The sky was a blue that just went on forever. Chris smiled welcoming the sunshine as she left the hospital. Two sparrows danced in the sky chirping and rhythmically moving to some unheard beat. The sky, the warmth and the carefree birds once again restored Chris to the feeling of normality. Sure things were bad in the Cross, even more so with the recession, yet in this simple observation she knew that nature basically was at peace. There is a beauty to this world that if alone, would survive for hundreds of years

Chris decided to walk back to the station instead of grabbing a cab. A good brisk walk would help get rid of the extra couple of pounds she�d put on over Christmas. She still wore a size twelve, and her face seemed to hide her years. Not that 33 was old. After all, she was receiving quite a few whistles. Her hips showed no sign of the fact that she had two children from her marriage. Her neatly trimmed black hair suited her small face with her deep blue eyes. Chris liked her uniform and it suited her. Her body just seemed at home in either the long pants of winter or the skirt she was wearing today.

A breeze blew lightly as she strolled up the main William Street drag leading to the infamous Coca-Cola signs of the Cross. It was especially refreshing as she passed the park to see couples having picnics and little families playing in the sun. A couple of laughs, carried with the wind, brushed across Christine�s ears. There was so much happiness in the laughter.

The greenery of the park made a delightful backdrop to the tufts of flowers scattered around the park. The whole park was inviting this day in so many ways. On Sunday the mood of the parks occupants was different to the normal Monday to Friday hustle and bustle. Christine felt it attract her, beckoning her. Chris sat down to enjoy the peace. Birds chatted, kids played, and her mind wandered to her childhood.

Chris had grown up in a stable family. Her mother and father loved each other and had celebrated their fortieth wedding anniversary only last month. She was third in the family of two boys and two girls. All the children had gone on to tertiary education and were professionals. Being part of a moderate to large family provided plenty of opportunities and there was never a lack of things to do. Chris had grown up loving and playing with her brothers and sisters and sharing time with her mother and father in a sort of Brady Bunch atmosphere. They all seemed to have plenty of friends and grew up with relatively little pain and lots of love and acceptance.

She grew up happy and content. She excelled at some things and only performed moderately at others. She was encouraged to be an individual and learnt to improve on her best efforts all the time. She possessed the freedom to make her own choices.

Her parents helped her improve in the things she wasn�t too good at, and encouraged her natural abilities. Things didn�t come easy though. She had to work hard for her money, do chores around the house and be courteous to her brothers and sisters. Her parents had never dictated. They never forced anything upon her. They never needed to.

When Chris needed to make an important decision, it was natural to ask her parents. She knew they would be firm with her, and their advice wasn�t tainted by what they wanted her to do, to make them feel good- rather it was always steering her in the best direction she needed to take to achieve her goals. Chris mostly took their advice.

She had worked part time at a local Mc Donald�s whilst at school, and then continued whilst she obtained a degree in psychology. She majored in Social Welfare studies as she had a yearning to help the unfortunate. She felt a logical step was to join the police force where being a social worker would be an asset.

A fortunate child, she grew into a quite attractive young lady. It was just before finishing her degree that she had met Nathaniel. A striking blond, tall and muscular, businesses man. He was studying part time at university in Management and Economics. He was 5�11" with a broad chest, no excess flab and looked very handsome as he walked into her life. Actually she really walked into his in a way, as she bumped into him as she entered the cafeteria. Nathaniel had asked her to share a coffee with him. He had then inquired if she usually had lunch at this time on a Monday and when she had said "yes", he�d asked politely if she would meet him next week. Slightly embarrassed and overcome by excitement that such a hunk had asked her for a date, she mumbled, "yes."

The next week she prepared herself and tried to calm her nerves as she waited patiently for her rendezvous. She saw him finally, as she turned to a tap on her shoulder. In his hands was a picnic basket. He promptly led the way to a sunny grassy stretch, a short stroll from the cafe. She looked into his blue eyes lazily, as she lay relaxed and comforted by every word flowing from his mouth. Nathaniel simply couldn�t do a thing wrong. He proposed shortly after.

