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were there, and she was barking, snarling and standing on her hind legs, trying to protect her master. She could sense his fear.
    “Don’t bend down when Byron is around, or you might get a penis up your arse!” the gang sang as one from the shadows.
    “Shut up, I’m not gay!” Byron shouted, scared and offended. How dare these teenagers follow him and abuse him, intimidating a grown man walking his dog, how dare they? He turned towards the park, staring into the darkness. His eyes became accustomed to the inky blackness, but he could see nothing but shadows.
    “You need to shut up, grass!” This time the voice came from across the road. Byron turned around to face his abuser, droplets of sweat forming on his brow and shivers running down his spine. His stomach felt like it was being squeezed by the icy fingers of an invisible giant. He still could not see anyone.
    “You are nothing but cowards, all of you. Spineless cowards!” Byron shouted towards the darkness.
    A figure emerged from the shadows dressed in a black tracksuit, black trainers, and a hooded Parka. Then another two appeared. Another three came from the trees on the left, two more from the right. Byron swallowed hard, his heart racing with fear. The gang were all around him, emerging from the night. A Ford Cortina slowed as it passed, and Byron waved to the driver for assistance, but he sped up and drove on. He heard footsteps running towards him and he turned around, Lulu yanking the lead and almost pulling him off balance. A hooded figure appeared from the bushes, squirting a liquid from a yellow tin. Suddenly flames shot towards him. Byron couldn’t comprehend what was happening. The figure clattered into him, knocking him over. Lulu snarled at the fleeting figure but it was gone in a flash, and then she howled like a banshee as her fur began to burn. Byron stared in disbelief as his dog burst into flames before his eyes; stripping his coat instinctively, he wrapped it around the howling dog. He rolled her on the grass, desperately trying to extinguish the flames.
    “Next time it’ll be you that we burn, bum boy!”
    “Don’t bend down when Byron is around, or you might get a penis up your arse!” some of the voices trailed off, laughing hysterically, and the hooded figures disappeared into the blackness.
    Lulu whimpered; she was hurt, but not fatally. Byron picked her up and ran the rest of the way home. He grabbed his car keys and took the whimpering poodle to the emergency vet. On her hindquarters there was a weeping bald patch the size of an orange. The vet thought the burn had been caused by lighter fuel, sprayed like a flamethrower. Byron didn’t care what the vet thought; the terrible experience had scared him to death. It was frightening how vulnerable he felt despite the earlier assurances of the police. After hours of mental debate, he called the police that night and dropped his witness statement.

Chapter Seven
Richard Bernstein – School Days
    When Richard woke up he was in the intensive care ward on the top floor of Liverpool’s Royal Hospital. He remembered the scuffle with Ashwan Pindar, and then he remembered being swamped by a barrage of punches and kicks. At first, he thought that his head and face were bandaged because he couldn’t see properly, but as his memory kicked in he realised that his eyes were swollen, narrowing his field of vision. His mother sat close to his bed, holding his right hand tightly. Her grip hurt his bruised fingers. His brother and sister sat to his left, away from the bed, near the wall. When he moved and opened his eyelids for the first time, his mother gasped and cried, while his father called a nurse for assistance.
    Richard wasn’t aware that he had been unconscious for nearly a week. The swelling in his brain had nearly killed him. His mother’s fussing echoed around his confused mind. The familiar voices of his family sounded metallic and fuzzy.
    “Richard, can you hear me,