Fake Fan Fiction ❯ Three Times A Charm ❯ Chapter 19

Title: Three Times A Charm

Fandom: Fake

Rating: X

Timeline: follows on directly from the end of Vol 7

Summary: Revenge is a dish best eaten cold.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this, apart from Deek, they belong to the creators of `Fake', nor am I making any profits from it.

 

 

Chapter 19

 

He sat on the edge watching the water lap beneath his feet, staring at nothing in particular and letting the sounds on the air drift around and past him with little notice. No-one ever paid any attention to him. He was one of the nameless, faceless bodies that the normal person tried hard not to see. Not that he really minded in many ways. It was sometimes more hurtful and irritating when they did notice him. He couldn't stand their stares, either of pity or disgust. Both were abhorrent to him.

 

The homeless man saw something bump lightly against the pylon below where he was fishing with his makeshift rod. He frowned down at it, peering through the gathering shadows as the sun moved closer to the western horizon. He had noticed the noise and commotion on the wharf opposite him and a little further upstream from where he sat. He had heard the gunshots, not being foolish enough to mistake them for the sounds of a car backfiring. When you had spent as much time as he did around this area of town you soon learnt to differentiate between the two. So he had known they were gunshots, no doubt another little gang war. There was usually something illegal going down hereabouts.

 

He didn't really care what it was, as long as it didn't involve him or disrupt his mundane routine. He stayed well clear of any of that type of trouble. The people involved in that sort of thing didn't usually care who else got caught up in the cross-fire and he had no intention of being one of the nameless casualties that sometimes resulted in the battle.

 

He saw the object bob again in the water, spinning a little as the wash from a passing vessel pushed against it. No doubt about it, he thought to himself looking down, it was a body all right as it was pushed a little further out of the darkness.

 

He pursed his lips as he sat there a moment longer. He could just ignore it and the current would drag it away soon enough. It was tempting. It spun again, one white hand slipping out of the water as though waving to him. Spooky - he shivered.

 

Ah, heck. He laid his rod down carefully and climbed over the edge to drop down to the next level of the small pier. Reaching down he snagged the face-up body and pulled it closer, getting a firm grip under one arm and reaching down grabbed hold of the waist band of the trousers. With a final heave, he managed to drag it until it was partially laid out on the planks, supporting it so it wouldn't roll back into the murky waters, and getting his breath back before giving another tug and laying it out fully. He breathed heavily for a moment longer. He wasn't as young as he used to be.

 

He looked down at what he had managed to fish out of the water. It was a young man, dark hair limp and plastered over a pasty white face. A shoulder holster was still around his body though there was no sign of any gun. He noticed the holes in the clothing, now washed clean of any blood that may have been there. Serves him right probably, the man thought kneeling down by the side of the body. If you're going to carry a gun someone is bound to try taking a pot-shot at you eventually.

 

He examined the clothing and then, with a furtive glance around him, proceeded to strip the jacket off the limp form. It was of good quality and warm, and with winter coming in it would be appreciated. Waste not, want not.

 

As he rolled the body over and reached to pull the jacket from around the neck he felt a light flutter under his fingers, the flutter of a pulse, and realized that the man was still alive. Though how long for was a different matter.

 

He hesitated. No-one knew he had pulled the man out and he really didn't look that good. Surely he wouldn't make it until help arrived, he'd probably be dead in a matter of moments. He could just take the coat and walk away, even roll the body back into the river and no-one would be any wiser. He could do that.

 

Yet….he couldn't. Some where deep inside of him his humanity still struggled, despite his current circumstances. He had to at least try to do something for this man. He clambered back up to the main pier and made his way over to the side where a small shed was erected. It housed the security guard for this dock - not that the guard bothered really doing anything. Still he usually made certain he avoided the other, just to be on the safe side, but this time he knocked and poked his head inside to call out.

