In the morning light, the encampment looked rough. Littered, burnt patches on the ground, even a few piles of excrement where men couldn't be bothered to go out into the grass away from the road. Kell wrinkled his nose in disgust. He tried to be as clean as he could. Speaking of which, he could use a bath. Might be time to start looking for a place to work for a night or two, get some of those home comforts, like access to a garden hose and maybe even a home-cooked meal.

His hands were shaking by the time he got far enough away from the encampment to take his dose. He found a small glade of trees just off the side of the road and did what needed to be done. It took a while—hard to poke a vein with jittery hands—but in the end he did it, having to wipe a trickle of blood from his arm with the tail of his shirt. He took a few minutes to pack away, going slowly now, waiting for the drugs to take hold, and only when he felt confident in his step did he get up again and move back to the road. Headed south. Always headed south.

The verge was strewn with debris, mostly rubber from burst tyres and hubcaps. But he found a half-bag of candy, probably thrown from a window by a crying child or an angry parent, and it gave him something to chew on as he walked.

The girl caught up with him a mile or so down the road and said nothing as she joined him. He just looked up and she was there, plodding away beside him. Kell smiled to himself. She was sticking with him, which meant he still had a chance to get her taken care of. He wondered what he might do with her when he reached his destination but decided it was too far off yet to come to any conclusions. After all, she might head her own way in a couple of days.

They walked in silence, the cars zooming past, until right around noon, when the sun burned hot and high in the sky. It was then that the road branched off into three, one route continuing with the highway, the other two became smaller country roads. Kell chose the one to the left. He'd heard from the other men that there were farms down here, places he might be able to work for a day, get some food and a wash. And it would still take him where he was headed.

"When was the first time you got into trouble?" the girl asked after they'd been walking on the quieter road for a half hour or so.

"What makes you think I got in any trouble?" Kell asked, not suspicious but curious to know what it was about him that gave that impression.

The girl shrugged. "You seem ... experienced, I guess. Like you know what you're talking about. Not just teaching like at school, but like you know from yourself how things go. How life goes." She paused for a minute before adding, "How things go wrong."

He chuckled a little at this. No one had ever called him a teacher before.

"Yeah, you're right," he said a few minutes later. "There was trouble. But the first time? Well ... can't say for sure it was the first time I ever did anything wrong, but it was the first time I ever got caught. Properly caught, that is. First time I got lock-in as well."

***

Kell shivered. Lock-in. They didn't get beaten for misbehaving, but, in his view, he'd rather get a whipping than have lock-in. He'd seen the kids come out after a weekend of lock-in. Seen the way their eyes looked, like they'd seen things. Bad things. Even after just two days, their skin always looked pallid. Still, though, he wasn't planning on getting caught, so he guessed he didn't have to worry about lock-in. Least, that was what Henry had told him. And he could trust Henry.

Henry. It had all really started with Henry, when he looked back at things later. Henry wasn't the biggest boy; he wasn't muscled or bearded or scary like some of the real big ones. Ones who should have been moved out of the orphanage a long time ago but didn't have no place to go and weren't eighteen so couldn't go off on their own. Most of those ended up running away anyway. Henry was smart, though. Smart as a snake, and the smartest thing Henry did was to always get someone else to do the troublemaking for him.

He came up to Kell in the yard one day after school, when Kell should have been doing his homework. But Angelius wasn't there—she had a dentist appointment—so she wasn't making him sit down and get his work done like she usually did.

"Hey," Kell said, wanting to be polite. He didn't exactly have many friends; Angelius was all he ever needed, but there was no point in alienating people, especially people as influential as Henry was. Besides, he didn't want to be beaten up or picked on or any of the other things that happened to little boys who didn't play nice with the big boys.

Henry said nothing, just leant against the wall with his shoulder and pulled something out of his pocket. The sun caught the gleaming silver of the object, and Kell could see that it was a lighter. Casually, Henry began flicking it open and closed and open and closed, letting it light, then putting it out. Kell tried to go back to his homework, but he was entranced by the lighter. Every time he put his head down, the flicker of flame caught his eye again.

"That's pretty cool," he said eventually.

Henry nodded. "Sure is."

It was a Zippo. A real one. Who knew where Henry had got it, but it was cool. Very cool. And Kell had a sudden, deep longing to hold it, play with it.

"Want it?" Henry asked after long minutes had passed.

