CHARLEY regains consciousness. She sits bolt upright. She cradles her throbbing head in both hands. She feels as if her scull is about to explode. Warm blood runs down her arms. Where is she? Why is it so dark? What has happened? Then she remembers…

          …Where is he? The dark shadow man who was stalking her? Is he waiting for her to get up? She must run and run and run, otherwise he will catch her. Charley stands up. She is buffeted by a strong cold wind. She shivers. She leans against the wall for support, still holding her throbbing head.

     The alley is illuminated by headlights of a passing car, just enough for her to see her assailant creeping towards her. She runs in the opposite direction. Right into a dead end.

     Sweat drips from her brow. Her hands are clammy. And her head pulses. She just wants the pain to go away. She is cornered. She should wake up at this point before she is caught. Mama and Papa would always console her. But tonight it’s different. She can’t wake herself up.

     He moves towards her like a cat teasing its prey. She screams. And still she doesn’t wake up.

     ‘Please go away,’ she pleads.

     He now stands in front of her. She tries to run past him. He reaches out for her. He takes her in his arms, his very strong arms. Covered in tattoos of entwined serpents. He cradles her face in his hands and kisses her long and hard.

     She feels nauseous as his tongue probes her mouth. She pleads with him. This only gets him excited. Hot urine runs down her legs. He laughs. The seconds turn to minutes, the minutes to hours and the kiss goes on and on. She feels she may suffocate. He fondles her breasts. She tries to push him away.

     They are interrupted by a blast of freezing cold air. They are both knocked off their feet. Charley is up first, running faster than she ever dreamed physically possible. She turns her head round to see where the stalker is. She is outrunning him. For the moment anyway.

She must not turn round any more. It will slow her down. She must keep running and running. Until she can find somewhere to hide. Her lungs feel fit to burst. Her breathing is laboured. ‘Dear God, please don’t desert me now.’

    The distant lights of a double decker bus illuminate the road in front of her. Charley runs towards it. Hails it to stop. The bus slows down. Charley jumps on. The driver indicates that she should sit down. The doors close. ‘Hold tight,’ he says as he accelerates.

          Charley heaves a sigh of relief. She doesn’t even notice that she’s the only one on the bus. Her breathing calms. Just as she relaxes and congratulates herself on getting out of danger the bus jolts to a halt. The driver turns off the engine. He walks towards her. He looks just like Douglas: same build and same face. He tells her to lay low.

          Douglas isn’t threatening but protecting her from the man in black, who’s banging on the windows and calling out her name, over and over. She becomes a trembling mass. Douglas holds her tight.

          All of a sudden there is a crash of splintering glass. Douglas shields her body with his. Then cries out and becomes a dead weight as a large piece of glass impales itself in his spine. She looks up into the eyes of her assailant as he kicks Douglas off her body. Then snatches her away.

JOE first notices her at his ‘local’. She is with a group of women, probably all about the same age, having an evening out. He’s never seen any women before that look so like an angel – she does – it’s the gold locks that tumble down on to her shoulders – the voice so silky and smooth – and that cleavage that commands his attention.

          Joe changes seats so that he can better overhear their conversation. He’s always had a fateful attraction towards women. Not in the same way as everyone else. He’s different. He’s not driven by sex – he considers it to be filthy – sometimes he questions whether he processes any testosterone at all. He doesn’t know whether things will be different if he meets the right woman – like the one he’s looking at now. The voices have always directed him towards prostitutes – ripe for the picking and generally not missed. His voices are silent at this moment. He feels lost without them. He seeks relief by putting his hand in his trouser pocket and draws it across his knife until he feels the satisfying trickle of blood. He can’t help but laugh out loud as he imagines what she’ll be like and how she’ll react. But she is not in the same league as his normal victims and is not stimulating his voices so who’s to say how he will interact with her.

     The women reward his interest with nothing but a cursory glance, followed by a knowing look - he is quite used to women looking down on him in this way – with an expression somewhat akin to pity and distaste. He doesn’t have a problem with his shabby clothes, his ill-kempt, wild hairstyle, his uncompromising gaze and his haunting cackle of laughter.

