Happy was a weirder emotion, granted, but it had been confirmed that he definitely was weird. He was super powered, although Gabriel hadn’t put it quite like that. Henry was special and people needed him, he had a purpose. True, what an ‘Ink’ actually did was a mystery, but he had a role in life. The gap had been filled.

The recollection that his father had been murdered brought a stop to his tears. Someone had killed his father and he had no idea why. He needed to get out of the house into some fresh air, organise his thoughts. He had had his moment of emotion, now that was over.

When Henry saw his reflection in the mirror of his bathroom, he was appalled. He didn’t like his reflection at the best of times, but his face was marked with blood and muck and his hair was matted, protruding at jointed angles. The clothes he wore were ripped, his shirt torn and blackened. He stripped from his clothes, throwing them into a black bag, and showered with the water turned as hot as it would go.

Redressed, in a dark jacket and jeans, Henry found himself staring at his own reflection again. He had died over and over in his sleep, felt fear and pain, each time personal, yet in someway distant. His dreams were of different eras, of times long forgotten, but he had lived them as if they were now.

There was a knock at the door. Henry ran through all the different options of who it could be and decided none were preferable. He wouldn’t move, just hide in the bathroom until they went away. The door knocked again.

“Henry, open the door you stupid plonker,” Gabriel said.

Go away Gabriel. What did he want? The door knocked again.

“Henry, I know you are in there. I’m not going anywhere.”

Henry opened the door and Gabriel gave him a massive smile, which, naturally, was a little unnerving.

“Come on, let’s go get a drink,” Gabriel said.

“I’m fine thanks, maybe some other time,” Henry said.

“No, let’s go.”

“I don’t want a drink.”

“Okay, you can just have a glass of wine then.”

“Wine is still a drink, you know that right?”

“Yeah, but it’s not a real drink. Anyway, it’s not about the drink. We need to have a chat.”

“Must we?”

“Must we. You just walked out of a Dickens novel or something? Grab your keys.”

They left the flat and went around the corner to the George and Vulture. It was an aged pub that smelt of old polished wood and beer and, even though it was on his doorstep, Henry had never been in. Gabriel got the drinks as Henry took a seat at the far end of the bar.