Necropolis: Chapter I Part III Flashback cont...
This awareness gets his blood racing and the fear that he is too close to the truth. The feeling of unease that had started a month ago when a phone call in the middle of the night woke him, on the other end of the line there was a voice heavy with breath and the statement, “I know”, chills him. Since then Nero has made it a habit to place his Auto-Gatlin in the night table upper draw on his side. Moving, still blind from the lighting, he stumbles, Lilith stirs and mumbles something but turns over and fast to sleep again. Nero catches his breath, wait; there it is again a creek! Grabbing the weapon making sure it was fully charged and loaded, he slips the auto button on the high power revolver into a single action. No need to shard the furniture if it is just the cat, any way if it is the cat then it is fur and bones in just one shot. The weapon was like firing a rotary 357 Magnum at 6 shots a burst. Not a weapon to just handle lightly. Lifting its point up to the ceiling he rests it with both hands on his chest, the way he was taught at the Academy.
Nero heads quietly to the door, thankful that his eyes have adjusted to the low cold light of the streetlamp that drifts through the window of his two-bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side of ancient New York. Damn, he thinks maybe he is overreacting, maybe it’s Lance, his son, coming home for the weekend. He has snuck in late at night before, but that was in the old house. That was when he was in high school and the streets were safer, now he is in college. But what if it‘s him? There! A third grown of floorboards, louder, it’s not him. He would have called. Right? In light of his concern, Nero eases the safety off the weapon. He gently reached for the door nab. Slowly pulling it open he steps out into the hallway, as a flash of lightning through a vertical rectangle of light out into the hall with his silhouette is carved hard into it.
The rumble is getting louder, the windows in the hall strobe and rattle. A thought comes to him: was there a thunderstorm? What? Never mind, he thinks it's just an afterthought of a faded dream. If this is a dream, he thinks, of course, it is, but if it is, why is the heavy gun so cold, why am I so cold? Pushing these thoughts out of his mind he moves forward. His bare feet fall in quiet footfalls, trying to avoid all the creeks in the hallway floorboards. There the creek comes again this time followed by a bump and a whisper. Nero’s heart kicks in to override, just like he was a rookie, just joining the force so very long ago. But he should not be like this.
Damn it. It is his house how dare someone break in even if it was not the Religious Killer, even if it is just a street punk how dare they come into his home. Down the hall, from the living room, that was it. The noise came from there. Creeping as he walks, the windows strobe in distant sheet lighting. There, the shadow falling in the hall, someone is inside, something tells him it's two people. And if so, it was twice the danger and the risk. He should radio for the boys at the precinct but they will not be here in time.
He is a cop; he can handle this he hopes. He steps closer to the wall, pushes his back to it. Why does it feel so cold? Neo slides quietly down the hall to the open wall leading to the living room. His heart is thumping so loud it almost drowns out the distant booming of the thunderstorm that is on its way. And boy what agranddaddy of a storm it will be he thinks distantly.
Comments