Chameleon

Chapter 8

What have I done?

What have I done?

Deep down inside, Charlie knew what he'd done. He didn't know where he was or where he was going, but he knew what he'd done all right.

It was the bad thing.

It hadn't started out that way. At first it had been the sexy thing. Charlie didn't like that either, but it was better than the bad thing. But he was so tired. He just couldn't do it. He "made the face" like they asked. That's what they used to say to him when he was young.

'Make a face, Charlie, make a face.'

And he would. Any face they wanted, and they'd be so pleased and tell him what a good boy he was. So he made the face for them, but that wasn't enough. The sexy programme was running, but he had no energy and the lady started to laugh at him and he felt so ashamed.

Then the big man started to hit him and call him names, and Charlie felt the anger build inside him. He wouldn't have given in to it no matter what they did, if only the other man hadn't changed the programme. It was the Bad Man's special programme. The one he always used when he wanted Charlie to do the bad thing.

'Do you play chess?'

That's how it always started.

When Charlie heard that voice, he screamed, tried to tell them, begged them to turn it off.

They hadn't listened.

The big man just kept on hitting him.

And everything turned red.

He remembered hurting the big man with his bare hands. The lady screamed and pulled something from her pocket. Something sharp.

Charlie slapped his hands over his eyes and tried to rub away the memory of what came next.

'Hey, you.'

The voice startled Charlie out of his nightmare reverie. The owner of the voice stood over him, a youth of about nineteen or twenty, with ripped denims and a scuffed leather jacket. Charlie blinked and took in his surroundings as if for the first time.

It was dark and the air was stale and cold. Bright street lights illuminated the dirty pavement. People hurried by, on foot or in cars. Charlie was huddled in a shop doorway.

'You can't stay there,' the voice told him. 'The pigs will pick you up for sure.'

'Pigs?' Charlie shivered. This didn't look like a farmyard.

'You got anywhere to go?' the youth asked.

Charlie shook his head.

'Got any money?'

Charlie patted his pockets absently. His new-found acquaintance laughed.

'Don't bother,' he said. 'I can see that you haven't. Come on, let's get out of here.'

He held out his hand and helped Charlie to his feet.

'I'm Stevey,' he said. 'You got a name?'

Charlie thought hard. He'd always been told not to give his real name to strangers. Only the pretend name. But this time he had no pretend name.