The world was blurry, but he was there. The sun shone brightly as the young and naive Ryan walked with his family along the pristinely white beach. Life had its ups and downs for Ryan, but he felt like he had finally made it; he'd finally achieved true happiness with his wife and his only son, James. "I am the luckiest guy in the world" he told his wife. She smiled at him while her eyes glistened in the sunlight. She was beautiful. They kissed. James ran ahead with the new kite he had made. Ryan put his arm around her as they continued their stroll. "7 years old," Ryan said wistfully. His wife continued to smile. Ryan suddenly noticed something flying out of the corner of his eye. The kite was flying away, no longer under the grip of its owner. "James?" Ryan yelled. No reply. "James?! JAMES?" Ryan felt his stomach twist with panic. He ran as fast as he could..."
Ryan awoke to the dingy, small room, apartment 420, reeking of sweat, his thin sheets wet with perspiration. He sobbed briefly, and remembered the bottle of whisky he kept within arms length at all times. He resisted momentarily before giving in and taking a shot. The alcohol slid warmly down his throat, on its way to numbing his soul, Ryan hoped. He wondered if the nightmares would ever stop, if the guilt would ever become bearable. One thing was certain: he would never stop thinking about that day, not until he died, after he killed them all. He looked around the discolored wall at the copious supply of sharp cutting tools he now owned. He loved those tools. They were the only things he could trust. The tools would always be there to help him, and they would never die; they were immortal, and they would help Ryan find vengeance. He knew it wouldn't make him feel any better, to kill them, but he wanted them dead; he wanted to watch them suffer the most horrific and agonizing end his mind could create. He stripped himself of his plain black t-shirt and worn black jeans and turned on the shower. Ryan still had his sister to worry about. She was the only thing he had left. At least his parents had died happily, maybe even peacefully. Peace... Ryan pondered the word, so foreign to his life. He went over the to-do list for the following day in his mind as he felt the cheap showerhead spray cold water on his body. Get parts for the car, find more areas to conceal weapons in his apartment, add to his arsenal of explosives, and map out the location of the people who killed his family. He knew that he was crazy, but was he still crazy if he knew it? Hopefully he had thus far been able to muster a somewhat believable facade of sanity, though in a place like this it wouldn't much matter. Ryan wanted to know everything about them. He knew if he posed as the right people and used his laptop hidden between the mattresses to hack into their computer he could get the knowledge he wanted. Ryan couldn't stop thinking about it. He needed to turn his mind off; perpetual rage was exhausting. He downed more whiskey, as much as he could take, tore the stained sheets from his bed, and laid down on the cold mattress until sleep returned.
2 comments:
Clio Ford, Apt. 1215
It irritated her how she had to always keep the window open. It was often cold or rainy, and she didn’t like either of those weather conditions to get into her living room. But then, those weather conditions were exactly why the window to the fire escape always stayed open at least five inches. If it was cold and she shut the window, her baby could freeze to death or decide he didn’t love her anymore. And if it was raining, he could drown in a large puddle or move in with someone else, someone with the capabilities to install an official cat door, and, of course, decide he didn’t love her anymore. All of those things would be tragic. As it was, the humidity from the morning’s rain was ruining her canvas. The paint would never dry. She would never be able to paint next layer and never be able to successfully run out of blue paint and be forced to purchase more. Oh well, she would have to just risk having her apartment catch fire. The blue was that important. She picked up her easel and all her supplies and carefully transferred them into her bedroom, where she shut the door and turned the space heater on high to rid the room of the damp. Someday, she would actually follow through with the plan she had come up with to fix it all. Someday (night really), she would actually get up when her alarm woke her a four in the morning and go install the cat door in the back door of her building when no one would notice her doing it. She had tools and a plan all ready and hopefully her practice on the piece of spare wood in the back of Ollie’s shop would pay off. Although, craft wood was probably not as strong over all as backdoor-of-an-apartment-building-in-a-sketchy-neighborhood wood would be. Actually, she could go check on that. Shutting her bedroom door behind her, she grabbed her iPod from the counter, put the earphones in her ears, stuck the iPod in the waistband of her long skirt, grabbed her keys, and walked out of the apartment barefoot. The elevator took its usual ten years to reach her floor. When it did come, she stepped carefully around the suspicious looking dark spots on the floor and pressed the ground floor button. The elevator dinged when it reached the lobby. She snuck carefully past the elevator bank she had just emerged from and down the hall that lead to the back of the building. She had to make sure no one could see her; if they did, they might be able to guess it was her that had cut the hole in their backdoor. But then, they would probably be able to guess anyway, seeing as she was the only resident that contained so much crazy for their cat. Damn it, the door was metal! There was no way she could cut through that. Well, maybe Ollie knew how… No, that didn’t make sense. Art supply clerks don’t know anything about sawing through metal quietly in the middle of the night. She was confusing him with someone who worked in a hardware store. Her brother might know, though, even if Ollie wouldn’t. He could do most anything. And, of course, he owned enough large, sharp things that one of them would be bound to work. Suddenly, through the window, she spotted her cat. She pulled the backdoor open and called for him. “Nightwitch! Come here Nightwitch!” He bounded up to her immediately, and she scooped him up in her arms.
