1/12/2016 - Haiku!

Rubbing her sore feet
Aching muscles melt away
Morning comes with light

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.

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          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.     

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 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.