Episode Eight - 'Tumbledown'

The Furies seized Elenor before she even had a chance to move.

“Let me tell you about evil, Elenor. Evil is greatly misunderstood. It has nothing to do with causing pain or mindless destruction or killing people. Killing people? That’s down to mental illness mostly. We’re evil, which means we’re selfish. That’s what evil is – thinking only of yourself, to the detriment of other people. We don’t hurt people for no reason. We hurt them for a purpose.” Russell tore away her coat and sweater, leaving Elenor dressed only in her combat pants, boots and bra. The silver crucifix, given to her by her Uncle Gideon many years ago, hung proudly around her neck. “We live our lives, doing what we want, unencumbered by man’s laws or any sense of morality. What is morality? It differs from country to country; religion to religion. We please ourselves, because no one else is going to do that for us. Michael Douglas said it best when he said Greed is Good. Greed is the driving force of human evolution. We want, we take, and someone suffers. That’s why we’ve got where we are today.” He tore Elenor’s bra away and discarded it. Her pale breasts hung there ripe for the taking. “We’re just the next natural stage in evolution. We’re stronger, we’re faster, we’re tougher, and nothing is going to stop us. Nothing.” His hands undid Elenor’s belt and tore her combat pants in half, shredding the fabric with his hands. Elenor’s panties were the last item of clothing to go. Only her boots remained.

Four of the Furies lifted Elenor’s naked body and laid it out on the long pub table. They held her wrists and ankles and spread her into the shape of an X. Russell broke the silver chain and let the crucifix fall to the floor. He kicked it with his leather boot into the far corner of the room. As soon as the Carpenter King’s wretched symbol disappeared, Anya leapt onto Elenor’s lap and straddled her body, grinding down with her hips and leaning forward to lick her face.

“Wondering why we stripped you? You’re dinner. Forget the neck… no one likes drinking from someone else’s bite. But there’s lots of lovely veins and arteries all over your soft white body. Yum.” Anya ran her hands over Elenor’s hips, stomach and breasts. She watched Elenor’s face for any reaction as she lingered over her breasts. “You’d be surprised how much blood you can get out of a breast.” She bent her face down and bit deep with her razor sharp canines. Elenor struggled furiously as other Furies drew close to her. They gathered round, each identifying a succulent spot on her body on which to feed. Alyson though, stood to one side, her face frozen in a blank state.

Then, from somewhere in the room came the sound of a pump action shotgun being cocked. There was an ear splitting bang and one of the Furies was thrown backwards, his head splattered in mushy pieces across the room. Red gore splattered Elenor’s bare skin. The shotgun was cocked a second time.

Joseph Cromwell walked calmly down the stone steps into the basement bar. He drew a home made smoke bomb, pulled a fuse, and threw it into the centre of the room as the Furies turned to see what was happening. The charge inside the can detonated, spraying clouds of acrid, garlic smelling smoke throughout the basement. The furies were suddenly coughing and choking, tears streaming down their eyes, unable to see or breathe properly. Those closest to the thick fumes of the garlic based tear gas were rolling on the floor, throwing up the red ochre vestiges of their last meal. Cromwell aimed the shotgun again and blew a second man against the wall. The blast tore a hole through his chest the size of a baseball.

As the tall black man reached the last step, Elenor saw that he was naked from the waist up. His black combat vest and coat had been left upstairs. More to the point, Elenor could see that Joseph’s upper body was covered with dozens of tattoos. Each tattoo was a cross of some kind. Howling with rage, the Furies were unable to approach him directly. He cocked the shotgun a third time and blew the face off a young woman, dressed in shorts and a leather jacket. More red ichor sprayed the ceiling. One of the Furies tried to jump Cromwell, but screamed in mid air as he approached the crosses emblazoned on the man’s body. The Fury howled in pain, and then howled again as Cromwell smacked him hard in the face with the butt of the shotgun. He dropped the weapon and drew his machete, taking up a Samurai like fighting stance. One of the Furies streamed past him, only for Joseph to spin round with the machete and hack deep into the back of his neck, severing the vertebra column. The man fell, screaming. Joseph pulled his blade free, turned and sliced one of the women through the hip as she attempted to run past him on his blind side.

