“Where were you last night?” he asked as I tiredly stumbled into the apartment.
I glared at him for a moment. The bright lights in the room stung at my eyes, which had become accustomed to the heavy darkness outside. “Where were you?”
“Where do you think?”
“Why didn’t you answer when I called?”
“What did you call about?”
I rubbed my forehead. It never ended up well when we were answering questions with more questions. “I needed someone to come pick me up. That’s why I was late. I had to walk home.”
“Oh.” He slowly leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on the leathery brown armrests.
“Yeah.”
“What happened? Didn’t you drive today?”
“That’s the problem. I was in an accident.”
My roommate tried to hide it, but I could tell that he wanted to laugh. His hand was covering his mouth, but I could still see the corners of his mouth. “I told you before; you’re a terrible driver.”
“It wasn’t my fault!” I protested.
“Sure it wasn’t.”
“Seriously. Someone came up beside me and forced me off the road.”
His smile faded. “Why did they do that?”
“I don’t know. They were gone by the time the police came.”
“Is everyone ok?”
“I hope so. I was driving with a coworker, Jeff. He was brought to the hospital. They wouldn’t tell me much, except that he had suffered a lot of trauma.”
“Why didn’t you go with him?”
“They would only let family see him.”
“I’m sorry. I hope he is ok.”
“I hope so, too.”
We were both quiet for a while. Then my roommate broke the silence.
“Did you get their license plates?” he asked.
“Part of them. ‘137-D-something-something.’”
“Hold on. Isn’t that my license plate?”
“Is it?”
“I’ll go check.” He left. He eventually returned, but he took much longer than it typically would have.
“Well?” I asked.
“I…don’t know. My car is gone.”
“So,” I skillfully deduced, “someone stole your car to try to kill me? That’s…a bit strange.”
He didn’t answer. He had picked up the phone and was probably trying to report the car missing. Dialing the number, he frowned at the phone in confusion.
“What?” I asked.
“Phone isn’t working.”
“Try your cell.”
He dialed the number but had no luck. “No service.”
“We always have service here.”
“I know. Maybe…” The phone rang before he could finish his thoughts.
I glanced at him, then down at the phone. He shrugged, just as confused as I was. I picked up the phone.
“Hello,” I began.
“One,” said the man on the phone, and then the line went dead.
I placed the phone down cautiously.
“What did he say?” my roommate asked.
“He said ‘one.’”
“That’s all?”
“Yeah.”
We stood together in silence for a few moments. “That is creepy,” my roommate finally said, quite decisively.
“What do you think we should do now?”
“I don’t know if we should be the ones doing anything. Maybe we should talk to the police.”
“That sounds like a good idea. Hopefully they can take care of everything.”
I opened the door, and my roommate followed me down the stairs. He is taller than I am, and his steps were longer than mine, so he ended up ahead of me when we reached the bottom of the stairs. I nearly knocked him over when he stopped, staring at the door out of the stairwell.
“What is it?” I asked. He moved over, and let me see the door.
Written there, in dark red ink, were these words:
Leaving so soon?
I wouldn’t if I were you.
Reasonably, my roommate and I decided not to leave.
We walked back up the stairs, silent save for the echoes of our footsteps. When we arrived at our apartment again, I broke the silence.
“We’ll tell the police in the morning,” I said, more to myself then to anyone else.
“I think that’s a good idea,” responded my roommate.
I looked around the room for something to distract myself from the eerie situation. I picked up the stack of mail and started sorting through it. There was only one letter addressed to me; it had no return address, and was in a small blue envelope. I tore the envelope open and unfolded the piece of paper inside it.
It was a short letter, written in a dark, flowing handwriting.
Over the course of the next two days, I shall be attacking three of the people who know you best. You will be informed promptly of their deaths. Do not try to save them all; I know how you will act, and I will find them. I have chosen you as my target for no reason other than opportunity. Nothing personal.
-R.
At first, I thought that I must have been misreading the letter. I reread it several times, before I realized that I was just avoiding the truth. I looked up at my roommate. He was watching me with a questioning gaze, and he was running his hand through his hair. That was always a sign that he was worried.
“What did the letter say?” he asked.
I tried to say something, but I couldn’t. To avoid the trouble of figuring out how to talk again, I tossed him the letter. His eyes ran over the print on the letter, and I wondered if I had gotten that pale when I was reading it.
“What should we do?” I asked him after he finished reading it.
“I…I don’t think it can wait until morning,” he stuttered. I could hear the fear creeping its way into his voice.
“Right. I’ll go to the police. You can come if you want.” I tried to sound confident. “I’m sure the wacko will back down when he finds out that we’ve gone to the police.”
“I’ll stay here,” my roommate replied. “And…keep everything safe, or something.”
“Ok. Just stay away from windows, and don’t unlock the door for anyone. Isn’t that how they do it on TV?”
“Right,” he confirmed.
I went down the same stairs that we had gone down earlier. I figured that whoever had written the message had covered all the stairs in creepy messages, so it didn’t matter which I took. When I was on the last flight of steps, I noticed a faint pine smell. It got stronger as I went farther down the stairs. The scent stung slightly, like bug spray or rubbing alcohol.
The message on the door was gone. That might explain the smell, then; it was probably removed with some sort of cleaner. I opened the door carefully. No traps. The lobby was empty, and the lights came on as I entered the room. I crossed the room to the front door, stepping around the fancy-looking glass elevator that stood, surrounded by “caution” tape, in the middle of the room. To me, it had always seemed stupid that they never bothered to fix the elevator. Walking up and down seven floors to my apartment can be extremely tiring, especially after walking home from across town. Carefully checking all of the shadows for sinister figures, I pushed open the heavy glass door and stepped out of the building.
