Stamford Bridge (part two)

The first time Alison had crossed death's path was on an Israeli mountain. She was on the back of Yvan's off-road motorbike and Yvan was taking her to a place where he would regularly go to escape the paranoia that defined his war-torn world. But as Yvan took a corner, the brakes malfunctioned and the bike skidded across the gravel. Alison and Yvan flew off and hit the ground, sliding along it. They were both lucky. They both survived but just about.

Crouching down behind the seats of Stamford Bridge, Yvan knew that the same people who had sabotaged his bike were the same ones looking for him right now. 

Yvan needed to protect Alison. He couldn’t let them know that she meant everything to him. But just as he tried to stand up, she pulled him back down.

“What are you doing?” she pleaded. “You can’t.” Yvan shrugged her off. He looked at her. He couldn’t lie. Then again, he had never told anyone why these men were after him. He had never explained to anyone why he had to escape in the middle of the night and flee to South America. He had never told his family where in the world he was and he'd been gone for almost ten years now. But finally, he could share his secret with someone. He knew he could trust her. He owed her that, at least.

Yvan leant towards Alison and whispered, “l killed someone - when I was in the army.”

Alison looked at him strangely. ‘But isn't that the point of the army?’ she thought. She didn’t understand.

Yvan continued, “He was a friend and that's why they're after me.”

Yvan didn’t have to say anymore. The guilt was written all over his face and Alison knew there was another side to this man; a darker side, that she hadn't met yet. But she didn't care. She wasn’t going to lose him. Not again. Alison took Yvan’s hand and told him, “You’re getting out of here and I’m coming with you.”

To be continued ...