It started to rain around 8PM and
hadn’t stopped. The sickly yellow lamp of the streetlight rippled when seen
through the third floor windows. Reynold LeFevre tried to sit still. Every
squeak from his chair echoed throughout the empty, mostly dark office and it
was a little too disquieting for him. If not for the streetlight, his desk lamp
and monitor would be the only sources of light; to conserve energy the lights
went off at 9, no exceptions. For the third time that week he’d stayed late to
work on his project and only in the last hour had the effort begun to pay off.
Tears welled up in the corners of
his eyes from the strain of staring at a monitor. He backed away and rubbed his
eyes, though he had trouble opening them again. Everything stayed blurry for a
moment, with spots floating around until a few blinks later when it all went
back to normal. When he focused on the monitor again it was too late. The glare
became too much and triggered a nasty headache. He looked at his watch,
unsurprised to see it read 1:18AM. There would be no more progress as all the
tables, figures, reports and statistics bled into each other in a hodgepodge of
numbers and right angles.
“I need some damn coffee.” He said,
shutting down his computer. When he turned off the lamp his headache abated,
but it left him in the relative dark of the office. The rain had let up and
left fat droplets that all glowed the same sickly yellow on the windows. He
watched as they ran down the glass, colliding with other drops that collided
again until only a streak remained and disappeared from view. Suddenly, he
heard a faint pop, almost like the filament of a light bulb snapping. Standing
at attention, earnings folder shoved halfway into his messenger bag, Reynold
looked around. Nothing. The security guard didn’t make rounds in the office
anymore, unfortunately. He resumed putting away his folders, a little harried
this time when another pop went off. This time much louder.
He could’ve sworn he saw a bit of
flash from the far end of the office too. It’s
nothing, I’m just tired, he thought. There came another loud pop, a thunder
clap compared to the other two, and everything went dark. The lamp post that
illuminated the office erupted in sparks that faded in the rain and shards of
glass that fell to the street. Reynold ran for the window, his arms splayed in
an effort to avoid running into chairs or desks. He pressed himself against the
glass and looked to the alley below. In the pale moonlight he saw one shadow
chasing another. He tracked their progress by splashes in the puddles they ran
through. When they got too far away he followed them, minding the narrow aisle.
Another gunshot went off as the
hunted rounded the corner to the front of Reynold’s building. The bullet must
have hit, because they collapsed and rolled to a stop, clutching their leg. The
reach of a nearby streetlight didn’t extend far enough to give Reynold a
clearer view, but he could see the hunter ambling toward their victim. Please don’t kill him, he thought. The
hunter obliged and only kicked the man in the chest before holstering their
gun. Relieved, Reynold watched with rapt attention as the scene played on. The
hunter waved into the dark and from down the street a pair of headlights came
on. They flickered as the driver started the engine and drove up to their
signaler. The clean white van passed under the streetlight; Sellars’ Construction in red screen
print on the side was all Reynold could see before it passed into the darkness
once more.
~~~
continued in Stranger and Fiction Anthology 3  |
| Eggs and Toast by Craig Sellars. Inspiration for this story. |
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