Kell nodded hesitantly, and Henry passed the lighter over. He felt the weight of it in his hand, the smoothness of the metal. The warmth that it had picked up from Henry's hands. Experimentally, he flicked it open and closed it again. What he would give to own something like this. Then, reluctantly, he made to hand it back to the older boy.

"Nah," said Henry. "You can keep it."

Kell couldn't believe his ears. This. For him? His? His chest was about to explode with feelings he didn't know he had. No one had given him anything before. He looked up at Henry, not knowing what to say.

"There's a catch, though," Henry added, knowing he'd got the kid, knowing he could make him do anything now. "I need you to do something for me."

The lino of the hallway was cold under his bare feet. He didn't dare put shoes on, though, didn't want to make a noise. Henry had told him exactly what to do and where to go; he just had to follow instructions, and in his mind he repeated over and over what he'd been told to do. It was late, long after midnight, and the orphanage was lonely and silent. Kell was scared. Not scared of being caught. Henry had assured him that it was gonna be fine. He was scared of the darkness and the quiet and the ghosts and monsters that could be lurking around every corner. But he was eleven now and too old to really believe in all that stuff. Still, he never knew. And it was all very well to be brave in the light of day. This was different.

He crept along the corridor until he reached the bannister of the steep stairwell; he then very, very carefully descended, one step at a time. Once he'd made it to the bottom, it was a quick step or two into the administration corridor, where the offices were. Where Ms. Wheeler's office was.

He found the door, unfamiliar in the darkness, and turned the handle. A sigh of relief. It wasn't locked. If it had been, Henry had told him to break the small glass pane at the top of the door. He really hadn't wanted to do that.

He flicked on the light, squinting his eyes against the sudden darkness, and went straight to the desk. Second drawer, right-hand side. Sliding it open, he found what he'd come for and picked up the black metal box, careful not to let it rattle. He wasn't allowed to open the box. He didn't want to open the box. Then, switching the light off on his way, he retraced his steps.

Going back was easier. He had what he'd come for, and he walked more quickly. Perhaps that was his mistake. He knew that once he was in his dorm he'd be safe. Even if one of the other boys saw or heard him, he'd be protected by the code they all lived by; no one would turn him in. Dire consequences awaited tattle-tales. But as he climbed the stairs, so familiar to him during the day that he could trace the patterns of their carpeting on his exercise books when he was bored, he failed to count. Taking a last, big step, his foot was in mid-air before he realised that there was no stair here at all. But it was too late. Struggling to retain his balance and save himself from tumbling back down the entire flight, he dropped the box.

Once dropped, the flimsy lock on the box burst open, showering coins over the floor. They clattered and clinked like a shiny metal waterfall down the first few stairs. Kell's heart threatened to burst through his chest. He was paralysed with fear, and he wanted to run, really wanted to, but just couldn't. His legs wouldn't move, his knees turned to jelly, and his stomach became water. The door at the top of the stairs flung open, as Ms. Wheeler turned on the light and pulled on a robe at the same time.

Even then, in that moment, Kell had time to notice that she wore plastic curlers in her hair, that her skin was greasy with some kind of cream, that she wore pyjamas, not a nightdress, and that her feet were bare.

He said nothing. That was the code, even though he was frightened enough that he thought he might throw up. Even though the huge, heavy weight of what he'd done pressed down on him, making it impossible to eat or to sleep. He was questioned endlessly, both by Ms. Wheeler and his social worker, but he stubbornly refused to speak.

It was fortunate, he guessed, that the incident had occurred on a Thursday since that meant he had to wait only one day before his lock-in started. He couldn't imagine getting punished on a Monday and having to wait all the way until Friday, each day dreading what was going to happen, each day bringing it closer.

The other kids weren't supposed to speak to him. His punishment was announced over breakfast, and immediately it was like he was invisible. But he felt the warmth of Angelius's hand on his leg under the table, and the weight in his chest lifted a little.

"It's not true," she whispered, finding him in the yard before the bus came to take them all to school.

It was on the tip of his tongue. He wanted nothing more than to deny it. To lie. But when he looked into her eyes, he couldn't.

"It's true," he mumbled, turning his eyes back to the ground.

And then she was gone, sitting at the front of the bus with the little kids, staying far away from Kell.

They searched him before he went in. He was allowed only the clothes he wore, nothing else. He thanked God that he'd thought to hide the Zippo away somewhere safe, buried in the yard under a rock where no one would find it. He was still silent as Ms. Wheeler patted down his pockets and nodded. She opened the door, but he couldn't see what was inside yet.

