A shame that such a thing was becoming next to impossible for someone in her situation… a most dire one indeed.
“Fine,” she hissed at Mr. Cosgrove. “If that is how it must be…” She turned on her heel and strode from the store.
“I do wish you the best,” he called after her. “Truly, Octavia, if you ever find your feet, you are always welcome back here.”
On the street, she turned and snarled. “You will never see me again, Mr. Cosgrove! And as for your bookstore…” She looked over the front of the store with vehemence and hatred. “I pray that with my leaving, it does not go the way of the dodo!” She scoffed. “Good luck.”
She fixed the outside of the quaint bookstore with one final look of perceived hatred. It was hard to do, as Octavia had loved working there, and until five minutes ago, she might have said it was the best job that she’d ever had. No small compliment either, as Octavia had worked more jobs than most did in three lifetimes.
Yet here I am again. No job. No idea what I am going to do. Utterly, hopelessly without options…
A final look for the outside of the store was spared, and then, with nothing else to do and not wanting Mr. Cosgrove to think that she was lingering so that he might feel sorry for her, Octavia turned and walked away.
It was early in the evening, the sun just now disappearing behind the city skyline. Octavia had never much liked London when it turned to night because, in her experience, that was when the undesirables of the city came out to play. Certainly not a place for a young woman like herself to be found.
With that in mind, she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, put down her head, and hurried through the deserted streets. While she did not have a permanent home, Octavia and her eight-year-old brother were currently staying at a local townhouse, a home to many people in a similar circumstance to her own – not destitute, but certainly not able to afford permanent lodgings.
If I do not find another job soon, destitute is exactly what I will be. Why did Mr. Cosgrove have to fire me now? A few more weeks and… and what? It is not as if things will suddenly improve.
She walked quickly, cutting through alleys, doing her best to mind her own business and appear invisible. Typically, as was Octavia’s way of late, she had no such luck.
“When one wants to find a street rat, all they need to do is look to the gutter…” The voice was mocking, and it was joined by a chorus of laughter.
Octavia froze. She recognized that voice… oh, how she did, just as she had hoped she might never hear it again. A chill ran through her bones, one that had nothing to do with the cool wind that whipped down the alley, and she forced herself not to turn and flee.
Fleeing would come soon.
“M – Marcus,” she stammered as she eyed the man who had spoken. “Isn’t this a lovely surprise.”
Marcus was one of three men who wandered down the alley toward Octavia. He was short of stature, wiry of frame, and with features that were ugly and brutish. The two men with him were large by comparison, arms like tree trunks, necks just as thick. They were each dressed poorly; she could smell them at a distance, and the look they wore on their faces was one that struck fear into her.
Rightly so, as they were members of a debt collection agency known as the Butch’s Boys, and as far as they were concerned, Octavia owed them a lot of money.
She did not owe them money, nor had she ever. Her deceased father was the one who owed them a debt, but in their eyes, she was now responsible for paying it. For years, they had been hassling her, chasing her, making her life a misery in all the ways that they could.
By the looks of things, the snarl in Marcus’ beady eyes, they were just about done being patient.
“It is for us,” Marcus said as he strolled down the alley, his muscles flanking him on either side. “You’ve been avoiding us, Octavia. Butch ain’t too happy about it.”
“I have not been.” She searched the empty alley, knowing there was no way that she could possibly dodge past them. “Nor do I owe you anything.”
“Your loser of a father did,” Marcus snarled. “Which is the same in Butch’s eyes. Now, it seems like a silly question to ask, but do you have what’s owed? Or do we need to remind you of what happens when we ain’t paid?”
They came slowly for her, their shadows flung down the walls of the alley like ghouls slowly closing in so that she could hardly breathe. She was no threat; they knew she could not escape, so they saw no point in hurrying.
That’s their mistake…
“Of course I have your money,” Octavia sighed as she feigned reaching into her dress.
Marcus came to a stop and blinked. “You do?”
“Yes,” she said sharply. “Just let me –” She turned and ran.
“Oi! Get her!” Marcus’ cry rang out behind Octavia.
Octavia ran as if her life depended on it. In many ways, it did. She hitched up her skirt, she tried her best to keep her shawl from flying free, and she put her head down as she charged ahead.
Her heart raced. Her breathing thundered. Her footsteps fell heavy on the cobblestones. More than once, she nearly tripped. And more than once she considered turning to see if she had lost them…