Freedom - John Shelby

19

It was at around one o clock that morning that John finally came racing into Birmingham, almost crashing Tommy's car quite a few times on the way. The drive home had been awful, torturous in fact. Even though he'd managed to turn a six hour drive into three hours by driving exponentially fast through a lot of private land; crashing through gates and destroying crop gardens, he knew that he wouldn't be fast enough, not after seeing the smug smile on Ronnie's face.

It taunted him the entire journey, along with his voice repeating in his head, saying such vile things about Alice. How unjust it was that he'd gotten a quick death. Men like him ought to be punished much more than that.

Then there was the disgust he had for himself - the disgust that he'd failed to protect her again. Only this time he was her husband - he'd sworn a sacred vow to keep her safe. He couldn't believe he had been so ignorant to have just gone with Tommy's plan - no questions - just assuming that it was full-proof.

"Fool me twice, shame on me." John thought sourly, unable to be angrier at his brother than he was at himself. "I'm an idiot. I'm a stupid, fucking idiot. If she's gone what can I do? We could never find them before, not until they reached out to Tommy. What if I never see her again...What if he kills her?"

A frustrated shout left his mouth and he squeezed the steering wheel harder, as if it would make him go any faster than he was already going. When he reached The Garrison his stomach dropped to the ground as he saw that his worst fears had seemingly come true.

The white stained glass in the door was smashed, spread out on the ground below in what was clearly a forced entry, only reinforced by the empty bullet casing laid centre under the doorway. When John rushed inside, it only made his insides heavier, like his intestines were made of lead, and his breath catch entirely in his throat, restricting his movement for a few painstaking seconds.

There was blood, and a lot of it, all over the bar, puddled beneath it, dripped onto a table and sprayed across the floor. Anyone walking in would've assumed that there had been some kind of gang confrontation. The horrific tightness that had been forming in John's chest suddenly had him struggling to breathe as he paced around the building, desperately looking for his wife.

"Alice!" He shouted, praying for an answer, but there was none. Instead the silence mocked him, just as Ronnie's voice had. It rang in his ears and made him feel sick, only amplified by the sight of the blood all around him; blood he was certain most likely came from his wife.

"Maybe it's all Jones blood. Or at least some of it. She might've managed to fuck him up. Or Tommy might've called in time. Someone could've saved her." He tried to convince himself, though tears were starting to form in his eyes.

Quickly, he blinked them away and rushed back to the car, speeding next to their home and being just as distraught to not find her there either. His legs felt ready to give out, weak and shaking, but he couldn't let himself lose it yet. There were still a few places to check.

"Please God. If you've kept my wife safe I promise to be good. I fucking swear." He mentally begged as he next raced to the family shop, unable to stop himself from trembling.

When he got to Watery Lane and could see the living room light on, the grip on his chest instantly loosened and a spring of hope returned. He jumped from the car so quick that he almost tripped over, rushing to the black front door and shoving it open.