Chapter 1
Nights are full of darkness, the darkness of the night, the darkness one sees when they close their eyes for rest, the darkness I feel when the panic takes a hold.
It happens almost every day, but I felt good that morning.
I started my day with a warm cup of coffee. I sat in the dining room, the warm cup in my hand.
I could see the morning fog concealing the trees beyond the yard, moisture gathered on the glass of the old window.
The large window, one of the only glimpses of the outside world, was now covered.
I played the morning crossword on my phone, five-letter word for a time of rest.
I struggled with that one. My glasses hung from my nose, the vibration of my phone pulsed in my hand, a notification of motion being detected on the cameras.
It appeared nothing was there. I thought I could see a shadow. I looked at all the other cameras, but there was nothing.
It must have been an animal that scurried across the yard. The cameras were acting up lately.
I replaced the batteries and reset the entire system. News about the terrors of the world played on the TV in the distance. I always had some kind of sound on.
I still worked despite being held hostage. I worked from the comfort of my home office.
My favorite part of the workday? What others hated. I enjoyed Zoom meetings.
I could see the outside world, whether it was the snow falling outside Jack's window in New York, or the sun shining in from the shades of Ciara's studio apartment in California.
This Tuesday was almost like any other. I sat at my desk, typing my life away. I worked as a software engineer.
It was half coding and the other half figuring out why my code didn't work. I actually enjoyed it.
It was a puzzle, and if I would let anyone visit my home, they would see I enjoyed puzzles.
The day was as boring as any other until around 10 a.m. I received a text from an unknown number. It read,
They found you. No one could find me. Still, I couldn't help but worry. I forwarded the text to another number.
I went around the house, closing all the shades to the windows. Periodically I would peek through the shades.
I played the typing game until the clock struck 530. It was time to relax, or so I thought.
As I began to get comfortable, the night grew close. I sat in my lounge chair, a book by James N. Kane in hand.
Police sirens were a slight interruption of the peaceful quiet of the night. It was finally time to leave this house.
Reading being the greatest escape, as my eyes faded down to the worn out pages of the used book,
a dim light illuminated outside my window. It danced in different directions. It must have been a flashlight.
My muscles tensed, pupils dilated. I thought I could hear a whisper. I put the book down softly on the stand next to my chair.
I sighed with disappointment. It was silent. They only lied in the house from the small lamp that rested on the table.
They only sounded the clicking of the clock that sat upon the wall. I moved to the kitchen.
No need to turn the lights on to guide my path. A slight grin grew as I saw it in the cupboard.
I grasped it, making sure it was in working order. I moved slowly to the hallway, which was away from both the back and front door.
The darkness of the hall was an old friend. I wasn't worried about the doors being locked.
One would only unlock a door they wished to pass through.
Although the back door was locked, it had one flaw. I could hear the glass shatter as it hit the hardwood floor.
The shattering was the background to a man with a deep muffled voice whispering,
Come on, this way.
The door swung open on its hinges, an attempt at a quiet entrance ruined by an old door.
The old floor creaked with each footstep. I could make out at least two people based on the pattern of the steps.
I knew this house like the back of my hand. I waited, and the footsteps grew closer.
Until it happened, a footstep sounded the alarm. The alarm was a piece of hardwood that creaked more than most.
I moved from the hallway, lifted my arm, and pulled the trigger.
The body thumped as it hit the hard floor. This was a surprise for the other guy.
He had a baseball cap and a N95 mask on.
I could still see the shock in his eyes, followed by fear before the bullet struck his skull.
The blood splattered against the so-called stainless steel.
What remained of the second guy lay on the floor. Blood seeped into the cracks of the wood floor.
The first man lay a foot or two ahead. He was still alive for now.
Who sent you? I asked. The gun firmly pointed at his forehead.
The man tried speaking, but his voice lacked life.
I couldn't hear, so I took the mask off his mouth.
I'll ask you again. Who sent you?
Just... just a job.
The man struggled to say. I could tell I wasn't going to get anything else from him.
He didn't have the lung capacity. One shot fired, and then he was gone.
I searched the man's bomber jacket. Maybe he had something on him.
Deep in the left side pocket, past the car keys and cigarette pack, was a folded card.
The card had my address on it.
I stuffed the card in my jean pocket. I sat back in the lounge chair, the gun still in hand.
I looked at the book that lay on the stand, thought to myself, what the hell do I do now?
I couldn't move the bodies out of the house. I couldn't just leave them there.
I grabbed my phone and made a call. A voice on the other end picked up and said,
Yes? I need a pick-up.
We will handle it, stay put.
I placed the phone down softly and replaced it with the book.
Blood stained the pages as they turned.
The calm of the poetic prose allowed me to leave the house until the late hours of the night.
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