Rough Sleepers

by Nem Rowan

  "Really no? Hmm, you are interesting," she remarked.

  I wasn't sure what to say, and I think she could tell because she winked at me and moved to put away the stack of clean plates and dishes I had accumulated. I frowned slightly as I watched her tipping away the water down the sink, but then I rubbed at my eyes and discovered my hand was damp with soap suds before cussing and wiping at my face with my sleeve. Served me right for not paying attention.

  "Here, let me." She took a clean tea towel from the drawer and used it to dab at my eyes, both of us chuckling awkwardly.

  "Thanks. I keep forgetting that my other arm is gone," I grumbled.

  "I am thinking, and I wonder if you come and work in the shop with me? I am alone now, much work for one person. You talk nice and not like Ceri. He is grumpy, and sometimes look scruffy." She giggled, her eyes shining. She leaned against the counter beside me, her hands perched on the edge either side of her, awaiting an answer.

  "Really? And you'd pay me, right?" I assumed, and she laughed loudly, tilting her head back.

  "Yes! I am not slave driver!"

  "Well then, sure, why not. I've worked in a shop before, by the way." I thought I would point that out, although it was work I had done as a teen, and even then I had been given the sack for not showing up on time.

  "You speak Polish also?" she teased. "No, I am joking. But it would help. Most customers are speaking English anyway. Maybe you learn some Polish from them."

  "Maybe you can teach me some," I agreed, feeling quite pleased that she had offered me some work. It was the last thing I had expected from her, but it was something I had been thinking of asking. I felt like an intruder staying here without paying my way, but without any money of my own, I had been pretty stuck as to what I could give her in return.

  She left me in the hallway to go and bathe and settle down for the night, so I climbed the stairs to the attic where Ceri was currently tucked away, and I made sure to knock on the door before I opened it. I found him asleep in his chair, his chin resting on his chest and his hands in his lap. He didn't wake as I crept in and closed the door, able to see where I was heading despite the darkness in the room, and I moved slowly to his side. The poor bastard had been pouring over heaps of old newspapers while Mecky and I had cooked dinner and cleaned up, and the notepad in front of him was scrawled with a mess of his illegible writing from where he had been taking things down. He had drawn a mass of circles around the name 'Scott Penderton' in big capitals right at the bottom of the page. Gently, I touched the top of his head to try and wake him and he stirred slightly.

  "Ceri?" I whispered, not wanting to frighten him.

  "Hmm...?" he murmured, drawing in a deep breath and sighing as his eyes opened. He squinted up at me in the darkness, taking a moment to think before he recognised me. "Oh, it's you Leon. I must have dozed off yere. What time is it?"

  "Nearly eight o'clock. What have you been doing up here all this time?" I questioned as I went to switch the lights on. He groaned at the brightness, covering his eyes with his hands.

  "Ugh... I went back and looked at the newspapers I had saved. Found the victim at Bath Road," he sniffled and sighed, sounding about as exhausted as he looked.

  "Scott Penderton, right?" I answered, surprising him.

  "How did you know?" he watched me heading over to the bed, where I collapsed into a sitting position and kicked off my socks and shoes.

  "I'm psychic," I replied, laying back on the crumpled duvet and wrapping it round myself. "Actually, I just read it on your notepad. Had ya for a second there, didn't I."

  He grunted again and got up, stretching his arms above his head as he went to look out the window at the dark street below. "Well, maybe for a second. But it's gone and thrown another spanner in the works since the lad was obviously male."

  "These things are not always obvious, let me tell you." I pointed a finger at him through a gap in the duvet.

  "Good point. We don't know what the guy looked like, either. But anyway, another man to add to the confusion, and I still haven't figured out the connection yet," he murmured as he nibbled at his fingernails.

  "You'd make a crap detective." I yawned.

  "Well, I think I'm doing quite well on my own at this stage. And without the kind of resources the police have got as well," he reasoned, sounding slightly offended by my comment.

  "Yeah, but you still had to pretend to be one just to get that woman to tell you stuff. That's cheating." I grinned at him, and he soon figured out what I was up to.

