Dragging my sodden body out of the pool house, I gathered the shoes and bag I’d tossed on the lawn. I tied the shoelaces together over my shoulder, slung the duffle roughly at my side, and barefooted it out the front door. I had no idea where I was—no wonder; I’d been carried home, stone‐cold drunk. I stood blankly on the doorstep, staring up at the sky. The late‐autumn sun beat down mercilessly. The sky was such a piercing blue it hurt to look at.“It’s… hot.”My wet face began to dry almost at once. After a moment’s sky‐gazing, I started walking barefoot along the road. Water dripped from me, and the hot pavement left prints where I stepped. I wandered with no destination. I couldn’t think of anything to do or anywhere to go. I just wanted to drink till I passed out.As I trudged down a hill, I stopped. Why not? Who would judge me for getting wasted in broad daylight? I had no one.I flagged down a bus and left the neighborhood. It didn’t take long to escape the little town on Portsmouth’s outskirts. I rode into New Cauton in mid‐afternoon. Under the bright sun the town was deserted. As an entertainment and red‐light district, New Cauton’s shops stood closed by day, so the silence was expected. I didn’t know why I’d come here. It was the only place in Portsmouth I knew. I wandered until I turned into a back alley.There was only one person in New Cauton whose home I knew. I paused before a shabby door in a quiet lane where every house had heavy blackout curtains. I never intended to ring the bell. I tilted my head to peer in but the glare on the glass let me see nothing.I went around back, leapt up, and pulled down the fire escape. The rusty metal screeched. Slinging my bag, I climbed up nimbly. I pushed the ladder back, climbed swiftly to the third floor, and slid open the window. With no latch, it opened easily.“W-who is it!”I ignored the shout from inside and shoved my body through the opening.“Hi, Teddy.”“You bastard!”Teddy, his face as pale as death, burst into fury.“You crazy fuck, why crawl in the window when the doorbell’s right there!”“If I rang the bell, you wouldn’t answer.”I perched on the sill and replied calmly. Teddy exploded.“Of course I wouldn’t, you freak!”“Well, good thing I came in this way.”Teddy, face flushing red and purple, hurled a slice of pizza at me. I snatched it midair, took a spiteful bite, and asked,“You got any beer?”I’d been coming to New Cauton often hunting for Christopher, and that was how I’d learned Teddy’s address after the attempted rape incident—so I could threaten him. Back then it was blackmail; now… what did it matter?Teddy was the epitome of a scumbag—managing a strip club that openly trafficked girls, skimming tips from the dancers, and even taking orders for rapes. Yet in the sprawling town of Portsmouth, I knew no one better. In truth, only Teddy.I always knew only the people I had grudges against: those I’d yet to punish, or already had. Laughably, Teddy was the least awful of them—trash, but less trash than the rest. And here I was, this sunny afternoon, turning to nothing but a vermin in a red‐light district.“Hey, hey, I’ll give you everything I’ve got—just go, yeah?”And even this scumbag refused me. My life in a nutshell.Teddy fetched a handful of canned beers from his fridge and plopped them on the sofa. He frowned when I set them down. Unbothered, I rummaged in my pockets and looked up.“Any cigarettes?”“You fucker, have I ever lent you a cigarette? When did I ever lend you one? Why would I give you cigarettes, damn it!”He waved his finger in anger; I ignored him, sat on the sofa, and cracked open a beer.“If you don’t have any, just say so—no need to curse.”I tossed him a beer as he stamped his foot in fury.“Calm down and have one yourself.”He accepted it reluctantly, snarled, and tossed it back. I caught the can and didn’t offer him more. Instead, I sipped my beer and searched the coffee table. No cigarettes under newspapers or pizza boxes, though there was an ashtray, so they must be somewhere.As I rummaged like I owned the place, Teddy ranted behind me, demanding I leave. I pretended not to hear and opened every kitchen cabinet. Finally he gave up and slunk back to the living room.Moments later he yelled:“Hey! The sofa’s wet! What the hell, man! You’re ruining my sofa!”“Uh…”I peered from the kitchen.“I got a little wet earlier. Guess my pants didn’t dry. Sorry.”“Then change your damn pants, idiot!”I tilted my head and downed the last drop of beer, crushed the can, and hurled it at Teddy.“Watch your language, you rapist.”“If I’d really fucked her, I wouldn’t feel any guilt!”Teddy, hit square on the forehead by the can, looked indignant.“If I’d fucked her, you wouldn’t even be standing.”…I found cigarettes by the stove, lit one from the burner, and returned to the sofa. Teddy looked half‐defeated, sitting on the edge. I stood over him, smoking.“There was a bottle of whiskey in the cabinet—can I have some?”“No.”“Want a drink?”“No means no, you jerk!”“I’ll just have it myself.”