Tuesday Morning 2

Held out his hands as if in defeat.
Then span on his heels and dashed back the way he had come, along the long corridor that made up the ground floor of Building 3, clueless now as to what to do then, a stroke of luck, as the stairwell that led to the top of the building appeared on his right, apparently devoid of those that seemed out to get him. He pushed through the doors, his pace up the stairs punishing his still screaming hamstring further, but he paid it no heed, increasing his speed if anything. Second floor bypassed, he powered onwards, planning to break left as he hit the third floor and head for the fire exit.
“But that’s what they’d expect me to do,” he thought, opting instead to carry on up the stairs, into territories uncharted. Here, the stairwell split into two and doubled back on itself. Four steps up, he realised that the way ahead was blocked, a twin fire door with a push bar in his way.
“Will it be alarmed?” he thought, wondering why he cared, realising instantly that his apprehension was valid: an alarm would surely give away his location, if CCTV already had not. He stopped and listened, ensuring no-one was approaching up the stairs, and made his way to the other side of the stairwell, only to discover that here, too, a fire door blocked his way.
“Fuck it,” he thought, rushing for the door, pushing the bar down with all of his strength, pleased when the door began to give with a metallic squeal, doubly pleased when it swung open and revealed the dim dreariness of the outside world.
He was on the roof.
Stepping outside, he took a moment to push the door shut behind him, the locking bolt scraping loudly against the concrete surface, drawing a grimace. Door closed, he turned and surveyed his location. The entire roof was perfectly flat, almost devoid of feature save for two satellite dishes positioned dead centre. He headed for the nearest edge, for one moment considering diving headlong off the top of the building at full sprint, performing a swan dive that would lead to almost certain death but, truthfully, he simply wasn’t that brave. Nearing the edge, he slowed his pace, nervous now, sensations of vertigo making their presence felt, nausea foremost amongst them. He got to within two feet and could go no further, but it was near enough to see whether he had any hope at all. He sought a ladder or fire escape from the roof down to ground level. He knew he had seen at least one though, in his current predicament, he was unable to get his bearings sufficiently to determine where it might be in relation to his position. Peering over the edge, he crept forward, eyes flicking along the length of the building.
Nothing.
Then, something below drew his attention and, as if all that had gone before were hard to believe, this was almost sufficient to break him once and for all. On the ground it seemed the entire population of the campus had left the building. They stood, line after line of them, all gazing upwards, straight at him. Though for the moment he could hear nothing from them, he could see their hands clapping, their mouths moving then, as if the wind were controlled by their force of will, suddenly the elements hushed, and their voices could be heard.
“Kill him, kill him, kill him.”
The mantra drifted up to him, a call for his murder from those whom he thought he knew.
He sank to his knees and bowed his head, all energy now depleted, all hope apparently lost.
The scraping of metal against concrete snapped him back to attention, though he made no effort to move.
Just where was he supposed to go?
Both fire doors opened simultaneously, and from the guts of the building spilled the usual suspects: his class, the original security guards and his boss, and it was she who took the lead, spearheading the advancing throng, stopping when she was no more than two feet in front of his defenceless form.
“Why did you have to make this so difficult?” she demanded, her words tinged with what appeared to be genuine regret.
“I only ever wanted to be a teacher,” he said, meeting her gaze.
“How foolish you are,” she said, shaking her head.
“I just wanted to make a difference.”
Her eyes bored into him.
“That’s just not how the system works.”
The throng advanced.

© Ian Stevens (2012 - 2017)