It came as a bit of a shock to Clang and Snap when I told them I was going to head out on my own for a few hours.

  "You going to train?" said Clang.

  "Nah," I said, "Just need time to think."

  Snap remained silent, though she shot me a brooding stare with her beautified face.

  "If you guys really need to find me," I said, "You can always follow my scent. I'll do the same if I come back and you aren't here."

  Since there weren't any objections from the others, I got to my feet.

  "Wait," said Snap.

  A part of me had expected her to kick up a fuss about me going. Instead what I felt was something soft against my exposed right shoulder.

  "Put this on," said Snap, "It won't look girly on you."

  She was holding the black cotton jumper she had used to cushion my back earlier.

  "Really?" I said.

  I took it from her, and tried it on. True to what Snap said, the jumper, considerably stretched by my broader, muscled body, looked stylish rather than overtly feminine.

  It was impossible not to notice the way in which Snap was like a dear in headlights looking at me wearing the jumper. Her raccoonish features were stuck with an almost dazed expression.

  "Gosh," came Marbelle's voice from behind me.

  Snap's eyes, in turn, narrowed back into her distinctive anime-scowling-style.

  I turned round, and saw Marbelle smiling and looking at me and at the dirt wall beside her at different intervals.

  "Does it look bad?" I said.

  "Not at all," said Marbelle, "Not. At. All."

  Between Snap's intent stare and Marbelle's reaction, I started blushing.

  "Right, erm, yeah," I mumbled.

  And I pressed my hands against the hideout ceiling. It gave, and right after I climbed out into the very cold and crisp evening air.

  It came as a small relief to close the hideout entrance lid behind me.

  I was back in Lowems Park forest, and very close to where Clang and Snap had their sparring session with Bramble and Emulsion-Man.

  It felt good to stretch, especially with my newly healed arms that popped their joints at the wrists for the first time.

  I decided to stay in civilian-mode rather than suit-up, because what I wanted most of all was a sense of normalcy. It was impossible not to think of Stowchester's potential impending doom, or Sweet-Face's sugar monster biting my left arm clean off – or the moment where I had pleaded pitifully for my life, fully expecting Sweet-Face to end it.

  It took me ten minutes at a casual walking pace to follow the same trail Clang and Snap and I had taken out of Lowem's Park forest earlier in the day.

  It was dark, and borderline spooky, but with my heightened senses I was well aware of any possible dangers that might be nearby.

  I took a right once I reached the main road, and found there wasn't a single person around. Cars were parked, and the streetlights were on, as were the lights inside many of the homes I passed by.

  Snippets of life within the households met my ears – it was likely a little after eight o'clock in the evening because I could hear numerous televisions playing the British 'soap' Eastenders. Hearing the beginnings of the drum-intro of Eastenders was uncomfortably nostalgic, because I knew that, more than likely, Mum was at home watching it too as part of her nightly rituals.

  I remembered that the streets were empty because of the London-wide curfew the government had imposed.

  Keep guard for police, I told myself, they'll likely be cruising around looking for anyone breaking the curfew.

  My caution was proven right less than a minute later when a police vehicle eased slowly along the main road. I ducked down behind a bush and waited for the vehicle to be out of my heightened earshot, and then continued on my way.

  I took a right near the train station tracks, entering onto Winchester road. Like earlier, I walked at a brisk pace down the initial decline of Winchester road, past the familiar river ching, and then I turned right into Hull Road.

  There wasn't anyone outside the church where I had seen Nathan earlier in the day. And, I realised, I felt both a sense of relief and disappointment at the same time.

  I continued onwards, and walked up the very steep incline until I crossed the street, and took a quick right turn onto Evanston Avenue – the street where my childhood home also resided.

  Vague memories from my childhood swam back to me as I made my way along Evanston Avenue.

  That's where that really nice old lady used to live, I remembered, she would give me pennies, and she spent a lot of her time tending her front garden.

  This was early enough in my childhood that knowing your neighbours, even ones at the far end of the street, wasn't unusual.

  My childhood home was at the other end of the street. I could finally see it, but before I drew any nearer to it I stopped outside another, very familiar home.

  That's where Sean lives, I thought.

  Sean had been my first real childhood friend. But around the age of ten Sean had realised my older brother, Gary, was much more fun to hang out with. My brother had effectively poached Sean's friendship from me, something he managed to do with another friend a few years later as well.

  It occurred to me then that Sean, only being a month younger than me, was within the age bracket to have been evacuated, and thus potentially in possession of the power too.

