The Boy on the Roof by Evan Richardson

Author:Evan Richardson [Richardson, Evan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780786470969
Published: 2020-02-28T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

It was dark when Chris arrived that evening back at her apartment building--a large luxury building with a doorman on Central Park West. On her direction, the cab pulled up across the street from her building, rather than going around the block to let her off in front of the building, as she usually did. It was late and she was weary after hours of last minute preparation for her magazine’s publication and she wanted to get inside her apartment as soon as possible. It had been a long, tedious day, interrupted by her visit with Clifford at the hospital, and she was exhausted.

Loaded down with her purse, briefcase, and other office material, Chris waited across the street from her building until the last car obstructing her crossing had passed. Then she started across the street, when, halfway across, a large black car, of indistinguishable make, shot out of nowhere and swerved toward her. Dropping everything in her hands, she leaped onto the sidewalk in front of her building, as the car screeched around the corner and disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

Sprawled on the sidewalk with her belongings scattered everywhere, too stunned to get the license plate number, and the heel of her shoe broken from her leap, Chris attempted to get up when the uniform doorman from her building, Jack, who had been inside the lobby, ran out to help her up.

“What happened?” Jack asked when Chris was on her feet.

“A car nearly hit me,” Chris said, still in shock and in pain with a badly twisted ankle. “Did you see it?”

“No, I was inside,” Jack said, juggling Chris’ things as he helped her hobble barefoot inside the building.

With her shoes in her hands, and Jack’s help, Chris hobbled into the elevator and they ascended to the floor of her apartment. While Jack held her things, she unlocked her door and stepped inside. After Jack had handed her things, she thanked him, assured him she would be alright, and closed the door.

The clinically white apartment was decorated to perfection with an art deco flair with lots of glass and mirrors. Every decorative object was carefully selected and perfectly placed.

Hobbling to a white-leather couch in the living room, Chris dropped her shoes and things onto the couch, and sat. Removing her cell from her purse, she poured brandy into a glass, propped her feet with her twisted ankle up onto the couch, and made a call.

Joe answered and Chris reported the incident to him, while assuring him she was alright. “Just a little shook up,” she said.

Joe said he was at his computer working on his novel and inquired if Chris had gotten the car’s license plate number, which she explained it had happened too fast to think.

“What about the doorman or somebody on the street,” Joe checked other possibilities.

“There was no one, Joe,” Chris said. “It was late and the doorman was inside the building.”

Joe paused and gave the matter serious thought. “I’m worried, Chris,” he said.

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