A siren wailed in the distance. She stood and brushed down her skirt, adjusted her jacket and moved briskly down the street.

The shadows of the high rises lined her path and the sound of Sunday morning traffic filled her ears, as she walked towards her station. The streets were relatively clean, with a newly washed look about them.

Street derelicts scurried around like rats. They were dirty, they carried disease and scavenged food, moving from bin to bin and returning to a hovel with their loot. They avoided the sunlight, hid their face from onlookers and were commonplace amongst the alleys in this part of town.

As she approached the Cross an experienced person could recognize the debris of used needles and scraps of foil as evidence of heroin abuse. With broken bottles the refuse of alcohol abuse, fast food containers the food content of the diet, make shift bongs made from plastic drink containers, she knew she was back on her beat, back to her team of officers. Kings Cross was home to many, and abuse in all forms was its uniform.

Christine walked the streets of Kings Cross by choice. She had joined the police force for a reason. She empathized with the children of Kings Cross. Her life was totally committed to helping the children find hope. Her job as an officer was to enforce the law. But Christine had no interest in a law that protected the abuser and punished the abused. Kings Cross had both sides of the law working within it.

The law of the abusers protected organized prostitution, drug dealing, pornography and exploitation of young children. Sharon�s side was protecting the abused, the street kids, the drug dependant, and the prostitutes. She had a battle with addictions. She could only do so much. But she had made a difference. Her relationship with the abused made her accessible, able to be trusted and a source of light in a very dark and desperate place.

Christine�s first view of the children, who call the Cross home, was in a documentary done by Mike Willisee, "Kids of the Cross". The storyline aired in the early eighties when Chris was at University studying Psychology.

At the time of the show, Chris was searching for a subject for her thesis. She wanted to break new ground and she wanted to make a difference. The story of the plight of these homeless street kids made her start thinking, for the first time, about helping street kids.

Around that time, Chris had to attend a funeral of a distant second cousin on her father�s side. The cousin was a male and had died at age 19. By some strange co-incidence he had died in suspicious circumstances in Kings Cross. Four drugs including heroin, speed and marijuana were evident in the autopsy.

He had been a middle child caught up in a crowd gone wrong. Whispers amongst his drug using mates hinted that Adam mentioned suicide quite a lot. This intrigued her, as his family was very strong and stable, except that he�d lost his father at a young age. Observing the reaction of his distraught mother led her to search for answers, a reason, for her cousin�s death.

Prompted by Willisee�s excellent story, Christine decided to investigate further and from that research, had discovered that Adam had been gay and his partner was a guy called Dave. In the process of studying sexual abuse, single parent homes, and violence in the home, Christine came about some remarkable similarities in Dave�s life and that of street kids, substance abusers and prostitution. Over the years, she had grown to love and respect Dave, eventually writing her university thesis, "The Lonesome Journey", a study based around Dave�s life story.

 

*******

 

"Hi Darling."

"Hi"

"How was work?"

"You know, so so."

"How was your fishing trip?"

"We didn�t end up fishing that much. We spent a lot of time playing cards." Peter confessed rather sheepishly."

"And?" Doris his wife asked, her gaze penetrating.

"I lost quite a bit of dough."

"When will you ever learn?" she said exasperated, as she hung another shirt on a hanger.

"Did you miss me?"

"Well sort of," she lied. It was pretty peaceful without him around. Her anger with his carelessness was hard for her to hide, as she stood in the lounge ironing. It frustrated her, time and time again to have her husband throw money around.

They lived in a small, two bedroom flat they had managed to buy during the years in which they had both worked. It was part of a block of eight, nothing fancy. It was nicely furnished and filled with all the things the couple held special. It was home. The suburb was Mt Druitt, only forty minutes from the city by train and a short drive to Parramatta.

"Did you catch any fish?" she asked, wondering if she had to get any meat out for dinner.

