The Day Was Quite Easy

The nights were the worst, of course. Especially as the winter chill really set in, making him shiver uncontrollably. Sometimes he would get up, emerge from the dank alley he used to try and shelter from the worst of the weather and look for a customer, somebody who would pay the ha’penny or two he needed to buy either a bed in the local doss house or the oblivion of the rum bottle. He cared less and less which option it was.

Was a time, not so very long past, when he would have been able to have his choice of the punters out on the street, all casually walking along in their top coats and shiny shoes, all pretending they were taking the air, and not looking for a bit of relief, a hand or a mouth or an arse. But that was then.

Now. Well, who wanted a run-down, tired, sick boy? He knew that he almost frightened some of them. His eyes, the punters had always loved his eyes, the way they made him look old and wise and innocent all at the same time; but now, in his too-thin face, they made people back away, frightened that he was sick, would somehow infect them.

He shivered now, as he emerged from the alley, looking up at the bright moon hanging high in the sky, its light reflecting off the frost newly forming on the pavement. Probably too late now to find a punter; certainly too late to find a bed, but still something made him leave his pathetic shelter and slowly walk the streets of Whitechapel, hoping for something, some warmth that would keep him alive for another night.

"Boy." The voice was quiet, and for a second, as he looked around, he was unable to spot its owner before he finally saw someone, just a dark shadow amongst the other shadows, leaning against the wall. "You look cold. Lonely."

"Always ready for company," he replied, putting his hands in his pockets and doing his best to look appealing. It used to be easy for him, but now it was hard; so hard. "You looking for a bit of company, sir?"

"What’s your name?"

"What would you like to call me? Whatever you want."

"Elijah, then," came the reply. "I want you to be called Elijah."

Something in his stomach knotted then and he took a small step backwards. He had only ever told one person his real name. Apart from his long-gone parents, only one person had ever known it, and that person had coughed up his lungs in Elijah’s arms six months previously.

"Who are you?" Elijah asked, all his senses sharpening, the fight or flight mechanism starting to come into play. Whatever this man did, whoever this man was, Elijah would be able to cope, just as always.

"Whoever you want me to be," the man replied, slightly louder this time, and through the pounding in his head, Elijah heard a tone he recognised, something he thought lost. A slow mocking tone that had always made him angry and amused in equal parts.

"It’s not for me to say," Elijah answered, not moving away.

"I told you didn’t I? I told you that we are reborn in life after life, and that everything bad in this life – every shit hand you have been dealt – will be wiped away."

"Viggo?" Elijah’s voice sounded small to his own ears. He took a step forward and then a huge stride back. "Don’t," he said to the shadows. "Don’t tease me, don’t make me believe. That’s just cruel of you."

"I was never cruel was I?" It sounded like Viggo’s voice, Elijah found himself thinking wildly, but Viggo was dead. He himself had held him and wiped the blood from his chin.

"Who are you?"

"Do you remember the last thing I said to you?" The shadow moved slightly, and Elijah flinched. "Tell me."

"You said you’d find me. Said you’d come and take care of me," Elijah replied, hypnotised by the sheer familiarity of the voice. "But you didn’t. You died, Viggo. You died and you left me out here to take of myself."

"It’s cold." The man with Viggo’s voice changed the subject. "Look at the stars, Elijah. Look at the moon."

Automatically Elijah’s eyes flickered upwards and then back down again almost immediately, knowing somehow that the shadows would be empty. They were and his shoulders drooped with the pain and loneliness of it.

"You’re not cold though." The voice was behind him and Elijah straightened up, his back snapped rigid so quickly he felt the muscles creak. "You were never cold. You warmed me through all our nights together." Elijah felt the ghost of a touch on his hair, his neck.

"But you left me," he finally managed to say. "And I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t. You shouldn’t have left me."

"No," Viggo agreed, the word no more than a sigh. "But I’ve come back for you, if you choose."

"What?" Elijah tried to turn around, but his muscles wouldn’t obey him. "What do you mean?"

