FROM DARK PATHS HAVE WE COME

EDITED 05/17/2014 - Mostly corrections on the English, added eye colors definitions to the top, though at no point in this story is Tommy aware of his changing eyes, nor is most anyone interacting with him.

Disclaimer: I do not own either Power Rangers or Harry Potter nor do I make any profit from these words.

I once again played around a lot with the back stories of the two stories but this time it'll be quickly apparent. As I said with the other stories I've done, this was a suggested form of therapy, and I'm sure this story will quickly explain why someone thought I needed it.

The first part will be setting the 'pre-story' to Tommy and Harry's arrival in Angel Grove. Following this will be the 'Power Rangers' setting for the 'pre-Wizardry World' entrance. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy. Please Review.

(Notes: Tommy's eye colors meaning can be found in completion in my author profile or look just at the top of the page colors as used in that section.)

Indigo - wonder

Blue-gray - fear/terror

Light blue - relief/optimism/hope

Dark green - mortification/hysteria/panic

Crystal blue - protective

Light blue - relief/optimism/hope

Azure - sadness/shame

CHAPTER 1 - DARK PATHS

The boy glanced through his eyelashes as the new blood was ushered into the room, boredom the only apparent emotion emanating from him. Then something caught his eyes, though he couldn't say what it was really. The boy, second to last, just … drew him. While his indigo eyes met the other boy's he was careful not to draw anyone else's attention.

The man walked slowly down the line, scanning each of the new arrivals intently, though without ever touching them himself. Finally he motioned to four of the boys and said, "I'll take dem. Get dis filth outta here."

Another man bowed slightly to the man and quickly led the other boys out.

"T'omas," the man hissed and the boy quickly stepped forward, keeping his eyes down. "Clean de boys an' see dem t' de stables."

"Yes master," Thomas responded immediately, ushering the four boys to come with him. Once out of his master's sight he smiled a small smile as the boy who'd caught his eyes was among the chosen. While a part of him was glad he'd have a chance, small as it was, to get to know the boy and find out why he felt so drawn to him, he also knew what kind of life the boy would have here.

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"Hi," Thomas greeted softly, after finishing with the other three boys and moving to get the boy who drew his eyes cleaned and clothed, the rag robe the boys in the stables were allowed when they first arrived. Something told him the boy was not from anywhere around here so Thomas took care to suppress his accent. He'd been teaching himself to talk without it at will for awhile so his words came naturally. "I'm Thomas. You have a name?"

The boy looked timid and scared as was to be expected. "I - Harry," he finally breathed. The boy, he was probably about the same age as Thomas, knew Thomas hadn't spoken to any of the other three boys so he wondered why he spoke now.

"It's a bad idea, getting friendly with anyone here," Thomas stated, keeping his voice soft and low, hoping the water would drown out anything said. "I - I don't know why but … Just watch out for yourself, Harry, and you don't have a name to anyone else, okay? The master will give you one if he chooses but otherwise just … don't have a name. And don't trust anyone here. If you get close to anyone, they'll use them against you. Do what they say, it'll happen anyway and it'll just hurt worse for fighting. If you need to talk, ever, just … we'll find a way, okay? Just don't talk to me where others can hear or it will be used against us both, okay?"

Harry nodded. He'd been no one for as long as he could remember at his aunt and uncle's house so he could do it again. He smiled a small smile at Thomas. Some reason, he believed this other boy's words, trusted him.

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"No!" Thomas exclaimed as the man beat Harry, knowing from experience that when the man was this angry the boy never survived. He tried to run into the room but Loni, Mark and Bailey blocked him. Thomas knew he could take the three men down, he was one of the best cage fighters in the circuit, but not in time to save Harry. So he did something else, something he knew to be damned stupid even as he did so. "SEETHA! STOP!"

Seetha, the man, the master, let Harry fall to the ground and slowly turned to face the boy who dared not only to tell him to stop but to call him by name. He stalked forward, his eyes locked on those of the boy. Thomas didn't say another word, didn't try to escape the arms that held him locked in place - and didn't drop his blue-gray gaze.

