Chapter 14
1021 Words
The cellar doors creaked open.
Two officers stepped into the dim space, flashlights cutting through the dusty air. The bar owner trailed closely behind them to make sure things didn’t go south, wringing his hands. Alister didn’t move a muscle. His heart hammered in his chest. He could hear every step as they approached, becoming louder and louder.
He’d spotted a large carton just in time.
Wedged against the far wall, partly hidden behind a broken stool, the large box looked like it had once stored whiskey crates. Now, it was his only chance of not getting caught. He’d forced himself into the cramped space, pulling an old blanket over the opening. The thick scent of cardboard and spilled liquor was suffocating, but he didn’t make a sound. He didn’t have a choose but to endure.
Boots thudded against the wooden steps as the officers descended.
“It smells damp down here,” one of them said, wrinkling his nose. “How often do you use this place?”
“Not much lately,” the owner answered. “We’ve been short on stock the past few weeks. Haven’t done a deep clean either.”
The flashlight scanned the cellar over the shelves, the crates, the sagging boxes. It landed briefly on the one Alister was hiding in.
He held his breath.
“You sure no one’s been down here?” the other officer asked, stepping closer.
“Positive. I’m the only one with the keys. Besides I don’t think anyone would actually want to come down here for anything while it’s in this state”
A pause.
Then a long silence as the officer took another step toward the carton.
Alister’s fingers dug into his palms. The air in the box was tight, hot. Sweat rolled down his back. He has been holding his breath for a while but he didn’t notice as his running heartbeat distracted him.
The officer reached out, kicked the box once with his boot.
It barely shifted.
“Damn thing’s soaked.”
“We had a pipe leak last week,” the owner said quickly. “We only just fixed it about 3 days ago. Could still be wet under there.”
The officer crouched, pointing his flashlight at the floor. “Hmm, You’re right”
His partner, already heading back up the stairs, called out, “Let it go Carl. This place’s too cramped for anyone to hide in anyway.”
The crouching officer stood up. “Alright. But keep your eyes and ears open, you hear? If you see or hear anyone strange, call us immediately.”
“I will,” the bar owner said, already halfway through a nod. “Of course. I’ll be on the lookout officer.”
Alister stayed still, listening as their boots clomped back up the stairs. He gradually started to relax.
The cellar door shut.
He didn’t move for a full minute.
Then, finally, the carton shifted.
He pushed it open slowly, quietly. The light from the thin window near the ceiling had changed the soft pink of morning just beginning to rise.
The bar owner stood near the shelf, arms crossed.
“That was stupid,” he said.
“I didn’t have a choice,” Alister said, his voice hoarse.
“You were almost caught and I could have gone to jail.”
“I know. I’m sorry and I’ll be on my way now. Don’t want any of you getting into trouble because of me.”
The man sighed, then turned and grabbed a key off a hook by the door. “Back exit. You have ten minutes before the rest of the staff start arriving.”
Alister pulled himself out of the carton, brushing off cardboard flakes and dust. His limbs ached, his shirt was damp, and he could barely straighten his back.
But for now, he was free.
He muttered a quiet “thank you” and headed out the back door.
The alley was empty.
His feet hit the ground fast, legs moving before his mind could even catch up. He turned corners, passed old walls sprayed with faded graffiti, and made his way toward the edge of the district.
Every block he crossed was a breath stolen from luck.
It wasn’t until he ducked into a tiny laundromat two streets down that he stopped running. The door jingled behind him. A small woman was unlocking one of the soap vending machines. She gave him a quick glance, then looked away.
“Perfect” he said to himself.
In the back corner, behind a row of dryers, he spotted a folded pair of dark jeans a face cap and a plain grey hoodie sitting in a basket.
No cameras, it was almost deserted.
He changed fast.
He stuffed his dirty clothes in a trash bag, rinsed his face in the metal sink, and pulled up the hoodie. When he looked in the mirror, he almost didn’t recognize himself. The dark circles. The flat expression.
But he looked… normal.
That was all he needed.
He left the laundromat, blending into the growing foot traffic, and made his way toward the city train station. Morning sun slid across the buildings, giving everything a gentle, golden blur. The city was alive again. Markets opening. Cafes setting out chairs. A little less patrol vehicles even though one passed every few minutes it was a bit better than the day before.
He was just another person now. No one looked twice.
At the station, he walked past platform 3 like the note instructed.
A man in a red cap sat near the lockers, reading a folded newspaper. Alister didn’t stop. Just brushed past.
“You’re lucky,” the man muttered as he folded the paper. “They tightened patrols at the airport. Locker 109.”
Alister didn’t reply. He found the locker, entered the code written on the scrap from the cellar, and pulled it open.
Inside: a navy-blue carry-on bag, sunglasses, and a SwissAir boarding pass.
Name: Daniel Knox
Destination: Zurich
First Class.
He put on the glasses, slung the bag over his shoulder, and kept walking.
- Writer
