💋 Chapter III

Daydreaming at first -- imagining that he was in the soft warm leather cushioned booth in the bar again -- Percy dreamed of the beach in the summertime as he'd walk barefoot over the stony sand in his youth. Though again he couldn't sleep, it was enough to let him meditate until morning. He awoke from a shell of broken cardboard boxing he barely remembered wrapping himself at some time in the night, and he roused to a staggering feeling of guilt and unwantedness. Here he was. Lost in the world, covered lightly in frost with his lashes pale white with ice crystals. His phone again was dead, there was no one out there looking out for him.

Percy finally seemed to reconcile with the fact that his family was no loving embrace. They were not on their way, they had still not answered his messages, and even if they had, they could never begin to apologize enough for having left him out here. They were bad people. As he sat and stewed on these thoughts, he got angrier and angrier, replaying all the things they'd ever said to him, and he began to at last defend himself.

He finally realized how much he hated his family, and just how much of their behaviour he only tolerated because he had no other option. Percy then felt this tug in his heart as the two concepts completely separated; The hope of being rescued, of being accepted, of belonging somewhere was no longer entwined with the concept of his family.

He began to come to a solid agreement among the many parts of his scattered mind that they were why he was here, and that they were no longer how he would be saved.

Why, he had more dignity than to go home with them anyway.

It was a major turning point for him, and in demanding respect that he rightfully deserved. But it came to him at great cost. Now, as it were, no people stood in that beacon of light, that sliver of hope. He still had this intense yearning to belong and to find love; this manifesting, remaining need to go home. It ran so deep that everything in his body was telling him that he still had something left to do. He was needed somewhere. It wasn't his mother's home, and it wasn't his family that was waiting for him. But who was it?

It made his skin itch and his brow twinge. He couldn't shake this feeling that time was running out for him and he only had a small window left to make a move, to make a decision. His eyes pulled to the curb as his aching body rose, and he stepped into the light from the shade he had sealed himself away in. Where were they? Who were they?

He imagined a group of people somewhere with arms open, feet tapping and impatiently awaiting his embrace. He could picture any number of them. Kids his age, friends, good people, fun people who had his interests, kids who were so bored out of their minds and needed him to bring light to their lives. He could show them all the little tricks he could do and the words he could say backwards. He could make so many friends.

But how to get to them?

In the midst of a full psychological collapse, Percy stopped thinking about food and he stopped thinking about water, about shelter, about his family -- especially about his family -- and instead, he became obsessed with the thought that these almost mythological beings were out there calling to him. And, he followed that delusion wherever abouts the city it would take him.

Internal distress rising as every turn of a corner did not produce this group of people, he tried to stay focused on his mental image of them instead. He imagined them sitting around in a relaxed fashion, so he began looking for that. He imagined a girl in a cropped top and high-waisted shorts like in the posters he saw in shop windows and so he searched for that. Never minding the cold and the unlikelihood of locating these phantoms of the mind, he pressed on throughout his breakdown, eyes wide and peering up at the tall billboards for clues about who exactly he should be looking for.

Not looking where he was going forced him to a stop. Because in crossing the road, he was forced to stop so a stretch car could pull around the building. Immediately, he was fascinated with the decorated vehicle. He'd never seen one in real life before and so adorned and ornate the prestigious luxury car was. After a moment, he began to follow it.

His vision, briefly blur of lights, and every step swinging his perspective as he grew gradually closer, feet dragging in a dazed and hungry stupor. He'd barely slept in two days, and he felt he had eaten even less.

Then, something peculiar happened.

He picked up his pace, and he began to hurry along. Not running, but moving with a certain skip in his step, an air of mischief in him, and he began to feel like a little kid again. It was carelessness, and a welcome comfort to him after being forced into this strange adult world with all these rules he didn't quite know how to follow. Being a kid, to him, meant no rules "as long as you didn't get caught."

