Mash-Up #1
I eased myself in and stopped for a moment to allow my eyes to adjust to the new darkness. As I scanned the area, I made out the corner of a desk and file cabinet. A hint of light from setting dusk streamed through a small sliver of space in the window blind, casting light onto one tiny spot of the room. I blinked, trying to adjust my eyes further when I noticed papers sprinkled haphazardly about the floor. Not a very good filing system.
“Anyone here?” I asked again.
I stepped over a couple of the papers and inched further into the space. Being in his office, in the almost dark, didn’t feel right. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but something was off. Nerves settled in the pit of my stomach. A faint rustling noise caught my attention and I froze. I held my breath and listened. Did the noise come from the hall? A mouse or a person? What the hell was I doing in there? I decided to put the note on the desk and get out. When I glanced at the lit corner once again, I discovered it—a hand draped limply on top of the desk. I couldn’t distinguish the whole body attached to it, but it was there, a shadowy lump.
“Who’s there?”
My heart raced as I inched my way toward the huge desk and spotted the silhouette of a man slumped over in the tall leather chair. My hand flew to my mouth as I gasped. I felt the blood rush out of my face and my stomach turn. I knew I shouldn’t have come here. Papers littered the desk just as they did the floor and other items rested in a disorganized state.
###
“Shit.” This was the last thing I needed after the day I had. It was bad enough that the engine in my car had seized up, that I was two hours late for work, that the boss was in a foul mood. Now, to top it all off, the icing on the stinking, rotten cake, there was a body slumped over Mike’s desk.
I could no longer just drop the note and run. Paper whispered beneath my feet and, sure as hell, my shoe print would be there for all to see.
“Shit, shit, shit.” I put the note back in my pocket. If it was Mike, he wouldn’t be in a fit state to read what I had to say anyway…especially if he was dead. Everything I was too gutless to say to his face was, suddenly, meaningless.
I crept closer and reached for the lamp. I couldn’t just stand there if someone was hurt or dead, especially if it was Mike. My hands still shook when I groped for the switch. Suddenly, the office was flooded with soft, gold light. It spilled across the cluttered desk, found the blood splattered across the mess of papers, envelopes, spilled coffee.
“Oh God.” I swear every one of my internal organs slid to my feet. “Mike?”I know you’re not supposed to disturb a crime scene but it was Mike, damn it, Mike. The lamplight was cruel, picking out the thin, black trickle of blood that trailed from his mouth to a little, scarlet pool on the blotter.
“Mike?”I reached for his wrist and, with trembling fingers, felt for his pulse. “Please, God, please let him be all right.”
The faintest flutter beneath my finger, a steady rhythm and my organs returned to their rightful place. “Thank God.”
I had no time to feel relief, the whisper I heard earlier became a distinct and ominous rustle.
on that part.
