Time Torn Asunder -- Part One

One looked over at twelve, who had started snoring. One sighed and looked to his left. Two was awake and walking down his front steps. He made his way over to Three's house and called up to her window with a loud whisper.

     

"Psst. Three, are you up?"

Two must have felt One's eyes on him, because he turned to face him. Two's look did not require words to impart meaning. One nodded in response and Two returned his attention to Three's window. It creaked open and a rope ladder tumbled down to the ground. Two clambered up and disappeared into the darkness.

Three weeks prior, One had been unable to sleep and had noticed Two and Three scurrying off into the woods behind their adjacent houses. Now, it is important to note that Three had been seeing Seven for several years and it had become quite serious. There were rumors of wedding bells in the future. One had been struggling with whether to speak out or keep silent. In this passive state, he had done nothing but watched each night. When all lights were dimmed in the late hours of the night, the pair of paramours would meet, yet when their schedules met in the afternoons not a glance was shared, nor a word exchanged. In this manner they had kept their romance hidden from all but One.

After two weeks of these late night dalliances, One could keep silent no longer. He confronted Two late one evening, when he knew that the young man would be up and awaiting his evening companion.  

"Two, we need to talk."

"Oh hey One, what's on your mind?"

The young man's expression shifted instantly when he saw One's stern gaze. 

"Is...there something wrong?"

"You can cut the innocent act son, I know what's going on between you and Three."

"Three and me? What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me boy. I've seen you two sneaking off every night for the last two weeks. Do you have any idea how bad an idea that is? What if someone saw you? What if Seven were to find out?"

     

Two's shoulders slumped and his head fell. He stared at his shoes and shuffled his feet. When he looked up his face had turned a shade of crimson as dark as One had ever seen a face turn. 

"I..I..."

He looked back at his feet.

"I'm sorry, we didn't think anyone would find out."

Naive child, One thought, someone always finds out.

"Well that was foolish son. How long has this been going on?"

Two looked up with earnest eyes."

"I'm sorry One. It started around two months ago. I was up around my usual time one night. I took a walk around the yard to pass the time. She was up too, looking like she does, you know, and it just happened. We couldn't help it. Please don't tell anyone. We're going to tell everyone at some point, Seven too, but we just aren't ready yet. One, I love her. Please?"

One did not answer for several moments. Two was unsure, but he thought that One's eyes looked misty, and he guessed that One was in a far off place, if just for a moment. One's gaze returned to the young man.

"OK. I'll keep your secret. For now. But you have to come clean. Two weeks, that's all I'm going to give you. If you haven't told at least Seven by then, I'll have to. It isn't fair to him or anyone else."

Relief washed over Two and a smile returned to his face.

     

"Thank you! I'll talk to her about it tonight," he turned to walk away and paused, "Thanks."

One stood, hands in pockets. A faint smile flickered over his weathered features. He turned off the light and settled in to sleep. He dreamed of a far off place, a long past time, and a woman far gone. 

The Apartment Across The Way -- FINAL

Hamilton took aim and fired. The bullet tore through the door and sent wood fragments flying through the air. A voice in the hall let out a surprised yell and the door slammed. Hamilton jumped out of bed like a bolt of electricity.

          This ends now.

He flung open the door and flipped on the light switch. Someone was turning the corner into the main room. Hamilton took aim and fired again. This round found its mark, clipping the intruder’s leg. They emitted another cry and fell into the couch before crumpling to the floor. Hamilton aimed the revolved at the middle of the mass. Determination covered his face.

          Who are you?

          You know exactly who I am.

Hamilton pulled the hammer back.

          I am not messing around here. I’ll shoot.

The intruder chuckled. From the voice it was clearly a man. He was clad from head to toe in black. This was one of the rare cases when that expression was completely true; a ski mask hid any discerning facial features.

