Backing up, he lit a rag on fire. It burned fast, red-hot tendrils snaking up his arm. Benito cursed and tossed it to the open car door, then took off running without stopping to see if he’d set himself on fire.
Farmland surrounded the narrow road. Fields and fields of arable crops and sheep. Benito raced through the mud, jumping fences and climbing stiles, ears peeled for sirens, but none came. The car fire was far enough from any homes that it would burn itself out before it was seen.
He ran for miles until he reached where he’d left his SUV. In the pitch-black lay-by, he stripped his muddy, petrol-scented clothes and stuffed them into a bag with the scaffold pipe. He threw on clean clothes, stamped into his trainers, and dropped the stolen package on the passenger seat.
Despite being abandoned for hours, his car was warm and dry. He cranked the heat and pulled quietly out of the lay-by and made for the main road. Again.I’m so fucking tired. And he still had another stop to make—the woods, to bury twenty grand under a burnt sycamore tree.
It was three hours before he made it to his front door. Benito’s flat was in the anonymous hub of Milton Keynes. From his bedroom window, he could see the theatre district, the shopping centre, and the old Point cinema. The sight was nostalgic and depressing. He shut the curtains on it and stripped his clothesagain. More mud. He stared at his hands, flexing his sore fingers. His stomach still hurt, craving a hot meal, but sleep would come first. Then Gianna. As adrenaline faded, he tried to recall what she’d requested for breakfast, but his brain had slowed. It was cloudy now, fogged with fatigue.
Even thepingof an incoming message seemed distant enough that he almost forgot to find his phone.
Almost.
It fell out of his pocket as he loaded his clothes into the washing machine. A WhatsApp message lit up the screen.
Mickey.
Benito’s heavy heart skipped a beat. He opened the message. Random abbreviations greeted him, more so than Mickey’s usual messages, and his heart sank as fast as it had lifted.
Mickey:hopefly. mbe the weak after if woRk stays crezy
Another week?Fuck. I can’t wait that long.
The realisation shocked him. Scared him even. Since when had his sanity rested on a hook-up he’d met twice?
It doesn’t. You’re tired and acting fucked up.
It made sense. But the more Benito thought about it, the less he believed it, and a new ache formed deep in his chest.
Naked, he went to the bathroom, still clutching his phone. Nausea bloomed sudden and harsh in his belly. He stumbled and upchucked into the sink, heaving until he could barely breathe.
He turned the taps on and stared at himself in the mirror.
I look dead.
Some days, he wished he was.
He turned the shower on and stepped under the spray. The water warmed at the same pace as his chilled blood. Benito pressed his back to the tiles and slid down the wall. He buried his face in his bent knees and wrapped his arms around his head.
Only then did he start to shake.