massive explosion went off that engulfed and incinerated the officers in a brilliant blaze that shook the side of the building.
It’s a long way to the top
There was a loud bang that shook the floor beneath their feet and Alice moved the phone away from her ear as she stared down at building rubble around her feet as it stopped shaking.
“What was that?” Eric asked concerned.
“Alice!” Wendy’s voice called out from the phone, “Are you alright?”
Alice brought the phone back to her ear, “Yeah. Something happened. I don’t know what but—“
“There was an explosion.” Wendy cut her off.
“What?”
“I’m watching it on the news. The news anchor says there was a large explosion… Four policemen were just killed.”
“Oh my God.” Alice gasped in disbelief.
With the sound of the word explosion echoing in her head, Alice slowly walked past Eric towards the window.
“What?” Eric asked concerned.
She stared out the window at the circus below as people ran around in panic; some of them were bleeding and coughing in the debris as the dust settled. There were a few bodies lying in the street and a woman was crawling towards a nearby police car. Eric joined her at the window and gasped at the sight of the devastation down below.
“What the hell.” Eric asked in thought.
“It’s the masked gunman. It has to be.”
“Now he’s planting bombs?”
They both stared out at the panicking people down in the street a moment longer and tried to put together the puzzle pieces. Why would he plant bombs?
“It’s personal.” Alice said as if having an epiphany.
“What?”
She wasn’t making sense. It had to be the stress of the situation, he thought as he stared at her. She didn’t pay attention to him and kept staring out the window as if all hope was lost. She was afraid of dying – more of dying trapped in a building with a masked gunman hunting them down like animals.
“We’re not making it out alive.”
“Alice.” Eric insisted.
Alice snapped out of her momentary daze and stared at Eric with much concern in her eyes.
“This is personal.” Alice said, “This guy has a grudge. I think he used to work here and I think he blames this entire company for whatever went wrong in his life.”
“That makes no sense. Who just picks up a shotgun and kills people?”
“Think about it.” she insisted, “He didn’t simply pick up a shotgun. He waited for the right day. Everyone that works here knows this old elevator acts up every other week. He must’ve known the elevator’s out of order and the stairs would be our only escape – that’s why he started a fire in the stairwell. He blocked us in. And I think the bombs are to keep the police at bay. He wants to take his time and kill as many of us as he can.”
A chill ran down Eric’s spine as he realized that she had a point. There was a possibility that they wouldn’t make it out of the building except in a body bag – a reality he wasn’t ready to accept just yet. He had so many things he still wanted to do and see and regretted not doing. The thing he regretted the most was never asking Tim’s number despite placing a coffee order with him almost every day while flirting his ass off.
“Do you remember that crazy guy?” Alice asked, “The one that rambled about demons?”
“Yes, I remember him. You think it’s him?”
“Could be.”
“We have to be extra careful then.” Eric said, “We will get to that roof and we will get out of this alive.”
Eric took a hold of Alice’s hand and though it trembled just as much as his own, he tried to be brave for the both of them. There was no use in panicking anymore. The only important thing was to get out alive. The scenario had changed which meant that their plan for survival had to change with it if they were to survive this nightmare. They weren’t facing any ordinary gunman. He was clinically insane and was more dangerous than the devil himself… and he was trigger-happy.
The clown-masked man stepped out of the stairwell and glanced at the big ‘10’ insignia against the wall like a countdown to his ultimate target on the top floor. The shotgun dangled next to his leg as he walked across the quiet and seemingly abandoned floor where not even shadows dared to linger. He stared at the rows of cubicle workstations; every last one seemed abandoned. News of a crazed masked man shooting people had obviously reached the floor and people were hiding.
He walked down the first row of cubicles – taking his time to check under the desks. The first three were empty, but when he got to the fourth cubicle he spotted a woman cowering underneath her desk. She hugged her legs like a baby and sobbing softly as she buried her face in her arms. Upon hearing his boots coming to a halt, she looked up and when she saw the man standing at her desk she started crying uncontrollably.
“No. Please!” She pleaded, “I have a little girl.”
A few cubicles down a man emerged from underneath his desk. He was trembling like a weed in the wind, but stood upright and bravely stuck out his chest in protest as he cleared his throat. The gunman turned his head and the man gulped with terror when he saw the palpable and wickedly smiling clown mask.
“Please.” The man pleaded, “It’s not too late to stop what you’re doing.”
The clown made a complete turn and faced the shivering man who stared down at the shotgun that dangled next to the clown’s leg and then back at the horrid mask. Maybe standing up and being brave wasn’t such a good idea, but if the clown shot his co-worker he would’ve been next. Somehow someone had to put a stop to the madness. Perhaps if he talked some sense into the gunman he’d stop the killings? It was worth a try.
“We all have families.” The man said with a shaky voice, “Just as I’m sure you have. Is this what your family would want? Is this how you’d want to be remembered?”
The clown lifted the shotgun, took a step forward and instinctively the man raised both hands and spoke quickly.
