The bleach stung his eyes, and he could feel tears rolling down his cheeks. He screwed his nose up against the potent chemical stench and used the cold wall to guide himself. Fortunately, he didn't have to travel far. Accompanied by Sarah's screams, he carefully placed one foot in front of the other as if he were walking the hallway for the first time. The images of burning flats and heavy smoke flooded his mind. He sniffed the air and stared into the darkness. How would he get out if there was a fire during the night? Staring straight ahead, he tried to let his thoughts pass. Drawing deep breaths did nothing to calm his pulse. The belly laughs of several men snaked down the stairwell from Dean's flat. George ground his jaw, and his taught body wobbled. The only laugh he recognized was Ginge's. Horrible cunt! He'd get his. When the noise died down, he rolled the tension from his shoulders and continued moving forwards. The cold showed little concern for the two extra sweatshirts that George had slipped on before leaving.
