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Tommy stares at the long, towering buildings marking the sides of the alleyway. He sighed. He was lost.
He felt the prickle of eyes on his head- but it was probably him just being paranoid. Despite that, his hand moved to the pepper spray barely concealed by his handbag.
His mother had insisted that he take it- saying that women are more likely to get jumped in dark alleyways, everyone knew these days you have to have something on you if you’re going out in the dark- Tommy isn’t out to his mum yet.
His long hair is splattered to his back, the rain thoroughly soaking it. When he came back, he knew his mother would insist he needed a shower, but Tommy would protest claiming the rain had cleansed his hair. His mother would say it made the hair greasier.
Just thinking about his mother put him slightly more at ease. He was fine- he would be home soon. It didn’t matter that the moon was nothing more than an acute sliver in the sky. The stars would light the way.
And the lampposts- those too. But the way that they were buzzing, and flickering, gave Tommy the impression he couldn’t trust them to stay on.
He sighed as water pelted onto him, he tilted his head upwards to try and catch the rainwater in his mouth, for a bit of entertainment, he reasoned. Then, as he was not looking where he was going, he fell into a pothole, which was filled with water.
He gasped as his hands grazed themselves on the rocky pavement and his ankle was submerged in slimy, dirty ice-cold water. Shaking the water off- or maybe he was shivering, as it was awfully cold out- he inspected his boots to see the damage.
He grimaced- it looked like it was full of water. He looked around for a fairly-clean not-too-wet wall that he could lean on for balance whilst he emptied his shoe, but came out empty-handed. Figuratively, of course.
He heard the sound of footsteps and sighed. Great. Now, either somebody was going to have to witness his miserable existence, or he was going to get fucking mugged.
He looked up to see a man, in a trench coat looking about three years older than himself lurking in the shadows.
He looked awfully suspicious, armed with black combat boots featuring steel toes. His hair was bouncy despite the rain, and brown curls fell over into his eyes- making it hard to see what eye colour he had. Though Tommy swore he could see a flash of wine-red beneath the chestnut-brown.
He looked at the stranger warily as he came closer, Tommy's hold on the pepper spray tightening with every step the newcomer took towards him.
The man smiled, looking Tommy up and down as if the younger was a meal- maybe he was to the older man. Maybe this guy was a cannibal. That would not be pog. Not at all.
"Do you need help, child?" The man said and oh, they did not give of creepy gang vibes with that voice.
The voice itself was musical and gentle, but the tone however? Was teasing and messy, not a hint of threat.
But then again, weird guy in an alleyway asking what a 'girl' is up to. If 'she' needs help.
"I’m not a girl." Tommy deadpans, hoping that that will make the man go away, "So if that’s what you’re here for, shoo."
The man’s eyebrows crease and furrow in confusion. "I’m sorry, what? You think I- no offence, but you look like you can’t be older than fifteen."
Tommy raised an eyebrow of his own, still skeptical, "You think people haven’t tried before?" Now, that was a bluff, but it was an effective one. The way the stranger froze up and paled made Tommy almost break cover and start laughing hysterically.
"So shoo," he said to the man, “or I’ll make you.” Now, that wasn’t a bluff. That was a threat. Tommy was ready with his pepper spray.
The man shifted one foot from another, "look, Kid-" Tommy quickly cut in with a "not a kid." but the stranger just rolled his eyes, "Do you want help or not?"
Tommy looked the other up and down cautiously, before replying, "No thanks." The older sighed, looking annoyed, "Look, it’s clear you need it, just let me-" he stepped forward but quickly cut off when Tommy leapt back and pulled out his pepper spray.
"Stranger danger, dickhead." Tommy went into a defensive stance. He tracked the stranger's every move.
The man put his hands up and stepped back, though it was small. "Hey, my name’s Wilbur, now I’m not a stranger to you. Will you tell me your name so I don’t have to worry about stranger danger?"
Tommy but his lip, not knowing what to say. "Tommy." He blurts out, before collecting himself, "You can call me Tommy."
Wilbur’s eyebrow quirked in intrigue, "That’s not your real name, is it?" Tommy simply rolled his eyes, and as he had recently been interested in fantasy asked sarcastically, "What? You’re not a faerie are you? Doesn’t fucking matter."
"Well," Wilbur stepped forward and Tommy stepped back evenly, keeping the same amount of space between the two, "If you must know, It does matter. You’re still a stranger if you don’t tell me your birth name."
Tommy bit his lip- he needs to stop doing that- before relenting. "Fine. It’s Teresa, alright?" He paused before saying, "Don’t call me that, though."
Wilbur smiled, "Since you were nice enough to tell me your birth name, I’ll tell you mine." Wait- His birth name wasn’t Wilbur? The guy had decided he wanted to be called such a pretentious name. Eat the rich, Tommy thought to himself.
"Wilbur isn’t your birth name?" Tommy asked, and Wilbur shook his head, "Sally- at your service."
Tommy looked Wilbur? Sally? dead in the eyes. "You were on the news." Wilbur nods with a considering hum, "Yes, I suppose I was."
Tommy looked Wilbur in the eyes. "You had ginger hair though." Wilbur simply smiled, "Ever heard of hair dye?"
Tommy blinked, "You died."
And then. Tommy opened his eyes from the blink, to find nothing there. He shivered and continued walking, chalking it up to his imagination.
And if later that night, on the news it said, 'Young Teen Girl Teresa Found Dead In An Alley.' well, who’s to say the two events were connected?
Who is to know what happened that night, to poor Teresa. Died in the same way a girl Sally had a couple years ago. Same age, same place, same way of death.
At first lost to the winding streets of the city, next lost to the embrace of death.
Who is to know how exactly it happened, the death. As surely, falling in a pothole filled with water can’t seriously be the death of numerous people, right?
Not unless there was something more- something.. sinister about it? About that alleyway?
And who is to say they actually were who they were thought to be at all?
Who would know if Sally and Teresa, weren’t actually.. Sally and Teresa.?
Nobody. Nobody at all.
Well, nobody but you.