Sweet Sixteen: Part. 15

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I crept out of my house and called Joshua when I was at the end of my street: "I'm on my way."

"Appreciated."

"Are you outside the party shop?" I asked.

"On the corner before you reach it, in the depths."

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

###

Joshua emerged from the shadows when he saw me approaching. In his hand he held a piece of paper, which he handed to me.

I looked at it, a picture of Dylan, smiling and handsome. The familiar letters in caps below it formed the words: MISSING. Followed by: Dylan Goodie. Age 16. Height 5.11. Last seen wearing a blue Hollister sweatshirt, black jeans and red converse trainers.

But it was another detail that caught my eye and Joshua must have saw the shock register on my face, as he asked, "Spill it sister, do you know who is those contact numerals?"

I looked at him, confused, "It's my mum's number!"

The poster asked anyone with details of Dylan's whereabouts to contact my mother. My mind tumbled: WHY?

Looking at Joshua, I asked, "Where was this?"

"Stuck to the Party Shop door. We need to keep eyes peeled, for more," he said.

A bolt hit me, "Too right we do, mum will freak if she starts getting calls about Dylan, who she thinks is you!"

Slowly, Joshua nodded his head, knowingly, "Exactly. That is their aim with this piece of communication." He took it from me and began to tear it up, "The purpose of this is to involve your mum, to create chaos and prevent us from saving Dylan," he said.

Another bolt hit me, "How'd they get mum's number?"

Joshua didn't even stop to think, "Simples. Intercept your post for phone bills, look through your bins for bills. Anyone can access private information if they try hard enough."

The thought of people staking out my house for our post chilled me to the bone. But then the sound of a door opening distracted us both.

Joshua leaned into the wall, then stealthily peaked round the corner. Leaning back, he whispered, "Have a look, is that him?" I peeked round the corner, "Yes, that's him, the Pastor." Joshua corrected me, "You assume he's a Pastor, it's safer to assume he isn't. Most Pastors are good men." He looked back at me, "You go home now, I willow follow and observe."

Keeping my voice low, but my intention high, I said, "No way, I'm going with you, there's no going back now!"

###

It was just gone eleven and the streets were still relatively busy, so we were able to keep back and follow the man without suspicion. "Do you have your travel card?" Asked Joshua.

We Londoners never leave our homes without our Oyster Card, it's our passport to the city, and leaving the home without it, would be like leaving the house without your legs, "Course I have," I answered.

"Good. It looks like he's heading for the bust stop, Peckham bound."

###

Joshua was spot on. We sat at the back of the relatively busy bus, our eye on the man, who sat at the front, continually checking his phone.

Looking around the bus I surveyed the other passengers. Noting the bags most of them carried, full with cleaning products, I deducted most were low-paid night time cleaners, off to spend the whole night sprucing up the city's empty offices, to make them fragrant for the morning's influx of high-paid office workers.

A woman hauled her bag to the door of the bus, and as the vehicle slowed for its stop, I was struck by her stare and lingering smile at me. I returned my smile.

Once on the street she held my gaze and her fixed smile remained until the bus moved onwards.

Joshua sensed my unease, "She is only being friendly, is all," he said, turning to look at me. His eyes focussed intently on mine and his left hand gently held my face, "Keep still, don't flinch." He said. The finger of his right hand gently touched then caressed my eye, soothingly.

He held his upturned finger in front of me, "A rogue eyelash, that could cause nasty infection if it get stuck inside your eye," he said, smiling.

The gentle caring in his gesture struck me, and in that moment I knew Joshua was one of the kindest souls I had ever met.

###

Five stops into the journey, at the junction just before Peckham; the man rose from his seat and pressed the stop bell. Instinctively, Joshua and I, stared nonchalantly out the window. But as soon as he exited the bus, we jumped off, and walked in the opposite direction. A few yards away, we turned and began to follow him.

He turned off the mayhem of the high street, into a long alleyway. We held back, knowing that he would certainly know he was being followed were we to enter after him.

Once he reached the end and turned left, Joshua and I sprinted stealth like down the alleyway, stopping before the exit. Joshua peered left; his hand reached for my jacket and he gently pulled, "Look at this," he said.

I looked out onto the rarest of sights in London, a huge patch of desolate waste ground. It was flat, unkempt, boggy ground, with patches of over grown grass and bramble. On the horizon the lights of the city glistened in the far distance, with the newest skyscraper, the Shard, standing tall and sharp in the middle of the architectural line up.

We watched the dark figure of the man walking out towards the city skyline, knowing that we couldn't follow him, for our presence amidst the quiet wasteland would be detected.

"Where can he be going, the city is miles away?" I asked.

Joshua shook his head, "Mystery. But keep eyes peeled, he has to be going somewhere, there is reason for this trip."

The man suddenly stopped in the middle of the waste ground. He raised his arms skyward then dropped them just as swiftly. He stood with his head bowed to the ground for a moment, before dropping to his knees and kissing the ground, several times.

When he stood back up, I noticed something. Another figure walking towards him, from the direction of the city.

"He's meeting someone," I surmised.

Joshua remained silent, focussed on the clandestine meeting that we were both observing.

The figure approached the man.

A recognition, a familiarity in the diminished and cowering figure played with my mind. The stooped shoulders, bowed head, tiny frame. Then clarity hit me, "It's her, Clara, the abused girl from number 13 Paddock field, the one I met with Dylan."

The man forced her to the ground, and she kissed it several times, before he yanked her up by her hair, violently.

Joshua's body grew and tightened, his facial muscles flexed, emphasising the tautness of his jaw-line, "Deliverance. She is being delivered to them, to be gifted, like Dylan. This is bigger than I anticipated, Benita!"

He stripped off his coat. Pulled his wallet, phone and keys from his pocket and handed them to me. From his back pocket, he produced a square piece of black cloth and placed it over his face, tying it tightly behind his head so only his eyes were visible. Finally, he removed the rosary beads from around his neck, kissed them and handed them over to me.

His voice was muffled underneath the cloth, "I have to fight him, to release the girl from her fate, it's my only option."

I pulled off my jacket, threw Joshua's belongings into it, and added my own. Rolling the jacket up tightly, I shoved it safely into a crevice.

Joshua's eyes widened when I whipped off my shirt, stood on it, and ripped it up until I had a piece, the size of which would cover my face, adequately.

"What you doing, sister?" He asked.

Tying the fabric tight behind the back of my head, I replied, "I'm not your sister, I'm your friend, your ally, your equal – let's go fight the good fight..." 

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