Trevor Wilson was a homeless man. He’d slept rough on the streets of London for over ten years. During that time he’d done everything he needed to survive. Most of which he wasn’t proud of but it had to be done to stay alive. He had no family left that he knew of. His parents were long gone now, both died from the booze, both in their fifties.
He was married once but that seemed like a lifetime ago. In fact it didn’t even seem like his lifetime, it felt like it belonged to someone else.
Today he was begging by the cash machine outside Kings Cross Station. He was on his third bottle of the day, cheap but strong Cider. All thanks to some yuppie that had given him a crisp twenty pound note earlier in the day. He knew he should have bought something to eat but bollocks to that, the Cider would be better. It would help him sleep and maybe forget how useless his life had become.
One of the other lads had told him that tonight was going to be the coldest night of the year so far. It would be important to keep warm. He finished his bottle of cider, looked in his pocket and found he had only two pounds forty left. If he could just get a little bit more, he could get one more bottle to see him through for the night. He spotted his prey.
“Excuse me governor, can you give me a couple of quid for my bus fare home. Just a couple of quid. Please guv, just so I can get home.”
The middle aged man looked at him with pity. How on earth do people end up like this? He looks in his sixties but he’s probably only mid thirties. He put his hand in his pocket and took out a fistful of coins.
“Look, I know you don’t want it for bus fare, here’s some change, use it to get something to eat, no booze or drugs, promise?”
“Trevor nodded, thank you sir, you’re a kind man, I’ll go and buy something to eat straightaway, thank you so much.”
The man gave him the change out of his pocket, there was around six pounds.
Trevor took it and smiled. Just a little bit more and he could get a cheap bottle of brandy, that really would keep him keep warm on this coldest of nights. Food? Bollocks to food, he couldn’t remember when he last ate, two or three days probably. He needed a piss badly. He went round the back of the railway station and urinated up against the wall in the alley. It was pitch black in the alley; he didn’t notice that his urine was a rich red colour. He went back to the station, and kept begging for another hour.
Swan had felt uneasy since his recent conversation with James Conroy. He now had more questions running through his mind. What if Ray Samuels wasn’t what everyone first thought? What if he had another agenda, one that no one had spotted yet? What would he demand and what could he be capable of?
All questions that he needed answers to. Ray Samuels was either a good guy or a bad one. All things at the moment pointed to him being a good one. But he needed to be sure. He called Spencer.
“Have you seen Ray Samuels today?”
“Yes Sir, I saw him early this morning”
“And? What’s his plan? What’s his next move?”
Spencer noticed urgency in the Commanders voice.
“I’m not sure Sir, he was obviously a bit upset about Tom Lucas. He seemed to think that it wasn’t an accident and that someone may be responsible”
Swan didn’t like was he was hearing.
“Like who for god’s sake, did he say?”
“No Sir, but his Dad said he had a theory. But didn’t want to tell me what it was.”
“Listen Spencer, now that Lucas has gone, I want you to stay close to the Samuels family. Do you hear me, get to know them, be a bloody nuisance if you have to, but get to know what they’re up to. I’ve got people watching from the outside but we need to get close from the inside. We don’t want any surprises. Understand?”
Spencer knew this wasn’t a request, this was an order.
“Yes sir, I’ll do what I can”
Swan hung up the phone.
Spencer was agitated and slightly worried. The last person who had tried to get close to Ray Samuels was dead and now he was being asked to take his place. He knew he would have to tread carefully over the next few days.
Trevor Wilson had enough to buy his cheap bottle of brandy and found a spot where he could get his head down for the night. It was the small alley way just off of York Way, behind Kings Cross Station. The same alley where he had relieved himself earlier in the day. It was damp and cold and stank of stale piss. All he had to cover him were two cardboard boxes that he’d managed to get from the man at the off licence. But he had faith in his Brandy. He was confident that it would keep the cold away. He took a large swig and although it felt good, he also felt a sharp pain in his left side of his body and a stinging sensation in his groin. The temperature was now at minus four, some parts of his body were exposed as his clothes were beginning to thin and fall apart at the seams. He felt tired, it was as if his whole body was beginning to go numb. His pulse began to slow and his breathing became shallow. His life was slipping away. His final dream was in darkness and then he heard a deep low voice.
“You are mine now, you belong to me. This is my time, I need your form, your being, I need to take shape once more, you are mine now.”
He took a final breath and his life passed.
Then… he felt a sharp shock throughout his body, like he had just touched a live railway track. He opened his eyes, he had a purpose, he knew what he had to do.
At exactly the same time Ray Samuels was in his father’s kitchen, he let out a loud scream. It felt like someone had just fired electricity into his body.
Eddie Samuels ran into the kitchen and found Ray slumped over the kitchen sink.
“What’s wrong Ray, what is it?”
Ray Samuels turned and looked at his father. He was smiling.
“Something’s coming Dad, something’s coming.”