9. LEO

I hadn't been able to process anything from the moment he handed me the knife. I had blood residue on my skin. I didn't want to move my hand, but I couldn't stop looking.

Samuel finished his call and stared at me with his brows together. "Wash your hands," he grumbled, fishing inside his trouser pocket, he pulled out a small compact hand sanitiser. "We have to be somewhere now." He squirted some of the sanitiser on my hand and a little on his. Making eye contact again, the white of his eyes was now light pink.

If he was upset about what he'd done to that man in there, at least I knew now he was human.

I stayed quiet until we were out of the fish market. We walked together, alone up the road to the car.

"Do you kill many people?" I asked.

He stopped me. A hand at my shoulder, he pressed his thumb into my collarbone. "Why?" He smiled, although I still saw the sadness in his eyes. "Does it upset yet?"

"I don't—I don't know how I feel about it," I admitted. Sure, at first, I was in shock, but then I didn't know how I felt. The man stole a lot of diamonds from him, and then lied and tried to blame someone else. He tried to have someone else murdered.

"Now you know what happens to people," he said. "Besides, he had guilty written all over his face. It's always the people who try pin the blame on others."

"So, it was a hunch?" I asked.

"Listen, Leo, we can talk later about this, but right now, I need you to shut the fuck up because this never-ending game of twenty-one questions is growing old." We broke eye contact and he walked on ahead of me.

I knew I'd pushed it, and I had been pushing it with each question. Samuel reached the car before me. He sat in the back, his eyes looking sadder now. I'd pissed him off, clearly. I had to make it right. I didn't want to end up like that man did in there. I liked my throat the way it was.

"Leo," Samuel said in a hushed voice as the driver started the engine. "We're going to my parents' house. My father has died." He sucked back a deep breath. "I don't want you to say a word when we're in there. We'll be in and out, fifteen minutes."

The phone call he'd taken when we left, that was someone telling him his dad was dead. My stomach knotted itself together with embarrassment as I'd assumed he was mad at me. He was human after all, and death did actually affect him.

"Ok," I offered back.

He took the notebook from me. "I'll give you your phone once we're back at the flat," he said, opening the notebook. He flicked through it to see what I'd written. Inside it, there was my list of foods I enjoyed, and then I'd written up what I'd heard. It was as he asked, write the numbers you hear. "You're observant."

I nodded. It's how I'd stolen from people. I couldn't steal from someone who looked hypervigilant. I had to pick the right mark, someone who didn't look like they had anything to worry about, the ones who were occupied on a call or in thought. I had to be observant to survive.

"I'll get you your food requests," he said, closing the book and handing it back to me.

We drove for about thirty minutes as the radio played quietly. Samuel was on his phone, texting furiously, and I couldn't do anything but see the man's face as Samuel stabbed him straight through the neck with that long sharp knife. The same knife I held. Although my hands my clean now, I still thought I saw those pinkish-red blotches on my skin.

"Remember," Samuel said as we left the car, "not a word."

There was an ambulance outside the tall Georgian style house. The same one we'd walked out of the other morning. It was strange walking back into it now. Samuel was popular, talking to everyone we saw.

I stayed quiet, like he asked, waiting around in the hallway like a spare part, just getting in the way. I leaned against the white wall and had a view of the lounge through a small crack in the door.

Samuel was on his knees, sobbing in front of the man in the chair. I didn't hear what he was saying.

I wanted to look away. I was prying. But I couldn't. This humanised him. He was a human. He cried at death, he mourned people.

A grey-haired woman walked out of the kitchen, sobbing into a handkerchief. She walked straight up to me. "You must be Sammy's new assistant," she said, taking my hand. Her warm touch squeezed at me. "Make sure he doesn't overwork himself. I know he doesn't take orders well, even from his mum, but please make sure he takes time to grieve."

"Mother," Samuel said, appearing at the doorway in front of us. "I'm fine." And he looked fine too, there was still a sadness in his eyes, but not in a way that made him look weak. "Where's Uncle Reuben?"

"Your—your—your uncle just nipped out," she said. "Are you going to stay until your sister gets here?" She placed a hand at Samuel's suit jacket, straightening it out. "She was just here. We—we went out this morning. She's coming back with Daisy, and her husband. You haven't seen your niece in weeks."