 

The security guard was an old man, leaning back in his chair with booted feet propped up on the table, and watching TV which was turned up almost as loudly as it could be so it overrode any of the noises coming from the surrounding docks as he was a little deaf also. The guard wouldn't even have been able to hear all the commotion that had occurred not that long ago. If he had he probably would have put the sound of gunshots down to something coming from the TV. The homeless man had to shout three times before he was heard and the guard turned to acknowledge him.

 

He told the guard what he had found, keeping it short and simple. The security guard thought it was nothing more than a prank, trying to tell him to go sleep off what ever spirits he had been drinking. That unjust accusation made him probably more insistent than he had intended to be, almost reaching in to drag the guard out to where the waterlogged form still lay.

 

Upon seeing the man lying there, the guard's face drained of all colour and he immediately clambered down to the side of the person, kneeling down to check the pulse.

 

“There's nothing there,” he called up, feeling the clamminess under his fingers.

 

“There was,” the homeless man insisted, “Just before I went and got you there was one. Do you think I'd waste my time on a corpse?”

 

That was only too true and the guard knew it. Acting quickly he turned the body over, clearing the air way, before rolling it back to begin CPR. He may have been old and past the prime of his life but he did know how to respond in an emergency and that training kicked in.

 

After a minute he checked for a pulse again. Nothing. Not good, he thought. He reached for his two-way radio on his hip, keying into the main frequency. He raised his office immediately and told them his predicament, grateful that they didn't waste time with useless questions and assured him that an ambulance was being contacted. He set the radio down and began CPR again. Two minutes, check, continue. He was getting exhausted now, his own lungs beginning to burn from breathing for two people, his arms and back beginning to ache from the constant application of pressure on the chest. Still he didn't stop. He kept willing this unidentified man to live. He didn't want to know that he had spent all this time trying to raise the dead, and he didn't want to think that the man might be dead at all. He wanted to be able to bring this person back to life. He wanted it badly.

 

The homeless man watched the guard's frantic efforts and then turned to quietly walk away. There was nothing he could do, he had done all he could. He wrung some more water out of the jacket that he was carrying and began to check the pockets. He pulled out a mobile phone but could see that it was useless now. They weren't really designed to be immersed in water for goodness knows how long, The tiny beads of water bobbing under the screen was a pretty good indicator that it wasn't going to be useable again. He tossed it into a bin as he passed by, digging into another pocket. This one revealed something a little more useful. He carefully drew out some wet folded bills, the paper stuck together but that wouldn't matter once they were dry. It wasn't a lot of money by most people's thinking but for him it was a treasure trove. There were no coins which wasn't surprising. They probably fell out at some stage whilst the body was floating in the water. He checked the rest but there was nothing else of interest. The man seemed to have no wallet or if he had it was gone now. No doubt it had fallen out in the water and sunk to the bottom.

 

He picked up his rod as he went leaving the scene and drifting off into the shadows, back into his lonely world. He didn't think the man would make it. He really didn't look that good at all. Probably it had all been a waste of time. He heard the sound of the ambulance's siren drawing closer. They probably should have just called the morgue.

 

*************

 

Long, slender fingers flashed across keys, the tapping loud in the quietness of the room. Sharp eyes flicked between the three screens in front, the fingers never ceasing their movement. There was a brief pause and then the tapping began again.

 

Deek chased the data flashing before him easily, his mind absorbing and analyzing all that his eyes were showing him, all that his adept fingers were able to bring up for him. His lips were pursed, frown lines on his brow as he concentrated on what he was doing, completely immersed in his electronic world.

 

The beginnings of a smile turned up one corner of his mouth. Ah, yes, he purred to himself, his fingers still flying, seeming to go faster as he felt himself drawing closer to his goal. Nearly there now.

 

Suddenly his hands poised themselves in the air over the keys, like a pianist reaching the end of a concert piece. A full smile now adorned his face, a smile of complete satisfaction. He turned to look at the person who had been sitting silently at his side all this time, as still as death.

