Flash In The Pan - 8. No Surrender?

Heart racing. Shallow, panicked breaths. Breathe. Come on. Slowly, quietly. Breathe. ... Crouched, hiding behind the door. Below the shattered glass panel. Can't close it completely - too noisy. He'd hear. Course he would. ... Definitely a 'he'? Yes, you idiot. The silhouette. Beard, remember? Long, bushy beard. ... Who is it? Dunno. Think! Get those fucking brain cells moving. Ehm ... No. Don't know anyone with a beard. Do I? It's been so long. Could be anybody. Can't remember the last time I saw someone. Lost track of time. Days, weeks ... Skulking in here. This isn't my room though. Left that when he first opened the front door. The man. Whoever he is. Wonder if he has food? Food ... Proper, edible food. Not the scraps and rotting filth I call food. All my stuff's in that room. What's left. Why did you leave it then, you idiot? Panic, fear of the hunted. Wonder if I could get some of his food? He must have some. How, though? Fight him? Yeah, you'd really win a fight, wouldn't you? Muscles? Wasted away, mostly. However hard I try. Beg? Grovel? No. Can't do that. No surrender. Ever. The fight must continue, always. What was the cause we were fighting for? Forgotten ... but it must keep on. There must still be others out there, somewhere, doing the same. Lost touch ages ago. Deliberately so – I'd be traced otherwise, wouldn't I? Never know who'd be listening in. … Footsteps? Shit! Should I look? Yes. No. Definitely not. Remaining hidden is best. Except in the case of food, possibly. Is he coming closer? Are the noises getting louder? Can't tell – it's been so long since I've heard anything different. Not part of me and my world. ... Well, concentrate, then. Listen, carefully. ... Yes, I think so. Heavy boots striking the flooring like he owns the place. Should I run? Where to? Shit! Too late. There he is! The silhouette again. The beard. Looking in. No. Please, no.

"Raif? That you in there? Hiding?"

Is that me? Was that me? Dunno. Forgotten. Don't reply. Silence, keep silent …

"It's John. I've been searching for so long. I can't bear that I lost you. Is that your breathing I can hear?”

He can hear! Hold your breath. Freeze.

“You armed? Is it OK for me to come in? I'm alone. You might not recognise me though. I've grown a beard – a real Victorian special."

Armed? I was once. Not now. Not for a long time. … Why? Why should I be looked for? Nobody's missed me. I'm a fighter, a loner. A soldier. No surrender.

"OK … Raif? I'm coming in. Whatever's happened, I still love you, Raif. You're mine."