Elenor found that her legs were free. She lifted them up and caught one of the Furies in a scissor lock around his neck. It was the man holding her right wrist. Taking him by surprise, she flipped him over onto the ground. The other Fury, holding her left wrist, drove his fist down at her, but Cromwell’s Machete was already flying through the air and it struck, blade first into his face. Elenor sprang free and crouched on the low pub table. Blood dripped from her injured breast.

Russell had jumped Joseph now and, despite the fact that his skin was igniting in the process, he wrestled Joseph to the ground. But Joseph had been expecting this. His mouth, which hadn’t said a word so far, opened now and he spat water directly into Russell’s face. The effect was like acid. Joseph’s face erupted in a cloud of hissing smoke as the water burned its way through his eyes, nose and flesh. Cromwell threw the screaming leader of the Furies from his body and snapped his right hand out, causing a metal sheath to eject a small automatic pistol into his fist. He turned on the floor and fired twice, catching Bride twice in the gut and chest as she leaped towards him. The shots tore through her body. She screamed and fell.

Elenor leaped onto the back of the nearest Fury. Her fingers clawed straight for his eyes before he knew what was happening. Showing no mercy she gouged out his right eye before he was able to throw her off against the far wall. She hit the bricks with a solid thump and slid to the ground.

Joseph fired twice more to the right and twice more to the left, hearing bodies hit the floor each time. Three of the Furies gathered near his prone body until he pulled his second garlic gas canister and ignited it. Fresh plumes of onion smoke poured up around his body. No one was going to make it through that. The remaining Furies bolted for the far door, taking the blinded Russell with them.

Men stared as the figures emerged from the basement bar. Only minutes earlier they had witnessed half a dozen bloodied men and women flee in panic. They had seen a man, his face seemingly on fire, and a girl with visible gunshot wounds in her shoulder and right arm, and another man with a machete stuck in his face. Something was going down and of course sensible citizens of Camden did the sensible thing – they hung around to watch. What they saw next was Joseph Cromwell, stripped to the waist, his body covered in crucifix tattoos, a pump action shotgun in his right hand, pointed menacingly at anyone who stood too close. Supported on his left arm was a young blonde woman, stunningly attractive and naked, with blood trailing down the curve of her right breast.

The black man with the long braided hair pointed his shotgun at a parked car close to the kerb where two men in their early twenties were smoking dope.

“Keys,” he said, as the barrel hovered inches from their stunned faces.

“Okay,” said the tallest of the two. He dropped the car keys through the window and onto the driver’s seat.

“Get in,” said Joseph to Elenor. He scanned the pavement on both sides of the road and checked the rooftops for any sign of the Furies. He didn’t expect to see them. They had received a serious blow tonight and they would be looking to regroup before taking any form of counter action. Of course, when the reaction came it was sure to be swift and bloody in the extreme.

Elenor covered herself as best she could with her arms and hurried to the passenger door. She turned the handle and climbed in, ignoring a couple of wolf whistles from the opposite pavement. Joseph Cromwell slipped into the car beside her.

“I need something to wear,” said Elenor.

“Not important right now, woman. We’re in a combat situation.” Joseph stuck the key into the ignition and turned it. The antique combustion engine coughed three times before the carburettor woke up.

“It’s important to me.” Elenor curled up on the seat, and pulled her knees up to hide her body from the prying eyes outside.

Cromwell didn’t say anything. He simply gunned the engine and pulled the car out onto the street. Ignoring the finer points of the highway code he ran the car in a straight line, trusting that the drunk club goers would soon jump out of the way. On the whole they did, though there were one or two close scrapes before they left the confines of Camden.

“Do you want to explain the bullet thing to me? Your bullets seemed to hurt Alyson when you broke in that morning,” said Elenor as she shivered inside the car.

“I paint crosses on the tips of my bullets.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Doesn’t work for shotgun shells, but the shock effect of a 12 bore at close range is usually sufficient on its own. Are you in shock, woman?”

“No. But I’m freezing cold. And the name’s Elenor.”

“Good. Where do you live?”

“Turn left here, then straight ahead, turn right, past the Red Rover, left and then left again. Third house with the red door.”

