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Chapter two
Room number 212. Single room. Single bed. Single bathroom. Single. Period. Single cold shower. 6:43 A.M. Single coffee cup. Single sugar. Single cigarette. Single was all that filled his thoughts that day, thinking of her. Shaved, combed and proper, with suit and tie and all, he pushed the apartment door open. A damp smell of cigarettes filled the hallway as he shut his door, twice, to make sure it actually held. Have to fix that he thought.
One cigarette here. Just one. Green Honda Civic 1999. Cost him $2000. Broke first week, hasn’t been working ever since. On the way to work, the mans eyes focus on a small wallet sized picture just above his steering wheel covering one of the broken gauges that was part of that nice two thousand dollar deal.
It had been six months since he had seen her. Six months in the city. Alone. Her hazel eyes seemed to pierce their way through the picture at him. The awkward meeting they had shared for what felt like years ago, now culminated in him always staring at the little wallet sized picture of her that she had given him when they went to prom together back in high school. Years ago.
Red light. Chance to dry his eyes. Chance for a cigarette. Green light. Driving into the city was always a pain for him. Gave him more time to gaze at that picture.
He parked his Civic in a parking garage outside work every day. He did not forget his badge this time. He had been working there three months. Three months of directing traffic. Three months of doing the useless job no one wants had landed him there. Walking through the front door of the newly built office of the cities police department gave him a sense of being very minuscule to the scale of this building. His shoes clicked on the polished floor under him as he pushed his way through the heavy stream of people in the main forum area. He clicked his way all the way to his cubicle, where he sat down and put his things into the desk.
The cubicle, in comparison to the mass room of cubicles around it, was one of the smaller cubicles. Three men could fit into one of these small cubicles. He was lucky however. Only had one other then himself. Sitting down in his chair and brushing back his brown hair from his brow, he took off his jacket and relaxed among the few possessions in the cubicle that were his. The stress ball. His packet of cigarettes. Three pencils, all the same length. A small bookcase. Empty bookcase except one book. The bible. Bought for him when he was eighteen by his Aunt. Never read it; never would. It was there as a reminder.
He peered deep at his computer screen of this newly fashioned Windows computer, waiting for something to happen. His radio blared on and off, requesting officers to assist in certain situations around the city. He closed his eyes and switched the radio off.
“Got something you might like.”
The voice broke the man out of his thoughts and back into the world. Looking up, he noticed his cubicle partner, Richard.
“Yeah? What is it?”
A smile broke out across Richards face. He was known for two things: His lightheartedness and his ability to get any woman that he desired into bed; a trait that men around the world would die and kill for. He took from his back pocket a newspaper and threw it onto the desk.
“Just for you Will.”
Will looked down at the newspaper and saw what Richard meant.
The story today mourns the death of Police Captain Joseph Lewis, who was found brutally murdered outside a local Motel late last night. His body, as well as the body of his fiancee has been found and identified. In these gruesome days, we look to the Police as a reminder of how safe we should feel. Now, above all times, we send our prayers and our love to the Police Department as they work through this hardship and to the family and friends of Captain Lewis and his fiancee, Lynne Clark. Jessica Reyes, reporting from The Nine Ten.
Police Captain Joseph Lewis.
Will had to read the line a dozen times just to get the line to register in his mind. Captain Lewis. Dead. Will sat back in his chair and brushed his hair back with both hands and shot a glance at Richard.
“How could you think this is funny?” Will growled at Richard, throwing the paper onto the table beside him.
“Captain Lewis was a dick and you know it Will.” He lifted himself from his seat, carrying his coffee mug with him, and said under his breath “I got it for Jessie.” He walked away quickly, leaving Will to ponder.
Reyes. Jessica Reyes. Jessie. His Jessie. He closed his eyes. Get her out of your mind. His mind did not comply.
Snow fell that night. It was the first snowfall of the year. Bright lights from the party inside shone through onto the back porch, illuminating three bodies in the light downfall of snow. Three cigarettes. Three cold bodies in the dark, illuminated only by the light from inside. The door opens and clicking is heard on the porch. The clicking comes closer. Three cigarettes turn to face the vibrant woman with dark red hair standing tall in the snow, asking for a light. Fourth cigarette is lit, two are put out. Two cold bodies retreat back to the lit room.
“Will, you okay?”
Eyes flashing open, Will looked around him. He had been daydreaming, or was he dreaming? He couldn’t tell. His face stung and his right leg was well into going numb. In the open wall section of the cubicle stood Bernie, a dark short man with thick round glasses and a bushy gray mustache. Mail deliveries this early were unusual. They also usually did not come for Will. When he was handed the brown box, he felt as if he was receiving some sort of present. Then he looked down, and saw where the box was sent from
103 Avenue West, Apartment Complex 3, Room Number 212.
Room 212.
His address. His thoughts went to the logical first of course. Had he sent himself something? Wait, no, that would be impossible to forget. So then, if this wasn’t from him, who was it from? In the end, and well after Bernie’s curious gaze had left his side, Will shuffled through his pant pocket for keys, figuring that this must have been some mistake. Mistakes happen. He tore his key into the box and opened it quickly, only to find his hands on newspaper.
Shuffling through the newspaper, his hands soon found a soft surface. He pulled out from the newspaper a book.
“Will.” A voice from behind him startled his concealed action and his eyes rose to meet those of Richard, staring at him with an odd expression, obviously relating to the book he held in his hand.
“It’s going to be a long day, isn’t it?”
Will let his eyes fall once more to the book he held in his grasp and viewed its title.
The Angel of Death