 

Deek's smile faded a little at this sight. He was finding his current visitor a little unnerving. He knew this man, or thought he did, but now he wasn't so certain. He had never seen him like this before. It seemed like he was an entirely different person to whom Deek had thought.

 

“I'm in,” he said softly. There was no need to raise his voice. There was only the sound of the humming of his many monitors and computers for a moment before the man moved to lean forward and peer at the screens, eyes scanning the multitude of tiles laid out before him.

 

Ryo reached out and grasped a mouse, clicking quickly to close, minimize or maximize screens as required, checking the information. “Print that one out for me,” he instructed curtly, not even looking at Deek sitting next to him as he continued.

 

“Sure,” Deek complied, the request taking only a moment with his top of the range laser printer. He glanced down at the face that stared up at him. It was a mug shot, taken directly from the police archives. Nasty looking character, he thought to himself, laying the printout next to Ryo's elbow.

 

Deek sat back, just watching for a moment. He had met Ryo probably about three years ago. They had become acquainted over coffee and donuts, with handcuffs. He was a hacker, and a damn good one - which is how he got into trouble. He wasn't really a criminal as such. Okay, he had done a little altering of bank accounts, pilfering away a little cash here and there, but he really wasn't into the big time stuff. Not because he couldn't but he really hadn't much interest in it. What he found interesting was the challenge. He couldn't stand knowing that there was a system out there that he couldn't get into so that's what he was always trying to do. The Pentagon took a dim view of that sort of thing though. He had only just managed to evade that little net and it had been a bit too close for comfort.

 

He watched as Ryo continued to move between the screens, occasionally requesting further pages printed for his information. How he had met Ryo had been because he had been caught with a far less prestigious group than the Pentagon. He had accidentally fallen over some hidden data for the Mob and the next thing he knew he had a cold gun barrel pressed against his temple with the ultimatum to work for them or die.

 

He hadn't even paused before answering in the affirmative. What else could he do? Those sort of people didn't ask twice. So he was soon caught up on the inside of money laundering in the electronic world. It was surprising how easy it was to play with what he called `virtual money'; moving it from place to place, buying stocks, selling, skimming the returns and the profits increased without there ever having been `real' money there in the first place. Today's electronic world made this sort of scam just too easy. He had helped the Mob make a killing, though not literally as no blood was spilt - but he was bored. This sort of thing was no challenge to his skill, he could do this sort of thing in his sleep. He had been completely bored out of his brain.

 

So bored, that when the little cadre who had picked him up was busted by the cops, he had felt nothing but relief and a great sense of joy. Now, finally, he might be able to get back to doing what he liked!

 

Ryo had been one of the arresting offices and had sat with him, sharing a coffee as they talked. Deek had found him easy going and very easy to talk to. He seemed to understand that Deek had not been involved for the money at all, that there were other things he was interested in. He still had had to serve a prison term for his part in the jobs but it was greatly reduced, and he got out early on good behaviour also.

 

After he had got out he had found that Ryo had actually put in a good word for him at the time of his trial which had touched him. He had tracked Ryo down to the precinct he had then been working at and shot him a private email, through the supposedly invulnerable firewall of the internal network system no less, to tell him that if he ever needed anything to just let him know. He had meant what he had said, but he really hadn't expected that he would ever hear from Ryo again. Cops don't usually come to ex-cons for help - unless they were informers, and Ryo didn't seem to go in for that much. For more than two years, Deek hadn't seen or heard from Ryo - until now.

 

“You do realize,” Deek said, breaking the silence, “that this is a little weird.”

 

Ryo looked over his shoulder to where Deek lounged, feet propped up on the corner of a desk, well clear of his beloved machines. “What?”

 

“You asking me to do exactly what I was busted for three years ago. Well, not exactly the same thing, but hacking. You sort of frowned on that back then.”

 

Ryo turned back to the screens, “Don't worry, I won't say anything.”

 

“Oh, I know you won't. Just seems strange that's all. Back then I never thought you, of all people, would be asking me to do something like this. It didn't seem your style.”

