Victor arrived at the estate and knocked once on the frosted door of Mr. Klayton's office.
"Come in," came the voice, clipped and disinterested.
Victor stepped in. Mr. Klayton didn't bother to look up from his monitor. "You're late, Victor."
"My apologies, Boss."
"Until now," Klayton said, sliding a file across the desk. "I have reviewed your records and ledgers and I noticed a decline. Sluggish response times, sleeping on duty, etcetera etcetera."
"I wasn't sleeping, I—"
"I demoted you today, yes?. And I've decided to take it a knot higher."
"It has been really rough with me, boss."
Klayton shot him a look to kill. "Ah yes, the sob story. Unhappy wife, no money. That's not my problem." He paused. "You're fired, Victor."
Silence stretched like wire between them and in a fit of rage, Victor rushed forward and banged his fist very hard on the table.
Words failed him, he felt like strangling the miserable figure seated by the table. The satisfaction he would get watching him squirm and beg for mercy which would never come.
Blinded by frustration, he stormed out; and
as he passed the reception, security was already glancing at each other.
In his apartment there was no couch, no table, no dishes or framed wedding photos. The apartment had been cleared, squeaky clean, of all its belongings; and all fingers pointed to his inlaws — Vera's parents.
Across the kitchen counter lay an envelope. He tore through the glue and inside was a divorce decree; signed, sealed and stamped.
No explanation nor discussion, just abandonment.
Outside the empty room, nosy neighbors paused, peeked, videoed, and whispered behind curtains.
And then his phone's screen lit up to a News Notification:
Breaking News: Business Tycoon Found Dead in his Office
Victor's thumb hovered over the screen. He clicked the alert.
A stiff photo of Mr. Klayton filled the screen.
"Breaking: Founder and CEO of Klayton Security, found dead this morning in his office. Sources say he was last seen having a heated argument with a former employee, Victor Hartwell. Police are currently searching for Hartwell, who has reportedly disappeared."
Victor's heart nearly stopped.
"No... no, no..." he muttered, scrolling with frantic fingers.
The scene replaye in his head. Slamming the desk, storming out, Klayton looking scared but alive.
What happened after that?
He didn't even lock the office door. Anyone could have walked in.
Now, all news sites said the same thing about Victor Hartwell, a prime suspect who fled after the confrontation.
Victor's breath quickened and his hands started shaking.
He grabbed whatever little effect that was left; phone, wallet shoes, and sneaked out through the backdoor.
At the Bus station, he sat at the back seat of the almost empty Expresso bus.
He began wondering how in a matter of hours, his life had taken a fast nose dive.
Broke, Diagnosed of cancer, Laid off, divorced, and now, a prime suspect in a murder he knew nothing of.
The bus hit a rough patch of road and Victor winced. Pain throbbed deep in his ribs. His body was betraying him. The cancer wasn't just inside, it was everywhere now. He hadn't taken his pills. He hadn't even eaten.
He slouched against the window, temples burning, chest tightening.
Two men whispered loudly on the bus.
"Did you hear about that guy? The Klayton murder?"
"They say the killer's on the run. They said his marriage was crashing too. Can you imagine?"
Suddenly, he felt cold, like a refrigerated salmon; his vision blurred like he had tears in his eyes and his fingers tingled.
The last thing he recalled was his limp body hitting hard against the ground; And then, everything went black
Hours later, a wild roar of laughter brought him back and a voice muttered beside him,
"Damn. I thought he was gone."
"Still breathing," a female voice replied, slurring slightly. "Barely."
Victor blinked up at two faces. A young Black man, maybe late twenties. And a blonde girl in a ripped leather jacket and nose ring. Both reeked of whiskey and danger.
"You good, man?" the guy asked, nudging him.
Victor groaned. "Where... am I?"
"Side of the road. Middle of nowhere," the girl said. "You dropped outta that city bus like a corpse. We were walking back from a bar and saw your carcass."
"We thought you died," the guy added. "So we dragged you out."
Victor pulled himself up. His wallet and phone were gone.
"You robbed me?!" He grabbed the black man, adrenaline surged through him.
"Relax, man. We only try to help."
"You don't look right," the girl frowned. "You sick?"
He didn't answer.
She knelt, brushing dirt off his cheek. "We'll take you somewhere safe. You're lucky it was us. Could've been anyone."
Victor looked at them, two strangers, probably fugitives in their own way.
"You got a name?" the guy asked.
Victor hesitated. His name was everywhere now. A walking headline.
He cleared his throat.
"Vic," he said finally. "Just... Vic."
"Hell!...wha'kinda name your momma call you so?"
The girl smiled faintly. "Well, Vic... let's keep you alive."
The duo, Tape Harding and Lily Grave dragged him into their car and zoomed off.
"You sure he's not gonna puke?" Tape asked.
"If he does, you're cleaning it," the girl snapped. "He's already half-dead."
"I'm not," Victor coughed into his sleeve. "Not dead. Just... tired."
"Yeah? Tired people don't collapse like timber in the middle of a crowd," Tape said with a chuckle.
There was a long silence as they drove past old fields and sleepy gas stations.
Lily Grave eventually asked, "So, Vic... what were you running from?"
"Everything."
Tape scoffed. "That's usually code for cops."
Victor didn't respond.
He couldn't tell them the truth. Not yet. That he was accused of killing a man he hadn't touched. That his face was probably already plastered across newsstands and TV screens, and he was slowly dying.
Lily must have sensed the weight in his silence so she didn't press, instead, she said softly, "We've got a friend. Lives outside of town. No bullshit kind of guy. Ex-army and a bit of a nutcase, but... safe."
Victor nodded. "I just need a few days to breathe."
"You've got cancer, don't you?" Lily asked suddenly.
Tape shot her a look. "Damn, Lily."
Victor hesitated. "How did you know?"
Lily blinked but didn't flinch. "My uncle died of lung cancer. Took him fast."
Victor swallowed hard. "It's liver."
Tape gave a low whistle. "Man. That's rough."
Victor's voice was steady now. "Doctor said two months... maybe."
Silence again.
Tape finally muttered, "Guess we all got something chasing us."
As they turned off the main road, the radio crackled in the dashboard.
"…The manhunt continues for Victor Hartwell, a former chief of security at Klayton Corp. Hartwell is wanted in connection with the death of his boss, Mr. Arthur Klayton, who was found murdered this morning. Authorities urge anyone with information to come forward…"
Tape shot Victor a glance from the headview mirror.
Victor's breath caught.
Luly turned to him. "That you?"
"Yes…I mean…No." Victor replied. "But I didn't do it."
Tape slowed the van and pulled a shotgun at Victor's face. "We should dump him."
Lily raised a hand. "No. He could've run. But he told the truth."
Victor met her eyes. "I didn't kill him. I swear. I just left... and someone else finished the job."
Tape grumbled but kept driving.
Up ahead, was a roadblock with heavily armed security men and devilish looking police dogs. They were checking the faces in each car against the face of the murderer in the news.