Escape
An Do
Night immerses into the retreating day. Beau Quibbideaux
sits stoically on his tired leather easy chair, watching the evening
news. The faint sound of footsteps outside the door startles him.
E
table beside him. With one hand resting on it, he methodically
slows his breathing and listens for more.
Knock, knock.
With practiced precision, his hand slides deftly down to
the drawer and soundless pulls it open, revealing a gleaming black
and silver Kimber 1911. A soft voice stops him from grasping the
loaded .45 caliber pistol.
“Hey, baby, let me in,” she murmurs through the locked
door.
Beau stares at his meticulously cleaned gun, slowly
liberating the air from his lungs. Wiping off the beads of sweat
forming above his lip, he slowly closes the drawer—concealing his
weapon as well as his hidden sickness. Silently slamming back two
Somas with a quick gulp of water, he unlocks the door and lets her
in.
The one-bedroom apartment has a laissez-faire quality
about it. It is quiet, no pets or nosy neighbors, unassuming like
faint scent of masculine cologne lingers perpetually in the air,
The blinds are drawn shut, and the only light comes from the
broad shoulders and eagerly leans in for a kiss. Beau reciprocates
her, he squeezes his eyes shut for the briefest moment, trying to
will away the aching pain growing in his head since the sound of
footsteps startled him. Sensing his distance, she throws herself onto
the faded red futon and begins to undo the few remaining buttons
on her tight black shirt, all the while seductively smiling up at him,
daring him to resist.
[48]