Youngstown Demon
You cross the street and walk back to your office building, greeted by the elderly black gentleman who works security as he hold the door open for you. He’s one of the few men who seems above the ire of the others, and one of the only people in the world you have ever felt you could trust. “Thank you, Don;” you say. He just smiles and tips his hat to you, an example of courtesy that has been long forgotten by the world.
You take the elevator back up to your floor and return to your desk at the front of the office. You log back into your computer and do a little research, running the plate numbers from through the BMV database and finding an address for the bastard from the deli. His name is Frank Deitre. He lives on the West side, conveniently close to the park.
“And what are we looking up?” Anthony Katelli says from over your shoulder, startling you in your seat.
“Nothing,” you say, closing the window as quickly as possible.
“Someone cut you off in traffic or something?” He asked, his voice chiding and sinisterly playful. He’s always made your skin crawl. The others have promised that his time would come, it just wasn’t time yet.
“Yeah,” you tell him. “Can I help you with something Mr. Katelli?”
“Oh I think there’s something you can help me with,” he says with an arrogant smile. It disgusts you how charming he thinks he is. You don’t respond, opting to stare him down instead. It appears to unnerve him a little and he straightens up to adjust his tie and collar before speaking again. “You know, using the BMV website like that is an abuse of privilege.”
“Sexual harassment is equally frowned upon,” You respond with a stone face.
“What?” he says, taken aback with mock surprise. “I haven’t…”
“You and I both know better, Mr. Katelli.”
“Ah,” he said while scratching the back of his head. “Well I’m going to go check my email then.” You allow yourself to smile as he shambles off down the hall to his office. The prick.
The rest of your workday passes in a dull monotony, time seeming to stretch out indefinitely. Eventually the day does in fact come to an end, as all days do; and you leave the office before any of the attorneys step out of the office. You step into the elevator and hit the button for the ground floor, but as the doors are nearly closed a hand slips in between them and the doors slide back open.
As you make note of who your fellow elevator passenger will be you find that your nostrils are flaring. It’s Katelli.
“I’ll take the stairs,” you say; attempting to step past him.
He blocks your way and smiles a bit. “There’s no need for that,” he says. “Whatever you think was going on back in the office is a figment of your imagination. Let’s just ride the elevator in peace and we can both be on our way.”
You frown a bit but decide to stay. He stands in the opposite corner of the elevator. The box starts to descend and you glance over to him warily hoping he’s not checking you out and satisfied that he is still staring straight forward.
The elevator reaches the bottom floor without incident and when the doors open you step out. You feel a pat on your ass and jump a little, your face going red with something between shame and fury. You accelerate your pace and walk quickly through the lobby where Don is opens the door for you and wishes you a good evening. You don’t respond.
You get to your car and sit still for a while, trying to regain control of your emotions. “When can it be him?!” you ask.
Sssoon, came the voice in a hiss from your left. Patience, this time the voice comes from your right.
“I have been patient!” You say in a tone much louder than you anticipated.
Sssoon… the voice hissed again, fading away behind you. When the voice was finally quiet your feel in control again. You calmly start the car and start to head home. Half-way there a whisper in your ear causes you to think better of it and cut through the University and take the bridge past the B & O railway station and into the West side.
You find Frank Deitre’s house easy enough, it’s in better shape than you expected. His car is parked near the end of the driveway. You roll to a stop on the side of the road just a few houses away. You roll down the windows and wait. Soon enough there is some shouting, his voice booming and kids crying. The front door swings violently open and the man from the deli storms out onto the porch. He heads down the steps and to his car, cursing to himself as he goes.
You take the elevator back up to your floor and return to your desk at the front of the office. You log back into your computer and do a little research, running the plate numbers from through the BMV database and finding an address for the bastard from the deli. His name is Frank Deitre. He lives on the West side, conveniently close to the park.
“And what are we looking up?” Anthony Katelli says from over your shoulder, startling you in your seat.
“Nothing,” you say, closing the window as quickly as possible.
“Someone cut you off in traffic or something?” He asked, his voice chiding and sinisterly playful. He’s always made your skin crawl. The others have promised that his time would come, it just wasn’t time yet.
“Yeah,” you tell him. “Can I help you with something Mr. Katelli?”
“Oh I think there’s something you can help me with,” he says with an arrogant smile. It disgusts you how charming he thinks he is. You don’t respond, opting to stare him down instead. It appears to unnerve him a little and he straightens up to adjust his tie and collar before speaking again. “You know, using the BMV website like that is an abuse of privilege.”
“Sexual harassment is equally frowned upon,” You respond with a stone face.
“What?” he says, taken aback with mock surprise. “I haven’t…”
“You and I both know better, Mr. Katelli.”
“Ah,” he said while scratching the back of his head. “Well I’m going to go check my email then.” You allow yourself to smile as he shambles off down the hall to his office. The prick.
The rest of your workday passes in a dull monotony, time seeming to stretch out indefinitely. Eventually the day does in fact come to an end, as all days do; and you leave the office before any of the attorneys step out of the office. You step into the elevator and hit the button for the ground floor, but as the doors are nearly closed a hand slips in between them and the doors slide back open.
As you make note of who your fellow elevator passenger will be you find that your nostrils are flaring. It’s Katelli.
“I’ll take the stairs,” you say; attempting to step past him.
He blocks your way and smiles a bit. “There’s no need for that,” he says. “Whatever you think was going on back in the office is a figment of your imagination. Let’s just ride the elevator in peace and we can both be on our way.”
You frown a bit but decide to stay. He stands in the opposite corner of the elevator. The box starts to descend and you glance over to him warily hoping he’s not checking you out and satisfied that he is still staring straight forward.
The elevator reaches the bottom floor without incident and when the doors open you step out. You feel a pat on your ass and jump a little, your face going red with something between shame and fury. You accelerate your pace and walk quickly through the lobby where Don is opens the door for you and wishes you a good evening. You don’t respond.
You get to your car and sit still for a while, trying to regain control of your emotions. “When can it be him?!” you ask.
Sssoon, came the voice in a hiss from your left. Patience, this time the voice comes from your right.
“I have been patient!” You say in a tone much louder than you anticipated.
Sssoon… the voice hissed again, fading away behind you. When the voice was finally quiet your feel in control again. You calmly start the car and start to head home. Half-way there a whisper in your ear causes you to think better of it and cut through the University and take the bridge past the B & O railway station and into the West side.
You find Frank Deitre’s house easy enough, it’s in better shape than you expected. His car is parked near the end of the driveway. You roll to a stop on the side of the road just a few houses away. You roll down the windows and wait. Soon enough there is some shouting, his voice booming and kids crying. The front door swings violently open and the man from the deli storms out onto the porch. He heads down the steps and to his car, cursing to himself as he goes.