 

“Times change,” Ryo said shortly.

 

“So it seems,” Deek murmured, still watching the other man. He could see the lines of strain on Ryo's face. Something was really bothering the man, that he could tell. This cold, calculating person with him just didn't seem like the friendly cop he had met only a few years ago.

 

“So why did you want me to get into this?” Deek said, waving his hand at the monitors. “It's not like you don't have clearance to do so normally.”

 

This fact had been puzzling Deek for a time now. The data on the screen that Ryo had wanted was directly from the police and FBI databases. Ryo had clearance to access most of it and could have done it at work. Why did he feel the need to have Deek do it by the back door?

 

Ryo paused and looked back at him once more. “Do you really want to know?” he asked.

 

Deek pursed his lips as his mind flashed back to his introduction to the Mob. He remembered all too clearly the feel of that gun muzzle pressed against his flesh, the coldness seeping through him. “Ah, no,” he said, trying to smile although he certainly didn't feel like it. “I don't think so.”

 

“Wise choice,” Ryo said, swinging away and gathering up the printouts that had accumulated near his elbow, flicking through them and discarding a couple as he went, before standing.

 

He looked down at Deek, face expressionless, “It would be better if you forgot I was ever here,”

 

Deek waved a hand over the keyboard and every screen plunged into darkness. “We never did this,” he said reassuringly.

 

Ryo nodded and walked to the door, pausing for a moment as he opened it. “Thanks,” Deek heard his say. He swiveled around and looked at Ryo's back. “Thanks for the help. I owe you one,” and then he was gone.

 

Deek turned back to his screens and pressed another key and they all fired back up, still holding the previous data. He scanned it all, trying to figure out why Ryo had wanted this. There was the mug shot, some data on the person identified, there was a case report from a detective in the 22nd precinct about a shooting and the ID of the person responsible that matched the mug shot. Reading on, Deek saw that the victim of the shooting had been the detective's partner.

 

He looked back at the closed door where Ryo had exited. Was this a personal thing? Had Ryo known the cop who had been killed? What was he planning on doing?

 

Again Deek felt a coldness go through him and he hurriedly deleted the information, this time permanently, erasing the electronic `footprints' that he may have left in his search so it could never be traced back to him. He really didn't want to know what Ryo was going to do.

 

*************

 

It was still dark outside, drawing closer to midnight as Ryo walked down the alley. Deek's place wasn't exactly easy to find unless you knew where you were going, which was exactly the way he liked it. The papers rustled in the pocket of his trench coat, giving him a feeling of cold comfort. Now he had something to work with. Thank god Dee's new partner was an observant man and had identified the shooter. Without that, this would have been so much harder. Now he knew what he had to do.

 

Although it was late his night wasn't over yet, there were still things he had to do. He took the subway to his next stop, far on the edge of town. Buses ran infrequently at this time of night so he hailed a passing cab to take him as far as he thought was safe to go, before exiting and walking the rest of the way.

 

The wrecker's yard he finally reached was still operating, the hum of moving machinery and the screech of tortured metal filling the air. He wandered past the cars stacked one on top of the other, piling upwards; twisted, mangled wrecks. He could see a light on a building towards the back of the yard and made his way there, avoiding the areas where there was activity. He didn't bother knocking, just opened the door and entered.

 

The man behind the desk looked up, annoyance on his face which was quickly replaced by a brief flash of fear and then wariness. “You're here late,” he said warily. “What can I do for you?”

 

Ryo didn't take a seat but remained standing. “I want a vehicle,”

 

The man's eyebrows rose and Ryo could see a hundred questions racing behind his eyes but he only asked, “What sort?”

 

“Something that will last me a couple of days and not be in such a bad state that it would be pulled over.”

 

“Hmm,” The man flicked through a book laid out before him, scanning the pages. “Come with me.” he instructed, leaving the office.