He could play cops and robbers, he could sneak somewhere and take a bag of crisps or an unattended bagel. With all his luck in the subway scrounging pennies and abandoned Oyster cards, he felt like he was getting pretty good at it. This mindset was like a toxin that spread throughout his body. A pleasant surge of adrenaline overcame the harshness of the elements and he could almost feel a high coming off of it. It culminated in some fog that prevented him from thinking, or behaving logically, from worrying about repercussions or the consequences his actions could have on other people. He didn't even worry about returning to prison.

As the limousine arrived at its destination, he slid his back up against a support column to an overpass and his fingers drew up into the shape of a gun with his other hand supporting it. He looked and felt like a little kid about to jump out and spook his older brother with a couple "bang bang" sound effects. Around the column, he peered, looking out at the vehicle when the door came open. For a moment, he felt the need to shy away. These were adults, rich hoity toity people who would want to be left alone. The game ended like when his parents would step into the room and he didn't have the willpower to approach. So, he lowered his imaginary gun.

Percy was curious, however. He could see a glint of something shimmering in the morning sun. The glimmer of a fancy watch, of chrome buttons, and a large man wearing many many rings. This man had a gold chain hanging from his pocket, white cuffs and a suit. He saw a woman in a coat, and the bellhop exchanging keys with the chauffeur. A spike of adrenaline came over Percy that was so much richer and compelling than the last. He was hooked, and he wanted to move closer.

He saw the large man, rotund and passing money from a wallet that was just as overstuffed as he. Groomed and manicured in every fashion whilst Percy looked all about as charming as a chewed plastic straw. He began to dehumanize this man as 'the rich' and he began to feel as if this person should be his enemy. They were opposites in this game of life, as opposite as Percy and Isaiah, and he felt loathsome of this person. If his dreams of good, and of like-minded people were to be his saviour, then this person was his enemy.

Percy felt a tugging at him to go forth, like a magnet was drawing the two of them together and he hazarded a step around the beam. He quieted the brief thought that he could ask this man for a handout, for food, for spare change. He instead continued to stalk forwards like the sheer pressure differential created by the negative energies of their equal and opposite situations had created a vacuum. One that could only be fixed and rectified by a distributing of the wealth.

"Tear down the system." he told himself in his head. "And eat the rich."

If his mind was trying to justify his actions at all, these did a poor job of it. But his thoughts touched no further of the subject. In fact, his mind was ablank. Eyeing like a hawk as the man stood talking to his female companion, his five sneaky fingers came around the edge of the door frame, gently at first, but gripping tight the fine leather pouch such that his knuckles went white shortly there after, and he was off; the fat wallet ripped from the man's pocket like a big round seal in the polar bear's jaws. A wonderful, heavenly rush of adrenaline surged through his body and he was in bliss for all of a second.

Until Percy felt the dead pull of the chain - the gold chain that was attached to the wallet, and that hooked into the pocket of the big man now looking at him. An icy chill crept into Percy's chest and time stopped all around him. The swing in emotion, like a pendulum sweeping one side to the other, struck him in the chest like he'd been hit with a brick. And he reeled, almost feeling sick.

After the world's longest-running fraction of a second, the thin chain had snapped, and Percy again took off running, faster than he ever had before. It wasn't fear carrying him this time time around, it was the promise of victory. If he could just evade capture, it wasn't over, he wasn't defeated yet. He zipped around the corner with no regard for who and what he bumped into. He just had to go, go, go. Weaving in and out of pedestrians and bodily striking the rails and corners he wasn't quick, nor agile enough to effortlessly dodge in all of his haste.

He just had to get lost - he had to disappear. He couldn't tell if they were chasing him because he refused to look back. But he knew someone would be after him; someone always was. Percy was always the thug, he was always the criminal, and the family disappointment, even when he hadn't done anything wrong. So what was the difference? Living behind bars, getting thrown out of every establishment, chased down every alley? He already lived that life without any of the reward, without any of the payoff, without ever deserving any of it. Now, he thought, it was high time.

