I climbed through the hole in the wall, it’d been used as a get away so many times to escape the police. Years ago. The market was disused and nobody would find me here. If they did I knew what would happen. I’d seen what happened to the people that crossed these guys. It wasn’t pretty.
Keeping low and slow all the way through there wasn’t a sound, except my heart going faster than I knew possible. But there was only the steady plink, plink, plink of water coming through a hole in the roof and hitting the uneven floor.
I stopped just for a second to catch my breath, knowing that once I got through the main doors it was a sprint to the river and I couldn’t afford to take it slow or careful out there. No stopping for breath then.
The last pillar. I knew this place too well. There was still a stain on the floor where the last guy in here, bled out. It wasn’t cleaned up, so mottled brown stains were on the floor. It’s probably still there to this day. Part of me felt semi-safe, the other not at all.
Rounding the last pillar, I knew I was feet away from escaping. But the doors were open. I could see the pier, but I shouldn’t have been able to. The hairs on the back of my neck warned me to take care.
I was dazzled as two car headlights went on. Like looking directly at a firework the lights blurred my vision. A figure emerged from it, one I recognised well. Disbelief ran through me as I heard the words ‘End of the line, Charlie boy’ as my wife pulled out a gun and fired.
©Ailsa Cawley 2022