The A to Z Challenge – A is for “Anyone can have a bad day”

It had been one of those days, you know, the sort where you hoped, when you woke up again, it would be a distant memory if not gone altogether. Everything had gone wrong, the handover from my shift to the next, longer than usual, I got home late to find the building’s security system malfunctioning, and after everything that could go wrong had, I was late getting to bed, which meant I was going to be tired and cranky even before my shift started.

But what topped it all off was that the alarm didn’t go off. It was not as if I hadn’t set it, I remembered doing it. There was something else in play.

I rolled over and instantly noticed how dark it was. It was never this dark. It was why I chose an apartment as high up as I could, there would always be light coming from the advertising sign on the roof of the building over the road at night, or direct sunlight not blotted out by surrounding buildings.

I also left the curtains open, deliberately. I liked the notion of being able to see out, sometimes looking at the stars, other times watching the rain, but mostly to see that I was not in a dark place.

Not like now.

I got out of bed and went over to the window. Yes, there were lights, but they were all the way down on the street level. Everywhere else, nothing. It had to be a power blackout. Our first in a long time. I should have noticed the air conditioning was not on, and it was almost silent inside the room.

The apartment had windows that opened, not very far, but enough to allow some airflow, and the room feeling stuffy, I opened one in the bedroom. Instantly, sounds drifted up from street level, and looking down I could see the flashing lights of police cars and fire trucks, as well as the sounds of sirens.

The cold air was refreshing.

It took a few minutes before I realized the elevators would not be working, and I remembered the only pitfall of having a high-up apartment, it was a long way down by the stairs, and even longer going back up.

In the distance, I could see other buildings, about ten blocks away, with their lights on. It had to be a localized blackout, or perhaps a brownout. We had been having problems across the city with power supply caused by an unexplained explosion at several power stations on the grid.

Some were saying it was a terrorist attack, others were saying the antiquated infrastructure had finally given out.

My attention was diverted from the activity below by the vibration of my cell phone on the bedside table. I looked over at the clock and saw it was 3:10 in the morning, not a time I usually got a phone call.

I crossed the room and looked at the screen, just as the vibrating stopped. Louis Bernard. Who was Louis Bernard? It was not a name I was familiar with, so I ignored it. It wasn’t the first wrong number to call me, though I was beginning to think I had been given a recycled phone number when I bought the phone. Perhaps the fact it was a burner may have had something to do with it.

About the go back to the window, the phone started ringing again. The same caller, Louis Bernard.

Curiosity got the better of me.

“Yes?” I wasn’t going to answer with my name.

“Get out of that room now.”

“Who….” It was as far as I got before the phone went dead.

The phone displayed the logo as it powered off, a sign the battery was depleted. I noticed then though I’d plugged the phone in to recharge, I’d forgotten to turn the power on.

Damn.

Get out of that room now? Who could possibly know firstly who I was, and where I was living, to the point they could know I was in any sort of danger?

It took another minute of internal debate before I threw on some clothes and headed for the door.

Just in case.

As I went to open the door, someone started pounding on it, and my heart almost stopped.

“Who is it?” I yelled out. First thought; don’t open it.

“Floor warden, you need to evacuate. There’s a small fire on one of the floors below.”

“OK. Give me a minute or so and I’ll be right out.”

“Don’t take too long. Take the rear stairs on the left.”

A few seconds later I heard him pounding on the door next to mine. I waited until he’d moved on, and went out into the passage.

It was almost dark, the security lighting just above floor level giving off a strange and eerie orange glow. I thought there was a hint of smoke in the air, but that might have been the power of suggestion taking over my mind.

There were two sets of stairs down, both at the rear, one on the left and one on the right, designed to aid quick evacuation in the event of a calamity like a fire. He had told me to take the left. I deliberately ignored that and went to the right side, passing several other tenants who were going towards where they’d been told. I didn’t recognize them, but, then, I didn’t try to find out who my fellow tenants were.

A quick look back up the passage, noting everyone heading to the left side stairs, I ducked into the right stairwell and stopped for a moment. Was that smoke I could smell. From above I could hear a door slam shut, and voices. Above me, people had entered the stairwell and were coming down.

I started heading down myself.

I was on the 39th floor, and it was going to be a long way down. In a recent fire drill, the building had been evacuated from the top floor down, and it proceeded in an orderly manner. The idea was that starting at the top, there would not be a logjam if the lower floors were spilling into the stairwell and creating a bottleneck. Were those above stragglers?