          Hamilton hesitated. He looked out the window at the apartment across the way. The lights were dancing in all four windows: pink, orange, green and blue, from left to right. They weaved a methodical and rhythmic pattern. He looked back down at the man on the ground.

          Take that mask off right now and face me. Why have you been sneaking into my apartment? How have you been doing it?

He paused.

           ANSWER ME!

The man chuckled once more.

          Like I said, you know exactly who I am.

The lights sped their dance.

          

No, I really don’t. How could I?

Hamilton waited ten seconds for a reply. He aimed the revolver once more and shot the intruder in the unwounded leg. A small pool of blood was forming on the wood floor.

          The next one goes through your head. Answer my questions and you’ll live. There’s a hospital just across the street.

          You won’t do it. You don’t have the guts to do it. You’ve never had the guts to do it.

Across the courtyard the lights had worked themselves into frenzy. What had been a beautiful symphony of light was now a violent explosion of disarray. Hamilton looked up at them once more. The familiar dark figure stepped forward into its window. Its arms were crossed in satisfaction. Hamilton sensed that it was smiling down at him.

Hamilton looked down at the intruder. He stepped forward and ripped off the mask. He fell back in horror. It was impossible. He felt like he was looking in a mirror. The intruder was the spitting image of Hamilton himself.

Who are you?! Why do you look like me? What is going on?

You won’t do it. Just shoot me.

Explain yourself!

Hamilton could not control his emotions. His adrenaline and anger at the intrusion mixed with his confusion. He looked across the way. The lights and the figure were gone.

          Someone was knocking on the door, probably the super. He did not have much time and he knew it. The front door opened.

          Hamilton pulled the trigger.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

          Frank Carson stepped out of his car onto the street. He found the right street number and buzzed the apartment labelled “Super.” A shrill tone filled the antechamber and the door unlocked. He opened it and entered. A short and simply dressed woman was waiting for him.

          “Good morning ma’am,” he extended a hand, “Detective Frank Carson."

          “Kristina.” They shook and she added, “thank you so much for coming detective. It’s just so awful.”

She was very pale and looked like she had experienced a shock.

          “I am sorry but I have to ask you a few questions. Is that alright?”

She nodded.

          “What is your recollection of last night?”

          “It happened fast. My husband and I were asleep and something that sounded like a gunshot woke us up. It came from somewhere near the back of the building so he went to go check it out. There was a second shot and we figured out that it was coming from unit 4C. He yelled for me to call the police and get the keys to the unit. He took the keys and his baseball bat and went to see what was going on. By the time he got up there it was too late.”

          “Thank you for your cooperation ma’am and I’m terribly sorry this happened.”

          Frank said goodbye and walked to the stairs at the back of the building. He headed up to the fourth floor where uniformed officers had already taped off apartment 4C.

          “Morning guys,” he nodded to the officers and they nodded back.

He entered the apartment. The hallway was littered with fragments of wood and he could tell that the door had been shot. He walked down the hall to the main room, where his partner was taking some notes. A body dressed black was splayed out on the ground.

          “Morning, Eve, what have we got?”

“Not sure. The super found the body like it is right here, gunshot wounds to the left ankle, right thigh, and the heart, which is probably what killed him. Super says it is a Hamilton McDowell, lived here for eight years. Found this in his hand.”

          She held up a revolver.

          “So it’s suicide?”

          “Maybe, but that doesn’t explain the shot through the door. And why would he shoot himself twice before the fatal shot?”

          Frank paused, deep in thought. Something had caught his eye. He walked towards the window and looked up. A figure was in the window of an apartment two floors up in the next building over. He had a strange feeling that the figure was smiling.     

2013: My Beard Odyssey

This past December I was freshly out of work and decided to make an attempt at a "laid off" beard. My inner Scandinavian coupled with the cold weather and the desire to attempt growing a beard became overwhelming. It was a fun

27 Day Growth

I wish I had possessed the foresight to have taken a weekly photograph as it came in. Alas, dear readers, all I have are pictures of removal.

