Charade

Benji

I felt his weighty presence behind me, with nothing but the cold, unlocked door between us. All it would take was a try of the handle for him to realize I was there, hiding, just out of view. I glanced up at the window above me, begging him to leave.

Then, mercifully, his footsteps retreated. The elevator dinged and he stepped inside before the rickety rust bucket plummeted to the first floor. I sighed in relief and let my legs sprawl across the cold concrete floor. My head lolled back and hit the door. Thank god for small miracles.

I jogged to Vic's door and sank to my knees, letting the prickly beige carpet stab me once again. I grabbed my two silver paper clips from the pocket of my oversized hoodie and turned to face the doorhandle. When I saw it, my heart sank.

Vic, the bastard, had changed the locks. And not just to another lock, but to a digital one. That's right. No entry without the swipe of a card. I sank, sitting back on my heels, and swore. I didn't know the first thing about getting past technology like this, and I bet Vic was counting on that when he changed them. Vic, the fucking control freak, had just ruined my chances of getting to that folder.

Or had he?

I dropped to the floor, lying on the stained carpet, and peered through the gap under the door. I saw it, the folder, just out of my reach. My lips broke into a grin. I examined my long and skinny fingers, hoping for another small miracle.

Quickly, I reached under the door, with splinters poking my knuckles and carpet tickling my skin. I was almost there, could feel the brown paper on my fingertips, just a little bit further and...

The door caught on my knuckles and my hand wouldn't move any further forward.

"No, no, no," I mumbled. "Come on. Come on!"

I tried to reach further, but my hand was jammed between carpet and wood.

"Fuck!" I yelled, frustration exploding in my chest.

It was right there, right fucking there, not two centimetres from me and still I couldn't reach it. I needed something to bring it closer. A pen maybe, or even a ruler. But I had to have it. There was no question. I rummaged around, checking my pockets, looking for something – anything – that I could use. Then, somewhere in my jacket, I pulled out a led pencil. It would have to do.

Slowly, I fed the pencil under the door, moving it around, trying to get it to bring me the folder, but the damn thing moved it left and right, not up and down.

"FUCK!" I screamed, desperately trying to get it to come closer.

I moved the file all the way to the left until it hit the wall. I paused, seeing how close it was, and pulled the pencil back to my side. Impatiently, I tried again, reaching under the door with my skinny fingers. I felt around for it, feeling that godawful carpet, and then I felt the sandy brown paper between my fingers. My lips broke into a wide grin as I tried to pull it closer and closer until finally...

I got it.

I laughed like a madman when I saw it, felt it in my hands, and realized I'd won. Even so, I didn't waste any time. With my back to the door, I opened the file.

I stared at my own displeased, fourteen-year-old face. My first mugshot stared back at me, holding up my placard with a sarcastic glint in my blue eyes. This was my file, my record. Birth certificate, awards I won in primary school, even a participation award from my first and only season of field hockey when I was eight years old.

Then was the less pleasant stuff.

The arrest warrants, the charges I faced, my juvenile record. Breaking and entering, larceny, underage drinking, possession of drugs, intent to sell (that one was bullshit, by the way), assault, assault of a police officer, resisting arrest, vandalism, and about three convictions of disturbing the peace. Oh, and one conviction of public urinating and indecent exposure, which I was sure was the same thing.

Anger boiled in me. This was my file – my life. What right did Vic have to go poking around in it, digging up my past? A sudden stab of betrayal hit me. Why? I don't know. But it was seared into my insides, glowing red in my eyes.

Vic had a file on my life, and now I was going to end his.

© A.G. Travers 2015