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Tuesday, October 18, 2016

The Man with Lightning in His Eye (Part Five of Five)

Part Five

I stood by the side of the door on a narrow run between a steel railing and a brick wall. This track led to the only way in or out of the room. I saw shadowy figures moving deep inside the building. I thought I saw them hovering, on a catwalk that stretched like a footbridge over the empty space of a gully. There were more people here than I had assumed, and I do not know why I had made any assumptions at all.

I was scared. My knees got week. It was as if there were no solid ground beneath my feet. I moved away from the back entrance toward a flight of wooden steps leading up to a mezzanine. I heard footsteps coming my way. I heard the engine starting from the car outside. I was wishing that I was back in my apartment, watching the street life in the park.

I wanted to flee, and yet I needed to stay. There was a story here, and a good one. I straddled the fence between my fears and my desires. I leaned over the railing of the mezzanine. I could hear the rain pounding on the windows. I looked out on the scene unfolding in the garage.  The drama I was witnessing continued, and became more clear, as if someone had drawn the drapes to let the light in.

The pieces came together.

There was lamplight. I stepped back into the shadows.  Someone gave a shout for help. I could not tell who, but I thought it was the fat man; his voice booming like a cannon. Two man came through the door. I could see the cops heading their way.

“She is hurt,” the man said.

It was him; the man with the glass eye. “She shot me in my shoulder.” I could see the tear in his trench coat, but he did not appear to be wounded. 

They went into the back of the warehouse. I climbed the railing to the catwalk, and kicked myself for following them, but this was my window. I was in. I suppressed my fears, and pulled myself into the next room. I was out of my mind; thinking only about two things, the story in front of me, and the long pour of whiskey that was to come soon after.

I reached the room where the three men were standing.  The beautiful woman in her clear-plastic rain coat was lying on the floor; bleeding. I could hear the footsteps of the cops coming in behind me. They came into the room, as one of them drew his gun.

The fat man smiled, and could I swear that I saw a bolt of lightning flash in that black marble of his eye.

“Easy,” he said to the cops. “No need for you to get involved here.” The cops looked at him, and hesitated. “I have immunity. You know what that means, and it comes straight from the top. You two bolt back to your squads.”

The cops did not say a word. They just turned around and left, escorted by the other two men.

What was the catch?  What gave him the power? What kind of power did he have? What did he mean; immunity, straight from the top.

I climbed back along the catwalk to the mezzanine. I pulled myself back over the railing, and planned my exit. I wanted to pull the curtain on this horror show.

There were two people remaining in the building besides me. That is what I thought, two people, but I was not sure. I felt in my gut that there was some other presence in there with us, presence or presences. When I first came through the loading dock, I thought I saw those shadows moving about, but I was not sure. 

One of those people was now dead, or dying; a beautiful woman, and the other, well, I was not even sure that he was human.

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