"Food will be brought to you, and water. There's a chamber pot in the corner, which will be emptied once a day. That's all."

He needed a push on the shoulder before he could take the step inside. Then the door closed, and there was ... nothing.

It was dark. Shuffling, Kell walked forward until he bumped into something. A bed. And that was it.

Those forty-eight hours were the longest of his life. He had nothing but his own mind. And in the darkness, the monsters came, the ones he knew weren't real, and yet they were. In here they were very real. He screamed out in the night, but no one came. He awoke in sheets bathed with sweat, scared to close his eyes again but scared to keep them open. He wanted to yell that this wasn't his fault, that he'd never wanted this, that Henry should be here. Henry, not him. But he didn't.

Time stretched out, onwards, infinite. There was no beginning and no end. Just the darkness and whatever illusions his mind could conjure up. Food came at intervals. Plain bread, water. By the end of the first day, he was cramming it into his mouth with his hands, not caring about spilling things or chewing with his mouth open. The first visit to the chamber pot had been embarrassing; now he didn't care. Did what he had to do and went back to bed.

The second night was worse than the first, and he didn't sleep at all. After a while, he spoke to himself, then sang, then cried.

And when he was done crying, he came to a decision. If he was ever, ever going to be punished like this again, then he was damn well going to deserve it. If this was the result of misbehaving, then he was going to make sure that at least whatever it was that he did was worth it. The shiny, silver Zippo, safe under the rock outside, collecting early morning condensation, was the smallest of prizes. But more, more than all this, he was determined—absolutely determined with a will greater than he'd ever had for anything else—of one thing. He would not be caught again.

When the door opened, he couldn't get up. His legs were too shaky. He was escorted out, the light of the corridor blinding him so that he stumbled and Ms. Wheeler had to hold his elbow as she walked him to his dorm. The others were still at dinner. But Kell was thrown into a shower, then told to go straight to bed.

He felt the warmth of the water cascading over his skin, washing the humanity back into him. Given the chance, he'd have used a knife and fork now, wouldn't have considered stuffing his face with his hands. He shivered at the humiliation of using a chamber pot. He was coming back to life, slowly.

And he crawled into bed, wrapped himself in his blanket, and was sleeping deeply and calmly by the time the others came to bed.

***

"Hey."

He looked up in surprise. He'd taken his normal window seat on the bus but hadn't expected Angelius to join him as she usually did. She'd avoided him at breakfast, and he'd been staring out of the window waiting for the other school-goers and wondering how the hell he was going to try and make things right by her.

"Hey," he said as she slid into the seat beside him.

He didn't want to look at her, and he couldn't believe she was sitting right there, just like normal, like none of this had ever happened.

"Tell me what happened," she said gently as the bus engine rumbled into life. "Tell me everything."

And, code or no code, he did. He told her absolutely everything, including how scared he'd been, how sick he'd felt. Everything.

When he was done, the bus was bumping along the road, more than halfway to school. Angelius put her hand on his leg, and he felt her comforting touch.

"And what now?" she asked.

Good question. "I've been punished," he said. "Already."

"I know. And that's a kind of atonement, something that makes up for doing wrong. But it only works if you're truly sorry. Are you truly sorry?"

He thought about that for a while as the trees skipped past the window. Then he nodded. He was sorry. Sorry for so many things: Sorry that he'd agreed to Henry's stupid plan, sorry that he'd taken the stupid lighter, sorry that he'd been stupid enough to get caught. He was plenty sorry.

"Then you need to ask for forgiveness, Kell."

Immediately, he looked up, falling into those deep blue eyes. "Forgive me, Ange?"

She grinned. "I've already forgiven you. I've seen you go through your punishment. You don't need to ask me; you need to ask God."

Kell nodded. "Okay, I will." And he really meant to at that moment. But it was Angelius's forgiveness that was most important to him. He felt the weight he'd been carrying around with him ever since that night lift up, and, for the first time in many, many days, he could breathe properly again.

"If you need forgiveness, it will always be given to you," she said quietly. "But you have to need it first."

He didn't know if she was referring to her forgiveness or God's, but it didn't matter to him. He was just glad she could forgive what he'd done.

"I'm not going to do anything like this again, Ange. I'm really not." He wanted her to see that her forgiveness was warranted. And he had no intention of doing anything like this again—he'd already decided that. He wasn't going to be a pawn in someone else's game. If he was going to take a risk, it was going to be his risk.

"I know, Kell. I know that you'll try."