  I considered using my heightened hearing to see whether Sean was somewhere in the house with his family, but then I decided against doing so. I had enough things to worry about and I didn't need to add an old ex-friend who decided I wasn't worth the effort of staying in touch with to my ever growing list of concerns.

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  I continued on, and finally reached my childhood home.

  An immediate sense of having wasted my time gripped me. The sliding-glass porch, with its red-slated roof, had been replaced by a clean, sterile silver porch instead. And the tall green hedges and the orange bricked front garden had been removed entirely, and replaced with a bland, flat, open driveway.

  An expensive car was parked out front too, and nothing like the kinds of cars my parents had owned at one time or another, which had been cheap, and second or even third-hand vehicles.

  In just four years since I had moved away with Mum, Gary, and Susan, my childhood home was a place that only continued to exist in my memory.

  I looked up to the first floor window, and tried to imagine Little-Me sat somewhere in the upstairs living room on the old worn red sofa. Back then, my family, before Mum and Dad had separated, had lived on the first floor, and my grandparents on the ground floor, which hadn't been a good living situation at all for numerous reasons.

  I noticed then that I was becoming bored. Another part of me wanted to move on, because there was still that other place for me to go.

  The black bench. The one where I had stopped and had long talks about life, the universe, and everything with Nathan.

  Tears stung at my eyes because I couldn't stop myself from imagining him there, sitting on the black bench, as if waiting for me to finally show up.

  It was strange, because I had returned to that black bench in my power-generated dreamspace.

  Back then, I had crossed paths with the fox-frog-monster and it had dealt what had turned out to be a nearly fatal slash across my chest with its claws.

  Don't go, I thought, just turn and go back to the hideout where Clang, and Snap, and Marbelle are.

  I started to turn back, but something deep inside me rooted my feet in place.

  Don't, I told myself, and again more tears stung my eyes.

  He's not going to be there, I thought, so just go back the way you came already.

  I lost the internal battle within myself, and began walking further along Evanston Avenue.

  I crossed the street, walked past the building which had once been my favourite Chinese takeaway which was no longer there, and continued along the pavement in the direction of the black bench.

  I should look for Nathan whilst I have the time, I thought, once I'm done walking down memory lane at the black bench, I'll head back to the church and I'll see if I can catch his scent. Failing that, I could always hang around until morning and see if he shows up.

  A long road lay between my old childhood home and the black bench. I walked along the pavement, my hands in my pockets. To the right of me was a chainlink fence; beyond which lay the local gym, an astroturf pitch, and the huge field where Clang, Snap, and I had suited up earlier.

  To the left was a large motorway gulf, with cars swishing quietly by below. Four years hadn't been enough to change the bigger landmarks.

  What if the bench isn't there? I wondered.

  It wasn't impossible that it wouldn't be.

  I was dreading each step I took towards the pavement corner where the black bench would be. It was still out of sight, because the curve of the huge road obscured what lay up ahead.

  It's fine, I told myself, you can just sit there a while, and then leave. It's not a big deal.

  I heard the sound of someone up ahead, beyond the curve, and out of sight. They were shivering, their teeth chattering from the cold.

  Right, I thought, It's freezing outside right now, isn't it?

  My breath was making little white vapor clouds with each exhale.

  The bend in the road straightened, and I saw there was someone sitting at the black bench, hunched over, and hugging themselves for warmth. They were sitting at the end of the bench in the darkest spot where the streetlight didn't quite reach.

  It's not him, I told myself, trying to push down the huge up-swell of emotion clawing at my insides.

  Finally, I drew close enough that my heightened vision could peer into that darkness, and the person sitting at the black bench looked up and faced me, because my approach had been heavy-footed.

  The figure looked at me the way a wild fox might stare at a human from a distance – wary, cautious, ready to flee or fight if necessary.

  I found it suddenly very difficult to speak.

  "Hello," I choked out.

  I took several steps closer, and the shivering figure remained sitting where they were, not taking their eyes off me.

  "What are you doing out here?" I said.

  "I guess I'm waiting for a friend," said the figure.

  And then, warily, he added, "You?"

  "Looking for a friend," I said.

  And then, though it was quite difficult because tears were streaming down my face, I said, "His name's Nathan. What's your friend's name?"

  The figure's head twitched, and then, slowly, they lowered their coat hood with their gloved hands.

  "Burgess," said the figure.

  "Well," I said, my voice trembling, "I don't know about you, but I found my friend."

  Nathan stood up with a start, and shouted, "Burgess! Is that you?!"

  It was one of those full circle kind of moments.