Airel - Aaron Patterson [17]
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
I was just about to answer when I heard the door open. I turned and rushed to an empty stall. I shut the door as quietly as I could and crouched down on top of the toilet. I quickly turned off my phone but it played that irritating jingle that’s always way too loud, giving me away. There was silence then for what felt like eternity. Then I heard heavy footfalls. Someone was walking slowly through the room…toward me.
Like a crazy person, he was whistling some random tune, very low, like a whisper. At first it was unintelligible, total nonsense. But then he came even closer to the stall where I hid, and as he did, I swear I could recognize the tune. It was beyond me to put a name to it, but it filled me with horror.
I shivered as he came closer, the footfalls like heavy machinery, dropping like lead weights on the tile floor. I saw under the door the shine of a pair of men’s dress shoes.
Oh God, oh God…! Don’t let him find me… I was crouched like a jungle cat on the toilet and if I could have pinned my ears back, I would have.
I could see him hunch down on the balls of his feet, his coat touching the floor around him like a tent. He started looking under the stall doors, crouching lower. His hand dropped down and a bloody eight-inch long knife was in his hand. I just about screamed but I clamped my hand down over my mouth, only allowing a frightened gasp to escape.
I watched him through the crack of the door, his body tensed like a vicious predator. He sniffed at the air. Then his hands slowly came down and rested on the floor, balled up on his knuckles with silky elegance. It was more frightening than the anger and violence I was expecting. He seemed to be completely calm and collected.
Down he sank, and as he did, he slid his feet back away from his hands. Lower and lower to the floor as if doing a push-up, he descended, the knife in the hand nearest to me.
I could not bear it, but I knew I would see his face... it was inevitable. I dreaded the seconds as they ticked along with me riding inside them, but I also dreaded those that were coming for me.
Then it happened. His face appeared in the small space under the door. He was looking directly at me. I could not bear his gaze. My body twitched and I turned away and trembled in panic.
Then, just as fast as he came in, he was gone.
I started to sob and shake uncontrollably. I stopped myself when I heard the door open again. “Airel, you in here?”
Kim! “Oh God, Kim!” I burst from the stall crying. As she stood there stunned, I clung to her.
“Whoa, hold on, girl—what’s going on? Are you okay?” Kim held me up as I cried. “Airel, it’s okay. I’m here. Everything’s gonna be alright.”
I was sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. The total panic of what had happened was made complete by the sound of screaming people in the lobby outside.
Chapter IX
1250 B.C. Arabia
A tall, cold marble god stood in the snow-driven wind, wrapped in fur and leather. He did not shiver or move as he gazed out from the precipice of a stone cliff that dropped dizzyingly below him. The frozen landscape moaned in protest as the wind pushed stiff tree branches and pulled on strands of long dead grass. It was as if he was not present in that moment—or perhaps he was dead on his feet—frozen in the standing position, only a statue; a carving of someone once strong and brave.
He inhaled the icy air and let out a cloud of vapor that was quickly carried away. His eyes were dark and sparkling under his thick eyebrows. His face was pale, smooth, almost white. Even in the frigid morning light he seemed to be quite comfortable.
A feather of smoke hurried from the top of the small hut behind him. Across the wooded hills, through the trees, a thousand more huts sent up their own smudges of smoke, signifying that life was still smoldering in the little village. Even with the long winter only halfway gone, the people took heart in the simple fact that they were not alone in the dead world. They would not suffer through it in miserable solitude. The