“Tch…”Teddy spent the next half hour shouting, pleading, and raging, but couldn’t drive me out. He finally settled with a pout, slouching at the sofa’s fringe—too timid to sit beside me. Pathetic.He zapped through TV channels as if ignoring me, yet I knew every fiber of his attention was on me. I stared, sipping whiskey. The mix of alcohol and Teddy’s absurd anger lifted my mood slightly.On the surface he looked like any respectable young man—no obvious pimp or extortionist. A year or two older than me, neat and tidy. Though now dressed in a Portsmouth FC jersey, his apartment was immaculate.Clean rugs on the floor, tasteful paintings on the walls, dust‐free cabinets, curtains, and sofas that smelled fresh. Nothing was out of place. In truth, I was the one who didn’t belong here—more trash than this irredeemable scumbag.It felt strange. I refilled my glass, spilling a little (I must have been drunk). Anyone would see Teddy had the better life. I’d never owned a home or held a real job—drifting between lovers’ apartments and streets. Meanwhile, Teddy kept whiskey ice in his fridge and dusted his TV.He had a life I could never have: routine.“Why do you live like this?”Teddy paused, remote in hand, aghast.“What do you expect a drunk tramp in my house to say?”“Well… I mean…”The whiskey burned my throat. I turned toward him.“Why—why live this way? Why be so shitty to people?”“What bullshit are you talking?”“Living in this nice place, having all this, you could live normally—why don’t you?”“Fuck, I’m already drunk, aren’t I?”“You shake down club girls for tips, right?”My head spun.“You take their money and everything?”“So what?”Teddy shrugged.“What’s it to you?”“Why do it?”I threw an arm over the sofa back, leaning.“I’m genuinely curious. Why?”We fell silent. The TV blared a Premier League review in week five of the season.Teddy’s expression flickered with annoyance and embarrassment. I stared at him and asked again.“You know it’s wrong, right?”“Fuck, you’re annoying.”“So why keep doing it?”“Why shouldn’t I?”Teddy shot back.“Live your own damn life—who cares what I do?”…I stared, then drank. He flipped channels until a late‐night talk show promo came on—perfect timing. Julia appeared: ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) auburn hair swept up, shoulders bare in a peach mini‐dress. She joked about movies, laughing with her hand to her face. After the spot, a cell‐phone ad played. I muttered to the screen.“Can’t anyone… just live kindly?”I felt sick of it all. Never before had I thought like this—I wanted to drink myself to death. With each sip, the room receded. The TV seemed to step back. Julia’s laughter lingered in my ears. Her laugh was beautiful. It felt strange—though older, our faces so resembled each other. I wondered if our laughs matched. But I couldn’t recall when I’d last laughed from joy.What if Julia never left me behind? What if Dad ignored me after he died? As I aged these thoughts came more often. Then my life would have been entirely different. I’d have marveled at the Julia who looked so like me, never meeting those boys, living an ordinary orphan’s life. Julia’s bright laugh echoed still. I was sick of it. Every ad or billboard reminding me of her dredged this misery.I knew I had to stop drinking. I refilled my glass to the brim. Though I shouted at Teddy, the question belonged to me: why live like this? I was already over thirty. What had I done with my life? The only marks of my past were the scars on my body. I had no pool like Christine, no sofa or cabinet for whiskey like Teddy.Each swallow of whiskey scorched my throat. I remembered lighting my cigarette at the stove. I staggered up, lit it, and sank to the floor against the wall, blinking.After losing James and leaving Labradorham, I’d drifted for eight years—like a vagrant—to make them pay. To inflict on their lives the unbearable pain they’d inflicted on others… to force them to atone through their own lives. But I had nothing left. Tears welled. I bit my lip to stop crying, but I was too drunk to feel pain. My mind was a mushy blur. In truth, I’d lived no differently for Jerome and Simon than they lived for me: my life was their monument, their token of glory. There was no end in sight. Could any of this ever end? Or was I trapped on an endless wheel? Why couldn’t I live like Christine?I flicked ashes into the sink and sat dazed. The tears dried. I felt too weak to move. I was sick of it—all of it. I thought how wonderful it would be to fall asleep and never wake. To taste the sweetness of death. I had no idea what to do next. Should I track down Simon or Jerome and beg them to finish this? Let’s end it—either you kill me or I kill you.But… what if I were the only one still stuck in the past? What if Simon and Jerome had long since forgotten me and, like Christine, lived ordinary lives like the boys from the ? If I alone was still furious and flailing against the past? I felt suffocated, like someone choking me. The laughter of Julia—a memory—haunted me. I rose unsteadily, bag in hand, and walked out into the empty afternoon, my thoughts as tangled as ever.

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