Perilous Journey

It was sometime around 3:00 AM. I was surprised the train station still worked. Then again, none of them were manned anymore. It never ceased to amaze me what science had managed to automate.

Jack was seated beside me, more like using my shoulder as a pillow. Poor kid had never stayed awake this long before. We'd first boarded the train as instructed by the unknown caller, then gotten off and switched to a different one. I was getting paranoid. The memory of the woman I encountered at the hotel didn’t make things any easier.

The speaker above crackled, announcing something in Chinese. I didn’t know the words, but I recognized the pattern—every time that announcement played, the train slowed to a stop a few minutes later. So I assumed we were nearing the next station.

“Xander, are we there yet?” Jack asked groggily. The announcement must’ve woken him. I was a bit surprised he’d managed to relax enough to fall asleep in the first place.

“Almost,” I replied.

Since the hotel, we hadn’t said much to each other.

“You hungry?” I asked, trying to check in on the kid.

“Not really,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

I glanced around the carriage for the umpteenth time. Just me, the kid, and an old woman sitting far at the other end, hunched and asleep—or pretending to be. I couldn’t tell anymore.

When the train finally slowed to a halt, we jumped off without hesitation. I immediately started looking for a phone booth, even though I wasn’t sure they still existed in places like this. Something about the quiet stations, flickering lights, and strangers passing by kept me on edge. I half expected someone to attack at any moment.

“So what now?” Jack asked behind me.

“I need to make a phone call,” I replied without turning around.

“Try and keep up,” I added, giving his right arm a gentle squeeze. I hadn’t let go of it since we got off the train.

“We can use a phone there,” he said, pointing toward a small store about ten feet away. I must have missed it—too distracted scanning faces and watching hands.

I gave him a silent nod, and we headed for it.

Inside, the store was larger than it looked. The floor sloped downward as if part of it was built underground. Everything had this tiled, almost medical feel to it.

“Good day,” I said to the receptionist at the counter. “May I borrow your phone?”

She looked to be in her late twenties. She stared at me like I’d just asked her to hand over her kidneys, then bowed her head slightly and mumbled something in Chinese.

I stood awkwardly, trying to interpret the tone. Before I could say anything else, Jack stepped in and spoke to her in a few clipped phrases.

She looked at him, then back at me.

“Here you go,” she said, pulling a landline phone from beneath the counter.

“So she does speak English,” I thought.

“Most people know English,” Jack muttered beside me, like he was reading my thoughts. “They just don’t like speaking it.”

“Right,” I said, taking the receiver.

I pulled the card from my pocket and dialed the number scribbled on it. It rang only once.

“Hello?” a voice answered.

“It’s me—Alex. I’ve arrived at the station,” I said, my eyes scanning the streets through the shop window.

“There’s been a development,” the voice replied, tense and clipped. “You’re on the news.”

“What?”

“They’re saying you kidnapped the kid.”

There was a sudden cold breeze slicing through the air — one of those sharp, ghostly winds that felt like it didn’t belong indoors. That was the first sign. My gut was already whispering that something was wrong.

"What the f**k do you mean by kidnap?" I asked, trying to keep my voice low but sharp enough to cut through the static in my ear.

The place smelled like old paper and sugary grease. The kind of corner store that survived on a steady diet of scratch cards, energy drinks, and microwaveable regrets. Fluorescent lights buzzed above, flickering weakly in places, casting the room in a jaundiced half-light. A small oscillating fan whined near the counter, pretending to fight off the heat. It wasn’t doing a great job.

"Emergency broadcast just went out a few minutes ago," the voice said in my earpiece. "They’re saying you killed the kid’s guards at the hotel and took him. You need to get out of the station now. You're a walking manhunt."

My eyes shifted to the kid — Jack. He was still near the snack aisle, thumbing through a stack of dusty comics like none of this mattered. His world was simpler. Bright panels. Good guys. Bad guys. No gray areas. He looked up, caught my stare, and started walking toward me.

"You f**king told me to come here," I whispered, drawing the mic closer, barely resisting the urge to tear it out of my ear.

"That was before I knew someone would frame you for murder and kidnapping!"

"Murder?" I echoed.

Jack was beside me now. His small fingers clutched a comic book, and his eyes searched my face — not scared, not yet. Just... confused. Curious.

"Two men were allegedly found dead in your hotel room..."

"No," I muttered, almost to myself. "That was me."

A string of curses followed. Not proud of it. Not ashamed either.

A ceiling fan above us creaked as it turned, slow and tired, like it was trying to pretend the world outside hadn’t just decided to flip upside down. The refrigerator in the corner hummed with a strange persistence. I stared at the rows of cheap drinks and energy shots. My reflection — pale, cracked across five bottles of Red Blitz.