"I'm busy," he said, pulling his mother into a hug. "I'll be back. I—I have to figure some things out. Like, what was Uncle Reuben doing?"

"Oh, you know, he likes to visit every now and then," she said. "I'm glad he got to see your father one last time. It's awful. He had a couple years left, that's what the doctor said."

"You know Uncle Reuben took all that money once," he whispered. "Check the house to make sure nothing is missing."

We left after that. I didn't see his dead father, nor did I want to. I'd seen one dead man already today. I didn't know if I had the stomach to see another, although I'd only eaten a banana, so there wasn't much in my stomach to begin with.

We walked to Samuel's flat. It was a short walk. Neither of us spoke on the way. The air cleared my mind from obsessing over the man's face as he laid in a pool of blood. I was now thinking about my relationship with my father. I didn't have one. I'd never had one. But Samuel did, in fact, Samuel was so connected to his family, it pinched me in the chest.

In his flat, he collected two small glasses from his cupboard and grabbed a bottle of vodka from the freezer. He pulled his suit jacket off and rolled his shirt sleeves before pouring two fingers worth of vodka into each glass.

"Drink it," he said, sliding the glass to me across the island counter in the kitchen. "It'll help."

I sipped the icy vodka; it both burned and chilled my tongue and throat.

"I think someone killed my dad," he said, shotting the vodka. "Bastards." He poured a second.

"I never knew my dad," I said. "Well, I met him once or twice, but he was horrible. I bet he has so many kids running around, brothers and sisters I don't even know about."

"I didn't ask, nor do I care about your sob story," he said, plainly as he shot back the second drink. "In fact, take your phone and go to your room, I'm in no mood to have this conversation with you right now." He reached into a drawer and pulled out my phone. "And don't be stupid with this."

I wouldn't dare, not after today.

I took the phone and skulked back to my room. As soon as I closed the door and I was alone, I started crying. The tears came and they didn't stop. I didn't know how much longer I could cope with this whiplash from him, and I didn't want to see any more people being killed. It set my teeth on edge and a painful vibrating shiver down my spine.

I didn't have his Wi-Fi, but I did have data on my phone. I also had my charger packed with the things I'd brought. I saw the stream of texts from Susie asking if I was ok, and if I had time to meet with her to talk about what had happened.

Ignoring her texts, I couldn't talk right now. I'd accidentally blab about what happened, and then we'd both be in danger.

Undressing, I inspected the clothes he'd made me wear to make sure they weren't scuffed or dirty. I didn't want him to lecture me again about how I was a vile person who couldn't eat properly.

"Deep breaths," I panicked, standing at the foot of my bed in my underwear, looking at the folded suit. There was nothing on it, that I could see, but it was hard to tell if there was any blood on the dark colour.

The thoughts of all that blood and the smell of fish consumed me, I took a shower and allowed for the scalding hot water to shoot spurts of skin-melting heat at me. The physical pain quickly outweighed the mental stress, but once I was clean, I dressed in the comfort of a grey onesie and laid on the bed.

The burn from the jot water only lasted a moment. Then the trauma came back.

I sobbed into Tuffy, trying my best to keep the sound muffled.

A knock came at the door before it opened without further warning.

Samuel stood with a brown paper bag in hand. "It's a Happy Meal," he said. "Now, stop crying."

I wiped my eyes. "I'm not crying. I'm just—"

He smiled, tapping his teeth together before running his tongue across them. "Then dry your fucking eyes," he snickered. "I got food from your list. Eat it. You'll feel better. There's nuggets and ice cream."

I had written McDonald's down as one food I liked, but only so I could mention chicken nuggets and only those skinny French fries they serve there. Plus, I did like their ice cream too.

Using Tuffy to absorb my tears, I climbed out of bed. "Thank you," I said, accepting the bag. "Can I—can I also have the Wi-Fi to watch TV on my iPad?"

"Of course," he said. "You have an hour to eat, cry, and watch TV, and then we're going talk about today."

It sounded ominous, but those were the terms to me staying here. I just nodded along.