The car pulled up next to Elenor’s squat. Cromwell was first out, carrying the shotgun. A few straggling hippies watched curiously from a doorway as the impressive looking black man checked the area for any sign of an ambush. He walked up to Elenor’s door and pounded on it hard with his leather covered fist. After a minute the door opened to the extent of the security chain and Sally stood there.

“Yes?” said Sally.

Joseph put his fingers in his mouth and whistled hard at the car. Elenor took that as her cue to get out. She ran quickly to the front door of her house, thankful for once that the street lights were broken.

Sally stared as Elenor, naked but for her boots, ran to the front door. Not waiting for the girl to unlatch the chain, Joseph simply kicked it in with his foot. The chain broke free from the latch, proving what a useless security device it was in the first place. Ignoring Sally’s protests, Joseph ushered Elenor into the hallway. Elenor ran straight up the stairs towards her attic room. Behind her, Joseph turned to face Sally.

“You don’t open this door to anyone you don’t know. And you don’t invite anyone in.”

“Hey, this is a private squat. We don’t want any guns here.” Sally backed away as Joseph closed and locked the front door. He was a formidable sight, covered as he was in nearly forty tattoos and carrying a large shotgun.

“No one is invited in. Remember that, woman. Or I’ll kill you myself.”

Upstairs Elenor collapsed onto her bed and pulled a sheet around her body. The muffled sounds of Slip Inside This House could be heard from the next room. Now the shakes were coming. Elenor bit her lower lip and tried to calm herself.

“Have you ever invited them in?” asked Joseph as he climbed the last of the stairs and walked into Elenor’s room. He moved to the small window and stared out onto the street below.

“What?” Elenor looked up. A small red stain had appeared on the white cotton sheet where it was pressed against her injured breast.

“Have you ever invited them in? They have to be invited in.”

“Oh God… this isn’t happening…” Elenor slumped back against the wall where a headboard would have been, except she only had a mattress to sleep on.

“It is happening. Have you ever invited them in?”

“No…”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Even Alyson never came round here. Oh God…”

“Good. Then we’re safe for the moment. Do you have any garlic?”

“What? No… of course not.”

“Check the kitchen. I saw a lot of vegetables before I went up the stairs.” Cromwell opened one of the pouches on his combat pants. Inside were two shotgun cartridges. He loaded them, one at a time into the breach of the gun.

“Don’t you have any more shells?”

“No. Just the two.” He placed the shotgun carefully down beside the packing crates that Elenor had covered with a purple velvet cloth to act as a makeshift dressing table. “Garlic.”

“Okay, okay.” Clutching the white sheet tightly around her body, Elenor ran down the steps to the ground floor and nearly collided with Sally.

“Elenor, who is he? We can’t have guns in here!” Sally did not look happy.

“Later.” Elenor pushed Sally aside and ran into the kitchen. She knotted the sheet, toga fashion, around her body and began to ransack the brown paper bags piled up on the table. Cathy was standing by the sink peeling potatoes. The rota for the day clearly said, in big red letters, bigger than any of the other rota entries, Important: Elenor is down for potato peeling: please don’t offer to do it for her! The handwriting looked like Sally’s.

“Are you… are you looking for something?” said Cathy nervously.

“Garlic. Do we have any garlic?”

“Um, yes.” she brushed some of her fine hair over her forehead and pointed to a brown bag on the draining board. “I’m going to use it in the goulash tomorrow.”

“No you’re not.” Elenor swiped it and ran back upstairs, past Sally who was still protesting:

“I’m going to complain to Michael about this!”

“Fine. You do that. I’m busy. Don’t get in my way.”

Elenor hadn’t realised she was asleep until she felt a pair of hands shaking her to wake her up.

“What… who…” she rubbed crumbs of sleep from her eyes and gazed at the clock. The time was 4.15 in the morning. Elenor was tangled in her sheet and lay on top of her duvet. Cathy was shaking her body, while Joseph Cromwell sat in the corner of the small room, smoking a cigarette, with his shotgun cradled between his legs.