"T'omas," Seetha said in a soft and deadly tone, reaching up to cup the boy's cheek in his hand, Harry's blood covering it and staining Thomas's cheek. The boy didn't flinch from the touch or react in any way. Seetha knew this one would be trouble after his attempt to escape some years ago gave away his hidden talent at fighting. As he'd owned the boy since he was around two years old, Seetha knew Thomas hadn't learned before coming here so he'd obviously picked everything up from watching the fights. A dangerous skill, that, but one that made him worth a great deal of money. Not that Seetha would ever dare sell this little gold mine. No, the boy, barely seven years old, could take down any of his fighters, could please any man or woman, could learn anything they wanted him to know in such a short time. And lately he'd turned over most of the bookkeeping and office work to the boy as he could know any of it required so quickly and he would never have a chance to betray him to the law or competition. So no, Seetha would not part with this boy for any amount of money nor would he kill him for his insolence. That didn't mean he wouldn't pay, dearly.

Thomas finally dropped his gaze and breathed, "Please, master." Not wanting to give any more of his talents away, he made sure to speak with the accent Seetha expected to hear.

"What does dis boy mean t' y'?" Seetha demanded.

"Nothin'," he responded sounding truthful. But then with this one Seetha was never sure. "It's jus' dat … Master, it was m'."

Seetha raised an eyebrow. He couldn't quite believe that. "You? Y' spilled de food?"

"I - I was in a hurry," Thomas stammered, working quickly to make up a believable facsimile. "It took longer in de kitchens dan it shoulda, an' I had de … appointment."

"An' why are y' no dere, now?"

"I had t' … It's dat … I had t' come back, t' confess t' y'," he breathed, finally.

Seetha laughed softly. This he could believe. The boy had an overactive sense of honor but he would never discourage this trait as it helped to control him. "Y' were t' see Monseur Boulvrard, oui?" he said as he motioned for his men to release the boy. "Go now, m' boy, an' stay anoder hour wit' him for bein' late. Den come t' me."

"Yes master." Thomas bowed slightly and stepped back to leave.

Seetha's voice stopped him. "An' T'omas? Nevah call m' by m' name again, boy. I am y'r master an' dat's how y' call m', always."

"Yes master," Thomas said again before leaving.

"Clean de boy and heal him," Seetha ordered as he left the room, leaving the three men to treat the other boy.

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Once healed, Thomas began planning. He knew most everything about the operation and used this intimate knowledge to his advantage. There wasn't much time anymore. Too many were in the room to see the truth of what occurred, to know Harry was the one that spilled the food and that Thomas lied. That no one had told Seetha yet was obvious as Seetha hadn't brought Harry in and forced Thomas to watch as he was killed. But someone would. Thomas had been there too long to doubt that. They were only holding out to use it to their greatest advantage.

Thomas moved at the break of dawn, when everyone was either passed out or too high to notice him. His nerves were strung high, a fearful dread filled him, but he refused to let it stop him. He moved softly and swift as a shadow through the stables, the club and bar, into the back office where Seetha kept his stashes. The boy opened the safe with the ease of familiarity and quickly removed the money to his bag, taking only small bills. There would be enough, he knew. There would have to be. Seetha wasn't fond of big, easily traced bills himself. Ignoring the stashes of heroin, LSD, crack, and … the other substances Seetha sold, the boy quickly resealed the safe.

On his way out, he stopped at one of the doors in the stables, quickly overriding the security lock on the outside. Swift and silent as a shadow, Thomas slipped into the cages and found the restlessly sleeping form of his friend. "Harry," he breathed, gently touching the other boy's shoulder. "Harry."

Harry's eyes flew open and he looked at Thomas in fear then dawning recognition. "Thomas?" he hesitantly asked. He'd thought Thomas's eyes were a light blue yet he was looking into Thomas's dark green gaze.

"We've gotta go," Thomas breathed softly. "Or we'll die here."

Harry nodded slightly and, with his friends' help, he climbed to his feet and followed after Thomas as they rushed from the complex.

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CHAPTER 2 - RUNNING

Thomas looked around the store, amazed and overwhelmed by all the selection and people, the bright lights. It was ... different. So different from what he'd known before.

Pull yourself together, man, he thought to himself, almost angrily. You know what this world is, just live it now.

