Stirling didn't have to wait too long; he heard a scrape and a snap as a key turned in the lock. The white paneled door was snatched open. Standing in the doorway was a shabby, unkempt man wearing a dirty white T-shirt, sporting the appropriate image of a cartoon monkey smoking a fat doobie and flipping the bird to all that cared to look its way. His jeans torn, jeans that were ill kept rather than fashion led. His short black hair was greasy and untidy and his face covered in stubble that hadn't seen a razor in weeks. The man looked down on Stirling. Sneering, he said 'Hello, old man.'

Stirling frowned in disgust as the piece of scum in front of him spoke 'Hello Roy, I see you look hung-over and worse for wear as usual.'

'Oh stop with the compliments, please.'

Roy hawked his nose into the back of his throat. Chewing his find, he disappeared back into the house, leaving the way open as an invite. Stirling stepped into the rank smelling hall and closed the door. Quietly he turned the key and locked out the world. With each step into the house, Stirling had to peel his feet off of the soiled carpet. In the dark and dismal living room, he found Roy already wallowing in an old wing back chair. An ashtray full of spent cigarette ends balanced on its armrest, surrounded by burn holes in the upholstery and thick layer of ash that threatened bury a fleet of beer caps that he had proudly arranged into rows. Roy lounged with his trousers unbuckled. A cigarette hung from his mouth and a bottle of beer hovered at his lips. Over in the corner by the drawn curtains a dust covered TV had his full leering attention. Two overly tanned sweat covered girls seemed intent on exploring every crevice on their very young and lithe bodies. Their fingers tipped with dangerously long multi-colored nails poked and prodded each other as they moaned and writhed in delight for the camera. Roy's sickly smile reflected in the dust-smeared screen as his hand, now free from holding the dead cigarette considered making use of the open zip of his trousers. Deciding to hold off on his pleasure, Roy looked up at the interloper.

'You brought the money or what? I haven't the patience to sit around and talk. All I want is what's owed me and then you can leave, OK?' Roy mumbled through the haze of smoke and guzzled at a bottle of warm beer.

Stirling wrinkled his nose at the stale smell of the room. Sweat, off food in discarded takeaway cartons and a faint whiff of vomit, assaulted his senses. He flapped open a curtain to find condensation covering the glass and mildew creeping up the window frame. Gradually the mold had spread over the sill and into the fabric of the curtain, making the atmosphere even more unpleasant to breathe. He hadn't a clue when the windows had last been opened, but he could see they were painted shut. Brushing dirty clothes from off the sofa and onto the stained carpet alongside a ragged copy of Razzle that boasted the youngest girls yet, barely 18, barely legal, Stirling sat on its edge, and looked in disgust at Roy 'He's barely human.' Wiping the oiliness of dirt from off his hands, he knew that nothing less than soap and a scrubbing brush would make him feel clean again.

'What's owed to you?' Stirling suppressed his rage 'What makes you think you're owed anything, except a beating, maybe. You're just a bully who'd quite happily sell his own daughter to the devil for an extra line of coke. You make me sick.'

Roy swung his leg over the arm of the chair and dabbed his fresh cigarette, missing the ashtray. Throwing his head back, he drained his lukewarm beer and dropped the empty down the side of the chair. Taking a long draw, he flicked the ash in Stirling's direction.

'Firstly, yes, I couldn't care less if Kate and that brat of hers took a trip to the devil. It's not long before the bitch takes that trip anyway.' Stirling jumped up; anger flushed his face deep red. His rage shaking loose, he took a step towards the low life son of a bitch.

Roy swung his leg back down to the floor and sat up. He raised and waggled his finger at Stirling 'Ah ah ah. I don't think so old man,' without missing a beat he continued 'And secondly. I don't do hard drugs. A bit of dope is just the tonic I need on days like this.'

Stirling thought he hated this prick before, now he hoped that Roy would ask for the world, so he could jump straight to option three and rid Kate and Laurie of this low life forever.

'And thirdly, yes I'm owed. I'm owed for putting up with that bitch for so long, and her sleeping with any bloke that happened to sniff her knickers as she dropped them.' He gave Stirling a sadistic grin as he taunted his rapidly boiling guest.

Stirling pumped his hands into fists and back out to open palms and whispered through gritted teeth 'you should mind what you say before the next bottle gets shoved down your throat. I'm not here to listen to your shit either. So let's get to it. What do you want to keep away from Laurie for good?'

'Weellll, let's see.' Roy raised a fresh cigarette to his mouth, struck the lighter wheel and inhaled deeply and exhaled 'Money, pure and simple. You see I'm not a complicated man. I have few vices. I like a drink now and then, a smoke too. And let's not forget the occasional whore. Nothing quite like a woman with no holds barred to help clear out the odd perversion once a week.' He barked a laugh.

Roy dabbed his cigarette and again missed the ashtray. He shot Stirling a self-satisfied smile. With every word that Roy spoke, Stirling's resolve for a sensible outcome melted away. Leaving him with only a desire to rid the world and his girls of one more maggot they neither needed nor wanted.