"You want me to be the monster? I'll be the monster."

Percy vaulted over the rails planting his feet down onto the sixth step first, straight to the tenth, and from there stumbling on down, deep into The Underground. Naturally, people moved out of the way for him. Maybe he was late for the tube, maybe he had left something important behind. It was public transport, after all, and the few to make note of him simply excused his behaviour.

Percy didn't seem to think they were doing such. He feared that any given one of them could call the authorities, that they knew he was running from someone, making off with stolen goods, and that if they didn't know now, they might be in some way informed. He felt their eyes piercing the back of his head. Yet the one time no one thought him very suspicious, he was solemnly up to no good.

Percy fled this way and that, hair swooshing abouts with every fleeting step. He thought could hear someone shout out from the crowd but there were so many here in the tunnels that he couldn't know if it was for him, nor could he place the exact direction. He saw a man's face and briefly the expression of rage that painted it registered in Percy's mind. Off again, he fled; there was no time to decipher if the face was of a man pursuing him. It didn't look like that of the man he'd stolen from, no. But could it be the police, he wondered.

Ducking into the crowd, keeping his head down, he felt along his head to realize he'd lost his hat somewhere during the chase. But there was no time for it now. He raced to the public restrooms, shutting himself up in a stall, and then clambered up onto the tank f porcelain throne like some kind of slippery frog. Here he hid with his legs up where they couldn't be seen. His heart racing, breath quaking and hands shaking all about. His precious treasure under lock and key, lodged between both arms and his bony chest. Here, he thought, he might be safe.

Unfortunately, his speedy getaway came at great cost. He'd disregarded security cameras that had been surveying the terminals and perhaps might have caught him on his path. He'd disregarded his fallen hat, which a set of fingers soon scooped up off the subway tile. He'd just focused on making himself "go away" in some ancient primal instinct to flee away from danger; it was a vanishing act of just the most basic kind.

His heart still beating out of his chest, Percy drew in a steady breath. And, after some agonizingly long moments of tremendous caution, he unfurled himself a little to look over the wallet like it was some unearthed treasure. Just as he began to pop the wallet open, he closed it again. Gulping down this quivering feeling in his chest as an immense sense of guilt washed over him. Voices began to enter his mind, the likes of which he could not discern. Among them, he heard people telling him that he was a sick person for stealing money from some old man, that he belonged in prison, that he was a no good punk. Percy sat there mentally berating himself a moment longer before his twitching fingers again made for the wallet's gold clasp.

Eyes widening, brow quirking up on the left side, Percy witnessed wads of banknotes, huge bills the likes of which he'd never seen. His face lit up like he'd won the lottery. It surely felt as if he had. Here in his hands were an enormous sum, and credit cards connected to an account somewhere that likely held more money than he could possibly imagine. Through his mind was a flash of how decorated that stretch car was, how fine that man's suit was. There was a tickle in his laugh that became a bit of laughter he struggled to stifle. He could buy a room for himself, he thought. He could leave the city with just the cash and just be on his own for a bit.

Fuck all, he thought. He should buy a car and drive it wherever he likes.

He was giggling quite a bit, God dammit, he could cry. As he sorted through all of the peculiarities housed within, thumbing business cards, mint wrappers and a photo or two of the wallet owner's family, a few things with a somewhat long and foreign name scribbled across it, Percy found himself thinking less about this strange man and more about himself. His thoughts turned to the contrast of his situation before, and how just last night he was battered by the elements, begging strangers for just a marker so he could write a sign. But his thoughts were interrupted. Percy could make out a set of three shuffles, two footsteps, and one creak of the bathroom door.

Percy wasn't alone.

The light, and fluffy air and whimsy around his situation was quite suddenly sullied. He held his breath as he heard the breathing of the other occupant. This was the men's room so it was most likely another man, and the breathing gave him the mental imagery of a bigger person. It can't be, can it? The man he stole from was somewhat larger. "I've just gone loony," he mentally reassured himself, "it's a restroom, people use those."

