There was a trail of blood down the stairs.

The house was small, pokey, stinking of fags and booze. Typical house of a middle aged looser, Len had seen plenty. No wife, kids, friends, no reason to clean. Not overly different to his own life, but enough to allow a sneer.

The trail led into the lounge where the unconscious man lay, his blood soaking into the matted carpet.

'Have a look upstairs,'� Len snapped an instruction to his subordinate.

The man nodded, resentful but obeying. There was a position Len would hate to return to, the new cop, not exactly looking to the stars but nowhere near cynical enough. He watched as the younger man slowly climbed the steps, trying to avoid the smears of blood.

'He's alive but near critical,'� one paramedic said, 'we have to get him to Casualty.'�

Len nodded and stood aside as they got on with it. A call down the stairs told him a second person had been found.

Surprised for once, Len followed the blood up the steps into a small, dark bedroom where the young man in question lay on the floor. His shirt ripped, bruises on his face.

'Looks like a local kid,'� remarked Len, 'have the medics patch him up.'�

His subordinate looked shell shocked. Possibly more naive than Len thought, hopefully not, those ones were always the real pain.

'Pull yourself together,'� he snapped, 'you don't get to be upset by shit like this, you'll see worse.'�

The man nodded, his face almost devoid of colour. Len just sighed, he knew he was right not to remember this one's name.



Turned out the kid had to go to Casualty too, despite only receiving a couple of minor blows. This made annoyed Len, he remembered a time when an injury like that wouldn't even have warranted a paramedic. He was tempted to blame the PC brigade, but fought it, that would be the last straw to make him just another sad, single, alcoholic policemen, whose job ruled his life.

So the hospital it was, they followed the ambulance transporting both to the local General. He wondered why the kid had been there, he looked a bit charvish, probably some yob who broke in with his mates. Maybe got caught, or just found the guy, poor sod had paid the price for catching the intruders in the act.

God only knew, could even be the other way round, they didn't even know which of the two owned the house, if either. Maybe they both did, father or son, or shirtlifter daddy and barely legal teenage trophy, if legal at all.

That was what he liked about the job, variation. Not that he actually liked his job.



The drizzle had stopped by the time they reached the General, but the ground was still wet, large pools of water lay over the car park.

The hospital was its usual dreary, idiot filled, depressing self. Not enough cleaners, nurses or doctors, and they had to attend to the dregs of the city like every other Saturday night.

He strode through, ignoring the shouting, incessant moaning and general air of misery. Not wanting his subordinate to get overly sentimental he sent him with the older man, who wouldn't be conscious any time soon.

He followed the teenager, who was taken to a grotty cubical to wait for the nurses on a bed that clearly hadn't been changed all night. The white linen delightfully stained with traces of various human discharges.

The boy had come round but was dazed, questioning could wait. He sat up in panic for a moment, they when he saw the hospital surroundings he sank back to the bed in relief.

Checking no staff were around Len lit a fag and pulled the curtain fully round, not wanting some idiot jobsworth to start squawking about smoking in hospitals. He offered one to the kid, who he could see eying the cigarette mutely, he took it and allowed Len to light it for him. The boys hands were shaking as he took his first drag, he coughed slightly, not as used to them as he'd like people to think.

Kid stayed silent, probably a smart move, most delinquents were knowledgeable enough to know to keep their mouths shut. He didn't ask any questions about what had happened, where he was, even if he was in trouble. Clever little cunt.

They stayed a while until the gopher came back to report the man had been taken to Critical Care, he looked disapprovingly at the fags but was sensible enough not to comment.

Leaving the kid under the bleary eyed watch of a uniform Len went to speak to the doctors. Turned out the guy had been beaten heavily with something flat and heavy, probably metallic, it looked like he had been smacked about with shovels.

The doctor who eventually came to look at the kid reported no serious damage, a few minor hurts done by hand but little else. He was also fit for questioning which was all Len really needed to hear.



He was sitting facing the kid now, in a darkened interview room.

'We've determined that you don't live with Mr Henderson, we know of no prior relationship between the two of you. Can you explain your presence in his home tonight?'�

The boy remained mute, staring at nothing.

'I repeat,'� Len said impatiently, 'why were you at Mr Henderson's home?'�

Again, the boy remained mute.

'Look, kid, this isn't some stupid game. A guy's found beaten within an inch of his life, you're in his flat with evidence you've been in the brawl yourself.'�

Again nothing.

'Listen,'� Len's hand smashed onto the table, 'I know you did it, just tell me how. Were there a few of you, did you beat him with spades? You and your mates went round didn't you, maybe trying to steal and he surprised you? But he fought back, didn't he? And your mates abandoned you.'�

The kid looked terrified, flinching as Len shouted and struck the table, but staying nothing. Len had seen this before, he knew what he meant. Kid knew he was going to get away with it, little shit was just weathering it out, knowing in the end the police were mostly powerless against a fifteen year old.

He switched off the recording device.

'Len, what are you...'� his subordinate seemed afraid, he knew what was coming.

'Shut up,'� he snapped, 'don't even think to question me, you sanctimonious little shit.'�

He stood and circled the table, the kid seemed desperate just to shrink into his chair and vanish.

'I'm fed up to the teeth with evil minded, vicious little delinquents like you. Committing your pathetic shite, so sure you can get away with it. Well I won't let you!'�

He was screaming at the boy now, towering over him.

'Why did you do it?'� he was spitting as he spoke, his hands grabbed the boy by the neck and raised him up bodily. 'Tell me who else was involved, or so help me God...'�

He had thrust the boy against the wall, and that's when the first blow fell.

It felt like a fist of iron had slammed into Len's stomach, a second blow sent him tumbling across the room, a third smashed him against the wall, he felt some of his teeth break as his faced crashed through plaster and wood.

Men came running in but couldn't stop the dark, translucent figure that rained blow upon blow upon him, sending his body skidding down the corridor, leaving a trail of blood behind him. The dark shape writhed in front of their eyes, blurred and insubstantial in the dim light, then vanished.

He fell unconscious, unaware of his colleague's frantic efforts to get him medical attention. An image came to his mind, like a dream but clearly not. He rarely dreamed, and when he did he never remembered, this visage stayed with him for life.

The young boy, a rent boy, terrified and exploited. Goaded into the older man's home, a bullying, hectoring man who pushed him upstairs. Going too fast for the nervous boy but not really caring, he'd paid after all.

He came on too strong, too forceful, too dominating, too old. The boy tried to leave, stuttering excuses, terrified out of his mind. The man became violent, pushing the boy to the bed, ripping at his shirt.

The boy fell backwards, trying to fight, crying and begging but the man simply didn't care. That's when he hit the boy, he liked that role, he liked the power. That was when the boy's protector appeared.

Len watched as Mr Henderson took the first blow, sent flying across the room. Watched as the shadowy protector pulverised the man, as he himself had just suffered. Sending him tumbling down the stairs, into the lounge where the final blow knocked him cold. And then the protector was gone, leaving the body and the blood.

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