I descended ten floors and still hadn’t run into anyone, but the smell of smoke was stronger. I stopped for a moment and listened for those who had been above me. Nothing. Not a sound. Surely there had to be someone above me, coming down.

A door slammed, but I couldn’t tell if it was above or below.

Once again, I descended, one floor, two, three, five, all the way down to ten. The smoke was thicker here, and I could see a cloud on the other side of the door leading out of the stairwell into the passage. The door was slightly ajar, odd, I thought, for what was supposed to be a fire door. I could see smoke being sucked into the fire escape through the door opening.

Then I saw several firemen running past, axes in hand. Was the fire on the tenth floor?

Another door slammed shut, and then above me, I could hear voices. Or were they below? I couldn’t tell. My eyes were starting to tear up from the smoke, and it was getting thicker.

I headed down.

I reached the ground floor and tried to open the door leading out of the fire escape. It wouldn’t open. A dozen other people came down the stairs and stopped when they saw me.

One asked, “Can we get out here?”

I tried the door again with the same result. “No. It seems to be jammed.”

Several of the people rushed past me, going down further, yelling out, “there should be a fire door leading out into the underground garage.”

Then, after another door slamming shut, silence. Another person said, “they must have found a way out,” and started running down the stairs, the others following. For some odd reason I couldn’t explain, I didn’t follow, a mental note popping up in my head telling me that there was only an exit into the carport from the other stairs, on this side, the exit led out onto an alley at the back of the building.

If the door would open. It should push outwards, and there should also be a bar on it, so when pushed, it allowed the door to open.

The smoke was worse now, and I could barely see, or breathe, overcome with a coughing fit. I banged on the door, yelling out that I was stuck in the stairwell, but there was no reply, nor could I hear movement on the other side of the door.

Just as I started to lose consciousness, I thought I could hear a banging sound on the door, then a minute later what seemed like wood splintering. A few seconds after that I saw a large black object hovering over me, then nothing.

It was the culmination of a bad night, a bad day, and another bad night. Was it karma trying to tell me something?

When I woke, I was in a hospital, a room to myself which seemed strange since my insurance didn’t really cover such luxuries. I looked around the room and stopped when I reached the window and the person who was standing in front of it, looking out.

“Who are you?” I asked, and realized the moment the words came out, they made me sound angry.

“No one of particular importance. I came to see if you were alright. You were very lucky by the way. Had you not stayed by that door you would have died like all the rest.”

Good to know, but not so good for the others. Did he know that fire door was jammed? I told him what happened.

“Someone suspected that might be the case which is why you were told to take the other stairs. Why did you not do as you were told?”

“Why did the others also ignore the advice.” It was not a question I would deign to answer.

They didn’t know any better, but you did, and it begs the question, why did you take those stairs.”

Persistent, and beginning to bother me. He sounded like someone else I once knew in another lifetime, one who never asked a question unless he knew the answer.

The man still hadn’t turned around to show me his face, and it was not likely I’d be getting out of the bed very soon.

“You tell me?”

He turned slightly and I could see his reflection in the window. I thought, for a moment, that was a familiar face. But I couldn’t remember it from where.

“The simple truth, you suspected the fire was lit to flush you out of the building and you thought taking those stairs would keep you away from trouble. We both know you’ve been hiding here.”

Then he did turn. Hiding, yes. A spot of trouble a year or so before had made leaving Florida a necessity, and I’d only just begun to believe I was finally safe.

I was not.

They had found me.

And it only took a few seconds, to pull the silenced gun out of his coat pocket, point it directly at me, and pull the trigger.

Two stabbing pains in the chest, and for a moment it was as if nothing happened, and then, all of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe.

The last thing I saw and heard, several rounds from at least two guns, voices yelling out on the passage, and people running.

As I lay dying, my last thought was, it had been a good run, but no one can run forever.

A story inspired by Castello di Briolio – Episode 43

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.

Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.

And, so, it continues…

——

Mayer fought the urge to panic, and then consider giving himself up. He remembered what the Standartenfuhrer said, and knew that it was not an option.

He slid back into the forest, then far enough back, stood, and ran, the thick snow not only hampering his speed but also covering the sound of his flight.

He stopped and listened for the sound of the following soldiers, but all he could hear was the sound of a locomotive and his breathing. His heart was pounding, not used to such exercise or fear.

The soldiers must have stopped where the running person had fallen, and then on the verge of the tree line when the Standartenfuhrer had been shot.

He kneeled down and struggled to catch his breath. He had the bad the Standartenfuhrer had thrust upon him as they got out of the car, and hoped it had a map, but it was too dark to look now.

