Episode Five - 'Slip Inside This House'

Take a trip down Camden in 2001 and you’d be spoilt for choice for places to drink and dance ‘til dawn. Twenty four hour party people had colonised the backstreets and transformed the Lock into a shrine to cut price, budget hedonism, and would Sir care for a Snakebite chaser to go with his mushrooms? If you were smart, well dressed and fond of the finer things in life, then Camden had little to offer you, but if on the other hand you wanted to experience the soft flesh of London’s ripe, white underbelly – if you wanted to mix with the kind of people who would appear on the cover of Chic magazine next year; if you wanted to hear the happening pop sounds of Teen Beat or Soft Focus Trance then Camden was ready to welcome you with open arms and a great big spliff.

Oh yes, clubs and bars aplenty, all staying open until six in the morning, selling bottled drinks only, because you don’t want the hassle of running beer pumps and a cellar now, do you? Brown coffee bars rubbed shoulders with hole in the wall pubs and basement clubs, but standing head and shoulders over all the happy shiny people bars were three clubs in particular. If you were eighteen years old, carefree, with ten quid in your pocket and a desire to be part of a scene, then there were only three clubs in London that mattered, and they were all in Camden. Gandalf’s Secret Garden, The Gingerbread House and the One Hundred Club were the alpha and omega of the subterranean dance scene. Three clubs just waiting for the 1966 Velvet Underground to be reincarnated.

Elenor preferred Gandalf’s Secret Garden because it had a lush chill out room full of shaggy old sofas and shelves of books that she could curl up with in the early hours of the morning. While the teenagers slumped unconscious in the corners, pack-like in twos and threes, Elenor would still be awake at four in the morning, curled up on one of the sagging sofas, barefoot, munching biscuits like a biscuit munching squirrel and reading voraciously. The main rooms had Spiral Trance and Space Techno and Progressive House – enough to keep her dancing for six hours at least.

But tonight she was at the One Hundred Club – a rather more punky New York kind of scene with Detroit garage in one room and a band that sounded like Wire meets Television in the other. This was Alyson’s choice of venue and she was calling the shots simply because she had the money. Alyson and money was something of a mystery. Most of the time she strutted around Camden living off a ten pound note, but then at least once a week she would suddenly turn up with several hundred pounds worth of used notes stuffed in her coat pockets.

“Here,” she’d say as she’d stuff fifty quid in Elenor’s hands, “have fun. Can’t have Ellie going without. That’s not natural.”

Alyson claimed she took the money from criminals. The Furies had no qualms about robbing villains to pay their way through Camden. They saw it as their due, and Elenor couldn’t really argue with that, though she had yet to see the Furies fight anyone remotely resembling a villain. They talked about it a lot, at least when she was present. Alyson had recovered from her ordeal a week ago and was now more or less back to normal. Her wounds had healed within a few days. With Russell’s help, and the help of the other Furies, she had moved apartments, and now occupied another tenement building on the other side of Camden. Joseph Cromwell had not been seen since.

Tonight Elenor leant against a circular pillar. The One Hundred Club was situated in a basement and was more or less open plan. The pillars and the squalid booths carved into the stone walls afforded enough nooks and crannies for people to find privacy, despite the crowds. The club was three quarters full which was very good for a Tuesday night. Elenor was dressed in her scruffy black combat pants, a black woollen jumper three sizes too big for her, boots, and an old olive green army greatcoat with Sergeant stripes on one arm. She sipped a Bacardi Breezer and waited for Alyson to turn up. Like most of the bars and clubs in Camden this place only served bottled alcohol. Very few places in Camden bothered with beer pumps these days. It was quicker and easier to just flip the tops off the bottles. You could serve more punters that way.

The One Hundred Club attracted the real youngsters. Girls of seventeen and boys of eighteen – fresh faced youths free from parental control. A lot of these kids were rejecting the dance grooves and hippie sensibilities that Elenor’s generation had grown up with at school and they were embracing a harder edged style of music. Elenor thought of her own brother, Daniel. The boys here, some as young as fifteen or sixteen, wore short skirts over thick black ribbed tights and Para boots, long black t-shirts, several sizes too big for them, almost draping down to the hem of the skirts; each t-shirt a pledge of loyalty to a particular straight edge type of music. The skirts were meant to shock, and Elenor still felt uncomfortable with the idea of her little brother dressing like that. It was strange to see so many teenage boys in the club, dressed in tatty second hand skirts, deliberately cheap and plain looking – no attempt at glamour at all – throwing themselves around to this angry pain-ridden sound. There was a name for these kids – Drummers, though Elenor had no idea where it came from. Alyson could probably tell her. She used to write for the New Musical Express after all.

A young boy of seventeen leant against the pillar beside Elenor. He pretended to ignore the beautiful blonde haired woman with the Bacardi Breezer and sought to regain his breath from a serious bout of pogoing. But Elenor could tell from the subtle and not so subtle sidelong glances that he was eyeing her up.

“Good tonight, isn’t it?” he said after a while.

“Bacardi Breezer, thanks,” said Elenor pleasantly. “Grapefruit flavour please.”