With this admonition in mind, he quickly entered the crowd and made his way to the clothing his size. Just letting himself drift through the place, he picked up anything that looked interesting to him, placing it in his shopping basket if it's price wasn't too outrageous. After a couple hours of picking out clothing and trying it on, he finally made his selections, then moved over to those clothes just smaller, that would fit Harry, judging by their difference in stature. Then moved on to the accessories. This went much quicker, as he didn't have to figure out sizes on anything. Seetha did allow them that, at least. Glancing at the clock from time to time, he made his purchases.

Returning to the room they'd crashed in the past few days, he went through his purchases from today, and those preparatory items he'd picked up beforehand. With a sense of unease, he quickly packed their new belongings into the suitcases he'd purchased the other day, woke Harry, and together they hurried to the bus station.

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Thomas smiled self consciously when he reached the counter at the bus depot. "M' name's Theodore Ridre. M' pappa should have a ticket waitin' f' m' an' m' broder t' come stay wit' him?"

The lady at the counter smiled kindly at him, charmed by the young man's charisma and his shy brother hiding behind him. "Yes, it's right here," she said, as the computer called up the information the boy had inputted only an hour ago from a local internet cafe. After looking at the ID the boy had made for this, she gave him the tickets and showed him to the bus, which was just getting ready to leave.

Thomas leaned back in the very back of the bus, satisfied with his work so far. He and Harry shared a grin. Harry curled up to sleep, Thomas keeping guard. Tomorrow when the bus stopped wherever it happened to be, he'd unload their luggage and they'd catch a plane.

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Unloading their luggage several stops before their ticket names turned out to be more of a problem than Thomas had expected however after a bit of fast talking, and with the unexpected help of a small fire a few buildings down, he finally managed to gather their belongings and they disappeared. Now they stood at the terminal gate to their flight to the east coast.

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Thomas flinched as Harry reached for the man's wallet, somehow knowing this was no ordinary man, but he couldn't stop him without endangering him further. Maybe Harry would get by with it.

As the man's hand captured Harry's small wrist, Thomas rushed forward. "No," he ordered strongly.

The man looked him over. He was a gorgeous man, too delicate in frame to be handsome. His skin was pale as though it hadn't seen sunlight, his hair dark as night, his eyes a crystal blue that, at the moment at least, matched Thomas's eyes.

"And what, child, are you doing on these streets so late at night?" the man asked in an enthralling voice.

"Let him go," Thomas ordered.

The man did not. "Send your parents here and I will allow him to go with them." There was a look in the man's eyes that said he knew this would not happen.

Thomas growled slightly which caused the man's eyes to twinkle in humor. "I'm his parents."

"Then you must both come with me."

"What are you?"

The man laughed. "What am I? What an odd question."

"That you conveniently didn't answer," Thomas pointed out. But he'd seen the fangs when the man laughed and stated, "You're a vampire."

The man stopped laughing, looked down upon Thomas with blank eyes. His grip didn't loosen on Harry's wrist. "No one believes in vampires anymore, child."

"They do when they've met them before," Thomas responded. Why Harry had to decide to try pick pocketing here of all places … Thomas had told him he would handle everything but when he said no about dinner at a restaurant, Harry decided they obviously needed more money. Thomas had thought Harry accepted his words. Next time, if there was a next time, he would make sure to explain that it wasn't just the money. Two children alone in a restaurant so late would draw more attention than them alone anywhere else. Thomas sighed, knowing he wasn't going to be able to fight the vampire. "If you hurt him, I'll kill you."

The vampire smiled, flashing fangs. "You may try, child." As he started off, leading Harry by the wrist, he said, "My name is Patrick. What is yours?"

"Marcus," Thomas answered, with just the slightest hesitation. "And that's my brother, Frank."

"Well Marcus, Frank, I believe I will enjoy growing to know you both. When you are older …" He left the rest unspoken.

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Several months later, with a new stash of cash and much more confidence in his ability to manage, Thomas woke Harry in the middle of the day. "Time to go, Har," he said.

Harry turned over, yawning. "Go where?"

Thomas shrugged. "Wherever. Patrick's been good to us but it's still … I'm not sure what … or rather when he has plans for our futures and I sure didn't leave the man to follow someone else. You coming or not?"

