The Mark

They were probably climbing the stairs right now. Any second there would be a knock. If I climbed down the fire escape out the back, I would arrive down by the policeman. Halfway down the fire escape, there was the roof of an extension off to the side. The only other option was that if I got on to the roof, maybe I could drop down somewhere to the side and get away from there. I didn’t stop to think. It was as if the room was on fire and I needed to escape the flames. Self-preservation. I slipped through the window, my two bags over my right shoulder. I kept low, shuffling against the rusting metal of the steps. The man below was still looking away, casually moving from one foot to another. I winced at the fraction of noise I made. I continued on. Soon I discovered a slow but functioning pattern of clinging to the side, while edging along the step and down to the next one. I kept my eyes fixed on the man below as I went. Every slight twitch of his body filled me with dread, that he would look this way. Then his head did turn.

I squashed myself painfully against the metal, hugging the cold steel. I waited for maybe a minute, focusing everything on my hearing. All I could hear was light traffic in the distance and further away, the gentle lapping of the sea. Slowly, I raised my head up, prairie dog style. I felt such relief to see the policeman, nonchalantly looking the other way again. I pressed on quicker and soon I was hovering just above the roof. I would need to hoist my legs over and drop down a few metres. I knew that thinking about it for too long would do me no favours.

Just do it!

I did it. I landed fine, with no noise and with my bags still over my shoulder. Only later would my ankles hurt. The adrenalin must have been pumping. Taking a second, I caught my breath and reassessed. I was pretty well shielded from where the cop would be able to see. But where were the rest of them? Would they be in my room yet? Could they be looking down on me from above at this moment?

I scurried along to the edge of the roof of the extension, keeping low. I peered over. It was all gravel below and there was a single path lined by a low, singed brown hedge, leading to a back gate. Between there and the cop was the descending, twisting metal of the fire escape and a little shed beside it. If I just made it to the gate, then I knew I could make a run for it. I had a chance anyways. But there remained the matter of a thirty-foot drop. I lay down flat and looked over the side, my head dangling over, weighing it up. There was no other way around it.

Has to be done.

I took off my bags, dangled them as low as I could and dropped them over. They landed with a small thud and rattle. I looked over towards the man again; no reaction. I took a breath and swivelled myself around, beginning to dangle my legs over, facing away from the edge.

‘No point in hanging about’ I thought to myself wryly.

I made myself keep going, lowering myself further over the side. Then I came to the edge and gripped the roof tightly, my body dangling helplessly below me. My top rode up as I did, my bare torso scraped against the brickwork. My sweaty fingers began to burn as I prepared myself. Taking one look down, I let go.

It seemed like an age, but I landed well with my knees bent. My legs jarred, then there were shooting pains, but nothing seemed sprained or broken. I clocked the policeman between the fire escape and the shed, still no change. I grabbed my bags and swung them back on, standing and readying myself, testing out my knees.

I counted to three, then bolted.

All I did was keep my eyes on the gate and run hell for leather. My ears screamed with the stress and exertion. My chest wheezed and burned. Beyond the noise of my own body, I’m sure I heard shouts.

I kept on. I made it to the gate, threw it open, lunged through and sprinted out towards the surrounding streets.

26

I’m sure I didn’t stop running for a full ten minutes. I passed through streets, some alleys, I even a scrambled through a few people’s gardens. There were a number of pedestrians and cars that I passed, but I ignored them all. All I thought of was going as fast as I could. I stopped in a small car park behind a bar, hiding behind the large bins. Industrial bins had featured in this holiday much more than I could ever have expected! I sat crouching at first, then let my legs stretch out, keeping myself hidden, panting hard. I cursed every cigarette I had smoked that last week as I struggled for a painless breath.

After five minutes or so I realised the car park was virtually silent. It felt incongruous after all of the drama. I got to my feet, unsure, then almost embarrassed. Had I imagined it all? Was I playing a game with myself? I stepped out into the light and walked uncertainly around the perimeter of the little car park. Everything appeared calm. I checked my bags were zipped up and let out a sigh.

Maybe everything would be alright.

Then the churning sickness returned as I knew it wouldn’t be as easy as all that. The police had come for me. They must have.

The fucking police!

And I had run. Suddenly I thought of my phone and of all the movies I’d seen. It’d be beeping out a signal wouldn’t it? I pulled it out and quickly unclipped the back. I licked my lips, slipped