Intermission

Chapter 5 : Intermission

He dragged a chair slowly across the attic floor towards the window.
He stood there a moment, looking out, before setting the chair in its
usual spot. Over the past year, he had enacted this ritual eleven
times. On these eleven separate occasions, he had crawled up through
his third floor bedroom closet hatch into the attic. Eleven times he
had tread deliberately across this dark and narrow attic floor and
marveled at the graceful dance of dust astir in moonbeams. And every
time, he would wend his way to the west face window dragging his chair
behind him. The sound of the chair legs carving the floor; the squeal
of the floor joists as he set his bulk onto the seat, the pockmarks in
the rough hewn planks left by the chair pegs; the lazy sway of the rope
hung from the third row truss brace; the musty smell of a closed space
left rotting in stillness. His senses peaked. Anticipation built as he
relished each of these familiar sensations.

Perched now, as he was, some thirty-five feet above ground level, his
window afforded him an exceptional vantage over Haverton's west end. On
a clear night such as this, he could see almost a half mile down
through the industrial sector to the tip of Fossey bridge where the
Trimac Plastics factory looms above the Fenelon River. He could see the
sprawl of the Sacred Heart Cemetery and its quaint little church
squatting just South of it about 10 or 12 strides from the
riverbank.

The window was cranked ajar just enough to allow the soft summer night
breeze to seep in carrying the mixed smells of the day's business up
from the street below and the occasional stray sounds. As it turned out
his timing was impeccable. There would be no long wait tonight. The
show would start any moment now. He could make out a pair of
silhouettes nearing his surprise. Soon there would be a chill scream
and a moment of hesitation and awe, he imagined. He continued to play
out the scene in his mind, while he waited and watched in anticipation.
There would be shouting and they would likely run toward the
church&;#8230;try and wake the minister. Soon he would hear the
sirens and the shocked gabble of the riff-raff that would assemble to
sniff about the scene. He imagined the one squad car, siren whirring
and the cherry lights flaring up like fireflies on the grass and trees.
Then more and the news buzzing over phone lines and cameras flashing
and yes&;#8230;soon. Soon the show would start.