Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ On the Run ❯ On Your Marks ( Chapter 1 )

A/N: yello! Just a quick three-shot inspired by watching The Bourne Identity. Cool Movie, ne? Hope you like the overall plot and the ending. All the best and let me know what you think. (Redone and changed for the better!)

All my love

Yasina

xx

 

 

He was running as if he had wings attached to his shoes, speeding through the streets. Most people moving out of his way, stopping and turning to stare at his disappearing back. The man in the black suit, who looked like a typical rich-boy banker was running; and not just running down the street.

 

He had a perfectly good reason, as if most people were chased by the police; and those that were chased by the police were well-dressed men in designer suits and had what seemed like the entire police force chasing after him. He just thanked his lucky stars or not so lucky, considering his current circumstances that his briefcase and laptop were left in his car.

 

However he was extremely pissed that he had been caught, after everything that he had learnt from his brother and well just everything. He knew this district of the city fairly well and weaved his way in and out of the main streets until he came upon the small alleys knowing that he would hopefully lose track of one of them by hiding in a shop or behind something. After his brother's profession he knew he shouldn't have left himself get caught in the predicament he was in, but it had played out in such a way the only thing he could possibly do was to run as much as possible.

 

Getting caught and the media scandal that would no doubt follow would cause chaos and his parents - his father would kill him and then would come from people how he was unfit for what was his.

 

All his previous work and building the empire he had received from his father and had soared to dizzying heights all under his care would disappear in everyone's eyes. All replaced by one tiny mistake, no a misunderstanding.

 

As he continued to run he mentally checked his pockets but couldn't feel a mobile phone hitting the side of his leg or his back or even against his chest. He swore mentally wondering if it had fallen out of a pocket when he had started to run, all that sprinting in high school and the rivalry with younger class members had definitely helped as he had heard the policemen panting away when he had broken into the sprint which was now slowing down.

 

Even without it, the ice-cold part of his analytical mind was racing through the numbers he could have called to help him out of this madness. One part even considered slowing down and going back, and trying to rationally work his way out of it. But he knew - the one other phrase that was running through his mind as he ran - you ran when you saw them, your guilt handed to them on a golden platter.

 

He sighed, taking deeper breaths as anaerobic respiration started to take over his body and fill his muscles with lactic acid. He had run many races and every Saturday kept time with the fastest person he knew, but the nerves and adrenaline pumping through his heart twice a second weren't helping him.

 

The chase was on, he had first thought expecting them to give up any second. Or his brother and his people would have stepped in somewhere along the way, knowing that they covered police radio bands constantly. Surely the number plate of the car would have sent alarm bells ringing through them all. He was praying for a miracle, preferably one that would yank him into an alley, with a change of clothes or some disguise and to get him somewhere safe where the police could be put off the scent immediately and he would walk away unscathed.

 

The sirens were fainter by the minute as he weaved his way through the tiny streets, scanning for a bicycle or any form of transportation he could use, as he could still hear the heavy footfalls and panting of two or three men behind him. He didn't even see the empty box that tripped him up, but he saw the ground as he fell onto it and then was jumped on by two police agents, cuffed by one of them and the third smugly read him `his rights,' panting more than he was and lead him away to a police car.

 

The lactic acid in his body, which he felt had all spread upwards towards his lungs made him incapable of any speech as he came out into the full daylight of the open street and the police car waiting for him. He knew about vague procedure from what his brother had told him and from police dramas on TV and his hopes all hung on the one phone call he could make or call for a `lawyer' when calling in his brother.

 

His wallet contained his driving license, I.D. Card, all with his name on it and within hours or minutes it would be everywhere that he had been arrested and was in police custody. It would be the end of him, his fatalistic approach kicked in as his head was pushed down and into the backseat of the police car. Gaea knows what would happen in the interview room.

 

Van Fanel cringed, thinking about what the police were going to say when they sat him down and started to talk. The only thing left for him to do was pray - and for a man that was agnostic, he thought his only guardian angel at the time was a person he was rather uncomfortable around anyway.

 

Meanwhile a young woman quietly sipping a coffee in a small cosy café looked out the window and staring from the police car to what was resting on her table she smiled.

 

To be continued….