“Huh?”

“You were working your way up to asking me if I’d like a drink. I thought I’d help you.” Elenor turned and gave the boy a warm smile.

“Yeah, sure. Just a minute. Don’t go anywhere!” The boy couldn’t believe his luck. He detached himself from the pillar and hurried to the bar, pushing his way through some of his fellow drummers.

Elenor watched the room until the boy returned with a bottle of cheap lager and a bottle of Grapefruit Bacardi Breezer.

“Thanks.” Elenor took the drink and put it to her lips.

“I’m Phil,” said the boy as he tried to slouch in a cool kind of way.

“See you around, Phil.” Elenor winked and strolled past him.

“Bitch,” she heard him say.

Alyson was late, but then that was her prerogative because she had the money. Elenor felt uncomfortable with the situation. They were friends but Alyson made the handouts feel like charity. There was something almost condescending about the way she would stuff ten pound notes in Elenor’s hands as if to say, “someone’s got to look after you, Ellie – you couldn’t cope on your own.”

Elenor was suffering from lack of sleep. The Man In Room Two in the attic was still playing Slip Inside This House most nights. It was getting to be too much. He never answered the door, no matter how loud Elenor pounded on it. Just always the same: Slip Inside This House, on repeat, over and over again.

Another lad, dressed in black shell suit bottoms and a hooded jersey, approached Elenor.

“Are you single?” he asked.

“Do you have a big cock?” countered Elenor.

“That’s a bit personal!”

“So’s asking me if I’m single.” Elenor drank some of her Bacardi Breezer and moved on.

What happened to us, Alyson? thought Elenor sadly. When did it all go wrong? The memory of Alyson screaming at her in New Mexico was an image that would take years to fade if ever. They still hadn’t talked about it, not really. There had been a few oblique references but it had never felt quite right. And Alyson still hadn’t talked about her super powers and where they’d come from.

A short man in a Mix Mag t-shirt and cotton-denim jeans brushed up against Elenor’s arm. “Would you like some male company?” he asked as he sipped a bottle of Becks.

“Yeah, okay, could you go and find me some,” said Elenor.

“Bitch.” The short man wandered away towards another girl in the corner of the room.

And then there was Anya. Elenor spotted the two of them as they entered the club. Alyson and Anya had bonded recently and that hurt, because it had always been Alyson and Elenor, ever since the first year in University. Here they were together again, laughing as they strolled into the club, sharing some private joke. Alyson was wearing an expensive pair of flared jeans – dyed light sky blue down the inside leg and soft fluffy cloud white down the outside leg. Over this she wore a short black mini-dress (Elenor had noticed the trend in London this year was for women to wear short skirts or dresses over flared trousers of some kind) and a long white leather coat. Elenor noticed the coat was splattered with large brown stains, chocolate in colour. Anya wore dark green snake skin hipster pants, and a crop top white t-shirt that showed off her pierced navel. The t-shirt had a Scottish flag design on the front. They had their arms round each other and were lezzing it up a little for the delight of the seventeen year old boys in the club.

Anya paused close to the doorway and leaned back against a pillar that was covered with fly posters for upcoming bands. Se had a bottled of Jack Daniels dangling from the fingers of her left hand and she passed it over to Alyson. Anya’s dark short hair was spiked up a little tonight with egg white and hairspray and she was deliberately affecting a slightly androgynous boyish image, much to the delight of the assembled ranks of seventeen year old drummers. As Elenor watched, Anya leaned close and whispered something to Alyson that made her laugh. Then Anya straightened up and stared directly at a young boy - surely no more than sixteen – who had caught her eye. He hung around in one of the corners of the club, looking like a young Jim Morrison. He was talking to an awestruck young girl in tight black jeans and a black silk vest. Anya stared transfixed at the back of his head until suddenly, sensing something, he turned round. He saw Anya staring at him and looked away, but Anya’s gaze remained and a few seconds later the boy found himself turning round once again. This time he caught Anya’s stare for longer. When he turned back to the pretty teenage girl beside him he seemed to be distracted. Little more than five seconds later he turned round for the third time and walked straight towards Anya.

Anya showed no sign of surprise. She simply leaned against the pillar and waited for the boy to present himself to her. Then, slowly, with languid grace, she leaned forward and took him by the hair. She pressed her mouth to his and kissed him full and long on the lips. The boy’s hands snaked round her waist until Anya grew bored with the kiss and slapped his hands away. Then she spat full in his face and laughed. Alyson laughed too and swigged some more of the Jack Daniels from the bottle. The boy looked dumb struck and confused, as the line of spit trickled down one cheek. Elenor couldn’t hear what Anya said to him, but whatever it was he left, crestfallen and returned to the corner, but by now the pretty teenage girl was gone.

Alyson turned her head and spotted Elenor across the room. She tugged on Anya’s arm and pushed her way through the crowd, sending several of the dancers sprawling with just the slightest slap of her hand.

“Ellie!” Alyson posed in front of Elenor. Her eyes were bright and alive and full of magic. “Still happy with the Tank Girl look then?” Alyson threw back her head and let her long dark hair tumble down her back. “How do I look?”

