RickyThomas wished he hadn't gotten out of bed, he wished his mom hadn't done her job to wake him up, and he wished he had missed practice. The class ran through the subway tunnel, yelling like prehistoric wildlife as they did so. Some older boy pushed past him and his book bag slapped him in the face. Ricky stumbled and stepped into a puddle, splashing a stream of cold water onto his pants leg. The boy turned around and grinned at him.

　　"Watch it, fat boy!" Ricky shouted.

　　Great. This day just keeps getting better and better.

　　Ahead, the passage snaked into the distance. The shouts and screams of the pupils hit the walls, and the ear-splitting noise echoed long into the passage. A small group of teachers tried to silence the noisy students. A few men in suits with briefcases hurried in the opposite direction, smacking their lips impatiently as they strained to squeeze through the chaos. The dull air reeked of sweat and urine. Ricky had heard that homeless people sometimes spent the night in places like this. He couldn't imagine how uncomfortable that would be. Seeing that he was already behind, he used a paper towel to wipe the area soiled with sewage. But the only thing he succeeded in doing was to stain the paper towel black. Ricky tucked it back into his pocket and thought fondly of his bed again.

　　A few more steps to the subway exit, they stepped heavily into the early autumn morning. Ricky shivered and pulled the hood of his jacket tighter over his head. The sky was overcast and full of rain. It was bitterly cold all around. They stood at the edge of the main square, cut off from the world by the wide, busy traffic thoroughfare. Although it was still early in the morning, there were already a scattering of tourists milling around near the big fountain. Pigeons scratched the ground. High above everyone's heads, a statue sits atop a column, gazing solemnly out over the streets and rooftops of London, as abrupt and lonely as a lighthouse.

　　MrWatkins, the balding history teacher, with the same impatient look on his face, clapped his hands together and called out to everyone: "All right, listen up. Listen up! We're here in Trafalgar Square. Now follow me and for God's sake, don't go wandering around anywhere else. Darren? Will you please pay attention too?" Behind him, some boy kicked a pigeon roughly with his foot. The little thing beat its wings and flew a few feet away, pecking up something on the sidewalk.

　　Everyone walked listlessly toward a small statue of a man named Henry Havelock. Mr. Watkins began to list historical facts and figures related to a certain rebellion, and it happened years ago in another country. Ricky looked up at Havelock's serious, determined face and let those years overwhelm him. He wondered what kind of man one had to be in war, what kind of man the sea had to be to risk his life to kill. Usually, Ricky wouldn't hurt even a fly, but occasionally his heart would be stabbed with anger, anger at the children who bullied him, and anger at the teachers who ignored him. Once that fierce look appeared in his eyes, his mother would sigh and say that he had inherited his father's bad temper. But Ricky wouldn't know that: he'd never met his dad.

　　A particularly curious pigeon pecking at something to eat approached Darren again. This time Mr. Watkins spotted his menacing movements. "What do you think you're doing?" Mr. Watkins growled, "Come to the front and stand where I can see you! If you want to have a child's temper, I'll make it happen!"

　　Taking advantage of the commotion, Ricky quietly left his teacher and classmates and headed across the square. He knew Mr. Watkins would be yelling for a while, so he might as well sit down for a while. He scratched his hand in the cold pool and walked past the fountain on his left. The wind had seized control of the nozzle, and instead of spraying straight up into the air, the water and splash splashed wildly to one side like the old man's hair deliberately brushed to the side. Ricky bypassed the water trail on the sidewalk and found a bench by the wall. He figured he could keep an eye on the other students from here, so he could catch up before everyone left the square.

　　Ricky's stomach was rumbling with hunger and he ate the sandwich his mother had made while he was in the subway tunnel. A few girls sitting behind him saw him turn his book bag upside down and snickered and whispered, but Ricky didn't care. He was used to being teased, so he didn't feel uncomfortable. Unexpectedly, there was a long-standing chocolate at the bottom of the bag, which he hadn't noticed before. He brushed the lint off the wrapper and took a satisfying bite.

　　Mr. Watkins seemed to be having a hard time keeping the students together. On the other side of the square, water from the fountain flew toward some girls, causing them to scream, while two boys tried to climb up the bronze lion lying beneath Nelson's Column. Fellow students Kevin and Janice walked hand-in-hand past the bench where he was sitting to find a more private spot. The young lovers didn't notice him. Seeing that everyone had dispersed, Ricky suddenly wondered why the teachers had gone to such trouble to bring everyone here.

　　The rain pattered down and the wind whistled into his ears, sending a strong scent of ladies' perfume intoxicating him. Suddenly, Ricky felt someone was watching him, and alertness made his skin prickle slightly; had some teacher spotted him? He scanned the square in a panic. To his left there was a group of foreign students, chattering in a language he didn't understand, then a sanitation worker in a fluorescent jacket, a young Japanese couple taking pictures of each other, and ......

　　Ricky paused. There was a tall, blurry figure in the middle of the crowd. The man's head and shoulders were much, much higher than the others, like a dark skyscraper. His hair was slicked back and he wore a black suit and vest, dressed like a clerk working in a funeral home. There was no expression on his face, but one thing was obvious: he was staring straight at Ricky. When their eyes met, Ricky felt a wave of dizziness as the crowds, cars and buildings around him began to melt away, replaced by a swirling, suffocating darkness. He strained to take his eyes off the other man and stared down at his feet, struggling to catch his breath. When he turned his head away, the man was still staring at him.

