A/N: Hey, thanks for reading! This is my first thriller/crime story, and I'm not sure if it's any good or thriller-ish, so please, I'd love all kinds of feedback. BTW, this story is for an English task at school, so I'd really appreciate it if you guys help me get good marks! Lol, thanks!

In a dark corner of a New York alleyway, where mists of rain fell idly, there lay a man, beaten and unconscious on the muddy ground. His name was Lendon Thompson, though he did not know it. At present, his brows were knotted in pain and his face was contorted in a frightful way as his body writhed along the floor.

For a while nothing happened and the drizzle of light rain continued to descend slowly onto his sooty face and clothes. His fingers twitched slightly and his head began to roll from side to side. Suddenly, his eyes flashed open, and his icy azure eyes stared up at the night sky, all his senses returning to him.

There was the distant cacophony of New York City traffic, with the occasional honks and shouts of frustration; the soft patter and the touch of moist rain as they fell and trickled down his face. The alleyway was dark and dank, and there was a distinctive smell of rotten garbage and cigarette smoke. Lendon coughed; the smell was sickening and all too much for him to bear. His lungs felt about ready to burst, and his throat felt parched and dry as if he hadn't drank for days.

He had to get up; why, he did not know, but something told him that he was in danger. As Lendon summoned all his strength, he propped up on his elbows and struggled to heave himself up. It took him a while, for his muscles were tight and his body bruised. With every movement he made, there was a groan; his chest and neck ached all over, and his legs felt numb.

By now, he was standing groggily on his two feet, one hand clamped gently around his abdominal area, and the other outstretched in front of him as a guide through the darkness. There were no overhead lights, and finding his way out of the winding alleyway was exceptionally difficult.

Finally, he was out on the night street, and the sudden luminosity of the street and flashing-neon lights blinded him. Lendon lowered his eyes and shrank his head further into the neck of his coat, following the meandering footpath which led him away from the bustling metropolis and towards a more isolated part of the city.

As he stumbled along, people averted their eyes and ignored him, but Lendon didn't care. All he wanted was to get to a hospital, a motel, anywhere, just as long as a place was available for him to rest.

For a while he wandered aimlessly along the various avenues, and the smell of hot food along Chinatown was enough to make him lick his bloody lips hungrily. At last he caught sight of a motel sign and staggered towards it with new-found alacrity. He was desperate to get there as fast as he could, and at length, he reached the seedy-looking motel and pushed the glass doors open. A forty-something year old man looked up from the desk and sneered at Lendon, an austere visage on his face.

"Watcha in here for, ya bum? Get outta here!" he cried, standing up and moving towards Lendon. His bald head gleamed in the fluorescent light. "Go on, scat you filthy parasite! Do you want me to call the cops?"

Lendon gulped and clutched the man's arm with a trembling hand. "Please," he whispered hoarsely. "Help me… I- I don't know who I am."

The bald man shook Lendon's hand off and pushed him. Lendon staggered backwards before falling in a heap, gasping for breath. "Get outta here you freakin' bum! Get outta here, before I call the cops!" the man yelled.

Lendon looked up into the man's face, and his icy blue eyes seemed to penetrate through to the man's bones, sending shivers up along his spine. The very look on Lendon's face frightened him, and he took a few steps back. "Come on," he started to say in a shaky voice. "Get outta here."

Lendon didn't move and his eyes remained steady on the bald man's hazel ones. The man started to sweat, and his clammy hands began to tremble nervously, when suddenly his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

"Mercy, I- I recognize you! You're Steven Doyle!" the man ejaculated apprehensively. "You're him!"

Lendon frowned, and gazed at the man with a disconcerted countenance. He had no idea what the man was talking about, yet the name had a familiar ring to it.

The bald man swallowed, and his eyes darted nervously to the right and left before they settled on Lendon again. "We- we've no vacancy," he said brusquely.

"Please… I woke up in an alleyway, and I feel like I'm about to die," Lendon gasped. "Please understand that I mean no harm."

The bald man faltered before shaking his head resolutely. "No… no, get out now; you don't know how much I've helped you already."

