I'm Here | ✓

04 - Escape

I can barely think over the whistling of the wind in my ears. I focus on the road markings, slipping in and out of opposing traffic, dodging car doors and angered drivers. The sky turns from a husky blue to a darker, blacker tone. Briefly, I think about how Steve would've painted the sky, using beautiful words as his brush stroked elegant lines across the canvas. He'd summon gorgeous colors from mangled, stained tubes of acrylics as though by magic. Our feet would be dangling over the rooftop and he told me to look at the stars, but I couldn't take my eyes off him, all sharp cheekbones and calm confidence and quiet grace.

I narrowly avoid the bumper of a delivery truck and blink to reorient myself. Fantasies about Steve wouldn't help me now. I have nothing to my name except a criminal record and a haunted past. The sounds of the city drown out my thoughts and I gas the motorcycle a little harder, swerving around a corner. Guilt weighs heavy on my chest, and for a moment, I'm certain that's what spins me out of control.

One second, I was feeling the cool night wind blow against my face as I sped up alleyways, avoiding broken pallets and hopping curbs and startling employees who had gone out back for a smoke. Then, I was tumbling across the asphalt, protecting my face with my arms, tearing my skin on the rocks in the road. I skidded in front of a car and flattened myself to the ground, the wheels narrowly missing my legs by a matter of inches. I scrambled to standing, breathless and wincing. My fingers unconsciously trace the wound in my torso. Blood stains my hoodie and it takes a second to register through the pain.

I've been shot.

I slip the remaining knife out of my waistband with a groan at the small strain. The wound pounds and I press my right hand to it, biting back a yelp. My vision spins, crowds of spectators going blurry and slipping sideways. Car doors slam and hands rush to support me. I shove them back. This is my fight.

I take an unsteady step down the street, searching the buildings for broken windows that might indicate a sniper. My legs need a second to catch up, but my eyes are as alert as ever, scanning through the night with extreme clarity. My heart pumps wildly in my chest and I wish everything would just slow down and shut up so I can focus. I take shallow breaths to combat the pain in my chest as I start trudging faster, faster, faster, until I'm gliding over the pavement, eyes to the sky, equal parts praying and cursing.

"You missed your shot, motherfucker," I hiss to no one. "Why don't you take another and we'll find out where you really are?"

There are so many people. Too many people. Too many windows, too many roofs, too few streetlights. Anyone could have done it.

Blood poured out from between my fingers, dripping down my skin, warm and thick and making me dizzy. I squint and struggle to keep my balance.

There's a pounding sound and the area around me floods white. A helicopter traps me with a spotlight, and if they're saying something, I can't hear them.

Another gunshot makes me flinch. It pings harmlessly off my left arm, and I follow the echoes to a certain rooftop.

A glint of metal.

I spit blood out of my mouth with a half-cocked grin. "I'm gonna pass that off as a rookie mistake."

You can't win every fight, my mind whispers.

I know, but I can sure as hell escape this one.

I dart down a sidestreet, taking cover between parked cars. The helicopter loses me for a moment and I savor the darkness, sticking close to a building as the light sweeps over. A pang in my side reminds me of the original bullet wound, and I can feel the adrenaline slowly seeping out of me. No, no, no, no. I just need to outlive this, and if that means passing out in a gutter where they can't find me, then I'll take what I can get. I push myself a little harder when I hear another gunshot. This one misses me entirely but it draws the spotlight directly to me, and I wheeze out a curse. I wrap my left arm around my neck and keep going, keep running, always running, always running.

Unconscious of what I'm doing, I dip behind a building, searching for cover. Any other time, I'd breathe out a sigh of relief when I spot a rusty delivery truck parked right next to the curb. The spotlight scans the street and I press myself against the wall, inching toward the vehicle.

If I could just get a little closer...

My head snaps back, slamming against the brick. A gasp inadvertently escapes my lips. Pain travels up my body, igniting every one of my nerves.

There's a figure perched on top of the opposite building, staring down almost casually, rifle in hand. I slide down the brick, staring at him, fighting off waves of pain with muffled groans.

Steve. Steve, run. Steve, they're coming for me. They're coming for you. Steve, you have to go. Run. Leave. Save yourself.

I lose the battle for consciousness and collapse onto the pavement. My vision fades into nothing but the darkest shadows I've ever seen.