"'Course I'm coming, Thomas," Harry replied, jumping quickly out of bed and dressing. He smirked as he saw his already packed bags; he slung them over his shoulder without comment.

Thomas moved to get his bags and noticed a note laying on top. Frowning, he unfolded it and read:

'Marcus',

I have seen you preparing to leave and have known you would soon be gone. Remember you can always return here to me when needed. I have known you were one I could not hold, there is still much living for you to do, though I know you feel dead. You will find your place, I believe. Call and let me know how you and your brother 'Frank' are doing. I am sure we will see each other again when you are ready to imagine something other than running. Take care of yourself, Tommy, don't forget yourself in your watching over Harry.

Patrick

Reading this, Thomas sighed. Neither he nor Harry ever told the man their names, calling each other Marcus and Frank without fail even when alone. However he knew, Thomas was simply glad he'd already decided to leave.

They once again played with the route, jumping stops on buses (Thomas was beginning to wonder if fires starting just off of bus stops was a common occurrence nationwide as this seemed to happen each time someone tried to stop them from taking off early), they also walked a good distance on several occasions until three states further east they boarded a plane for California, hoping to find a place to stay for awhile.

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Arriving in LA, Thomas left Harry at their motel room, rented again by the 'father' over the internet, and made his way to a local internet cafe where he spent the better part of the evening surfing the net, finding where to go and who to be. A small town some distance away drew his attention strongly. Reading more about it, he found one way he was sure he could make a little money to support that which he'd taken when they left. He decided to make it their next and hopefully last stop for some time. The decision made, he spent a few hours setting the groundwork for their appearance, a history for who they would be. He barely managed to finish up before the staff of the cafe were running him off.

He found a local chop shop and stole one of their stolen cars, took advantage of all the equipment being there to make it quasi-legal, returned to the motel to pick up Harry, where they loaded their belongings into the car and drove off to what would be home for - well, for a little while at least.

The people in the town shouldn't be able to place where they were from. Over the past few months, he'd worked on learning to control when he allowed the accent through. Harry still had the same way of talking, or not talking, as he'd had when they first met. Everything should go fine.

Hopefully, Seetha would never think to look there.

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CHAPTER 3 - CALM BEFORE THE STORM

Thomas sat on his bed, in his small efficiency apartment on the bay side of town. He felt comfortable, almost even safe in this little town, despite the headlines he'd read. Pulling out the new journal he'd purchased while shopping, he stared at it for a long moment. He wasn't sure why he'd bought the thing or why he was actually thinking of writing in it like this, but ... Maybe that pastor's words touched him more than he thought; more than he wanted to admit. He found it hard enough to admit he cared for Harry, let alone that he let someone else get to him. It was dangerous, he knew, allowing anyone within his walls.

Shaking his head, he picked up his pen - one that wrote in green ink - and began to write, in French.

Dear Journal,

I don't know why I'm doing this, I really can't see what good it'll do. But I'm gonna try it. Pastor O'Malley really got to me, I guess. What did he think he was doing, anyway? Did he think he was telling me something I didn't know, telling me my life was on the wrong track? Every track in this good for nothing life is wrong. Or is it? Can I really find something good in this world? Someplace they won't ...

No. I'm not writing about that crap. O'Malley's wrong on that one, talking, or writing, or whatever is never going to help with that. It's just ... It won't.

I really did it, I left my life behind and took off, searching for a new way to be - with Harry in tow. And I'm going to find it, I'm going to be a new man. They can't control me anymore. Really, how hard can it be to take care of myself and Harry and pretend that we're totally okay and normal and all? Not dreaming too big here am I?

So here I am, a small town far from all those guys. A new town, a new life, a new name. Well almost a new name, it was hard answering to Marcus all that time. So still Thomas but never again ... Well, I'm Thomas Oliver now. Tom. Tommy. Yeah, that's who I am. And I'm staying here forever. Or until Seetha locates us here and we have to run again. But hey, what's life without a little mind-numbing, gut-wrenching fear, right?

