James

Despite the cold, my heated face streams sweat which soaks down my neck and into my clothes.

Slow down, Man…

You can’t sprint for a mile…

I drop to a trot and my heartbeat decelerates to something more sustainable. The banging behind my ears subsides.

Don’t panic…

The kidnappers may say Don’t be late, but their priority is the money.

Irony slaps me around the cheeks. Here I am, in an area I wouldn’t normally consider walking at night, certainly not alone. And I’m running through it, toting a bag containing a cool million in cash.

The steady rhythm of my jogging sets a metronome ticking in my head, clearing my thoughts.

How fast is a jog?

Six miles an hour?

So, I should cover my mile in the ten minutes I have.

Calm down…

Nonetheless, I find myself counting paces; eating up distance with each one…

They must be watching me…

Where are they watching from?

A parked car?

pass, where they can

Could be anywhere.

series of berths alongside the river. Once an attractive place for pleasure boats

the far end from me; an attractive name for the edge of the more reputable parts of town.

lawns. The fountain, also floodlit, dances and sparkles by the central Christmas tree which stands

I can think of one or

I drop, hands resting on knees as I regain my breath, then, straightening up, look

For what?

pace, scanning my

in the right

“James?”

but I

did the message

aloud. “Corner of Birch Square

the western side

Stupid… Stupid…

right. I’ll go

Keep

He’s right, but I don’t need reminding

red-bricks built on

Still nothing.

breathing tightens again as I look for

Doorways…

Store windows…

A mailbox…

Nothing…

make

inside me. My watch

be watching

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