Stirling walked over to the dirty and cluttered mantelpiece that was full of dusty knickknacks and uncared for pictures with chipped frames and threw down the envelope with all the money he had scraped together, over a large sticky coffee ring. He turned and looked at Roy. Hatred boiled in his eyes.

'Ten thousand pounds, that's all the money I have. Yours if you leave us alone- for good. If you can't agree to that then you can shove it and I'll take the money and go.' Stirling walked back over to the mildewed window, peeking out at the street 'Still quiet out, good.'

'Ten thousand, hmm' Roy nodded his head and said 'That'll do for now, but......' He lifted himself out of the chair, spilling the ashtray to the floor and with nicotine fingers picked up the envelope. With his back to Stirling he said, 'When the bitch is dead, I want another twenty for what you're asking.' a greedy smile spread across his face as he thumbed through the money.

Stirling felt physically sick as he listened to the poisonous man. Reaching down into his trouser pocket, he slipped his hand through a leather strap and withdrew an old style police truncheon. He had previously ripped the pocket lining and had tied the truncheon to hang from a thin thread of cotton, easy to snap. He raised his arm and sprang forward. Bringing the truncheon down hard on the back of Roy's head, knocking him clean out. Stirling grabbed Roy's unconscious body as he fell, and lowered him down to the floor. He resisted the urge to kick him to death; it would not serve his purpose.

Retrieving his bag from the side of the sofa, he removed a small plastic box containing medical and first aid equipment. After several minutes of preparation, the first syringe of warm brown liquid was ready for use. Stirling moved Roy into a sitting position; the unconscious man's head lolled onto his chest. From behind, Stirling reached around and tied a length of rubber hose around Roy's upper arm and placed the pregnant syringe into the vein below the crook of his elbow. In three separate locations, he pressed the plunger. The syringe's contents emptied directly into Roy's blood stream. Stirling knew that the injection of heroin was more than enough to kill the man by overdose, but hopefully not enough to raise suspicion of murder. Next, he made sure that the entire drug paraphernalia that he had scattered around Roy's inert form was covered in the dying man's fingerprints, including two previously used syringes. Everything was in position and going according to plan. Stirling stood up and took hold of Roy by the shoulders and violently threw the vile man backward. Succumbing to the overdose, Roy's failing body arched back and his head smashed into the coffee table with a sickening thud, cracking the wood table top and splitting his scalp. Blood pooled around the dying man's head and began to cover the many years of stains that had blighted the carpet. Stirling placed the truncheon and the empty plastic container into his bag. The envelope of money he returned to his inside pocket. With no more to do but wait for the scumbags last breath, he picked up a fresh beer and sat down on the sofa.

After more than an hour, Stirling finally felt the slight thrumming sensation as a green light began to shine through the thin cotton material of his shirt pocket. He placed his empty beer bottle and cap into the bag and reached his long spidery fingers into his shirt pocket and gently pulled out the silver chain. Swinging at its end was the green emerald pendant that Stirling had kept secret for many, many years. He knew that what he was about to do was necessary for his girls' sakes and this would also cure him of his own illness. But although he had to do it, he wished he didn't have to collect this scum's life's energy and worse still-assimilate his poisonous memories. Over the years, Stirling on the few occasions he had done this had learned to be selective of what memories that were revealed to him as the emerald collected them all. He would avoid all of this man's memories, that, he was sure of. He kneeled by Roy's prone body and placed a hand on his forehead. Immediately he felt the wonderful thrum, thrum, thrum sensation race through his body, down his arm and into the hand clutching the pendant. The emerald flared, bathing the darkening room in a green shimmer. Stirling felt the intense feeling of power enter him like a shot of whiskey in the pit of his stomach on a cold winter's night, a deep satisfying burn. The light burnt bright and fierce before dimming and finally extinguishing itself. The feeling of power receded from Stirling's body, the thrumming ebbed slowly away. Climbing to his feet, he looked down at Roy Roxon's dead form. Even though he hated him, he hated killing more. He shook his head in regret. He had no sympathy for the man. But he knew that killing him had taken something away from his own spirit, soul or whatever you called it. Shaking his head again he headed for the door.

Back in the car Stirling stared into the visors mirror and ran a finger against his cheek and through the hair at his temple. Already, flashes of darker hair had grown through the gray, and the skin under his eyes seemed smoother, less baggy. As had happened before during his life, time had ticked backward for him once again. He knew as he sat there staring into the mirror, the tumor in his head would already be shrinking and by the end of the week would be banished. He would live; he would be there for Laurie when she would need him most. Stirling felt vigor return to his muscles and the weight of age lightened from his shoulders for another lifetime. He knew that what he had done was unavoidable and necessary, but still he felt that one day he would be held responsible at a higher level. He was not an overly religious man, but still, he believed in God. He couldn't help but wonder if God believed in him. As tears of regret slowly ran down his face, Stirling headed off to the airport and his flight back home to his helpless girls.