Reaper - The Curse

|Sixteen|

June 15th, 2015
Martel Insurance
Fairview, Pennsylvania

The lunchtime rush on the sidewalk outside of Neil's office building was chaotic. People ran and ducked to avoid others. Bike messengers swerved and weaved to steer clear of the crowds. The food vendors shouted names to customers and profanities at petty thieves and rude folks.

All the commotions made him sick to his stomach. In a crowd like this, there were millions of possibilities for potential disaster. It was too much for him to imagine. He ran toward the parking garage across the street and took the elevator to the second floor.

The parking garage was the opposite of the street, calm and quiet. The only people who were present were there to get their vehicle and go home. Even with a serene background, he couldn't escape the panicked feeling that hung tightly to his body since he left the street.

He threw his weight into the driver's seat and slammed his head back into the headrest. His heart was pounding. He could barely catch his breath. All the insanity had struck a nerve, and he couldn't come down from the adrenaline high that was destroying him.

Thunk, click.

Neil froze. The sounds he heard came from the backseat. He flipped down his sun visor and looked through the mirror into the back seat, but he only saw the chairs.

Click, click.

"Don't resist, or I will shoot you," a gruff voice said next to Neil's ear, "Give me all your money." The demand was followed by a chill metal object being pressed against his temple.

He glanced at the visor mirror at the silver pistol in the hand of his mugger, "Are you going to shoot me?"

The man in the back seat bit his lip and readjusted himself, "Not if you give me your money."

Instead of doing as he was told, Neil was silent. He had been ready for his death for so long that he was no longer afraid. He would much rather die by a gunshot to the head than drowning or being murdered by a bike messenger.

"Man, listen. I won't shoot you if you just give me your money." The man's voice became more of a plea, "This doesn't have to get messy."

Neil sighed, "I don't have any money fella, you can shoot me if you want, but it won't change that fact."

The man kicked the back of the driver's seat and bashed Neil's head with the gun. He climbed out of the car and charged toward the stairs. Neil watched the man running away and wondered if he had never killed anyone, and he lost his nerve. Maybe he took pity on Neil's 'shoot me if you must' attitude.

Neil rubbed where the gun had made contact. His hand returned covered in blood. He wasn't surprised. He wasn't anything, and his emotional slate was blank. He opened his trunk and grabbed his emergency bag to clean and dress the wound. He used towels to sop up the blood that covered his dash and put all the used items on a black garbage bag.

He looked to his watch, noon. He would be late to meet Mr. Carter, but he was sure it would be understandable.