Ryo followed him into the yard as he moved past the crusher brightly lit, seeing the claws bite into another hapless victim and drop it into the chute to meet its demise. They continued on, the man before him holding a large portable floodlight so they could see in the darkness. Finally he halted, panning the light over the car before them.

 

“This one just came in the other day. It's only got the side panel caved in which we could pop out without too much trouble and give it a quick touch up.”

 

Ryo walked around it to survey the damage. It was bad but something could be done quickly about it. It only had to hold up to a brief scrutiny. “How's the engine?” he asked.

 

“Seems fine. We were going to drop it out and sell it on anyway. Got a couple of leaks but it's not bad.”

 

“How long?” Ryo asked walking back to the man.

 

“Could have it done in, say, four hours if you like? The paintwork might be a little tacky still though.”

 

Ryo nodded, “That'll do,” he said, “Oh, and change the number plates.”

 

“But we don't…” The man stopped as Ryo fixed him with a steely look.

 

“You and I both know that you haven't handed in all the plates, and you've falsified more than one. I want the plates untraceable.”

 

The man swallowed. What Ryo was saying was true, and it was enough to close him down and send him to prison. He didn't have a lot of choice here. “Okay,” he agreed.

 

“Four hours then,” Ryo said walking away.

 

“Sure,”

 

The man watched him leave. There was no discussion about money or costs, he knew that this was to be a `favour' for Ryo not saying anything about the `other' little thing he did. He didn't know what Ryo wanted with the vehicle, and he really didn't want to know. What cops did was their own business and he wanted as little to do with it as possible. He pulled his two-way from his belt and called up his boys. They would have to get this car into the workshop and start the work. He wanted to make quite certain that it was finished with by morning and out of his yard. He didn't need any more trouble.

 

**********

 

Now Ryo finally headed home. He felt quite weary as he quietly opened the door and let himself in. It was after four in the morning and he'd had no sleep so far this night. He wasn't going to either, not yet.

 

He walked softly to Bikky's room and eased the door open. He could see the boy sleeping peacefully, arms and legs spread out taking up all four corners of the bed, blankets and sheets in a tangled mess around the limbs. A small smile touched his lips at the sight, which quickly faded. He would make certain Bikky was taken care of.

 

Resolutely he turned away, closing the door just as quietly and made his way to his own room. He threw his clothes into a corner and stepped into the shower, relaxing almost immediately as the hot water cascaded over his chilled tired body. He leant up against the wall, closing his eyes, letting his mind go blank for a moment, taking deep, calming breaths.

 

Finally he stepped out and toweled off, before searching out new clothes, this time deliberately choosing very non-descript old clothing that he could discard quickly later. He returned to the kitchen and put on the kettle. He really needed a coffee to try and stay alert.

 

He rummaged in the fridge, seeing a plate of left-overs placed prominently in the middle. Bikky must have put it there for him. The boy had become a reasonably proficient cook, albeit for simple meals which mainly consisted of pasta, but he didn't seem to mind cooking dinner occasionally when Ryo was busy. Ryo felt another tug in his chest at this simple gesture of love. Bikky really was the best thing that had ever come into his life, apart from…..he clamped down on that thought, refusing to let it draw any closer to the surface.

 

He pulled the plate out and placed it in the microwave. He would need to eat even if he didn't feel like it, starving himself wouldn't help him in his task. He sat at the kitchen table, eating and sipping his hot coffee, not tasting either as he ran over the list of things he would need to do. There was still a long way to go yet.

 

He returned to his room and pulled out the small lock box from the back of the cupboard shelf. Unlocking it he sifted through the papers until he found those he needed. Returning to the kitchen he carefully spread them out and re-read them all, before pulling a notepad towards him and beginning to write.

 

As the sun crept over the horizon, heralding the approach of dawn he was just finishing up. He looked at the time and decided he would get Bikky up a little earlier today. He wanted to spend some time with the boy and there were things he had to discuss. He placed the papers he needed to take with him in his jacket pocket out on the sofa and replaced the others in the lock box before returning it to its original place. Upon returning to the kitchen he pulled out some bacon and eggs, placing the cereal box on the table along with bowl and spoon, then entering Bikky's room, shaking the thin shoulders to rouse the boy.

