Gone in the Night. Mary-Jane Riley

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       DAY ONE: EVENING

      He was shivering, his teeth chattering, water dripping off his hair as he crawled out of the river and onto the shingle. The tee-shirt and boxer shorts he was wearing were sodden, clinging to his skin. He paused on his hands and knees, panting, exhausted, and looked around. There were lights in the distance, but not at this point of the harbour. Not here. Surely no one would have seen him?

      The night was dark, there was neither moon nor stars, for which he was grateful. Less chance of being spotted.

      Had he been missed yet?

      He couldn’t stay here. He had to get moving. Get up. Get up.

      His body was too heavy. He tried to unfurl, to stand.

      So much effort.

      He could do this. He’d been fit once. Muscle memory, that’s what he needed.

      He gritted his teeth.

      His head was pounding, there was a sickness in his stomach. He mustn’t think of what he’d had to leave behind. All that work, all those chances he’d taken and he’d had to get rid of it when he realized they were on to him. When he knew he had to escape. Right away. And he’d left her behind too. He’d wanted her to go with him, but she wouldn’t. Said she would slow him down. She would have done, and they could have made it together. Until it was too late for her.

      Come on, come on.

      Almost up. He stayed for a minute, back hunched, hands on the top of his knees, still shivering, always shivering. He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt warm, when his head was clear, when he felt well. He couldn’t remember.

      A car. He needed a car.

      Shapes grew out of the shadows. A shed, boathouses made of timber, two fishing boats resting on the concrete. The smell of fish and diesel in the swirling air.

      He listened.

      All he heard was the wind whistling around the edges of the buildings, then he became aware of the wind drying his body, his clothes, making him shiver more deeply, right down to his bones, to the damaged organs in his body.

      Cold.

      Cold was a killer.

      He took a deep breath and staggered towards an old shed. Hugging its perimeter, he peered around the corner.

      Nothing. Nobody.

      Lights, though. On the car park. Not many, but enough. Had to keep away from those.

      He set off in a crab-like run, fear giving an edge to his strides. He was better now, had to be better, had to get to freedom, had to leave this place behind.

      He risked a glance over his shoulder, back at the island. Lights twinkled in the distance, making the buildings look benign. There were no signs that someone – him – had escaped. No floodlights, no shouting. But then there wouldn’t have been, would there? Too risky, even for them. He tried to listen, to see if he could hear the sound of a boat, a speedboat perhaps, coming to find him.

      Nothing, even the wind had stopped its moaning.

      Either he hadn’t been missed or—

      The alternative was too awful to contemplate. He couldn’t have come this far for them to be waiting for him, just around some corner.

      He ran. Past houses towards the road. Down the road. And there. An explosion of relief. Lights. A pub. Perhaps he could get a car. Out here, in the country, they could be careless with their security. He began to pray he was right as his breaths became ever more shallow, the kicking he’d received in his ribs making itself known.

      There were cars in the car park. Swish cars, nothing old, СКАЧАТЬ