Dan Lotus tore off the balaclava and shoved it into his jacket pocket. Then, with the backpack bouncing off his shoulder, he sprinted through the car park behind Sainsbury’s. There weren’t many cars at this hour, so there were no obstacles to slow him.
Shit! The contents of his stomach were rising up his throat. He’d just stabbed a sodding copper!
He managed to get to Gracious Street before vomiting on the pavement.
Coppers hadn’t been part of the deal.
Not at all!
He caught his breath and reduced his speed to a quick march. He heard the wail of an ambulance, before seeing it fly past. The paramedics were going to have their work cut out up there. He’d dealt all three of them a good seeing to. The coppers would need stitches, and Cherish, well, she’d been taught good and proper… He may have just done that little bastard in her belly a favour. Imagine having that bitch as your mother. It’d never been the same between him and Bradley after she’d shown up. The way she’d led him astray had been disgusting. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d been involved with his death.
Realising that being out on a main road with the emergency services burning a route to that bloodbath was an act of stupidity, he took a right onto Cheapside, and started to run again. He crossed over to avoid a drunk couple that were using the entirety of the pavement to keep their footing and burst onto Castle Yard.
Up ahead, he sighted the imposing solid towers in the castle’s enclosure wall. He felt the sting of doubt when he considered what’d happened to his best friend here but decided this was his best option. Through the castle grounds, down the steps and to the river Nidd offered his best route out of this danger zone.
He ran between two large patches of grass, past the bowling green. It was impossible not to take in the largely ruined keep, behind which, Bradley – Jesus, how he missed his bro – had been left like a piece of meat; however, he kept his focus mainly on the dominating Knaresborough viaduct, because once he was down the steps, and beneath that, then he would feel as if he’d reached sanctuary.
Fearful of taking a tumble, Dan was more careful on the steps leading down to Waterside, but he was still going at a brisk pace. He was surprised at how well he was running, having smoked and drank himself senseless these past days following his best mate’s death.
At the bottom of the steps, he tore down Waterside towards the viaduct. Despite his concern over what he’d done to a copper, he couldn’t resist a smirk. He’d certainly given them the slip.
He’d run well, but he was long overdue a breather. He descended some steps onto the Viaduct Terrace: a small platform where you could either throw bread to the ducks, despite the signs telling you not to; or stare up in wonder at the jewels in Knaresborough’s crown – the four arches of the viaduct.
Completely spent, he hoisted the yellow backpack off, dropped it on the floor, and leaned against the railing. Despite feeling certain that he’d dropped his flick knife in his jacket pocket, he reached in to double check, and was reassured. His fingerprints would be all over it, so dropping that during his escape would have been a disaster. His next task, once his senses had recovered, was to get rid of the bloody thing.
He winced over the pain in his damaged cheek. It had been a painful couple of days, and there was no getting used to that constant throbbing! He decided to grab some cider and paracetamol on the way home.
He picked up the backpack and unzipped it. It was stuffed full of newspapers to give it a bit of bulk and weight. Of course, it hadn’t been important what was actually in the bag. It had simply been a ruse to get Cherish there. As if anyone would trust that stupid girl with a real bag of drugs. He laughed, sealed the bag up and chucked it back on the floor.
Dan reached into his pocket for his vape pen, and looked out over the river for a time, recovering from his exertions, knowing he’d done enough now to make amends for his recent discretions. He’d be firmly back in the good books—
He felt a tight grip around his throat.
Dan dropped the vape pen, seized the arm around his neck and tried to yank it free. Useless. This was one strong bastard.
He tried to plead, but no sound passed through his throat; it was being crushed. He tried, and failed, to draw in breath—
Dan was yanked back. His arse landed on the floor. He dared to hope, briefly, that the sudden impact would jar his aggressor’s grip loose. It didn’t. The bastard was unrelenting, and he was now being dragged backwards across the concrete. He kicked his legs out, but there was nothing there to hit but air and his discarded backpack.
Help! His head was pulsing.
I don’t want to die! He watched as the distance between himself and the railing he’d been leaning on expanded.
He heard a train streak over the viaduct.
Please!
He looked up at the four arches and the colour disappeared from everything.