“Nice. I like the coat.”

“Mmmm.” Alyson swayed in time to the music, attracting more attention from the boys in the club. As she did so, Anya glided up behind her and leant her chin on Alyson’s shoulder.

“Hi Elenor.” She was as happy as a fox who’d just been asked to look after the hen house for an hour or two. “Been here long?”

“A while.”

“We…” she wrapped her arms around Alyson’s waist and leaned her slight weight against Alyson’s back, much to the entertainment of the boys gathered in the area of the bar, “… have been having a fucking wonderful time tonight.” She took the bottle of JD from Alyson’s fingers and passed it to Elenor. “I think the boys in here like us.” She winked.

“They’re just boys – what do you expect?”

“Ellie…” Alyson drawled the word slowly, pretending to be more drunk than she actually was. “Open your hand, Ellie.”

Elenor sighed and opened her hand. Alyson grinned, reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a handful of crumpled notes. “Christmas comes early for Ellie.” She thrust the money into Elenor’s hand and squeezed it shut.

“Thank you, Alyson,” said Elenor quietly. She felt her fingers trapped in a vice like grip.

Anya looked around the room and tugged at Alyson’s hand. “Look at these kids. Couldn’t you just eat them up?”

Alyson laughed and grabbed the bottle from Elenor’s hand.

“I fancy some chicken tonight!” laughed Anya. “Pale white skinny chicken.” She turned suddenly to Elenor and pressed herself over Elenor’s body, spreading her arms either side of the pillar and bearing down close until their faces were almost touching. “Ever had chicken, Elenor? Ever taught a boy new tricks? They’re always so nervous. It’s really cute.”

“I’m bored.” Elenor tilted her head and stared Anya in the eyes. “This is boring.”

Anya detached herself and took Alyson’s hand again. “We still want you to join us, Elenor. Think about it.” And then they headed for the dance floor. Anya was making clucking sounds and shouting, “chick-chick-chicken!” at the top of her voice.

I’m going home, thought Elenor.

The Squat in Camden

Elenor folded the money in her pocket as she pushed the front door open. The begging was showing decreasing returns lately. The novelty of her attractive, vulnerable, friendly approach was beginning to wear thin amongst the well groomed suits who visited Camden. After a week or two it became apparent to the twenty something businessmen on their lunch breaks that Elenor probably wouldn’t sleep with them no matter how much crocodile sympathy they offered her with their spare change. Today she had made little more than eight pounds and that had taken her five hours out in the cold. Alyson’s fistful of notes would mean she could take it easy for a few days.

Elenor walked through the hallway and sniffed the smell of cooking in the air. A trip to the kitchen was in order. She hooked a bottle of home made raspberry red wine from the box on the table and helped herself to a chipped mug, there being no proper glasses left in the house.

As she poured the wine a couple of men entered the kitchen. One was Dan, a man of above average height with glasses and a taste for checked shirts and dark blue jeans. He was a trained carpenter by trade and was currently renovating the house along with Thomas who knew a thing or two about masonry. The other man was Michael, the self appointed non-leader of the commune, with his size 26 waist and floppy fringed hair.

“Elenor.”

“Michael.” Elenor turned round and regarded the men. Right now she just wanted to go to bed before the Man In Room Two began playing Slip Inside This House.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Well, The Hundred Club wasn’t very good tonight.” Elenor made to brush past the men with the bottle of wine in her hand, but Michael blocked the doorway. “What are you doing?”

“We’d like to have a word with you.”

“Okay.” Elenor sipped the wine and stood where she was.

“Not here – in the living room. Cathy, Sally and Ryan would like to talk to you as well.”

“Oh. Is something wrong?”

“Let’s talk about it in the living room.”

Elenor had been avoiding the living room. It wasn’t very big and there was always too much smoke in the air. Plus she didn’t like all the group hugs and meditation and bonding games that went on in there. Three pairs of eyes looked up as soon as she entered. Cathy she already knew; Sally was a young girl with blonde hair who read tarot cards in Camden for a living, and Dan was an out of work actor.

“Hi.” Elenor sat down on the edge of a chair and offered the wine around. No one took her up on it.

“It’s like this, Elenor, we all feel you don’t seem to be contributing very much to this household.” Michael closed the door as if to announce some formal sitting of a council. “I’m concerned, as are the others, that you’re not really comfortable with your position in this house.”

“No, it’s great. Really - I don’t have any complaints.” She sipped some more wine.

“Perhaps I phrased that badly.”

Ryan interjected: “What Michael’s trying to say is that you ignore your name on the chore rotas; you don’t talk to us; you avoid your responsibilities, both implied and clearly stated, and you just eat and drink whenever you feel like it. This is a take, take, take relationship, and we’re concerned that your karmic balance is out of synch.”

“Elenor,” Michael took her hands in his and looked earnestly into her eyes. “We like you. We all like you. But you haven’t really integrated yourself in the few weeks you’ve been here. It’s not just a matter of the chores – you don’t take part in any of the group meditations or the games evenings. Is something wrong?”

