"I wasn’t sure of my next move.  Gone was any pretence of secrecy.  Gone, too, was any chance of escaping here without getting caught.  What was I doing inside?  I’d found them!  I’d found him!  I should have left and come back tomorrow to do whatever it was I’d intended for my parents’ killer.  Even that, my plan, my retribution, was gone.  It had evaporated in the heat of discovery leaving my thoughts scattered like pellets from a gun."

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It seemed odd that I didn’t have some sort of name for the woman.  Tom had instantly become Mr. Composure.  The two men had to be, I supposed, ‘Dumb’ and ‘Dumber’.  The woman, however, hadn’t earned herself a nickname yet.  It seemed easier to give these people monikers so I didn’t have to think of them as the gang who’d shot my mother and father.  The woman was different.

I was sure Dad would have had a couple to suggest.  ‘Tart.’  ‘Slapper.’  More I’d prefer not to repeat.  To be able to call her anything apart from ‘the woman’, I gave her the name ‘Rose.’  It could have been sweet.  I could have meant it in a pleasant way.  She could have been pretty.  Engaging.  Bright.

She wasn’t.  She was exhausted, but not in the tired way.  Well, not entirely.  Her body and her spirit were exhausted.  Used up.  My friend’s dad used to own a pet tarantula.  He showed me what was left after the spider had shed its skin.  Rose was like that.  She looked exactly the same as she once did, but she was no longer alive.  There wasn’t anything inside that could still feel.  She was a husk.

I followed her for most of the day.  She seemed aimless, as if she was walking – or her version of it – wherever the wind blew her.  She, with me following, visited various houses, ones which could only have been claimed under the new ‘residency’ laws.  She’d fall into the doors without knocking, then come out a short time later smiling.  It took me more time than it should have to realise she was carrying drugs from place to place.  Rose ranked fairly low in my top 100 chart of super smashing people, something I’d started as a joke with my father.  In fact, she was close to dropping off the end and only clung on by her dirty, badly painted fingernails because she knew Mr. Composure.  She could lead me to him.

I hoped.

Twelve months, as I’d come to realise, was a very long time.  Rose and Tom could easily have parted ways.  They may have only gathered together on the night of the Purge, a group of like-minded people who wanted to commit a few murders together.  It was plausible they’d not seen each other since that night.

But I had to believe that wasn’t the case.  She had to know him.  She knew Dumb and Dumber.  It followed she was still in contact with their leader.  If not, I could satisfy myself with her.  I’d turn my attentions to this woman who stood by and watched him shoot my parents and then run after him so she didn’t miss him doing the same to others.  Surely she deserved some retribution for that?  Not just for my mother and father but for any others she was a party to the slaughter of?

No.  Not really.  I felt sorry for her.  Looking at Rose, I couldn’t see how she’d managed to survive a year since the last time I’d seen her.  As with her companions under the flyover, she was going to be prey for some other Purge posse.  I pitied her.

That didn’t mean I’d let her off lightly, if it came down to it.  If she didn’t lead me to my quarry soon, I’d have to make myself known and somehow convince her to volunteer the information I needed.  My reading and practicing would just come into play sooner than I intended.  I’d have to silence her afterwards.

Not permanently, that was reserved for Mr. Composure.  No.  I’d simply put her out of action for a few hours until I had found our mutual friend.  Then she could go running and shouting to him all she liked.  He wouldn’t be there.  He’d be running after me.

It was late evening when she entered her last house and didn’t come out again.

The house was massive.  It was on what was colloquially called ‘Millionaire’s Row’.  This was a long street were each house was of a different but equally extravagant design.  Many had long drives with large gates at the front.  Many had too many windows to count as you drove past in a car.  Some had fountains in the centre of the front garden.  At least one had been occupied by a local celebrity.  It may well have still been so, I didn’t know.

This particular house wasn’t as ornate as some of the others, but it was still an impressive structure.  The front door was guarded by a pair of stone lions, maws open, long teeth showing.  The only indication of anything untoward in the façade was a blackened streak which smeared up from one of the front rooms’ windows to near the roof.  Blackened from a fire, I guessed, though it appeared to be the only room which had been affected.  Perhaps Mr. Composure had, calmly of course, walked into this house and shot the occupiers, claiming it for his own.

If he was inside.  If Rose hadn’t just gone to her next customer and passed out again.

I waited – again.  I had little else to do.  My sole goal was to find Mr. Composure and laugh in his face.  The house was silent.  It regarded me mockingly, knowing what I wanted but keeping its secrets to itself.  Time decided to join in the fun and changed from the sluggish pace it had employed previously to a much brisker speed.  Its amble became a stride, sweeping across the house and my hiding place in the bushes across the road, dragging the night with it.

I yawned, suddenly aware I was becoming tired.  I needed to move or I’d fall asleep just when I needed to be awake and alert.  I’d sleep tomorrow, once I was sure Mr. Composure was inside.  Once I’d left him a message.

