It had been a week since Joshua was attacked on his way back to his plush, top floor bachelor pad in the middle of New York city and still he cannot sleep. He had been having nightmares every night since the incident and tonight was no different.
At 3 AM he shot upright from his supine position, drenched in sweat and cursing his mind for showing him yet more images of the attack and subsequent mugging at the hands of four youths armed with metal bars and knives.
He shuffled into the kitchen and took a beer from his tall, two door silver refrigerator. At one time in his life, this piece of expensive kitchen hardware was his pride and joy, showing it off to anyone who would dare attend one of his “I don’t care about being alone” parties. Now however, he despises the view of this chrome monolith given that he now associates it with 3 in the morning.
Joshua made his way over to the adjacent living room and sat in his leather bound E-Z boy recliner and turned on his 50 inch plasma screen TV. He felt his eyes grow heavier as he rolled into his 4th episode of Breaking Bad on Netflix.
Joshua’s eyes shot open to the sound of his alarm clock coming from his bedside locker. He strolled into his room, yawning as he walked and slapped the OFF button; the force with which he struck the device was born out of a combination of exhaustion and frustration.
He dressed himself in the normal attire expected from a man who works in one of the biggest banks in the city, a flashy suit with only the tie left to show any personality whatsoever. Indeed, Joshua thought of himself as just another corporate stooge, and he was okay with this, as long as it kept him in luxuries that he was accustom to.
Joshua left his apartment and entered the nearby subway platform, as he would always do, and boarded the train that would take him outside his place of work, as he would always do.
However this time, Joshua felt on edge the whole way from his front door to the train door. He had taken a week off work to recuperate from the whole ordeal but he still felt a sense of dread, as if at every turn, somebody was waiting in a corner, ready to pounce. When the train doors closed behind him, he felt at ease. He breathed a sigh of relief, rationalising that nobody would attack him in a train full of people.
He sat down beside the door leading to the conductors quarters, put his head back against the metal panel behind him and began to close his eyes.
He felt his eyes, once again, become heavy, like two weights had been attached to his eyelids. He fought off the exhaustion, fearing that he might end up on the other side of Manhattan. He rubbed his eyes and stared out to the other end of the carriage, that’s when something caught his attention.
Sitting no more than ten metres from him on the left side of the carriage was a man. There was nothing overtly strange about him, except that he was dressed all in black, with a long black coat and a black bowler hat. He was bald and wrinkled, Joshua tried to make out his face but his head was down, looking at the floor beneath him. Every few minutes, the man would raise his left arm to his face to check the time, but his head would never move.
Had Joshua seen this man two weeks ago, he would have laughed it off to another street performer, but after what had happened the week pervious, Joshua was paranoid towards just about everything.
Joshua kept his eyes fixed on the man in black, making note of every movement, his heart pounding at every twitch or small shuffle made by the man in the black bowler hat and coat.
He didn’t know why, but Joshua knew that something about this man seemed wrong, like watching as a storm cloud marches towards you, knowing that it’s bringing trouble.
Suddenly, the man rose from his seat, keeping his face hidden all the while, and scurried with purpose to the centre of the carriage, Joshua felt compelled to see this mans’ face, even if he looks unhinged to the other passengers, he didn’t care, he just wanted to feel at ease and maybe, laugh about it later.
