The Cunning

2

The following day was a haze of housework and mind-numbing daytime television until half eight when she headed to the bus stop. The number seven pulled up with a loud hiss, the fumes warming Madison's legs as she waited at the side to let passengers off. She scanned around for an empty seat when a familiar face in the middle of the backbench caught her attention.

The Marlborough guy from the shop looked younger in the pale lighting of the bus. A close shave of stubble shadowed his chiselled jawline, and his dark green eyes were observing her through the untamed curls springing down from beneath his hood. The way he was looking at her made her hands clammy. His mere presence made her feel vulnerable in a way she couldn't comprehend. A different phone was clutched in his hands between his outstretched legs, an iPhone this time. Madison knew a drug dealer when she saw one. She took a seat at the front, next to an older man that smelled of stale cigarettes with a wheezing cough.

Having worked a handful of nights before, Madison knew what to expect on the customer front. Adolescents seeking alcoholic drinks for the after-party, other people heading to their twilight occupations, the odd teenager desperately trying to get served cigarettes. Nothing out of the ordinary over the six hours. Stifling a yawn, she watched the digital clock on the till as it switched to three. She'd made it.

"Would you like a lift home?" Peter asked, walking into the staff room as the punch in machine swallowed her card and spat it back out with an aggressive beep. Madison's eyes were drawn to the yellow-tinged sweat marks around his pits. The off-white shirt strained against the gigantic gut hanging over his belt. Madison's boss was in his late forties with tobacco-stained teeth and a greasy exterior. She would much prefer the fifteen-minute walk over getting in a car with him.

"No thank you, I've got one," she lied.

He grunted. "Okay, be careful out there. Those streets aren't safe for young girls like you." She refrained from shuddering at the insinuation behind his words. After saying goodbye and shrugging her jacket on, she left through the staff exit into the cold bite of the witching hour—his warning playing in the back of her mind.

She tucked her chin into the neck of her windbreaker, breathing into the material to warm her lower face. The wind was powerful when it picked up, making her ears ache each time she looked up from her feet. It was still a better option than letting Peter take her home, regardless of the weather.

The streets were empty. Blocks of flats flanked the road, all curtains were closed, bar one or two awash with the blue light of a television. Ominous orange glows from the streetlights illuminated the path every twenty steps, making the surrounding darkness darker. Some flickered, others hummed. Besides the odd strong gust of wind, the rest of the world was silent. Madison brushed off the anxiety stewing, chalking it up to mind games rather than a primitive warning or something instinctual.

With her head down and hands growing numb, curled up in her pockets, she picked up the pace, not paying attention to what was in front of her until she walked into it- into him. The weight of hands on her shoulders hadn't immediately registered as she peered up at the prominent figure steadying her. Her brain was lagging, trying to process what was happening and having difficulty doing so.

A tall, masked man was in front of her.

He was gripping her shoulders.

And she couldn't move.

There was no scream desperate to erupt from her lips or any startled jump back. Instead, Madison felt her body solidify. Her heart was the only muscle that hadn't lost its motor skills as it pounded in her ribcage. Every possible outcome of the situation flashed through her mind as her eyes darted over the stranger's face, looking for confirmation that she was in danger. His features were hidden behind a black bandana with a hood pulled over the top, leaving nothing exposed but the eyes and a singular curl resting in the middle of his forehead.

Heat crawled up the back of her neck and pulsed in her head. There was no fear in the eyes staring back at her, just a predatory glint. And then it was gone. They were ordinary green eyes.

Familiarity seeped through her panic.

Twenty Marlborough.

He raised a steady gloved finger, signalling for her to remain quiet. She couldn't make a sound even if she wanted to. The crowbar in his left hand was suddenly hard against her upper arm as the feeling returned to her limbs. The cement blocks that had kept her feet pressed firmly to the pavement dissolved, and she had to fight nausea that now replaced the leaden weight in the pit of her stomach. He pointed over her shoulder. Madison turned with apprehension, expecting to see more masked men only to see an alley instead. When she turned back, he was gone.

She bolted for the alley and didn't stop until she was at her door, slamming it behind her. Her lungs prickled as she gulped for oxygen, sliding down the cool wall and pressing her red cheek against it. Then came the tears of frustration mixed with a delayed adrenaline rush. She had just stood there. In the face of danger, she had just stood there, too scared and overwhelmed to make a noise.

What had just happened?

She collected herself long enough to scramble to her feet and into the kitchen. There was a bottle of brandy at the back of the cupboard that would hopefully put a few hair's back on her chest. Finishing the drink in one, she poured another. As she raised the glass to her lips, a note on the counter caught her eye. Notes were the only way she communicated with her mum. Madison would leave one telling her the boiler had packed in. Her mum would leave one letting Madison know she had gone to America for two weeks. Which is what the note on the counter read.

The second drink went down much smoother than the first. Madison savoured the small fire it started in her stomach, dulling the knot that had formed. Trying to process the last ten minutes with her head in such a frazzle was futile. For a moment, she considered calling someone but other than the police, there was no one to call. And Madison didn't involve herself with them. Instead, she went around the house, twice. Every door was locked, key left in. She placed a glass of water on each windowsill, something her dad did in his more paranoid times, and took the biggest knife from the butcher's block.

After one more drink, Madison took herself to bed, feeling slightly more at ease now the house was fortified. Still, sleep was out of the question. The ordeal looped over and over in her mind until the sky turned a miserable grey. Only then did her eyes close for longer than a few seconds.

*

So, thoughts? Do you think Marlborough guy is good or bad? For those of you that have already read the story, no spoilers! Should Madison be scared of him or does the fact that he let her go make him seem more of a knight in shining armor? Don't forget to vote and feel free to spam the comments with any and all thoughts!