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Authors: Michelle Muckley
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Saad. He wanted this work.
Could he have stolen it? Overnight?
“In
less than twelve hours?” he finally said out loud. Endless possibilities raced
through his mind, and yet nothing quite seemed possible. How could it just
disappear overnight? Suddenly, he was jerked back into reality by the
sound of his telephone buzzing against the floor in a tune far too cheerful for
his mood. Hannah!
“Hello,
Hannah?” She would have ideas.
“No,
it’s me. What’s up?”
“What?”
He took the telephone away from his ear and glanced at the screen. “Oh Mark,
it’s you. Listen mate, I’ve got a problem.”
“What’s
going on?” Ben explained in detail about how somebody had broken into the
laboratory and stolen the equipment and the results. He explained how
everything was gone. How a lifetime of research and personal aspirations had
disappeared overnight. “I don’t believe it, Ben. Listen, I’m coming over.
Just stay there. Don’t go anywhere, OK. I’ll be there soon.” With that, Mark
hung up. Mark would understand . He was a scientist too, and whilst he
was now stuck in some managerial job pushing papers and numbers all day long,
he would appreciate the importance of what he had told him. Yes, he would
know what to do.
Even
with the shock of what had happened over the last ten minutes he still couldn’t
shake the gnawing pain of hunger and the headache that had plagued him since he
woke up in the state that he had this morning. He had to eat something. He
was beginning to feel queasy from the emptiness of his stomach, and he could
feel it turning and pulling at his insides. He caught sight of the coins that
sat on the floor at the side of him. Totalling them up they seemed to amount
to about six pounds, and that would be enough to get him one of his beloved
pastrami sandwiches. Mark wouldn’t be here for another fifteen minutes. He grabbed
the keys and fiddled up the coins. He left the telephone and the identity card
where they were and headed down the stairs. The sunlight was streaming in
through the windows as he approached the door, and he thought how unusual it
seemed that there were no buses passing by to cast the door in shadow. He
pushed the handle of the door down and after releasing the heavy door
sufficiently, he started to move his body into the open space. At first, the
high pitched ping confused him, as did the small cloud of dust that swirled to
the side of his face. He couldn’t quite make out what had just happened. It
took only a second to glance down, his eyes following the responsible object
subconsciously, before he had even intended to look. As he saw the deformed slug of a spent bullet hit the ground and clatter away from him, the second one hit the door. It flew past his head at
a proximity that seemed like only millimetres away. It too hit the door
leaving behind the same trail of dust and pain in his ears, and before he could
even consider looking down in order to confirm that it was indeed another
bullet, his instincts had taken over and he was back behind the door. Wedging
his weight behind the open door he forced it shut, and as he did so the money
that he had been clutching in his hand scattered onto the ground around him.
Ben stood stupefied and still, and watched as the third bullet hit the pane of
glass. He jumped back in fright, falling and hitting his back against the
tread of the first step. His first thought was that he was thankful not to be
dead. The second was considerably more confusing. Why had the glass not
broken? He stood up, and as he did he saw two more bullets hit the glass
at the level of his eyes. Both left nothing but a small cloud of dust and a
crater in the glass as they ricocheted back off the door, landing on the
pavement.
“Bullet
proof?” he asked rhetorically as he stroked his fingers against the pane of
glass. Not a single palpable mark was present on
Could he have stolen it? Overnight?
“In
less than twelve hours?” he finally said out loud. Endless possibilities raced
through his mind, and yet nothing quite seemed possible. How could it just
disappear overnight? Suddenly, he was jerked back into reality by the
sound of his telephone buzzing against the floor in a tune far too cheerful for
his mood. Hannah!
“Hello,
Hannah?” She would have ideas.
“No,
it’s me. What’s up?”
“What?”
He took the telephone away from his ear and glanced at the screen. “Oh Mark,
it’s you. Listen mate, I’ve got a problem.”
“What’s
going on?” Ben explained in detail about how somebody had broken into the
laboratory and stolen the equipment and the results. He explained how
everything was gone. How a lifetime of research and personal aspirations had
disappeared overnight. “I don’t believe it, Ben. Listen, I’m coming over.
Just stay there. Don’t go anywhere, OK. I’ll be there soon.” With that, Mark
hung up. Mark would understand . He was a scientist too, and whilst he
was now stuck in some managerial job pushing papers and numbers all day long,
he would appreciate the importance of what he had told him. Yes, he would
know what to do.
Even
with the shock of what had happened over the last ten minutes he still couldn’t
shake the gnawing pain of hunger and the headache that had plagued him since he
woke up in the state that he had this morning. He had to eat something. He
was beginning to feel queasy from the emptiness of his stomach, and he could
feel it turning and pulling at his insides. He caught sight of the coins that
sat on the floor at the side of him. Totalling them up they seemed to amount
to about six pounds, and that would be enough to get him one of his beloved
pastrami sandwiches. Mark wouldn’t be here for another fifteen minutes. He grabbed
the keys and fiddled up the coins. He left the telephone and the identity card
where they were and headed down the stairs. The sunlight was streaming in
through the windows as he approached the door, and he thought how unusual it
seemed that there were no buses passing by to cast the door in shadow. He
pushed the handle of the door down and after releasing the heavy door
sufficiently, he started to move his body into the open space. At first, the
high pitched ping confused him, as did the small cloud of dust that swirled to
the side of his face. He couldn’t quite make out what had just happened. It
took only a second to glance down, his eyes following the responsible object
subconsciously, before he had even intended to look. As he saw the deformed slug of a spent bullet hit the ground and clatter away from him, the second one hit the door. It flew past his head at
a proximity that seemed like only millimetres away. It too hit the door
leaving behind the same trail of dust and pain in his ears, and before he could
even consider looking down in order to confirm that it was indeed another
bullet, his instincts had taken over and he was back behind the door. Wedging
his weight behind the open door he forced it shut, and as he did so the money
that he had been clutching in his hand scattered onto the ground around him.
Ben stood stupefied and still, and watched as the third bullet hit the pane of
glass. He jumped back in fright, falling and hitting his back against the
tread of the first step. His first thought was that he was thankful not to be
dead. The second was considerably more confusing. Why had the glass not
broken? He stood up, and as he did he saw two more bullets hit the glass
at the level of his eyes. Both left nothing but a small cloud of dust and a
crater in the glass as they ricocheted back off the door, landing on the
pavement.
“Bullet
proof?” he asked rhetorically as he stroked his fingers against the pane of
glass. Not a single palpable mark was present on
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