"Yeah, a few, but we ate them." he replied.

She didn�t comment but continued ironing. She knew these fishing trips were more an exercise of drinking beer and swapping tall stories than fishing. It really annoyed her that he could go for a whole weekend, spend a heap of money and not even come home with a meal. She loved fish, but it was so expensive now, being a luxury to buy. She pushed aside her resentment for it had been good to have him out of her hair for a weekend.

She�d grown used to this refined husband over the years, since her daughter had left, those years ago. Not having her around to tempt him, things had settled fairly well and their marriage had improved. She had often wondered what her daughter was up to, yet she knew underneath, that she didn�t care that much. Joanne hadn�t really liked her since she had divorced her natural father. She had held her mother responsible for the breakup with her father and their relationship had never been the same since.

Doris felt partly responsible for her daughter�s molestation by her stepfather and guilty too, for not doing anything about it during the years it continued. Yet that was over now, ever since her daughter had left in a flurry of curses and tears. The whole affair had caused a lot of friction in her marriage and in a way, she was glad her daughter wasn�t around to cause any further trouble.

Her husband had gone into his study to put away some things, and returned after finishing a beer. He came over to her and pushed himself up behind her. He had missed her. She kissed him, bent over and turned the iron off and led him to the bedroom. As he followed he looked his wife over. For her age, she was quite attractive. Her body still reasonably firm and trim. As he kissed her and took her, she noticed he was very excited today. Lovingly she took his attention and lay back, pleased to have him home, after a weekend alone.

As he made love to his wife, he fantasized about his daughter. Her moans were Joanne�s moans her hands Joanne�s. His sex life had certainly improved since he�d accidentally stumbled upon his stepdaughter one night in the Cross. She however, hadn�t seen him, until last night when she struggled against his advances. He was happy that Mike had given her that heroin to help subdue her.

He had listened to the tape that Mike had given him this morning. To his surprise, he had heard that the girls would be going to Coogee Beach today. It created a little dilemma. Not too much though. He�d just ask her along. He rolled over and casually asked her "Do you want to go to the beach honey?"

"I would of thought you�d had enough of the water this weekend."

"No, not really, besides it�s a nice day, it would be good to go for a dip. You know, spend some time together."

"No, I don�t feel like it. By the time we get to the beach I�ll be hot and sweaty. Besides, by the time I get home it would have lost its joy. She said "But you go it you like."

"You�re sure?"

"Yeah, go ahead. I�ve got some things I want to do around the house."

He planted a kiss on her cheeks and told her to roll over. Once she did, he gave her a massage. Her groans of pleasure rose, and then subsided as she slowly lost consciousness, falling asleep under his hands. As she drifted to sleep, he had thought about his plan of attack and rolled off the bed to have a shower.

 

*******

 

"So how do you like the idea of living with Sharon?" Joanne asked, her eyes checking Tony�s response, as she bit into a barbecue chicken sandwich with lettuce, tomato and a spread of mayonnaise.

Tony took a little time to answer. He swallowed the mouthful of sandwich he was chewing, washed it down with a drink and replied. "It�s a dream come true." A smile was evident, as he took another bite. Such a simple answer. No pretense.

"So you reckon you can handle living with me?" Sharon interrupted. "I might be tough on you. I may drive you a little crazy. I�m a bit of a messer!"

"I think I can keep you in line" Tony teased.

"You do hey? Well we�ll see mister." Sharon said waving her index finger, a frown on her face.

The three of them were comfortable. They chatted, joked and laughed with each other. They all had their hurts and these united them. After about half an hour, a small barbecue chicken, half a loaf of bread, and a full litre of orange juice, lunch was finished. Sharon excused herself, stood up and went into her bedroom.

"Joanne!"

Joanne entered the bedroom to see Sharon dressing and as she approached, Sharon threw her a short skirt and a tank top. Joanne undressed. She put the skirt on first, and then pulled the top over her head and slid it into place. The top clung tightly to her breasts and left her stomach exposed. Both girls pirouetted in front of each other and received a nod of approval. Before leaving the room, Sharon grabbed a couple of beach towels from the top of her wardrobe.

