The man from the house, whose name was Clark, swung open the door to the apartment balcony. The dim but effective reflection cast by the interior light had obscured the amount of rain. Now, with the door wide open, he could see how much water was pouring down from he heavens. It was highly likely the city drains would plug with refuse, and there would be flooding again.
He couldn’t see much outside, just an empty balcony and a lot of water. He reached back to the wall beside the window, and flicked on the outside light. It glowed yellow and distorted in the rain. He wasn’t game to step out into it, but he glanced quickly left and right. He didn’t see anything unusual – the empty balconies of other apartments, but he didn’t have a lot of time to look. That one simple peek had cost him a soaking that dripped from his hair and down his face. Either way, he believed what Richard had said about opening to see how heavy the rain was. There was nothing out here. And the simple act of opening the door was enough to soak your sleeve. He shut it again, turned off the light and flicked the lock. He had more to ask of Richard.
There was darkness outside once again. The rain caught glimpses of streetlights in blue, and a hint of yellow from windows, but everything else absorbed the light. From where Sandra lay hidden, once again pressed up against the balcony edge of 305, she could see very little. She’d leapt across the gap without a second hesitation, and only now did the fear start to creep in as she began to think about all the different ways it could have gone horrible wrong. She stopped herself. She had to get out of this rain. And she noticed, as she looked at the inch of water she was sitting in, the drainage on these balconies was awful.
She crawled to the door, and still trying to remain out of site from any direction, she reached up and tried the handle. It was locked. Of course it was locked. There was so much rain now she couldn’t get any wetter, but it made it exceptionally difficult to see properly. She looked over at the balcony for 306. There was a warm light glowing from within. Maybe naked blond guy would be happy to find her on his balcony again. She could be like his mysterious balcony girl. Like Peter Pan. Or Tinkerbell. Ek. This is the worst fantasy ever.
She was snapped back to the real world when a light from within 305 shone onto the balcony. She dropped as low as she could, and huddled into a corner where several canvasses and an easel cast a shadow outside. Shit. Somebody was in there. She couldn’t hear anything because of the rain, but there was something going on. She peaked around the easel and had a look inside.
She saw naked blond guy. He was dressed, in a suit, and moving around the room. There was another man in the room. She couldn’t see him clearly, but they seemed to be arguing. She brushed hair from her face, and tried to stop water from flowing into her eyes. She got closer to the window, and saw the other man turn around. It was Stephen Pohler. What the fuck was he doing here? Whatever it was, it involved the apartment next to where he’s nephews had been killed, and naked blond guy was somehow involved in all of th
She couldn’t tear her eyes away. She tried to read their lips, but even if she was that impossibly clever the water made it impossible to see properly. There was a sudden flash of lightening, and she was momentarily blinded by the reflection. Thunder came shortly after. She rubbed her eyes, and looked back into the room. Her gaze had moved, and she saw something on the wall.
It was a canvas. It was a huge canvas, but it was mounted on the wall. And it was blank. Completely, totally blank. But mounted as a finished product. She turned back to the two arguing. It was getting aggravated. She could see Stephen start to lose his temper, and she was beginning to suspect the he did that a lot. He picked up a canvas and hurled it across the room. Naked blond guy began to plead with him, and then Stephen went to an easel with a half finished painting, water, and paints piled up and hurled it at the wall. He was pointing and yelling and the blond guy, who was backing up closer and closer to the window.
Sandra retreated into her shadow, but she could see them now. She could see Stephen raising his hands and yelling, and blond guy cringing. Stephen got in closer and closer, and he had a bottle of water in his hand. He raised it and brought it down on blond’s head, only he moved and the bottle smashed on the window. Through the water flowing down both sides of the glass she saw blond with a picture frame in his hand, and he brought it down hard on Stephen’s head.
Poor guy, she thought. Two pictures in the head in one day. He seems like an arsehole, but he hoped it wasn’t the same spot.
Stephen shook the pain out of his head and turned to blond, but blond didn’t let him. He swung the frame again, and down it came. This time it drew blood, and Stephen turned as he fell, and his face hit the glass. Sandra saw his face pressed, the cut on his forehead leaving a trail of blood as it slid down to the floor.
Blond guy threw the painting to the floor, and looked around, apparently in shock. He then reached forward to get Stephen when the lighting flashed once more, and it illuminated outside. Blond was looking in precisely the right direction, and saw huddled in the corner a wet and slightly terrified Sandra Walker.
They made eye contact and looked directly at each other. Tinkerbell, Peter Pan, Balcony Fairy – they all felt like they led to murder victim today.
This was not going well.
Ecellent. Too short want more.
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