 

The sleep eyes that opened to meet his made him smile. “Come on, lazy,” he said, “Time to get up.”

 

Bikky rolled his head to squint at the clock next to his bed. “Ryo!” he whined, glaring up at the man above him, “It's early! I don't want to get up!” He rolled over, trying to pull the sheets over his head but Ryo stopped him.

 

“It's not that much earlier than you would normally get up, and I thought we could have breakfast together. I felt like bacon and eggs this morning.”

 

At that Bikky sat up, eyes gleaming. It wasn't often that they had a cooked breakfast on a weekday because generally Ryo was busy getting to work and usually because Bikky was running late to get to school. Cooked breakfasts were therefore generally reserved for days when both of them weren't having to go anywhere else.

 

“Really?” he questioned, wanting to confirm this stroke of luck before he committed himself fully to getting out of the warm bed.

 

“Yep,” Ryo said turning to the door. “Go have your shower and I'll start cooking.”

 

“Yes, sir!” Bikky said happily, bounding out of bed and heading straight for the bathroom.

 

When he reached the kitchen later, he was dressed for school and was greeted by the delightful aroma of cooking bacon. “Yum, yum!” he said, dragging his chair out.

 

Ryo smiled at him, “Have your cereal first,” he said.

 

Bikky pouted at him, “But, Ryo,” he began.

 

“Have your cereal first,” Ryo reiterated, waving the spatula, “Or no bacon!”

 

Bikky stuck his tongue out but reached for the box. “So what's up?” he asked around a mouthful of cereal.

 

“What do you mean?” Ryo asked, looking over his shoulder before turning back to the stove.

 

“Why the special meal?” Bikky wanted to know. “Makes me think of the last supper or something.”

 

Ryo froze and was glad that the boy couldn't see his face. The child was sometimes far too perceptive, even if he didn't realize it himself. He schooled his expression into his usual cheerful demeanor before looking once more at Bikky.

 

“Oh, I just thought since I was already up early that we wouldn't have to rush so why not for a change. Don't you want it?” Ryo made as though to lift the pan from the stove top and empty it into the sink.

 

Bikky jumped onto his chair, almost climbing on to the table as he waved his arms frantically. “Hey, no, that's not it! Keep cooking, keep cooking!”

 

Ryo smiled at him and returned the pan to its original position, accompanied by Bikky's loud sigh of relief.

 

Ryo soon slipped the hot food onto the plates and brought them to the table. Although he had only eaten a couple of hours ago he made certain to at least have another token meal now or he knew that Bikky would question him and he didn't want to have to deal with that.

 

“Where's the ketchup?” the boy asked around a mouthful of egg.

 

“Can't you eat anything without putting that on it?” Ryo said, standing and moving to the cupboard.

 

“I don't put it on ice cream,”

 

Ryo mock shuddered, “That's just a disgusting thought.” he said, placing the bottle next to the boy.

 

“And some salt,” Bikky said, liberally pouring the red liquid over the bacon.

 

“What did your last slave die of?” Ryo commented, rummaging around and not finding it.

 

He looked around the kitchen. Ah, there it was, over on the bench and not in the cupboard as he would normally have put it. He walked over to retrieve it, and as he pulled it away another small object fell forward from where it had been tucked behind. He reached out and picked it up, staring at it, feeling a lump building in his throat.

 

“Hey, Ryo, what's up? What's wrong?” Bikky's worried voice broke through his frozen state and he dragged his eyes away from the lighter that rested in the palm of his hand.

 

“It's….” He tried again, “It's just a lighter.”

 

“Oh, it must be Dee's. He's always leaving them around the place and then complaining that he's lost it. Doesn't he ever pick up after himself, the lazy slob?”

