It was hours before Lucy began to be able to make out the bright lights of the city, and the wasteland started to give way to industrial estates.
Things were quiet, unnervingly so, and Lucy was oddly eager to get into the hustle and bustle of central London.
That was when Lucy saw him, he was lurking by the garden gate of a house across the street, the orange lamplight casting an eerie glow around him and illuminating his features. His hair was the wrong colour, platinum blonde, practically white, but there was no mistaking the cruel glint of those eyes, and the set of that mouth upturned into an arrogant smirk.
Lucy froze. Her blood ran cold. Her heart rate sped up.
Her husband, for that's of course who it was, tilted his head curiously to one side as she met his gaze, then a wide grin spread across his features.
That was all the warning Lucy needed, she snapped out of her petrified state and ran.
She pelted down the street as fast as she could, turning into an alleyway joining this road to the next. She tore down the darkened passage like hell itself was at her heels, which in many ways it was.
Lucy noticed the absence of any sound but her own footfalls and hard breaths, and she dared stop and look around at the end of the alleyway to see if she was being followed.
That was when a pair of arms grabbed her tightly and a hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her startled scream.
