The sound of his heartbeat was deafening. Jamie brought his back in contact with the cold brick wall, exhaling in quick, shallow breaths. The smell of damp concrete and stale beer ran thick in the alleyway, and dim light from a streetlight a few blocks away did little to drive out the footsteps descending from the sides.

His fists tightened at his sides, knuckles hurting and throbbing, the pain actually sharp enough to cut through the fog of fear. Somewhere nearby, he could hear them. Low voices, laughter that carried a cruel edge. Jamie knew they were looking for him. He hadn’t run far enough.

“Little bitch thought he could just walk away,” one of them sneered, the words slicing through the night like a blade.

Jamie shut his eyes, continuing to hold himself rigid, to maintain his breathing at a controlled pace. The cold of the pipe echoed in his mind, then the thud of crushing bone, and the burning that had left him sprawled on the ground. He could still smell the blood as bitter and metallic, forming a pool at the back of his mouth.

Don’t think about it. Move.

But his body refused to listen. His legs felt like lead, his muscles trembling under the weight of the night’s events. All he could do was wait. Wait and pray that they’d give up, that the echoes of their taunts would fade into the distance.

Instead, their footsteps grew louder, closer.

Jamie made a struggle to exit the alley and into a freezing cold wind. The cold went into his skin; however, it was dwarfed by that of an oppressive weight on top of him. He pulled his hood down and as he went, he kept his head down and made every move further from the alley and closer to Paul’s apartment.