The Quiet Guys

Chapter 2

I awoke with a start. Emma was crouched over me with a concerned expression painted on her fair pretty face. "It happened again." I said shortly. It took me a moment to realise I was coiled up in blankets and covered in hot and cold sweat. My damp pillow spoke for itself, and my words came out in pants. "Honestly, if I first saw you I wouldn't be able to tell if you were ill or if you had just had some messy sex" Emma said, chuckling. I scowled and stood up, dragging my feet towards the shower. I always felt better after freshening up- it gave me a sense of confidence. I often sang in the shower too (laugh if you please, I do too) and that only added to my ego boost. But every time I had this dream it made me think more: what did it all mean?

As I massaged shampoo into my hair and closed my eyes, the alarming sound of a smash came from the next room. I shouted out to Emma. "All good in there Emma?" I waited a moment, and received no reply. Worried and anxious, I stumbled out of the shower and raced to the living room of our little flat in my robe. There she was, still with her back to me and staring at the television. "Emma, what's wrong?" I exclaimed. I looked at her face properly now, and it appeared to be white as a sheet. I felt my stomach flip over too as I looked to where her gaze was directed.

"Good morning London, today it's Tuesday and boy do we have some news for you!" Rebeca Marsh wasn't her smiley cheerful self today. The young news presenter tried to smile, yet her sleep deprived face spoke for itself. "First, breaking news. A mass murdering of 200 people occurred very recently. Nobody knows who or what did it, but police are on the scene." I looked at the television in horror, and frowned deeply. Graphic images were splayed across the screen. I signed. I know what it's like to lose a loved one.

I held Emma in a small hug and patted her on the back. "Why does this trouble you so much Emma, we're safe, we're ok?" Emma looked at me with a complex and troubled expression. "You... you've been having dreams like this too. With a killer and many people dying at his hands. I think that it may not just be a dream anymore Coco. I think it's more real-" I hushed her and smiled a reassuring smile. "Don't worry Emma, dear. It's all nonsense."

I turned around hastily and hid my face away as I shut myself in my room. I mean, she had a point- there had been dreams where there were more broad killings too. I dusted myself off, shook my head and stood up to find clothes for college. Me and Emma rented this flat together, as we were both in colleges near each other. I managed to get into St Martins design college to become a fashion designer, and Emma was aspiring to be a full time artist. It worked out well.

"I'll see you later Emma" I called. I slid out the door and sighed: what did this all mean? As I sat on the tube contemplating my ability to predict the future, I failed to notice the posters and the signs: So quiet they never heard him coming. Whispering Death: what's your chance of survival? Stay home at night, travel together and stay safe. It may have only happened recently, but it was everywhere. One day was all the press needed to plaster the entire city of London in warning posters and propaganda.

I arrived at college and smiled at the receptionist, who always smiled back. "Morning Louisa" I said in a forced cheery tone. "Morning Coco. Looking forward to seeing your newest piece!" I chuckled and thanked her, leaving to go to class. I set to work on my statement piece, each hand stitched ruche or twist done to absolute perfection. That's why they love me there- I'm good at what I do. The only problem? The girls. They were jealous of me like no tomorrow. It was quite embarrassing for them really, as I've always been the no fucks given girl and didn't react consequently. My teacher smiled: she thought I was a star designer waiting to dazzle the world. I always smiled, happy to receive a compliment but I never expressed too much gratitude: that would trigger the bitches' envy switch, and they'd start yapping like little dogs.

"Another piece worthy of vogue" my teacher said, beaming at my gown. I kept everything I made, and wore it out whenever I went anywhere fancy, always being asked where I bought it. Course all I could say was "I made it actually!" and after a compliment that would be the end of that conversation. "Thank you." I said subtly and smiled. After one o'clock we were all let out to go home, but that time I had some dire complications.

"Just a minute trash bag." Jasmine stepped into the alleyway I was hurrying down. She was blond and fair, with bright blue eyes and a smirk painted on her porcelain face. "Yes, Jasmine?" I said impatiently. "Give us the dress you made and say I did it," Four more girls appeared from around the corner. "And nobody gets hurt." I looked at the five of them, shiny diamond clips in their hair along with snooty and complacent expressions painted on their faces. Their arms were crossed and their noses nearly touched the sky.

I didn't make a single effort to stop myself from laughing my head off. "Team princess is gonna get me, oh help me!" This made them scowl even more. "It's your funeral" said Jasmine. She got up into my face, her girls behind her and threw a punch at my lip. I grabbed her wrist and got right into her face. "Don't play with fire. You're just gonna get burned." I spat on purpose as I spoke. I straightened her arm, put her elbow against mine and raised my arm abruptly. Crack. Jasmine screamed in agony and fell to the floor. I kicked her face, and blood spewed from her lips. Then I smashed a low punch to her face. She lay there, knocked out. Her girls advanced on me- four against one. I punched- one's nose job was ruined for life. Then I smashed her leg with a shin roundhouse and stamped on her face. Knocked out. I kicked another behind me, and as she doubled over I kneed her in the face. Knocked out. I turned to another's face and slashed her eye with my elbow, then smashed her face in with an elbow strike followed by a punch. Knocked out. One left. The terror was casted in her eyes, and she stepped back slowly. I smiled sinisterly. "Don't mess with a fucking fire." Head kicked and kneed. Knocked out. I looked around, covered them up with an old cloth from a wheelie bin and walked out the alley like nothing had happened.

I put my hood up and waited at the bus station to get to the tube hastily. As the bus pulled up, I sat down next to a window and looked out. A moment later a young girl, no older than six, sat next to me. She looked up at me in fascination: right then I looked like the definition of a gothic teenager. Closed off body language, black hoodie and long jeans with chunky black trainers and headphones on. "What happened to your face?" She asked innocently. My face was hot and had a couple of small bruises from a little punch or two from some of them-  it did not actually hurt me one bit. "Got into some trouble." I muttered, looking at her young and intrigued little face. "What kinda trouble?" I looked at her properly now. "The kind where you can't just tell the teacher or your parents. The kind where you've gotta take your own action." She looked fascinated, absorbing my every word. I smiled- it was very cute. The bus came to a halt, and I slipped out of the door. The little girl was with her parents, holding their hands and skipping along the street. They all looked so happy and content. How could I not feel jealous? I walked behind them, facing the floor. After a moment I turned into the tube station, and never saw them again.

I got out my phone, pressed a button and music started to play. I was, and still am, very much a fan of the 60s- music, fashion, parties, everything. My clothing was always (and still is) very 60s/70s based - psychedelic swirls, retro hippie flowers, matching sets, funky headbands, you name it! I hit play on Sugar Sugar by the Archies and hummed along with it as I sat on the noisy rattling train.

Hours passed by, and nine o'clock finally arrived: just a little before happy hour. What is happy hour, you may ask? Well I don't just learn in a fashion school with a rich daddy. Some of us have to work for what we have. You think my life was easy? Oh no. What I did at night was a wicked sin in most prudes bad books. To keep the rent paying, I danced for the richest men on the planet.