I am no expert on growing a beard, but during research came across a few tips for those of you who wish to embark on a bearded journey. This site is a great resource.

1. First, and most important, you must commit. It takes from 20 to 30 days for substantial growth. The desire to shave will be overwhelming from time to time.
2. It will itch. There is nothing you can do about it.
3. Do not do any trimming or shaping until you have completed Step 1. It will disrupt your natural growth. 

After 27 days I had to remove the beard for a job interview. Removing it was harder than growing it. I blame my Northern European lineage cocktail of Swedish, German, Irish and Scottish blood. Razor blade stock prices probably jumped that afternoon.

Growing a beard was an enjoyable (yet itchy) experience. It is a shame that Madison Avenue needed to sell razor blades for Gillette around a century ago, in the process removing facial hair from mainstream cultural acceptance. I will make another, longer attempt in the future. Below are the stages of removal. Share your beard story in the comments below.

Babyface Malmo

Goatee

Mustache

The Apartment Across The Way -- Part Six

Part Six       

The sun peered into the space between the two buildings. Within a few minutes the room was filled with light. A lone man sat at the small, tall dining table that was nestled into the corner of the apartment. Fingers of light crept up the legs of the table and finally drenched the man in light. He filled and downed a shot glass.

          Three days had passed since the mysterious footsteps had opened the door. Hamilton had not slept. His eyes were bloodshot and face sagging. Sunrise signaled that it was time to transition from alcohol to caffeine, so he corked the vodka bottle and started a pot of coffee.

          He looked in the bathroom mirror and was horrified by his reflection. Wrinkles pervaded his spread collar shirt and his tie was hanging limp, its once perfect dimple a distant memory. He searched the medicine cabinet for a few aspirin and gulped them down dry.

          The usually cleansing and invigorating waters of the shower did little to alter Hamilton’s state of mind. As he dried, he wiped the fog from the mirror, his wet hair the only difference from the man he had seen a few minutes previous. A freshly starched and pressed shirt and cup of coffee lifted his spirits momentarily. He plodded out the door. As exhausted as he was, Hamilton was relieved to get out of the apartment.

When Hamilton arrived, the office was in a state of panic. A recently fired employee had managed to send some incriminating e-mails to a few of the firms’ bigger clients before the tech department could shut off his e-mail. These clients were furious, and temperatures were running high. The boss informed him that he would need to travel to Memphis, Tennessee and placate one of their bigger accounts. Moments after stepping through the office door he was out of the office, train ticket in hand.

Hamilton made his way home quickly to pack a bag, with just over an hour before the afternoon train. With a few things packed he flagged a cab.

Penn Station, please. Quickly!

The cabbie replied by flooring the accelerator. It was the most harrowing cab ride of Hamilton’s life. He had never heard more horns than in those twenty minutes. The cab screeched to a halt outside of Madison Square Garden. Hamilton looked at his watch.

          Five minutes. Shit.

He threw a twenty at the cabbie and shouted his thanks.

          The attendants were moments away from closing the gates when Hamilton came sprinting towards the gate.

          WAIT!

They turned and waved him forward. He flew down the stairs and onto the train. A wry smile from the conductor greeted him.

          Cutting it a little close, don’t you think?

Hands on knees, Hamilton nodded breathlessly.

          The business class car was quiet and relatively empty. An open pair of seats near the rear looked welcoming, and after stowing his bag he flopped into the seats. For the first time in three days he was at ease, and sleep came within moments.

          

Never had a week away done so much for anyone. After a few days of Herculean effort he had managed to pacify the client, with the benefit of several good nights’ sleep. He returned to the city well rested and confident.

          On his first evening home there were no lights nor sounds nor mysterious figures. Four nights passed without incidence. Hamilton did not sleep as well as he had in Memphis, but some sleep was better than none. It was not until the fifth night that the situation changed.

