Free Operation Mockingbird by Linda Baletsa

stairs.
    Matt turned to Stephen’s door, inserted the key and unlocked the deadbolt. He couldn’t help but knock and call Stephen’s name before slowly opening the door. He stepped hesitantly into the apartment and then stopped short.
    “What the …”
    The place was trashed. Not work-at-home, bachelor-living trashed but torn-apart trashed, likely by burglars looking for anything of value.
    From the front door of Stephen’s apartment, Matt walked into a combination living/dining room, across from which were large windows looking out on to 78 th Street. To the right, Matt could see a short hallway that led to the only bathroom and then a small bedroom. To the left was an even smaller kitchen.
    In the corner of the living room sat a small desk from which Matt knew Stephen did most of his writing. The drawers of the desk had been pulled out and upended, leaving papers all over the surface of the desk and floor beneath it. On the opposite side of the room, Matt looked over at the large entertainment center in the center of the wall. The DVD player and stereo were gone. The large flat-screen television was still there but it was unplugged and pulled away from the wall. Perhaps the burglars had realized, after the fact, that they would look pretty silly walking down Central Park West carrying a flat-screen television. Or worse, they would get an honorable mention in the local paper’s “Stupid Criminals” column.
    Concerned that Stephen might have been there when the burglary happened and might still be there, Matt walked down the hallway toward the bedroom. He peeked briefly into the bathroom and saw that the contents of the medicine cabinet and the cabinet beneath the sink were strewn about the floor. The shower curtain had been rippedoff the rod and lay half in and half out of the bathtub. But there was no sign of Stephen.
    He continued on to the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. Matt pushed the door the rest of the way open. The bed was in the center of the wall opposite the door. There was a nightstand on one side of the bed and a dresser on the other. Standing in the doorway, Matt could see that the books that had previously rested on the nightstand had been thrown on the floor. The dresser drawers had been emptied on the bed and then they too upended onto the floor. The contents of the closet were strewn about the room. Fortunately, there was no sign of Stephen.
    Matt suddenly felt a breeze behind him. He turned back toward the hallway, just as a powerful blow caught him on the side of the face. His head whipped sideways, followed by his shoulders and then the rest of his body, sending him careening against the wall. He bounced off the wall, instinctively lunging back toward his attacker. Matt plowed forward and head-butted the taller man in the chest. He wrapped his arms around the man’s waist and, as his rubber soled shoes gained traction on the wood floor, pushed the man backward until they slammed against the wall in the hallway.
    They both crashed to the floor. Matt was on top, but since he had never let go, his arms were pinned underneath his attacker. Matt scrambled to break free, to get up and get the hell out of there. Suddenly, a pain exploded in the back of Matt’s head. His arms and legs ceased responding to any commands he gave them. His head became heavy, and the room went black.
    When Matt finally came to, he was still lying on the floor of Stephen’s living room. His right cheek felt slightly numb against the wood floor. Drool and blood had formed a puddle around his mouth. Without raising his head, he slowly reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his cell phone. He thumbed the phone awake and drew it close to his face. It took a few seconds for the screen to come into focus and for him to make out the time. He saw that just over an hour had passed since the cab had pulled in front of Stephen’s apartment.
    He rose slowly, ignoring the screaming from his brain and rubbed the back