“I was going to do some washing up this morning, but Cathy had already done it!”

“That’s because Cathy was down on the rota to do it this morning. You were down to do it the day before, and it just lay there piled up until Sally had to do it for you.”

“Why is it always the women who have to do the washing up? I haven’t noticed your name on the washing up rota? Or His.” Elenor pointed at Dan.

“Dan is a carpenter,” explained Michael patiently. “He has other responsibilities. And I have to look after the harmony of the house. I see myself as a sort of ringmaster of a colourful circus – managing the unique talents and ensuring that everything gets done.”

Elenor raised an eyebrow. “Okay. Sorry. I guess I have been getting immersed in other things.” She glanced around at the stern looking faces in the room. Sally’s face looked particularly hostile. “You’re all so right, and you should have spoken about this to me before. When am I next down on the rota?” Elenor gave everyone a really warm smile. It was impossible to really be angry with such a beautiful girl with such a warm smile.

“Um, you’re on potato peeling tomorrow afternoon,” said Michael.

“Great, well I’ll peel some potatoes tomorrow then! Problem solved! If that’s all, I’ll be off to bed now.” She gave everyone another really warm smile. “Gosh, I’m so tired.” She stretched lazily, the motion accentuating the swell of her breasts under the tight sweater. “You’re all such good people. I don’t know what I’d do without your kindness and help.”

“Well, um…” Dan scratched his head. “That is…”

“I really like what you did with the staircase, Dan.” Elenor stood next to him for a moment and gazed up into his eyes. He was a few inches taller than her. Dan couldn’t help but smile, after all she was so beautiful…

“You did?”

“Yes.” Elenor leaned forward on her toes and kissed him innocently on the cheek. “You’ve got talent. I just wanted you to know that. Goodnight.”

“Um, goodnight…” Dan was blushing a little.

Elenor quickly turned round and kissed Michael as well. Then she waved her fingers at everyone in the room and quickly skipped upstairs to her attic room.

“Well,” Michael coughed. “I think that’s sorted then.”

Sally couldn’t believe her ears. She stood up and waved her arms in the air. “Is that it? Elenor hasn’t done anything in three weeks and you’re just going to let her get away with fluttering her eyelashes in a vulnerable kind of way and saying, ‘oh I’ll peel some potatoes tomorrow’? I thought we were going to tell her as a group that she’s really pissing us off!”

“Well, uh, you heard her… she didn’t realise… she’s really sorry… I mean, we’re not really that annoyed with her, are we? I think we should give her another chance,” said Dan.

“Everyone deserves a second chance after all,” agreed Michael.

“She seemed sincere to me,” said Ryan, even though he’d missed out on a kiss.

“She just swans around here, drinking our wine, expecting a room for nothing, and treats us like we’re embarrassing to be with or something! Until she’s at risk of being thrown out! Then she doesn’t know what she’d do without us! And I’m pretty certain I saw her go into McDonalds the other day! We should kick her out. She’s spoilt and stuck up!” Sally was not happy.

“Now I think we’re seeing a potential negativity issue arising here,” suggested Michael. “Negative emotions are bad for us, bad for our plants, bad for our vegetable garden and bad for the vibrations of the house. Let’s just take a moment to relax and maybe focus on our pyramid of harmony to redress the balance.” The Pyramid of Harmony stood proudly in the eastern corner of the living room.

“Oh, fuck off, Michael! The trouble with you men is you all fancy her, and it means she’s getting away with murder!” Sally stormed out and climbed up the stairs to her first floor room.

In her attic room Elenor heard the door to Sally’s bedroom slam shut. The vibrations echoed throughout the house. Elenor sighed, poured some more house wine, and tucked into the Big Mac that she’d bought on the way back home from the One Hundred Club.

Waste Ground

There was an expanse of waste ground up ahead where a number of buildings had been torn down and bulldozed flat. In a month or two the land would be subject to redevelopment - probably a housing block as business prices were depressed in England at the moment. For the time being the waste ground was fenced off. The fence had been breached in several places - two of them wide enough to drive cars through, and now it was the temporary home to a street gang. They sat on chairs, surrounded by the burnt out shells of three cars that had been used for joy riding. There were five men and two women, dressed in gang colours, laughing and drinking beer. Several crates of bottles stood nearby, away from the camp fire that had been built out of old packing crates and discarded wooden furniture. A white wooden door lay on top of the fire, the white paint blistering, bubbling and peeling off as flames took hold of its dry timber. There were a lot of gangs in the Camden territories though thanks to the mysterious 'Camden Peace' there was no gang warfare. There were incidents, yes, but nothing compared to the troubles found in other inner cities such as Glasgow, Manchester and Birmingham.

Anya and Alyson had taken a detour via the waste ground deliberately. They paused and gazed through the wire fence mesh at the group who occupied the centre of the yard.

"Looks promising. Shall we?" asked Alyson.

