Categories
Writing

NaNo Day 7, Part 2

Today, I took part in my first group write-in ever. In all the years I’d done this, I was solitary. Kinda like my friend Leon here. But there is strength in numbers. There is good in getting together with others who are going through what you’re going through. And they managed to get me through another 1,021 pages. 13k done, still a long way to go, but one step, one word at a time, right?

———————-

The room was sparsely furnished. It did not look like anyone lived here at all. There were no furnishings that I could see, except for one chair that was placed in front of a tripod that stood before the window. I imagined at some point that tripod must have housed a camera.

George looked over my shoulder and whistled. “Not what I was expecting to see.”

“It’s no surprise to me,” I said. “This is definitely the place I was looking for.” I took a step over the threshold. 

“What are you doing?” George asked.

“I have to check the place out.”

“Nuh uh. No warrant, no looky.”

“George, I need to search this place for evidence. Every moment counts with this killer.”

“Sorry, but I don’t see anything that requires you going in there. Sure, it’s weird. But my job as super is still to look out for my tenants, weird or not.”

He leaned forward and closed the door in my face, locking it. Gone was the friendly, vivacious George. Now, standing before me again, was the superintendent, protector of tenants, obstacle to me. I’d have to come up with some other way of seeing that apartment. But for now, I let him lead me back to the front door. “I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” he said as he kept walking down the stairs to the basement, “with a warrant in hand.” A few moments later, I heard his door slam and I was left alone in the lobby, pondering what my next move should be.

An idea formed. It would not be a smart idea, but I had no other choice that I could see. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my notebook, tore off a couple of sheets, and folded them several times. I opened the door, looked at the locking mechanism, and jammed the paper into the strike plate, which would prevent the door from locking. That way, I could make my way back inside without disturbing George’s peaceful sleep.

I went back across the street, and waited. In the meantime, I fed Cat, played with him a while until he got bored of my attention, which wasn’t very long at all. I kept looking at the photos that were taken elsewhere. I still didn’t understand the point of all the photos. What was Jack’s goal with them? So much I didn’t understand right now. In the past, his actions had always been straightforward and made perfect sense. But now, now it was like I was dealing with a completely different person, and that set my nerves on edge. 

Midnight hit, and I made my way back across the street. I entered the building easily and pulled out my paper wad from the door. No point leaving any evidence of tampering behind. I quietly made my way up the stairs back to the third floor. I stood, once again, in front of 309, and knelt before the door. I pulled out a set of locksmith tools and within seconds, unlocked the door. Hey, one learns a lot of things in three millennia. I opened the door, slipped inside, and quietly closed the door behind me. I clicked on the flashlight I’d brought with me, not wishing to betray any evidence that I was in here.

As I’d seen in my quick glance, the place had no furnishings in the living room other than the studio setup. I crept over to the chair, sat in it, and was treated to a perfect view of my place. I was able to see Cat rubbing against the window, moving back and forth. The tripod was currently empty, but it looked like it could handle a decent-sized camera, maybe something with a telescopic lens even, to get those great close-up shots of me.

I stood up and looked around the living room. There was nothing else anywhere, not even a speck or a crumb. I moved on to the kitchen. Another spotless room. I opened the refrigerator and was surprised to see there were items in there. A six-pack of beer, a small carton of milk, and half a sandwich wrapped in clear plastic. I checked the carton of milk. The expiration date was in two days, which meant it had been bought recently. I put the carton back in the fridge and kept moving. 

The bathroom had some toiletries spread across the sink, all travel-size or disposable.

The bedroom had an inflatable mattress in one corner, and a stack of magazines beside it. Some of the magazines were of a more adult orientation, but spread within the stack were some true crime magazines. Not surprising that Jack would be interested in those, but the other magazines surprised me. He had gone after prostitutes claiming he was cleansing the world of sin, and yet, it appeared he gave in to that sin himself. How hypocritical.

As I thumbed through one of the true crime magazines, I heard the front door lock click open. I could not believe my luck. I quickly extinguished my flashlight and hid in the bedroom closet.

The front door opened, and someone entered, whistling a lively tune. It had to be Jack. I hadn’t been this close in decades. I could barely keep still. But I waited. I sat in the closet and waited for the perfect opportunity.

The fridge door opened, then closed. A bottle was opened, and the cap hit what I guessed was the kitchen counter. The whistling continued, interrupted by what I guessed were sips of beer in between. Then footsteps toward the living room. I peeked out of the door. Jack was nowhere in sight. I crept up the hallway towards Jack and drew my gun. Just as he stopped whistling and was taking another sip, I closed the distance between us and turned the corner into the living room. “It’s over Jack,” I called.

Several things happened at once. The beer bottle hit the floor. I immediately realized this was not Jack. Not-Jack leapt backwards, tripped over the tripod and hit the floor right after the bottle.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *