Out on a Limb

An Unexpected Guest

And now it was Ferguson's turn.

Don's climb went exactly as planned (just as the execution of all his trysts and acquaintances did, save the whole premature ejaculation thing when he was twelve, and the less than smooth disposal of his parents when he was fourteen). In short order he passed the twenty-eighth floor and its cooing pigeons, found the cracked moulding on the twenty-ninth and established his footing, and then launched himself upward towards his final destination just as he intended. There was no worry as to whether or not the window would be open on the thirtieth floor because it was always open. It was one of many ticks Ferguson possessed, and while seemingly the most innocuous (and definitely at the bottom of a list of things like the grotesque handkerchiefs he left full of spittle and snot laying around his home and office, or the way he tongued the chapped skin on his lips and chewed at the crusty, dangling flesh with his yellowing dentures), it was yet another opportunity Donald was able to turn to his advantage and use towards completing his task this evening.

The realization of his summit fulfilled, he spent several minutes watching Ferguson go about his business, though it wasn't much of a show in terms of entertainment value. The elderly man read over a handful of documents, cursed and chatted with himself at random, made notations on a pad of paper for his assistant, and all of this while he sat oblivious to his son-in-law studying him not ten feet away using the cover of darkness and a concrete curtain to mask his shape.

Don waited patiently for the perfect moment to make his entrance, even as a part of him debated letting Ferguson see him enter through the window versus waiting for him to turn away so he could appear out of the blackness of night. When the moment arrived he felt a twinge of his twelve year old self rise with excitement, his thirty-something self tempering that arousal with the reassurance that patience was indeed a virtue, and that restraint ultimately resulted in reward. And so he chose discretion over theatrics, and slithered into the room when Ferguson hobbled his creaking bones to the bathroom, watching only for a moment as the pitiful man sat down to urinate with the door open (a task that took an excruciating twenty minutes to complete and culminated with Ferguson changing his adult diaper, thus reaffirming the smell people mocked him for behind closed doors).

When Ferguson re-entered the room it was to see his son-in-law sitting comfortably on the sofa in his odd outfit, paging through one of his confidential documents as if it were no more meaningful than an outdated magazine in a dentist's office. The surprise on his face lasted a full minute (quite a long period of time considering it took Don less than thirty seconds to strangle someone until they blacked out, and barely five seconds for him to properly cut an artery and claim someone's life), and despite forcing a look of calm across his wrinkled features the confusion would not fully pass.

They did not exchange pleasantries about the weather or the current state of the markets, and they did not discuss Constance or their mutual disgust for one another. Ferguson did not give into his curiosity and demand to know how Donald gained access onto his executive floor (to do so would have been to give the younger man some type of satisfaction, and Ferguson refused to do that above all else), and Don never offered an explanation either. Instead of focusing on the 'how' of it all, Ferguson skipped right to the 'why' and 'what' of the matter.

"I don't know how you got in here, but you obviously want something, Fancy. What is it?"

Don's smile remained smoothed and fixed, but he stood and tossed his reading material on the low table in front of him, his name ringing delightfully in his own ears as it was called by the proverbial doctor.

"I would think the answer's obvious Ferguson — I'm here to kill you."