From earlier, he remembered the other side of the railway tracks had trees too, and the road that led to the border, the village, if there was one, and the railway station. There would also be a small shunting area, freight sheds, or something else to hide in, maybe even a signal tower.

Somewhere warm, and with some light, so he could plan his next move. He was not sure what the Standartenfuhrer Had planned, but it certainly could not be by car the whole way, and they would not make the rendezvous by walking.

The plan had to include going by train.

Brenner pass was along the main track from Austria to the south of Italy, and from an earlier look at a map, the train would go through F, Verona, Bologna, to Florence where he would find the next guide.

Details of that guide hopefully were in the bag, a bag that he would have to hide or lose if he was captured because it would give away the escape route and resistance members who helped those fleeing Germany.

If he had the time or could think straight. The cold was making that very difficult. And there was the shock of losing the Standartenfuhrer.

It took five minutes to regain a certain amount of calm and be able to think.

First, he had to get back to the tree line and see where he was, in proximity to the village, and the railway tracks.

That took about ten minutes carefully picking his way through the trees. There was no path, it was dark, and he kept hitting low branches and getting covered in snow. There was enough down the back of his neck to make him very uncomfortable.

When he reached the tree line he looked back from where he had been, about a kilometer, and he could see the torches of the soldiers milling around where he and the Standartenfuhrer had been. The train was still there, the locomotive’s light blazing in front, lighting a short distance of the track in front of it, almost blindingly bright.

He was not sure why it was waiting on the track.

Looking the other way, there were two sets of tracks, a wide clear area, then another track with several flat cars and a guards van sitting in darkness, all of which were covered in snow. They were not being used, so the van might provide some shelter.

He just had to get over there, about 100 meters distant. The problem was there were lights, not very bright, at regular distances, but short enough that a man might present a shadowy outline if anyone was looking.

If he stayed low and run fast, it might just work.

A train whistle in the distance, coming from Italy caused him to shrink back into the cover of the trees. Another train was coming. It was oddly busy at a very late hour.

The locomotive also had a bright light that lit up the edge of the tree line, so he had to go further back to get away from it, and wait until the train passed. It had a lot of flat cars with tanks and troop carriers on it, going back to Germany. There were no soldiers so perhaps the equipment was needed elsewhere, maybe that final push to England he kept hearing about.

Once that train passed, the one that had been waiting finally restarted its journey south and slowly rumbled past him. It was almost like a passenger train with no priority had had to wait until essential war trains passed.

When that train had gone, the surrounding area descended into a quiet, also silent field. The snow had begun to fall heavier, which would be advantageous, and after several long looks in both directions, he ran, crossing the tracks, the empty space, and then to the guard van where he hid between it and the freight car until he caught his breath.

And see if anyone had seen him, expecting whistles and shouting coming from up the track.

Another look showed that only two torches remained back where there had been frenetic activity. He hoped they considered they had caught the people they were looking for.

He went down the side of the guard’s van to the door, climbed the ladder, and tried the door. It was unlocked. There was no reason why it would be locked.

He went in and shut the door, and immediately it was warmer, and certainly dryer. IT was impossibly dark inside, so he felt around in the bag and found a torch. Someone had been clever enough to add a torch, some first aid equipment. The papers included a map.

He checked the cabin for windows and found the shutters were closed, so he didn’t have to stifle the torches light. A further check showed a bed at the end of the cabin, with a blanket, musty but dry.

There was a stove, a kettle with water, and a tin of tea leaves. He wasn’t going to start a fire, so no tea. There was no food, so the hunger would have to remain for a while longer. The water tasted alright, but he could melt some snow if he needed more.

A place to stay, at least until daybreak when it would be wise to get into the forest on the roadside, and head towards the village, or perhaps wait for a train and see if he could hide on it for the trip south.

First, he needed some rest.

——-

NaNoWriMo – April 2022 – Day 11

First Dig Two Graves, the second Zoe thriller.

…

We are now up to the part where we introduce Isobel properly and find out why such a talented person is drifting in the doldrums of Rupert’s private detective agency.

Aside from being a once high-flying legal eagle, she is also a computer hacker, or perhaps that’s what she evolved into in a devil finds work for idle hands type person.

This hacking is going to be useful, but it’s also going to bring problems, especially when she starts tracking down Zoe.

And, it seemed she had struck up a dark online relationship with another hacker with the handle Tzar. What are the odds he is Russian?

She’s digging for information, and Tzar helps, and, suddenly it appears, briefly, then is gone, with a warning. Stop digging.

