Lucky ----- Author's note: ----- I've been gone for ages, but I thought I'd upload this since I have it laying around. The idea behind this was to recreate Oliver Twist in our time, with my own take on it, and only keep the general idea of the original story. There wouldn't have been a time jump if it wasn't for the 4 page limit we got. ---------------------------- Passing the Brixton Community Church hardly felt right. The young man quickened his pace a bit and turned away, sighing in annoyance. It's not like he was religious, but not thinking about one of the Ten Commandments being "you shall not steal" proved difficult none the less. Faust focused his eyes on the small rock in front of him instead, kicking it as he walked, running the plan over in his head. They had a huge job planned for tonight. They have had Matt on the inside for an entire year and now it was finally time to strike. Faust turned around, eyeing his friend's window. He could see him on the phone, still smoking what could probably be his tenth cigarette of the day. Faust shook his head and kept walking, trying to keep himself in what small amount of shade the houses along the side of the road provided. It was September, but the sun was still blazing, and the trees looked greener than they should at this time of year. It's like London wasn't notified of the season change, he thought as he bitterly cursed himself for wearing the leather jacket. A gust of wind ruffled through his hair, making his jacket tear open and blow behind him like a cape. Faust smiled at that; this was one of those small things that seems so insignificant at first glance, but is important upon further inspection. He closed his eyes, letting the wind hit his face, feet finding their way on the familiar road despite the dark he willingly surrounded himself with. Faust opened his eyes, only to tilt his head to the sun before closing them again, the previously black surface of his eyelids turned to pink. Laughter carried by the breeze wound on into the sky. The little boy reaches his arms out like he is in Titanic, cheering and laughing at his oversized windbreaker blowing behind him, struggling to keep his ground against the strong wind. He turns around, facing mum's and dad's blank faces. He smiles and waves at them, dropping his arm as he only gets a nod back from the pale-faced woman in return. They pass him, and he faces the wind once more, burying his head in his dad's old scarf the best he can, arms still reaching for the invisible walls at either side of him. "Get moving, Faust," the man walking in front of him barks over his shoulder. "You're nine, how about you act like it?" The green-eyed boy drops his arms, wraps his jacket around him a little tighter and jogs to keep up with his new parents. "Sometimes I think that this was hardly worth the child support money," the woman he calls his mum says, gaining a nod and a sigh from the man he calls 'dad' in response. The boy pretends not to notice. Faust opened his eyes and looked down at the pavement. He had a strange urge to play “don’t touch the cracks”, but shook the silly idea out of his head and kept walking. Minutes later Lambert Road was coming to its end, the calming silence flowing into the stressing racket of Brixton Hill. This road was busier, crawling with people rushing to the tube and brawling with someone over the phone louder than necessary. Some teenagers were smoking behind a small shop, sneering at passers-by. Faust walked by, ignoring them, his thoughts returning back to the job. Matt has spent a year working in the museum, working his way up until he had all the access that they could possibly need. The vase was coming in this evening and was not getting a place in the exhibition until tomorrow. Perfect time to nick it, they decided. They won’t have another chance like this and blaming it all on late delivery while they make their escape would hardly work after the owner has seen the vase with his own eyes. Faust glances to the side, watching another group of sneering teenagers emptying their pockets of chocolate bars and cigarettes in a dark alleyway, congratulating each other on a job well done by the look of it. He used to be like that, a small-time thief. That is what started off his current career - if you could call it that - and what led to him meeting Matt. It feels like so long ago Faust almost feels like laughing about the circumstances that led to their long and close acquaintance, but even after all this time it’s hardly funny. "Get the bastard!" the man's roar was making his ears ring as he ran, barely managing not to stumble over his own feet trying not to let the sheer terror of it all take over. Faust didn't know where he was going, he ran as fast as he could, turning corners and slipping between pedestrians, trying not to think about the loud thuds of the coppers' boots following close behind him. If it was not for his anatomy books he would have sworn he was on his way to throw his heart up or at the very least watch helplessly as it popped out of his chest. The twelve-year-old could barely breath, tears forming in his eyes and even the usual happiness the windbreaker cape brought him was not helping right now. Nothing felt right, it was all happening so fast and he could feel that this was the end even before the hand landed on his shoulder. He yelped as he felt himself be pulled out of the streets and into a small alley. Faust tried to scream, but barely got anything out before he was pushed onto the ground with his back against the wall, a hand blocking his mouth. "Shut up," the unfamiliar boy hissed, furrowing his brows at the muffled noises coming from behind his hand. "Be quiet, I said!" Faust stopped struggling, watching wide-eyed as the raven-haired boy ducked over him, trying to keep them in the shadows while the policemen ran by. As soon as they were out of sight he pulled Faust up to his feet, wiping the dust of him nonchalantly, following it up by a light slap upside Faust's head. "Ow, what's that for?" he scowled. "For being a berk. What do you think you're doing?" the boy pulled him further into the alley, glancing back into the street. "What did you steal anyway?" "Bread," Faust replied, deciding there was no use trying to hide it. He reached into his jacket, pulling out