“There’s someone at the door for you,” said Cathy breathlessly. She was dressed in pink pyjama bottoms and a Marc Bolan t-shirt. “Your friend…” she nodded at Joseph, “said we shouldn’t let anyone in uninvited.”

“Uh…” Elenor rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Who is it?”

“She says she’s a friend. She’s called Alyson.”

Over in the corner, Joseph stubbed his cigarette out on the bare floorboards and picked up the shotgun.

“Wait!” Elenor held out her hand. “She can’t get in unless I let her. I’m going to find out what she wants.”

Joseph sneered. “You haven’t learnt your lesson yet, have you woman?”

“Five minutes.” Elenor tightened the sheet around her body and stumbled downstairs. In the hallway the door was wide open. Alyson stood at the threshold but seemed unable to come any closer.

“Ellie…” she looked troubled.

Elenor stood at the foot of the stairs and remained well out of reach. She had no idea how any of this stuff worked, whether there was, like, some kind of mystical barrier or whether it would just be painful for Alyson to step through. She had no intention of taking any chances. “You fucking bitch, Alyson. You tried to kill me!” Elenor was furious. “What have you become?”

“We were only going to make you one of us… you would have understood…”

“You are so fucking dead!” Elenor spat out her rage. “How could you! After all our years of friendship! How could you! Oh my God – I feel sick just thinking about it!”

“Ellie – I didn’t know it was going to happen like that – there was nothing I could do – you forced their hand with that stupid camera. What were you thinking of?”

“DON’T! Don’t even TRY to make out that ANY of this was my fault! Oh God, Alyson – have I EVER really known you?”

“I’m your friend, Ellie. Let me in.”

“Oh, like yes, I’m going to do that! Why don’t you just walk in of your own accord?”

“I… I can’t…”

“No, you fucking can’t! Now what does that tell you about what you are! About what you wanted to make me!”

“Ellie, please… I can sort this out... I can make things better… Anya is talking to Russell. We don’t want to kill you.”

“You don’t WANT to kill me?” Elenor was beginning to freak out. “You DON’T WANT to kill me!”

“You’re getting hysterical…”

“Yes I am! And I don’t ever want to see you again, Alyson. You had better get out of Camden! I’m warning you…”

“No, you don’t understand Ellie… I’ve come here to warn you. Russell is furious. Cromwell burnt most of his face away. Several of us are dead. You can’t just walk away from this, Ellie. We’re stronger than you. This can only end one of two ways. You’re either with us or…”

The sound of a pump action shotgun being cocked was loud in the still night air. Joseph Cromwell, his chest illuminated with crucifix tattoos, walked steadily down the stairs with the gun cradled in both hands. His eyes were full of hatred as he regarded Alyson.

“Don’t!” Elenor held her hand up, palm first, in Joseph’s direction. A fire blazed in here eyes, bright enough to make even Joseph Cromwell pause for thought.

“Why not? She’s an easy target.”

“Because she was my friend.” Elenor stared hard at Alyson. “I’m giving her one chance to leave.”

“Can’t do that, Ellie. It doesn’t work like that. We’re family. You’d understand if…”

“Good bye Alyson.” Elenor began to cry.

“Ellie… don’t be stupid. They’re going to come for you both.”

“I’ll never understand why, Alyson… why you did this…”

“Because… because I’m sick of making do, of being second best. Because I wanted to be a superhero like you…”

Elenor wiped the tears from her face. “You sad, pathetic, girl… look what’s become of you…”

“The One Hundred Club, Ellie, tomorrow night at eight, if you change your mind. After that we go hunting. Think about that.” Alyson stepped away from the front door, her eyes locked on Joseph’s, and on the barrel of his gun. “But no tricks. We’ll be there in force. But your friend is dead. No membership cards for him. We’re going to cut his head off and shit in it!” And then she was gone.

“My entire life,” said Elenor as she lay her head painfully on Joseph’s shoulder, “has turned into a nightmare.” Joseph looked down, surprised, as Elenor’s soft hair fell across his black skin. “Nothing makes any sense…”

Upstairs once more, Elenor watched as Joseph stripped off his great coat and checked his body for injuries. Russell had jumped him in the basement bar and there were some huge bruises to show for it.

