Lights Out

by Amy Cross

  He looks along the street again, and the man in the hoodie is gone.

  Good.

  Another distraction gone, and now the calm before the -

  “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

  Startled, Anders turns and sees that two women have come up behind him in the alley. He immediately gets to his feet, shocked that he didn't hear the women approach; he always thought he could hear anyone approaching within twenty feet, so he's horrified by the idea that somebody was able to creep up on him.

  He reaches for his gun.

  “We're running an overnight hostel,” one of the women says, with a comforting smile. “If you need somewhere to stay, if you need to get off the streets, we can look after you.”

  “It's free,” the other woman adds. They both seem nervous. “Nobody should be out alone on a night like this. You should be safe. Living on the streets is hard enough on regular nights, but with all the power off...”

  “Living on the...”

  Anders' voice trails off for a moment.

  “Living on the streets?” he says finally, as he decides to leave his gun hidden. “You think I'm homeless?”

  The woman simply smile at him.

  “Do I look homeless?” he asks.

  They conspicuously looks him up and down for a moment.

  “A little,” one of the women says finally, “but that's okay. We're not here to judge. Our shelter is in an old warehouse just a few corners away and we'd love to have you stay with us. We have food and water, and log-burners to keep everyone warm, and there'll be light and you'll be completely safe. It won't be like...”

  She looks along the street for a moment, as if she's worried about something.

  “Nobody really knows what'll happen tonight,” the other woman adds, “do they? I'm sure everything will be fine, but just in case, wouldn't you like to be somewhere a little nicer?” She hesitates, as if she's really nervous, and then suddenly she steps forward and puts a hand on Anders' shoulder.

  He flinches.

  “You don't have to be alone,” she continues, with tears in her eyes. “And after, we can help you some more. Maybe there's someone out there who'd like to hear from you. Some lost family members, perhaps? We can also help you find somewhere to live in the long-term and -”

  “I'm not homeless!” Anders protests.

  “Of course you're not,” the other woman says, stepping forward, “but wouldn't you like a home with a roof?”

  “I don't live in his alley!” he says firmly. “Ladies, I appreciate your concern, but I don't need your help. Please, go and find somebody who's more deserving of your help. Don't waste your time on me.”

  “Are you just going to sit here all night?” the first woman asks.

  “I'm off soon,” he replies. “I was just... enjoying the peace and quiet.”

  The second woman opens her mouth to ask another question, but at the last moment she holds back. She turns to her friend, who nods slightly as if they've both finally realized that it's time to move on.

  “Good luck,” the first woman says. “We both mean that most sincerely. And if you change your mind, come to the back door of the Blecker building and knock, and we'll be most happy to accommodate you.”

  “Thank you for the offer,” Anders replies, trying to remain polite while inwardly desperate for them to leave. “I'm sure you're doing very good work.”

  The women smile at him for a moment, before muttering their thanks and turning to walk away. Anders watches them, and he breathes a sigh of relief as they disappear around the alley's far corner. He can't shake the feeling that something was a little off with both women, but he's also sure that they weren't dangerous. He's always considered himself to have something of a gut instinct when it comes to such things, and as he turns to look back toward the tower he reasons that the women were merely do-gooders who came across as a little strange.

  Checking his watch, he sees that it's now ten past five. He knows the next few hours will be tough and slow as he waits for Cassie to arrive, but he also knows that she will arrive. She has to. For Tom Dansing.

  And then, as he looks back toward the tower, Anders is shocked to see that the sky has darkened significantly, and that faint ribbons of red light are dancing through the heavens as the much-anticipated solar storm finally arrives.

  Chapter Sixteen

  17:20pm

  “Like veins of the gods, they dance before us,” Essien says as he sits cross-legged by the window, watching the red ribbons getting brighter and brighter. “Like arteries of the universe, they...”

  His voice trails off as he stares out at the darkening sky.

  “What rhymes with 'us' in that context?” he asks after a moment, before looking down at the notebook in his lap. “I need this poem to really start with something beautiful. I need to set the scene. What do you think, Randall? Do those things out there look more like veins, or more like arteries?”

  “Are you really planning to write an entire book of poetry during the solar storm?” Randall asks, watching from his position on the sofa. “That seems ambitious, Sir, even by your usual standards.”

  “You say that like it's a bad thing,” Essien replies, his pencil-tip hovering above the page, poised to complete the latest line. “A man without ambition might as well give up on life. I've been a success in everything I've tried, Randall, but I've always yearned to express myself through the written word. I want to connect with my inner self. I want to write about my experiences.”

  “Torture, gun-running and decapitations?” Randall whispers.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing, Sir,” he adds. His right hand is still resting on the gun that's hidden beneath his jacket. “I'm just seeing another side of you, that's all. When you talked about poetry before, I suppose I never really thought you took it this seriously.”

