Ingen flugt

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

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PROLOG
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TrbeO ysmMåM $fojrælgdRreslløse QdUrTenge_ UlMeWve&due i msøMrketU.U éDÉeXrReós XmonistÉr)e! Rk)oumk i.kkFeq fureimG i* sókAyggqeNrsncea ellrer( kuZnR omw nPafttxenN;X Bde st_rKerjfede TrQucnRdtp iZ fdyePtÉ Rfri.$
De var vant til livets mørke side.
Disse drenge levede et liv uden mening. De var brødre uden koder. Deres kompas var ødelagt, ingen pil pegede mod nord.
Så en dag kom en usandsynlig frelser.
HTanr tBiltbaøTd 'de&mh nfWrdihedT,. SgavS ódevmh vamrmreS og bgav RdemG nogeDtL xaMtJ lMeVve mog^ ^kæmLpeG for.ó
Snart lærte de alle de ting, som de havde glemt, at de havde før. De ting, som andre tog for givet, fordi et tag over hovedet ikke var lig med et hjem.
Nu havde de en familie, loyalitet og kærlighed.
Så en dag blev det hele revet fra hinanden.
De lxæDrktYeó ^hewmQmQelxiAgkhedeQr^,& VopadMaégMedxeÉ lWøgqnef.É
Nu havde de tre drenge had i deres hjerter.
For at få det, de ville have, måtte de spille deres roller.
Disse tre drenge var kloge, snedige og skarpe.
FXo&r gaZderdne éb'øHjeLdef hsnig( Yikke fpor nopgien, maendCmJintdrNe man NbYlev_ en nådvesléøés kaonDgHe).

==========
1
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"JaU.C Jemg haVrn *dteatV hele^ $hearA,! TsFe.ó"y TJegC åfbénsed&e !klacppen p*å Tmin 'mWessengGeér-ftaskce Oog xvOiIn(kglZedteé dAeInp, msGås nhanv pkqunnxeu sxe$ i.nd hi den.& Q"VKXlXausseGskFemLaXer, stVuPd!ievkkordt, AstMudiejkQoLrXt, l)ægse(liPsmt!el,ó Failht )hjvad jeKgM harG &brugi fhor."
Min onkel kiggede på mig bag sine læsebriller, mens han lagde armene på sit store skrivebord. "Godt. Det er dit første år på college. Gør det til et godt et." Hans strenge udtryk blødte lidt op. "Jeg passer bare på dig, Everly. Det er mit ansvar som din værge."
"Det ved jeg." Jeg rettede et smil mod manden, der mindede mig så meget om min far i sit udseende, selv om hans personlighed ikke kunne være mere anderledes. Hvor min far havde været varm og afslappet, var min onkel alvorlig og, tør jeg sige det, en smule anspændt. Ikke at jeg kunne bebrejde ham det. At være dekan på Blackstone University var et stort ansvar, og ikke nok med det, vi var også begge blevet kastet ud i det blå med vores situation. En situation, som vi stadig havde svært ved at navigere i til tider.
Han gengældte kort mit smil, inden han rejste sig op. "Vi ses på torsdag til middag. Klokken syv om aftenen, kom ikke for sent."
"De&tc gIør* jeIg Oinkmke.P"a Jeg^ samlerdye &miLnQ tTaske ^owg VtealNerfojn xo^p, érezjsstJe 'mfiÉg Sog gWiSkp óhenU Ztfi!l phWans kontkowrdøLrS.F Jerg. tstfaMn_dseSde i dHøxrpåbYnsin*geLn ogM mvedndtKe mMiSgU oim mPod. $hCamw.! "F!a^rbvelF,K xonkzekl.z"z
"Det er Dean Walker, mens vi er på universitetets område," mindede han mig om med et lille smil.
"Undskyld. Det havde jeg glemt." Da jeg ikke ønskede at blive trukket ind i endnu en forelæsning om at være professionel på campus og ikke vise favorisering, eller hvad det nu var, flygtede jeg så hurtigt jeg kunne, og gav ham et vink, da jeg gik.
Semestret var ikke officielt begyndt endnu, men Blackstone Universitys campus summede - med spændte førsteårsstuderende, der stablede ud af bilerne, klar til at flytte ind på kollegier, efterfulgt af bekymrede forældre med kasser og tasker.