"The night’s still young." The girls strolled quickly across the concrete and headed for the impromptu street party. The men around the camp fire looked surprised but also curious. It was three o'clock in the morning - it wasn't usual for two girls to be wandering around this late in an area as bad as this. Anya and Alyson acted as if they were alone. Without any indication that they had company, they paused in the centre of the yard and swigged some of the JD. Anya winked and placed a hand around Alyson's hips. The girls embraced and began to kiss in a very affectionate manner in front of the men. Anya ran her hand over Alyson’s buttocks, giggling into the kiss, knowing what effect this was likely to have on the people watching.

"Look what I doth slooshie, oh my brothers – such listos to warm the chockles of thine koves," said one of the men. He wore ripped drainpipe jeans, training shoes and a baggy sports top.

"Just when the evening was getting all yawn and malenky…" said another man. He was dressed in track suit bottoms and a Manchester United sweatshirt.

"Viddy well, my little droogies. Two devotchkas feeling all frisky fine and ready to prance," said Daniel, the gang leader. He was dressed in black leather pants and a black v-necked sweater.

"Double plus good," added a man in a tatty second hand pin striped suit and a white t-shirt worn underneath. He wore cherry red Doc Martin boots on his feet and carried a steel pole.

"A real horrorshow meal for the old glassies." Daniel rose and sauntered towards the two girls who seemed still oblivious to everyone but each other. "Two veshkas dying for a spot of the old in-out with me and mine humble brothers."

One of the girls, dressed in a white ballerina skirt and red velvet jacket sprang onto the hood of one of the burnt out cars. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Go horrorshow on them, Danny – real horrorshow, like - we want to see some tolchocking tonight. Razrez their platties for us!"

"So what's it to be then, eh?" asked Danny as his right hand slapped Alyson's ass with a loud crack.

The reply came suddenly. Alyson span round and smacked her fist, backhanded into Danny's face. He flew backwards, accompanied by the sounds of bones cracking under the brutal impact. Alyson leaped into the air and dropped kicked his head as he fell back against the shell of a burnt out Audi. His head snapped back under the impact of the second blow and struck the metal bonnet. Danny bounced forward from the impact only to be intercepted by Anya. She punched him hard in the gut, breaking several ribs. Danny folded up around her fist and collapsed onto the hard gravel floor.

There was a stunned silence in the concrete compound as Danny lay broken on the ground.

"Party time," said Alyson with a smile. She lowered her head and looked up slyly, like she had seen action heroes do in movies. Anya jumped backwards and somersaulted on to the hood of the car where Jillie stood. Before anyone could react, Anya grabbed the girl, turned her round and dropped her, back first, across her knee. Then, with a sharp and sudden twist of the girl’s body, she broke her spine across her knee. As Jillie slid off the hood of the car, Anya straightened up and ran her fingers through her short spiky hair. The action lifted the cut of her crop top t-shirt higher up, exposing her supple midriff for the men to see. "Hey now, hey now-now. Sing this corrosion to me!"

The men backed away slightly, cautious but angry. They produced weapons - a chain here - a steel pipe there. Sam produced a flick knife.

"For me?" Alyson hadn't moved. She stood with her legs apart, her head still hung low, her long hair falling forward. She wasn't speaking to anyone in particular but she could hear the clink of the weapons being drawn. "All these glittering prizes for me?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

The first man moved in with the knife. Alyson was five times as fast as he was. It was child's play to seize his arm and break it at the elbow. She caught the knife as it fell, twisted the man's body round and thrust the knife straight up the crack of his ass. He screamed a horrible scream as she pushed him away.

Anya was gyrating on top of the car now, singing, "Hey now, hey now-now… sing this corrosion to me…"

A heavy chain whipped at Alyson's head. She simply caught it with a snap of her hand. She pulled hard and dragged the assailant off his feet. The chain came free in her hand and she whipped it back in his face once, twice, three times. Alyson looped the chain around her lower right arm and held the end around her fist like knuckle dusters. “Next!”

Now the remaining men and the lone girl were a little scared. These women were super humanly fast. Too fast to deal with. But there was honour at stake and their wounded friends couldn't simply be abandoned.

"Are we having fun yet?" asked Anya as she crouched down on the bonnet of the car. She watched the remaining gang members as they circled close to where she stood. Gripping the top of the car with both hands, she kicked back with her feet at the man in the Man U shirt as he sprang forward. Her feet took him straight in the chest, knocking the wind from his body. He fell backwards, dropping his iron pipe. Anya lifted her legs up until she stood erect in a perfect hand stand. Alyson, meanwhile strode purposefully forward towards Mickey and Angela. "I used to be scared of people like you," she said as she picked up a brick from the ground. She threw it hard and watched it crack Mickey's skull. He fell down before he even knew he'd been hit. "I used to hurry past when people like you skulked on street corners. I used to dread the sound of footsteps behind me on a dark street late at night. I used to worry about going out alone late at night." She grabbed hold of Angela by the hand and drew her forwards. "Not any more. There's nothing to be scared of in Camden anymore."

Angela tried to pull away but Alyson simply crushed the bones in her wrist in reply. Angela dropped to her knees, sobbing, feeling Alyson's grip tighten. "Mine eyes have seen the light. There's no need to be afraid. Not when there’s an alternative." She let go of the girl's broken hand.