          As you will recall, the lights had appeared in each of the four windows across the way. This evening the lights danced in each of the windows simultaneously, weaving a mesmerizing pattern. Hamilton gazed at them. Time passed, and before long he grew tired. When they stopped the figure appeared, seeming to taunt him. The figure disappeared and darkness fell once more on the apartment across the way.  

          This is all in my head. There is nothing going on. Just go to sleep.

          These reassurances eased Hamilton’s mind, as did the reassurance he now kept under his pillow. Rest and relaxation were not the only benefits of his sort vacation; on his travels Hamilton had acquired a snub-nose Smith & Wesson revolver. If someone was really entering his apartment at night, he was going to defend himself. Fortunately, firearm laws in Tennessee were quite a bit different from those in New York.

          Hamilton slept well that night. He was awoken around three by the familiar sound of creaking floorboard.

          It’s here.

The footsteps approached. The door inched open, one inch, then two. Hamilton wrapped his hand around the revolvers grip. He thumbed off the safety. Adrenaline coursed through him as it had before, but his fear had been replaced by determination. A pale hand appeared on the doorknob and the door opened fully.

          Hamilton leveled the revolver and squeezed the trigger.

The Three Best Sitcoms of the Nineties

It is no secret that I love good television, especially sitcoms. Fortunately, I grew up in a decade full of excellent television. Everyone has at least one favorite from the 1990's, even if they would not like to admit it. Here are three of my favorites. And no, Seinfeld was not even close to making this list.


3. The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air (1990-1996)
Cultures clash and comedy ensues when Will Smith moves from Philadelphia to the wealthy suburb of Bel-Air to live with his wealthy Aunt and Uncle. Through the magic of syndication I was able to view the entirety of Fresh Prince in the pre-Netflix era (remember that?). The show dealt with race and social class in thought provoking new ways. It also features the best television theme song of all time. If you cannot sing it from memory, I do not believe that you grew up in the 1990's.

2. Friends (1994-2004)

Friend's follows a group of six friends as they try to find happiness, love, and meaning in the West Village. There was hardly a dry eye in the house when Friends ended its run in 2004. The show provided an appallingly unrealistic representation of apartment living in New York City, but a stellar ensemble cast ensured that story lines never grew dull. While Frasier was the official spin-off of Cheers, Friends was perhaps its spiritual successor, a group biologically unrelated yet closer than most families. No show has fully replaced Friends since it came off air, with How I Met Your Mother being the closest thing. Friends was more than a show, it was a cultural phenomenon.

1. Frasier (1993-2004)
Frasier comes in at #1 on my list of best sitcoms of the 1990's, and of all time. Frasier chronicles the life of psychiatrist Dr. Frasier Crane as he attempts rebuild his life in Seattle after his marriage had fallen apart in the final season of Cheers. His life is thrown into even more disarray when his cop father, recently forced into retirement by a gunshot wound, moves in with him. David Hyde Pierce provides one of the great breakout performances of all time as Dr. Niles Crane. Witty writing provides mental stimulation for every kind of viewer. Intellectual references are blended with slapstick (see below) and characters show tremendous personal growth over the show's eleven year run. At the end of the day, Frasier is a show about family and how an inconvenient situation can lead to wonderful relationships. 

There you have it, my three favorite sitcoms of the 1990's. I would love to hear your favorites below!

The Apartment Across The Way -- Part Five

Part Five of The Apartment Across The Way

Hamilton could not breathe. The door had opened one inch and stopped. He could feel eyes peering in at him. He waited ten seconds. He was crippled by fear. The door creaked open another inch. He was shaking and his mouth felt like sandpaper.

           

            The door opened another inch. He stared at the darkness between door and frame. The darkness stared back. Fifteen seconds passed. Hamilton lay silent, trying to think of something. Anything. His mind slowed enough for one cohesive thought.

            I am not going to take this lying down.