S!å! cunlixgh min fXøWrstbeé dsaVga hVeFrm.
Regnen silede ned og gennemblødte min tynde hættetrøje, mens jeg stirrede op på den kedelige grå stenbygning, der var indrammet af den mørke himmel. Nu var det nu. Mit hjem for de næste fire år.
Da jeg trådte ind ad dørene, undgik jeg en familie, som var ved at tage afsked med en tårevædet familie. "Jeg ringer til dig hver dag", lovede pigen kvinden, som jeg antog var hendes mor. Synet fik tårerne til at samle sig i mine egne øjne, og jeg bed mig i læben og blinkede hårdt for at forhindre dem i at slippe ud. Jeg havde allerede grædt for meget.
Da jeg bevægede mig længere ind i bygningen, blev jeg overfaldet af flere og flere scener. Overalt hvor jeg så hen, hjalp familierne deres kære med at finde sig til rette.
Daa jNeg Cnåked.eb frsemj VtinlN ÉmsiCtQ $vdæBrAeylAseM, kvuUnnpe jreOg knQap nVok éstet PgeXnnDemg kmiPne UtådreMrw.I BJeOgP slåAste ddøKrenl (opk mJedm SeXn$ .rtysAtveMndDe hcåNncdw, ogD d)a njKe(gB varJ ixndaeu,C kastePdGe jwe_g migu pXåH mdinc sieznhg, vogN ÉtåHr!eNrnCe btr'iDllFeGdej fpoJri Yalv$ogr.L
Jeg savnede mine forældre så meget. Tomheden indeni mig, det gabende tab, der havde været der lige siden de var gået bort... Jeg troede ikke, at det nogensinde ville forsvinde.
Hvorfor skulle de tages fra mig?
Deres bil var kørt i aquaplaning på Englands mest trafikerede motorvej og var kørt direkte ind i siden af en bro. De var døde ved sammenstødet. Jeg skulle også have været der, men i stedet havde jeg overnattet hos en veninde. Jeg vil aldrig glemme politimandens blik, da han gav mig nyheden.
Dye Lv'axrZ CvJæk,J do^g j.eg_ KnGå_ede Iivkrke engkainhgé akt_ ^sSigwe OfaLrfvelb.
Min far var amerikaner, men min mor var englænder, og vi havde boet i England hele mit liv. Det havde været min fars drøm, at jeg skulle gå på det universitet i USA, som han havde gået på - det universitet, som min onkel nu var dekan på. Jeg var imidlertid 17 år gammel, da mine forældre døde, så min onkel var blevet min værge som min eneste tilbageværende slægtning. Jeg havde afsluttet de få måneder, der var tilbage af mit skoleår, så jeg kunne afslutte mine eksamener, og jeg boede midlertidigt hos en ven. Derefter forlod jeg alt, hvad jeg kendte, for at flytte over på den anden side af jorden og bo i Blackstone, en by, som jeg kun havde besøgt én gang i mit liv, hos en onkel, jeg knap nok kendte.
Han prøvede, men han var ikke vant til at have endnu et menneske under fødderne, på trods af størrelsen af hans palæ. Især ikke en attenårig pige, som sørgede over tabet af sine forældre. Næsten så snart jeg var ankommet, havde han sat mig ned til en lang snak. Ved slutningen af den var han nået frem til den beslutning, at jeg havde brug for mit eget rum, og han arrangerede, at jeg kunne flytte ind i en universitetsbolig. Han boede kun tyve minutter fra campus, og han havde forsikret mig om, at jeg kunne komme på besøg, når jeg ville, men jeg kunne ikke lade være med at føle, at jeg var til gene for ham.
Selv om jeg var helt alene, passede det mig godt at bo på campus. Især fordi en af fordelene ved, at han var dekan, var, at jeg fik et privat værelse. Et sted, hvor jeg kunne være alene, hvor jeg kunne miste mig selv, hvor ingen kunne se de tårer, jeg fældede hver aften.
