It never got dark in Mildenheath. Not really. Even the darkest, dankest alleyways glowed with the light pollution caused by this sprawling urban town, darkened only by the smog and traffic fumes. It meant that you could never hide in Mildenheath. Not unless you knew where you were and what you were doing. He wished it could be darker right now, but this would have to do. He didn’t have much choice. It was almost time.
It was a nice coincidence that he was stood here, at the end of Corpse Walk. Legend had it that the alleyway got its name due to its previous use as the main walkway for coffins to be carried through from the residential areas to the town church for funeral services. The church had been built in 1132, and Corpse Walk can’t have been much younger. Nowadays it was sat just off the crossroads in the centre of Mildenheath, looking down over the smog and traffic. Just yards from the bustling main road, the juxtaposition between urbanity and legend, between the past and the future, between life and death, sat perfectly with him.
He could hear a car stopped at the traffic lights at the other end of the alleyway, the engine idling, its owner hell-bent on letting everyone else listen to his shitty dub-step music. What was it with the idiots in this town? He could barely hear himself think, let alone hear the footsteps as they came towards him. He flicked his head around the edge of the wall and glanced down the tunnel. His man was only feet away. It was time.
Readjusting his grip on the now-sweaty hard wood of the baseball bat, he lifted it up onto his right shoulder as if ready to receive a perfect pitch.
He fixed his eyes on the wall opposite, waiting for the man’s shadow to appear. After what seemed like an age, the bobbing shadow of the man’s head came into view, elongated by the street light at the far end of Corpse Walk. Three seconds. Two seconds. One. He swung.
Home run.