  He shook his head slowly, hands on hips and eyes half-mast as he gazed at me; his smile turned into a muffled chuckle and he turned towards the window again. I could hear every bone in his body creaking and with every tiny movement, I felt the tiredness inside him. He was old and beat up, and I was making him sleep on the floor while I had the luxury of resting my immortal body on the mattress. The night before I had felt guilty, but now I felt more so.

  "Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do, even if you gotta lie to do it. I've done much worse than tell a lie. Besides, we want to find and kill Wallace Reed as much as she does, so where's the harm?" He shrugged.

  "You say that like you've killed someone before," I spoke, half-jokingly. I wasn't sure I wanted to know for sure. He didn't seem like the sort of person who would have but looks were deceiving.

  "Well, I guess experience makes the job easier," he replied in an undertone as he raked his bumpy fingers through his dishevelled hair. I couldn't tell if that was directed at me or not. He took out his tin and after selecting an appropriate chunk of chewing tobacco, proceeded to squash it into his jaw. The smell was enough to leave me dizzy.

  "You'll rot your mouth eating that, you know," I noted, but he just grunted in response.

  "I'm ugly enough, what will that matter. I've never won any awards for beauty." He turned and sat down in his chair again. The wood cringed under his weight.

  "I'm not talking about your good looks, I'm talking about mouth and throat cancer."

  "That sort of thing has never bothered me." He waved his hand dismissively. "Enough about my bad habits already."

  "All right. God, hasn't anyone ever cared about you? You sound like you'd prefer it if I didn't give a fuck. Damn," I complained as I closed my eyes, enjoying the warmth of the covers that cocooned me. The duvet smelled strongly of his scent; as a human, I might have been disgusted by this, but after the curse, I realised that a lot of smells I used to hate, I now acknowledged, absorbing their information as though taking in a diagram by sight.

  "How are you feeling now the moon is near?" he changed subject. "Not long until your transformation. Does it make you feel different?"

  "I feel a bit queer, but nothing much yet. Tomorrow, I expect I will start to feel stranger," I replied emotionlessly.

  "Mecky is the same... What's it like? What does it feel like?"

  I opened my eyes again and lifted my head, looking across at him sat there. He had turned around and was facing the bed, chomping away on his tobacco. The smell of it was making me feel dizzy, like taking the lid off a pot of coffee and breathing in the caffeine fumes.

  "It feels like the tense moment before the bass drops," I answered.

  "You mean like in music?" he assumed, and I nodded. "In a bad way, or a good way?"

  "A bit of both, really. I think if there wasn't the fear of killing, and if I could control myself, then maybe I wouldn't be so afraid of it, ya know? Transforming can feel a bit painful sometimes, but afterwards..." I trailed off as I remembered my first metamorphosis.

  It was the night after Wallace Reed had attacked me, and somehow my injured arm had healed completely within a couple of hours; I had planned to hide it under my costume, hoping that no one would notice. I left my bedroom and moved along the hallway, descending the stairs and exiting the apartment through the secondary rear stairwell that gave access to back stage. Diana, one of my favourite drag sisters, met me at the bottom, rushing forward to help lift my
trailing train of rhinestones and feathers and together we began the green mile. Something didn't feel right though. There was a strange twisting sensation within and I thought perhaps it was something I had eaten. Scoffing that many takeaways was like playing chicken with hygiene; I was bound to catch something eventually. Please God don't let me shit myself on stage. The noise of the guitar music echoed down the corridor towards me and I could hear Steve on the microphone, ready to introduce me to my adoring fans. But still, something really didn't feel right.

  "Are you okay, mama?" Diana came to my side as I stopped against the wall, clutching my only hand to my chest as my heart contracted sharply. She was still wearing her bondage hooker outfit from her earlier performance.

  "I—I'm fine, honey. Just nerves, I guess," I murmured through clenched teeth. She stared at me with an expression somewhere between horror and bewilderment. Maybe she was seeing something I couldn't. I lurched forward.