"Would you come with me if I gave you the chance?"

"What, are you asking me if I want to die?" Elijah laughed, a bitter sound. "I already am dead, Viggo. Already suffering the worst punishments hell can hand out. I’m a penny-grabbing whore who drinks to keep warm and keep out the loneliness. And it’s your fault."

"Why?" Elijah could feel breath warm against his neck and he closed his eyes, the sheer closeness of the other man – whoever it was playing such a cruel joke – making him remember how good it felt to not be alone.

"Because you should have stayed," he replied.

"I did stay." The voice was softer still and unconsciously Elijah leaned backwards so that he could hear it more clearly. "I never went anywhere. I’ve been waiting."

"What for?" He could see speckles of light behind his eyes now, and oddly, could feel his body relaxing, warming up. He sniffed, unsure of what the aroma was that suddenly surrounded him, making his belly growl, and then he huffed a laugh. Bread. It was obviously later than he had thought. He had made it through another night. He didn’t know whether to be happy or sad.

"Can you smell that?" Viggo – Elijah thought of him as Viggo, even though he knew it couldn’t be – whispered. "All the food you want. No hunger or pain or loss." Elijah flinched as fingers touched his neck. "I never left you, Elijah. I promised I would never leave you, and I never once lied to you."

"It can’t be you." Elijah was confused, lost. "You died." He moved away and then turned around as quickly as he could, hoping to startle the stranger.

But it wasn’t a stranger. It was familiar, sandy hair, and familiar grey-blue eyes, and a familiar crooked smile. And the eyes were looking at him with the expression they always had; the exasperation and love mixed together to produce a potent mix.

"What?" Elijah didn’t move away, although he thought perhaps he should. But Viggo was warm and he made Elijah feel warm, and that hadn’t happened in a long time.

"It can’t be," he said again.

"Well, who am I?" Viggo asked.

"I think you must be a ghost," Elijah whispered, resting his head against Viggo’s shoulder. "I’ve missed you so much."

"Come with me." Viggo’s voice was soft and full of promise. "I’ve been watching you, you know. Just like I said. You don’t want to stay." Fingers under Elijah’s chin forced his head back so that he could look at Viggo’s face. "We made a mess of it this time around. Let’s go and rest, try again next time."

"That’s a nice thought," Elijah said. "This is a nice dream. It’s the first time I’ve been warm in forever."

"Come on," Viggo said again.

Elijah rested his head against Viggo’s shoulder once more, feeling his body sag with exhaustion, and he hoped he would remember this dream for a long time.

"There’s a bobby coming," Viggo said softly. "Can you see him?"

"Of course." Elijah looked up. "Maybe we should move."

"No, don’t worry. Just watch."

Elijah did as he was told, not understanding why the policeman walked past them without a second glance, and he looked at Viggo, confused.

"Come on, let’s follow him." Viggo took Elijah’s hand and they began to move down the street. The bobby was obviously in a world of his own since he didn’t respond to their presence. He didn’t pause until he reached Elijah’s alley, and then he glanced once, then twice, before stopping and peering into the shadows, uncovering his lantern and looking more closely into the dark.

"Let’s go closer," Viggo said. "Let’s see what he sees."

"Why?" Elijah pulled slightly on Viggo’s hand. "Viggo, I don’t understand. Who are you?"

"You know who I am," Viggo said casually. "Come on."

Deep down, Elijah knew what he would see, but it was still a shock. His own cold body, curled up tightly on the filthy floor of the alley, hands between his drawn up knees, his skin glowing almost blue in the reflection of the bobby’s lantern.

"Oh…." He looked at his hand, wrapped in Viggo’s, and then followed the line of his arm, eyes flicking across the shape of Viggo’s neck and cheek. So familiar.

Viggo turned to him, and his eyes were warm and comforting, making Elijah warm in his turn.

"You ready to go?" he said. Elijah tore his eyes away from the sadness in front of him and let Viggo lead him away.

The End

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