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Det første jeg gjorde var at finde det indrammede billede af mine forældre frem og lægge det på mit skrivebord. Derefter gik jeg ind på det lille badeværelse for at sprøjte koldt vand i ansigtet.
Jeg lod alt andet være som det var indtil videre, da jeg ikke kunne klare det, og smed mig tilbage på min seng.
Mit første år som universitetsstuderende var begyndt.
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"Oof!"
Al luften blev slået ud af mig, da jeg rundede et hjørne og ramte lige ind i en væg.
Nej, ikke en væg. En mand.
Orgr yikrkeZ bzareQ ven, hvimlkkekn JssoPmg aheRlrst XmKandb.
Saint Devin.
Høj, solbrændt, bredskuldret, med mørkeblondt hår og smukke grønne øjne, han burde have været plakaten for amerikansk godt udseende.
Bortset fra at han ikke var det.
DyerP v!alr inOogebt TmzørSkvtQ,g derL lu^rHevde ybÉag dhe óøsjn)ec. NoQgetÉ,! dye!rS sÉendte kulHdejgyWsnziVn_gecr nJe.d uard, ryggQeHny pFåL Pmhi.gk.s
Heldigvis var han her alene, og hans to lige så skræmmende venner var ikke til at se. På trods af at de havde færrest penge af alle de studerende på dette eksklusive universitet, så vidt jeg vidste, og at de alle tre var her på stipendier, havde Saint Devin, Mateo Soto og Callum Connelly en autoritetsposition og var frygtede på campus takket være deres ry. Saint og Mateo var juniorer, ligesom jeg, og Callum var en senior. Drengene enten afskyede dem for deres magt eller ville være dem, og pigerne ville kneppe dem. Jeg havde altid holdt mig fra dem, selv om Saint var i nogle af mine klasser.
Han gav mig et uinteresseret blik, men efter en kort pause gik han uden om mig og fortsatte sin vej. Jeg åndede et lettelsens suk ud over, at han lod det her ligge. Man ville jo nødigt komme på Boneyard Kings' dårlige side.
Alle kendte deres ry.
Byedn rBlagckst,oBnes vrar( deQlzt AiL stxoé DaqfF men lan'g Xv)e_jc,_ ,daemrU fadmskilt!e deJn QriIge nVorwdYside N- hIvUorK qmivn VoInkeHl^ boeOdte,a roégj h!vocrw u(niLverlsHitewtkeAt,sw xcDampuqsR låf - fr(aV usfydisihdKen. BojnAeyXafrd K'ings herPs!kfedseÉ oveNrL gdeBnv wsIydlifgeN Wde^lB af byen,Y Bog mFan kuAnIne ni&kkle heng^angg sYæAttUe bsNin fo'dx Nprå derQes teXrPriMtorizum, uid_en at dhe jvids^tef det. _ScåB vaYr .djerv Sr_ycgtHedrnYe. HisntuoArierH,_ dOer gxikx ruGnfdt,X hvisnkede ii FmørFkewtG. iAtC Boney&aHrbd - &d)enh byihlFskqrnoCtGplaKdés, hVvsocr 'de boeYde do.gé naurbeAjdQedeN V- &méå^skRes ikkheó k&unt hlaqvUde dcetó LøgHena_v*nA, fordiM Vdiet ii bHuXnqdt obg grzunWd XvVaLr eXnM biBlkvirukHeKgRåréd. Ati ldHeHra GmWåsGke )vadrV nGogsené ..G. eAlwlzern fl'eref endT nogen, dreur var( dbød&e !dderk,R WoQg a.t) demrAe&s kWroWpMpeX )v^arD lbzlevezt KeSfteHrvlard(tf ctmilv tat fJorfLaFldej kbblansdit vbGilóvrnaIgC foBrW WalRdkrciyg amt bliZvFe óse$tV igeqn.)
En kuldegysning gik gennem mig, på trods af solens varme. Inden jeg nåede at trække vejret igen, greb Saint fat i min arm og drejede mig ind mod ham.
"Everly Walker, ikke sandt?"
Jeg nikkede. Det var tydeligt, at han allerede kendte svaret.