But anyway. I'm introducing Tommy Oliver to the town in a few days. I entered this martial arts competition. I know it's not really fair to these small towners what with the life I've lived, the training I've received. And I know it's part of what I was running from. But it's not like that. It's a charity thing, the proceeds going to help orphans and runaways. Kinda like us, huh? Well anyway, there's a pretty good sized cash prize for the winner. It'll help with rent, food, stuff like that. Keep me from having to do other stuff for money. It'll be cool.

I set Harry up with ID too and he's agreed to going to school. Seemed excited about it, really. I think he's been before and has good memories. Not that I'll ask or anything, the past is that and best left alone. Anyway he's Harry Oliver and I listed us in the records as brothers, him a year younger than me. Though honestly I think we're probably the same age, I don't really know what that is so why worry about it? He's smaller and I'll definitely be watching out for him like those stories on the internet said big brothers are supposed to do. I'm worried about that, really. Taking care of him. It'll mean more time … doing things I don't want to but … I couldn't leave him to Seetha. He's really the reason I left now.

He insists on helping out around here, cleaning, cooking, stuff like that. He's really good at it. He doesn't like to go out and I don't blame him so I take care of the money thing. It's how I want it anyway. The kid's so … I've dealt with it, he's still somehow so freaking innocent. He won't be coming to the tournament because of the crowds, you know, which is for the best. He'll be here, safe, while I'm fighting and couldn't watch out for him while in the cage. Uh, ring, I mean. It's legal tournament fighting, free.

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Dear Journal,

I've been practicing at the local youth hangout, the Youth Center and Juice Bar, run by a man named Ernie. A nice guy, really. I think. I've been wrong about that kinda stuff a lot really but it's different here. I think. I hope.

Anyway, I've been down there every night since I arrived - training and watching others train. There's this one guy that seems really good. He has the moves down anyway, I haven't seen him actually fight anyone. Or spar as they call it. Fighting without meaning for anyone to actually be hurt.

I think they called him Jason. 'They' being his four friends. They're kinda weird. Not in a bad way or anything, just different. They're all color coded. They're down at the juice bar as much as me and they always wear the same colors. Red, blue, yellow, black, and pink. (Okay, so I seem to have bought mostly green and white for my own wardrobe but I do vary it some. They don't.) I get the strangest impression that this means something to them, you know. It's ... I don't know. It's not like gang colors 'cause they're really close and they are most definitely wearing different colors. But it's like this difference is what brings them together, if that makes any sense.

Anyway, they seem nice and the pink one's really cute. Especially when she puts on her leotard and gets up on that balance beam ... It's not like I'd ever go up to her or anything, just kinda watch. There's no way she would ever want anyone like me. She's kind and sweet and just … I don't know. Innocent. She probably has her pick of the boys in town and she and Jason (the red one) seem really close.

It's better to keep that distance. Too many secrets; if someone gets close, it'll just mean I have to tell more lies. Bad enough I let myself close to Harry.

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Tommy sat the journal aside and lay down … and found he just couldn't sleep yet. Finally he gave up and decided to get something to drink. Of course, when he went to the kitchen, across the room, the faucet wasn't working again and neither would the bathroom faucet.

With a shrug and taking care not to wake Harry, he slipped his workout clothes back on, grabbed his key and some change he'd gathered off the beach and took off for the store. He decided to make a jog of it, see if that might help him tire enough to actually sleep.

As he came around the back, he noticed only one car at the gas pumps to the side of the store and one idling just around the other side of the building. Good, he thought. The less people around, the better, as far as the young runaway escapee was concerned.

Approaching the door, Tommy saw a masked man holding a gun on the cashier station and he almost just turned around and left. Just before he could leave, the cashier moved just right, handing over a sack that Tommy assumed held money, and Tommy could now see who was working tonight. It was Brian, the man who had gone out of his way to befriend Tommy and Harry since they'd started frequenting the place.

Cursing himself for a fool, Tommy slipped around back, shimmied open the window in the employee's restroom, and crept in behind the robber. He could hear the thief demanding more but anyone with half a brain knew these places didn't have much ready cash on hand.

As Tommy moved in, the thief pulled the trigger, shot Brian. In the after echo of the shot, both Tommy and the robber heard something shatter as a glass bottle dropped to the floor from the only other late night customer's hands.

