Night had fallen.
A fancy black Cadillac slid to a halt as it parked in front of the three story Gianndi Fleur Apartments. Through the tinted windows, the driver nodded to the backseat passengers. The two men with the plan stepped out, garbed in dark sunglasses, matching suits and mesmerizing ties. Yeah.
Entering the lobby, they surveyed their surroundings. With Lewis so sure nothing could go wrong, Harold didn't know how anything could go right. That didn't mean he was exactly quivering in his shoes, truth be told. Perhaps Lewis's timing was better than his mental calculations.
The unworried unhurried porter paid them no attention, and by some miracle the elevator procured their paved ascent. Internally, Harold breathed a sigh of relief, even though he knew he was still avoiding thought on the bigger obstacle. They knew this thing inside out, didn't they?
Half-dressed, Areto let the warm bathwater fill the tub. She dried her wet feet on the fluffy white rug and stuffed her feet into her slippers. It was like one o'clock in the morning, yet she never minded working late at night if she could sleep for ten hours. Areto'd forgotten something.
She tripped in her oversized bulky slipshoes, falling on her face with a loud thump. Owwww. Areto staggered to her feet, stumbling towards the dresser. As bleary as she felt, her mind was sharp with an impeccable memory that Harold had underestimated.
Hiding precariously under the bed, the gold earrings weighed down heavily in his pocket, and Lewis cursed in his ear. Lewis's face was strewn with anger, yet with a renown determination Harold knew all too well. He sighed, their ultimate downfall. Harold felt like he could change nothing in this world.
Somewhere behind her, Areto heard the quiet exhale of breath, and a scurry of feet as Lewis and Harold repositioned themselves somewhere in her apartment. Can't leave Harold to his own devices, Lewis glared angrily at him. Harold vowed to himself to not make another mistake. They were in such a bad position as is.
Or not.
Areto must've been kidding herself. The dark cherry wood surface of her dresser was empty, contained nothing but picture frames. That's how it usually was. But the earrings she took off just moments ago couldn't just disappear in thin air. No way. It felt like she was getting a mouthful of seawater, that wave having crashed down hard on the beach. Like being dunked in frigid water, the ice sticking to your skin in reminder.
There were people in this very room, somewhere, waiting for just the right time to strike. It felt like those movies where there was like a montage of one's life memories being recollected in like one second. All meanwhile eyes kept trained on her every move, every step. She had to escape them, but didn't know how.
Areto have to make them feel like she didn't think much of them. The most impossible task.
Grabbing a set a pijamas and a thick bath towel for later, the fight for her own life began. Areto needlessly dug through her drawers, trying to find something, anything that'd ensure her survival. She wouldn't die today. Areto couldn't. The memory of Celestine's presence was too great to deny her the chance of over seeing her again.
Areto hurried back to the bathroom, locking the door.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound of the lock snapping in place was so loud, more than ever before. It was tiny, yes, but it magnified in Areto's ears like heavy deadbolt, echoing repeatedly through Areto's ears. The ringing deafened her, sharpening her focus. Preparing herself for the worst.
Harold's eyes gleamed with triumph. After all their troubles, this was exactly what they were hoping for. This was as best as they could ever wished! He looked for Lewis's approval. He sneered, harsh and bitter. I don't know a thing, Harold realized.
Lewis slithered to his feet out from under their hiding spot, and Harold clambered after him. He felt so exposed! And so eager. A deep growl resonated from Lewis's throat, and he apparently didn't care to make it known, to Harold or this girl they were supposed to get. Lewis hated Harold. He was so dumb, like a floppy dog awaiting command all the time. Let's put him to use.
"The lock, Harold." Lewis hissed. That was one thing that useless body could do.
Harold was emphatically thrilled. Lewis cared to give him a chance to prove himself! Delighted, he worked swiftly and deft, holding the knob tight to reduce the noise. He thrust the metal pick nimbly through the crack. It'd give way in exactly three seconds now.
Areto pressed her thin body on the cold white bathroom tiles under the sink. Her hands fingered some object she mentally couldn't identify, couldn't think of the name in English. It had wooden handle laced with rubber and metal, with a metal stick at the second half. Her knees poised, ready to leap at her attacker.
The door creaked, and Areto's eyes widened at the sight of the wood bending. The hinges squeaked angrily, unable to hold the weight of the push. On the other side of the receiving end, Harold strained to break his way in. The lock was picked, yes, but there was something on the other side that was stopping their clear entry.
Lewis stood behind Harold, not at all unnerved. His eyes narrowed, analyzing the situation. Then, everything happened in one second that perpetually decided the fate of all events that were to precede.
Now, Areto truly understood what it meant for your life to flash past your eyes all in one millisecond.
The door collapsed under the massive pressure, falling flat on the floor. BANG! Face down on the artificial plywood, Harold saw nothing but that light grey brown markings. Harold screamed in terror, Areto screamed in rage, as she plunged the knife into his neck.
Red ichor spurted from the wound, severing major arteries. Harold kept shrieking, not really feeling the pain. Areto pulled the shaft out, blood coating the blade. Now blood cascading in pulsing torrents, gushing all over the tile and on Areto's hands and knees. She felt so sick and wanted to throw up. Harold's screeching now came out in massive gasps, the rasping decreasing in volume by every breath.
Areto crouched nearby, watching in horror. She was unsure what she should do, and now contemplating, it suddenly occured that maybe she should call 911. And another thought: it wasn't safe, there might be more people.
Her movements came out in jerky movements. She managed to crawl next to Harold. He looked her straight in the eye, and at that they both knew it would be his last. Harold exhaled a final long breath, and his head fell back, eyes dulled.
I killed a man. 737Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9n6VSfwmFh
The blood kind of stopped pouring, more like draining in bursts. It was like a huge dark red pond, soaking into her pants, staining the tile floor.
He was a man. Alive. Now... she took him from all he could've had. No, it wasn't her fault, and all the same that didn't change anything. It was about who did what, not about the why, really.
"Oh I won't shoot you." a drawling voice laughed. Areto jumped at the sound, wanting to retch with horror. How could anyone laugh with the dead to witness? 737Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfBVcQBUNtK
Lewis cocked the gun, safety off, continuing sarcastically, "Not fatally, at least."737Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGvue2tSl93
A silent shot that only Areto could hear rang through her brain. Something thudded in her arm, and she waited for the pain to register. Was this how the other man felt?On a second thought, what did he even do to her. Basically nothing except come in her apartment unwanted. At the thought of Arnold's blood, she glanced down, and saw it was a thin clear needle that pierced her skin.
"See you in a few hours, Miss Areto del Mer."
And the world went black.
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