Anya sat down cross legged on the roof of the car and drank some more of the JD. The moon was three quarters full tonight with few clouds in the night sky. Alyson stalked back towards the car, unconcerned with the pain of the fallen men and women around her. She pulled herself up onto the bonnet and sat just below Anya.

"Not bad. It's fun being a superhero."

Anya laughed and spat out some of the whiskey. "Super heroes…" she shook her head, amused. "Perhaps we should get costumes, huh?"

"Yeah, why not?" Alyson's eyes sparkled. "Just for one night. That would be a laugh. Let's get noticed."

"Like we're not already?"

Alyson yawned and stretched her arms. She watched the bodies twitching a little where they lay on the concrete. Angela was howling and holding her crushed wrist that flopped helplessly like a rag doll. Alyson glanced up at Anya. "Hungry?"

Anya nodded and licked her cherry red lips.

"Let's grab a ‘take away’ then," said Alyson with a smile.

The Offices of the English Secret Service: ORBITAL

Wardog sat in a swivel chair as Bretnor and Gabriel hurried into Mr Price's office.

"Ah, it's the weasels," he said as the ORBITAL agents took their places at the right hand side of Price's desk. "I've stopped off in London, in between saving the world from all manner of dangerous psychopaths, to discover what progress, if any, you people have made on this murder case."

Mr Price looked at his men hopefully. Bretnor stood up and cleared his throat.

"Rest assured we've been burning the candle at both ends! We've cleared our desks of other cases to concentrate solely on this one!"

Wardog held up his hand to interrupt Bretnor. "Found her yet?"

"Not as such, no…"

"Figures." The Tabula Rasa superhero turned to Mr Price. "The Tabula Rasa isn't renowned for its patience. We're not big on slow detective work to resolve problems. We prefer to drop a building on some one's head. That’s more our style. I haven't come here to listen to an hour of bullshit about forensic reports and stakeout details. I want Elenor Anna Haines, on a plate, covered in gravy."

"Aka Argent," chipped in Gabriel.

"What? Who told you that?"

"Well, not you, obviously - it wasn't in your report," said Bretnor.

"Any reason for that?" asked Mr Price, adding to the unified front and enjoying it immensely.

Wardog sighed. "The Tabula Rasa felt it was sensitive information. Argent has nothing to do with us, but we felt the public might take a rather different view if it became known that a superhero killed a superhero hating politician. We couldn't afford the bad publicity. People might suggest we put her up to it."

"We were hardly going to tell the press," said Mr Price.

"Well, now you know. So where is she?"

"Despite the fact that you neglected to brief us of a very pertinent piece of information, we have made progress." Bretnor paced around the room. "We know she is hiding out in Camden."

"Have you tried to locate the tracking device?"

"We found it locked around a hand rail in a tube car in the London Underground."

"Impossible! Those things aren't made to be removed."

Bretnor ignored the obvious inconsistency of that statement with the facts to hand. "She's in Camden and we're reasonably sure we can pick her up. The only question is… we'd have to do this the hard way. She's got super powers - simply knocking on the door and trying to arrest her isn't an option. Of course we'd have found that out the hard way, wouldn't we?"

"Okay, okay - point taken. Enough. You've got authorisation to use whatever force you need."

"Yes, well, the thing is Camden is something of a no go area for police. It's like a social experiment, and we can expect some fierce resistance going in and a lot of criticism after the event from certain liberal quarters."

"For fuck’s sake, you’ve got guns haven’t you? Don’t you know how to shoot people? You want us to handle the grab? I can get some superheroes down from the satellite if you like."

This wasn’t what anyone in ORBITAL wanted to hear. “No thank you,” said Mr Price with authority. “English Special Forces are quite capable of running this operation.”

“Special Forces? You’re going to use the SAS?” Even Wardog was impressed with the reputation of the SAS.

“Not exactly – I was referring to Mr Bretnor and Mr Gabriel’s unit: AMBER 9.”

“Whatever.” Wardog waved a dismissive hand. “Just so long as I get results. I’ve got some business in England on the run up to Christmas, but I’ll be back before the New Year and then I’ll accompany Mickey and Goofy over there and make sure they don’t mess up. In the meantime, get this bitch under 24/7 surveillance and DON’T let her get away. Got that?”

“Yes,” said Price with a forced smile. He watched as Wardog exited the room.

Bretnor coughed gently to attract his boss’s attention. “Don’t worry Sir. ORBITAL won’t mess this up. You can rely on our years of experience.”

The Elephant & Castle, London – December 20th

Joseph Cromwell drew his long gun and walked up the short flight of concrete steps to the first floor where the entrance to Flat 23B stood. Someone had painted the word ‘Freek’ on the door. This made him smile. Behind the door was a superhero – one of the Furies.

Down below on the road a few children played in and around a burnt out car. They regarded the tall black man in the long coat and the braided hair and recognised him for what he was: a stranger. It was a cold, frosty morning, but the sun was high in the sky and particularly bright for late December. Joseph loved the sun. He was Jamaican by birth but had lived in England since the age of three.