  “I hide my passions sometimes,” Essien replies, biting his bottom lip as he continues to watch the oncoming solar storm. “I suppose I was a little embarrassed, but I want to show that a man can be tough and hard and also sensitive. Why shouldn't the great Michael Essien write a book of poetry? And how can a night such as this fail to inspire? I just need to find the right words to express what I'm feeling right now.”

  “Good luck with that,” Randall mutters, watching the back of Essien's head.

  “Like veins of the gods, they dance before us,” Essien says again.

  “Do veins dance, Sir?” Randall asks.

  “Huh?”

  “Do veins dance? I don't think they do.”

  “It's poetic, Randall,” Essien replies. “Don't you have any poetry in your soul?”

  “Perhaps not enough, Sir,” Randall says with a sigh. “I've always been more of a practical man. I believe that's why you hired me in the first place.”

  “Speaking of which,” Essien says, “maybe it's time to check in with the men you've positioned in the building. Make sure they're not sleeping on the job.”

  “Unfortunately, I can't check in with them,” Randall points out. “I can't call them, and the power-cut means that all the access points linking the penthouse to the rest of the tower are out of action. I'm afraid we're stuck up here for the night, Sir, and there's nothing we can do about that.” He reaches under his jacket and takes hold of the gun's handle. “Nobody can get in, and nobody can get out.”

  “Is that a good idea?” Essien asks. “What if there's a fire?”

  “There won't be a fire, Sir.”

  “There'd better not be.” Essien pauses, still looking out at the ribbons in the sky, and now his eyes are filled with flashes of red light. “Nobody said it was going to be this beautiful,” he continues after a moment. “It's nights like this that make you almost believe in a higher power. I know the science behind the whole thing, but still, nights like this just make you wonder if perhaps there's something beyond the realms of man's knowledge.” He turns to Randall. “See? I told you I can be poetic.”

  “You c
ertainly did,” Randall replies as Essien turns to scribble some more words in his notebook. “It's an interesting new side of you to see, Sir.” He keeps his hand on the gun, but for now he's content to listen to his boss speak. The nasty stuff can wait. “Please, go on,” he adds. “I should like to hear more of your thoughts on this oh-so-very-special night. Your insights, Sir, are so very fascinating.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  18:00pm

  There he is again.

  Anders watches as the man with the hoodie disappears along a side-street. Not just any side-street, either. Anders has been keeping tabs on the man for a while now, and he's begun to notice a pattern. The man keeps taking the same route, and Anders is fairly sure that this route keeps him walking around and around the tower. In fact, Anders is very much starting to think that Hoodie-Man has been told to keep an eye on the place.

  What would I do, if I had to guard this tower and its megalomaniac inhabitant? Anders asks himself.

  The answer is simple enough.

  He'd place his men at key points inside the tower, and then he'd post one of them outside to act as a first line of defense. He'd make sure that the outside guy was one of his best, someone who could identify a threat early and then deal with it quickly. Obviously there'd be no way for the outside guy to warn anyone inside the tower, so the outside guy would have to be in place to use maximum force against anyone who dared come closer. That, or he'd serve as a deterrent.

  But he hasn't seen me yet, Anders tells himself. If he'd seen me, he'd have come to get me already. It's six o'clock already and the sky is rippling redder and redder as evening falls. One of us would be dead by now.

  Which means that Anders has the advantage.

  Making his way along a darkening street, hurrying from to shadow, Anders is already reminding himself that he needs to stay alert. He's a little surprised that not only did he not spot Hoodie-Man sooner, but that he let those two women sneak up behind him in the alley. He knows he's rusty, that he hasn't been on an operation for a long time, but he'd thought he was still able to run at the top of his game. Now he's worried, he has doubts, but he keeps telling himself that he just needs to focus more. He also knows that everything will be easier in one hour from now, because Cassie will have arrived by then.

  He stops at the end of the next street. Based on his observations so far, Hoodie-Man should be coming right past in a few minutes' time. Anders is already trying to figure out what he should do next, but deep down he already knows that Hoodie-Man can't be allowed to remain active. Slipping into another alley, he leans back against the wall and slides down to crouch behind a set of bins, and then he waits. In ordinary circumstances he'd already be running, he'd know that his cover is blown; with no surveillance systems operational, however, he understands that this time he's relying on his ability to avoid Hoodie-Man's attention, and in this at least he's certain he's been successful.

  He waits, and finally Hoodie-Man walks past the alley.

  Reaching into his pocket, Anders takes out a gun and checks that it's ready, and then he makes his way to the end of the alley. He considers firing from here, just to take the man out, but then he realizes that somebody might hear the gunshot rising above the unusual silence of the city. He could use a silencer, but that's not something he bothered to bring, so he slips the gun away and tries to come up with another plan. Finally, once Hoodie-Man is out of view, he turns and heads the other way, determined to find a spot where he can hide and plan an ambush.

  A few minutes later, Anders is lurking behind a van that has been left further up the street. He's confident that, from here, he can get a jump on Hoodie-Man. Already, he's abandoned the gun in favor of a discreet knife that he'd been keeping strapped to his right boot. He doesn't like getting his hands dirty, but he knows that sometimes there's no other option.

