The Seven Deadly Simpson Brothers [PUBLISHED]

2

© Jojo B 2016

All rights including those in copyright in the content of this story are owned by Jojo B. It's Illegal to steal and/or copy.

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*N.E.V* The Seven Deadly Simpson Brothers

2

(Picture is Walter)

School had ended in the early afternoon and I'd gone straight to the pub to work five hours straight. By the time I'd finished serving, my feet ached, my back was sore and all I wanted to do was have a shower and go straight to sleep.

I walked quickly through the chilly autumn night with my coat zipped up all the way to my chin and a soft tartan scarf snaked round my neck. I kept my head down as I made my way home, careful to keep under the street lights and avoid dark areas. The streets weren't really that safe at night, especially for a girl on their own, but I had to make a living and that meant taking risks.

I lived in the west side of the area, which was Simpson territory, and I was reminded of that by the numerous works of graffiti in my vicinity that belonged to that gang. The most common was the seven headed snake, each head for each brother. The Santiagos too had their own symbol, a thorn stabbed into the bleeding finger of 'society'. Apparently it represented how much a small, yet hard to remove, gang could cause pain and discomfort to those who were against them, just like a small thorn would do to one's fingertip.

As I walked, my eyes traced the grubby slabs of concrete and I found myself trying to imagine a lifestyle completely different to the one I had. One where I could come home to a big warm house, bubbly and alive, full of family who loved and cared for me as I did in return. Perhaps I had a sister, or more than one, who I could share things with and stay up late at night talking endlessly about crushes with. Or maybe a few brothers who would play rough with me but at the same time look out for me. Would they look like I did? Be brown-eyed and blonde haired like me, or a little different? And what of my parents? The very idea of having two parents, like a lot people had, was alien to me. Would my mother hug me and kiss me when I felt down, teach me how to bake? Would my father tease me about boys and teach me how to do things like play golf or go fishing? Dreaming like this pushed out the truth about my childhood, even if it was only momentary.

I was so lost in my thoughts I hadn't realised I had walked straight onto a dark stretch of pavement. The lights here had stopped working, they were old pieces of junk that the council disregarded, but I hadn't noticed in time or I would have changed route a while back. Suddenly I felt more alone than I had been previously and I could feel fear rising up my throat. The sound of my heart pounding filled my ears and I couldn't hear anything else. I started walking faster, hoping to get out of the zone sooner, when out of nowhere I hit something solid. I stopped the scream that was about to tear out my throat just in time and I managed a frightened choking sound instead.

"Watch it!" growled an angry male voice.

I was expecting them to just move on, but the shadowy figure stood there, making my knees begin to buckle in fear. I balled my hands into fists inside my pockets, desperately trying to hold myself together. If they were going to grab me they would have done so already...hopefully they were just waiting for an apology?

"Who the hell are you?" his hand shot out and grabbed the front of my coat.

I gasped in fear, my breath hitching up in an instant and I pressed my lips together to try and stop myself from whimpering. My legs were locked and I was afraid I wouldn't be able to even run away - if I got out of his iron strong grip that was.

"I'm sorry," I tried, my voice coming out in a dry whisper.

I didn't know how he'd even heard it but his grasp on me lessened slightly, only for a second, before he stuffed his other hand into his pocket. I couldn't see well but I would hear him feeling around for something, a knife or a gun.

I wouldn't beg him for my life. I'd learnt many times that begging did nothing for me, but still it didn't stop the fact that I was terrified. How long would it be until someone found my body? What would they do with me? I had no one. I would just be another unmissed person to add to a record somewhere. Maybe the next life, if there was one, would treat me a lot better.

A blinding light hit my face out of nowhere, making me wince and squint my watering eyes. The figure murmured in what sounded like surprise, then I felt his grip release the front of my coat and he let his arm fall to his side.

"Go home," he grunted, the anger seeming to have melted away.

I stood there dumbly in shock, realising it had been the torch on his phone that he'd shone at me. He turned it off and when I saw the light from the screen reflect off his own face I couldn't have been more astonished.

Walter Simpson.

It had been years since I'd seen him this up close, but there was no way I could mistake his tousled black hair and dark eyebrows. I'd only gotten a glimpse of his hazel coloured eyes and I hadn't been able to read them. All I knew was that he wasn't going to hurt me, not tonight anyway.

Managing to get my knees to unlock I made a hasty escape though the blacked out zone and all the while I could feel his gaze boring into my back. Soon I would dissolve into the gloom and he wouldn't be able to see me at all.

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