Complication

Chapter Seven

Michael was glad to be home, but as he stood in the elevator with his suitcase, he couldn't help but feel like he was simply in another hotel. He yawned and stretched his neck. The sun had just risen and he wondered if he would be able to get back to a regular sleep cycle.

The elevator doors slid apart and he strolled out, stopped at his door to fish for the keys. When he tried slipping the key into the lock it simply pushed the door open a crack. He pushed it the rest of the way and took a step back into the hall a little bewildered, a little paranoid. He set his suitcase against the wall, his briefcase on top of it, and entered cautiously. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He made his way to a lamp and clicked it on. The dim light softened up the features of the room and Michael looked around again.

He reached beneath the shade of a second lamp but froze before turning the switch. A sound came from the balcony. Michael turned in time to see a dark figure bounding toward him. The attack came like a train and he tumbled over the top of his desk scattering papers and overturning the chair. He crash-landed on the other side, his bones rattling. A sharp pain bit into his shoulder blade. He grabbed at it and felt a hard bulk of metal. It was the paperweight. He groaned and dropped it aside.

His attacker was shrouded in black, except for a thin strip across the eyes. Michael had only a fraction of a moment before the assailant was upon him again. A ninja, he thought? He might as well have been a ninja; he straddled Michael and threw carefully aimed punches, every one of which managed to slip through and sting him.

Michael reached back behind his head, found the paperweight, grasped hard and swung it. It wasn't a perfect hit, but it caught the assailant above the temple and did the trick. The black shadowy figure rolled away giving him just enough time to get up. The ninja came back with a jump-kick that sent Michael sailing into the wall. He composed himself as best he could and swung the paperweight back and forth in front of him.

The ninja stood still, staring at Michael’s flailing defense. The cloth around his eyes drooped enough revealing irises the color of steal, like cold rainy skies. Michael looked into them. They were restful and at peace, young and bright. They blinked and he hurled the miniature press. The ninja leaned to one side just enough to allow it to pass. It sailed into the next room, smacked against the sliding balcony doors, bounced off and landed upright on the floor. Michael searched for a replacement weapon but the ninja was finished. He pivoted gracefully on the ball of his foot and sleeked out the front door.

He took a look at the mess that remained, the over-turned desk and the shrew of papers, and felt his face for any tender bruises. He couldn't stay at his place, it wasn't safe. He picked up the phone and hesitated before he made himself dial.

“Debora?” he said, his breath more panting than it needed to be. “Listen, I was attacked at my apartment, I need a place to stay. Debora?”

“Yeah, come over.”

On his way out he locked the door and jiggled the handle to test it, not that it mattered apparently. His suitcase was still in the hallway; he grabbed it and headed for the elevator.

Debora answered her door quickly and Michael ducked inside.

“Sorry, there was nobody else.”

“No, it's fine. I'm glad you're alright.”

Debora's hair was down. She tugged on the cuffs of her sweater and looked at her bare feet. Her movement gave Michael the feeling that he had unfairly barged in. He let the weight of his suitcase lean him to one side.

“Would you like coffee or sleep?” Debora asked.

Michael seriously considered. “Maybe sleep, then coffee.” He dropped his luggage by the couch and took his shoes off, laid back. He instantly bolted upright.