 

“Ah, yeah,” Ryo gently lay the lighter on the bench and returned to the table, placing the shaker in front of the boy, “Here you go,” before sitting himself.

 

There was silence for a moment, then Bikky spoke again, “I thought you said you were going to make up with Dee?”

 

“Huh?” Ryo looked up startled, to see Bikky glaring at him.

 

“You said you were going to make up with Dee. Or have you had another fight with him?” Bikky threw his hands up in exasperation, bits of egg and ketchup flying from the ends of the cutlery still clasped in them. “You two are impossible! What was the fight about this time?”

 

“We….we didn't have another fight,” Ryo managed to get out, trying to calm his pounding heart, as his mind began to scream `Dee, Dee, Dee' - over and over again. He tried to shut it out. He couldn't let himself dwell on it. Not yet. “I didn't manage to see him the other day,” He didn't need to lie about that, that was the truth. He had been too late. Too late for everything.

 

“Geez, well get it sorted out, will you? Moping really doesn't suit you.”

 

Ryo dredged up a weak smile, “Okay,” he said, filling his mouth quickly to try and avoid having to answer any more questions, almost choking on the food as he tried to swallow.

 

As he collected the plates he spoke to Bikky again, “Could you stay at Carol's for the next couple of days?” he said, “I've got something that I have to take care of and I would be happier knowing you weren't here on your own.”

 

“I can look after myself,” Bikky bristled a little.

 

“I know you can,” Ryo said calmly, “but can't you just do it for me?”

 

The boy caved under his pleading stare. “All right,” he agreed grudgingly. “You'll call when I can come home?”

 

“Yes, I'll call. Thanks, Bikky,”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” the boy grouched as he headed for his room. He paused at the door and looked back at Ryo. “What's really going on, Ryo?” he asked quietly.

 

Ryo paused in the act of washing up. He obviously hadn't fooled Bikky as he had hoped, but there was no way he could tell him. Bikky couldn't know anything, that was the only way to keep him safe. He slowly turned to face the boy, wiping his hands on a towel.

 

“I can't tell you, Bikky,” he said honestly. “Can you just trust me? Please?” He waited for the boy's answer which was a long time in coming. Finally Bikky let out a loud sigh.

 

“Okay. I'll talk to Carol at school and go stay with her.”

 

“Thank you,” Ryo turned back to put away the dishes.

 

“You will…be careful?” Bikky said quietly from behind him. “With what ever you're doing.”

 

Ryo's hand tightened on the plate his was holding. He couldn't turn around to face the boy, or he would see the tears falling down his face. “Yes, I'll be careful.” he said hoping to reassure the boy.

 

“Okay,” and Bikky disappeared into his room.

 

Ryo quickly wiped away the tears and returned to the small mundane tasks at hand. His heart hurt for Bikky. He didn't want to cause the boy any more pain but he didn't know what else he could do either. This was the only way.

 

As he finished the last small job he heard Bikky come out of his room. “I'm going now,” he called out from the hall. Ryo moved to the kitchen door to see the boy standing there, bag over his shoulder, cap on his head. “I'll see you in a couple of days, right?”

 

Ryo smiled for him, one last time. “Right,” he lied. He didn't know if he would, and somehow he doubted it.

 

“Okay, see ya!” and the boy disappeared out the door.

 

Ryo turned back to the kitchen and began the last tidy up. He then methodically worked through every room in the small apartment; cleaning and tidying, putting things away, even Bikky's room until everything was spotless. He looked around at his handiwork. It was almost as though the place was about to go on the market. He couldn't remember ever seeing it look this pristine, apart from when he had first moved in. He didn't know if he would be coming back to here again.

 

He walked into the kitchen once more and, with a shaking hand, picked up the lighter still laying there. His fingers caressed it, seeing Dee's face flash before him. His hand tightened around the object so hard it dug into this flesh, and then he turned away and he dropped it in the bin as he passed by. He grabbed his jacket from the sofa, picking up the small bag he had packed and left the apartment, locking the door behind him.