Story-A-Day #83: Tresspass

TRESSPASS

This had to be the place. He pulled out his iPhone and looked at the message for the third time in the past hour.

Drive one hour west to a chained off dirt road marked by two reflectors. Follow the road for approximately one hour to the abandoned factory. Don’t be late. If you are late, she dies.

The message was dated the day before and it was the only thing he had been able to think of since he had received it. He looked at his watch and was relieved to discover that he was almost an hour early.

He wiped a sleeve across his sweaty brow and started off across the grassy clearing towards the factory. The bright sun shining above was a stark contrast to the gloomy sense of oppression that emanated from the factory. He could hear it creaking as it slowly settled into itself. Loose panels of sheet metal banged in the breeze.

He placed a hand on his lower back and gained a bit of resolve from the lump of the gun tucked into his belt. It was a precaution, and one he hoped he wouldn’t have to use. Still, there was no motive to the kidnapping, and he hadn’t been instructed to bring a ransom, or files, or anything else as an exchange. The situation was suspicious at best.

He stepped into a large opening in the side of the factory and waited as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. When he had regained his bearings, he called out, “Hello? I’m here.”

“You’re early,” a gruff voice replied from above. He looked upward and saw the vague impression of a man standing in the shadows on the catwalk above.

“I am. Now maybe you can tell me why I am here?”

“I think you know the answer. Really, take a minute to think it over. You’ll get there.”

He was a normal guy with a normal job. He had a girlfriend, a beautiful, smart, and talented girl that he would do anything for. His parents were comfortably upstanding members of society, but not wealthy or prominent. His coworkers, friends, and associates were normal, average people without any ties to criminal activities – maybe a bit of weed now and then, but that was the extent of their underbellies.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” he finally called up into the gloom. A handful of pigeons scattered into the interrupted silence.

“You’re here for her, are you not?”

“I am. But why is she here, and why me?”

“Because you have something we need. Something extremely valuable to us, but of little consequence to most.”

“Is that supposed to be a riddle, or just some cryptic crap because you don’t have an answer?”

“I told you. You’re here for her.”

There was a sudden stirring in the far corner of the enclosure near a hulking pile of rusted machinery. He peered into the shadows, seeking out the source of the shuffling noise, then took a step backwards. She stepped out of the shadows, a large rifle pointed at his chest.

“You’re here for me,” she offered. “How sweet.”

He was almost choking on the confusion that now clouded his mind, as he swallowed the lump in his throat. This was not what he had expected at all.

Story-A-Day #74: Wind Down

WIND DOWN

Everything was quiet. Everything was still. He could hear the soft ticking of the clock on the dining room wall, and upon closer inspection, the dull hum of the refrigerator. It was blissful, and just what he needed after the craziness of the day.

He had gone from one meeting to the next all day long, mourning the fact that the stack of paperwork on his desk was left unattended. Some days it seemed like there just weren’t enough hours in the day. Not nearly enough on a day like today and a quick flip through his day planner didn’t show any sign of things letting up.

His final meeting had been a dinner one, so at least he had gotten a good meal out of it. A nice piece salmon served on a cedar plank with rice and steamed vegetables. The meeting had been a long one and his mind was already shutting down by the time he greeted the client, but they had managed to cover a lot of ground and the results had been worthwhile. He secured the contract, worth just shy of $20,000, and dinner had been on the client.

He grabbed a half finished bottle of red wine from the counter and poured himself a glass. It had gone a little pungent since the weekend, but it was by no means off. He took a sip and sat down at one of the barstools that abutted the marble countertop in the kitchen.

The small spotlights above illuminated the counter and he took a moment to freshen up the plant with a bit of water. The clock on the microwave flashed out a pulsating blue 12:00 into the kitchen. He would reset it before bed.

A big gulp finished off his wine and he drained the rest of the bottle into his glass before pulling out his iPhone. He slid his thumb across the bottom of the screen and tapped on the email icon. For the next ten minutes, he got caught up on what had been going on at the office today. It had been a busy one, but there were very few fires to put out. That was a bit of a relief.

He set the phone on the counter and watched as the screen flicked over to black. He felt like he should be doing some catch up work. Maybe even having a bath or reading the newspaper. There was a long list of things he could be, and perhaps should be, doing, but for now, he was happy just quietly sipping on his wine and staring into the kitchen. It was perfectly serene and the ideal way to wind down after a long day.

He eyed an opened bottle of wine on the counter. One last glass and he would call it a day. The clock on the wall ticked its perfectly timed agreement.