Off The Moon

A Novel by LK Hunsaker

Elucidate Publishing, November 2009
www.ElucidatePublishing.net

The following excerpt is ©2009 LK Hunsaker. A short quote may be used with copyright notice attached for reviews, promotion, and education purposes. All Rights Reserved.
~~ novel recommended for 17+ due to language and adult content ~~
~ excerpt rated 13+ for language ~

~ ~ 1 ~

“C’mon Reynauld, you’re already in fryin’ water. Where’re ya going?”

Ryan veered around his bodyguard, dodged an ugly silver car doing a bad job of parallel parking, and jogged across the street. Daws would stay on his heels even if he was late, and Mac could wait. What choice did he have? Ryan paid for his time.

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to peer up at the office building. The height made him cringe. It wasn’t even one of Manhattan’s taller buildings. Seven stories. Tall enough.

“What is up with you today?” Daws stopped at his side. “You’re edgy as hell and you’ve seen this building a thousand times. What is so fascinating?”

“Not sure. Maybe nothing.” He strode a wide angle around a couple of girls heading his way as they eyed him, pushed through the glass doors, and slid between a crowd of business suits and briefcases. It reminded him of a mud-covered pig rooting through tight-assed penguins. Grinning at the thought, he decided to hold it in his mind to use later.

Daws cut him off. “The paycheck is that way.”

“And what are you going to do? Throw me over your shoulder and make me go? Come on, lighten up. I’ll only be a minute.” He feigned anger at the body blockade. “Either get out of my way or come with me. There’s something I gotta do.”

“Something you can’t do across the street where you’re supposed to be?”

With an eye on where the girls he’d avoided were descending and joining forces with a few more, Ryan shifted out of their vision as much as possible. “Not unless you can pick this building up and move it over there. Might get kinda messy, though.”

Daws crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I’m not one of your flattering fans who thinks you’re hysterical. You’re holding everyone up and no matter who you are, their time matters…”

Ryan ignored the rant and ducked around to sprint toward the elevator. He called for someone to hold it when it started to close. Stares answered and relief showed on a suit’s face just before the door clenched tight. “Great. Guess we do the stairs.”

“Let it go, Reynauld. I promise if you’re good and play nice, I’ll bring you back after work.”

“Funny. We’re getting a crowd, you know. The more we delay, the more there’ll be and I’m not giving in.” Ryan noted the glower and did his best not to smile while near-sprinting toward the stairwell. He took the first couple of flights two steps at a time as he called to Daws he’d meet him at the top, and slowed part way up the third. What was he doing? Why did he have to check it out when he was already late? But then, when wasn’t he late? Why today? He shrugged. Why not today? It woke him up the night before. There was no sense letting it nag him instead of walking up and looking.

At the seventh floor, he pushed aside the yellow no trespassing tape and turned the door handle. It worked. The hallway he crept into looked like any other hallway, except no one was in it. A deserted office building floor after nine in the morning was a strange thing, but no stranger than the building owner marking the floor off with no explanation. It had gone unused for months. No code violations. No events Ryan ever heard about. It was simply closed. His writer’s brain couldn’t accept there wasn’t a reason. No one else seemed to care, remarking only that the owner was eccentric and did such things from time to time. It wasn’t good enough. There was a reason.

Ryan walked down the hallway and peered through open doors. There was nothing in the offices but a few scattered desks and chairs. A good place to write. Quiet. Non-distracting. Maybe that was why he’d been drawn to it. He could find the owner, or have someone find the owner for him, and ask about using it. Not using it exactly, but not using it, since the guy wanted it not used. Writing music, sitting by himself, wasn’t using it – only occupying a bit of its space. There was plenty.

Nearly at the end of the hallway, he turned at a door slam.

“Are you happy yet, moron?” Daws gestered with his phone. “Enrico says there’s not only a couple or three girls down there, but a whole damn army of them descending. Can we escape out of here before I have to call in the crew?”

“So we’ll wait ’em out.” He ran his fingers along the white wall trim. No dust. And no dusty smell. The silvery blue carpet looked new but without the new carpet scent.

“You’re shittin’ me, right? Wait ’em out? And that’s worked real well in the past.”

“Yeah, okay.” With a deep breath and a thought that Daws would’ve been more occupied if Ryan had arranged an actual army of girls, he headed back.

And he stopped.

“This way. Let’s go.”

Taking three steps back, Ryan looked into the empty office he’d just passed. Nothing. He thought he’d seen something, but there was nothing. At his guard’s taunt, he continued forward. But the window was open. Why? At the next open door, he peered inside. The window was closed. So was the next one.

“Hang on a second.” He returned to the room. The window was open. There were no bars, nothing. And no one there.

“What are you doing now?”

“Something’s out there.” Ryan drifted closer. The seventh floor. He could see people in the windows across the road, shadows floating around in the building where he was supposed to be.

“Reynauld, if you saw something out that window, it damn well better have been a bird or I’m calling the nuthouse like I should have umpteen times before.”

“Maybe it was a bird.” Of course. He was a moron. What else would he have seen? Too many shots. It was nothing but way too many damn shots the night before. Still, he wasn’t sure. And he couldn’t look. “Do something for me. Look out the window.” He frowned at Daws crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I’ll go, no hassle, no stalling … just look out the window for me.”

“Not interested. I’ve seen pigeons and I’m not a big fan of the dirty creatures.”
Ryan gave up. Seven floors were too much to look out over. His stomach twinged already from standing halfway across the room from the open window.

At the door, he paused. He had to know.

With a knot in his throat, he hurried over before Daws could stop him and before he lost his nerve, and touched the frame. A cool breeze slapped at his face. Spring air. Normally he loved it, but this time it made him shiver. Or it was nerves. Daws muttered in the background about leaving his ass there. Ryan knew he wouldn’t, not for long. He would be back.

Gritting his teeth, he stepped closer, prepared for the flapping of pigeons. There were no birds. But there were shoes. To his right, on the wide window ledge, a pair of old tennis shoes were perched, their heels against the window and toes pointed forward … out. His stomach turned while his eyes followed the shoes up to baggy jeans, a faded sweatshirt covering most of the fingers underneath, and a diminutive face with long straight hair sweeping across it with the breeze. Startled eyes caught his: round greenish-brown eyes. A girl. Young, emaciated. Afraid.

What did he do now? Yell for Daws to get the police? It would scare her more and that was probably the last thing that would help. If anything would help. Maybe nothing would. Maybe this would be the life-changing event his brother told him would eventually happen to make him be an adult. Maybe he was destined to live forever with watching a young girl end her life. But not if he could stop it. No amount of venting through songs would ever help him deal with that.


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