          He clenches his hands into fists and places them deliberately on the table, pushing them towards the ladies and looking directly in eyes of each one. He knows that they will have no problem being able to read the tattoos on each finger that collectively spell out ‘HOLY FUCK’. They turn their heads away in embarrassment and there is a short awkward silence before they resume their conversation.

          ‘So what should we do for Douglas’s birthday on the twentieth,’ she asks.

          ‘What about The Gap. They do good food and good music,’ replies another.

          ‘But do you think he’d really like that? I know he’s not keen on dancing,’ says she. ‘And he can tend towards being a little anti-social when in company. I don’t want to frighten him away. I really like him.’

          ‘We can always change to a different venue at the last minute,’ says yet another. ‘You might be pleasantly surprised what he’s capable of after a couple of drinks. You know, when he lets his defences down.’

          ‘Apart from the fact that he’ll do anything for you, you’ll be there to look out for him,’ adds another.

          ‘Just trust us,’ says the one who came up with the original idea. ‘It’ll be a night to remember.’

          ‘Okay then,’ she says. ‘Let’s drink to that then.’

          They all chink glasses and drink to Douglas’s good fortune.

Joe cannot help but wonder if Douglas is her boyfriend. He senses that her implied intimacy goes beyond just a casual relationship. The voices start chanting in his head – getting louder and louder - telling him that he must put a block between them – and the sooner the better. He resists the temptation to cradle his head in his hands. The voices are getting so loud that each vibration resonates in his head, a bit like having lots of electric shocks. He has to keep his eyes and ears open - he can’t afford to miss a thing. And he must act with care if he is to have her all for his own. If he keeps his ears to the ground he will find ways and means to get rid of Douglas – to stop him feeding on her any more than he has already done.  No-one must ever get between him and his lady. 

Joe continues to observe her. In fact he can’t take his eyes off her. She is a beauty and sophisticated with it. Joe’s voices fall back lulling him into the security that this one will be his redeemer, his soul mate, and that they needs be united in death. But Joe argues back that he cannot leave himself prey to any kind of emotional attachment with a woman – that kind of thing would be his downfall. He blames his mother for abandoning him at birth, leaving him to graduate through a series of foster homes and orphanages because of his challenging behaviour.

He has to admit that he was happiest in London, to where he had escaped at the ripe old age of eleven. What was it about him that made him so unlovable, even as a baby? Well, one thing’s for sure: his mother would definitely not love what he’s become. In fact every time he picks up a woman he punishes her as if he was wreaking revenge on his mother.

At that moment she turns round to look directly at Joe. He smiles and waves. She’s obviously gagging for it and he’ll give her the time of her life. Just look at those dark almond-shaped eyes with the long eyelashes – all directed at him. Looking superior as if she were a goddess. Teasing him. Giving him the green light.

She turns her attentions back to her friends. Joe is on fire with passion. This is a new feeling - a sign that she’s ripe for the picking, despite his concerns over this Douglas guy. What is it about her ? – the way she draws him to herself, the way she tempts him, the way she exhibits her wares – the tight top emphasising her cleavage and breasts and her legs crossed in body-hugging jeans, playing hard to get.

His ears prick up when they discuss having to get to work for an ‘early’ the next day. He wonders where that might be. He can’t imagine that they are factory workers. Far too well-to-do for that – unlike himself. He waits and listens although patience is not one of his virtues.

‘Well, let’s hope it’s not so busy tomorrow. I can’t keep that kind of pace up long term,’ she says.

'You know why it is. The GPs just don’t have enough resources to see routine cases and then everyone ends up coming to A&E for the slightest little thing.’

‘I think what we need is an intermediary organisation that deals solely with those cases. Perhaps you ought to set one up, Charley – in your free time.’

‘Thanks for that kind thought. You know where you can stick it, don’t you?’

Everyone laughs. Joe joins in, elated that he can now identify her by name – Charley. A good name for a feisty girl - just how he likes them.

Charley stands up. ‘Right. I’ll be on my way. I’ve got a bit of food shopping to do first. See you all tomorrow.’

Joe can’t ask for more if he tries. He won’t follow her tonight. He’ll take his time and savour this one. He’ll need to make sure that he gets it right as he will only have one chance. He watches as her friends leave, one by one, totally oblivious to his presence, unlike his Charley who had deliberately searched him out with those alluring eyes.