And if she doesn’t.

People were coming for her.

Meanwhile, in the basement, Zoe has had enough time to devise a mask that might stave of the effects of the gas long enough to affect an escape.

And, it almost works, the mask that is.

She manages to get past all of the guards, but Romanov is waiting.

He doesn’t kill her, but he does give her some information, then leaves. He knows how dangerous she can be, especially when wounded.

…

Today’s writing, with Isobel trawling the dark web, 2,583 words, for a total of 8,871.

The A to Z Challenge – I is for – “If you had but one wish”

It was one of those moments.

Across a crowded dance floor, your eyes meet, and then that tingling sensation down your spine.

A girl who could be a princess, who might be a princess in any other lifetime, and a girl who might just outshine Annabel.

And then the moment is gone, and I could not be sure if it really happened.

“You seem preoccupied.” The almost whispered voice beside me belonged to Annabel, who had mysteriously disappeared and as mysteriously reappeared by my side.

“Just checking who are the pretenders and who are the aspirants.”

Annabel and her parents had a thing about people, who had money, who didn’t, who aspired to be part of society, and those who thought they were. It was a complication I didn’t need.

“Does it matter?”

Interesting observation, who was this girl, and what have you done with Annabel? I turned slightly to observe what some might call my girlfriend, but I was never quite sure what I was to her. Perfect in almost everything, I noticed one slight flaw, no two, a smudge in her make and hastily applied lipstick.

Did it have something to do with her mysterious disappearance?

“Perhaps not. We can be gracious no matter what the circumstances.” A moment, closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, as if preparing for a death-defying leap into an abyss. Then, with an enthusiasm I certainly didn’t feel myself, she said, “Let’s mingle.”

Being with Annabel could be an experience in itself, the way she carried herself, the way she radiated warmth and humility, and then sometimes when in high dudgeon, you wanted to be anywhere else. Today, she shone. I could see the write-up in the social pages of tomorrow’s newspaper, exactly where she wanted to be. Relevant.

I knew the drill, as consort, to be one pace back and one to the side, being aloof but not aloof, on hand to provide the comment that complimented Annabel’s narrative.

I had suggested that we might take to the dance floor, once around the floor to make an impression, but Annabel, being 3 inches shorter than me in heels, was reluctant. Not because she couldn’t dance, well, that’s not exactly true, it wasn’t one of her strong points, but there were more pressing things to do. She didn’t say what they were.

To her equals she was all smiles and politeness, to the aspirants she was gracious, to the pretenders, short but sweet. In political parlance, we would be pressing the flesh. In any political arena, I suspect, she would excel.

Then, suddenly, we chanced upon Mr. And Mrs. Upton, and their son Roderick. I’d seen them once before, at Annabel’s parent’s house when I had been invited to dinner and had noticed, in front of him she was quite animated. This time her expression changed, and it was one I’d seen before, one I thought was exclusively for me.

I was wrong.

Although that look disappeared as quickly as it came, and she had reverted to the usual greeting, she did take Roderick’s hand when she was re-introduced, and while to all others it seemed like the second time she had met him, I could see it was not.

He looked uncomfortable, and, as he made a slight movement, I could see a smudge of makeup on his lower jaw, and lipstick on his collar, in a place that would not normally be seen. It was simply a quirk of fate.

By the time I’d processed what I’d seen, we were meeting the next person.

The princess.

“Miss Annabel McCallister, I presume?”

Annabel, suddenly, seemed flustered. She usually knew everyone at these affairs, to the extent I thought she had a bio specially researched for her, but the princess apparently was not on the list.

“You have me at a disadvantage. Whom might you be?” The tone was slightly brittle, the cheeks slightly reddened, and she was annoyed and embarrassed. Someone’s head will roll for this.

“Frances Williams, or the Boston Williams.” An offered hand, taken and then released. When Frances saw her puzzled look, she added, “I belong to the distant branch who live across the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. Crumbling castles, and once upon a time, tea plantations.”

And then I committed the ultimate crime, I spoke. “Surely you do not live in a crumbling castle?”

Annabel scowled, Frances laughed, “Oh, no. Daddy’s spending a few million to fill the cracks so it isn’t as draughty.”

Interview killed stone dead. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Frances. Perhaps our paths might cross again.” In which I read, I hope they do not.

Frances was a girl who could play Annabel at her own game, and quite likely she would win.

We did the obligatory waltz, her strongest dance, and it was one of fluid motion and great concentration, in order to shrug off the Frances factor. After that, she said she needed a few moments to get some air, and it was probably perverse of me to think that finally, someone had bested her.