Lendon pushed himself up from the ragged carpet and stumbled forward to lean his feeble body against the edge of the man's desk. He was about to open his mouth when a door to the left of the room slammed open. A tall, stalwart man appeared, dressed smartly in a plain black suit with a small headset attached to an ear. He eyed Lendon up and down before moving slowly towards him. Not once did the newcomer's eyes leave Lendon's face as he spoke quickly into the small microphone hidden inside the neck of his collar. Transfixed, Lendon watched in horror as the man pulled his shades down over his ominous eyes and withdraw a revolver from his pocket.

Lendon froze; his legs stood rooted to the spot. No matter, he was a quick-thinking man in nature, and, fumbling behind him for the door, Lendon's hand grasped the cool metal knob and flung the door open before fleeting as quickly as he could down the empty street. A jingle of bells rang eerily through the isolated avenue as he ran along the broken path, one foot after the other. He didn't have to turn around to know that the man in black was hot on his trail.

Lendon's heart pounded and he fought hard for breath as he ran for his life. He wanted to scream, cry for help, but his voice had long gone. It didn't matter that the man in black was chasing the wrong guy, nor did it matter that Lendon was running for the sake of escaping the crazed man; he was clueless as to why the man was even pursuing him, and with a gun too, but one thing he knew for sure: there was a connection between them.

The two men were coming to the end of the street- a dead-end- and in desperation, Lendon scanned the street in search of an exit. He had two options: either he ran down the dark alleyway to his left, or across the street and seek help from the buildings there. Narrowly missing a bullet, and then another, Lendon had no time to consider the two alternatives, and he hurried across the street and to the nearest building. Lurching to the left just in time to dodge a bullet, Lendon fell and dropped behind a pot plant just as the man was about to fire another few shots.

For a while the shooting stopped, and this Lendon took to his advantage. But no sooner had he reached the revolving doors that another shot was fired and glass flew everywhere. Lendon ducked and covered his head with his arms.

Screams and shouts erupted from within the hotel, and a mill of people dispersed from the edifice like a flurry of ants.

This was his chance. He could see the man in black out on the road, and if Lendon could escape without him noticing, he'd be able to seek help elsewhere. But he would have to do it carefully, and quickly; one mistake and Lendon would be a dead man. He was sure the man in black wasn't afraid to kill, even in front of the huge crowd.

So, having planned his get away, he leapt from his position beside the door and flew to the centre of the hectic crowd to situate himself between two women and behind a tall man, all of whom he hoped shielded him perfectly from the hunter's view.

Lendon lowered his head and stooped his back, desperately hoping for success in being overlooked by the man. As the crowd moved closer and closer to the road, Lendon began to shift into small and obscure spaces, at all times moving further and further from where he believed the man in black was stationed.

Suddenly, a woman fell beside Lendon, and she ejaculated a scream, grabbing the attention of several people, including the man in black. Lendon watched in trepidation as the man's head turned in the direction of the cry, his eyes darting to the left as he searched for the source of the cry. Instinctively, Lendon bobbed down yet even lower, and for a second, he thought that the man's eyes had met his, and he stood frozen, anticipating the sound of another gunshot.

But it didn't come.

And then he ran. His legs were already sore from running, but he didn't care. He had to get away before it was too late.


Lendon toppled to the ground.

His entire body ached, and there was a throbbing pain at his temples. His chest heaved up and down as he fought for breath, his heart going a mile an hour. He face was grimy with sweat, and he pulled his coat off, revealing a wet patch under his armpits.

Finally he had escaped. But now, there were more pressing matters: who was he? And why was he being hunted?

He glanced around wearily at the brightly lit street; whilst the majority of people who passed him didn't give him a second look, others gaped at him from faraway before crossing the street to avoid a possible madman.

Lendon turned his face away and closed his eyes. Why do I not remember a thing? he thought. Who am I? There must be a reason why I'm like this!

Suddenly, a strong wind brought a pile of rubbish flying up in the air and a piece of paper hit his face. He growled and wrenched it from his face with hid dirty nails. Lendon was about to scrunch it up and throw it when something written on the poster grabbed his attention. Smoothing the wrinkled paper out, he discovered a face very much alike his own under the headline:

"Wanted for the murder of Mayor Ulm: Steven Dolye".