Wake Me Up

The Seductress

"You were saying?" The soft voice elegantly dances across the breeze, slipping into Phil's ear and snapping his attention back. His eyes turn to the origin; a beautiful womanly shape comes into focus across the table. Her smile is subtle yet mischievous, there is a flirty air about her and Phil's sure he can feel her foot graze his ankle under the Parisian coffee table. Details are hard to focus in on; there are a lot of shifts and hazy areas in his vision. He also senses a pressure on his back like someone is pushing against him, trying to force him forward. Phil takes a mental note that a stronger sedative is needed. "Maybe you need to lie down and relax" whispers the seductress. Less of a question than a hint he decides as he feels her foot slide further up his shin. No, scratch that, it's her hand grazing up his leg as he sits perched on the foot of the bed. Her brown curly hair swishes across her face like a L'Oreal advert. He consciously brings his hand up to push the dark amber hair over her ear. It's an effort and he feels like his strength has been sapped. He leans in for a kiss and is aware of her hand rising to meet his face. Phil jolts as he gets slapped hard across the face, his cheek stinging from the impact.

He realises he's lying on a hard surface and attempts to prop himself up with his elbow. "Phil, stop. Slow down buddy, it's me. I had to bring you back." His eyes roll around in his head as he becomes ever aware of his surroundings. "Dammit Larry, what'd you do that for?!" he rubs the side of his face where it still stings, but that's not what he feels angry about. "I was with this beautiful brunette, no, red-head and we were about to -" Larry's sweaty hand clamps over Phil's mouth as he raises a finger to his lips signalling silence. Phil is about to retaliate when he hears footsteps in the distance. Three, maybe four guys. All running up the stairs, their footsteps getting nearer. Larry and Phil both turn to watch the door as the footsteps cease directly outside. A shadow falls on the gap between the door and the floor. A gun is cocked rather noisily followed by a hushed angry "Quiet!" Phil brushes Larry away, tearing the tube from his arm and closing the case. He picks himself up from the floor and shoves the case to Larry's chest, signalling to the window at the back of the room. The silence is interrupted by a knock. "Open up!" Phil glances at Larry. Larry glances at the floor. Phil looks down. Of course, his totem. He grabs the cog from the floor, feeling its familiar weight and shape as it slides down onto his thumb. He tip toes across the floor, Larry close behind. Phil reaches the window first, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face as he slides the window smoothly up. He is about to put his right leg through when he hears a click behind him.

He turns to see Larry pointing a pistol in his face. "I'm sorry Phil, I can't go to jail. Not again!" Phil spreads his hands, slowly turning to face Larry. "Are you crazy, we're both getting out of here, c'mon let's go!" he hisses. Larry shakes his head, clutching the case to his chest like a small child holding its favourite toy. "I know that you were going to ditch me Phil, I know that you were going to take this away from me and find a new chemist!" Phil is aware that Larry's voice is being raised dangerously. Shit. "Look Larry," Phil whispers, "you're compounds are not strong enough, there are so many f -" "SHUTUP!" Larry yells. The sound of splintering wood fills the air like lightning breaking up the macabre sky. A shot is fired and Larry stands bolt upright, before crumbling to the floor. The case goes down with him and there is no time to retrieve it. Phil turns and leaps out the window without a second glance back. There is no time, there is only the need to continue living. He lands heavily on the fire escape, mesh of metal forcing the air out his lungs. He gropes forward, his body desperately fighting for air. At last a struggled breath. And he's up, up and running. Down the steps, round and round, his feet pounding the stairs, his heart pounding in his chest. He is vaguely aware of footsteps above, close. But he doesn't dare to look, he just keeps running. A shot ricochets off the railing next to him. He ducks, missing his footing and tumbling down the steps like a ragdoll. He grabs the railing above him, pulling himself up and over, falling the last two storeys. With a horrible crunch of bone he makes his landing. There is no pain, his body drowns it out with adrenaline, supplying him with what he needs to pick himself up and run. But to where, even he himself is unaware.