The Friend

He checked the street again from behind the curtain. He was still there. Standing in the shadows of the street lamp.

He pulled down his suitcase and threw what he could into it. In the stairwell outside his apartment, he pushed open the back window, flung his suitcase through and followed quickly.

He ran as fast as he could with the bag on his back. The station was still open and he jumped on the first bus he saw. He pushed to the back and sat down with his suitcase on his lap.

He hadn’t been followed. He was sure of it. He dozed off on the case, waking, as the bus pulled into a small, deserted village far from the city.

He’d never find me here, he thought and clambered off the bus and found a place to sit down on a bench. He put the case down and looked at up and down the empty village street.

He would never find me here. He sat back with his legs outstretched and his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. He was free, he thought, unaware of the lid of his suitcase lifting very slightly and one, then two then three fingers reaching out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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