Noir
...st there was the shock of it, and then I was standing there, drenched in fear. Every shadow seemed to jump out at me. Another scream. The hair on the nape of my neck stood high and goose bumps crawled up my skin. Being as neared as I was I could hear the inflection of the shriek better. The yell seemed more like a war cry rather than a terror stricken plea. I lifted my foot and placed it inside the doorway, the wood creaked and I jumped at it. “Why am I doing this, it’s probably just some woman freaking out,” I said to myself again, looking at my foot which seemed to stay perpetually stuck inside the doorframe. I was just lying to myself, I knew it. Being this close I could make out two voices arguing to each other, no, correction: one voice yelling and the other was begging. A small crash would be heard from upstairs like a hand punching a wall every few seconds. “Just a civil dispute.” I said to myself. “I have a job to do, I can’t be standing around waiting for something to happen, Joe is probably long gone by now. Right, I’ll just head back and let the police settle this argument.” I paused, I knew deep down inside this wasn’t just some civil dispute; something inside me just felt that I should walk in there right now. Something deep down inside told me to take that final step into the doorway and I did just that. “Where the hell is he?” Joey asked from behind the steering wheel of a beater car. He was dressed in a brightly colored jumper suit with several colors of yellow and aqua that stood out against the bleak and desperate background of the neighborhood. “He’ll be here just wait. Keep the car off.” Chris’s voice said coming from the passenger side of the car, he was dressed in a three piece suit, “He probably doesn’t know his way around this place.” “This place is a shithole.” Joe said tightening his grip on the steering wheel with building impatience. “He better hurry up.” Chris gave a forced grin; He didn’t want to do what they were going to, but it had to be done. He and Joey just needed to wait for the bastard to get back here, but he sure was taking his jolly old time. Once he got there they would do their thing and leave, hopefully to never come back. “Jesus Christ.” Chris said breaking a silence between the two, “This place gives me the creeps; I keep reaching for my gun every time the damned wind picks up.” “Calm down Joe.” Chris said nonchalantly, “we’ll be out of here soon”. Now that I was in the house the noise upstairs seemed to cease besides some idle debates and pacing footsteps. I treaded slowly through the main hallway that led past a telephone on a mahogany table pressed against the wall. On the table was the novel Modesty Blaise by Peter O’Donnell, but without sparing another second I continued my crafty trek through the main hallway. I clamped my teeth down and contorted my lip into a snarl of concentration, trying to stay as stealthy as possible. The moonlight flooded into the kitchen which was visible at the end of the hallway. The light seeped beyond the kitchen slightly, but the foyer was still shrouded in darkness. My foot slowly lifted in front of the staircase, the first step creaked as my heel rested firmly on it. I closed my eyes in meditation, trying to prevent any further noise. I brought my next foot up, but before it could fall onto the second step a loud deafening crack echoed through the seemingly empty house, I recognized the sound from anywhere, it was a gunshot. Tossing aside all attempts at silence I sprinted up the steps with adrenaline enhanced speed, shoving my hand into my suit and pulling out a sleek black pistol. When I reached the top of the steps, it emerged into a second floor main hallway. The first door on the left was open and I dashed for it, crouching down next it and holding the gun to my cheek bone. Fatigue caught up with me, and I began to breathe harder and heavier. Time was short; I needed to make a move. I jumped into the doorway still in a crouching position. In the room was a silhouette of a woman standing over her husbands limp body. The top portion of his head was completely gone and a spray of blood caked the walls and floor nearest the body, he was executed. The woman made no reaction to my move but simply stood over her husband’s corpse, breathing with both deep regret and long awaited relief. Her hair was scraggly and shielded her eyes from view. I waited, my gun beaded right on her chest, waiting for her to make a move to try and shoot me next. She didn’t, we stayed like that for what seemed like years. At first I expected her to drop the gun and fall to her knees, but instead she tilted her head up, staring at me with an animals rage. Her eyes were the loveliest green one could ever imagine, contrasting the unforgivable deed she just performed. I still held my gun level and waited to see what she would do. She continued to stare at me. Her chest rose and fell with gasps of pure hate, the lips on her face were white with fear and wrath, not moving or twitching. The gun in her hand dangled, pointed at the ground. After a few more moments-that-felt-like-years passed she lifted the gun, very gradually. I could slowly see the inside of the barrel reveling itself more and more as it rose with steady pace towards me. A second gunshot that night rang out as my pistol recoiled, and the woman collapsed to the ground. Her body fell around itself like a rag doll and the gun softly touched the ground and slid out of her open hand. Her blazing green eyes, still filled with hate, stared up at me. I waited a few moments, and then stood. Someone watching might think I was oblivious...