Reaching into his pocket, the urban warrior placed three shaped charges of grey putty around the door frame and set a small timed charge in each one. He stepped back and retreated around the bend of the concrete stairwell. There was a loud series of bangs as the door snapped in half and blew off its hinges. Joseph Cromwell was through the doorway before the bang had subsided. Down the short corridor he ran and, turning right, he charged gun first into the squalid, damp ridden living room. A man, dressed in baggy jeans, and a thick jumper, was in the process of running towards the kitchen.

Joseph fired three times on the run and one of the bullets tore through the man’s shoulder. He screamed and threw himself at the far wall. It was a poorly made interior wall and it cracked under the impact, showering the room on the other side with plaster and brick dust. Joseph emptied another three rounds from his gun, hitting Erik twice more despite his super speed. Trapped inside this small room, Erik threw himself with all his super strength at the damaged wall again and this time it gave way. Bricks showered through into the flat next door and Erik pulled himself through the hole he’d made. Joseph ran into the kitchen and blew Erik’s left foot off with a further three bullets before he was able to fully climb through.

Erik was screaming as he clawed his way into Flat 21B. A young girl screamed too as Erik’s bloodied body forced its way into her living room. Hobbling on one foot, with blood pouring from his stump, Erik swatted her aside. Unconcerned with his own strength, Erik succeeded in sending her flying across the room and into the television set in the corner.

Joseph was through the hole just in time to see Erik pogoing down a staircase to the hall below. It was the only way he could run, but Joseph knew that for Erik it would be a dead end. And there he was – pressed against the door at the bottom of the stairs. On the other side of the door was the open street, but Erik hadn’t opened the door – he hadn’t tried to escape outside. Joseph climbed calmly down the staircase, his long barrelled gun pointed straight ahead.

“Please, no…” moaned Erik. “I haven’t killed anyone. Not me. I don’t even go outside!”

Joseph shot him twice in the chest. Erik was thrown back against the door by the force of the magnum rounds. He twitched and slid slowly to the floor. Blood was seeping from his mouth and his wide eyes were staring as if he didn’t understand.

“Can’t…” he coughed blood. “…can’t die like this… not supposed to hurt me…” he was choking. “Russell said… can’t be killed this way…”

Joseph emptied the remains of the clip into Erik’s body and then drew a long handled machete and cut the man’s head off with three powerful strokes of the blade.

One.

One more.

He wiped the sweat from his face.

One more red nail for the pillar.

Elenor’s Squat

“Hi Cathy!” Elenor was smiling warmly as she peeked around the door to Cathy’s room. It looked quite comfortable actually, with a big fluffy duvet and lots of pillows, and pop posters on the wall and a second hand dressing table covered in cheap make ups and glittering hippie jewellery from the local market stalls. There was a small CD player in the corner and an equally small selection of very retro early seventies CDs.

Cathy was sitting cross legged on the floor, wearing a long skirt and a strawberry coloured smock, sewing a patch onto a pair of jeans.

“Oh Elenor, hello!” Cathy was delighted to see Elenor.

“Everything cool?” Elenor squinted around the room. Unlike the attic rooms this had a large bay window, and was that a small balcony? This was a good room…

“Oh yes! Can I… get you anything? Some tea…”

“Oh, can’t stop. But thanks. Got things to do this morning. Actually… I wondered whether I could call on you for a favour?”

“Of course! Anything!” Cathy felt eternally in Elenor’s debt. This was the woman who had rescued her from the horrors of the Arcadium. If not for Elenor Haines, Catherine Sullivan would still be facing the rest of eternity in a living hell. Nothing could be too much trouble for such a magnificent and inspiring role model.

“Great.” Elenor looked a little embarrassed for some reason. “Potatoes.”

“Yes?” Cathy stood up and clenched her hands nervously. Elenor was just such a fine person.

“Wondered whether you could peel some potatoes?”

Cathy looked confused.

“It’s this dumb rota.” Elenor managed an awkward laugh and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, what’s the world coming to. “I seem to be down on some stupid rota to peel potatoes this afternoon, but I’ve got so many things to do…”

“Oh… I can do that!” Cathy stepped forward. “I can peel potatoes!”

“Great!” Elenor looked pleased. “I’d do them myself, but…” She shrugged again.

“You’ve got superhero things to do?” Cathy smiled a really warm smile.

“Yes… superhero things… hey – us superheroes never let up!” Elenor punched Cathy playfully in the arm. “So, I’ll, um, disappear now and patrol the streets and make sure they’re safe from crime. And you’ll cover the potatoes?”

“Oh, yes… not a problem at all.”

“Great. Thanks.” Elenor leaned forward and kissed Cathy on the cheek. “I really appreciate this. Bye.”

Elenor rushed out of the house and thrust her hand deep into her pocket where the money from Alyson lay. Time to go shopping!

Cathedral Prime

Joseph Cromwell walked down the series of steps into the dark hall and threw his coat onto the floor. His body was strong, athletic, with the muscular build of a lean, wiry panther. He struck a match and walked around the chamber lighting church candles set into cast iron stands. It was cold in the room but cold was good. That which did not kill Joseph Cromwell only made him stronger.