"They’ll be posting your sketch soon. News, security bulletins, you name it. You’ve got minutes — maybe less — before someone recognizes you."

"You’re the one who f**king told me to come here. Where am I supposed to go?"

I said it too loud. My voice had climbed without my permission. Jack flinched beside me.

"I’m sorry, alright? But nothing can link this back to me. I’m deep in s**t too. I’ve got someone who might help you get out. But it’s not a full-proof plan."

"I don’t give a damn about full-proof. Just get me out of this hellhole."

"You’ll need a burner phone. Buy it, steal it, I don’t care. I’ll ping you as you move."

"Move where, exactly?"

"Airport."

I almost laughed. The irony was bitter.

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"I said it wasn’t a perfect plan..."

"F**k," I hissed, voice barely audible over the drone of the cooler.

"...There’s a private plane. Should be parked on the runway. If you’re early, you might catch it landing. Tell the pilot: ‘Look how fast time flies.’ That’s the code."

"Are you insane?" I whispered. "They’ll shoot me down before I even get to the tarmac."

"Not if they think you’ve got the kid as leverage."

Then silence. Call ended.

"How bad is it?" Jack asked. His voice barely cracked above a whisper. He had been listening — or at least trying to.

I looked at him. For a second, I didn’t see a kid. I saw a responsibility I never asked for — and couldn’t shrug off.

"Bad," I said. That was all I could give him. He didn’t ask for more. I think he knew I was already unraveling.

Then — a sound. The sharp ding of the store’s door.

I turned instinctively.

"I come in peace," said the man who stepped inside.

I knew him immediately. Preston. One of Mr. Ings’ personal guards. His tailored suit was too neat for this neighborhood. Hands raised in the air, as if I were still armed.

"I just want to talk," he said, stepping slowly forward.

"Then talk," I replied. My voice was dry, frayed at the edges.

He let out a tired sigh. The kind men make when they know they’re already too far in.

"Seen the news yet?"

"I’ve been a little busy."

"They’re saying you killed two guards. Kidnapped a minor."

"What?!" Jack yelped behind me.

I shifted, pushing him gently behind me with one arm. Preston watched the movement carefully.

"What else is new?" I said flatly.

"Xander, be reasonable. These people — they don’t play. You think you’re in the middle of this. You’re not. You’re just a piece."

"I’m I a joke to you?" I shot back.

That made him pause. He looked hard into my eyes — bloodshot, twitching with exhaustion.

"They only want the kid. You can make a deal."

"Like the deal you made?"

His face twitched. "She wants the kid. She doesn’t care about you. You can vanish. Be done with this."

"Did you see your boss die?" I asked.

He hesitated.

"I... I wasn’t told..."

"We need to leave," Jack whispered to me, his grip tightening on my arm. He was scared now. I could feel the tremble.

I turned back to Preston.

"Let us pass. No one else has to die today." I said it slow, honest, because I had nothing left to bluff with.

Preston looked at Jack. His expression crumpled. His face collapsed inward like something inside him had already broken.

Tears spilled. One. Two. Then came the smile. Small. Sad.

"How about option three?"

He reached inside his coat.

I moved on instinct, dragging Jack down with me, shielding his body with mine — expecting bullets.

Bang.

His body hit the floor hard. The sound echoed inside the little shop like a church bell — final, cruel, reverberating through plastic shelves and chip bags and cheap beer.

He shot himself.

I ran toward him, but I already knew. Behind me, the receptionist was screaming, bolting through a back door.

I took the pistol from Preston’s hand. Not because I wanted it. Because I needed it.

And because he wouldn’t need it anymore.

When we stepped out of the store, the street had changed. Something had shifted in the air. A low hum — a police car rounding the corner fast.

The receptionist had made the call.

"Move!" I growled, grabbing Jack’s arm.

We ran. No plan. Just motion. Heart pounding in my ears.

A train was just about to leave. Its doors still open.

We leapt in.

Behind us, cops stormed into the store. We weren’t spotted. Not yet. Not this time.

Through the train’s dirty window, I watched as a crowd gathered around the store. Phones raised. People filming death like it was another TikTok.

I wrapped the pistol in Jack’s jacket and shoved it under the seat.

Ten minutes later, we were still rattling down the tracks, every bump echoing in my bones.

"You’re thinking about making a deal, aren’t you?" Jack asked.

I looked at him.

"I’ll get you out," I said. "I promised."

He nodded. Small, silent. But full of meaning.

I smiled back.

Just for a moment — I believed it might be possible.

"Hey, do you know what the punishment for kidnapping is in China? " I asked, trying to lighten the mood.