Free Vigilare by Brooklyn James Page B

you.”
    “That was a long time ago. I’m a different person now. I swear I am. Please!” he cries, his hands pressed together in prayer formation. “Let me go!” He sobs.
    Laughter purrs out of the speaker. “A leopard never changes its spots, Randall. You have a new girlfriend. With a fifteen-year-old daughter. You think I don’t know what you’re thinking every time you look at her? You swear you’re a different person. Let’s test psychological theory. Does rehabilitation work on the mind of a pedophile? A rapist? I’m not gambling with those odds.”
    “Somebody help me!” He bangs frantically on the elevator door.
    The flickering lights in the elevator go to black, complete darkness. Randall screams, pleading and begging for help.
    “You guys make me sick. You push, and you prod, and you threaten...little kids, women...rob them of their lives, their sanity. But when pushed back, you scream and cry and flail about. Pathetic mother-fuckers.”
    The sound of the pulley screeches, giving way. The elevator drops furiously, its destination the concrete below. The shimmying causes Randall to fall into the corner. He is rolled up in the fetal position. The sound of the pulley zinging off the rope rings through his ears, as he covers them with his hands.
    “‘Yea, tho I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil...’” he recites.
    The elevator stops a floor from the concrete, lurching from the momentum, creaking and clacking. The lights flicker, finally burning full and bright.
    And again a soft, delightful laugh flows out of the speakers. “Now you’re a Christian? Love that about you guys. You always seem to find God after you have taken so much from Him in the souls and spirits of His flesh. Get up!”
    His rapid breathing the only thing audible, he scurries from the floor, facing the elevator door, hopeful.
    “Death is inevitable for you, Randall Barnes. It’s a matter of when and where. I will be lurking in the shadows. Hell, maybe I’ll even check in on you from time to time as you sleep. Creepy, huh? That’s how Rudy felt. Knowing it was coming...you were coming, again and again...simply uncertain of when. Now, you will know the same fear.”
    The elevator dings. The buttons light up. Randall throws himself in front of the doors as they begin to open. Grasping at the edges with his unsteady hands, he pries with all his might, fleeing from the large metal box.
    “Be seeing you, Randall,” the voice echoes behind him.
     
     
    DETECTIVE DELUCA’S HOUSE, midnight. She traipses to the door, assembling a black silk housecoat to cover the black silk nighty she wears underneath, having been disturbed from a perfectly wonderful sleep by her pesky partner, Detective Gronkowski. He knocks impatiently. She expects him this time, as he has been blowing up her phone for the past two hours.
    “Why did I give him my number?” she scolds, shaking her head. “I’m coming.”
    He knocks again for good measure.
    She whips the door back. “It’s twelve o’clock in the freaking morning,” she whispers with an underlying roar. “You trying to get me thrown out of the neighborhood?” She motions him in hurriedly. “You ever dealt with the Homeowners Association? We’re talking more powerful than the mob.” She locks the door behind him.
    “William Truly,” he says, with his one-track mind, proceeding to the archway between her kitchen and her living room. He rests his arms above his head, gripping the sturdy pull-up bar Gina has rigged to the archway. “Nothing on the guy. I got nothing, Gina. Except wasted hours.” He peers up at the pull-up bar. “You use this thing?”
    “Nope. Just there for decoration.” She rolls her eyes, making her way into the living room.
    Tony follows, his senses instantly bombarded with heat, wood scent, and flickering light dancing on the tops of several large pillar candles. An instant feeling of comfort, and desire, pummels his system as he