Tick Tock. Mel Sherratt

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       2014

      Melissa Wyatt ran along the lane, down towards the field she would cut across for the next part of her journey. She was in training for the London Marathon, only a few days away now. It was her first attempt, the furthest she’d ever run, but she knew she had the strength inside her to complete it.

      She was now a firm believer that she could do anything once she put her mind to it. Even two years ago when she’d become a mum at thirty-one, she would never have thought it possible that she could run three miles, let alone twenty-six.

      She’d started off slowly, a ruse to lose the baby fat. At first every session had been torture, but eventually her puffing and panting had ceased, and she’d begun to get into an even rhythm. It had only taken three months before she’d been hooked. Now there was no stopping her, because as well as keeping her fit, it had given her a new lease of life. It had lowered her stress levels, giving her a sense of peace.

      When she was running, her mind could switch off from all the daily hassles. She could be herself again. Her son, Joshua, wouldn’t be throwing a tantrum because his TV programme had finished and there wasn’t time to watch another. Her husband Lloyd wouldn’t nag her because he couldn’t find something that he’d lost after putting it down somewhere ‘safe’. She wasn’t at the beck and call of staff and clients ready to interrupt her in a flash, unlike her day-to-day life as a customer services manager at the local building society. She was plain and simply Melissa.

      At the bottom of the lane, she climbed over the stile at the side of the gate and ran into a small wooded area. She loved going through here. It was dark and somewhat eerie at this time in the morning.

      As she clambered up the man-made steps and out into the open field, she wondered what to cook for tea. Maybe shepherd’s pie, if she remembered to get some mince out of the freezer. There would be no time to nip into the butcher’s to buy some fresh. It was going to be a late evening because she had staff training for an hour once the branch closed at five.

      She was now coming into a hilly field, empty except for her. It was early; most people were still asleep. Melissa much preferred to run in the mornings than the evenings. There were fewer people about, and fewer cars too, which was good because the lanes were narrow. A creature of habit, she covered the same route for a few months before switching up to ensure her body became challenged.

      At the top of the hill, she took a moment to catch her breath. Up here, she could see for miles. High-rise flats, factories intermingled with the odd strip of green, but mostly built up row upon row of houses. Manchester was a place she’d always call home.

      After a minute’s rest, she began to run again. With a bit of luck, she’d be home before anyone in her household was awake. Oh, to have a coffee in peace before Josh was out of bed.

      She was nearly at the other side of the field when she heard someone. Turning slightly as she ran, she saw a man running behind her. She slowed and stepped to one side to let him pass, and he drew level on the worn-down grass pathway.

      When he threw a punch at her, she was taken by surprise. She gasped as he hit her again, stumbling backwards with the force and landing heavily on the ground.

      Almost immediately the man was straddling her and his hands were around her neck.

      She tried to push him off, but he was too strong.

      She scratched at his hands, but he only squeezed harder. Struggling was useless, but she had to try. He seemed possessed, his face creased with rage.

      As the light began to fade from the world, she wondered why she’d been singled out. What had she done to deserve death? Because he was killing her, wasn’t he? And she could do nothing about it.