Incredible Times

Epilogue

Two years later...

I raise my wrist up to my ear to discern the muffled speech playing from my watch. Leaning against the corner of a building, my blood pumps with excitement, and yet, a much deeper sense of nervousness lies beneath the surface. 

Bob and I have come so far in our relationship, and even though he makes me feel completely and utterly happy, I still can't shake the anxiousness that I currently feel. I pinch the bridge of my nose to clear my head and focus on the words coming from the police scanner built into my watch. Lord knows the distraction is much needed. 

"...have confirmed that a suspected 20-year-old man has stolen a woman's purse. The victim believes that the perpetrator is headed toward the East District, where police believe the suspect will remain until..." 

Static interrupts the rest of the message. I whack the face of the watch with my palm to try to resuscitate the transmitter back to life. Unfortunately, I seem to be out of range of the signal.

Damn. 

My mind races, thinking of a likely place where someone would hide. The East District is full of a lot of abandoned apartment buildings, which could easily be utilized as a rendezvous point. I begin to sprint from the alleyway that I'm posted at, committed to finding the culprit.

As I run, a brief picture of Bob flashes across my thoughts. I wonder if he heard the same police report just minutes ago. If so, how likely would it be that we would cross paths? I exhale a puff of air, not wanting to deal with that right now. 

Just then, a gunshot pulls me away from my trance. My head shoots up to the direction of the sound, and sure enough, it comes from the direction of my destination. Either the police are trying to stop the criminal in his tracks, or worse, the man is armed and someone might be hurt. 

I pick up the pace, and soon enough, I am in the East District. As my feet beat on the pavement rhythmically, I scan the surroundings. No one in the area seems to have been shot, and the East District apartment buildings are a block away. 

I hoist myself onto the roof of a building by a few crumbled windowsills. As I catch my breath on the rooftop, I notice that the police sirens are significantly farther away, meaning that they are still searching or chasing. What if I'm wrong? 

My breathing returns to normal, and I cautiously walk the distance of the roof. I can't explain it, but as I tiptoe along, an ominous feeling clutters my head and crawls into my gut. 

Danger is around the corner. 

The adjacent apartment looms in front of me as I reach the edge of my building. The bottom half of the building is short and stocky. A narrower, taller section of brick and mortar extends from the top, leaving a fairly wide lip encircling the perimeter of the crown.  

I stretch so that I can bridge the gap in one continuous stride, still careful to make as little noise as possible. As soon as I cross the threshold, I hear the scuffling of objects on the pavement, concealed by the narrow brick building. 

Suddenly, I hear the voice of a man echo from the opposite side of the building.

"You know," the voice says, "you can tell a lot about a woman by the contents of her purse, but maybe that's not what you had in mind." 

Bob. 

I hear the feet of the suspect stumble backward as Bob makes his way toward him. I can imagine what Bob looks like perfectly: fists clenched and at his sides, prepared to fight; lips contorted in an intimidating snarl; eyes narrowed.