He jumped, ignoring the corresponding pain in his chest, and he braced himself to run when footsteps accompanied the new voice.
"It's alright," she said quickly. "My brother was supposed to meet me at the corner. We're over here, Jackson. I have a twin!"
"A twin?" he repeated, easily clearing the low wall. "I remember your birth, Little Sis. You do not have a twin."
"Do too!" Jackson stepped out of a shadow, purposely staying where Jimmy could see him as Doris added, "This is Jimmy Jackson. We have the same birthday!"
"Hello, Jimmy." The young man stopped several feet away, crouching to sit on his heels as he studied Jimmy.
Jimmy studied him in return. Jackson was probably sixteen or seventeen, easily old enough to have his own job and a life off the street. He wore a suit like the bankers had worn the time Jimmy went with his mum, but slightly more ragged clothes peeked out of a bag on one shoulder. He was nearly as tall as James had been, though clean shaven, and his dark hair had been clipped short.
"Bit old for a street kid, aren't I?" Jackson asked wryly, and Jimmy realized he had been staring at the day's growth on Jackson's chin. He quickly looked away, readjusting to keep them both in his line of sight.
"It's alright," Doris said again. "We won't hurt you. We're offering you a home. Our courtyard is much better than wherever you've been sleepin'. How long have you been alone?"
He shrugged an answer. "Dunno. Got up with the sun, escaped as soon as I could."
Surprise appeared on Doris' face. "You ran away today?"
He nodded, watching warily. Was something wrong with that?
She read at least part of his silent question. "I thought you'd been alone for ages. Most new ones don't find food the first day out, especially not from a bakery. They're too busy getting away and hiding that they forget about eating. We've found more than one that made themselves sick that way."
He made a noise in the back of his throat instead of answering, wishing they would go away so he could eat. His stomach growled loudly.
"You can come with us, Jimmy," Jackson said, pretending not to hear the sound. "We have food, shelter, and clothes, and you'll be safe. Whoever you escaped won't get you, even if they find you. George's father still hasn't found him, and he ran away years ago."
He shook his head again. He would not put the others in danger. James would love to have more kids for his "target practice."
"Safer alone," he said shortly. "No one to hurt if he finds me. He's prob'ly been lookin' for hours now."
"We can beat him, Jimmy," Jackson insisted. "I'm the oldest by far, but no adult can beat thirty boys. Doctor Watson taught us all how to fight like soldiers."
The name registered as familiar, and he absently wondered if this "Watson and Holmes" was the same pair as in the stories his mum had read to him. Now was not the time to ask, however.
"You're sure?" he asked warily. He would rather go with them, and if they could take care of James, that meant James would go to jail if he ever showed himself, but he would not put others in danger from James tracking him down.
"Of course," Jackson replied. "I wouldn't say it if I wasn't. He won't get you, and I very much doubt he'd even find you." He paused, thinking. "'Sides, if you're Doris' twin, that makes you my little brother. It'd be nice to have a brother."
It would be nice to have a brother—and a sister, too, he amended with a glance at Doris. Better to be alone than be in danger, but what if he could have both? What if he could have friends, siblings, and still be safe?
That would be the best, more than he had ever dared hope, but that was what they were offering. He could have a safe home and not be alone, and if the others were older, bigger, and could stand up to James, he would not be putting anyone in danger with his presence.
"Alright," he finally said quietly, and Doris let out a whoop.
"I've got a twin!"
"Perfect," Jackson said, obviously pleased but not as excitable as Doris. "Come on. I'll walk with you."
What do you think? Don't forget to drop a review! :)
Thanks to Guest and Corynutz for the reviews on Family Locator. Corynutz, I've no plans right now to write the wedding, but I'll note the plot bunny and see if it grows :)