Brett McBean - Tales of Sin and Madness

Perhaps she would be grateful for the company. After all, she did smile at him, so she obviously knew he lived in the building and thought of him as a friendly neighbour.

I can’t. That’s not me. I’ve never gone up to a virtual stranger’s apartment and asked if they wanted company. She’ll think I’m a weirdo or something .

Still, the notion excited him.

Thump thump thump thump…Thump thump thump thump…

And she was alone up there. Young, beautiful, anxious, probably in dire need of a strong arm to comfort her and keep her warm until hubby called.

He thought about his conversation with Geoff last night. About what Geoff had said to him — “Look, why don’t you go up to Rose and keep her company until Hal comes home? At least she won’t keep you up with her pacing.”

Why not? I’ve got nothing to lose.

Except his teeth if she told her husband when he arrived home.

But he won’t be home for another hour. Imagine that — a whole hour with Rose. I’ve got to grow some balls and take a risk every once in a while .

He decided it was worth risking a few teeth for the chance of spending some time with Rose.

Clayton stood up and headed for the door. He was still in his jeans and T-shirt, so he didn’t have to change, however he did stop off at the bathroom to use some deodorant and mouthwash before leaving.

He opened the door a crack and peered out at the dim hallway. All was quiet, so he walked out, closed the door and crept toward the stairs that led to the top floor.

He didn’t need to be so sneaky, considering people came and went all throughout the night (there was business being conducted in the building other than men tending to the needs of poor helpless women), but he felt sly and even a bit shameful.

After all, this was a married woman he was going up to see.

Clayton took each step carefully, and when he reached the top, was relieved that he didn’t encounter any late night visitors.

He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans then proceeded down the hall.

Usually Clayton was the first to complain about the poor lighting in the building, but tonight he was grateful for it.

He stopped at apartment 612.

I’ve come to help you, Rose.

Still, good intentions didn’t mask how nervous he was feeling. He glanced over his shoulder at the rows of doors and expected one to open any moment and for some nosy neighbor to tell him to get the hell away from there, that her husband is a cop and that he’d better be careful.

He raised his arm, but didn’t knock.

He also reminded himself that if he was successful and Rose did let him in, he would miss out on seeing his light.

Come on, Clay. What’s more important? Sleeping with a beautiful woman, or watching some stupid light?

He knew the answer, yet as he stood there in the hallway, arm poised, the whole idea suddenly seemed ludicrous and juvenile. Perhaps someone like Geoff would be able to go through with it, but Clayton wasn’t like Geoff, and up until this moment, was glad for that.

Thump thump thump thump…Thump thump thump thump…

The footsteps were faint, yet loud in Clayton’s heart. He knew that the moment he turned around, he would never be back. This was his one and only chance. His one opportunity to be with someone as attractive as Rose. Maybe afterwards he would finally get some fucking sleep.

It was in everyone’s best interest for him to knock on the door.

From somewhere below, a door slammed.

Clayton jerked, startled.

It had sounded like the front entrance door.

Clayton pictured Hal coming home early and making his way up the six flights of stairs. Imagined Hal walking through the door and catching him in bed with Rose. Imagined the carnage that would inevitably follow.

She’s still pacing. He hasn’t called yet .

He might want to surprise her, Clayton reasoned. Might have stopped off and bought some flowers and chocolates.

That was enough.

Clayton lowered his arm with a sigh.

Coward .

Better a healthy coward than a broken, but satisfied, man, he thought.

Clayton turned around and hurried towards the stairs. He didn’t care so much about making a lot of noise as he bounded down.

He wanted to make it back to his apartment before his imaginary Hal made it to the fifth floor.

He didn’t pass anyone as he dashed to his apartment. He opened the door, stepped into the familiar darkness, and felt safe.

Huffing and sweating quite generously, he noticed that the time was twelve-fifty two.

Thump thump thump thump…Thump thump thump thump…

The footsteps continued upstairs, as loud as ever, but they only reminded Clayton of a missed opportunity and he wanted them to stop now more than ever.

And to make matters worse, there was no sign of the light.

He walked over to the window and looked out across at the warehouse. It was the right time, yet nothing flashed.

He felt sad, like he had lost a small part of himself.

Still, he waited at the window until the footsteps stopped and he heard Rose talking upstairs.

The light never came. He would never know the real cause of the light now.

It also seemed he was wrong about Hal coming home early to surprise Rose.

I should have knocked , he thought.

Feeling foolish, cowardly and a little disappointed, Clayton got undressed and hopped into bed.

Despite everything that had happened, or maybe because of it, he fell asleep quickly.

Even though he felt terrible in the morning, Clayton was able to get ready for the interview. He showered and shaved, had two cups of coffee for breakfast and donned his one and only good suit. He stood in front of the wardrobe mirror and liked what he saw.

I’ll knock ‘em dead .

He picked up his briefcase and headed for the door.

He was shocked to find the hallway crowded with police. Some were talking with occupants of the apartment building; others were walking up and down the staircase that led to the sixth floor, which, Clayton saw, had yellow police tape tied to its posts.

“Clayton!”

Clayton looked over to see Herbert Jones. Herbert was another fifth floor resident and liked to know everything that was happening.

“Jesus Christ, what a circus,” the old man said, grinning and shaking his head. He was still in his bathrobe.

Clayton gazed at the diminutive, gray-haired man. “What the hell happened?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

Clayton shook his head.

“Young Rose Hawkins was murdered last night.”

Clayton’s head swirled. “Murdered? Rose?”

“That’s what I said. She was butchered. While she was asleep. Cops think it’s the work of that serial killer. You know, the one that kills women while they’re asleep in their homes.”

“They do?”

The old man grinned, displaying shriveled yellow teeth. “Nah, not really. That’s only what I reckon. But I bet I’m right.”

Clayton watched the goings on in a daze. Police dashing about, taking statements, looking for clues. It was all so surreal.

“I’ll bet the cops will want to talk to you,” Herbert said.

“Huh?”

Clayton began to panic. Did they think he did it? Did somebody see him last night?

“The cops. They’ll want to speak to you. I mean, hell, you do live right under the poor girl.” Herbert leaned in close. He smelled of sweat and coffee. “Did ya hear anything last night?”

Clayton shook his head and relaxed a little. “No. Only her footsteps.”

“Waiting for Hal?”

Clayton nodded.

“He’s the one who found her. What a thing to come home to, huh?”