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- That's for you Royal!
- What's the matter, buddy?
- Did you fall down, buddy? You must be as drunk as I am.
- You gonna catch a cold there. Whats the matter? You like layin' in the wet?
- He had been stabbed ten minutes ago. The knife entered just below his rib cage and had been drawn across his body violently, tearing a wide gap in his flesh. He had known excruciating when the knife had torn across his body, and then sudden comparative relief when the blade was pulled away. He had heard the voice saying "That's for you Royal!" and then the sounds of footsteps hurrying into the rain, and then fallen to the sidewalk, clutching his stomach to stop the flow of blood. (Hunter #1)
- Somebody's hurt.
- No. Wait.
- I dont know.
- What?
- I'll go see.
- What was that?
- Freddie!
- I'm scared.
- He did not know he was dying. He lay on the sidewalk, bleeding, and he thought only: That was a fierce rumble. They got me good that time, but he did not know he was dying. He would have been frightened had he known. In his ignorance he lay bleeding and wishing he could cry out for help, but there was no voice in his throat. There was only the bubbling of blood from his lips whenever he opened his mouth to speak. He lay in his pain, waiting for someone to find him. (Hunter #1)
- The man came down the alley. He had not seen Andy yet. He walked, and then stopped to lean against the brick of the building, and then walked again. He saw Andy then and came toward him, and he stood over him for a long time, the minutes ticking, ticking, watching him and not speaking. Then he said, "What's the matter buddy?" Andy could not speak, and he could barely move. He lifted his face slightly and looked up at the man, and in the rain swept alley he smelled the sickening odour of alcohol. The man was drunk. The man was smiling. (Hunter #2)
- His name is Andy.
- Andy, It's me, Laura.
- A Royal.
- He's dead.
- A royal, huh?
- He tried to speak. He tried to move. He tried to crawl toward the doorway. He tried to make a noise, a sound and a grunt came, a low animal grunt of pain. "What was that?" the girl said, suddenly alarmed, breaking away from the boy. "I don't know," he answered. "Go look, Freddie." "No. Wait." Andy moved his lips again. Again the sound came from him. "Freddie!" "What?" "I'm scared." "I'll go see," the boy said. He stepped into the alley. He walked over to where Andy lay on the ground. He stood over him, watching him. "You all right?" he asked. "What is it?" Angela asked from the doorway. "Somebody's hurt," Freddie said. "Let's get out of here," Angela said. (Hunter #4,5)
- grunt
- Let's get out of here.
- Go look, Freddie.
- Now, in the alley, with cold rain washing his hot body, he wondered about the meaning. If he died, he was Andy. He was not a royal. He was simply Andy, and he was simply dead. And he wondered suddenly if the Guardians who had ambushed him and knifed him had ever once realized he was Andy? Had they known that he was Andy or had they simply known that he was Royal wearing a purple silk jacket. Had they stabbed him, Andy, or had they only stabbed the jacket and title and what good was the title if you were dying? I'm Andy, he screamed wordlessly, I'm Andy.
- I'm Andy, I'm Andy
- She found him in the doorway a minute past midnight. She left the dance to look for him, and when she found him, she knelt beside him and said, "Andy, it's me, Laura." He did not answer her. She backed away from him, tears springing into her eyes, and then she ran from the alley. She did not stop running until she found a cop. And now, standing with the cop, she looked down at him. The cop rose, and said, "He's dead." All the crying was out of her now. She stood in the rain and said nothing, looking at the purple jacket that rested a foot away from his body. The cop picked up the jacket and turned it over in his hands. "A royal huh?" He said. She looked at the cop and, very quietly, she said "His name is Andy." The cop slung the jacket over his arm. He took out his black pad, and he flipped it open to a blank page. "A Royal." He said then began writing.
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