Butter will make us fat, but guns will make us strong.

The centre of the room was an impressive sight. An old Roman column had been placed here and cut to size so that it seemed to support the roof. Hammered into the pillar were nails – red nails. Joseph Cromwell had ceased counting after the first hundred. A metal box stood on a nearby table. Joseph reached inside and pulled out an iron nail. Like all the others in the box it had been painted red. Using a heavy mallet, Joseph pounded the nail into the Roman column and stepped back to admire his handiwork. From a distance it was impossible to tell the column was covered in nails. In the gloom of the candle light it seemed that the column was punctured in over a hundred places – small drops of red blood marking each spot.

Joseph threw Erik’s severed head into a corner of the room and sunk down into a large sofa. He would dispose of the head tomorrow, but for now some rest. A large map of London lay blu-tacked to the far wall. It had been heavily annotated over the last few months with notes and locations highlighted with marker pens. Hundreds of multi-coloured post it notes covered the surface of the wall around the map, each note displaying some vital piece of information. Addresses, names, phone numbers, times, articles, registration numbers. Some men would have used a computer but Joseph preferred his System. The System hadn’t let him down so far and with luck it never would.

Elenor’s Squat in Camden – December 24th

Elenor was hiding from her house mates again when Cathy knocked quickly on her door and hurried inside. She seemed excited.

“Yes?” Elenor’s eyes peered over the top of the book she was reading.

“There’s a man at the door.”

“Tell him there’s no rooms left.” Elenor looked back down at her book.

“No, he doesn’t want a room, he’s come for you! He’s really good looking and you should see his car! Oh my God, it’s so beautiful… is he your boyfriend?”

“What? I don’t have a boyfriend.” Elenor put her book down.

“He’s really nice, and he called you Miss Elenor… can you believe that?”

“What?”

“You say that a lot, you know.” Cathy sat down on the side of the bed.

“No hugging, remember,” warned Elenor. She crossed over to the door and walked down the newly refurbished stairs. Standing in the hallway of the house, dressed in his immaculate black leather chauffeurs uniform was Pierce – Uncle Gideon’s manservant.

“Pierce?” Elenor could hardly believe her eyes. Pierce was tall, young looking, with a very short haircut, a pierced ear, clean skin and a certain boyish charm about him. He removed his chauffeur’s cap as soon as Elenor reached the foot of the stairs.

“Hello Miss Elenor. Your Uncle sent me to pick you up. I’ve got the car waiting outside.” The gleaming vintage Rolls Royce sat anachronistically on the pavement in the middle of Camden Lock.

“But…”

“It’s Christmas Eve, Miss Elenor. Your Uncle always sends the car for you every Christmas Eve. You are joining your Uncle for Christmas this year?” It was a family tradition – Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were always spent at Gideon’s estate in Essex.

“I tried calling the house so many times… there was no reply.”

“Your Uncle sends his apologies, but he hasn’t been at the old house for several months now. You’ll be spending Christmas at Ash Ra house.”

“Ash Ra house?”

“Your Uncle owns a private island off the east coast of England. It’s connected to the mainland by a causeway that’s only approachable at low tide. I’m sorry to have to rush you Miss Elenor, but we’re going to have to set off now if we don’t want to hit the High Tide. If we lose the causeway we’ll have to fire a flare for a boat and that would mean missing the traditional mince pies with brandy butter.” Uncle Gideon always served home made mince pies and brandy butter on Christmas Eve as his guests arrived.

“I’ll need to get my bag…”

“Of course.”

Elenor ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She raced into her room where Cathy still sat with an expectant look as if to say, “see what I mean – he’s really gorgeous, isn’t he?” Elenor ignored Cathy and her enquiring look and simply grabbed her Camel skin shoulder bag.

“I’ll be gone for a few days. Give my apologies to everyone.”

“But… what about Christmas? What about the present giving tomorrow? We… we’re having Christmas as a house family.”

“Sorry – got better plans now. See you later.” Elenor ran down the stairs, leaving a distressed Cathy where she sat. Elenor passed a tall bearded stranger as she ran down to the first floor. He was dressed in black jeans, a black t-shirt, baseball cap, a checked lumberjack shirt, and he had six inches of beard growth and carried a black record sized shoulder bag. Elenor had never seen him before. He muttered something unintelligible as he headed up to the attic floor. Elenor had run down another fifteen steps before realisation suddenly dawned on her. That had to be the Man In Room Two who kept playing Slip Inside This House on repeat every night…

“Hey! Wait a minute!” screamed Elenor, “I want to talk to you!” She doubled back up the stairs, but before she could round the corner she heard the door to room two slam shut and a heavy lock slide in its place. Elenor threw herself against the solid door and pounded her fists on it. “Hey! You inside! Open this door!” The familiar sound of Slip Inside This House began playing again. “I saw you! I did! Open this door!” But there was no reply.

“Miss Elenor!” Pierce was calling for her downstairs. “We’re going to be held up in traffic if we don’t leave now!”

“I’ll be back!” shouted Elenor at the door. “I’ll be back!”