The Stranger

The Stranger

Every time, I stay in the city, gunshots and screams fill the night air. The city was cold, damp and full of anger from the storm. Some people probably wonder whether, this is the last night they will live. I was thinking, ‘Will I be the city’s next victim? Will something come for me from the shadows of my apartment?’ I lay wondering if I would, some night, be on the ground outlined in chalk, asking ‘why did I come here?’ Yet knowing I was dead, lying on the ground.
The sound of thunder boomed over head. I woke from my thoughts, knew I was still alive. A knock at the door sent me jumping from my bed. I reached into my nightstand’s drawer and grabbed my gun, loading a clip into it. I glanced at the clock, before I going to the door, 2:45 a.m.

(Authors Note: She lives on Manhattan Island, in New York City. People around her get killed every day. She is still not used to it yet. She grew up in a very small town that had no murders.)

         “Help, please help me,” a strange voice pleaded from the other side of the door, a male voice. I opened the door leaving the chain lock in place, I watched a soaked man as he looked at my gun. “Please help me, there after me. He was soaked, and showed lines from lack of sleep, as he looked up and down the hall. He looked back at me when he heard the chain on the lock fall. Still he did not move.
         “Stand over there,” I replied. He did as I asked while I watched the man. I shut the door softly and clicked the deadbolt lock. Seconds later, footsteps ran by the door followed by, “He went this way!” When the steps faded down the hall, the man asked,
         “Please do not shoot me.” I walked into the bathroom still holding the gun, and grabbed a towel. Then I tossed it at him, he caught it and froze.
         “You are shivering from the rain.” I said to him, he seemed harmless, “Now you can dry off.” I put the gun in my robe pocket “Go sit down over there,” I said gesturing to the couch. I went in to the kitchen, nuked in the microwave instant noodles and cup of hot coffee to be hospitable. I never removed the gun from my robe pocket.

(Authors note: The woman in the story makes a very good cup of coffee. She made fresh coffee and set up a tray full of things. She also kept a careful eye on her guest. He simply took off his jacket, and shoes, while looking around drying his dark black hair.)

“Here eat this it will make you feel better.” She said coming back, watching him as his head emerged from under the towel.
         “What is it,” he asked?
         “Food,” I set the tray down on the coffee table. It had milk, sugar, coffeemate, a pot of coffee with a cup and his plate of noodles.  He hesitated and watched me, “I am not going to kill you, with my cooking.”
         “You have a gun.”
         “You knocked on my door in the middle of the night,” I said, “I heard distant gun shots in the storm so I got my gun. I will let you sleep on the couch tonight, be gone in the morning, O.K.”
         “O.K., I will be gone by morning. Why are you doing this?” Not knowing myself I shrugged, he began to eat. I pulled out the gun and checked the clip. He froze, I watched his eyes grow large, the fork obscured with noodles stopped by his mouth. “You are still going to kill me?”
         “No, I am going to bed and I am going to put my gun away, Goodnight sir.” Then I went to door and finished locking it. “You really should get some sleep, you look very tired.” Then I froze you are not going to trash my apartment, are you?”
         “No, I am an undercover cop. My cover was blown by an old collage of mine,” He said, “Thank you for your help. I would have been killed if you did not open your door.”
         “Glad to help, but just in case… Where is your badge?”
         “Why,” he said searchingly?
         “I want to see it.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a leather walet. He tossed it to her. She caught it easy and flipped it open keeping one eye on him. It looked like an authentic police badge.  “Darren,” he looked up as she tossed the badge at him.
         “ I will let you stay the night, but I still have my gun. So do not try anything strange. Just be gone before I get up, I have to go to work in the morning, goodnight again.” I walked past him to my bedroom. After shutting the door I wedged a chair against it. I put my gun on top of my nightstand. Then finally went to sleep.
         When the alarm woke me up in the morning, I grabbed the gun, and unwaged the door, thinking, I will be attacked or my apartment will be a mess. But I founded no man, and the apartment was clean. On the coffee table lay a note.

Thank you for the hospitality.
I may be in that area again tonight.
Sincerely,
Your Mystery Guest,
Darren Blackthorn

(Authors note: I think he wants to see her again, or perhaps he wants to arrest her for having a gun. Who knows for sure, I can tell you, he was not there to kill her, and he really was undercover.)