Hater

still. 'I want a drink,' he says. 'Can you go up to the flat and get me a beer?'
    His eyes flutter for a second and I wonder if he's about to go. I get up quickly and climb the stairs to the top floor flat he shares with the other man. I follow a snail trail of dry blood along the hallway and into the living room of the flat which is otherwise surprisingly clean and well-kept. Don't know why I expected anything else really. There's an upturned table in the middle of the room and next to it a smashed lamp. There's a video camera on a tripod next to a computer and a wide-screen TV. Looks like they enjoyed filming themselves here. There's an expensive looking leather sofa and… and I realise that I'm standing here checking out the flat while one of its occupants lies dying at the bottom of the stairs. Forcing myself to move I go to the kitchen and grab a bottle of beer from the well-stocked fridge. I open it and run back down to the man on the first floor landing.
    'Here you go,' I say as I hold the bottle up to his mouth. I'm not sure how much he manages to swallow. Most of it seems to run down his chin. When I move the bottle away I see that its neck is covered in blood from his lips. What am I supposed to do now? I try to move him but it's no good. He moans with pain whenever I touch him. This poor bastard is dying as I'm watching and there's absolutely nothing I can do to help him. There's no point asking who did this to him or if there's anyone I can try and contact - the sudden exit of his lover / friend / business partner early this morning was a clear enough admission of guilt. I feel terrible as I stand next to him, trying to think of an excuse to leave as he lies dying at my feet. But what else can I do?
    'I'll go and get help,' I say quietly, crouching down closer to him again, taking care not to get any of his blood on me. 'I'll go and find someone who'll be able to help you.'
    He licks his blood-stained lips, swallows and shakes his head.
    'Too late now,' he wheezes. Every move this poor sod makes is taking masses of effort and causing him huge amounts of pain. I wish he'd just shut up and lie still but he won't. He has something more to say. Exhausted, he turns his head towards me again and stares straight into my face.
    'Just keep still and…' I start to say.
    'I tried to get him,' he says breathlessly. 'Fucker had a knife on him just in case. He got me first.'
    'What?'
    'I tried to get him but he was ready for me…'
    'What are you saying? Did he attack you? Was he a Hater?'
    He shakes his head.
    'You see everything so clearly when it happens to you. I had to kill him. It was him or me. I had to kill him before…'
    I stand up and start to move away. Jesus Christ, is this the Hater? He's the one who started the trouble we heard last night. He's the one who lost control. Christ, I'm stood here wasting my time on a fucking Hater.
    He licks his bloody lips again and swallows once more.
    'It's them mate,' he mumbles, 'not us. They're the ones who hate. Get yourself ready…'
    I don't know what the hell he's talking about now and I don't want to hear any more. I need to get away from this sick piece of filth. I turn my back on him and run downstairs, safe in the knowledge that there's no way he'll be able to reach my family in the condition he's in. I think about finishing him off but that would make me as bad as them and I doubt whether I'd even be able to do it. I glance back and take one last look at the scum on the landing. He hasn't got long left. He'll be dead by the time I get back and it won't be a moment too soon.
    I run out to the car and start the engine.

23

    I can usually get from the flat to Harry's house in around fifteen minutes but it took almost an hour to get here today. There's still not a huge amount of traffic about but some roads are inaccessible. Some are backed-up with slow moving queues, others have just been blocked off.
    Harry's pretty shaken up like the rest of us although he won't admit it. He's subdued and much quieter than usual. Liz phoned him and told him I was coming to get him but he hasn't got anything ready. I'm upstairs with him now, helping him pack an overnight bag. He seems lost and helpless like a little kid. He keeps asking me questions he knows I can't answer. How long will I be away? What do I need to take? Will we be safe at your place?
    Harry's house is quiet and dark. It's rare that I ever go upstairs. The place is small but it's still far too big for him