The shooter turned to the woman, his finger twitched towards the trigger - Tommy tackled him, knocking the gun from his hands. The following fight was short but intense, and ended with Tommy knocking the robber unconscious with a pressure point on the back of the neck.

"Is he …" the woman began, her voice shaky.

Tommy looked at her with light blue eyes. "He'll live. Phone's in the office there, will you call help?" he asked as he rushed to Brian's side.

The woman called 911, shakily explained what had happened, introduced herself as Angelic Applebee, then returned to the main area. She glanced at the robber, checking to confirm he wasn't waking up, then moved towards Tommy and Brian.

She found Tommy kneeling beside Brian, Tommy's long sleeved over-shirt removed and being pressed into the wound to staunch the blood. She almost fainted at his scars so vividly showcased under the harsh lighting of the store.

"See if you can find some clean cloths, please," Tommy said, without turning her way. She hadn't realized she'd made a sound or done anything to let him know she was back. "My shirt's kinda sweaty, it's not the best thing to be using here."

She hurriedly looked around, found some buffing towels with the automotive supplies, and brought them to the child. He quickly traded them out for his shirt. He met her eyes, started to say something, then noticed her noticing his scars. His azure gaze dropped in shame and he quietly asked, "You think he'd mind if I borrowed his jacket there?" Tommy nodded his head towards the windbreaker casually thrown over the chair in the office.

"What happened?" she asked of the scars. Tommy just shook his head. He was shivering, she noticed. His tank top shirt was moist with sweat and it was late enough the temperature was slightly cool. She walked into the office, checked to see if the windbreaker had anything in it's pockets, then brought it to the boy. He slipped it on as she held it for him, one hand always holding the pressure on the man's wound.

Finally, after what seemed like forever they heard the sirens and moments later the wounded store keeper was being loaded into an ambulance, the masked burglar into another, with a police escort, and Angelic Applebee and the boy were being questioned by the police. The officers had watched the surveillance video which showed the whole thing while the EMS were there asking their questions.

Tommy was doing fine with the questioning until the detective mentioned testifying in the court case.

"Testify?" Tommy said loud enough everyone in the store heard, over the sounds of the police gathering evidence.

The woman, who was being questioned on the other side of the store by the doors, stopped speaking and looked over at this. The boy sounded terrified as he hadn't throughout the whole incident, she thought. She realized the boy had decided to leave on that, when he almost ran into her and Detective Everest. He stopped frozen at the blocked door.

"Thomas," Detective McMillian began but the boy flinched visibly at this and he immediately softened his voice, started again, "Tommy, it's okay. We won't force you to testify. It would help to have you there but we still have a lot of evidence without it. Relax, Tommy. It's okay." As the boy finally started to relax again, he asked, "How old are you, Tommy?"

He hesitated, thinking back on what he put in the records he'd typed, then quietly answered, "Nine."

The two detectives shared a look. At nine, they most definitely couldn't force the boy to testify. McMillian continued, "Where are your parents? Why are you out alone this late?"

"My parents worked late today and I was practicing for a martial arts tournament tomorrow and went to get a bottled water but we were out. So I ran up here. - It's before curfew," Tommy added softly.

"Where do your parents work? I'll call them and …"

"You can't. They work for LAM." Tommy just hoped no one here had a connection to LAM or this lie would be short lived.

McMillian fell silent at this, as everyone knew you couldn't contact anyone with LAM. The CIA was more likely to admit someone's existence than LAM.

"Can I go? If I hurry, I can still be home before curfew. I'll tell 'em what happened, ask them what they think I should do, and I have your number. We can call you." He looked upon them with innocent blue eyes, and the detective nodded.

"I can take you home …"

Tommy shook his head. "We haven't found our own place here so we're using one of LAM's houses. Can't take anyone there without permission. But it's not far, I'll be fine."

"Please call, Tommy."

Tommy nodded. "I'll bring this jacket back tomorrow morning, I promise," he said as he left. He took the long way home, just to make sure no one followed. And one of the officers did try to follow him but since Tommy was small enough to take a 'shortcut' through a couple industrial buildings built basically on top of each other that no adult could begin to squeeze through, he lost the officer easily.

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Continued - Let me know what you think. Review