How Deep Is the Red?
1
Harper Hall was closing Bernie's diner for the third time in a week. She checked the time and sighed. Mr. Duncan was a late-night frequenter who came for lunch and stayed till well after dinner stopped being served at 11:00 p.m. At 12:30, Haper gently suggested he call a cab. He stayed latest when Harper closed because she was the only employee who didn't have the heart to rush him home. She knew his wife had died and couldn't imagine the pain that his home full of memories must hold for him.
He nodded, pulling his bowler down past his large euebrows and smiled at Harper. "You take it easy, Miss Hall."
"You, too, Mr. Duncan. Same time tomorrow?"
"Of course; I haven't got many plans these days," the old man cackled darkly, letting himself out of the front.
After the tables were wiped clean, the cooking machinery scrubbed, the floors mopped and the doors locked, Harper was out the back door, throwing a large, black trash bag into the Dumpster.
2:45 a.m. Harper desperately wanted to find a new job. Her knees aches, her feet screamed. The strap of her purse dug into the sore meat of her shoulder as she pawed through its pockets to locate her car keys.
As her warm fingertips made contact with the cold metal of the key ring, the wind picked up, chilled, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. A split second later, every single streetlight exploded, the heavy, industrial light bulb glass raining down on either side of the street.
It was so sudden and jarring, she barely had time to yank her hands up to gaurd her face. The surrounding power lines keened with an overload of energy. A searing white flash of light swelled infront of her as something landed, hard, on the ground.
The light vanished, and when Harper squinted as hard as she could, she could tell it was a body, laying on its back. Before she even dared moving forward to investigate, Harper looked up, frantically trying to understand where the body had fell from. The buildings were all too far away, it didn't make sense. None of it did, really. She squinted back over to the body, to make any other figures out. It was just her and the limp sillohuette, alone on the dark street. Shaking bits of glass from her long, black curls, she cautiously walked toward it.
The ground radiated heat, despite the cold edge of night. She gritted her teeth, stilling her breath. She was a good six feet away. It was apparrently a man, but it was too dark to make out any features.
"Hey...hey, are you okay, sir?"
Harper almost gave up on a response when the man groaned in pain. Harper pushed against her terror and confusion, tip-toeing closer. With the light from her cellphone, she aimed to get a better look.
The man was wearing his Sunday best: a simple, black suit, blue tie and a long khaki duster. His mouth was screwed up in a pained pinch. His eyes closed tighter to further block out the bright light from the LED screen.
"Sir, what happened...? Can you hear me?"
In a flash, his eyes snapped open and he gasped. Harper retreated a few steps, gasping herself.
"I'm calling an ambulance," Harper managed, meaning to soothe him. He slowly stood up, moaning.
"Please don't move. You landed pretty hard."
Ignoring her warning, he looked around, confused. "...landed? Where am I?"
They both looked at the spot where he's been lying. The blacktop street had buckled, dipping into a slight crater. It was all too strange. Harper was having a difficult time trying to make sense of anything, so she focussed on the matter at hand: the staggering, limping mess infront of her.
"C'mon, let's get you out of the street."
Without saying a word, he let Harper guide him by the arm to the sidewalk, pausing only to spit out a mouthful of blood. He swayed beside her as she dialed for help. A woman answered, "911, what's your emergency?"
The man growled suddenly in protest, reaching toward Harper to touch her forehead (a surprisingly gentle touch for the angry sound he'd just made). He was close enough for Harper to make out a confused look before he fell backwards on his ass, looking at his hands in despair.
"Hello? Do you have an emergency?"
"Just tell them I was hit by a car," the man muttered.
He nodded, pulling his bowler down past his large euebrows and smiled at Harper. "You take it easy, Miss Hall."
"You, too, Mr. Duncan. Same time tomorrow?"
"Of course; I haven't got many plans these days," the old man cackled darkly, letting himself out of the front.
After the tables were wiped clean, the cooking machinery scrubbed, the floors mopped and the doors locked, Harper was out the back door, throwing a large, black trash bag into the Dumpster.
2:45 a.m. Harper desperately wanted to find a new job. Her knees aches, her feet screamed. The strap of her purse dug into the sore meat of her shoulder as she pawed through its pockets to locate her car keys.
As her warm fingertips made contact with the cold metal of the key ring, the wind picked up, chilled, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. A split second later, every single streetlight exploded, the heavy, industrial light bulb glass raining down on either side of the street.
It was so sudden and jarring, she barely had time to yank her hands up to gaurd her face. The surrounding power lines keened with an overload of energy. A searing white flash of light swelled infront of her as something landed, hard, on the ground.
The light vanished, and when Harper squinted as hard as she could, she could tell it was a body, laying on its back. Before she even dared moving forward to investigate, Harper looked up, frantically trying to understand where the body had fell from. The buildings were all too far away, it didn't make sense. None of it did, really. She squinted back over to the body, to make any other figures out. It was just her and the limp sillohuette, alone on the dark street. Shaking bits of glass from her long, black curls, she cautiously walked toward it.
The ground radiated heat, despite the cold edge of night. She gritted her teeth, stilling her breath. She was a good six feet away. It was apparrently a man, but it was too dark to make out any features.
"Hey...hey, are you okay, sir?"
Harper almost gave up on a response when the man groaned in pain. Harper pushed against her terror and confusion, tip-toeing closer. With the light from her cellphone, she aimed to get a better look.
The man was wearing his Sunday best: a simple, black suit, blue tie and a long khaki duster. His mouth was screwed up in a pained pinch. His eyes closed tighter to further block out the bright light from the LED screen.
"Sir, what happened...? Can you hear me?"
In a flash, his eyes snapped open and he gasped. Harper retreated a few steps, gasping herself.
"I'm calling an ambulance," Harper managed, meaning to soothe him. He slowly stood up, moaning.
"Please don't move. You landed pretty hard."
Ignoring her warning, he looked around, confused. "...landed? Where am I?"
They both looked at the spot where he's been lying. The blacktop street had buckled, dipping into a slight crater. It was all too strange. Harper was having a difficult time trying to make sense of anything, so she focussed on the matter at hand: the staggering, limping mess infront of her.
"C'mon, let's get you out of the street."
Without saying a word, he let Harper guide him by the arm to the sidewalk, pausing only to spit out a mouthful of blood. He swayed beside her as she dialed for help. A woman answered, "911, what's your emergency?"
The man growled suddenly in protest, reaching toward Harper to touch her forehead (a surprisingly gentle touch for the angry sound he'd just made). He was close enough for Harper to make out a confused look before he fell backwards on his ass, looking at his hands in despair.
"Hello? Do you have an emergency?"
"Just tell them I was hit by a car," the man muttered.