Scott Andrews - Children's Crusade

"Don't be a stranger," Kate yelled at her retreating back, laughing.

She didn't seen the man who had been watching her, but she was constantly on the lookout for him. She was convinced she'd be seeing him again.

After a week she almost convinced herself it had never happened; that it was business as usual, that she hadn't been beyond the looking glass and seen a girl murdered. But then on Friday, as she sat in her track pants and t-shirt eating pot noodle on the sofa, watching Loose Women on her day off, there was a sharp knock at the door. She considered not answering, but whoever it was would be able to hear her telly.

The giant stood in the hallway, waiting patiently.

"Boss says you got to come."

"Okay, give me a minute to…"

He reached in and grabbed her wrist.

"Now."

"Okay, Jesus, can I at least get my coat?"

But he was pulling her across the threshold. She tried to grab her keys from the hook on the coat rack before the door closed behind her, but he pulled her too firmly and the door swung shut.

"Fuck, how am I supposed to get back in without my keys, dispshit?" she yelled as he dragged her towards the lift. He stopped dead, turned and looked down at her. He didn't say a word, just stared until she said: "Okay, lead on." He turned again and started walking. Outside the air was chilled and Kate felt goosebumps rising on her bare arms as she was bundled into the back seat of a waiting car with tinted windows.

"Look at the floor," said the giant as they pulled away. Kate did so without question.

They drove for about forty-five minutes. When they pulled up the giant reached across and snapped a sleep mask across her face so she couldn't see a thing. Then she was shoved outside and led across what felt like a cobbled street and into a cold, damp space that she was willing to bet was a railway arch. She was led down steps into a narrow space with dead acoustics and dust in the air. Down a corridor, then left and right and left again, and more steps.

"Mind head," said the giant a moment after she scraped the top of her head on what felt like soft brick. She stooped as she was led down a narrow stone staircase. By now, she knew she was deep underground. Another corridor, still stooping. She felt, then heard a gentle rumble somewhere off to her left. It took a moment to realise it must be a tube train.

Kate heard a key turn in a lock followed by the squeal of old hinges, then she was shoved through a doorway and her sleep mask was ripped off.

She was in a brick-lined cellar, barrel vaulted. Narrow but long, it stretched away, its vanishing point lost in darkness. There was a pervasive smell of damp and a distant sound of running water. An oil heater blazed away by the door, so at least it wasn't cold, but in every other respect it was probably the least healthy place in London. Trying not to think about the horrors of Weil's disease or the agony of hypersensitivity pneumonitis, Kate noted the bed, table and wind up lamp, the bucket in the corner with a tea towel draped over it and, finally, the girl sitting on the chair, dead eyed and listless, sallow cheeked and pale.

Kate turned to the giant, who was bent almost double in the corridor outside.

"People pay to come down here?" she asked, incredulous.

"No," he replied. "She come up for work. Stay here rest of time."

"Okay, well that's got to change. You need to get her out of here now."

"You stop her coughing."

"I can't. Not if she stays down here."

"You stop."

"I told you, I can't. Even if I can alleviate her symptoms, they'll come back if she stays down here."

The giant considered this. "Stop cough. Only need to stop coughing for afternoon. After that…" He shrugged.

Kate sighed. "Okay, I'll need prednisone." The giant looked confused. "Give me a pen, I'll write it down."

He handed her a biro and a receipt. She briefly considered ramming the pen into his throat and trying to make an escape, but dismissed the idea as ludicrous. She scribbled the name of the drug and handed him the piece of paper.

"I come back in hour." He slammed the door closed. Kate was imprisoned.

She stood there for a moment, then the girl on the chair burst into a fit of awful, hoarse coughing that went on for over five minutes. Kate held her shoulders as the spasms wracked her. There were flecks of blood on the girl's lips when she finally finished. Her breathing was ragged and rasping.

"What's your name?" asked Kate.

The girl stared at her, uncomprehending.

"Do you speak English?"

No response. Kate pointed at her chest and said "Kate" then pointed to the girl, who just stared back at her as if she were mad.

"I feel like I'm in a bad Western," muttered Kate. Another ten minutes of trying failed to illicit any response. The girl was in deep shock, nearly comatose. There was no reaching her. Kate explored the depths of the tunnel, but found only rubble and rats. In the end there was nothing to do but wait for the giant to return. The girl had moved to the bed when Kate walked back from the far end of the tunnel. Kate sat next to her and put her arms around her bony shoulders. They sat there like that for a few minutes, then the girl rested her head on Kate's shoulder until she fell asleep and slumped into her lap. Kate sat there, with the head of this sick, lost, broken, doomed girl nestled in her lap. She stroked her lank, greasy hair and cried.

As much as she had been forced to confront brutal reality on the night she met Spider, it was during that long hour in that awful place that Kate changed forever. Parts of her psyche scabbed over and hardened, unexpected resolve made itself known, and the well of her compassion was exposed as deeper than she had ever imagined.

When the giant opened the door and handed her the drugs, it was a different woman who took them from him. Harder, colder, angrier and less afraid.

Kate administered the drugs and told the giant that she had done all she could. The sleep mask was replaced, and she was led away from a girl she was sure would be dead by nightfall.

A tiny part of Kate remained behind in that cellar. The tiny piece of Jane that had been born there left in its stead.

She was driven back to her flat, back to the world she knew. But it felt different. Distant. Changed forever. She walked up to her front door and reached into her pocket for her keys.

"Oh fuck it," she cursed, remembering that she had not had time to grab them. She stood and stared at the door and then stepped back and took a running kick at it. She felt the wood give and heard the sharp crack as it splintered. She kicked it again, and again, then shoulder charged it, yelling as she did so, smashing into the door time after time, hating it, wanting to annihilate it utterly, as if it was mocking her. The facia caved and split before, after one almighty crash, it flew of its top hinge and collapsed inwards.

Kate stood there, breathing hard, teeth clenched, eyes wide, her heart pounding, ignoring the pain in her shoulders and legs. She heard a slight cough to her left and turned to see the old biddy from flat four peering anxiously out of her door.

"What?" snapped Kate. The woman's head disappeared inside and the door was firmly closed.

"Didn't you just pay a lot of money to have that door fixed, Miss Booker?" said a soft voice to her right. She spun, suddenly alarmed. But whereas a week ago she might have given a tiny yelp of surprise and felt a jolt of nerves, now she didn't make a sound and stood ready to fight.

The man from the coffee shop stood there in the corridor. Short for a man, about the same height as Kate, he wore a black leather jacket, white shirt and blue jeans above waxed black Docs. He looked about forty, blonde hair slightly receding but not too much, with laugh lines around his mouth, and deep crow's feet framing his blue eyes. Kate's first thought was 'he fancies himself'.