Chantal

Rain pours, and the soft rumbling of distressed clouds above hint that this storm is just beginning.

Most days cycling in the rain doesn’t bother me too much, a little light drizzle can almost be refreshing as I race about the city delivering parcels and messages to those people that still pick a bike courier over an Amazon delivery truck.

The heavy rain? Not so much. That gives me waterlogged socks and frizz in my hair.

Without businesses stuck in the old nostalgic trip of hiring some gal on a bike though, I’d be out of a job and college would be that much harder to get through. Not that the money I make from this job does much in paying toward my tuition—my mother’s savings do that—but it keeps me fed when bills are tight, and who needs the gym when you cycle miles each evening, weaving between cars and people who ignore the cycle lane poles.

I pull the brakes at a red light and splash down into a puddle, giving my legs a rest as I wait for the change. The dull tones of classical music thrum in my ears, warming my soul on this dreary night. The streets are quiet. This time of night is reserved solely for the lonely and the delivery people, like me. One more parcel and I can return home to a warm shower and a comfy bed before class tomorrow.

No one tells you that your final year in college is the one that also moves the fastest. I barely have time to process my projects before I’m swamped with deadlines and angry emails from professors scolding me for skipping a useless seminar.

One more year and I’m free, out in the world, and able to do my own thing.

The light changes and I push off, squinting behind my goggles as I pound the pedals and take a couple of side alleys to cut down on my time. The Lodestar Skylines building rises to greet me as I round the next corner and purposefully drive through a series of puddles. I may dislike the downpour but I enjoy the sound of splashing puddles. The little things in life get us through.

I park outside and reach around to the delivery bag balanced on the tail of my bike. The neon letters of Pedal Airlines almost blind me as it reflects the light from the streetlight above. I’m sure the owner thought this name was hilarious twenty years ago.

There’s one small parcel left and I grab it, unclip my helmet, remove my goggles, and step from my bike. This late at night and in this nice of a neighborhood, I pass on the bike lock. I’ll be in and out.

Yet, as I approach the glass double doors my heart skips a sudden beat at the darkness in the lobby. If I didn’t know any better I’d say the office was closed for the night.

I scramble for my phone in the pocket of my waterproof jacket. The sky crackles and the rain pours harder. Ducking in on myself to protect the screen, I scroll from my music to the delivery app and check the job. Yup, definitely Lodestar Skylines and definitely this time. I’m a couple of minutes early actually, but by the time I get up to the third floor, I’ll just look incredibly punctual.

I’ve delivered here a few times before and they’re always nice.

With the lobby deserted, there’s no one to buzz me inside. The contact client button blinks at me on my phone. Should I call and let them know I’m here? Lifting a hand, I try the door anyway and it swings open easily under the pressure.

“Hello?” I call as I step inside, removing an earbud and shaking the rain from my dark curls. No one answers of course and I tut to myself. “Come on, Chantal, what were you expecting? Some dude hiding behind the desk waiting to jump out at you?”

I check behind the desk just in case as I pass, to calm down the pulse of fear in my heart. I wouldn’t call myself a coward but there’s a reason I don’t watch horror movies.

Pressing the button on the elevator, I huddle inside my jacket as the chill of the rain starts to creep over my skin. I barely notice it when I’m cycling because I’m always on the move and my body stays warm from working my legs. Here, standing still with nothing but my thoughts, the cold starts to make itself known. The thought of returning home to that hot shower grows more tempting by the second and impatience starts to rise. I push the button a few more times and groan.

I swear time always stands still on the last job of the night.

The music swells in my ear and my last branch of patience snaps.

Fuck this, I want to go home.

Abandoning the elevator, I push open the door toward the stairs and begin my journey up. It’s only to the third floor, after all. To keep calm in the stairwell lit sparsely by a few lights along the walls, I hum along to the music softly playing in my ear. Classical is my favorite because there’s barely any talking. My head gets far too busy on its own without lyrical music adding to the commotion. Classical is calm, almost soothing whether I’m out working or studying for exams.

The third floor is just as dull as the rest of the building and an unsettled knot begins to weave in my gut. Maybe I shouldn’t be here. Maybe I really did get the time wrong? Will I get charged for breaking and entering if I’m just trying to deliver a parcel?

Clutching the small padded envelope in one hand, I grab my phone with the other. Just as I’m about to tap the contact client button, I notice light creeping out from the office door at the end of the hallway. Pulling out my second earbud, the dull drone of muffled voices greets me and I breathe a sigh of relief.

People are here, and my imagination is too wild.

I pocket my phone and head down the hall, but I only make it a few steps before an almighty crack blasts through the air! I jump, every nerve in my body on edge. The door flies open and a tall man comes crashing through with a loud cry. He lands on the floor in a heap in front of me and I stumble back half a step as ice bristles up my spine.

Beyond the man stand a few other figures, but only one stands out. He’s bulky with a suit that strains over the swell of his gut and a gun in his hand. He stands menacingly over a third man, who is crumpling to the ground with crimson spreading rapidly over his white shirt. The fallen man painfully gurgles something I can’t decipher, and the man with the gun simply laughs.

It’s a cold, chilling sound that sinks deep into my gut and tightens around the ice along my spine.

The hulking man fires his gun again. A scream gets caught in my throat and I let out a strangled gasp instead. The bloodied man on the floor slumps, motionless. Shock takes over me and the small package slips from my fingers into the dark abyss.

As tears flood my eyes, the man who came crashing through the door yells something, but words don’t breach the roaring that descends over my ears. He scrambles up and his pale blue eyes lock onto mine.

For a half second that stretches on for an eternity, we just stare at one another. I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I can’t even move. His entire muscular build fills the space in front of me, all strikingly pale blue eyes and jet-black hair. His face is angular with a jaw so sharp it could cut through glass at a glance. His dark brows pull down like two straight arrows, and blood trickles from the corner of his plush mouth.

I can no longer see the dead man or his killer, only this handsome stranger. His lips part and my heart thumps painfully once in my chest.

It spurs me into action.

I whip around on my heel and sprint back the way I came, throwing myself through the door into the stairwell. Taking the steps two at a time, I trip over myself in my desperation to get the fuck away from whatever the hell I just saw. I hit the wall of the first landing, winding myself slightly as my already strained, panicked breaths turn into pants of terror. The roaring lifts from my ears and the frantic sound of yelling drifts down from the stairs above, mingling with the thuds of my own footsteps, but I don’t stop.

I can’t stop.

I have to get the fuck out of here!