027 POV apartment what's next 1221

The man looks strange now that he's dressed in my clothes. His own attire was sharp and expensive, which added to his menacing aura. Now, dressed in such familiar threads he looks far less threatening. 

'What do you mean by our night has only just begun?' I ask, terrified of what his answer might be. I can't spend the night with this maniac. I need to be rid of him as soon as possible so I can be sure I'm at the airport on time to pick up Lucy. 

'When we met I had a briefcase.' The man says, 'Do you recall?'

My mind flashes back to the moment I first saw him. The briefcase was being carried by the other man.

'I remember the man you shot had the briefcase.'

The man stares at me for a moment before speaking, as though deciding just how much he cares to let me know. 'It wasn't his.'

I wait a moment, expecting him to be more forthcoming about the importance of the briefcase, but he doesn't volunteer anything further. 

'Ok. So what about it? Why's it so important you can't leave my life yet?'

The man draws a deep breath as he chooses his reply carefully. 

'I was charged with the responsibility of delivering it to someone. But because of your interference the case was incinerated in the crash.'

Snippets of images of the flames engulfing the man's Mercedes spring to mind. The thick black chemical smoke billowing out of the shattered windows. The rancid stench burning my nose. Strangely, I can still smell it now.  

'You can't even begin to comprehend the importance of its contents. It's imperative I replace what I've lost, what you caused me to lose. There's no way in hell I can do it alone, not with my leg like this. I need your help. And until that's done, you're not leaving my side.' The man says resolutely. 

These are the last words I want to hear. I need to be away from him immediately. The bedside clock which is usually about ten minutes out says it's two-thirty-two (check) in the morning. In about three hours my daughter will be at the airport and I'm damned if I'm not going to be there. I'm starting to come to realise that if I'm to escape, it's entirely up to me to make it happen. He's not about to just let me go, and no one is going to come to my rescue. The question is, how? How the hell am I going to get away from him. He's always got that gun in hand. Even right now he's got a tight grip on it. It might not be pointed directly at me but I'm sure he could aim and shoot before I could dash out of the room, make it across the living room, open the front door and get out of my apartment.

'It's only natural that you'll want to escape.' The man says as though reading my mind. 'You'll look for an opportunity to get away. You're only human and right now I'm threatening you, I get it. I'd be the same if it were me. But I want to impress upon you the danger of doing so. I will not hesitate to shoot you if you try to escape. Do you understand me?'

I don't reply verbally, instead I just stare at the man. Nothing has changed. Nothing is new. After a moment I offer the faintest of nods. 

'Have you got a plastic bag? Something to put all my bloody clothes in?' The man asks. 

'In the kitchen.' I reply. 

The man extends an arm, that I interpret to mean help me up. Which I do. I then assist him out of the bedroom into the living. Here there's a clear vantage of the kitchen nook. He stands with all his weight on his good leg, gun aimed at me as I retrieve a large trash bag from under the sink.

'Collect up all my dirty clothes and put them in the bag.' He orders. 

I move into the washroom. From where the man stands in the living room he has a clean line of sight of me. It's messy as hell in here. The bathtub is covered with blood. The wall is smeared crimson and so is the floor. I realise that when this is all over, assuming I survive, I'll have to move out of here. If Sukee doesn't kick me out, which is an almost absolute certainty, I sincerely doubt I'd want to live here, not with the memories I'm making at the moment. 

As I stuff the man's torn trousers into the bag, I see a pair of nail scissors on the sink. I keep them there in a plastic cup with my toothbrush and toothpaste. I look up at the washroom mirror and see the man watching me intently. Fortunately, his belt is on the sink. I use my body to obscure my actions. As I pick up the belt I quickly grab the nail scissors but I inadvertently knock over the plastic cup as I do. 

'What are you doing?' The man asks suspiciously. 

I turn around holding up his belt, the scissors are in my hand but hidden enough that the man doesn't notice them.

'Hurry up, bring me my shoes and get the rest of my clothes from your bedroom, we need to get out of here ASAP.'

As I stuff the belt in the bag I palm the scissors and discreetly slip them into my pocket. I then pick up his shoes and drop them to him on my way into the bedroom. I collect up his bloodied t-shirt and sweater and stuff them in the bag. As I pick up his jacket and begin to put this into the bag something slips out of one of his pockets and hits the floor with a thud. 

I freeze in my tracks, unable and unwilling to believe what it is I'm staring at.  Right there, only inches from my feet lies a New Jersey City Police Badge. I look up at the man in shock as I say, 'You're a cop?' 

He doesn't deny or confirm this, instead he says, 'Pass me that.' I bend slowly, pick it up and repeat the badge number over and over again in my head hoping to commit it to memory. Two-six-three-three. Two-six-three-three. Two-six-three-three.

Knowing this man is a police officer doesn't make me feel any better. In fact, it makes me feel worse. It means that he knows exactly how other police will be investigating the murder of the man, and the robbery of the drug store. It means that he's one step ahead of whoever is trying to find him. It also means that he's unlikely to be on any suspect list. It all makes so much sense now. Why he knows about building code violations and what's needed for home surgery. 

As I hand over the badge to the man his cell rings. I don't see the caller ID, but who ever it is it has the same effect as when last his cell rang. The man freezes and for the second time since I've known him, his stoic countenance falters.