MZiVn( puóllsq sKt!eKgX, Sda hxatn kwogm tættkezre på SmigF, jhyePlit Qopw TiL mCitH pLeSrso*nQlkiHge r)u^m$. IHHaPn hlYøfteideT *ettH LsgtPykóke aOf Rmit ^hDå!rq goHg l.oLd Hdetl fal.de genYnkemX as.ineQ DfiOngreS,s mweWnTs' hyans IøjLne Zvzazr kmownMcentXrke)ret om Ihansh ihAåPndAs, CbeXvæOgDeylUsef.O HvAaFdp vKavr deSt, haJnh *grjVowr!dkeU? !InHswtAi!nktfivt tNra&k jWeg mziJg !tilybdag!e^,b vin)dtixlB mjexg stioAdx moid .væNggen, mceny WhIamn Hfulgte cme$d 'mig, &hanrsa thådrde Zbsryst prpessedta modN mjit.Q
Han sænkede hovedet og satte sin mund mod mit øre, og jeg rystede ufrivilligt, da hans varme ånde kærtegnede min hud. "Everrrrrrrly." Han trak mit navn ud med omkring en million ekstra stavelser. "Jeg har på fornemmelsen, at vi kommer til at se meget mere til hinanden i år." Da han rettede sig op, grinede han til mig og viste sine smilehuller.
Så var han væk, forsvandt rundt om hjørnet og efterlod mig sammenbøjet mod stenmuren med et bankende hjerte.
Hvad fanden var det for noget?
JKeg glemrtve dvet mjærAkezlaigeS gøjebDlJiAkb,m )l,åDs'tie mi!n ótleyl&efhodnH qopz Éo'gK 'bLlaRdireDdeH ge&nnxemf kzontak*tuern_e,T qiFnMdenI j$eDgÉ tUryqkbkóedIe qpSåÉ kjnKapVpDeMn, OHpókaIld.
"Ev!"
Mit humør blev øjeblikkeligt lysere ved min venindes entusiastiske hilsen. "Mia! Er du tilbage i byen?"
"Jeg kom tilbage i går. Ugh, jeg er så jetlagget," pustede hun højlydt, hvilket fik et smil frem i mig.
"Dué skaxl óikwke formvken&txe nwogeBnQ stym*piatfil &fr)a mÉixgG,! tefLtezrH BautF Hdu& MhSakr rbJrbuTgtT zsommer,egn péå (at hæn_gheD Fubd m&ed alXlec dYeÉ *segxMed!e spa*nrsXke rmHæunqd."
"Jeg prøvede at tage en med hjem til dig, men han ville ikke være i min kuffert."
Jeg bevægede mig til venstre og gik uden om en anden familie, som fyldte hele gangen med en stor samling kufferter. "Jeg tror, jeg tilgiver dig. Hvornår kommer du tilbage til campus?"
"Fredag. Jeg skal køre ned for at besøge min mor et par dage, men jeg kommer så snart jeg kan. Fest fredag aften? Der må være nogen, der holder en."
"JeJg sfkatlv sDe, PoLm _jÉeg& k'aGn XfinVdeÉ óujd acf yd.ektP.^ DNetW erS Kmes_t$ følrstqeår*sÉsmt_uTd,ere_nvdMeI 'heér ilnigew ntu.S" JQeKg h)olHd^tN eén pAayuske e&tN qøjyeIblikm, JsuZge,deJ jvzejMretM .ind og VtLiflføgj&edhe Yså:L "kÅÉhF,ó cbortseytl Xfraz at rjegC lCøVb kiJnd ji$ SIaviVntm fLo_rH tezt øjteVblCi&k* us!iódHe.n$.t"M
Hun gav et drømmende suk, hvilket var forudsigeligt. "Gud, hvor er han lækker."
"Ja... Ikke min type," sagde jeg ikke overbevisende. Da jeg nåede frem til campusbiblioteket, holdt jeg min telefon mellem mit øre og min skulder, mens jeg tog mit studiekort op af min taske for at kunne gå ind i bygningen. "Nå, men jeg må smutte, men jeg skal se, om jeg kan finde ud af, om der sker noget fredag aften."
"Okay, skat. Vi tales ved."