It was finally 7 pm. Clio flipped the sign on the front door of her shop so that “Closed” could be read from the street. It had been a long, busy day. The delivery service portion of her business had been overwhelmed. She usually didn’t have to leave the shop for deliveries herself, but today she had been forced to descend into the SMARTA station herself, balancing huge buckets and boxes carefully so as not to spill the array of red roses, pink carnations, and white lilies onto the grime covered concrete of the subway steps. Once she finished locking up the register and pulling down the metal grille that covered the front of the store, Clio left through the back, setting the security alarm as she went. She crawled through the hole in the vacant lot next to her shop. She had cut that hole herself last year with a large pair of wire cutters she had borrowed from her brother. She was walking towards the street when she noticed that the vacant lot was, in fact, no longer vacant. Her face broke into a grimace of revulsion. “Will stuff while you wait!” proclaimed the sign that dangled from around the neck of a bright orange taxidermied cat. As she passed the front of the booth, the young woman running it smiled and beckoned her over. She smiled back but hurried on down the street as quickly as she could. The booth worried her. Hopefully the woman only taxidermied on request….
. . . . .
She entered the small coffee shop just as a gust of wind swept down the block. Her hair blew across her face, covering her eyes and causing the grocery bags that hung from the fingers of her left hand to twist and cut off her circulation. The wind was cold. She was glad she had gone by her apartment to change into jeans before she ventured out to complete her part of the preparations. When she reached the counter, her order was taken by a pretty woman in a strikingly red shirt. Pulling out her wallet from her purse, Clio searched for the extra quarters she was always meaning to spend. She smiled and apologized as she handed the woman several dollars in change, but the woman did not return her smile.
. . . . .
She was almost asleep when she heard the knock on the door. She pushed herself of the couch and rubbed her eyes as she walked to the door. She checked the peep hole for security's sake, but it was who she was expecting. She hadn't asked him to come; he had simply volunteered. She pushed the deadbolt back. She greeted Ollie warmly, inviting him into the kitchen. She handed him one of the now cold to-go coffees and a mug and pointed him to the microwave. It would be a long night. He suggested they watch a movie to pass the time.
. . . . .
She knocked again on the door, louder this time. “Ryan! Wake up!” No answer. “You said you would help us!” She raised her hand to knock again. The door opened suddenly. A very sleepy Ryan stood in the doorway. He peered into the gloom of the hallway. Ollie was leaning against the opposite wall and tiredly watching the action. A small gym bag sat at his feet. “It’s tonight, is it? I thought we were doing this tomorrow.” Clio groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “Alright, alright, give me a minute…” Clio smiled.
. . . . .
The tenants of Washington Heights rarely used this door. She had carefully observed it for two weeks to make sure of this fact. The saw made a horrible shrieking noise as it cut through the thick metal of the ground floor door. Clio worried that someone would hear, but the only night guard was asleep in the small entrance way all the way on the other side of the building. Still, Ollie stood guard at the end of the hallway, just in case. Clio stood staring in front of the window while the saw whirred on next to her. She thought for a second she saw a flash of movement but gave it up to her imagination after watching for a few more minutes. The noise stopped. “Alright, now you can do the rest,” Ryan said, standing.
. . . . .
The elevator door slid open. Ollie and Clio stumbled sleepily into the hallway, Clio digging in her bag for her keys. She looked up when she heard a voice. “Ma’am, is this your apartment?” A policeman stood directly in front of her door. “Yes it is. Is there a problem?” “There’s been a break-in at a shop down the street. Grow Towards the Sun. The alarm system was triggered. You're the owner, correct?”
Post a Comment