Ten Minutes Later

I push open the trapdoor leading to the roof. Seeing the starry night above is like a punch in the gut and I’m thankful for my freedom. Every muscle in my body is screaming in pain and I can feel my haphazard stitches yelling at me to calm down. Thankfully, none of them split open. As confining as the walls I had to scale were, I couldn’t risk a great deal of movement. I had to sit, perched like a spider, and wait for the faceless voices to clear out before I could commence my climb. The seconds passed like eternities. By the time the voices faded back into the bar, I was already sweating bullets.

I pull myself out of the passageway, leaving the door open behind me, and I lie on my back, gasping for breath for a few minutes. After I’ve caught my breath, I pull myself to my feet. I can see my apartment from up here. Luna is sitting in the window, anxiously awaiting my return. There’s no place like home.

I start to run across the rooftops, jumping down to the next rooftop and continuing on. I can’t run too fast. My thigh is telling me to slow it down. What do I do from here? What options do I have? This “invisible hand” apparently controls most of the thugs in this area. If I keep going the way I’m going, they’re going to get me. It’s only a matter of time before they catch me off guard and take out my spleen with an ice pick.

I reach the edge of the last rooftop. This is my stop. I ignore the pain in my body and shimmy down the rain gutter to make my way back to solid ground. I look around, making sure no one is gunning for me, and when I see that the coast is clear, I jog briskly up the street.

The way I see it, I have three options:

The first option is to sit around and wait for someone to show up so I can end this bullshit, once and for all. I’m not too fond of that option. Me dying doesn’t leave much wiggle room.

The second option is to start gunning first and off anyone who may have the urge to kill me. I like this option, but I’m under the impression that the town would be empty if I do that. I don’t want to do any finger pointing because that would take days. Besides, I’ve obviously already pissed off enough people to have a hit put out on me.

I make it to my apartment and pull my piece from my jacket. I open the front door and move swiftly inside. I take the stairs two at a time. Every shadow moves. I fight myself not to open fire. I make my way to the third floor and pop open my door. I do a sweep of my apartment, checking in closets, the shower, under the bed. That’s the good thing about studio apartments. There aren’t a lot of places to hide.

I sit in my chair and come to the realization that my third option is definitely the way to go. I flip open my phone and plug in the number for the airport. After too many minutes of automated voices and number pressing, I hang up. One plane ticket. Phase one is complete. Now, on to phase two.

I dial the phone again and wait for the ringing to stop. “Chenille? It’s Levi.”