He sat up abrutly and the door slammed shut. He threw off the covers and wrenched open the door. He groped for the light switch and flicked it on, bathing the room in glorious light. Adrenaline poured through his veins and his hair stood on end.

            Hamilton swept the room with his eyes and his fists at the ready. The room was empty. His fists fell to his sides. He ran to the door to make sure it was still locked. Both the deadbolt and knob were locked, just as he had left them. Then he walked cautiously to the windows. With adrenaline still coursing within him he checked their locks. They were locked tight. Hamilton ran his fingers through his hair and put on his glasses. He looked up at the apartment across the way.

            The figure had returned to his window. His face remained indistinguishable from the surrounding darkness. Hamilton stared up at him and he seemed to stare back. Something about the figure’s stance showed satisfaction. The figure withdrew. Hamilton continued to look up. He waited for five minutes but neither the figure nor the strange lights appeared.

            Hamilton did not go back to sleep that night.

A Brief Respite -- Three Blogs For Your Enjoyment

Taking a break from fiction for a few days, I wanted to share a few blogs with you. These have helped illuminate me in an area that I long overlooked, and is overlooked by far too many these days, how to get dressed. Here are three blogs that are worth a read.

Ivy Style - www.ivy-style.com @IvyStylecom


Founded by Christian Chensvold in 2008, Ivy Style takes a look at the past, present, and future of traditional menswear. Mr. Chensvold has been a style contributor to a variety of publications including The Huffington Post, RalphLauren.com, Robb Report, as well as being founder of Dandyism.net. His brief history of the 'Ivy League Look' is worth the read. J. Press founder Jacobi Press' grandson Richard Press heads a long list of contributing authors providing insights from around the style world. The blog covers the history of the Ivy League look dating back to roots in the Twenties, its rise to prominence in the Fifties and Sixties, and the Prep takeover from the Eighties to the present. Authors cover how classic brands like Brooks Brothers, J. Press, and Gant, to name a few, are relating to their Ivy roots. While Ivy Style is an excellent source for background on the Ivy League look, it must be taken with a grain of salt. A faux-aristocratic, snarky, and occasionally condescending tone pervades its posts.


OCBD Trad | Ivy | Preppy Blog - www.oxfordclothbuttondown.com @CollarRoll


While Ivy Style dwells on a bygone past, OCBD provides a more youthful take on classic menswear. with Midwestern charm in place of faux-New England snobbery. The unnamed author covers contemporary news and historical background on Ivy and Prep, but also branches out into the traditional American architecture near his home in Springfield, Ohio, and some more instructional pieces. While Ivy-Style often feels as if written by bitter old men looking wistfully at years past, OCBD is a joyous discovery of classic style and shares a great deal more practical knowledge, like how to find a good cobbler, make simple alterations to your own clothes, and embracing classic style in our disgustingly casual society. I particularly enjoyed this piece on dressing up in a casual office.


The Suits of James Bond - www.thesuitsofjamesbond.com

Breaking away from the world of American menswear, The Suits of James Bond, surprisingly, covers the attire of James Bond through the 23 EON produced films, the non-EON productions, and literary Bond. The blog covers the finer points of Bond's developing wardrobe, including the differences between Savile Row and Italian tailoring, and how a fictional character has become a style icon, particularly as Tom Ford has taken over Daniel Craig's wardrobe in the last few years.

The Apartment Across The Way -- Part Four

I have been delayed in posting due to travel. Thank you for your patience, and enjoy.

Part Four



                The next three days passed without incident. Hamilton spent the weekend taking a series of long walks, exploring the nooks and crannies that the city had to offer.  These walks helped him clear his head after a long week in the trenches. He watched the apartment across the way each night. No lights appeared. He halfway expected the light to reappear on Monday, but nothing out of the ordinary happened.

                On Tuesday he arrived home later than usual. He sprawled out on the couch without turning on one of the lights. He was unsure how long he had been laying there when a familiar flicker caught his attention. The light had returned. It had returned, but not in the same way. It had moved to the window on the far right of the building, and this time it was orange. It did its familiar dance, perhaps a little more agitated than the two previous times he had seen it.            

