Chapter 13
1083 Words
Alister’s eyes opened to faint light streaming through a crack in the van’s back door. His head throbbed, his joints stiff from sleeping upright. He sat up slowly, his hand brushing against the thick envelope left beside him. The last 48 hours started coming back to him and at this point he would’ve comfortably chosen to still be in that cell.
He stared at it, knowing it was the key to his next move. Inside were a fake passport under the name Daniel Knox, a Zurich bound plane ticket, and a short note:
“No time to explain. Trust anonymous or die like the rest.”
He stared at it for a long minute. Zurich. Why Zurich? Who were these people? Could he really afford to trust strangers? The police had tried to kill him. Francis, Ricardo, everyone was lying. His name was being smeared across the country. The cops wouldn’t take him in alive.
He cracked the van’s door wider, scanning the street. Patrols were everywhere. Blue lights flashed across storefronts, checkpoints stopped cars at intersections, drones hovered low. They weren’t just searching. They were hunting.
“This is quite literally impossible” he said to himself.
He stepped out quickly and ducked into the nearest alley. The weight of the envelope pressed against his chest like a countdown. Paper felt like a dumbbell.
Zurich or death kept ringing in his ears.
Moving fast, he kept low, crossing from alley to alley. His breath was loud in his ears. The pounding of his heart echoed in his skull. A patrol helicopter passed overhead and he dove behind a dumpster, praying it didn’t catch him. He stayed there, unmoving, until it drifted away.
He kept moving. The city wasn’t safe anymore. No face could be trusted. No door could be knocked on. He had to disappear until he could board that flight.
Turning a corner, he saw a small bar nestled between two shuttered shops. It was old, paint peeling from its wooden sign. But the “OPEN” sign flickered faintly. He scanned the street behind him. it was clear,for now.
He pushed the door open.
Inside, the bar was empty except for a man in his 60s wiping the counter and a young woman, his daughter. Alister assumed, scrolling through her phone near the window. She glanced up at him, eyes wide with recognition.
Alister raised both hands slightly.
“Please. I just need a place to breathe. I’m not armed. I’m not dangerous. I’m being framed.”
The old man didn’t answer. His face was unreadable.
“I swear,” Alister continued. “They’re going to kill me. I didn’t do what they said. I need to get out of the area.”
The young woman stood slowly, her hand hovering near her pocket.
“I just need ten minutes. Just to think. Please.”
The bar owner gave a long look to his daughter before turning back to Alister. “You’ve got five. Then you leave.”
Alister exhaled, nodding quickly. He moved to the darkest corner of the room and sat on a stool, hood still drawn. The girl didn’t take her eyes off him.
Every second ticked like a bomb in his ear.
Zurich. You have to get to Zurich.
His mind raced. How do you even get past security? How do you even make it to the airport without being spotted?
He tapped the envelope against the counter. The daughter whispered something under her breath. She had her phone in her hand now, facing away from her father. Alister noticed.
He froze.
She was calling someone.
He stood up slowly. “She’s calling the police.”
The father turned sharply. “What?”
“She’s calling the police,” Alister repeated, louder now.
“I’m not!” the girl snapped, shoving the phone into her pocket.
“You don’t get it,” Alister said, pointing at her. “I’m not who they say I am. I’ve been set up. I worked for the Sombra family. I know things I’m not supposed to, so they want me gone.”
The father’s face darkened. “I said you had five minutes.”
“I can’t go back out there. They’re everywhere.”
Then the sirens came, distant at first, growing louder. Alister’s heart sank. She had called them.
He turned to bolt.
“There’s a cellar,” the man suddenly said. “Behind the bar.”
“What?”
“Move!” the man hissed, already lifting the bar flap. “Go down and don’t say a word.”
Alister hesitated. “You just told me to leave…”
“Plans change. Go!”
He didn’t wait to be told twice. He slid behind the bar and found a wooden door on the floor. It creaked as he opened it, revealing steep steps leading into darkness. The smell of dust and old alcohol greeted him.
As he slipped inside, the man whispered sharply to his daughter, “Don’t say a word.”
“You called them?” she hissed.
“No. You did. And now you’re going to undo it.”
The front door burst open.
“Police!” an officer shouted. “We got a call about a wanted fugitive in this area.”
The bar owner looked calm. “My daughter thought she saw someone who looked like that guy. False alarm. Place has been quiet all night.”
Another officer stepped in, gun holstered but hand on the grip. He walked slowly, scanning the empty bar.
“She said he was here. That she was sure.”
“She panics,” the man replied, voice even. “We’ve had break-ins. She probably saw a shadow.”
One officer paced near the counter. His boot hit a wooden plank.
Thump.
He paused. “That’s hollow.”
“It’s old,” the bar owner said quickly.
“Hollow floors usually mean one thing,” the officer said. “You’ve got a cellar?”
“Just storage. Liquor and old chairs.”
“Mind showing us sir?”
The daughter stepped forward. “Please,” she said. “It was my mistake. There’s no one here I promise.”
The officer raised a brow, still watching the man. “We’ll have a quick look.”
The bar owner gave a tight smile and moved toward the cellar. Alister, crouched in the dark below, heard the footsteps approaching. His breathing stilled.
The trapdoor creaked open.
He held his breath.
- Writer
