Jerymie Thompson has heard the almost silent footsteps behind him for five minutes. He knew that his pesurer wanted something he had already given away.
Jerymie walked into a dark alley in the middle Melbourne. Half way down, there was a pain between his ribs. The pain of a dagger splitting muscle.
"Where is it?" a voice in Jerymie's head asked.
"I don't know," he thought.
The dagger dug deeper.
"I am asking nicley," the man with the dagger thought.
"I'll never tell. . ." Jerymie managed to say aloud.
The dagger went in even deeper and suddenly retracted. Jerymie gasped and had to lean against the cold, damp brick wall of the alley for support.
"It will be mine" the man said.
Jerymie couldn't see the man's face but his shoes were in light. They were dress shoes, the ones you'd wear to a formal occasion.
Blood was gushing out of his back and onto the cold floor where Jerymie now found himself. There was a laugh, it sounded far, far away. Everything was blurry by this point.
"Emily..." was the last thought of this dying man.
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