  "Mama, if you're not well..." she began, but she knew to stop. She knew what response she would get if she continued. Instinctively, she picked up my train and followed me, but I stopped again.

  The pain was swelling inside my torso, spreading out into the rest of my body like poison in my blood stream, reaching even the tips of my fingers and toes. There was pressure in my lower back, pressure in my lower face, pressure in my lower legs. Like those areas were going to explode. Blues guitar shrieked in my ears and I heard and smelled every single person inhabiting the premises. A plaintive moan escaped my painted lips; a trembling hand spasmed and reached out as bones cracked and claws split through flesh.

  "Noooooooo!" I howled, collapsing forward onto my knees, my hand thrusting out to stop my face from hitting the ground. "Whaaaaat's haaaaaaaappening!"

  Diana stumbled away from me, screeching as she lost balance on one of her heels and accidentally twisted her ankle, the foot bending inwards and causing her to fall back against the opposite wall. Her eyes were wild with terror. I saw my reflection in them, the reflection of a freak. My face started to change shape, contorting, growing, flesh stretching into the maw of an animal. My clawed hand tore at the corseted dress imprisoning my body, buttons and gemstones scattering across the concrete floor as the fabric ripped open, the string of my ivory brassiere getting caught on a talon and tearing away with it. I bellowed, my consciousness lost in the eye of the storm that filled me within, an animal on the inside trying to get out. Silver fur burst through my skin, springing out like the first shoots of grass on a parched field, and as my feet shed their heels, enormous paws split open my stockings and stretched outwards, tendons taut as guitar strings. A tail twisted out of my back and the agony, the torture was as though my very spine was being dragged out of my body. On and on, the transformation went, Diana's diminutive form cowering in my shadow under the fluorescent lighting.

  "And now, the moment you've all been waiting for! Our very own Murderess, returning to the stage at last! You've pined for her beauty, her intelligence and her dazzling wit! The weekends just wouldn't be the same without her!"

  Diana let out a meek whimper followed by a hysterical scream as I rolled her over, grabbing her by the neck and throwing her across the corridor, her body thumping face first against the wall like a sack of potatoes. She started to crawl, knees crunching crystals and sequins as she headed towards the stage door, blood dripping from her flattened nose, sobs squeaking from her open mouth. A clawed hand snatched her ankle and dragged her back. Her screams echoed down the empty hall and there was a hissing patter of hot liquid as lashings of glistening blood sprayed up the wall, falling in a rain of shimmering droplets that appeared almost black in the dim light.

  "Here she is folks! The lady herself, the Murderess herself, Leona Valentine!"

  Recognising my name, I lifted my dripping muzzle and roared. The sound was lost in the din of music and cheering. I barrelled forward on my three limbs, leaving behind me a train no longer made of fabric but instead made of gore, red footprints following me towards the light shining through the door. The audience didn't know what to expect of Leona Valentine's glorious intro, but whatever it was they had envisioned, it was nothing like this.

  "Afterwards, when you become it, then it's like a constant and perpetual desire, and every death is a physical and psychological orgasm," I whispered, unable to comprehend the conflicting emotions I felt. It was difficult to confess to enjoying becoming the beast; did it mean I enjoyed being a killer? Because those things tended to go hand in hand.

  Ceri was quiet, his half-closed eyes staring down at the floor. The harsh lighting cast a shadow in the deep scar in his eye socket, making it look like a black tattoo.

  "I understand what you mean. I really do," he eventually spoke. "It's okay to feel the way you do. What humans don't like to admit is that humans are the most successful predator on this earth, and if there's one thing humans are damned good at doing is killing. We've killed off whole species, and we kill each other every day. We're even killing the planet."

  "Alright, don't go all hippie on me." I chuckled dryly, but it was a hard, joyless sound.

  He chuckled, too. "What I'm trying to say is, humans are as animal as any beast, werewolves included. Shame, remorse, those are human emotions, and you still have those. In my eyes, you're still human."