                Hamilton watched the light for twenty minutes, which again turned into five hours. When it finally vanished he looked at his watch. It read just after ten. He had spent his weekend walks wondering what these phenomena could be. The only scenario that seemed to fit was that someone in his building was responsible, flashing a flashlight from his building to the other. Still, he could not explain the changes in color, the man in the window, or that the light never appeared on the exterior of the apartment across the way.

                The radiator next to the couch began hissing. Hamilton rubbed his eyes and closed the radiator valve. He rose to his feet, poured himself a glass of water, and completed his door locking ritual. Then he slipped on his pajamas, closed the bedroom door, and fell into bed. He was more exhausted, without explanation, than he had been when he had arrived home. Hamilton flicked off the light and glanced a final time up at the apartment across the way. All was still. Without another thought, he rolled onto his side, and fell asleep. His sleep was dreamless.

Hamilton awoke with a start. His heart was racing. He glanced at his alarm clock, which read four thirty. The room was still pitch black. No lights from the courtyard were visible. The clock display provided the room’s only light. He was unsure of what had awoken him, until he heard a faint creak from the other room.

Damned old building.

He had been begging the super to come and take care of some old broken floorboards for six months, but had always been met with weak excuses. He rolled over to his other side to go back to sleep. A second creak pierced the air, louder than the last. Hamilton opened his eyes. The second was followed by a third, softer, but closer to his door. He held his breath and could hear his own heartbeat. The creaks were getting closer. Inch by inch, the sound of soft, measured footsteps approached his door. His eyes had adjusted to the dark room, and he stared at the door. A creak resounded from just outside.

                The door opened.

The Apartment Across The Way -- Part Three

                                                         Part Three

Hamilton jerked awake with a start. His heart was racing, but he had no idea why. The dream he had been having ran away as soon as he tried to remember it. There was a vague memory of something frightening. He reached out with his mind, but as soon as he brushed the surface, the dream was gone. He sat up, turned off the television, and checked his watch. It was three sixteen in the morning.

The adrenaline began to fade and Hamilton began to become drowsy once more. His neck ached from the odd angle he had slept in. He took a warm shower to clear away the day’s dirt, slipped on his pajamas, and fell into bed. The curtains in the bedroom were open, and he could see the apartment across the way. A light was on in the center-right window. Hamilton sat upright and peered at the lit window. It was opened about twelve inches.  A figure approached the window, wearing a baseball hat. The figure moved to close the window, then paused. Even with the light, it was impossible for Hamilton to see a face. He had the distinct feeling that the figure was staring at him. He turned out his own light. The figure closed the window, but remained looking in Hamilton’s direction. After ten or fifteen seconds, the figure walked away. The light disappeared from the window.

It’s just a new neighbor. A new neighbor with a strange light who is awake at three in the morning?  I guess I’m awake too though.

Hamilton got out of bed and made sure the apartment door was locked. He flipped the lock open, opened the door, closed it, and re-locked it. This strange compulsive ritual comforted him. He closed the bedroom door, flicked off the light, and got back into bed. After one last glance at the apartment across the way, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

Part Four to come tomorrow.

The Apartment Across The Way -- Part Two

Part Two of our tale...

                The next day, Hamilton stopped at the liquor store on the way home from work to pick up a fifth of vodka. The week had drained him so he splurged on a bottle of Ketel One. When he arrived home he locked the door behind him and tossed his keys onto the side table. He filled a lowball glass with ice and poured a few ounces of vodka into the glass. The warm liquid knocked the edge from the ice, which settled into the glass with a rewarding crackle. He set it on the coffee table and turned the radiator knob on. He reached for the remote, but just as his hand touched the plastic, he saw something out of the corner of his eye.

