Escape

He was speeding over 140 km/h along the winding road, police cars constantly on his tail.

"They're bad..." he thought, smiling to himself. It had been a long time since anyone had given him as much joy as those cops chasing him for the past fifteen minutes. They usually gave up after a few minutes, if they even tried to give chase.

"I guess they got a new gas ration..." he said to himself, chuckling to himself. He would have heard the irony of his laughter, but the roar of the motorcycle drowned out all sounds except the blare of sirens. He rode like that for a few more kilometers until he began to tire of the fun. He began to accelerate slowly, slowly pulling away from the police. Soon, the road, which had so far stretched through treeless, hilly terrain, would enter the forest. There, he would disappear from the pursuing party's sight. The chase would end, and he would return to his normal, gray routine. As normal as the life of a law student dabbling in criminal activity in his free time could be. I wonder what the professors' faces would be like if they knew how one of their best students made a living. If irony glowed in the dark, the fugitive wouldn't have to use headlights at night. The student reached the top of a hill, overlooking the surrounding area. Just before the forest, the fugitive's path intersected with a road running parallel to the forest wall. More police cars were traveling along the road beneath the forest. From the hill, they looked like moving, flashing red and blue flashes. In the reddish glow of the setting sun, the view was truly beautiful, though it didn't bode well for the fugitive.

"Bloody hell," he cursed so loudly that even the roar of the engine couldn't drown out the words. "Son of a bitch..." The motorcyclist, however, didn't slow down in the slightest. What could he do? There was no way to turn around... he couldn't do it through the grass... his only hope was to make it through the intersection before the cops reached him. He accelerated rapidly, squeezing every ounce of power from the engine. The police cars behind him lost sight of their target, the police cars driving by the woods were approaching the intersection at full throttle. He was getting closer too. Neither he nor they were about to give up. A few dozen meters before the intersection, it was clear they would be the first. There was little chance of there being no casualties. They would block the intersection, he wouldn't brake in time and would crash into the blockade, dying instantly... and perhaps take one of them with him to another world, if another world existed. Unless... Two seconds before the likely collision, he pulled a pistol from his jacket and fired at the wheels of the police cars. The hours spent at the shooting range paid off, however. The driver of the first patrol car lost control, and the car skidded in a cloud of smoke billowing from a blown tire. The other drivers had to slow down to avoid a collision. Before the driver regained control, the police car slowed enough for the fugitive to pass. The student, driving away, fired a few more shots, aiming at the tires... but these were only cheers, as the police had no chance of catching him. He disappeared into the woods.

The fugitive knew this area like the back of his hand. He had escaped this way many times before. The road was winding—even if he had a pursuer, he would have been lost to sight constantly. Eventually, he would have disappeared completely, turning onto a dirt road where no car could enter. Somewhere in the forest, he would remove the "camouflage elements" from the motorcycle—a sheet of black cloth and a few plastic pieces that would obscure the make of the motorcycle. He would hide the "camouflage" under a tree, and the loot somewhere else. He would return for it the next day, or maybe later. Pure action: the criminal flees the scene without leaving any trace and vanishes into thin air. The police had never been fond of people like him; they severely underestimated their detection rate. But now the student didn't turn onto dirt roads; he drove slowly (by his standards) along a winding road, climbing to the top of a mountain covered in forest.

The gentle peak had fewer trees, and couples of lovers often visited to admire the panorama. From a distance, the mountain looked like the top of a giant monk's head, bald at the very top, with hair—trees below. From the summit, the view extended over the entire surrounding area: a large city to the west, hills and forests to the east, and a small lake below the mountain. Early in the evening, when the sky glowed bright red in the west and the stars shone in the east, it became truly romantic. Riding up the bald peak, the criminal on his motorcycle was surprised that no one was there today. He stopped and turned off the engine. He took off his helmet and looked down. The flashes of police headlights loomed in the distance.