  So he waits.

  And he waits.

  And while he waits, he counts down the minutes until Hoodie-Man is due to come past again.

  Eventually the moment arrives, but there's no sign of anyone.

  In the distance, far off, a scream briefly rings out. It's too far away to worry Anders, and he supposes the night will be filled with lots of little hints of events happening in the city. He wants to believe that the night will pass without too much incident, that people will be good to one another, but he's seen enough examples of human nature to know that not everyone will behave properly. He's already dreading the news reports that are going to come out over the next few days, filled as they'll surely be with tales of nastiness and brutality.

  A moment later he hears footsteps approaching, and he peers under the van just in time to see that Hoodie-Man is on his way.

  Anders waits, breathing slowly and quietly, trying to judge the best moment to make his move.

  Hoodie-Man walks past the van.

  Rushing out after him, Anders grabs the man from behind and pulls him back, while placing the knife's blade against the man's throat.

  “What the fuck, dude?” Hoodie-Man gasps as he drops to his knees. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “I know what you're doing out here,” Anders says firmly.

  “What do you mean?” Hoodie-Man asks, his eyes filled with panic. “I'm just heading home!”

  “Around and around?” Anders replies. “I don't think so. You're patrolling, and I know why. There's no point trying to lie to me.”

  “Dude, you've got the wrong person! I swear on my life, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about!”

  “Really?” Anders sneers. “So tell me, is your right hand not slowly reaching toward a weapon concealed under your coat?”

  He waits, and in that instant he sees Hoodie-Man's right hand stop moving.

  “That's better,” Anders continues, as he tightens his grip on the man's shoulder. “Now if you tell me everything, and if I believe you, I might let you live. Exactly how many men does Essien have in that tower, excluding himself?”

  “I don't -”

  “How many men?” Anders shouts.

  Hoodie-Man hesitates, and then a kind of anger crosses his face.

  “Five,” he says finally. “I think. Maybe four. Not including Essien himself, and not including me.”

  “Where exactly are they positioned in the building?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Think harder!”

  “I don't know!” the man hisses. “I swear, I've been out here for hours, just walking around the building. Fuck, I don't know anything!”

  “I almost believe you,” Anders replies, as he slides the knife to one side of the man's throat. “What's your name?”

  “Callum.”

  “Well, Callum, we have a problem. I don't like killing, but I also don't trust you. If I let you go -”

  “I'll run, I swear!” he blurts out. “I won't look back!”

  “I would like to believe you.”

  “It's true,” the man continues. “I'm just a gun for hire, I don't care about any of this. I've got a wife and two sons, and I'm not willing to die for that asshole in the tower. If you let me go, I'll run and you can carry on with whatever you're doing.”

  “What if I want you to stick around for a while?” Anders asks. “What if I want you to act as a guide?”

  “Whatever, dude. You're the one holding the knife, so I'll do whatever you want.”

  Anders stares at him for a moment, with the blade still pressing against the man's throat. This is the first time in many years that he's been in a situation like this. The run-in with those idiots earlier doesn't count. This is life or death, this is important, and Anders has to admit that he can feel his heart racing. In some ways, he's missed this kind of encounter, even if deep down he already knows that it's only a warm-up for what'll come once he gets up the tower.

  “I'm going to let you stand up after a count of five,” he says finally. “Do you understand?”

  “I swear, dude.”

  “If you try anything, I'll kill you
.”

  “Totally.”

  “If you even look at me funny, I'll kill you.”

  “I get it.”

  “If you ever -”

  “I get it!” the man snaps. “You'll kill me!”

  “Okay.” Anders hesitates. “Don't move until I get to five.”

  “I swear.”

  “One.”

  Anders stares down into the man's eyes, searching for the truth.

  “Two.”

  He waits.

  “Three.”

  There it is.

  “Four.”

  Suddenly Anders slices the knife straight across the man's throat, cutting straight through. Blood sprays out as the man lurches forward, and Anders steps back a few paces.

  Gasping as he slumps against the pavement, the man clutches his slit throat as he tries to drag himself forward.

  “I'm sorry, my friend,” Anders says, watching his death throes, “maybe you were telling the truth, but I can't be too careful. I hope you were lying about having a wife and children. If you weren't, I'm very sorry for them, but it's not my fault that their father got himself involved with criminal scum like Michael Essien. I hope you got paid upfront, and I hope you gave the money to your family before you came out here tonight.”

  The man rolls onto his back. Blood is still spraying from his wound as he gasps desperately for air.

  “It takes a long time to die, doesn't it?” Anders says, checking his watch. “I'd come over and end it for you more quickly, but I'm a little worried that you might try something. So unfortunately I'll just have to stand here and wait for you to be done. In case you're interested, after you're dead I'll be sliding your body under this van. Someone'll find it in the morning, but I'll make sure there's nothing to connect you back to me.”