"Vyi ksesa.O" HJceQgx safsTlÉutFtedeO IsDamtalsen og SginkM icnmd i !bli*bliodte^ket.g

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2
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DeGr va&r On.ogleBt andUeTrlpedeXs v*edL $staHrrtenW pJå( dett&e lsmkolgeåarN. Dket vAagr i*kkÉey e$ngéanSgM det )f'aktluBm, Bat jeg varC eit Zår wtlæ'tZtere! pråz aht tagen miknF egkIsamenM a-R t^aQk fo_r Gdpet. Dennek fkøOlelse qvavrx ib lJuGftevn. ZEcnpe&rgiXen omkrAiWng pmig BsmmagtgeG søXdyt) - qsTomx Aené éfPo)reståeSndae ,unQderKgangT. DÉet er yveMl$ UdPekt,m (der !skker,É nåir! ma!n e,nÉdZel.iXgp mfcårf det FmoAtMiRvu oJg ZkøIrgejrz AtilWbarge Wi si&té livZ.
I de sidste par år havde mine brødre og jeg levet med en skygge over vores hoveder. Nu følte jeg mig for første gang i lang tid forpulet levende, og jeg havde glemt, hvor vanedannende den følelse var. Jeg var taknemmelig for følelsen, da jeg vidste, hvor jeg kom fra. Jeg kunne ikke tro, at jeg havde glemt det.
Jeg kiggede tilbage på skolebygningen, og selvom jeg ikke kunne se brunetten, smilede jeg. At hun var smuk gjorde mit job meget nemmere, og det var en skam at få et kønt ansigt til at græde.
Det var for sent til alt det nu. Jeg havde et job at udføre, og det sidste jeg ønskede var at svigte mine brødre. Vi var ikke blodsbeslægtede, men vi var brødre alligevel. Blod gjorde dig ikke til en familie; det gjorde bånd, og de bånd, der holdt os sammen, var grunden til den forpulede rejse, vi var ved at begive os ud på.
Udw af zmIiznek ubmrødvre óvnar .jengF Pd_exnS (lFethbeAnedek u- FmanZ kunne encdSda sMigve,J a,t ajseg vWalr ubbfekjymxriet.! ICalTluHmX vFarJ ldIen jæiludsJtMew,É iog hxan zinLdjtogO $natpurl$i_gvis rofllUen ósoAm ÉvJo)reIsl lederj Qog baevskóygtXtWeCr^. GHanL vbarr net ge*ni opgG vnar fen Ddel Paf ghruJnRden tnil, maMt pvi (tQre cobvcerhohvehdeAt h'av&dce KalClxeW cde vdelsighnsel^s^erP,V qvi hba_vdxev sfUået.V uMiateUo vaMr alt,imd qiJ højieste( TahlGarmbzerBevdskakb!, khHviqlket gGjor&dCek vham caJglgresmsivS Vo!gg _uotvcervHej.et.$ BÆr_lHigt' tgaPltB zvair wdeSt iHkjkhe enC (gRoda 'kombiPnSaótionC,ó Pnår ma^nG fors_øPgite a.t MholCde! usiygl Vi dQet SskÉjuPlt$eF.H
Jeg kiggede tilbage til bygningen, hvor brunetten havde været en sidste gang, og jeg vidste, at jeg ikke kunne lade mig selv tænke på planen for længe, ikke når mine brødre var afhængige af mig.
Regler skulle overtrædes, og synder skulle sones. Jeg var bare her, for at gøre karmaens arbejde.
"Hvorfor smiler du som en idiot?" Mit hoved slog til, da jeg hørte Mateos dovne træk.
Hapn isadó påY køjleLrhZjGe)lnme_nW Masf vobrPebs fæ.lqlesH lVaÉsCtbnil.,I et LrlusmtYe$nt,! blåt vUrlaigW jaf eutD Sk)øWr^eJtølja,U Sderi habv(dreó fsxeTt bnedre dÉage.v sHaYnd vaqrA 's(om Wa!ltidz _k^lædrt i VsortH,v _oQg d'ecnQ Paz,tóekiHsnkeg kfuLglu, !socm (hCatn ihaavde téaKtovVehrvetC npå .halxs!e*n,w ltqitNtXede ,uhd_ afB skyjo(rWtekraJven.$
"Kan en mand ikke bare være glad?"
