I shiver uncontrollably and instinctively shrink further into the darkness.
I only catch a glimpse of the gunman's face; I am too terrified to look up and when I do I wish I hadn't. He didn't notice me and continued his march. His face was scarred, marks of the past, grotesque and almost half of it deformed. He seemed to have ages-old burn marks dug so deep into his flesh; his left eye seems to bulge from its socket.
My heart drops, I am scared and this was definitely the most opportune time for Sonia Gomez to come out and yell out some crap about coming back in. Maybe he'd shoot at her, nick her arm or something harmless like that.
The pair reach the end of the alleyway; their voices seem muffled and indistinct. I try to listen in on their conversation; my heart feels as it were beating unusually loud. The sounds of New York nightlife spring in the air. Canal Street is quieter tonight yet the sounds of taxi drivers honking obnoxiously drowns in my ears. The smell of odorous sewage wafts up in my nostrils; I hold my nose in disgust and slowly unbending my knees all the while attempt to catch a glimpse of the two figures.
The scarred man lifts the gun and aims at the young man, I may be mistaken but it appears his expression remains indifferent. If anyone ever looked cool about to get shot in the head it was this guy.
"One last chance Rhys, who do you work for?" The scarred man's voice was deep and throaty. Sweat rained down my face. I feel my legs begin to give way; it was now or never.
What should I do now?
Do I remain right here in the hopes the killer won't notice me?
Should I create a distraction, wave hands around wildly without a plan?