To Whom It May Concern:
Sorry to all my consistent readers that felt the sting of our long awaited absence. As I stated in chapter one silhouette was a project I was doing for class and that class ended. However a year later, I am reinvigorated with the creativity I need to fuel this bad boy back up. First off I wanted to come to some kind of conclusion for these characters. I have sat down for hours. I have re-read all the stories, my personal notes and worked out where this started, and how it will end, and I'm sure you should all be in for a treat. To anyone who wishes to refresh their memory all of the old silhouettes are in my old notes in 2008 under more notes.
without and further ado I present Silhouette:
More shots come from around the corner.
"I told you....I...had....a ...a...hunch..ssshhh," Detective Nathan Ramone gasps out his final breath of air, he looks out to the world, eyes glazed, as his head falls limply into George's lap; lifeless. George clutches his buddies head to his stomach. He presses the right button on the radio to speak, he presses the plastic to his lips. His breaths come in short bursts.
"Nathan!" tears well up in his eyes, "Nathan," he shakes his partner’s bloody body violently. He pounds at his chest splashing with each strike. A snarls forms on his face. He looks up at the corner he had recently fired at. Instinctively he reloads his gun.
He stands slowly then turns toward the corner. He starts off slowly but then takes off in a trot. He jogs with his gun raised toward the man in the white gloves, covered in his best friend’s blood.
Now was not the time to say I told you so, but Det. George Thomas could feel the guilt of death gripping his shoulder. Cold sweat bubbles on his face as his breathing gets deeper. He presses his body to the brick building and peeks around the corner. Nothing. He looks up at the fire escape above him. He tries to survey the street.
The black top reflects the light from the street lamps into his eye. The cars wall glows blue than red and blue continuously like the lights of an out-door rave. He holds his gun firmly. He notices that this side street is less crowded with cars. He looks for the distinctive white gloves, ready to fire. He thinks of the funeral arrangements to come. He thinks of the long walk from the driveway to the front door of his home where his wife sleeps unsuspecting. I just want to go home tonight, but now was not the time to think I told you so.
Bang!
The bullet blows the brick wall apart near his face. Bits of rock shatter on his face as he pulls away.
“Argh!” he fires back wildly into the night. Get control of yourself, Detective.
More bullets follow in similar fashion wedging and ricocheting off of the building. The street is a cacophony of blasting rock and ringing. Where is he? The ringing stops momentarily. George falls to the floor. Whoever this guy is, he’s an incredibly accurate shot. The old pain in his back starts to remind him why he filed for that desk job.
Then the sickening laughter begins once more. It bounces off of the walls; George could feel it surrounding him. Footsteps signaled movement away from him. He peeks around the corner again. The white gloves flash as the man starts to fade into the distance.
Bang! Bang! Bang! George squeezes at the fading figure. He trots forward.
He glances left and right ever so often. What the hell was going on? Maybe I should wait for backup crosses his mind as he remembers his partner’s lifeless body alongside his car in the middle of the street. But he was all impulse, and anger. There could be no turning back now.
He fights the urged to keel over in pain. He fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a small prescription bottle. It rattles revealingly as he fingers helplessly at the little pills, and shoves too many in his mouth. He chokes it down without water.
He moves as cautiously as possible. He knows that as soon as the drugs kick-in he’ll be able to pursue with something reminiscent of his youthful vigor. He had earned the name cowboy, for his fast drawing antics in the streets. He tries to remind himself of worst times, to curb the growing feeling he wasn’t going to survive this. He looks into the blackened storefront windows. No one was out, no one was awake. Anyone who was in the area must’ve run for cover when they heard gunshots.
The trail was starting to cool as he began to trot. His trot becomes a full sprint. He runs for two blocks. He is stopped abruptly by a clue. On the floor in front of him is a bloody rag, soaked all the way through. He points his gun in all directions as he goes passed a brightly lit parking complex. The open structure glows an off orange red. There are few cars inside. He looks into the florescent bulletproof security booth. He sees a black woman who looks pre-occupied with some kind of screen.
Tap, tap.
She doesn’t move. He looks around frantically.
Tap, tap.
His index and middle finger hit the glass again. This time she looks up. She makes eye contact with George and looks back at the tiny television. He taps again. She points to a sign on the window that reads: PLEASE DIVERT ALL QUESTIONS TO OUR WEBSITE AT FREEPARK24@GMAIL.COM AND NOT THE GUARD THANK YOU
He taps again with annoyance.
She turns on the speaking monitor.
“You can’t read?” she grunts angrily.
He flashes his badge to the window.
“Detective George Thomas Chicago PD.”
“And? I’m trying to watch my pictures.”
“Did you see a man with white gloves run by?”
“What?”
“A man, with white gloves, did you see a one running by about 6’ tall, wore a black-“
“No, I ain’t seen no man with black gloves. Sorry.” She says as she abruptly cuts off the speaker. She turns back towards the television.
He taps once more patienceless. The static click of the speaker turns on once more.
“What is it now?”
“A couple? Did you see a couple come in here in the last I don’t know ten or fifteen minutes.”
“A couple?”
“Yes. A fucking couple.”
“Listen officer you don’t need to cuss at me, I’m a defender of the public as well.”
“I’m sorry, this is a life and death situation, have you seen a couple.”
“Yes I saw a couple.”
“Did you get a good look at them?”
“No not quite, they just came in and took the elevator up stairs. I didn’t pay no mind to it except right
before they came a car had just recently pulled in. But I saw the man driving and his hands didn’t have no white gloves or nothing.”
“That’s all.”
His eyes look over at the metallic door on the far side of the complex.
“That elevator?”
“Yes,” she pauses “you said this was a life and death situation?”
“Yeah,” he shouts as he trots over toward the elevator.
“Should I call the cops?”
“I am the cops.”
He examines the door closely. Blood. He looks down and sees blood on the concrete as well. Did he hit
the man with the white gloves or did this belong to one of the couples? He drops down to feel the blood on his finger tips. Warm. Whoever it belongs to, it’s fresh. He remembers the hurried couple that the man with the white gloves was chasing and wondered how they fit into it.
Just then sirens blare behind him. He turns back quickly, more fire trucks, they must be stuck behind his car.
“Fuck” he whispers under his breath. Going back would mean letting this murdering bastard get away without so much as a description. But there was a building on fire, many innocent lives lay in the balance. He was an old man he was going to get himself killed. Who was he kidding, chasing shooters in the middle of the night with no back-up?…Nathan.
He runs back to the security booth. He notices the woman staring alertly.
“ Is everything okay? I’m nervous.”
“You’ll be fine, in there. Call 911 tell them that you spoke to Detective George Thomas, and he needs a crime scene investigation team immediately. Badge number 9821”
“Okay, this is exciting, I feel like I’m on Law and Order.”
“One more thing, did the couple leave? Did a car pull out since they came?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, I have to open the gate manually.”
“If a car comes to leave no matter what happens, don’t let them out.”
“I can’t do that, it’s against policy, if they pay I can lose my job.”
“Listen! My fucking partner just died tonight alright! If you let anyone out you’ll go to jail for interfering with an investigation!”
His heart races as he pushes the button to the elevator. He steps in and presses all the buttons and steps out of the elevator before the door closes. He runs back over to the booth.
“I’m sorry for cursing at you.”
The security guard smiles with the phone to her ear and waves him on. He opens the door to the stairwell cautiously. His heart races uncontrollably as it swings towards him revealing a dank grey concrete stairwell. He swallows hard like an old cowboy does before a gun fight, and thinks of who will make the walk from his driveway to his front door in the morning.
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