"You have so many tattoos… they must have taken years to do." Elenor touched Joseph’s broad chest with her hand and traced one of the more elaborate crucifix designs with her forefinger. It was based on a Renaissance pattern. Joseph flinched at such an intimate touch.

"It's armour," he said.

"This one looks Celtic." Elenor's hand moved down towards his tight, flat stomach muscles. She stood very close to him. Without heels she was a head shorter in height. Joseph looked vaguely uncomfortable with this close proximity. He suddenly broke away and picked up a couple of long bladed kitchen knives that he'd seized from downstairs. He examined the sharpness of the edges against his thumb.

"Excuse me saying this, but am I making you uncomfortable?" Elenor's body was wrapped in a fluffy white towel, but her long legs and smooth arms were bare.

"No."

"You just seem a little… tense around me."

"No I'm not."

Elenor's eyes drifted down below his belt. There was a slight lump in the trouser area. "You've got an erection!"

Joseph turned away quickly. "No I haven't."

"Well, either that or you've stuffed a rolled up sock down your trousers. My God, I'm giving you an erection by standing next to you!"

"Shut up, woman!" He was angry, but it was an anger brought out by some breach of male pride.

"No, you have." Elenor stepped forward and cupped her hand against his groin. She felt something hard trapped there. Joseph took her wrist and pulled it free.

"Leave me alone."

"Hey, it's all right. I take it as a compliment."

"You don't understand."

"Understand what?"

"I don't have time for this."

"Are you always this nervous around girls?" she watched his expression closely, but Joseph didn't say anything. "You do spend time with girls, right?"

"I don't talk about this sort of thing."

A crazy thought suddenly crossed Elenor's mind. "I mean, you do have girlfriends, right? It isn't all killing and fighting, is it?"

Joseph was quite clearly not looking at her.

"Oh my God… you've never had a girlfriend, have you?"

"Shut up, woman."

"You've never had a girlfriend… how old are you?"

"None of this is important." If Joseph had been born with white skin he would have blushed by now.

"Oh God… you're a virgin… you really haven't had sex, have you?"

Joseph crossed the room and began to pick up his things. He stuffed his assorted weapons into a small canvas bag. He was very angry.

"What are you doing?"

"I’m going."

"Don't be stupid. I wasn't criticising you… I think it's sweet."

"I don't care what you think, woman. I have a job to do." He made for the door, but Elenor skipped there first and blocked the way.

"Look, I'm sorry if I upset you. I just never expected that someone with your build and body and skill in killing people might still be a virgin. Honestly, I was just surprised, that's all."

"Some people don't have time for frivolity."

"Frivolity? Sex is frivolity? Oh boy… Have you ever kissed a girl before?"

"Get out of my way." Joseph slung his bag of weapons over his shoulder.

"Have you?"

“Woman…"

"Elenor. My name's Elenor. You’d better get used to saying it. Now, have you kissed a girl before?"

"No." Joseph scowled.

"Then kiss me." Elenor leaned in the door way and stretched her arms above her head until she gripped the door jam.

"I don't wish to. I have work..."

Elenor leaned over and kissed him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. She worked her tongue slowly into his mouth, enjoying the moment. Joseph was frozen stiff, unsure what to do. Gradually, Elenor slid her mouth away and looked up at him.

"That's what you've been missing. Nice, isn't it?" Joseph still didn't say anything, but the bulge in his trousers hadn't made any effort to go down. "Now put the weapons away. We're safe here. We'll get a few hours sleep, because we need it, and then this afternoon we'll get ready. I think I have an idea what to do."

"I work alone."

"You work alone? Do you know any other cliches?"

"Pardon?"

"What about, 'the road I walk is dark and lonely' or, 'it's a dirty job, but someone has to do it' or 'a man's gotta do, what a man's gotta do’!"

"Stop making fun of my life."

"I'm sorry, it's just that you have to lighten up a little. You're acting as if your parents were horribly and brutally murdered while you were a child, and now you've sworn a grim and dark oath to dedicate your life to avenging them. I mean, whoa!" Elenor suddenly had a horrible thought. “Oh God, your parents weren’t brutally murdered were they? I mean…”

"You know nothing about the circumstances of my life."

