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When a bus rolls to a stop, I jump on, paying with my card and hurrying up the steps so I'm up top. As soon as I’m seated, I pull my bag round my front and fish out my coat, putting it on. Hiding my bag and hair beneath the wide grey hood, I check the street as we pull off. One of the men is searching the streets frantically, another jogs to join him, shaking his head. My phone buzzes and I jump like a frightened rabbit on the seat. Shakily, I locate it from my leggings and see it’s Simon.
“Did you get it?” Simon demands softly.
My mouth flays like a stranded fish. My fingers are white from where I’m gripping a bar next to my seat. It’s causing my hand to ache, but it’s the only thing reminding me that I’m alive.
“Avery, did you ge—”
“Jeff,” I gasp. “Jeff.” I begin to cry loudly, recalling the look of terror on Simon’s partner’s face when he knew his life was about to end before defeat took precedence, leaving him with a devoid expression. Several people sitting nearby look over at me in concern, so I turn my face away and cry into my sleeve, repelling the wail working its way up my throat. Simon begins demanding what’s wrong.
“Shot him,” I choke out quietly. I grip the phone, pressing my lips close to the speaker in the hope other passengers don’t hear.
There is a pained swallow on the other end.
“Is he dead?”he stutters.
Oh God. I remember seeing his lifeless eyes staring at me. Blood trickling from the dark red hole in his forehead, a hole that not only ended his life but will affect those closest to him.His family, Simon, the business.
“I feel sick.” I shudder, looking around, but the people have gone back to minding their own business. My leg bounces furiously as I battle to keep my hysteria under control.
“Avery, is he dead?”
“Y-yes.”
His silenceis as loud as the gun going off.
“Si?”
“Where are you?” Why is he whispering?
“On a bus,” I rasp.
“Lose your phone and meet me at our date spot,” he says in another hushed tone. “Jeff was mixed up in something. It’s not safe. Meet at our date spot. Bin your phone,” he tells me quickly and hangs up. I blink, shocked, and stare at the blank screen.
When the next stop comes, I get off the bus and throw my phone in a nearby bin. It’s a little while before I make it to St. James Park. Simon is pacing under a tree, and I find myself running to him and sobbing in his arms.
“We need to call the police,” I hiccup.
“We can’t. This is bigger than I realised. I don’t think the police will do much.”
“There is a dead man in your office,” I splutter. “Someone will report it.”
“Let them,” Simon snaps and then rubs his face. “Sorry. Look, no one will know you were there,” he mutters. “Wait, you did go through the back?” He grips my bicep roughly.
Flinching, I tug my arm free, rubbing at the sore spot.
“Yes.” I swallow another ball of nausea creeping up my throat. When a vision of Jeff’s forehead—bloodied and shot—flashes to the forefront of my mind, I cup my mouth, my stomach heaving involuntarily.
Simon rubs my back.
“It’s okay, just breathe through your nose.” I feel him pluck something from my hair and twist to find him removing pieces of wood.
“They shot at me.” My tears boil over once more. He pulls me into a hug and holds me tight.
“There aren't any cameras so no one will know you witnessed it.”
“They know though,” I croak. Will they come after me?
“Did they say anything?”
