Fox Hunt

Fox Hunt

Robin Foale, 1/5/2013

I can see the rain lashing against the windscreen as I pull the car up alongside my destination. Pausing for a moment I am left in the cramped car with only the sound of my heavy breathing to accompany me. The stench of fast food fills my nostrils as I turn the ignition off. I take one more deep breath before lifting the door open. It creaks and gets jammed, only halfway up. Giving it a shove I manage to wrench it fully open, the door now providing some cover from the pouring rain. I put one of my vintage 2000 Starcross converses onto the wet gravel and hear almost instantly the crunch of the ground and the squelch of the puddle I have stepped in. Sighing with annoyance I slam the door back down with a creak and approach the brightly lit building to my left. I find a path leading to the entrance which is partially covered by some hanging trees and decide to take that route. I get halfway to the door before noticing the name on the letterbox just outside the block of flats. 'Mr J Fox - Number 6' it reads. Breathing heavily I look up at the tall blue and white building. Its design looks more like something from the 21st century rather than the 22nd. Above the building it has an out of place holographic sign which reads 'Paradise Homes'. Seeing my cold breath float in the air I approach the old wooden door and press my thumb down on the wooden latch. It’s hard, yet warm to the touch despite the cold weather. Pushing hard I enter the bright interior of the sterile white lobby. Despite its cleanliness, I feel sick and want to leave. However, I remember I have a task at hand and enter further. A large fire blazes in the middle of the room, casting shadowy figures on the fish tank ceiling I see above noting that nearly half a dozen fish reside in it, obviously a recent addition to the building along with the fire place. Feeling the damp coursing through my converses and trench coat I decide to take off the latter, placing it on a nearby couch and pull a cigarette from my jeans. Placing my watch next to the cigarette I light it with a small flame that extends from the side of the clock face. Probably the only 'modern' thing I own. I examine the room as I put the illegal substance to my red lips.
"If I'm going to do a big crime, I might as well start off with a small one" I hear myself saying aloud as I savour the long intake of Mars' purified tobacco. 
I look at the clock projected behind the service desk and notice it is already two in the morning, three hours behind schedule. I find myself smiling, no one is around to stop me smoking and it feels great. I take one final reviving drag before dropping the stub on the floor, not caring about the mess I make since these types could do with some instead of boring cleanliness. I look up and wave a hand at the round camera just above the stairway leading to the other floors, a confident yet sinister smile spreading on my face. 
"I'm coming for you Fox," I say looking straight at the camera as I pull out the 6 millimetre pistol tucked behind the back of my denims and proceed up the marble staircase at a sprint, leaving the trench coat behind, I no longer need it. 
My long black hair flows behind me as I am suddenly full of adrenaline, excitement, from running up the stairs, not knowing if it’s because I know what I am about to do or not. Whatever it is however, I haven't felt this free, so in control for years. 
I reach the final three steps leading to his floor and decide to enjoy taking each one. I look down and count. 
First step, the rain has done a real deal to my antique shoes. I hope I can save them.
Second step, still no dust. God I hate boring cleanliness. 
Third step, I am about to reminisce about the rain splashing against the window when I hear a loud crash and stop in my tracks. 
I pause and listen in the direction of the corridor next to me. Heart racing as I raise the pistol and slowly peer around. A potted plant lies broken by the last door, Mr Fox's door!