"Well at least you don't dress up as a bat. The big pointy ears wouldn't suit you. Look, you need some sleep. We both need some sleep. Come on." Elenor climbed onto the mattress and pulled the duvet over her. The clock read 6.47 am.

Joseph looked around the cramped room. There wasn't enough floor space available for anyone to stretch out and sleep on.

"It's okay. Elenor patted the empty space on the mattress. All we're going to do is sleep."

Joseph was obviously torn between conflicting emotions. He shrugged and untied his boots. Still dressed in his combat pants, he slid under the duvet with Elenor and ensured that his skin wasn't touching hers. Elenor smiled as he lay there, rigid, with his back to her. She squirmed forward, the towel still wrapped around her upper body, and placed an arm protectively around his waist. Joseph's skin jumped at her slightest touch, but Elenor drew him close. He seemed to be trembling slightly.

"Get some sleep. We'll prepare things this afternoon." She kissed his ear and pressed her face against his shoulder. Outside, dawn was breaking.

The Basement of the One Hundred Club

Anya regarded the assembled ranks of the Furies. It was time for a gathering of the clan. Russell had been put to bed in one of the offices upstairs and Anya had taken time to talk to him for half an hour. The direction was clear. She knew now what to do.

"For those who are wondering, Russell is in a bad way. He's lost most of his face and he can barely speak.” Anya paced around the basement room. “Someone’s got to take charge while he's incapacitated, and I've decided it's going to be me." She stopped and stood in the centre of the room, with her hands on her hips. "Now, you all know me, and you all know my reputation. The question is, does anyone want to start some shit over this?" Anya looked everyone in the eye, one face at a time. There were some general murmurs of dissent, but no one objected out loud. "Good. That's settled then. First port of call, when the sun goes down, we find Joseph Cromwell. We hunt him down, we kill him, and then we drink beer out of his skull. Any objections? No? I thought not."

Elenor’s squat

Elenor was the first to wake up. According to the bedside clock it was eleven thirty in the morning. Outside the window Camden was alive and bustling. It was freezing cold inside the house. The inside of the windows were misted over with condensation and the smell of damp was impossible to ignore. Snuggled up in the thick duck feather duvet, Elenor was at least warm, especially with the strong, black body lying fast asleep beside her. She lay awake with her face close to his shoulder. She wriggled a little closer and felt the warmth of his body. It felt good to share a bed with someone in the winter. Elenor had missed the feeling of waking up next to someone; waking up and feeling their hands on her body, feeling their kisses on her lips.

What am I doing? Elenor played with some strands of Joseph’s long, beaded hair. I should have learnt my lesson by now. Why do I keep thinking next time will be different? Elenor nestled her head against the pillow and closed her eyes. But she was awake now and her natural body clock wouldn't let her fall asleep again until night fall. Oh, but it felt good to just lie there, swaddled and warm, with such a fine body sharing her duvet. On days like this she would have phoned in sick, taken the day off work and pigged herself on sex and breakfast in bed. Today was different. No work to phone in sick to, just the understanding that if she didn't pull a miracle out of the hat later on today, sixty psychopathic monsters would come for her in the evening. Perhaps they would simply burn the house down with her in it. Mmmm. So soft, so warm, so nice. Elenor slid her arm around Joseph's waist and held herself close to him. Kiss me, love me, and break my heart, why don't you? Elenor sighed. You shouldn't let yourself be infatuated with people. But he felt good in her arms. She kissed his shoulder and willed him to wake up. She touched his ear lobe with her lips and nibbled it gently. Joseph's body stirred beside her.

"Good morning sleepy head. You've been out like a light." Elenor kissed his neck.

"What time is it?" Joseph remembered where he was. He raised his head from the pillow and turned round in Elenor's arms. This brought him face to face with her, much to his evident discomfort. The towel had come away from her body in the night and although he couldn't see her breasts, he could certainly feel them against his chest. "What time is it?"

"Time for you to kiss me." Elenor moved her lips close to his.

"I shouldn't be here. I've got work to do. I've wasted time sleeping."

"I can feel you." Elenor smiled.

"Feel me?"