He recalls his latest conquest – a week ago now. A right tart she was, standing on the pavement and displaying her wares. Blond curly hair down to her shoulders, exactly as she likes it. Trying to attract the attention of passers-by with more than a bit of thigh. He had broken out in goose pimples all over. This was always a good sign. His voices got louder and louder, forcing him to walk towards her.

Joe procured her services with the promise of a significant financial reward, so she could buy some more hard drugs on the street afterwards. He was led to a one-roomed flat, filthy dirty and dedicated solely to her occupation it seemed. She didn’t hesitate in flinging her clothes onto the ground. He felt sick to the stomach at this coquettish display, all for his benefit. Little did she know that he wasn’t turned on at the sight of a woman’s naked body and that Joe has no respect for any woman, especially loose women like his mother.

Joe pounced on the prostitute, knocking her backwards on to the floor, hitting her head hard. She lay there, winded and helpless whilst he pulled on his latex gloves and laughed hysterically. That’s when she’d realised that she was in danger. She started to struggle and push him away. But Joe was strong and Joe was quick and Joe had done this many times before.  With his gloved hands he pulled a pair of handcuffs from his coat pocket and attached his prey to the bed post with them. He then sat astride her, immobilising her body. She was beyond screaming. Her eyes spoke volumes about the intensity of her fear. He could smell it oozing from every skin pore of her body. That’s the part he liked best.

His voices were now hissing as if he had a nest of snakes inside his head. He took the syringe out of his pocket, tied a tourniquet around her upper arm and patted the inside of her elbow until he got a vein up. By now her eyes were darting from side to side and her body arched as her spine went into spasm. He injected the heavenly liquid into her arm and watched as she became calmer and calmer. So calm in fact that she forgot to breathe.

Joe knew that no one was likely to miss her and if there was no evidence pointing to him it would be assumed that she’d given herself the overdose. He took the handcuffs off her and left the syringe beside her lifeless body. The only people he had to be wary of were the pimps who would have no hesitation in coming after him. But if no one saw the two of them together then no one would know that she had been murdered at his hands. It would most likely be put down to natural causes.

Joe’s mind is buzzing. He feels, as a celebration, that he’s entitled to kip down in West London Churches Homeless Concern, just down the road. Up until now he’s been sleeping rough on park benches and on the Chelsea Embankment. He knows that he will have to build up stamina before he tackles Charley, who on the face of it, appears much stronger, confident and worldly wise than the women he normally associates with. He knows Charley will feature in his dreams that night.

The next day CHARLEY arrives at work at the Accident and Emergency Unit in the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital, just after 6.30 am. As a staff nurse she has many responsibilities and doing a good clean handover is essential. She always gets in a little earlier than her shift is due to start to ensure that this is the case. If not there’s always a chance that the handover is not smooth and then the patients suffer.

          The waiting room is full. The night staff are run off their feet and patients are lined up along the corridor in trolleys. Charley sighs at the prospect of another busy 12-hour day which invariably means that the staff hardly get time to tend to their own personal needs. It goes with the territory however. She wouldn’t change the job for anything. Emergency medicine is just so exciting: you never know what is coming in next and sometimes it might involve a little bit of detective work. She is only happy when interacting with people, whether it be patients, or their relations and friends.

          She picks up the notes made by the night nurses and starts to familiarise herself with the patients and their conditions. There is nothing unexpected for a Friday night. The problem is the volume of people that need to be admitted combined with the shortage of beds. That’s something she will have to address straightaway before the queue gets any longer. She picks up the phone to speak to the various departments to find out what beds are available.      

Having negotiated a bed for each of the emergencies, she turns to the high volume of people waiting to be seen.

‘So, Viv. What irks all these healthy looking people?’

Viv tuts. ‘I’ve never known the likes of it. I know you have to be courteous to all the patients. But if you ask me there’s a lot of riff-raff blown off the streets in here, looking for a warm place to shelter.’

Charley is one of those people who has time for everyone, however big or small their complaint is and whatever their background. She goes through the notes left by the duty triage nurse. It seems that there are at least half a dozen men sheltering in the waiting room, described as H&D (Homeless & Destitute). She asks Viv to give them each a cup of tea and a biscuit.