They received a whistle from Tony when they returned. His young eyes showed his interest. Confident of his opinion as a male, they bade him farewell, giving him a spare key and some money.

 

*******

 

In Mt Druitt, in that small apartment, with his wife asleep, Peter picked up the phone and dialed Sharon�s number.

"Hello, Tony speaking."

"Hello Tony, is Sharon there?"

"No, she isn�t. Who�s this?"

"This is Mike," Peter lied "I�m a new client of Sharon's. I was just ringing up to see if I could see her."

"She�s not working today. You�ve just missed her though, she�s just left for the beach."

"I�ll catch up with her in a few days," Peter said business like, "Thanks Tony."

"That�s okay." Click, the phone went dead.

Peter hurried. He put a towel in a bag, some sunscreen, a camera and binoculars then hurried to get into his car and quickly drove off.

Tony hung up the phone realising the call was probably pretty normal for a call girl. Tired from the last twenty-four hours, he lay down on the sofa to catch up on a little sleep and quickly dozed off.

 

*******

 

Chris smiled as she opened the front door to the station. Today, the foyer welcomed her with a high level of shouting and commotion. A couple of young fellas in cuffs shouted a stream of four letter words, while both physically and verbally objecting to being led back to a cell after questioning. With no respect for the law, their rights or anything else, they just let loose with what they wanted to say. It seemed that the cops were perpetrating a massive injustice by having the audacity to stop them robbing a local McDonald�s outlet. They saw no reason as to why they couldn�t continue terrorising the staff and robbing the hard-earned dollars of a respectable business owner of the Cross.

With a last glance at the streets that made up her beat, Christine walked into her workplace. As she opened the front bench flap, that swung up and down to gain access into the back office, she was immediately greeted by the Senior Constable who exclaimed "Chris, you�re here! Great, come and give us a hand will you?"

"Get your hands off me bitch!" Geoff shouted as Chris grabbed his arm.

"Young man, I�ll put my hand wherever I like," she released his arm and grabbed him by the ear instead.

"Ah," came a shrill yelp from the youth.

"Would you care to co-operate or shall I continue?"

"Yeah all right. Just let go of me ear will ya?"

Another couple of kids. Chris had seen them around. Lately, the younger had been in a couple of fights. She remembered giving him a warning. Pumped up with speed, the guy had been driving another youth�s head into a wall. Chris had broken it up and told him to settle down. It had taken a couple of officers to restrain him, as he tried to break loose and hit the guy further. His mouth swam in deep burgundy blood; his movements were in a frenzy of violence. It took a lot of energy to restrain him, as he was so high on drugs.

Today though, he was more subdued. He still looked like he was using. His hair was rough and unkempt, but his eyes dazzled with a boyish like quality. His mouth was still pouring forth adjectives in sequences that at least showed some form of creativity.

Chris said in a soft restrained voice as she led him to his cell. "I can�t help you now Rodney. I�m sorry you�ll go to jail for this one. Why didn�t you stay out of trouble like I warned you?"

"I couldn�t miss. I dunno. It just seems to happen. I don�t plan it or nothin. I wake up sometimes and find out I�ve been out of control again. I got no answers you know. But it�s not easy to live out there on the streets."

"Yes, I�m aware of that Rod. But why did you do it?"

"Felt like it, needed some cash, Chris. Social Security doesn�t afford much of a lifestyle you know. I�m not on big money like you cops. Na. All Rodney�s got is a roof, a few clothes and the luxury of being stoned once in a while. McDonalds makes heaps of money. Why can�t he share it around a bit you know?" Rod asked.

"Because you already know the answer to that don�t you Rod? He works hard, he employs people and he keeps us fed, here in this cesspool of a town. He�s got a wife and kids to look after and enough worries of his own. If he makes some money, he deserves it. He doesn�t deserve punks like you, knocking him off and terrorising his customers. Does he?"

