The tank was heavy, full of oil, or, as another would say, pesticide. It was my first office building; around 6:00 am I parked and gathered my equipment before stepping into the elevator to the seventeenth floor. The cleaning crew had just arrived which mean that I was precisely on schedule. For an hour I walked around a dozen or so offices spraying the nasty stuff behind desks, around cubical, and on all crevices I knew pests would craw about. I could hear the cleaning bunch behind me; there machines becoming quieter as I entered offices they had yet reached. I was almost done with m morning job as I entered room 1789. the light were off as expected and, after switching them on, I automatically felt something was wrong – something was terribly wrong in room 1789. I proceeded quietly although mentally I knew I had no reason to fear anything. I was alone on the wing but why did I think such thoughts...it was just a feeling, a misguided vibe alarming me that something was out of the ordinary. Regardless, I continued forth ignoring my inner caution. I sprayed the usual corners and sections of walls and floors when...when I came upon something, something I knew was horrific but still unseen.
The smell of the vacant room had changed. I did not notice it at first because it crept up on me as if I was nearing its origin – the sort of the stench. I stopped my work, place the take quietly on the floor and followed my nose. After just a few quiet paced I entered the small office of a Mr. Henderson. At least that was the name on the door. Henderson, director of operation. Inside this room, dimmed if not for the morning sun just rising and bringing in some light into the office, I found that everything seemed fine; all was in place and nothing was out of the ordinary. I mustered up some courage, not that I was scared of anything, I mean was there anything to be scared about up until now?
I found out the answer to that question with my next step. I tripped over something and landed hard on the floor. I made no sound getting up although my stumble did cause some noise. As I stood I looked around and saw nothing by an empty office with the door ajar.
I looked down to see what made me stumble and then I saw it. It was a shiny cuff link. I got on my knees and leaned forward to get a better look; and that's when I saw the horrible source of the smell – the cause of my inner panic. It was an arm stretched out on the floor behind Mr. Henderson’s desk. Walking forward on my knees I ran both my hands down the deaden arm before I felt something cold. I quickly drew my hands to myself and saw the horror – with eyes wide open I felt the dark, red blood of my hands. It had to be Henderson...i mean...it was his office. It must be Henderson. I never looked behind the desk it self, why would anyone want to see a dead body. I mean he was dead – cold as stone and a very sour smell told me he was a goner.
As I got up I felt a very different kind of feeling: a feeling of dread. I turned my head in all directions before turning around. Someone was in the room; I was certain of that fact. My eyes focused for the room was still dark -the morning light was still new and defining anything visually took some adjustment.
As my eyes finally grasped the outline and shapes of my surroundings, I was struck with a terror I has since experience – a mortal dread. The outline of a person, face, hands and torso in shadow stood right before me. I felt this person looking at me with heavy, assured eyes. I quickly looked down and saw what appeared to be the outline of a revolver. I took a step back. My feet, shoulders, arms, legs frozen as if restrained by iron chains. What I saw next nearly knock my off my heavy, lead soles – a gun, now clearly distinct in the aurora light, aimed directing between my eyes. My body swiftly regained feeling, as if emergency mode, but it was too late. I was face-down on the floor atop of Mr. Henderson’s, arms. I looked up and saw the gun man, still in shadow, his head seemed to be as if under a hood. He pointed the barrow of the weapon at the side of my head when, suddenly, a group of voices called out to me, it was the cleaning crew calling for me. The lights of the rooms nearing the office began to light up. At that I saw the gun man for the first time – at least his plastic mask under a dark blue hood. The assassin jolted then stopped before vanishing into the night. A minute later the cleaning crew found me on the flood. With haste they called the authorities and before long I was recovering in a nearby hospital.
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