I had no interest in further mingling and found a quiet corner in which to view the proceedings and contemplate where the princess had disappeared to.

Apparently not as far away as I thought. “You saw it, didn’t you?”

I guess I could feign ignorance, but the princess was all-knowing and all-seeing, and now beside me, close enough for another tingling sensation in my spine from the timbre of her voice.

“A tryst with Roderick, I suspect.”

“Handsome lad, cheeky grin, just enough nervousness that someone would suspect they’d been shagging.”

I turned to look at the amused expression. “Who are you, really. You’re definitely not one of the Boston Williams.”

“No. They’re too stuffy for me. My real name is Cherie, not French, but I can speak it if you like?”

“Probably not. Mine is schoolboy at best. How did you get in here?”

“A rather enterprising waiter, and a hundred dollar note. Most of these twits wouldn’t know the real thing even if they fell over it.”

“An attention-seeking journalist then?” She would not be the first, to try to see how the so-called other half lives.

“Perish the thought. I just love these affairs, the people, the atmosphere, the food, and the drink. And meeting people like you, a contradiction in every sense. You don’t want to be here, and yet here you are. You don’t want to be with her, and yet you are. Duty? Obligation?”

“All of the above.”

“And now you know she’s having a dalliance.”

“What rich and famous couple are monogamous? You read the papers, its musical beds. It comes down to how much pride you want to swallow for the sake of family, business, and appearances.”

She shook her head. “That’s not you. Humor me, come to the Cafe Delacrat tomorrow, 10:00 am. We’ll chat.”

I took Annabel home, and it was like nothing had happened, and she was not seeing anyone else. The girl, if nothing else, was a consummate actress, and had I not seen the evidence, I would still think I was the only person for her. But she was inordinately happy, and I had not been able to do that for her for a long time.

Perhaps it was time to move on.

I nearly decided to stay in bed and not go to the Cafe Delacrat, but the thought of seeing the princess once more was the compelling argument to go.

When I got there, a few minutes before the hour, she was not there, and I thought to myself, I had been tricked. That thought magnified when it came to a few minutes after when the waiter brought out the latte. The coffee aroma was good, so it would not be a wasted visit.

And, like the princess she was, she arrived late. Dressed in a yellow summery dress with flowers, red shoes and handbag, and the obligatory scarf and sunglasses, she looked movie star stunning. She sat down, and the waiter was there before she finished squirming into the seat.

“I’ll have what he’s having.”

“Latte.” He probably knew, but I wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

“I didn’t see you arrive, otherwise…”

“Very few people do.”

“By the way, you look amazing.”

“What? This old thing. It’s been sitting in the back of the closet since I last visited San Gimignano. Have you traveled?”

“Yes.”

“Man of few words. Compliments women. Apologetic. That girl is not for you.”

“And you might be?” I was wondering what her motives were.

“Me? No. Too old, a bit of a lush, certainly not monogamous, and frankly, you could do a lot better. In fact, you deserve better.”

“Then…”

She was watching the other side of the road, the front entrance to a rather pricy hotel in fact, as a taxi stopped and two passengers got out. When it drove off, I could see a man and a woman, and when I looked closer, I saw it was Annabel and Roderick, holding hands and looking very much in love, as they literally bounced into the hotel. No baggage, 10:00 am, no prizes for guessing why they were there.

“How did you know?”

She shrugged. “I know she is not the one for you. So, if you had but one wish, who would you wish for? I’m sure, over time, there has been a girl who stole your heart. We all have one, in my case, probably two, or three.”

Who was this woman, my fairy godmother?”

Yes, she inspired me to think, and closed my eyes to go back to a time in university when I ran into this amazing girl who spent far too much time helping others than to worry about herself. We spent a lot of time together, and yet we were not together in that sense, as much as I wanted to be. I sense though it was not the time or the place for her, and, after two years, she simply disappeared.

“Miranda Moore.”

I hadn’t realized I’d said her name out loud.

“Yes?”

I opened my eyes and looked up to see the very girl, a few years older but no less attractive than she was then, apparently a waitress at that cafe.

“Peter?”

“Miranda? Wow. I’ve been looking for you, high and low. What happened?”

“My mother died and I had to go home. It’s been a few years of hell, but, like you say, wow. Looking for me, you say?”

“High and low.”

“And now you’ve found me?”

“I’m not letting you disappear on me again. Can we…”

“I finish at noon. Come back then, and I’m yours. God, it’s so nice to see you again.”