Rain, rain, go away. Malachi muttered to himself. But the rain didn’t care.

Trying to force his body under the tiny overhang, deciding his next move, it was like the hands on the clock of fate was ticking loudly in his ears. The hours of May 1st were far too quickly bleeding out of the wound that time inflicts on every day, every moment, every second of life.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Death was waiting when the clock struck midnight another redhead would vanish.

He just didn’t know if it was this redhead or not. He hated having so very little to go on, but this was simply a coincidence he couldn’t ignore. A redhead, college age, a dispute, a rabid looking mountain of a man with an obviously violent nature and…

Malachi had almost convinced himself that he hadn’t seen the huge man defy the laws of gravity and then get yanked back into the darkness like he was collared on an invisible chain with his handler on the other side.

“Coincidences. Strange happenings. Strange people. A dark and stormy night.” He muttered. “What’s next, Bela Lugosi?”

Looking around, it wasn’t the worst apartment building Malachi had seen in Atlantic City; not like some of the busted down excuses for a building in the heart of the city right next to and overshadowed by multimillion-dollar casinos that were falling into the same disrepair and neglect. It was one of those stocky looking box structures, faded red brick and steel bars on all of the windows up to the third floor. The front door’s brown paint was peeling and he could easily see through the cracked window pane a main staircase running up the middle and down to the basement floor with dimly glowing bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling.

Three floors and a basement, 4 units on a floor, 1 in 16 chance of getting it right. Malachi said. Better odds than what you get at the casinos.

Looking down the line of faded and sloppily written names taped on the buzzer pad, there wasn’t an easy way of discerning which name belonged to a redhead.

It’d be too much for her last name to be O’Hare, wouldn’t it?

Taking his bear of a hand he easily covered two buttons with one finger shoving quickly every button on the board and was rewarded with a scratchy voice.

Whaaaa you want? the tinny voice screeched from the tiny speaker.

Um… I’ve got an order for…

Are. You. Serious? Oh. My. Gawd. The voice shot out through the tinny speaker. I awrdered a cheese pie, like 10 minutes ago. Coh-nah ‘partment.

Yanking the door open Malachi cringed at the high pitched shrill of a buzzer sounding like a train derailing from the tracks.

Malachi took some time to weigh his options. He didn’t really want to go door to door with his badge in hand asking if a redhead lived there but he would if he had too. He pulled up across the street just as the redhead jumped out of her car and fled into the apartment building like the Jersey Devil was chasing her. He knew she was here, somewhere.

Four apartments, three flights of stairs and that smell.

What the… is that! Malachi quickly yanked a rag from his jacket pocket and covered his nose. That’s, that’s disgusting!

A witch’s brew of rotten eggs just cracked open oozing blackened and molding yolk into a cauldron of sticky sweet vegetation and cabbage all rotting together with decomposing flesh falling away from the bone.

And burnt bacon. The overwhelming acrid smell of burnt and sizzled porcine flesh.

I know that smell. Malachi shivered. Normally, the smells never got to him anymore, having seen and smelled his fair share of horrible things all of his nasal hairs had long ago been numbed and killed by the smells of the job. But this smell was so out of the ordinary in the middle of the city in an apartment building it was a shock to his system he couldn’t have seen coming.

Still covering his face and breathing shallowly through the rag Malachi took a single step forward into the hallway.

Zzzzzzzz pop. Looking up as the bare bulb above his head, flickered, hissed and then went out. Like domino’s falling in a row the bulbs in the basement sizzled, flickered and went out. Zzzzzzzzz pop. Then the second-floor light dimly glowing through the staircase, Zzzzzzzzz pop. Malachi could just barely hear the Zzzzzzzzz pop of the third-floor light. Shroud-like darkness descended upon Malachi, obscuring the features of the stairs and railing ahead of him.

The thought of turning around never occurred to Malachi, preferring the bull in a china shop approach to life, retreat was never an option, especially if an innocent life might be at stake. But this bull always came prepared.

Brushing past the cold steel of his Glock 17 Malachi reached into his utility belt and switched his tactical flashlight on, the narrow beam of light easily cutting through the darkness. Malachi followed the smell, that all too familiar smell from years ago that he could never scrub from his memory.

Of course, it’s coming from the basement. Malachi quipped at the night and pointed his flashlight down into the darkened hallway. Never could be in a bright and sunny room, could it?

Deeper into the dark the smell of burnt bacon, moldy cabbage and rotten eggs pulsed out in waves assaulting his senses. Stepping off of the bottom step Malachi pushed his steel toe-because you don’t know which bad guy will need his balls kicked into his brains-construction boot down on what should have been a solid basement floor but instead it sunk deeply through and down past the floor at least a foot deep. Jerking his foot free Malachi’s light shone down and there was nothing there. Just a basement floor surrounded by four weathered and peeling apartment doors.

Okay… this is happening. Malachi breathed. Alright.

Shining his light down Malachi slowly lowered his boot down through the floor and watched as mud and rotten vegetables rose above the leather.

Next Chapter: Chapter 3-Malachi