And she slipped her hand into his, twining her fingers with his so tightly that he could feel her pulse beating through his hand.

The bus continued on its way, the road smoother as they got closer to town, buildings springing up, other cars on the road. It wasn't far off now, and Kell saw the water tower that marked the turning that would take them almost to the door of the school that all the kids around here attended. Not that there was any other choice.

"Ange?" he said as the bus took the turning.

"Mmm?" She was checking in her bag to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything.

"Should I give the Zippo back, do you think?"

It was a question he'd been almost afraid to ask. He'd risked everything for that stupid lighter, and he didn't think Henry had any more right to have it than he did. He'd rather throw it over the bridge into the creek at the bottom of the yard than hand it back to Henry. But he was also anxious to do the right thing, and he knew that Angelius would know what that was. His heartbeat sped up when he asked her the question.

She paused for a minute, then shook her head. "No, no I don't think you should. You earned it, and I think it's important that you keep it around. A reminder, maybe. So you'll remember this act, this weekend, every time you take it out of your pocket."

He nodded, satisfied with this.

***

Kell took the Zippo from his pocket, thoughtfully flicked it open and closed, then replaced it. The weight of it in his pocket was a reminder, had been for as long as he could remember.

"Do you really think forgiveness works like that?" the girl asked after they'd walked for a while more.

He scratched his head, feeling the grease and dirt, and longed for a shower.

"I did back then," he said finally. "I thought it was enough that Angelius forgave me. She was my world. And I thought that being sorry was enough, and I was sorry. Just not sorry for the things I should've been sorry for, if that makes sense."

"What does it feel like? Being forgiven?"

It was a strange question, and he wondered why she was asking it. Had she never experienced forgiveness?

"Well, it's sort of two-sided, I suppose," Kell said once he'd given it some thought. "Being forgiven makes you feel lighter, like that whole big weight of what you've done is sort of lifted off you. But then, it leaves something behind, too. It's not completely freeing; it leaves a little bit of the weight with you so you can remember, I guess."

His knees were starting to ache a little now, and he pulled a canteen from the side of his pack, took a long, cool drink, and then passed it over to the girl.

"Back then, I thought that being forgiven was freedom. You did something, felt bad about it, got forgiven, and then it was done. But it's not like that really at all. It don't work if you're not sorry for the right reasons. But when it does work, when you get real forgiveness, it's like you've learnt something. Like the pain stays a little bit, but that's okay. It's like a scar, something that reminds you of what you did, what you went through."

"But you knew that stealing that money was wrong when you did it," the girl pointed out. "You must have." She handed him back the canteen, and he stowed it.

"It took me a long time to learn right from wrong," Kell told her. "I'm not saying that like it's an excuse, because it's not. I'm saying it because it's the truth. After Angelius caught me stealing that cigarette, I was careful about thieving, didn't want to do it. And honestly, if you'd have asked me what Henry told me to do, I wouldn't have said it was thieving. I was taking something from Wheeler and giving it to Henry. I didn't think that was stealing; I thought that Henry was the thief, not me. I was just the robot, doing it, if you see what I mean."

"I guess," said the girl, doubtfully.

"Well, that was how my mind worked. It wasn't my intention to steal; I wasn't getting what was in that box. Henry was. He was the thief."

"And do you think that makes a difference?"

Kell laughed. "Not now, no. But then, I did. I was different then. You know," he remarked, "it's strange how most things as you get older get more complicated. But for me, this was one thing that didn't. It got easier. I learnt that right and wrong is black and white. There's no excuses, there's no justifying it—what's right is right, and deep inside you'll always know what that is."

The girl seemed to accept this.

"Would you forgive me?" she asked suddenly.

"I would," Kell said. "Whatever it is you've done, I'd forgive you. It's not my place to hold judgment against you—not anyone's place, really. But it's not my forgiveness you want. It's His." He looked up at the bright blue sky, not a cloud to be seen. "That's the only true forgiveness. That's the only one that'll give you what you need to keep going."

The girl was silent, and Kell didn't push the matter. God was God, and his God was his God. It'd taken him a long while to find Him, but, now that he had, he knew better than to push his beliefs on anyone else. He knew from his own experience that you had to find your own way there yourself—no one could take you, no matter how much they wanted to. The Lord knew Angelius had tried. But even she, and his love for her, weren't enough to let him find forgiveness until he made his own way. And now, he was finding his way to Angelius. He was going to ask for her forgiveness. It was needed.

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