Johnny’s gaze slid to Wendy, then back to the man.
“Wendy,” he whispered, “Why is Sylvester Pearce walking around like a free man?”
Except it wasn’t Sylvester. Not exactly. Because this one looked clean, was steady on his feet and he had a big wine-red birthmark partially covering his cheek.
Wendy’s mouth opened and closed several times. “That’s… It can’t be.”
Johnny slowly rose to his feet. “No. It can’t. So who the fuck is that?”
Wendy’s hand went to her mouth. “Tay was right. Sylvester Pearce has an evil twin… o-or a doppelgänger. Quick, go and lock him up.”
Johnny stood. “What am I locking him up for? All he did was cross the road and light a cigarette.”
Wendy flapped her hands and spoke in a flustered whisper. “I don’t know! Say you need to search him.”
Johnny scoffed. “With what powers? He hasn’t done anything wrong other than looking like someone else that weknowis in prison.”
Wendy waved the comment away. “I don’t know! Just get after him! Follow him, see where he’s going. I’ll wait with the wolf.”
Just then, Sylvester Pearce’s doppelgänger turned on his heel and took off at a run. “Shiiit,” Johnny said, letting out a sharp breath as he set off after him, reasoning that no innocentman would sprint away from the police without a good fucking reason.
Sylvester-not-Sylvester dipped into an alleyway that cut through two rows of houses. It stank of piss and there was smashed glass everywhere.
“Stop!” Johnny shouted, skidding around a tight corner and smacking his elbow into a concrete fence with a sickening crunch. “Stop! Police!”
An unruly privet hedge whipped against his cheek, his heavy boots pounding the ground so hard the entire neighbourhood could probably hear him. Sylvester-not-Sylvester’s footfalls came to a sudden stop, and when Johnny rounded the next corner he saw him abruptly turn onto an open playing field. It had a rusty football goal at one end and was surrounded by a tall block of flats.
Sylvester-not-Sylvester took off again, his teeth bared as he and Johnny locked eyes for a split second. But then he smirked, his body snapping around as he sprinted towards an open door on the ground floor of one of the flats.
“Stop!” Johnny called again, launching after him with all the power his legs could muster. He was faster than Sylvester-not-Sylvester by far, and he caught him within half a dozen strides. He reached out, snatching at the back of his bright blue T-shirt, then… pain.
Something hard smacked his arm, a metallicthunkechoing across the football pitch.
“Ah!” Johnny cried out, stumbling to the side and almost collapsing to one knee from the sudden, blinding pain of it.
His arm. His fucking arm had been smashed and—snapping his head to the side, he wildly searched for his attacker, eyes wide and heart thudding. Blood rushed to his head, making him feel like his face was about to explode.
No one. No one was around, just him, the empty field and Sylvester-not-Sylvester’s retreating form. Johnny stumbled to the edge of the flats, his one good arm braced against the wall whilst the other hung limply at his side. He watched as the other man ran through the open door, snarling at someone inside that Johnny couldn’t see.
Groaning, he slipped his phone out of his pocket and took a photograph of the doorway, then put a pin on his maps app. He sent it to Isla with a text that readThink Sylvester might have an evil twin after all.
At least, he thought he did. It was difficult to see and the adrenaline was making his hand shake.
The phone slipped from his grasp, dropping to the ground with a clatter. Johnny let out a long, shaking breath, curled his chin into his chest and pressed the emergency button on his radio.
“PC Ateba to control. I need—” His face began to sting, jaw going slack.
“Go ahead, PC Ateba,” came the voice of a concerned-sounding comms op.
“Control, I need assistance.”
There was movement behind him, something long and silver dragging across the ground with a metallic scrape. He blinked, trying not to focus on the blood that was rapidly soaking his sleeve, or the way it ran down the back of his hand and between his fingers.
He turned, breathing hard, coming face-to-face with several other people.
“Alright, copper?” one said. A man with tattoos all over his face. “Nice day, ain’t it?” He gave Johnny a sharp smile and slung the metal baseball bat over his shoulder.
“Fancy a game of pummel the pig?” said another.