I stepped forward slowly, arching my back to ease the ache of being stood still for too long.  I shivered, not realising a chill had entered the air and was working its way into my joints to stiffen me up and slow me down.

The house, Time, and now the air itself were conspiring against me.  I had to move.  I had to do what I’d come here for.  I figured Rose wasn’t coming out now.  At the other houses, she’d been in and out quite quickly.  This time, she was here to stay.

Many of the new alarm systems being installed in homes included cameras.  These were trained on the front door and the perimeter of the house.  They’d alert you to anyone attempting to break in.  This house didn’t appear to have anything in place.  I couldn’t see any shutters ready to drop at the first sound of the Purge’s sirens.  At the least, there’d be some in position.  Perhaps Tom really was so collected he didn’t fear intruders.  Perhaps he felt he could deal with them himself, without the aid of security.  Perhaps he wanted someone to try and break in.

Well, that would be a pleasure for someone else.  I just needed to know if he was there.  And to let him know I knew he was.  I hoped, given his obvious enjoyment of his adventures last year, he’d be more than willing to come after me.  I also hoped he’d wait until he could do so free from prosecution.

Before approaching too close, I scanned the outside of the house for any cameras.  In most cases, such things were not normally hidden from view.  You wanted others to know you were watching them.  You hoped it would put them off.  It was like when, before the first Purge, people used to fix dummy alarm boxes to their walls, just below the eves.  Burglars were meant to be put off by the sight of something which could activate a deafening siren and alert the whole street.  I didn’t know if it worked or not.  Nowadays, they were redundant.  Much more inventive measures were required to guarantee the safety of yourself, your family and your home.

I couldn’t see any cameras, but, of course, that didn’t mean there were none.  I supposed it didn’t really matter.  If he didn’t see me, I’d have to make him take notice.  If he could, I’d be returning to my house faster than I’d intended but he’d be more likely to be following.

The once ornate gates were slightly ajar from where Rose had forgotten or simply not cared to close them properly.  The closest street light was across the road and further along so it both concealed me and made it difficult for me to see properly.  Still, I had heard the squeal of rusted hinges when Rose had entered so knew not to disturb them myself.  I squeezed through.

Considering the general state of the house, I’d been surprised to see the garden hadn’t been left completely to Time.  It would have given her something to do whilst she toyed with me.  The grass, though needing a cut, was still fairly short and the gravel drive looked as if it had been recently raked over to even it out.  I kept to the wall, which was about shoulder height.  I crouched slightly to keep my head below the top edge and moved quickly.  The shadows clung to the brickwork and I was thankful the grass and wall kept intimate contact without letting any stones or path split them up.

My initial course took me away from the house as the wall ran along the road before turning at right angles and proceeding towards the back.  It was better than crossing open ground and being visible to anyone who might happen to look out of the windows.  As I passed the side of the building, I heard music from inside.  I recognised the song.  Liked it, even.  I didn’t want to.  I wanted nothing in common with this killer.  If music had to be played, it should have been something I’d not heard of or hated as much as I did the listener.

I found myself singing along as I moved, my feet stepping with the beat.  Almost dancing in the shadows.  I growled at myself and shook my head.  We’d have our own party, Mr. Composure and I.  There might not be any music or nibbles, but one of us would be having some fun.

As I neared the back I heard coughing, a retched spew of phlegm followed by a snort as someone inhaled sharply through a nose in desperate need of a clear out.  I froze.  My breath suddenly seemed to be drowning out the music and my heart was beating in time, only much, much louder.  There was a giggle – Rose – and the sound of loud kissing, as if the people involved were mistaking volume for passion.

I wanted to hold back, to let them finish what they were doing and what might ensue, but I couldn’t.  I had to see him.  I had to know if he was here.

I crouched down lower, my fingertips touching the ground for support, and inched forward.  I neared the corner, where the garden opened out to a wide patio and decked area and saw them.  She, Rose, was facing me, her head down.  She was sitting astride a man who had his back to me.  They were kissing frantically.  His hands were on her hips and she was grinding her pelvis against him.  At this point they appeared fully dressed, but I doubted they’d stay that way.

Even without seeing his face, even without hearing his laugh, I knew it was him.  I knew it was Tom.  His hair was the same scruffy blonde it had been the last time I saw him.  It still hung the same flaccid way against his skull.  He was even wearing the same shirt.  I held my breath, fighting with myself over whether I should attack now, whilst they were preoccupied with each other, or wait and follow through with my plan.

Sense and patience prevailed, coupled with the fact I could be arrested for doing anything close to what I intended.  He’d have won, then.  Without lifting a finger or pulling a trigger, he’d have taken my parents and me.  I couldn’t let that happen.  He had to pay.