"Your morning glory. It’s pressed against my leg."

"I'm sorry." Joseph shifted position.

"I think you'd like to kiss me."

"You're wrong." Joseph looked her in the eye. "I don't have relationships with people."

"I think you're afraid to kiss me." Elenor brushed her lower lip back and forth across Joseph's mouth. “You’re very frightened.”

"I'm not afraid of anything."

"You're afraid of a naked woman under a duvet with you. You're trembling. I've got my arm around you - I can feel your body shaking. You don't know how to cope. "

Joseph pressed his mouth to hers and kissed her. It was a clumsy kiss, but welcome none the less. Elenor took hold of the kiss and led his lips, showing him what to do. She felt his arm move around her waist. She felt his cock twitching, trapped inside his combat pants. She wriggled and moved her legs around his. They kissed for a minute or so before Joseph broke away. "I'm not afraid."

"I enjoyed that. Did you?"

“I have to go." Joseph tried to get up but Elenor's arms still held him tight. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Good. Because I don't enjoy being hurt."

"I have to get up."

"And you will, once you answer my question. Yes or no? Did you like the kiss?"

"No."

"So you don't want me to kiss you again? You don't ever want to feel me touch you like this?" Her hand moved underneath the duvet.

Joseph lay there quietly for a moment and thought about it. "I want to kiss you again."

"Well here I am. Go ahead."

Joseph kissed her, better this time, less woodenly. Elenor cupped her hand to the crotch of his black jeans and felt his cock twitching.

"Mmm. So tell me, are we going to kill the monsters today?"

"Leave that to me. Get out of London. I'll deal with the Furies."

"No you won't. We'll deal with the Furies together."

"I don't need your help." Joseph slipped out of the bed and stumbled onto the floor. Someone in the room next door was playing Slip Inside This House by the Thirteenth Floor Elevators.

"I know you don't. But I’m going to help you nonetheless. Consider it an investment on my part." Elenor slipped out of bed and stepped onto the floor of the freezing cold room. She grabbed the duvet and wrapped it round her slim body, out of a need for warmth rather than modesty. She noticed however that Joseph had meekly averted his eyes.

"You're quite the Gentleman in some ways aren't you?"

Joseph pulled his coat on over his naked chest and stuck his feet into his boots. He bent down to lace them up.

"Joseph, why haven't you ever had a girlfriend?"

"I'm committed to my lifestyle. I don't have the time to develop a relationship. I can't afford to show weakness like that."

"Weakness? You think being in love makes you weak?"

"I do, yes."

"Being in love makes you stronger."

"I've never seen any evidence of that."

"Then you've lived a wasted life."

“Get dressed. We need to get some supplies,” said Joseph to change the subject.

“Okay, but I don’t have any other clean clothes. I’ll have to borrow some from Cathy.”

The Church of the Sacred Heart – early afternoon

The Church of the Sacred Heart was situated in a side street in Camden. As far as churches went it wasn't exactly Notre Dame. Although constructed in the 18th century, the building was in poor repair, with the stone façade covered in sheet scaffolding. The roof leaked, the gargoyles were missing chunks of stone, and the stained glass windows were dull and lifeless. The church was wedged now between grim tenement blocks, part of the housing project for the dispossessed of London. Grey concrete blocks of flats cast shadows over God's house. The presence of the scaffolding didn't signify that any actual renovation work was underway. A restoration grant from the National Lottery had lasted just two weeks after which the builders downed tools and told the priest to call them when he had some more money.

Joseph led Elenor into the cold hall. The wooden pews inside the Church were still the original ones from 1757, though woodworm was mounting a vicious attack in the damp and miserable winter conditions. Elenor crossed herself, like a good Catholic girl, as she entered the Holy ground - a motion that did not go unnoticed by Joseph.

"This is your faith?"

Elenor nodded.

"I didn't know."

It was mid-afternoon and the Church was more or less empty. Two men and a woman sat on the pews, lost in silent prayer. A row of votive candles burned to one side, next to a box for donations. Elenor picked up a cheap candle, placed a coin in the box and lit the wick from one of the other candles. She placed it in front of a picture of the Virgin Mary, knelt and closed her eyes for a moment. Joseph didn't rush her.

