Page 57 of Mayfly

Gun at the ready, I walk toward the stairs on the opposite side of the barren, cement ground level of the Millenium Mills building. Debris and remnants of its past life still scatter the floor, and the concrete skeleton is all that remains.

At the stairs, I look up into the void where the floor is missing on every level until the roof blocks out the sun. Then I hear something.

That’s where I’m meant to be.

My shoes aren’t built for this. But as the hole in the floor beside me gets deeper and deeper, I never make a sound.

There’s a scuff.

A muffled scream.

I want to strip off my suit.

I'm never this hot.

This will be my last job.

I climb higher.

My heart beats faster.

The groaning is louder.

One more flight to go.

There’s a thud, and heavy, tense breathing.

I step onto the top floor landing.

I creep to the side of the open hole where a door should be.

I press my back against it, and listen.

Silence.

Is this the right room?

Metal scratches across concrete in short, sharp scuffs.

Then a long, slow scrape.

A muffled scream.

A lamenting sigh.

“Try that again, and over you go.”

I smash my head back against the wall behind me as blood lust swells in my veins.

This was going to be my last job.

There’s another thud, but this time there’s no reaction.

I bang the fist holding the gun against my forehead.

The satchel falls to the ground.

I hold my breath until I can feel my skin pulsing.

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