One Last Night Together - Part Two

One Last Night Together – Part Two

By Brandon Palzkill

            Duncan was unable to fathom the idea that someone might want to break into his house. There had only been two attempted break-ins, during the more than thirty years of him residing in the neighborhood, and both of them had transpired to be odd misunderstandings, resulting in no charges, filed. More to the point, he had very little in the way of valuables that someone might find to be worth stealing, unless they wanted his LP collection, or a small television that was almost twenty years old.

            Absently, he fell into his armchair and struggled to make some sort of sense of the situation, while he poured a scotch; maybe it would help him think. The seriousness of the circumstances became increasingly clearer, so he assessed any protective measures that might be available to him. His bedroom was without a phone; there was no calling the police. On top of that, the lock on his door suddenly seemed laughably feeble, as though it might be defeated by a stronger than average wind. What’s more, he had no gun, nor anything else that might serve him in warding off would-be intruders. All in all, he had serious misgivings about his chances.

Fear crept up Duncan’s spine, while he listened intently to the activity downstairs. The barely audible footsteps walked purposefully through the study and into the adjoining living room. Were they really there to rob him? If so, why had they walked through two rooms, seemingly uninterested in the contents? To him, it seemed improbable that the intruder could have spotted anything of worth, without stopping to look. Clearly, they had not come to his home to steal, but then what other possibilities were there? The answer to that question made Duncan’s heart sink clear to the basement. 

The footsteps resolutely approached the bottom of the stairs, and Duncan understood; whoever was downstairs had came there for him. He had no idea why, but he was certain that something bad would happen, once they found him. With no other options available, he was going to have to try and fight for it. He made on last, desperate attempt to scour the room, looking for something to use as a weapon, but all he could manage was his bottle of scotch, and that would only allow for one shot at his potential assailant; he would need to make that shot count.

He hid out of view, on the left side of the doorway, while he waited and listened. The footsteps ascended the stairs, softly, yet confidently, conveying a notion that the intruder had an intimate knowledge of the house’s layout. When the intruder reached the top of the stairs, they made no hesitation, walking straight toward his bedroom. Duncan heart raced, as the stranger stopped, inches from the door. After a moment’s pause, a sudden click indicated the unlocking of the door. As the door swung open, Duncan lunged, but immediately froze, heart-stopping terror erupting inside of him. 

“It can’t be” he whispered, in stunned disbelief.