《Black & White ...and Grey》


 Prologue: Jaspers Story

    Everyone knows Cruella and the story of her rather swift descent into madness, so I won''t waste anyone''s time with that. The story I want to tell is my own. While the part I played in Cruella''s story was minor at best, it was a part nonetheless, and I think it deserves telling.


    I won''t bore anyone with the unnecessary details of my early life, so I''ll keep my awful little backstory brief. My family was poor. Mum found work cleaning where she could, my father, having no great skill at any trade, took up any work he could find, while I honed my young abilities as a thief. I guess it wouldn''t have been all that bad if not for the fact that my old man was a violent drunk who squandered every penny he and my mum made on the strongest spirits he could afford.


    Horace was my escape from home in those days. He lived with his mum in a run-down block of flats not far from my own little shack. On the days or nights when I''d come home from my own mischief and hear the all-too-familiar sounds of my father drunkenly beating my mother, I wouldn''t even stop at the door, but kept going straight to Horace''s. Then, when Horace''s mum took sick and died, I offered for him to stay with me. I had nothing more to offer than my friendship and a place to go, awful as it was, but at the time it was more than what he had.


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    That turned out to be the final straw for my worthless father. After a week of complaining about another mouth to feed, he snapped and beat my mum for the last time, then drank himself to death next to her lifeless body. Horace and I found them when we returned home the next morning.


    I didn''t have it in me to cry for them. I covered my mum''s body with a blanket then turned to the stinking lump that was my father. My small body filled with rage as I kicked his awful face as hard as I could. Over and over again I kicked and stomped his corpse, until Horace had to pull me away.


    "It''s over, mate. Let''s just get out of here," Horace said.


    "You''re right, you''re right," I said as I tried to calm myself. But as I looked around at the destruction of and in my tiny childhood home, I knew there was one more thing I needed to do. "Burn it down."


    From then on it was just Horace and me. Two orphaned twelve-year-old boys on their own on the streets of London; filching, picking pockets, and dodging the peelers. After a few months, we''d worked out a nice little routine, having learned the best places and times to ply our skills. We never could''ve guessed that one particular morning in Regent''s Park would change the course of everything.

 Chapter 1: The Day That Changed Everything

    As we neared Regent''s Park, Horace drew my attention to something odd on the fountain. Upon closer inspection, that something was a sleeping young girl huddled together with a small dog.


    At first glance, she didn''t look like the type of kid you''d find sleeping alone in the park. Shoes that weren''t worn through, school uniform that wasn''t tattered or soiled, and just a general look about her that said "I have a home."


    "Just leave her be," I told Horace. "Take Wink and skim the fountain." So we went about our business as if it were any other day.


    Horace and Wink splashing about must''ve woke her. As I relieved a less-than-charitable gentleman of his wallet, I turned just as she startled awake, looking in my direction before quickly pretending to be asleep again. It seemed like as good a time as any to say hello.


    "Morning," I said as I hopped up onto the ledge next to her.


    Horace must''ve seemed a bit too inquisitive. When he got close enough to stoop down for a better look, the girl''s dog began growling and her eyes flew open. She panicked at his close proximity and shot to her feet, abruptly kicking Horace away from her.


    As she stood there, I realized something that hadn''t been obvious at first, curled up the way she was. While her clothing gave the impression of a home, her overall disheveled appearance and the tell-tale glint of fear in her eyes told a different story. She was just like us.


    "Go back to your family, little girl!" Horace shouted.


    For a moment she said nothing, just stood there looking between us. I couldn''t help but admire how she stood her ground.


    "She has no family," I said plainly.


    She glared at me, but made no attempt to deny it.


    Just then, the peeler''s whistle blew. "Oi!" He shouted, and began to give chase.


    "Come on, Horace!" I said as we dashed from the fountain and out of the park.


    As we scurried through the back alleys, I heard the girl''s footsteps trailing behind us, and saw her a short distance behind. But as we slipped through the fence that surrounded the abandoned flats we called home, I lost sight of her.


    She must''ve been caught, I thought to myself. Better her than us, I suppose.


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    We scrambled up to the roof and down through a skylight, dropping hard onto a pile of old mattresses.


    "That was close," Horace said with a grin. "I think we lost her."


    The words were hardly out of his mouth before the girl and her dog dropped down through the skylight.


    "So," I said as she looked about the darkened flat, "what''s your story?"


    Her eyes immediately began to glisten with tears. She turned away quickly, pretending to look around to hide it.


    "Where are your parents?" Horace asked.


    She didn''t answer right away, only stood with her back to us sniffling back tears.


    "My mum''s dead," was all she said.


    The sadness in her voice was heartbreaking. Those three little words held a world of pain for her, and hearing her say them caused something to tighten in my chest. She had the same look about her as Horace when he lost his mum. In that moment, I made a decision.


    "I...think you should stay here," I said.


    It would benefit us all. She wouldn''t be alone with nowhere to go, and for Horace and me, having a girl around would help us look innocent and be a distraction.


    "I wanted to be a fashion designer...not a thief," she said sadly. Realizing her lack of options, she began to weep quietly.


