Embers

Here is my first attempt at suspense and thriller. 

Embers

     David can smell damp death in the air. From the porch of his three-story mansion, he can hardly see the lake he paid so much to look at. Doctors have advised against exercise in the current conditions, but if he is to keep the pill-popping blonde currently passed out on the balcony happy, he needs to keep in shape. The world is quiet around him through his noise-cancelling ear buds as he laces up the brand new Nikes he bought yesterday.

     Hell of a day to start exercising, he thinks and tests the rubber soles on the cool pavement. The occasional black remnant of an ember floats down to join the concrete. The hillside a few miles out of town is ablaze with wildfires, but in Sharpe’s Point, it isn’t much of a concern. The best fire department money could buy takes care of that. They keep the rich well protected, and when ten or twelve firefighters eventually die in an unstoppable blaze, the National Guard will come to rescue their favorite debutants and donors.

     David takes a deep breath and pads out onto the street. In his mind, he’s running an eight-minute mile, but in reality, it’s closer to twenty. There’s no one out to see his feat of speed, so it doesn’t matter. It’s early in the morning and the neighbors have their windows shuttered, trying their best to keep out the acrid smell of other people’s misfortune.

     The fire started from a single misplaced cigarette butt. A couple of loaded teenagers had thrown it there in a moment of spontaneous rebellion. Three days later, their careless nature has spawned a fire that has burned down two houses and isn’t stopping anytime soon. The smoke is so thick that the rising sun only gives a blood-orange sparkle as it tries to filter through. The acidity in the air burns his lungs, but the farther he runs, the easier it gets. Songs by The Killers pump through his headphones propelling him even faster down the hill towards town. He feels as though he could run ten miles. The thought of this is distracting in its grandeur. It’s this distraction that assures that he won’t make it past one.

     He is so carefree that the shape hunkered down on the side of the road opposite him doesn’t even register. The music is playing so loud that he doesn’t hear the footsteps starting up to match his pace. It’s surprising when he feels the sharp pain in his side, but at first, he thinks it’s a cramp; a bad cramp, but just a cramp. David had read in Runner’s World that to alleviate cramps it was best to lift his arm above his head. He does this and instantly feels lightheaded. Bewildered, he looks down at his side and sees that his freshly cleaned runner’s clothing has begun to stain red.

     His legs are heavy. Each movement is harder than the last and he slows down. The whole moment is very confusing; the sudden pain, the red, and now the inescapable feeling that he isn’t going to make it to ten miles. The impact of his knees hitting the pavement is another shock to his mind, now shrouded in a fog similar to that of the smoke around him. Everything is fiery confusion and he has a dim awareness that he’s in extreme pain.

     From his knees, he turns and has a terrified moment of realization. Behind him is a figure, dressed head to toe in black, with a white porcelain mask. Its mouth is stretched in an unsettling grin, made even more unsettling by the tiny red spatters around the edges. In the figure’s hand is a large kitchen knife, stained with the same red that’s seeping through his clothing.

     “Hey, stop that,” he stammers as the figure drives the knife through his throat. The world spins and he leans back, smacking his head on the pavement. White-hot pain consumes his being. I could have run ten miles, he thinks, watching his vision fade to a pinpoint, and then just to black.