Neon is the Colour of Vengeance (Flappers and False Gods)

THE PAST

Bobby could hear Mrs Gosden crying through the bathroom door. They had chased her in there having failed in their first attempt to kill her and couldn’t bring themselves to break down the door. Now they just paced in front of it, waiting for Hugo to arrive. They didn’t have to wait long.

“Bobby?”

“In here.”

Hugo was a little scruffy and scrawny, still not having quite lost the look of a starved street kid even though he had been with Samuel for nearly seven years. His face was flushed like he’d run to the old woman’s house, and he probably had.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” he asked, looking around at the dishevelled apartment.

It should have been an easy job. They should have killed Mrs Gosden as soon as she opened the door, but they hadn’t been able to. She had been their teacher. She had been kind to them. She hadn’t done anything wrong. The only reason Samuel wanted her dead was to teach her deadbeat son a lesson.

“I don’t think I can kill her,” they whispered, shame bringing a flush to their cheeks. “But I’m afraid Samuel will kick me out if I fail him again.” This was the second time Bobby had been unable to complete a mission.

“Can you try?” Hugo said softly. He too was afraid Samuel would return Bobby to the streets.

“I did.” Tears filled their eyes. “I can’t do this. I know her. I’m too soft. Dad isn’t gonna want me after this.”

“It’s okay.” Hugo walked over and took Bobby’s hand in his. Even though he was more than a foot shorter and three years younger, they still felt safer with him there. “It’s okay. I’ll protect you. I won’t let Dad throw you out.”

“I’m supposed to protect you—I’m the older one.”

“It doesn’t work like that. We protect each other. I’ll help you.”

“How?”

“I’ll do it.”

“But—”

“Dad never has to know.”

They felt minuscule as they entrusted a murder to a fourteen-year-old boy.

Hugo took a deep breath then turned grimly towards the bathroom door. He threw his bony shoulder against the door, once, twice, three times before it burst open.

Mrs Gosden was curled up between the bathtub and the sink. She was White and in her early seventies, with hair dyed a pale rosy shade that was only just noticeable. Tears streaked her face with black splotches as her mascara ran. She was wearing a thin dressing gown and nothing else, a bad bruise newly formed on her left knee. She must have been about to get into the bath when Bobby had come calling, because the tub was filled to the brim with water.

Bobby only watched out of the corner of their eye as Hugo grabbed Mrs Gosden and forced her into the tub. They had to turn away as Hugo held her under. When it was over, Hugo came out and shut the door behind him. He was soaked to the skin and shaking badly. Guilt made Bobby feel wretched.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t?—”

“It’s what we do. It’s what Dad does. It’s what he wants.” Hugo had an odd blank expression on his face.

“What if I can’t do the next one?”

“I’ll do it for you.”

“You can’t be there every time.”

“Yes, I can. I can until you learn to do it for yourself.” He might have been young, but he had an adult’s determination and drive. “I’ll always be there to protect you.”