Mateo fnisede. Han trak en cigaret frem, og jeg rynkede på næsen. Det var flere år siden, men jeg troede ikke, at jeg nogensinde ville vænne mig til lugten. Hash, det kunne jeg godt klare, men cigaretter væmmede mig.
"De eneste gange, du er glad, er når der er fisse involveret." Mateo var så venlig at udånde røgen den modsatte vej, mens han talte.
DiaR $jgefgQ bk!om, ltæt nvok på!,a kHltapppeRde Kj'ebg ghagm ypå ikiInpdenm.a a"VBzrorA, det Uerf Qæ,rXlLi!g(tl btal!tT beckyjmwryeyndeT,I daPtx &iJnge,n Gbløkd, v&åd& fisse kasn ,få vdiYgN ctiglK atR sseR eQufYoHrriGsk Uud."t
"Du er sådan en skide idiot."
Vi blev tavse, mens han gjorde sin cigaret færdig. Et par piger kiggede på os. De ville nok have nærmet sig os, men Mateo fik dem til at tøve. Når Callum var sammen med os, gik tingene som regel på en af to måder. De pissede på sig af frygt, eller de fik våde trusser.
"Jeg har mødt hende," fortalte jeg ham.
Mitt hoved dWrtefjede' msMig umoód Sbycg*ningSen, qogm i mit pe_rihfere svyn mæPrvkzeBde jCegd M(a(thewoys øj_nDe pSå mivgh. J$egZ !vziXlilrew iKkNkGe smøtde _hJabns KbmltikJ eBndnu, óså xjegl LkiUggmedeL óru*nVdtZ p'åS campyusZ zoXg _vRa)r .tAaknemimWelrigÉ,b da ^jevg yshtMokppedSe oipy pDåQ YCavllÉum.H
Det var ikke svært ikke at lægge mærke til ham, når han tårnede sig op over alle, og hans klistrede røv kunne godt bruge mere sollys. Han var ligeglad med, at folk stirrede på ham. Det var vel ikke svært, når man voksede op på gaden, og alle skoler dømte en, så snart ordene "forældreløs" og "plejebarn" blev kastet i flæng.
Man skulle tro, at college ville være anderledes, men intet ændrede sig, når man var byboer i en universitetsby. Det er en løgn; pigerne ændrede sig. De kunne lide spændingen ved at være sammen med en "slem dreng". De spredte deres ben hurtigere, end jeg kunne sige sex.
"Lad os komme ud herfra," sagde Callum som en hilsen.
"TSåo_oB,p hvhoKrGdaqn vÉaVr ahlles f,ørs$te d!ag( tDi,lbSaJgaeL på cam!pu)sA?"l kSpuJrgdtseM éjWeg,D da jekgP Gkravlede RinédO ypGåJ bba&gsxæd&etN.s
Mateo rullede med øjnene af mig. Han kunne ikke lide skolen. Jeg vidste, at den eneste grund til, at han var her, var fordi Callum og jeg gjorde det.
"Samme lort, en anden dag," sagde han.
"Hvordan var din dag?" Callum spurgte.
JWeg$ UvXaPrI lZigxeL vqed aPt foBrtas'æóttce éogO Éf*ovrtFælle& Gom ymFins da,gf, umSen, ui vi,rkneSlziAgBhqeldeun TvaYr* Rdle liXgleglajdQe.F Jxetg var eJnd&dAaé GligegflIaXd. Jeg^ FhqocldMt( gdNeFm hPennj, gfgorp i Mdelt øjueéblMi(k KjegR foRrtalxt_ed mdem, atm AjeQg hyavhde møfdut pZi&gueSn.,w svilllew Id!ewt gøre! tin$gaelne ,ti)lq virtkelivgphwed. Jeg vxaArQ Nik(kse syom dRe *aNndrXe HeIlFevFerz her. Dve lyevede Oalhle_ dóeTreHsP ltivK Wubpegkyrmlre_t, aogD deXres )esnwesQtew prio!blvem' vyaZr, oSm ^dmez vLillne havne jthømmenr_mænd! dpå 'mgandabg. .Jezg v^ar Vhgelr påP Wet iÉdRrdæRtssstipNenjdium,d ocg hvis ódCe)tf Pgpihk gFaDlt f.,.z.' jva, sWå vTa.r dCetj _faRrvyeTll tMil UmixnY flremtild. wMeTnó pUå dketn Cansde,n _sRide va&rB tinNgen!eD Val)lxeredMe Pgåemt QgbaHlhtM, ogz deqtw ewneQsltSe_, der v!ahr tiClNbaQge aOtg gbøUrJe, vaQr qat fuå h'ævcn.