"They don't surrender..." he said to himself, his lips curling into a condescending smile. He drew a cigarette from his jacket, lit one, and put the pack back. He gazed at the city to the west, occasionally glancing at the flashes of police sirens. It would be a while before they got here. Just enough to finish his cigarette without rushing. His gray-blue eyes, however, held no satisfaction from another successful operation. Only sadness and longing. The longer he looked at the city, the more regret there deepened. What should he do? Return to the empty house in the middle of the merry city? Study for another exam, or go out to a bar and get drunk among dozens of people he knew, more or less? Or just go to sleep alone in a cold bed and wake up alone? He could find someone for the night, or for a few years, but it would never be that someone. Or maybe give himself another dose of adrenaline by getting into trouble with the police again. To forget for a moment about this void that nothing could fill... except one thing.

The flashes of police cars were approaching, the tobacco in his cigarette was slowly running out. A spark suddenly appeared in his previously sad eyes, which then ignited into a fire, and then a conflagration. He quickly pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. The signature under the number was a first name. No surname or any description. The only such entry. All other numbers were signed with first and last names. He often wanted to call this number, but he always lacked the courage. This time, he did. The waiting signal lasted a while, until finally a warm, feminine voice answered:

"I'm listening." The surprise the girl tried to hide was evident in her voice.

"Hi, Iga..." replied her calm, friendly voice, disproportionately calm compared to the fire raging in her eyes and soul.

"You... never," she laughed lightly. "How are you?

" "Well... I have a question for you, or rather, a request... for advice.

" "I'd be happy to help... if I can." Surprise, perhaps even concern, was again evident in her voice.

"You can help," he laughed. "So, here's how I am: I have three paths before me, but I don't know which one to choose."

"Choose the one you want to go the most..."

"I'd like to, but there's a slight problem... because this path isn't just up to me.

" "Who else?" she asked again, this time not hiding her concern.

The sound of police sirens grew louder. The lights were getting closer. In a minute at most, the police cars would be crashing over the hill. The boy was silent for a moment, then finally began to speak. At first, he tried to speak calmly, but then he couldn't contain his trembling.

"I robbed a bank, the police will be picking me up any minute. I can still escape..."

The girl groaned.

"My options are: wait for the cops and get caught, spend a few years in prison. Or I can run away, come get you today, buy us a house, and do everything to make you happy. Just like back then. Or I can... just run away. It's up to you what I choose. Decide quickly." He practically shouted the last words.

On the other end, no one spoke. Dead silence.

"Iga!

" "Run! Run as fast as you can!" Her voice broke, and she spoke the next words through tears. "Forgive me... I... I'm sorry...

" "You used to be afraid we'd break off contact if I did what you said... we'd never speak again. You might hear about me, but we'll break off contact..." The fire in his eyes faded, his words almost dispassionately, devoid of any emotion.

"Run!" she screamed through her tears. "You know we can't be together... forgive me... Run!"

He turned off the phone and, with a straight face, put it back in his jacket. The police lights were already grazing the peak. He finished his cigarette and threw the butt on the ground.

"Well, I'm running away," he said, looking dispassionately at the approaching lights.

* * *

Iga got out of bed, looking worse than ever. Yesterday's call from her ex-boyfriend had completely unsettled her. He'd always been pretty crazy... but to the point of robbing a bank? A law student? Completely insane. She hadn't slept all night, home alone, her fiancé gone, and she had no one to talk to about it. Or maybe she was simply afraid to talk about it? Never mind. She washed up, ate another helping of guilt and sadness for breakfast, and went to work, still lost in thought. This didn't escape the notice of her colleagues at the office, but they had gotten to know her well enough to know that if she didn't start talking about something, she wouldn't. Finally, someone couldn't stand the oppressive atmosphere and turned on the radio. A little music, a little news. As always—nothing special. At least until the news reported a robbery:

"Yesterday, early in the evening, an armed man robbed a bank, stole a large sum of money, and then fled the scene. Police officers led the chase. The end of the chase was as strange as it was tragic. Police found the man's body on a nearby mountain. For unknown reasons, the thief committed suicide. The perpetrator, identified as Michał O. – a university student... " "

I've never understood suicides, but this one in particular. Instead of running away with the money, he blows his brains out," said one of Iga's friends.

"Hehehe," the friend laughed ironically. "Well, he did run away, but to the land of eternal hunting... or rather, robbery..." He stopped mid-sentence, seeing Iga's reaction; everyone in the room froze.

Iga was shaking, pale as a sheet, tears streaming from her wide-open eyes, mortal terror seeping through her. In a broken voice, she whispered,

"Michał..."