It was a relief to reach the car, although she was hit with the stale odour of takeaway food and forbidden cigarettes the second she opened the door of the Ford Focus. Some things never changed. She familiarised herself with the paperwork as she sat behind the steering wheel. The brief was to reassure residents of Slayton who had reported a prowler in the area last night. Sarah sighed. Halloween was the one night of the year in which kids were allowed off the leash.

Slayton was an odd town, fractured by events of twenty-five years ago. After the shootings, children were monitored, doors and windows locked. But why, when the perpetrator of previous monstrosities came from within? Then gated communities began to pop up, along with private security firms which still patrolled the area today. ‘Choose safety for your family,’ was the slogan on the signage for Upper Slayton, and it appeared the PR spin had worked. The town’s population doubled to eight thousand residents. As residents of Lower Slayton struggled with unemployment, drugs and poverty, the walls of Upper Slayton grew and its houses were priced way out of the market for anyone in Lower Slayton to afford. Still, if you had a clean record, you could get a job as a cleaner, housekeeper or gardener – as long as you knew your place. People in Lower Slayton were low in more ways than one.

Sarah hated the hierarchy, but she couldn’t see things changing anytime soon. Dubbed as the ‘Saviour of Slayton’, Simon Irving of Irving Industries was responsible for many of the gated developments. He was an influential man with powerful friends, including their very own Police and Crime Commissioner. So for now, residents of Upper Slayton would take precedence over everyone else.

It was why Sarah decided to go against the grain and prioritise Lower Slayton today. She slid the printout of the incident from the bottom of the pile and placed it on top. Alerting control via her airwaves, she attached her call sign to the job. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, straightening her fringe over her face. Her first stop was to see Maggie Carter and her son.

9

When Elliott woke with blood on the sleeve of his pyjamas, he knew he had done something bad. He stared at his trainers as his feet dangled beneath the kitchen table. The laces had come undone again. He wasn’t very good at laces. It was easier to kick them off than to try and work out which bunny ear went where. Today he was too tired to do much of anything. The night stories were back.

‘Eat your toast,’ Maggie said, before returning her attention to the dishes in the sink.