                The light had returned, but in a different place. As you may remember, it had occupied the center-right window the previous evening, but tonight it had moved to the far left window. Hamilton was filled with curiosity. He had assumed that the building across the way, which appeared identical to his own, shared an identical floor plan. Working from this assumption, it followed that the light now occupied a different apartment. The light began its dance once more. Hamilton could not help but think there was something different this evening. The greenish hue from the previous evening was gone, replaced by a shade of electric blue.

                Hamilton sipped his vodka. It warmed the back of his throat, and carried warmth down to his belly. He returned his gaze to the dancing blue light. It reminded him of a pixie. The light lulled him into a trance, as it had the previous evening. He pulled back his visual focus, and the light blurred into tailed arcs. He sipped unconsciously. The scent of the vodka brought him back. He looked at his watch. Now, Hamilton normally arrived home at half past six o’clock, and he had done so on this particular evening. His watch read nine o’clock.

                Hamilton’s jaw dropped. He put his glass down on the table and stared at it, as if it would give him an answer as to the strange happenings of the last two evenings. Maybe it’s time to ease up on the sauce. I need to get out more. He looked back up at the window where the light had been. It was gone. This is getting weird. He pulled the curtain closed and turned on the television to remove his attention from the strange lights. Within a few minutes the noise from the television lulled him to sleep.

Part Three to come tomorrow.

The Apartment Across the Way -- Part One

As is usual, unemployment has given me more time to spend writing. Over the next few days I will be publishing a short story in parts. Below is part one. I would love feedback. Who knows, your view might change the course of the story. Enjoy.

The Apartment Across the Way

Part One

There was an apartment across the way, as is common in a large city. Hamilton had never been in the building. He had always assumed that its design mirrored his own. He lived on the second floor, but the apartment in question was on the fourth. The buildings were identical, boring six story blocks, standing no more than thirty yards apart. They were the only identical buildings on the block. The apartment in question was never of great interest to anyone, least of all Hamilton. He had never seen anyone in it before, despite his daily musings over his window sill. Hamilton had moved into his one bedroom apartment twelve years ago. In this time he had never seen so much as a shadow or flicker of life from the apartment across the way.

It was an average Thursday night in mid-February. Two inches of snow remained on the ground from the previous week, while a light dusting was falling from the sky. The temperature had been holding in the naughts for three weeks. A chill permeated the windows, finally forcing Hamilton to relent, and turn on his radiator. He sat huddled at the end of his leather couch, right next to the radiator, flipping through channels, looking for something to capture his attention. He settled on a basketball game and grabbed a beer from the fridge before sitting back and falling into his basketball induced trance.

Two minutes into the third quarter, Hamilton was jarred from his concentration. He looked around, startled, just like someone awoken from deep sleep by a loud noise. He peered out the window and noticed a light in the center-right window in the fourth floor apartment, across the way. It vanished as soon as he looked, but reappeared instantly, flicking on and off. It appeared to jump erratically. Hamilton could not stop staring at the light. It jumped and danced from side to side and top to bottom. Every few moments it disappeared, only to reappear and continue its movements. Hamilton stared for a few moments and turned back to the television.

Must be someone with a flashlight.

Thirty seconds remained in the fourth quarter. Hamilton rubbed his eyes. Almost an hour of basketball had elapsed in what seemed like a moment of staring at the light. He stood up and paced to the other side of the apartment, then returned to the window. He looked up at the apartment across the way. The light was gone. He waited a few moments for it to reappear, but darkness permeated the space. Confused and somewhat startled, he turned back to the game, just in time to see the team he had put a few bucks on in the office pool miss a last second shot and lose the game.

 
              Damn.

                He flicked off the television with a disgusted slap at the power button, doused and the lights, and hopped into bed. For thirty minutes he lay awake pondering the strange light and odd passage of time. He set his alarm clock, and, dismissing the light from his mind with a resigned sigh, fell asleep. 

Part Two to come tomorrow.