"Na, I suppose not."

"Come on. Get in your cell. I�ll get a towel, some shaving gear and a comb. We�ll get you cleaned up for the magistrate and see what he can do. Rod, you know I can�t do much, but what I can do for you, will only be effective, if you co-operate with me. You know that, don�t you?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, I know, sorry Chris."

"It�s OK Rod. Grab some sleep, I�ll see you later on and we�ll have a chat."

"How do you know her?" Geoff asked, seeing the closeness Christine and Rodney shared.

"Shut up Geoff, you jerk!" was Rodney�s response. He lay on a single bed, and kicking his shoes off, he put his head down to get some rest. The curtains of the day pulled shut, as he drifted off.

Chris grabbed herself a Milo, sat down to enjoy it and read a message that had come for her. As she sipped the drink she was shocked to find that Sally�s husband had died in hospital. Her partner disturbed her just as she finished reading the message, and asked if she could come into the interview room.

Sitting in a single chair, in the middle of a sparsely furnished room, was the man who had committed the assault, earlier that morning. He was tired of questions and sat almost dignified, with a raised composure showing no sign of weakness. His whole manner had DEFIANT written all over it. The typical wise guy, which had seen too many TV shows and thought he was being smart not answering any questions.

Chris began. "Murder with intent. We�ve witnesses to a fight with murder weapon in hand. We have the blood of victim on your clothes and an independent witness to the killing. It�s life imprisonment guaranteed! Open and shut case. Your defiance mister has just made your case harder for you. I don�t want to speak to you now and it�s obvious you don�t want to co-operate with us. I see no need therefore, to waste my time trying to talk or reason with you."

Your case is set down for trial" she said and paused, as she leafed through the Trial Register. On the 20th of February, and we�ll pin you to the wall." She put the Trial Register in its place and without another word, walked from the room.

The killer just looked in astonishment with a sort of pleading look, his hands raised to her partner.

Her partner said. "Don�t look at me. We�ll see you at the trial like she said."

He led the prisoner to his cell in silence. He opened the cell and put the man inside and turned to lock it. The defiance had left the prisoner�s face and it showed the beginnings of fear and dread. He turned to leave and heard the prisoner pleading for another interview. Without turning Christine's partner replied, "You had your chance buddy and you blew it!"

"How are you partner?" welcomed Mark, as he returned from the cell.

"All right, I suppose." Chris replied.

"Do you think he�ll talk?"

"Sure he will. Now he�s lost control of the situation. He�ll want to talk." Christine said matter of factly. "He knows where we stand with no bargaining, unless he co-operates.

"You know we may only have manslaughter?" Mark suggested.

"I know, but that will depend on the evidence." Chris admitted. " This morning I had a talk to Sally, the victim�s wife, at the hospital. The deceased was a builder who owed this guy some money. The money was running late. He explained the situation over the phone but that wasn�t good enough. He hung up the phone and turned up at the builder�s house where he assaulted him.

When he arrived, he forced his entry and savagely attacked the deceased. We have a lot to go on, with an eyewitness. With a bit of thorough investigative work, I�m sure we can nail him for murder."

Chris continued. "Of course, any conviction isn�t going to restore the situation. The sad fact is; Sally hasn�t got a husband to hold anymore or the income from her husband to rely on. All she has is memories. No matter what the conviction, it will never makes things right."

Mark replied. "That�s true, you�re such a deep thinker."

"No, I like to say I live in reality Mark. No one wins with murder. Everyone gets hurt in some way. It�s like a virus that just spreads out to infect everyone. Sure, it holds intrigue when you read about it, or suspense in movies, but just like adultery, it�s no fun when it strikes close to home.

