over to see where the policemen were. They were walking down the main path in the middle of the site, each of them looking up and down their respective rows as they passed them by. They were talking to each other. Peter couldn’t hear what they were saying but it was obvious they were debating how best to find him. They stopped about half way into the site and after a brief discussion Mike nodded in agreement and turned and ran briskly towards the site entrance. Peter realised that they probably thought they had him trapped in here and Mike was returning to the entrance to make sure he couldn’t get past them and leave the site. Adam stood for a few seconds, clearly deciding which row to investigate and then headed away from Peter over to the other side disappearing behind the pallets of bricks.
Peter took the opportunity to stand up. He turned around to the fence, shuffled his feet on the spot to ready himself and then took a short run and jumped over the security fence, pulling his feet up to ensure he didn’t catch himself on the spikes. The ground on the other side of the fence sloped down towards the railway line. As Peter’s feet hit the ground on the side of the muddy hill his momentum carried him forward. With his arms flailing he tumbled head first, rolling for a few feet before he came to a violent stop at the foot of the hill.
He la y there dazed for a few seconds, not wanting to move in case he had damaged something. He tensed his body in expectation of a sudden onset of sharp pain but apart from a dull aching sensation in his feet he felt okay. He stretched his back as he sat up. He looked back up the hill. It was a more difficult jump than he remembered. He got up and brushed the smeared mud from his knees and backside. He kept an eye on the fence of the Marshalls site as he moved away and crossed back over the railway line. He pushed his way through the bushes at the side of the line and climbed over a rickety fence. He clambered down a small grass hill to reach the road that led to the derelict warehouses behind him. He jogged away from the warehouses, making sure he kept under cover of the trees and bushes by the side of the railway line. Peter continued over into Beckbank estate and only then did he feel safe enough to slow down to a walk.
His hands were stinging slightly and as he turned them over to investigate he saw they were covered in dry blood, with a few spots of fresh blood on top. For a moment he thought all the blood belonged to him, but then realised it was mainly Cheryl’s blood that he had on his hands. His stomach shuddered and he began to retch as the images of Cheryl’s body, her skin blistered and cracked, flashed through his mind. The day’s events overwhelmed him. He couldn’t control himself for shivering and crying. Tears started to pour from his eyes, as he hugged himself and wept, rocking on the spot. Peter had never been someone who cried very often. In fact the last time he remembered truly crying from pain was when he was a child and hurt himself playing a game in Durden Woods. He had fallen into a hole and hurt his leg. He had cried then. He hugged himself hard trying to control the feelings washing through him.
He thought back to the time when Janine had been inconsolable after the death of her father. Janine was a strong woman who , like him, didn’t cry often and he remembered how helpless and small she had looked, curled up on the bed hugging the quilt which spilled out above her arms and covered her face. He had comforted her during those times the only way he knew how. He did not know what he could say to make the pain go away and all he could do was be there for her and be her blanket. He had held her close as she gripped onto him tightly, shuddering as the waves of emotions flew repeatedly through her body. They stayed there on the bed for hours at a time for a number of days, hardly saying any words. Peter wished that she was here now, to hold him in his hour
Peter took the opportunity to stand up. He turned around to the fence, shuffled his feet on the spot to ready himself and then took a short run and jumped over the security fence, pulling his feet up to ensure he didn’t catch himself on the spikes. The ground on the other side of the fence sloped down towards the railway line. As Peter’s feet hit the ground on the side of the muddy hill his momentum carried him forward. With his arms flailing he tumbled head first, rolling for a few feet before he came to a violent stop at the foot of the hill.
He la y there dazed for a few seconds, not wanting to move in case he had damaged something. He tensed his body in expectation of a sudden onset of sharp pain but apart from a dull aching sensation in his feet he felt okay. He stretched his back as he sat up. He looked back up the hill. It was a more difficult jump than he remembered. He got up and brushed the smeared mud from his knees and backside. He kept an eye on the fence of the Marshalls site as he moved away and crossed back over the railway line. He pushed his way through the bushes at the side of the line and climbed over a rickety fence. He clambered down a small grass hill to reach the road that led to the derelict warehouses behind him. He jogged away from the warehouses, making sure he kept under cover of the trees and bushes by the side of the railway line. Peter continued over into Beckbank estate and only then did he feel safe enough to slow down to a walk.
His hands were stinging slightly and as he turned them over to investigate he saw they were covered in dry blood, with a few spots of fresh blood on top. For a moment he thought all the blood belonged to him, but then realised it was mainly Cheryl’s blood that he had on his hands. His stomach shuddered and he began to retch as the images of Cheryl’s body, her skin blistered and cracked, flashed through his mind. The day’s events overwhelmed him. He couldn’t control himself for shivering and crying. Tears started to pour from his eyes, as he hugged himself and wept, rocking on the spot. Peter had never been someone who cried very often. In fact the last time he remembered truly crying from pain was when he was a child and hurt himself playing a game in Durden Woods. He had fallen into a hole and hurt his leg. He had cried then. He hugged himself hard trying to control the feelings washing through him.
He thought back to the time when Janine had been inconsolable after the death of her father. Janine was a strong woman who , like him, didn’t cry often and he remembered how helpless and small she had looked, curled up on the bed hugging the quilt which spilled out above her arms and covered her face. He had comforted her during those times the only way he knew how. He did not know what he could say to make the pain go away and all he could do was be there for her and be her blanket. He had held her close as she gripped onto him tightly, shuddering as the waves of emotions flew repeatedly through her body. They stayed there on the bed for hours at a time for a number of days, hardly saying any words. Peter wished that she was here now, to hold him in his hour
Similar Books
