• He was running down the alley when it occurred to him. Who am I running from? He wasn't breathing well, because of his asthma, and his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. Looking around in a panic, he sprinted towards the back of the alley. He needed to find a place to hide, and soon. The image of the two men in their crisp black suits and black sunglasses made him cringe, but didn't distract him for long. Spotting a few doors that opened into the alley, he shoved himself against them, trying for an open one, or at least one that had an older lock. It wasn't until the fourth that he got into the building. Darting into the bathroom next to the door, he slammed the door closed and slid down the back wall onto the linoleum floor, exhaling heavily. He looked at his blood-stained shirt and slowly, carefully, stood up and locked the door. He heard dull footsteps, only faintly. They were coming. They knew where he was. He looked at his leg, realizing he had left a convenient trail of blood to the door. The footsteps were louder now, and he could hear muffled yelling. He looked around the room and spotted a narrow window above the toilet. He looked from the rusted window to the old door, and decided to take a chance. Standing on the lid of the toilet, he hoisted himself up to the ledge and started making his way out of the bathroom. The edges of the window pane were cutting his hands, and he groaned in pain. He was halfway through now. He heard a thud against the door and knew he didn't have long. The edges started to cut into his leg, where the bullet was, and he screamed. The noises coming from the other side of the door were louder now, and he could hear the voices now, yelling in a language he didn't understand. His knees were resting on the pane when they grabbed him.