In almost a fit of fury, Iva grabs hold of the candle stick.
It was the closest object next to her before she could even bat an eye lid.
It was only moments earlier when tears where draining her face in liquid oil spills, when a sound of something unusual came lurking outside her apartment, distracting her. Iva froze. She thought she could hear moans. Gurgling.
The odd noises were soon followed by heightened screams and then a stampede of tumbling feet, bashing down the stairs, spilling into the corridors.
With the candle stick firmly in her right hand, its metal digging into her palm, Iva heads over to the curtains, as she follows the noise of tripping heals crash into the court yard. Gently pulling the curtain aside, leaving enough room for the apple of her eye to gauge what was happening, Ive spies neighbors rolling over one another, heading for the front door of the main building.
They were running from something.
But from what.
Everyone was almost outside.
Everyone but one man.
He's left behind.
Iva pulls the curtains closer to her face, sealing out any possible light coming into the court yard.
The person left behind lies motionless.
The a wiggle.
Then a kneeling.
Then a stand up.
and stares at her.
His face is soaked in blood.
As he walks towards her window, Iva notices his step is limp.
He doesn't make a sound.
Only the sullen drag of pebbles on the ground is heard, echoing, as he heaves his body towards Iva's window.
And as he closes in, Iva notices his face.
The man is her neighbor. Living above her.
A friendly gentlemen.
John is his name, divorced with two children, just past his fifties, a writer, and with intensely ice blue eyes.
Eyes that Iva recognizes instantly.
With her free hand, Iva fiddles for the light switch.
The room is dark.
She looks outside.
Darkness fills every shadow.
She no longer sees John.
Maybe now he doesn't see her.
Maybe now she is safe.
In the dark.