Outside, it was dark and quiet. It may have been my imagination, but it seemed quieter than usual. Most towns have at least some traffic at night, but today the roads seemed completely clear. The only sound was the chirping of crickets.
Walking to the police station wasn’t a problem; it was only a few blocks away. I didn’t see anyone on the sidewalks as I went, but I couldn’t tell if there was anyone hiding in the shadows. I hoped that there wasn’t.
The police station was well-lit, inside and out. The rough, red-orange brick of the building was covered in yellow light from the streetlamps. I opened the door.
“Hello,” said someone sitting behind a desk. It was clearly a slow day, because he was reading a book and leaning back in his chair.
I interrupted before he could continue. “I received this letter today.” I put the open envelope, with the letter still safely stored inside, on the desk.
Raising an eyebrow, he drew out the letter. He read it over, his eyes widening as he finished. “Boss!” he shouted back into the building. “We got another one!”
A short, heavyset man with a bushy brown mustache clambered down the hallway, carrying a white mug of coffee. “Let me see,” he said. At least, I think he said it. I couldn’t tell if his mouth had actually moved beneath his mustache.
The man behind the desk handed over the letter.
“Matches the handwriting from the others,” the police chief mused, “and it’s a similar message.” He turned to me. “Has anything strange happened since you received the letter?”
“I just opened it, but some weird things have been happening, yes. I was pushed off the road by my roommate’s stolen car a few hours ago, and our phones went dead. Then someone called and just said, ‘one.’”
The police chief muttered something that I couldn’t hear. “If that’s true, then someone has already died. We need you to contact friends and family, and tell them not to talk to anyone for a while. Also, we are going to need to know…” he was interrupted by my cell phone.
I looked at my phone, frowning. “This wasn’t working before,” I said.
“Answer it,” both police officers said. I did.
“Hello?” I said.
“Help,” my roommate said as soon as I picked up. “He’s…” I heard the phone drop to the floor, followed by two loud cracks. Then the phone was picked up again.
“Two,” answered a familiar voice. Then the cell phone abruptly went dead, just as the one in my apartment had.
“Was that him?” asked the chief.
I didn’t answer at first, stunned into silence by the message. “He said ‘two,’” I eventually responded. “I think…I think he shot my roommate.”
“Who else is in the area that might be in trouble?”
“No one. My family all lives in Washington.”
“Then, if the killer takes the same path as usual…you’re next. As well as any witnesses around you.”
“What should I do?” I asked.
“You should probably stay here and stay calm. It is unlikely that someone will try to attack you if you are surrounded by police.”
I nodded my agreement. “So, I just wait here until you catch him?”
“That’s the plan,” the chief confirmed.
I don’t know how long I was waiting in the police station. More officers came throughout the night, and still others waited in the shadows outside, watching in case the killer decided to attack me in the police station. It was sometime between midnight and dawn when something suspicious finally happened. All the lights went out at once, and we were plunged into a void of darkness.
Several of the officers swiftly drew their guns, as if it was an instinctive reaction. They spun around, each looking in a different direction, guarding all the entries to the room, even the windows and vents. To make sure that I wouldn’t be in anyone’s line of fire, I bravely ducked underneath a desk.
It took only a few seconds for the backup generator to come roaring to life. As soon as the lights flickered back on, everyone relaxed a little. It didn’t last long.
The screeching sound of metal crashing against metal echoed through the room as the lights began to dim. A high pitched metallic scream joined the orchestra, followed by a deafening “bang.” Then, all was silent and dark.
I forced myself to remain calm. It is an extremely difficult task when you’re about to die. Staying calm becomes increasingly more difficult when someone starts shooting at you, which was exactly what happened next.
Less than half a second after the intruder started shooting, the police officers in the room began to fire in return. I find it extremely difficult to believe that any of them was actually trying to hit the killer, because not one of the officers was able to hit him. I admit that it wouldn’t be easy to aim in the darkness, but the sound of the gunshots should have given them a general location to focus their aim.
Squinting my eyes in an attempt to see through the dark, I saw a dark figure darting across the wall on the other side of the room. I carefully backed farther under the desk, trying to make myself a less obvious target. I heard the grunts of officers who had been shot, and the thuds of people falling to the floor around me. The smell of blood filled the room.
I saw the police chief, a bullet hole centered on his forehead, falling to the floor in front of the desk. As his gun, still clutched firmly in his hand, hit the ground, there was a flash of light. I jumped in surprise, hitting my head against the top of the desk. I don’t think anyone heard; they were too busy getting shot to notice. I suppressed a scream as my leg started screaming in pain. The police couldn’t shoot a killer, but they seemed to be quite capable of hitting the person that they were trying to protect.
My eyes adjusting to the darkness, I followed the killer around the room. No one was shooting. The rest of the police officers must have been shot down. I heard some of them groaning, luckily still alive. The killer moved among the shadows, at one with the darkness. He was wearing one color; his shoes, pants, shirt, and mask were all black. Watching him made my mouth feel as if it were filled with something vile. I felt an urge to spit it out, but I didn’t want the sound to draw attention to myself.
As I watched, one of the injured officers leaned up and pointed his gun at the killer. The killer was faster, shooting the officer in the heart and the forehead. He leaned down to pick up something from one of the fallen police officers. He pulled the gun out of the officers hands, and emptied the bullets into his pockets. When he stood up again, he noticed me.
I had quietly stood up, using the desk to support me. He focused his gun on me, aiming for my head. There was a loud bang, and a flash of white light. The killer fell to the floor.
“Three,” I said, placing the chief’s gun on the desk beside me.