“Please.” The man pleaded, “Think of what you’re doing. You’re orphaning many children in one day. It’s not too late to stop.”
The man’s lower lip trembled and a tear dangled at the edge of his left eyelid as he kept a watchful eye on the approaching clown. The clown cocked the shotgun and pointed it at the man who shielded his head and closed his eyes tightly. It was all over. The gunman would take him away from his family within a matter of seconds.
The clown’s finger tightened around the trigger, but before he could squeeze it a nearby phone rang. The clown’s grip around the trigger relaxed and the man was surprised to still be alive as he slowly opened his eyes.
The clown just stood there and stared at the ringing phone for a moment before pointing his shotgun at the ringing phone; motioning for the man to answer it. The man obliged and walked over to the phone, but hesitated a moment and then answered the call.
“Hello?”
“My name is Sergeant Wilson.” Sergeant Wilson said, “Who am I speaking to?”
“M-m-my n-name is J-John. J-John Booth.”
“John, are there other people with you?”
John stared over at the clown and was reluctant to answer out loud. He didn’t want to disclose that there were more people hiding throughout the office. He nodded as he slowly looked away from the clown.
“Yes.” John whispered into the receiver.
“Good. John, by now you probably know there’s a man in the building shooting people?”
John nodded and said, “Yes.”
“We’re doing everything we can to get you out alive. Our bomb squad has arrived and are working on defusing the bomb at the main entrance. Our sniper team is on their way. I need you to all stay in one room and barricade yourself.”
“Uhm…” John uttered.
John was unsure as to what to respond. If he said something wrong, there might be a chance that the clown would shoot him where he stood.
>
“What’s wrong? Is the shooter there with you?”
John nodded and then said, “Yes.”
“John, you’ve been very brave so far, but I’m going to need you to do me a favour. Hand the phone to the shooter. I’d like to speak to him.”
John stared down at the receiver in his hand and then over at the clown; hesitant to step closer to the devilish fiend, but eventually held out the receiver.
“He wants to speak to you.” John said.
The clown simply stood there; staring at John’s quivering hand and then suddenly he took a step towards John who shifted uneasily. The clown grabbed the phone from John’s hand and put the receiver to his ear, but said nothing. He simply listened and breathed heavily like someone who was suffering from asthma.
“Hello?” Wilson asked, “Who am I speaking to?”
He didn’t respond. John took a cautious step back and kept staring at the clown who toyed with the shotgun as he grew impatient.
“My name’s Sergeant Wilson.” Wilson said, “I’m the person in charge here. Can I get your name?”
The clown didn’t respond.
“Okay.” Wilson said as he realized that it would be a one sided conversation, “Do you mind if I call you Stephen? Stephen King’s one of my favourite writers. Do you read by any chance? Books are my passion. They’ve gotten me through some dark times. What do you do to unwind? Is there anything you want or need? Can I get you a pizza or a burger?”
There was a moment of silence and John grew concerned as to what was happening. The eyes to the mask were as dark as a raven’s wing and robbed of any human emotion; it was like a dark abyss.
“Is your real name Godfrey?” Wilson broke the silence.
The clown tightened his grip on the receiver as his patience wore thin. Sergeant Wilson had hit a nerve – and he was short of nerves.
“It’s Godfrey, isn’t it?”
“Today I am God.” The clown’s voice sounded like thunder.
“Now calm down. No need to get agitated. At least we’re communicating. I’ve read your file. Let me help you? I have doctors that can help.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“I didn’t say you were.” Wilson said, “I just meant that you need to figure out how to manage your anger. I understand you’re angry about losing your job, but this isn’t going to resolve the problem. You’re killing innocent people. I want you to think carefully about what you’re doing. Is this really who you are? Are you really the type of person who wants to take fathers away from their children? Wives away from their husbands? Children away from their parents?”
His breathing became louder as the last of his patience ran out.
“Godfrey,” Wilson said, “How about we change the situation a bit? Instead of killing innocent people, rather keep them hostage? I can try and meet your demands, but if you keep on killing innocent people, I’ll have no other choice but to take you out with a sniper.”
There was a moment of silence.
“What do you say?” Wilson said, “It’ll cost you nothing to send out a couple of hostages in good faith. How about sending out John? Give me something to work with? Send me a few hostages?”
“What do you say?” Wilson said, “It’ll cost you nothing to send out a couple of hostages in good faith. How about sending out John? Give me something to work with? Send me a few hostages?”
There was no response. Sergeant Wilson stared up at the building in front of him and let out a heavy sigh of frustration. He wanted to resolve the situation as swiftly and effortlessly as possible, it was like talking to a brick wall. He had no idea in what state of mind Godfrey was – something that made his job even more difficult.
Medics were attending to some of the injured people a few feet away from him while a squad of bomb experts were carefully studying the homemade bomb at the front entrance, but all Wilson hear was silence – uncomfortable silence like the calm before a storm and he was growing concerned. He stared up at the top of the building. Why was the