A middle aged priest in the traditional Catholic black, walked down the aisle towards Joseph.

"Father Conrad…" Joseph shook the priest's hand.

“How are you my son?"

"As well as can be expected, Father." He indicated Elenor. "This woman is with me. Her name is Elenor Haines."

"You are welcome in the Lord's house, my child."

Elenor opened her eyes and rose quickly to her feet. The sight of a Catholic priest still had the power to stir powerful emotions inside her. "Thank you Father."

"You are Catholic?"

"I am, yes."

"Then you are doubly welcome." He turned back to Joseph. "What can I do for you this afternoon?"

"Holy water, and a cross for the woman."

Father Conrad raised an eyebrow. "You are not involving her in your work, surely?"

"She already has an involvement, and her life is threatened. I cannot abandon her."

Elenor didn't bother to argue the last point.

"You're planning on fighting again tonight, Joseph?"

"Someone has to." He crossed to the Church font and filled three plastic flasks with water.

"You ask too much from your body. You push yourself too hard."

"Someone has to."

Father Conrad regarded Elenor, dressed now in a long tasselled skirt that fell to her ankles, and a long sleeved sweatshirt like tunic. "Can I give you anything else?" The Priest removed his own cross, placed it to his lips and then handed it over.

"You could take my confession Father."

"Of course. Please come this way."

Elenor knelt inside the confessional booth. Just being here had a powerful emotional effect on her. Suddenly she felt thirteen years old again, thirteen years old and kneeling in her white dress, hands clasped in prayer, listening to the soothing words of her priest in the small parish of Minsbury. Things had been so simple then. Father Randall always found time to listen to Elenor’s confessions and tell her what she had to do. The spirit of Catholicism had been branded firmly onto her soul and despite the years spent away from the Church, the symbols of Christ still held a powerful sway over Elenor.

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It has been more than nine months since I last attended confession. My life has turned into a nightmare and I'm afraid I'm not going to be strong enough to cope. I've been trying so hard to be good, to do the right thing, but I'm weak, Father. I'm greedy and I'm selfish, and I don't want to be, honestly I don't. I've taken advantage of people, emotionally, and sometimes deliberately, and I think God is punishing me for my life to date. And I don't know what to do anymore. I feel like I'm stumbling through my life, being buffeted by one disaster after another. People expect so much of me, and there doesn't seem to be any end in sight. I really, really don't know what to do - who to turn to…"

"You can turn to God. He will always listen."

"I need more than that. I need someone to tell me what to do. I need someone to make sense of my life. I can't do this alone. You can't understand the pressure I'm under. It's like a pounding in my temples sometimes. Everywhere I turn… nothing is easy. This morning I had this tight pain in my chest and I suddenly found it difficult to breathe. Sometimes I'm so frightened that all I want to do is curl up into a small ball. Sometimes I just want to go to sleep and never wake up."

"Suicide is not the answer, Elenor."

"Then what is? Why is my life such hell? What do I have to do to live a normal life? Why won't God tell me what to do? Why doesn’t He listen to me?"

Elenor’s squat – mid afternoon

Elenor paced the room, knowing that in just a few short hours she would either have to flee London and never come back or she would have to face sixty plus super humans in a fight to the death. Those were impossible odds, yet she couldn’t simply run away and abandon London to whatever fate the Furies had in mind for it. Joseph sat on the floor nearby, cross legged, a sharp knife in his hand as he whittled away at some wooden sticks. Elenor crouched down beside him and watched, curious.

"What are you doing?"

Joseph regarded her through his round rimmed John Lennon-esque glasses. "I'm sharpening some stakes."

"What for?"

Joseph mimed stabbing people through the heart with a sharp pointed stick.

"You have got to be kidding me." Elenor stood up.

"You have a better idea?" Joseph finished off his third stake and picked up a fresh length of wood.

"Yes, actually I do." She retrieved a card from her dressing table.

"Such as?"

The card read Simon Bretnor & Peter Gabriel, Top Secret Agents for ORBITAL. Tel 0181-935-674844. Also available for Wine consultations. "Guns,” said Elenor with a smile. “Big guns."