|Watching You Chapter One (standard:Suspense, 740 words) [1/3] show all parts|
|Author: Brian Cross||Updated: Mar 20 2005||Views/Reads: 8333/0||Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|The first chapter of a completed manuscript intended for publication. The storyline centres around a CCTV building and an undercover police officer with unusual powers.|
CHAPTER ONE Puddles of oil shone like demon eyes. The faltering lights of the depot's access ramp had exploded into life for a second before dying away as quickly as the engine of Kelly Stafford's car. She scrambled out, slamming the door with a clunk that echoed through the dark void. Joe had refused to allow the garage to fix the electrical fault on the car, insisting on repairing it himself. Fine. But it hadn't been fixed, that was as obvious as the draught that swept around the godforsaken place. Now she was left with a hike up a ramp that spiralled like the helter-skelter from hell, with the lights blinking on and off like crazed neon-signs, threatening to plunge her into the dark and deserted place at dead of night. Except that it wasn't deserted. Somewhere above her a car engine idled, which was odd because the depot was locked and sealed. Her own entry being by way of a lever operated by the closed circuit TV operator she was about to relieve on the top floor. Yes. The bloody roof. Pulling her coat tight around her shoulders she followed the curve of the ramp. Above her the lights fizzled then fused, plunging the place into darkness. She cursed aloud, then took from her pocket the torch she always carried, powerful enough to light her way, heavy enough to bring down on the head of a would-be attacker. She rounded the first curve, where the ramp straightened and widened to allow parking for council officials. The low purring of an engine continued, there was a car somewhere though the torch didn't reveal it. Then suddenly its lights burst into life, its headlights blasting straight at her, dazzling her eyes. Its engine revved She felt her heart-rate increase. Nobody should be parked here now. If the driver was thinking of going down the ramp he would be wasting his time, there would be no exit until morning. She broke into a trot, her heart pounded until it seemed to fill her body. Suddenly a squeal of tyres pierced her ears, the car shot forward missing her by an inch, it was trying to turn on the ramp. To chase her. She turned into another curve and stumbled, her foot sinking into a pothole in the concrete, one of many in the outdated eyesore. Another squeal of tyres, the smell of burning rubber clogged her nostrils. She didn't need a glance back to know the bastard was manoeuvring in her direction. She grabbed a side railing, steadied herself and hurried upwards again, she was quick, she'd always been athletic and was grateful for that. But the car had completed its turn, coming behind her, she could hear its engine, hurried and strained. Just one more curve and she'd make it, shut herself in the CCTV building and summon assistance. She wasn't going to become the madman's prey, no matter what he thought. And why her in any case? The question raised itself as she rounded the curve and the car began its surge behind her. The octagonal building lay to her right, its pale walls bleak against the beam of her torch. Just a few steps and then safety. The fob key was in her hand, its oblong indent firmly in the grip of her fingers. She pointed it at the sensor, and then from behind came the sound of screeching tyres on concrete. A new wave of fear shot through her like an electrical charge and the key to safety slipped from her grasp. She yelled at McCain to open the door, he must have heard the car brakes scorching, he must have heard her shout and swung the camera over – seen what was going on. The door stayed shut. And then she heard a car door open, heard quick steps on stone. She scrambled for the fob and found nothing. ‘McCain, open the...' A hand fell on her shoulder, spinning her round. Far below streetlights whirled like a carousel from hell. There were hands around her throat, fingers biting deep as the palms of rough hands pushed into her windpipe. The man's face was as cold as the concrete as she fell to the floor, and one she recognized for a second before memory lapsed along with her senses. Then footsteps receding on concrete and a car engine revving and roaring away. She managed to raise a scream - Tweet
Authors appreciate feedback!
Please vote, and write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
Brian Cross has 25 active stories on this site.
Profile for Brian Cross, incl. all stories
For a quick, anonymous response to the author of this story, type
a message below. It will be sent to the author by email.