the stolen goods. "Some cheese, too." The raven-haired boy looked at him, his eyes understanding and facial expression twisting back and forth between sadness and blankness. "I'm Matt," he said, reaching out his hand to Faust. "Do you have somewhere to spend the night, not counting the streets?" Faust shook his head and took Matt's hand, unaware of how many years he will keep holding on to it, to this strange raven-haired boy. "Help! Let me go, let it go, please!" the voice came from somewhere on the left of the road, forcing Faust's thoughts back to the present. He ran towards the weak shouting, head turning rapidly, trying to find the source. Just a little way off the road, a man was trying to pull an old lady's bag out of her hands. The woman was holding on to it hard, breathing heavily. Faust was by the man's side in seconds, sending the man tumbling to the ground with one punch before turning his attention to the old lady. She steadied herself after almost losing her balance when the man let go of her bag. "Are you alright, miss?" Faust asked, taking a step towards her. "Look out, lad!" the old lady shouted, pointing behind him just in time for him to disarm the man of the small pocket knife that was seconds away from stabbing into Faust's back. "I'll have that," Faust said, putting the knife away, following the running mugger with his eyes until he was out of sight. He turned his attention to the woman again. "Now, are you okay?" "Yes, alive still. Thank you, dear," the old lady said, looking down at her knocked over shopping bag on the ground. "What's your name, boy?" Faust got the bag for the lady, making a quick decision to give her a fake name. "I'm, uhh.. John," he says, slightly embarrassed he didn't come up with a better name. "And you, miss?" "Marta Smith, dear," the lady smiled. "Would you mind helping me carry these groceries? That man gave me a right fright; some company would be nice! It's not very far. Sudbourne Road, it's just minutes away." "Of course!" Faust says before even thinking it over. The job was in just a couple of hours. Matt will have to wait, he decided. * His phone rang. Faust fished it out of his pocket, cursing under his breath when faced with the time and the caller id. He got up, giving the old lady a polite smile before pacing off to the kitchen. "Hello?" he said, waiting for the scolding. "Don't 'hello' me like you don't know who this is," Matt's voice came rattling from the other side of the line. "Where the bloody hell are you?" "I'm at a.. Well," Faust hesitated, wondering how he was supposed to explain today's events. "I saw an old lady getting mugged, I stopped it and I'm at hers now." There was a pause on the other side before Matt spoke again. "Is she rich?" "Piss off." "Whatever. You better stop flirting with old ladies and get over here right now." Matt sounded impatient, and the others' chatter could be heard in the background. "I," Faust glanced back into the living room. Marta was breathing heavily, struggling to get up from the armchair. He couldn't leave. "I can't." He braced himself for the screaming. "What the hell are you talking about!? Faust, I swear I'll bash your face in if you don't get going right now," what started as a shout turned into a menacing murmur. "What kind of thief are you? Stopping a mugging, not mugging her yourself, backing out of our biggest job yet!?" "I'm more than a thief!" Faust shouted at his phone, covering his mouth quickly, glancing back into the living room only to see that all Marta was focusing on was her TV program. "Yeah, you keep telling yourself that," the chatter on the other line got louder, and he could hear Matt explaining to their group what was going on, after a short silence he continued. "If you don't come, this won't end well for you, you got that?" "Yeah, I got it," Faust sighed, trying to figure out why he was feeling relief rather than guilt. "I'm sorry, Matt." He could have sworn he heard his friend's breath hitch on the other end. "Get bent." The line went dead. Faust stared at his phone for a couple of minutes before returning back to the living room, giving Marta a weak smile and settling on the sofa with his knees brought close to his chest. The calming voice coming from the television was the only thing breaking the silence as he drifted off to sleep. Faust's eyes shot open. The sirens were impossibly loud and he felt panic taking over, but soon noticed it was only the television. Marta was walking around in the kitchen, the house smelt of food. He exhaled, still unable to shake the uneasy feeling. He glanced back to the television, freezing in place. The news anchor was talking about some breaking news in the background of a security film of the museum. "Two men shot dead by the police, one captured," Faust repeated weakly, staring at the TV, crawling towards it and covering his mouth with his hands. No names are announced for at least a minute, the longest minute of Faust's #life. He held his breath, trying to stop shaking. Finally the news anchor brought it up. "It isn't yet decided when Matt Black will be facing the court," the second the name had left the woman's mouth Faust stopped listening. He shut his eyes, letting a few tears slip by, still stuck between panic and relief, between grief and joy. When he opened his eyes Marta was standing by his side, resting her hand on his shoulder. He smiled at her, a proper smile this time. He wants to tell her. "They were my friends," he whispered. "I was supposed to be with them." "I knew there was something about you, sonny," she said, brushing his fringe out of his face. "If you've been alive for as long as I have you can spot a troubled child from miles away." His smile faded. "Can I stay the night? I haven't got anyone now," Faust mumbled, wiping his tears on his sleeve, feeling pathetic for asking. "Of course, my dear," the woman said. "Want to tell me your real name now?" She ruffled his hair, giving him a knowing smile. "Faust." "That's a nice name. I've never met a Faust before." "It's Italian," he said, laughing for the first time in months. "Never thought it fitted me. Felt like its meaning just seemed ironic." "Why?" Marta raised her eyebrows. "What does it mean?" Faust looked up at the TV again, the noise of the sirens finally stopped. "Lucky."