I turned away, satisfied I had the right house.  Keeping low, staying as silent as I could, I returned to the front garden.  I was about to leave the way I’d come, but, instead, hurried to the front door.  I patted the nearest lion on the head.  It didn’t bother to look up.  It was like the guards at Buckingham Palace who had to keep looking straight forward regardless of how many faces you pulled in front of them.  I noticed the lion was missing its lower jaw and looked to the other.  It was in better condition.  I imagined conversations between these two would be difficult, not least because they were made from stone.

I tried the door.  It was unlocked.  I hadn’t heard any noises when Rose entered earlier so I slowly pushed it open.  Just a crack.  Just enough to peek inside.

I wasn’t sure why I felt the urge to look into the den of the beast, but I had to.  I had to see inside his home as he’d seen inside mine.  An eye for an eye, a trespass for a trespass.  Then my foot was over the threshold and I was through the door.

I held my breath, straining to listen for signs of movement other than those out back.  There were none.  The music would probably have drowned out any creaks from footsteps on the stairs or on the upper floor, but I listened anyway.  I crept forward, carefully watching where I was putting my feet, testing every step for a loose floorboard or kink in the carpeting.

The first doorway to my left opened into a large lounge.  A long corner sofa faced an enormous television which looked too big for the corner it was squeezed into.  I noticed four rough holes in the wall.  It appeared Mr. Composure had tried to mount the TV at some point.  I supposed it was too heavy for the fixings.  My father had found that once when we’d tried to do the same.  Dad just used bigger screws and managed fine.  Perhaps Tom couldn’t be bothered to drop by the nearest branch of B&Q.

The music was blaring from a stereo in the opposite corner.  One speaker was on its side, the other standing atop the first.

I moved on.  The stairs were to my right, a black, chipped banister leading up into darkness.

Maybe not, hmmm?

At the base of the stairs was another doorway, this one closed.  I tried the door.  It was locked.  Rather than raising any alarm by pushing too hard, I left it alone.

Along the hallway, facing me, was the kitchen door.  It was half open.  Half tempting and half warning.  I placed my hand slowly against it and waited for a second.  I could hear them from where I was standing.  The music seemed to fade into the background as the sound of their intimacy reached through the gap in the door and seeped into my ears.

It was disgusting.  Degrading.  Perfectly natural, but perfectly warped.  He was being pleasured, as was she.  They deserved none of it.

Before I could stop myself, I pushed the kitchen door hard, hoping to stop them from enjoying anything.  It swung opened and banged loudly against a cupboard behind it.  The lid of a pan I couldn’t see slid off and hit the floor with a metallic clang, announcing my presence better than if I’d knocked on the door, rang the bell and shook their hands.  Realising what I’d let my anger make me do, I froze.

I wasn’t sure of my next move.  Gone was any pretence of secrecy.  Gone, too, was any chance of escaping here without getting caught.  What was I doing inside?  I’d found them!  I’d found him!  I should have left and come back tomorrow to do whatever it was I’d intended for my parents’ killer.  Even that, my plan, my retribution, was gone.  It had evaporated in the heat of discovery leaving my thoughts scattered like pellets from a gun.

I heard swearing and a scuffle as Mr. Composure suddenly lost his poise.  I heard a squeal and a thump as Rose hit the floor.  Tom must have pushed her off in his haste to find out who’d dared enter his domain.

That’d be me, then.

My thoughts returned to me in a whirlwind, spinning me around and confusing my feet so they forgot they were meant to run in the same direction as the rest of me.  I stumbled in my haste to vacate this madness and, as the back door opened and a shout of “You!” shoved me forwards like a hand slammed in my back, I scrambled along the hallway to the front door.

I could hear Tom gaining and reached down into myself in an attempt to wrestle the whirlwind.  I mentally screamed at my legs to work harder and, somehow, they listened.  I shot forward, an unexpected burst of speed hurling me towards the door.  My foot caught something I’d not noticed when I came in, so intent was I on watching where I stepped.  How I’d missed it, I couldn’t imagine.

A gun.

The gun.

Dad’s gun...

It fell and I saw parts of the wall to my right explode as it fired.  I turned my head and lunged for the door.  I’d left it partially open but it was swinging shut, the draft from the back door racing me to close it before I managed to get through.

My hand made contact with the wood and I yanked it open.  I was through, across the garden and out the gate before I’d taken another breath.  I carried on running, not daring to look behind me to see if Tom was following.

I heard him swear.

“Silly cow!  You left the gate open!”

Then:

“I know you!” he shouted after me.  I had to swallow to stop my heart spewing from my mouth.

“I’ll find you!” he called.

I rounded a corner then stopped.  His shouts had come from the house.  He’d not followed.

Not yet.

My hands were on my knees as I bent forward, gasping for breath.  After a few moments, I felt steadier and stood.  I walked away, suddenly as calm as Mr. Composure had been on a night so long ago.

“Good,” I said to the night.