And after a moment of silence, he thought maybe he was mistaken. Maybe there was nobody there at all, maybe that shuffle was the swish of the polyester in his own clothes as he shifted about, and that breath was the whistle of his own nose as it had begun to run from the steam of his own breath while abouts in the cold air that morning.

"No one here but me, muhself, and I-" he thought aloud, only to about jump clean out of his skin when a sharp knock came at his stall door. His breath started up but he held it again, grasping one hand over his mouth and nose. He could sense a terrible dark aura permeating through the stall and he didn't like it. As Percy's eyes trailed down, he caught the sight of a shadow of someone standing outside that fell under the stall door.

"Oh, do excuse me." A deep, dark voice bellowed out. "Is someone in there? The stall door is closed, but I see it unlocked. I shan't be needing it, however." the tremendous voice continued with such poise and decadence.

Percy stuffed the wallet away, oh holy crackers. "Inmne nime?" he mumbled back unintelligibly.

"You see, I came to ask you a question."

Percy's breath seemed to cascade down his chest like a weight rolling down from his lips.

"My wallet was stolen from me by a young man in an orange jacket. Did you see anyone like that come through here? "

Percy's mind buzzed like an angry hornets nest as he tried to piece together all of this. How did he get here so fast? Sure, Percy got here as quickly, but he was running long before anyone started chasing after him. Was he right to assume that? Or did he simply assume a bigger man couldn't keep up with him? He hadn't looked back to have known. What was going on? Was Percy that obvious? What did he do to give himself away in the stall? What can he do to get himself out of this mess? His blood was running cold. This shouldn't be possible, how did he know what bathroom he passed by? He couldn't have known he went in, unless he saw him.

Orange jacket.

Percy wasn't in a jacket, but he was in an orange hoodie. It wasn't a mistake, he thought as he peered down at himself. "Y'heah." he spluttered a response after clearing his throat. Percy decided in that moment that he was going to fight for this money. Blood, tooth, and nail. He needed it more than this person did, he was sure of it. Percy needed to survive. Percy could seriously lose his life if he were to return to the streets again tonight. He was in danger of starvation, hypothermia, frostbite, and many more ailments that hadn't crossed his mind yet.

So in a burst of courage -- some might say foolishness -- Percy piped up a bit. "Yeahr, I sawr him. D'yu know how else he looked so I know you got the right guy?" "Bide your time, bide your time." he thought. Silently as he could, Percy was already sliding off his incriminating orange hoodie, leaving just his undershirt, and he began to stuff the orange piece of clothing away however he could hide it behind the toilet tank.

"Thank you.. such a doll, you are. This boy, he had a.. Peruvian hat, yes, with little yellow patterns on it. ..Zigzags, they. And these shorts -- a footballer sort of fellow... out in the cold, no less. Has he been through here?"

Lose the shorts, sure. Percy had compression garments on underneath and they were discrete enough he thought they could stand in for pants in a pinch. Percy's fingers stopped for a hat that was no longer on his head. "Yeh, I think he wos. He went by and I thought he went a bit left."

"A bit left?" The man spoke with skepticism.

"Leftways." Percy went onto clarify.

"Did he, now?"

Percy cracked open the stall door, peering out in hopes his change of appearance had worked. "Yeah, he'd gone just down the hall aftoh-" But Percy's words cut short as the man produced the lost hat that he had been wearing.

"Is this yours?" That same Peruvian winter hat complete with the yellow zigzagging pattern he had described. In fact, he described the hat so well because it had been in his hands.

Percy's vision tunneled on the item as he began to realize his lies had been seen through and he felt his legs start to go wobbly. He wanted to hit the ground running and as soon as he started to move, he was stopped as a hand plunged through the crack of the door to grasp him by his shirt collar, knocking the