You know Mark, I even feel sorry for the killer. He has to live with this crime in his memory. Prison isn�t an answer either. It won�t fix things Mark; it will just complicate what already is a messed up individual. He�ll be a hero in there with that story. Many people will relate to the little guy getting on top of the big guys. Acceptance by people, considered his peers, will probably effect him worse than the actual crime he committed. It will take a miracle to turn him around Anyway, enough of the psychology lecture. What else are we going to do today?"

"Well, I talked to the Chief. He wants us on the case. So I suppose lunch would be in order."

 

*******

 

Tony woke with a start. Looking around in fright, he soon realised where he was. Sweat was on his forehead and palms and he wiped them in relief. Bad dreams were becoming more common place for him as time went on. It was always a relief to wake from the nightmares, although sometimes, even at his tender age, he was hopeful he wouldn�t awake anymore.

From his earliest recollection, there had been tough hurdles. Hanging on was due to a thin thread of luck and the occasional good fortune. Tony had managed to survive. Many would call him a "survivor" when looking upon his life. The word, survivor, was positive in a way. Yet, to be a true survivor came quite naturally to a person who had no other choices.

The term "Sexual Abuse", was becoming a common expression these days with whispered confessions and public admissions on "Current Affair" shows. Tony hadn�t seen anything that gave him hope. So day after day, he went to sleep hoping for a better tomorrow.

Tony had been the victim of successive abuse as he passed through foster homes and institutions as a number on their books. Clinging to nothing solid and moving in a direction he didn�t even know was forward; Tony survived. Desperately looking for love and acceptance, he had started to wear a mask of toughness. It hadn�t really worked though, as he was an innocent, not a cold hard person.

Yet today, as he woke on a foreign sofa, owned by a stranger, a drop of hopefulness fought for a place in his sea of turmoil. In his mind�s eye he could see a light starting to penetrate the darkness of his life. He stretched, got up and had a drink of orange juice. As the cold juice sank down his throat, his whole body seemed to wake up. Sun was streaming through the window of the kitchen and warmed his body. He walked to the window and looked out at the view of the Harbour. Turning, he swallowed the last of his juice, walked into the lounge room, put his key in his pocket and left the apartment.

Arriving at the Cross, Tony looked around trying to find Tracy. He walked up and down the streets looking, until he came across a busker. The busker was playing a melody on his guitar. His strokes were confident and his voice carried the sound of an Eagles song called "The Long Run". As he approached Tony sat down close to watch.

The busker smiled at him as he switched to an up beat song by Midnight Oil. The entertainment intrigued him as the music flowed past him. The Oils were a favorite of Tony�s but he realised they didn�t sing much about love. They sang about issues and things about this world with it�s successes and failures, about the drastic decisions man has made in the name of progress and the debris of victims of their greed that were left in their wake. The songs were sad, happy, up beat and even slow. They instilled hope, despised multinationals and governments, spoke of family, right decisions, the environment and our treatment of each other. All the songs had passion about them and a message. Yet they weren�t love songs. This is what Tony wanted to hear.

Tony had matured fast. He was an avid fan of music of all types. He read a lot also. Through reading and listening he was largely self taught. He had faith; sure that hadn�t left him. But through the years it had wavered. He knew things, and chased up books on others he didn�t know. With all the different moves in his life, he couldn�t depend on the regular education system most people are fortunate to experience. His beliefs were mostly theory and experience hadn�t born them out, nethertheless for his age, the school of hard knocks had taught him well.

As he contemplated, the busker switched to a Beetle�s melody "She loves you, yeah, yeah." He wondered what would come of this new friend he�d found in Sharon. He was happy she had offered him a place to stay. But part of him was still cautious. Everyone he�d lived with to date had abused him. He hoped this wouldn�t become true of Sharon. After half an hour, he bade farewell to the busker and walked towards his newfound home. As he did, he saw Tracy saying good-bye to an elderly man. He ran up behind her and grabbed her, lifting her into the air.

"Tony! Oh Tony. How are you?"

A mixture of gladness and joy swept over him as he grabbed his girl. They stood again, in the middle of the streets of Kings Cross, boy and girl, and embraced each other.