Alone (1)

The streets were busy today. Well, they were busy every day, but today seemed far more so for some reason. Peter suspected that it had something to do with one of the international film festivals that took place each year, everyone coming from all over and everywhere to see the rich and the famous. They would be scouting the streets of Times Square and Broadway, camping out on the corners of Fifth and Main, and chasing after anyone who happened to look like a star-studded actor or actress – not a thought on their mind for shame or decency.

Which was why he was staying as far away from the streets as possible. He didn't care one bit to be caught in all that madness, thank you very much.

Peter took a bite from his sandwich as his legs hung over the roof's edge, watching lazily as pedestrians walked back and forth along the streets and as cars drove down the road, either turning at the lights or carrying on until they were eventually engulfed by the rest of the city.

Turning his gaze he looked out at the expanse of the harbour, its ports and piers stretching out into the sea. He rested his back against a small smokestack, listening to the sounds of the seagulls and engines, as he watched ships and boats of all shapes and sizes sail in and out of the harbour. The smell of salt was so sharp on his nose that he could practically taste it.

He came to the pier every Tuesday, a small dose of routine in otherwise routineless weeks. Every other day held all sorts of possibilities – he could go anywhere he wanted, and do anything he pleased. No one told him what to do or where to go; he was bound by no job and no authority of education. He was the emperor of his empire, the captain of his ship. He did anything that he wanted to do.

Well, anything that didn't require money, at least.

The wind picked up, ruffling Peter's hair; he looked down at the docks, watching as a couple of men worked to scrub the deck of a small tanker ship. Taking another bite of his sandwich, Peter listened in as the two spoke, their accents thick and strong.

"D'you know, I reck'n there 'asn't been a fight'n in New York for over a year, now. None of 'em baddies or super-creatures, or wha'ever you call 'em."

"Aye, been really quiet, I'd say. Been real nice, actually; almost like it was b'fore all 'em super-people and wha' not started poppin' up."

"Yeah, f'r once we don' hafta be cleanin' up after the mess them makes, whe'ever we come inta port."

"An' no one's gone an' b'en killed now, neither. At least not aside from th'usual; guns and stabbins and whatnot."

"Aye, real sad when it's a good thing thems are th' only reasons people are dyin'."

"What's that Tony Stark doin' nowadays anyway? Wasn't he like, all em's leader or sumthing'? What's he doin' now there's barely any baddies to go after?"

"Well 'e is in charge of his daddy's company, now i'nt he? I s'pose 'e's actually makin' it profitable. Hafta keep the money comin' if 'e wants'ta be fightin' baddies. 'Sides, it's not like there aint no baddies no more – they just don't come much 'round 'ere."

"Yeah, well I think –."

A loud bang was heard as someone dropped a tub of fish on the ship's deck, and with disgruntled swears the two men dropped their brooms and went off to clean it up.

Peter turned, stretching his limbs as he stepped down from his spot on the edge of the roof, secretly glad that the men had been interrupted. He wasn't enjoying the topic of conversation much, anyway.

By now it was late in the afternoon, and the wind had picked up into a steady gust. Clouds were rolling in from the east and Peter knew that they were going to be in for some rain; which meant it was time to leave. He had been caught in enough rainstorms recently, he'd rather try and see if he could make it home this time before he got soaked to the skin.

Walking to the most secluded corner of the roof, Peter looked round for any sign that someone was watching. Finding himself at the moment alone, he lifted the hood of his sweater over his head, threw his leg over the side, and quickly began climbing down the brick wall.

Once down, Peter kept close to the edge of the sidewalk, his hood pulled tightly around his head and hunched shoulders, avoiding the other pedestrians as they walked by. Everyone seemed to sense the approaching storm, and were rushing as frantically as they could to reach their destinations. Thankfully for Peter, that meant that no one was paying him much attention.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and drops of rain began to fall. Stopping at a corner, Peter waited for the walking signal to turn on.

Then suddenly, there was a shout.

Peter looked up, his eyes catching sight of two men in masks running out of and away from a small store, their arms filled with bags of cash. One of the store's staff was standing with his foot out the door and yelling after them, blood running down the front of his white apron, pleading for help from anyone nearby.

"Stop them! Please, somebody stop them! Somebody, please…."

After a moment the man slumped to the ground, his hand pressed against his chest as he panted for breath.

Peter stayed where he was for a brief moment, watching. The white signal turned on. He turned his head. Without a word he stepped forward and continued walking down the street, the cries for help disappearing into the air behind him.

A short while later Peter was finally nearing home.

The storm had settled almost fully over the city and rain was falling steadily to the ground, rivers beginning to run through the streets to the nearest drains they could find. Only a few other people remained, their faces hidden by umbrellas or papers that they held above their heads, in a futile effort to keep themselves dry.

By now it was half past nine and he hoped that by the time he entered the alley near his house, the local restaurant's kitchen staff would nearly be done cleaning up for the night; he was getting rather hungry.

Just as he was about to turn into the alleyway, Peter noticed a small trash bin chained to the side of the brick building, its lid unusually unhinged, the corners of a newspaper sticking out from underneath.

Peter stopped, looking inside the window of the shop quickly for any signs of life that might yell at him for rummaging through their bin. Finding the inside completely dark, Peter quickly lifted the lid and pulled the newspaper out. He quickly shoved the paper underneath his jacket and disappeared into the alley.

*****

A few minutes later he arrived at the side of the building where a door was propped open, lighting up the alley in a bright glow. Peter could see a man moving some bags from inside, and he quickly picked up his speed.

Hearing his footsteps, the man looked up, his eyes cautious for a moment before recognition set in. Peter could hear the breath and deep sigh he let out.

"Peter…" the man said, shaking his head. His voice was wary, but it was the same hesitation that Peter was met with every time he came here.

"Hey," Peter said quietly, giving the man a small smile. He didn't want to alert anyone else inside to his presence.

The man shook his head again. "Peter, you know I'm not supposed to be doing this. Don't you have anywhere else you can go tonight? The Supreme Leader is working tonight, and if she finds me here she'll not only kick my ass, but she'll call the cops on you."

"Which is why you better just give me something quick, so I can get out of your hair," Peter replied with a grin.

The man sighed again, but this time he took a quick glance behind him before he started opening one of the bags. He pulled out a small Styrofoam container, which – in Peter's opinion – looked suspiciously as though it had already been pre-packed.

"Here," he said, handing the box to Peter. Peter took the food and tucked it underneath his sweater beside the newspaper. The man sighed again. "You're lucky you're a kid, else I wouldn't put my butt on the line for you."

"Yes you would Julian," Peter said, unable to stop the smile from pulling at his lips. "You're a good guy. I know you've helped others, too. People talk."

Julian looked as though he were trying to appear upset, but was failing miserably. "Yeah, well," he said after a moment, "just make sure you don't get on the wrong side of the tracks. You start getting into drugs and gangs, and you're out of here. I'm not letting that kind of stuff come near my restaurant."

There was a shout inside for everyone to finish cleaning up, and Peter knew it was time to leave.

Putting the container underneath his jacket, Peter tugged his hood forward before stepping back. "Thanks Julian," he said quietly.

At last, Julian smiled. "You're welcome, kid. Now go find someplace warm to stay, yeah? You're gonna get sick if you stay out here."

With a final wave, Peter turned round and disappeared into the dark.