  Neither of us said a word, and I listened to the wetness in his mouth, the wheeze in his throat from many years of smoking, and the steady thump of his heart pushing the blood through his body. When it got closer to the full moon, these tiny observations became enormous, almost to the point of overwhelming any other details of a person. Ceri had become his beating heart, and after the full moon, my beast's eye would see him as nothing else. I sighed, grateful to be where I was and trusting that he would be able to keep me under control. No more fear that I would go prowling the dark streets in search of fellow night-walkers.

  "Ceri?" I spoke up eventually.

  "Hmm?" he glanced over at me. I lifted my head again and found him in the chair still.

  "Look, I ain't implying that I fancy you or anything, but I think you should sleep on the bed next to me from now on," I told him, causing a slight smile to turn his mouth, which only made me feel even more embarrassed.

  "Oh really? Why's that?"

  "Just sleep on the fucking bed, don't ask any questions all right." I struggled out of the duvet and went to the door, intent on brushing my teeth before sleep. I heard him make a muffled laugh and the chair creaking as he got up to fetch his pillow and dump it on the bed.

  Seven

  Spending the night next to Ceri was kind of awkward. We had separate covers since he slept under his sleeping bag again, and even though we both kept our clothes on and turned our backs on each other, all I could do was listen to the sound of him breathing next to me. It had been a long, long time since I had slept beside anyone besides Amy, who used to leap onto my bed at the end of the night in her pyjamas, insisting we watch a movie over a bowl of popcorn into the early hours, until we both finally fell asleep. That was different though, Amy was my little girl. Ceri was a man, and a stranger at that. Well, I say stranger, but... We had only known each other a day or so, and yet I felt it safe to call him my friend already. It was as if we had just clicked together.

  People usually got pissed off with my attitude or my swearing, or even my feminine mannerisms, but Ceri was either oblivious to it or didn't much care. I actually found myself enjoying teasing him, which I used to use as a sign that I liked a boy when I was a teenager. Maybe I had changed, and it didn't mean that anymore. I didn't know, and on top of that, he was absolutely not the type of guy I would normally wet my pants over. He was shabby, unkempt, slovenly and creased, like an old chamois cloth that had been used too many times to buff someone's dirty old boots. There was nothing suave or charming about him. He ate like a pig, and his teeth were stained from chewing tobacco all the time. Ugh.

  Even so, I liked him. I couldn't deny that.

  My eyes sprung open to the ear
ly morning sunshine, but I didn't move at all. I could feel Ceri's warmth beside me, hear him snoring softly. When I had first become homeless, I had shared a shelter with another man, a younger boy called Jonathan, and we had to huddle close to stay warm as the rain fell from the sky. He was sweet to me, treated me like a lady, and was as gay as a rainbow unicorn; I liked him. I liked the way he'd tasted, too, when the full moon came. I hoped I wouldn't eat Ceri; I preferred Ceri being alive to being in my belly. I turned round slowly, careful not to make too much movement in case he woke, and I found him laying on his side facing me, his hair a tangle of strands like a bird's nest, the bristling stubble on his face sticking up in all directions. I could still smell tobacco on his breath even though he had brushed his yellow teeth. I barely knew anything about him; it was as if he hadn't existed in this world until the night he had come to rescue Mecky, and he somehow avoided talking about his past. All I knew was that he came from Wales, and there was the possibility that he had committed crimes.

  I decided to let him sleep on and crawled out of bed, the chill air making every hair on my body stand on end. I could hear the radio playing downstairs and movement in the kitchen; Mecky was awake. I stumbled down the staircase, yawning into my hand, and found her sitting to the table with a mug of coffee cradled in her palms, which she lowered as soon as I appeared. Something about her had changed over night; I wasn't sure what since it didn't seem visible, and yet I knew it, just as I felt it inside myself. Like an unborn child inside me, turning over, stirring. When she looked up at me, a darkness flashed in her eyes, but it was gone in a second.

  "Leon." She said my name, and we were human again.

  "G'morning," I replied as I went to the kitchen counter to boil the kettle. I was aware of her presence beside me, although I didn't hear her rise.

  "You are smelling like Ceri today," she whispered to me as she sniffed behind my ear, pushing aside the loose curtain of my hair so that she could find flesh.