    "She crying again?" Horace said in a low voice.


    "Her mum died. You remember what that''s like," I reminded him.


    A look of sorrow crossed his face as he hung his head. He remembered.


    With a defeated look, the girl removed her oversized hat, revealing a mop of hair that was solid black on one side and pure white on the other.


    "Cripes!" Horace shouted.


    I merely stared in wide-eyed astonishment. It was a bold and rather unusual look, but it looked good on her.


    "I need to dye my hair," she said.


    "I don''t know, I quite like it," I said, and I meant it. But she was right. Hair like that would attract attention and be painfully easy to spot. I couldn''t say no to the pleading expression she wore. "Alright, we''ll get your hair dye. But first, if you''re going to be a part of our gang, I think we should know your name. I''m Jasper. This is Horace. The little one-eyed chap is Wink."


    "I''m Estella. This is Buddy." She picked up the little dog and held him to her like a small child''s security blanket.


    "Alright then, Estella, you and Buddy stay here and get settled in. Come on Horace, this won''t take long," I said.


    "Wait!" She called as we made to leave. "How do I know you''ll come back?" She kept her voice steady, but I could hear a sliver of panic in it.


    Horace and I exchanged a look, then he looked down at Wink.


    "Wink, you stay here and keep an eye on things," he said, and Wink trotted over and sat at her feet, tail wagging. He looked back at Estella. "That dog is like a son to me, I wouldn''t leave him here if we weren''t coming back."


    She looked down at Wink, who yipped and continued wagging his tail, then back at us, making no attempt to hide her apprehension.


    "Look," I said calmly, "if this arrangement is going to work out, you''re going to have to trust us."


    "What if I don''t want it to work out?" She retorted with just a hint of defiance.


    All I could do was smile and shake my head. "I think if that were the case, you wouldn''t have followed us."


    She graced me with the same glare she shot me at the park, but again made no move to deny it.


    "We won''t be too long," I said, shooting her a quick smile over my shoulder as we left.

 Chapter 2: The Good Old Days

    We never could''ve known it then, but the next ten years would turn out to be the best years of our lives. We became inseparable; the self-proclaimed Three Musketeers of Petty Theft. And we were good.


    It wasn''t that we never got caught, we were just kids and missteps did happen on occasion, we were just better than most at not being caught. The first time Estella got snagged, she let out such an ear-shattering scream that the chap that got her had to cover his ears, and when he did she bolted and disappeared into the alleys.


    Having Estella with us turned out to be more advantageous than we thought. She may have dreamt of being a fashion designer, but she had a strong talent for acting as well. Folks were far more willing to give their undivided attention to a crying school girl who''d gotten separated from her parents than they were to a pair of shady-looking young boys. She played her parts well, and when Horace and I slithered among her audiences, for the most part, they were none the wiser. Silly of me to think now that I believed it to be just another talent of hers and not a tiny glimpse of the monster that was lying dormant deep inside. But all that happens later.


    For the first couple of years we were content with our little small-time crime family ways. After a while, though, I could see the glaze of boredom begin to creep into Estella''s eyes. She may have been forced into a lifestyle of crime, but she never gave up her dream of one day becoming a fashion designer. The space she''d claimed at our flat was covered from top to bottom with her sketches and magazine photos and newspaper clippings. I had an idea.


    It took a little of my own sneaking around to keep it a secret, but for our third Christmas together I got her a sewing machine and a few bolts of fabric. The fabrics were stolen, of course, but I spent my own money on the sewing machine when I happened across it in a charity shop. It was all worth it to see her face light up that morning. She squealed with delight and hugged me so tightly I couldn''t breathe. That was the first time she kissed me.


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    Now, as a young man of fifteen, I wasn''t exactly a perfect stranger to fleeting affections for girls my age; I was a young man, after all. But ever since I''d first developed the interest, I''d never truly felt anything for any one of them. Even now, I still can''t figure out why she was different, or why it was her that my heart responded to.


    It was only a quick peck on the cheek in a rare moment of unchecked excitement, but that quick little peck stirred something deep in my heart. Something that, because of my own early-life experiences, I didn''t even believe I was capable of feeling for another person.


    After that, I found myself doing little things just to see her smile, with the secret hope that maybe, just maybe she might kiss me again. I never did anything excessive or suggestive, of course, she''d have bludgeoned me herself if I''d been that brazen, but I knew which trivial, seemingly random things she liked. Her favorite Indian takeaway when she was in an off mood, or a magazine or sweet she really liked, and fabrics. Always fabrics.


    So it was that at the age of fifteen our griffs started to become more elaborate, incorporating clever disguises into the acts. That made Estella happy. Seeing Estella happy made me happy.


    However, the butterflies that had begun to spring up in my belly whenever she smiled at me had also begun to make me question the wisdom of secretly pursuing her attention. I knew my chances were slim that she might possibly ever have the same feelings for me that I was coming to realize I was developing for her, but I was young then, and it felt like a chance worth taking. Sometimes I wonder how differently things things would''ve turned out if only I''d kept my stupid heart to myself.