Not Quite The Beginning

As they ran, the alarm slowly faded behind them. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen, Carter thought. He and Jackson darted through the alley, their footfalls heavy and loud on the uneven concrete. No one was supposed to be there. No one was supposed to get hurt. Rounding the corner, Carter saw the flashing lights of police cars. He felt grief well inside him, the ocean of inevitability pulling him into the undertow. Jackson, struggling to keep up, gained ground as Carter stepped from the alley and abruptly stopped at the edge of the road. The wail of the police sirens grew as it bounced from the empty buildings. 

The first of the black and white cars whipped around the corner. Knocking Carter to the side as he ran past, Jackson darted into the street. Carter felt the world slow as the cruiser's brakes locked into a skid. The bumper clipped Jackson's legs at the knee and bounced his body off the hood. He flew forward into the air. His face hit the pavement with a wet slap. The bones in his neck cracked with a hollow pop. Carter stared, aghast.

"Sir!" The policeman yelled, as he jumped from the car. "Sir, are you alright?"

Blood seeped into the cracked cement. Carter looked up and saw police cars surrounding the area. He looked to the growing crowd of policemen.

"What happened?" a patrolman asked.

"Is that the suspect?" another said, motioning to Jackson's lifeless body. The officers looked to Carter. Their faces wore concern beneath the flashing red and blue lights. The sirens had ceased, giving way to disturbing silence.

"Sir, what did you see? Do you know this man?" the original officer asked. Carter looked to them in disbelief. He realized how the scene must look to the policemen. They don't know what happened, he thought. Jackson's dead eyes looked through him from the street. Carter felt a heavy weight creep into his stomach. The tar brewing inside grew thicker as he paused, choking to keep it down.

Taking a shuddered breath, Carter began to speak.