　　In the distance, the rest of the students who were listening to Mr. Watkins' lecture left the statue of Henry Haflock and gathered around Nelson's column. Ricky gathered his things and headed their way. The tall man saw him walk away and followed him. Without looking up, the foreign students made way for him, as if they could sense his presence but not see him. Ricky quickened his pace.

　　The undertaker moved slowly, looking unusually cautious. He didn't seem to be in a hurry, pulling back his mouth into a smile that hinted at some sinister expectation. His entire body seemed to be shrouded in a gray haze, and people made way for him like sleepwalkers. Who is this guy? What was he trying to do to Ricky?

　　Ricky glanced back over his shoulder and the man nodded in the direction of the column. Ricky followed his line of sight as another funeral home employee stepped between himself and his classmates. It was a small man, who wore the same suit and had a long, angular face. His hair had all fallen out, and his long, narrow nose stood out on his face. Unlike his partner, the funeral home employee kept moving around, mumbling and jumping on his knees in excitement. When he saw Ricky approaching, he raised his hand and gestured at the boy, then slowly ran a finger across his throat as if he were slicing it open with a knife.

　　Ricky pulled out his voice and shouted toward his class, "Mr. Watkins! Come on! Help!" The wind and the sound of the fountain flowing swallowed his shout. Two men encircled him from either side, and he tugged on the jacket sleeve of the man standing next to him - "Hey, mister! Sir!" -- but the man didn't even turn around, as if Ricky were an invisible man. Such a thing couldn't have happened to him. Maybe he hadn't even left the bed and it was just a terrible nightmare. His heart pounded violently in his chest, and tears of fear stung his eyes.

　　No one would help him here, and it was necessary to act. Ricky sprinted to the upper left corner of the square, where a wide flight of stone steps would allow him to escape to the outside. As he jumped up the steps, he bumped into the pile of young Japanese couples who had been taking pictures nearby. He turned his head and apologized, but there was no reaction. Ricky turned to the right at the top of the steps. Two funeral home employees followed him up the steps, shoulder to shoulder. The smaller man switched feet and jumped, expressing his displeasure at the slow, subdued pace of his taller companion.

　　Ricky looked to his left, the huge, imposing building looming eerily before him. A banner advertising some sort of art exhibition fluttered in the wind. Directly ahead was an old church with a spire proudly cutting through the sky. He would certainly be safe inside, if he could think of a way to get in. Just then, the little green man on the pedestrian sign disappeared, and behind him, the small man giggled and poked his body forward. Ricky pressed the stoplight button as hard as he could, but several cars whizzed past him. Now they were just a few steps behind him. There was no other way out ......

　　Ricky darted across the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by a car that honked its horn. He ran up to the church with glee. A painted sign on the side of the house indicated that it was St. Martin's branch church (St-Martins-in-the-Field). He risked looking back as the two men who had chased him were still waiting across the road. Anger made the smaller man look nervous, but the taller man did little more than smile. Ricky winced and ran through the church doors.

　　There was a pleasant quiet inside, the sound of wind and rain and traffic turning into a soft hum. Ricky pulled his hat down and tilted his head to survey the ornate roof as he walked forward. The church was empty, save for a young lady sitting in the front pew. The lady was praying with her head bowed, wearing a long crimson dress and a hat with strands of hair dyed the color of fluorescent orange showing underneath. Ricky dragged his feet toward the row of seats behind her.

　　As he sat down, the chair made a creaking sound. The lady turned her head at the sound, her eyes full of tears. Although there was no blood at all on her pale face, it did not detract from her beauty. "Hello," she said gravely.

　　"Uh ...... hi," Ricky paused, "are you okay?"

　　She smiled weakly and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

　　"You're welcome."

　　Despite her sadness, her voice was bright and pleasant. Ricky scratched his head, not knowing what to do. The lady thoughtfully patted the seat beside her, and Ricky walked over to her and sat down. He was dimly aware that the aroma he had smelled earlier in the square had returned.

　　"Why did you come here?" She asked gently, "You seem so unhappy, just like me."

　　There was a bang and the wind blew a door shut behind her. Ricky jerked around; there was no one there. He was making a fool of himself and had to calm down. "Yeah ...... I'm all right. It's just that someone is after me."

　　The lady sighed, "People can be cruel to their own kind sometimes."

　　Ricky shifted uneasily in his wooden chair. "Can I ask you a question?" He finally said.

　　"Of course you can, dear."

　　"I saw you crying when I came in, why?"

　　She sighed softly, "It's complicated."

　　"You don't have to tell me ......"

　　"No, it's okay. It's just that I get uncomfortable when I have to take some little kid."

　　Back on the square, Mr. Watkins was looking forward to finding a place to escape this rainstorm and have a cup of tea, but there was a problem with the head count.

　　"Yes, we're definitely missing one person. I've counted twice."

　　Mr. Watkins sighed. Every time, a person was missing.

　　"We saw Ricky Thomas go outside the square," someone said loudly.

　　The teacher looked around. This was great. The kid could have run anywhere. Why did they have to do this to him? He brought his hand to his mouth and shouted, "Ricky!"

　　Outside St. Martin's Branch Church, several men got into a black van with the words "Humble & Skeet Undertakings" written in paint on the side. One of the men could not stand up and had to rely on the help of his companions to get into the car. A very tall man carefully folded up his body, sat in the driver's seat, and started the car and drove away. High above their heads, Sir Nelson (LordNelson) silent and indifferent watching all this.