‘And where might we get them from?’ asks Viv. ‘This isn’t a blooming café, you know.’

‘And you wouldn’t want to be homeless like those poor souls, would you?’

Viv hums and haws.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll do it myself.’

‘Okay then. I’ll do it.’

‘No. Don’t worry Viv. You’ve made it quite clear that you don’t want to do it. Just imagine what it would be like if we were in their shoes. A little kindness goes a long way in my books.  With something warm inside them they are more likely to leave rather than take up essential seats in the waiting room. As it is I’ve got just enough time before my shift starts.’

‘I’d be careful if I was you! It’s no different to feeding the pigeons: once you start you can’t get rid of them.’

‘Thanks Viv. That will do.’ 

Charley calls the H & D cases into a nearby consultation room. Waiting for them is a tray of tea and biscuits. ‘Right, Gentlemen. Here’s one for the road. But you must promise me that you will leave the hospital as soon as you’ve had your refreshment. If you need details of soup kitchens and shelters you only need to ask and we’ll give you the information.’

The present company nod their heads in agreement.

‘Thank ‘ee, Miss,’ says one. ‘You’re an angel.’

‘Thanks for that. But just remember what we agreed or you might see a different side to me.’ She smiles.

The gents hold their mugs up and tap them against each other. ‘Cheers, mate!’

‘Yes, cheers!’ says another who looks vaguely familiar. Try as she might she cannot remember where she has seen him before.

As she leaves the room her pager goes off. She goes directly to the nurse’s station. A gentleman was up on a ladder clearing the moss from the gutters of his house when he fell. He’s had a bad landing, finding himself impaled on a spike of his wrought iron fencing. His wife heard the screams and when she saw what had happened promptly fainted. Thank goodness the neighbour heard the screams. She called ‘999’, covered Mrs Back up with her coat and consoled Mr Back who was still conscious. Mr Back is due in A & E in about 10 minutes, complete with spike.

Charley knows that this could be very serious and primes the staff as to who is to do what when the patient arrives. A general examination and pain relief is top on her list. Then X-rays to see where the spike is in relation to Mr Back’s organs as removing it without that knowledge could be detrimental. The case would be overseen by Jan Alcock, the A&E consultant who will ultimately decide on the best course of action. Meanwhile all nurses wait in their allocated positions – a wait that Charley always finds interminable. She prays that the spike hasn’t impaled itself through any of Mr Back’s organs.

Meanwhile a commotion erupts in the waiting room. Charley goes to see what it is about. A gentleman, with a scarf wrapped round his face and hood up, is demanding to see Charley about his toes.

‘I got frigging frostbite, didn’t I. Being out all night and that. I want to see Nurse Charley.’

‘I’m sorry, Sir, but the staff are unavailable. They are all waiting for a very serious emergency to come in any moment now. Please sit down and wait your turn.’

‘I’ve been frigging waiting for hours now.’

Charley arrives at that moment and recognises one of the men she had provided with a cup of tea. It always amazes her the lengths some of the patients go, just for attention.

‘So what’s the problem, Sir?’

‘Me toes. They’ve got frigging frostbite, ain’t they.’

‘Just walk around for me so I can see how bad they are.’

He walks round as if he is in the last throes of life.

‘Thank you Sir. It doesn’t appear to be an emergency. Please sit in the waiting room and someone will be with you soon.’

‘I want to see you, miss. You’re the only one who cares about us homeless lot.’

‘Don’t worry, Sir, you will be seen when it’s your turn.’

As Charley turns round she catches Viv’s expression with the wide-open eyes and her folded arms, saying ‘I told you so.’  Charley dislikes this woman’s attitude – she has not been working long at the hospital. It’s easier not to rise to the bait and that way she can keep the peace.  Her spirits are lifted as she almost bumps into an extremely handsome doctor, slightly on the plump side and probably in his late twenties. It is obvious that there is a spark between them, without the couple having to hold hands or throw their arms around each other. No further thought is given to the homeless man as Charley’s bleeper goes off.  It’s time for action. She runs towards the resuscitation area, all of her concerns about the homeless man forgotten.