Falling for the Predator

Chapter 4- A New Home

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Mike POV:

"And have you reached a verdict you all agree upon?" the judge asked the jury. A middle aged, plump man rose from the masses, sweating slightly and fidgeting as he responsed to the judge's query.

"We have, your Honour", stated the plump man.

I sat in the box, cuffed, dirty and already looking like a convicted man. And yet I acted like I hadn't a care in the world, a slight smile on my face. One of feigned innocence; my mind knew all too well what I had done; but
I had been here before, Brett had got me out before, I wasn't sweating it too much. 'Just play it cool and the jury'll be cool with you', he had always taught us. And cool I was. Cool, calm and collected.

Until the jury spoke.

"Your Honour, we find Mr Townsend guilty...on the charge of..."

My smile promptly vanished as quickly as the plump man sat back down, hiding from my piercing gaze as I looked around, almost considering my surroundings for the first time. My mind laughed at; 'This is what you get for being arrogant', it said.

"Very well then, the court thanks you for...." the judge was addressing the jury now.

I didn't hear the rest, my ears blocked out the sounds of condemnation, as if it would somehow make this all vanish into thin air. I put my head in my arms, and shut my eyes. No. I couldn't believe it. Brett said it would be fine, he said he would bribe the judge!

"Mr Townsend....guilty of....dangerous man indeed.....criminally minded.....5 years with a 2 year minimum....state prison..."

I was suffocating. I couldn't breathe. No. I won't go to prison. I can't. No. Bulky men in blue uniforms grabbed my cuffed arms; I was lead down the courtroom stairs. No.

I tried to tell myself that 2 years wasn't too bad. That what I did carried a life sentence. That Brett was still looking out for me. But I couldn't process it. I couldn't think. I couldnt move. I couldn't breathe.

"COURT ADJOURNED."

I took one last look at the visitors' box, where my crew, my boss, my friends should have been. I tried to glance at them, see their shocked faces, their pained expressions.

They'd left. They were gone.

And I was a goner too.

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I hated coaches. The constant rumbling, coming from deep within the confines of the vehicle, like the snoring of some great beast, meant I could never rest, and the stench of diesel hung in the hot, stuffy air, making each breath laboured and unpleasant. The thin curtains barely blocked out any light for those who, like me, wanted to rest, and the seats were cramped together, to maximise the amount of money the owners could squeeze out of every journey. They called it business; I called it human torture. To make matters worse, my old, trusty Walkman had run out of juice miles back, leaving me to suffer all this in silence.

And it was all worth it. For the chance of a new life.

I wearily opened my eyes as I sensed the bus pull to a stop. I watched as the coach door opened, allowing an elderly couple to get off the bus, and I embraced the few seconds of fresh air before the door clamped shut again. I chuckled darkly; 'from one prison to another', I thought. Glancing around the outdated monster of a bus, I realised I was the only one left now. I began to grow impatient as the bus stood still for ages. I'd just about had enough of this journey for one day. I shot up while the bus was still stationary, and went up to the driver, a bored-looking woman, probably around 50, with greying short hair and spectacles. Her nametag read, "Stephanie".