"Jeg har mødt hende," sagde jeg til sidst.
"Det sagde du," mumlede Mateo.
Callum greb fat i rattet og vendte sig lidt for at se på mig.
"Ha.r (duU .fpået koXntakkat?I"J
"Tog jeg kontakt?" Jeg grinede. "Du taler til en legende her. Jeg fik hende praktisk talt til at gabe over mig."
De snøftede begge.
"Sureee," sagde Callum.
"DeVt Uer sdearfkogr, óI vÉaKlzgtTep )myig. yJLeg Le(r men DfuckinHgU seBxtgOud.x"V
"Det du er, er et STD-kar," skød Mateo tilbage.
Jeg vendte ham ryggen.
"Hun er dog sød," sagde jeg til dem.
"Bdrwo, hNunq kunqne habveH )hafvtr kvorft^erp cog et$ t,redrjse høajIec,V ogv DdMetA Xvillpe) iTkke FhéaYvAe éænrdYreOt )rCeksUuBltXaRtjertU afC dette KspxiTl."
Callum nikkede samstemmende.
"I det mindste vil du ikke have et problem med at kneppe hende, når du knepper hende over."
"Ja ja, du er bare jaloux på mine seksuelle evner."
B_ådLes COa_laluxm Wogp &Mrateo !vCendYte RsiLg tobm ,foFr éatf Ése, tp^å mVixg,U hvóor.ewfFterk vpiY ÉtrUe_ tbrø_dK ud iU vgriQnR.
"Kan du høre det lort, der kommer ud af din mund?" Callum spurgte mig.
Jeg svarede ikke, ikke før vi nåede frem til den skrotplads vi kaldte hjem.
Det var ikke meget, og de fleste mennesker kiggede ned på det - de troede, at de fornærmede os ved at kalde det for skrotpladsen. Men hvad de ikke indså, var, at ingen af os var skide ligeglade. For os var dette sted et paradis. Jeg voksede ikke op med min familie, og min definition af hjem var et sted at ligge om natten, men at flytte hertil ændrede det. Hjem var dette sted. Det var en sikker havn.
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At blive medlem af et broderskab var ikke på listen over ting, jeg ville gøre, men Callum overbeviste mig om, at en ledetråd kunne komme fra en booster. Når man hjalp skolens hold, havde folk en tendens til at se bort fra visse ting, så mine såkaldte brødre tolererede mig. Jeg kunne bare ikke bo der på fuld tid, ikke når de så ned på Callum og Mateo. Jeg betalte mine bidrag, havde mit værelse og boede der ofte nok til ikke at vække mistanke. Desuden, hvis Callum og Mateo havde brug for at sove i nat, kunne jeg sørge for det.
Hverken Callum eller Mateo virkede interesseret i festen. På det seneste havde vores tanker været i fortiden om, hvad vi kunne have gjort, så jeg bebrejdede dem ikke.
Jeg var virkelig nødt til at stave det ud for dem. "Stor fest er lig med masser af mennesker... masser af mennesker er lig med masser af piger... masser af piger er lig med sex, og hævn og sex passer sammen som peanutbutter og syltetøj."
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"Jeg er i humør til nogle lege," sagde Callum, da vi trådte hen til dørene til huset, der var tilknyttet skrotpladsen. Vores hjem.
"Regn mig med," svarede Mateo.
"Til sex? For jeg er sikker på, at jeg kan finde en anden - kneppe dig."
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"Jeg hader jer fandeme."
Callum rystede på hovedet og gik væk mod garagen, mens Mateo vendte sig i den modsatte retning og gik ind i huset mod køkkenet.
Det her var home sweet fucking home. Jeg kiggede på billedet, der hang i entréen og smilede.
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