‘You don’t have to open your mouth. It doesn’t matter,’ Richard hissed. ‘I just thought it would be fitting. But this still works.’ The man’s eyes shifted to try and lock onto Richard, his lips parted like he was going to speak again. ‘DON’T!’ Richard’s shout seemed to blur his vision more. His chest suddenly burned, like someone had thinned the oxygen in the room and he had to gasp to get enough to keep him upright. He shifted his feet to catch his balance, and as he did so his knee slid off the chair. He stumbled, his left hand reaching out for the seat of the chair. But suddenly it was whipped away and with it his last chance to stay upright.

He felt the shotgun snatched from his right hand, twisting him as he fell. The impact with the floor came an instant later through his right shoulder, then his side where the box of ammunition dug into his hip. He had dragged the chair over with him, and the clatter of its fall seemed to be all around him. His ear flashed with pain where it hit something firm, and the top layer of dust on the floor lifted to fill his nostrils and cling to the back of his throat. He moaned, still panting for breath. He couldn’t see around him. He was only aware of someone pacing from the sound of footsteps on the wooden flooring. He felt a push against his chest, the force enough to roll him flat on his back, he flailed his arms but could do nothing to stop the box of ammunition from being dragged out of his pocket.

‘You shouldn’t have come here. You shouldn’t have come for me. How did you find me?’ The voice came to Richard out of a fog above him, where a dark shape was moving, pacing back and forth. The words were thick with venom.