The Soul Thief

Chapter 1 - Present Day

Do you ever have nightmares? The kind that wake you up in the dead of night. A cold sweat dripping down your back and breath coming so fast that darkness clouds the edge of your vision.

I do. I don't remember them. It's as though my eyes blink away the dream before it has a chance to embed itself in my memories. Sometimes I wonder what they are about. What frightens me so much that it can create such panic? Perhaps it is better off I don't know.

With a sigh, I realise that sleep is going to elude me and it's better to stop fighting it as I shuffle into a sitting position and fumble for the glass of water on the bedside cabinet. Gulping the room temperature water does little to soothe the burning in my throat. From screaming? I think so. Though no neighbour has ever complained of hearing anything.

It doesn't surprise me though. In this god forsaken crack house we all know better than to do anything but mind our own business and hope others do the same. Snitches don't get snitches, they get dead and those are words I live by.

My room is modest, but it's mine and that's something that fills me with pride, even as I shuffle awkwardly around the furniture to get ready to face the day. The bathroom is little more than a cupboard with a toilet and a shower mounted on the wall.

It took hours of scrubbing when I first moved in to get it somewhat habitable and even now I want to gag a little if I look too closely at the suspiciously stained tiles. Tilting my head back under the spray I work quickly to clean every inch of me. The water never quite gets hot enough to make a shower an enjoyable experience but I'm clean and that's more than I could say for the years I spent on the street.

At least now, as I lather up the stolen shower gel on my arms, I don't have to fear someone adding to my collection of scars. They litter my body with their message that no one can be trusted. The one on my hip from a man who said he wanted to save me, and another on my shoulder from his wife who was entirely unimpressed and yet somehow found me more to blame than him.

My fingers move through my hair finding the ones that made me harden my heart for good. They were from the people owed money by the last person I dared to love. A shudder ripples through my body and I feel the phantom kiss of that knife on my skin. The memories threaten to rise and overwhelm me but I fight them down again. I can't let myself slip back into that dark place.

The pipes groan as I shut the water off, even this old building seemingly as done with the day as I already felt. With clothing options limited to a choice between two pairs of jeans, in a similarly threadbare state, and a selection of band t-shirts I had collected over the years - I would never look like I had stepped off the catwalk. But they were comfy and generic enough to blend in when I need to be thieving and when twisted in the right way, showed just enough cleavage to get me the tips I needed at the club.

I yank on the nearest one and slip my battered satchel over my shoulder before striding for the door. It's quiet out. Not complete silence, but London quiet where the faint sound of traffic can be heard alongside the clatter of a train in the distance. I don't know what I would do without those background noises I have become so used to. My nose wrinkles at the faint scent of weed hanging in the air. It's banned in the building, not that anyone ever cares enough to check or put a stop to it.

The stairwell stinks of piss and other things I'd rather not think about as I take the stairs two at a time in an effort to escape it a little faster.

I pause by Angie's door, briefly debating if it's worth me knocking for her. A loud sniff inside decides for me and I knock quickly.

There's a shuffling noise and then a click before the door swings open and reveals my only friend. Tears stain her cheeks and her bottom lip is swollen. "What happened? Are you ok?" I demand, pushing in before she can stop me.