Prologue
Prologue
Nicholas Youngblood walked along the dimly lit streets of Mayfair, at midnight. His hands shaking, legs taking long lengthy strides and sweat dripping as clusters of drunken teenagers stumbled by. The particular evening was unusually cold as the November eve counted its cynical seconds to a December morn. The air around Youngblood seemed to swell with tension, he knew something was wrong, he could feel it. Sirens blaring in the distance, a gunshot, then silence. Nicholas paused for a moments worth of hesitation before speeding down the sidewalk. He casted a worried glance over his shoulders. The cool winter’s gale pierced through his overcoat and jumper as he quickened his pace to a brisk jog. Expensive shoes pounding on the paved side-walks through puddles and numerous weeds growing from in-between the cracks. A few feet in front of him, out of thin air, materialised a shadowy figure walking towards him. As Nicholas halted in a wet patch, he lost his footing, landing on his back.
‘You’re a difficult man to find, Youngblood,’ spoke the figure in a deep husky voice. At the sound of the figure’s voice Nicholas shuddered visibly in recognition, trying his best to scramble backwards.
‘Oh, c’mon Nick, I thought we were old friends. Best mates.’ the shadow seemed bigger to Nicholas as he inched backwards, now on all fours. ‘All I want if for you to help me, you can do that for me right, Nick?’
The silhouette was now on top of Nicholas, with a foot pressing hard on his left calf. A howl of pain erupted from Nicholas as he turned over to face his captor. ‘Don’t…urgh...do this. Killing me…won’t help…you, trust me I’ve…been there…you’re making a huge…mistake. Let me go. Please!’
His face was now pale, almost blue, Nicholas had lost all feeling in his left leg as the shadow applied more pressure to the point where he thought it was going to break.
‘How can I let you go? How can I forgive you? How can you live with your conscious? I’d be doing a favour by ending you. I’d be saving millions of others, saving millions from doing what I did all those years ago and regretting it like I do now! You deserve to know how I’ve felt for ten fucking years Nick!’ the stranger yelled angrily, pushing down harder on Nicholas. He could feel the numbness spreading through his abdomen and creeping upwards. ‘But I’m not a lowlife like you, that’s the difference between you and me.’ he ceased the pressure.
A sigh of relief escaped Nicholas, his face now dripping with cold sweat. He faltered to stand straight and reached for the out-of-order lamppost nearby. Nicholas had barely stood at his full height when he heard a boisterously loud gunshot. Within seconds Nicholas felt a burning sensation in the middle of his forehead as he fell slowly to the ground. All time seemed to slow, Nicholas hovered in mid-air, descending slowly to cold and damp cement. The sudden impact of the back of his head and the pavement sent a shock throughout his body, agony and adrenaline coursing through his blood, as it escaped through the crack in his skull.
The body of Nicholas Youngblood lay limply in the centre of Mayfair, waiting for an entourage to discover it in the morning. For now, it lay peacefully and unaware of the dangerous world outside.
