Watching You Chapter One (standard:Suspense, 740 words) [1/3] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Updated: Mar 20 2005	Views/Reads: 11034/2	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The first chapter of a completed manuscript intended for publication. The storyline centres around a CCTV building and an undercover police officer with unusual powers.

CHAPTER ONE 

Puddles of oil shone like demon eyes. The faltering lights of the
depot's access ramp had exploded into life for a second before dying 
away as quickly as the engine of Kelly Stafford's car. She scrambled 
out, slamming the door with a clunk that echoed through the dark void. 
Joe had refused to allow the garage to fix the electrical fault on the 
car, insisting on repairing it himself. Fine. But it hadn't been fixed, 
that was as obvious as the draught that swept around the godforsaken 
place. 

Now she was left with a hike up a ramp that spiralled like the
helter-skelter from hell, with the lights blinking on and off like 
crazed neon-signs, threatening to plunge her into the dark and deserted 
place at dead of night. Except that it wasn't deserted. Somewhere above 
her a car engine idled, which was odd because the depot was locked and 
sealed. Her own entry being by way of a lever operated by the closed 
circuit TV operator she was about to relieve on the top floor. Yes. The 
bloody roof. 

Pulling her coat tight around her shoulders she followed the curve of
the ramp. Above her the lights fizzled then fused, plunging the place 
into darkness. She cursed aloud, then took from her pocket the torch 
she always carried, powerful enough to light her way, heavy enough to 
bring down on the head of a would-be attacker. She rounded the first 
curve, where the ramp straightened and widened to allow parking for 
council officials. The low purring of an engine continued, there was a 
car somewhere though the torch didn't reveal it. Then suddenly its 
lights burst into life, its headlights blasting straight at her, 
dazzling her eyes. Its engine revved She felt her heart-rate increase. 
Nobody should be parked here now. If the driver was thinking of going 
down the ramp he would be wasting his time, there would be no exit 
until morning. She broke into a trot, her heart pounded until it seemed 
to fill her body. Suddenly a squeal of tyres pierced her ears, the car 
shot forward missing her by an inch, it was trying to turn on the ramp. 
To chase her. 

She turned into another curve and stumbled, her foot sinking into a
pothole in the concrete, one of many in the outdated eyesore. Another 
squeal of tyres, the smell of burning rubber clogged her nostrils. She 
didn't need a glance back to know the bastard was manoeuvring in her 
direction. She grabbed a side railing, steadied herself and hurried 
upwards again, she was quick, she'd always been athletic and was 
grateful for that. But the car had completed its turn, coming behind 
her, she could hear its engine, hurried and strained. Just one more 
curve and she'd make it, shut herself in the CCTV building and summon 
assistance. She wasn't going to become the madman's prey, no matter 
what he thought. And why her in any case? The question raised itself as 
she rounded the curve and the car began its surge behind her. The 
octagonal building lay to her right, its pale walls bleak against the 
beam of her torch. Just a few steps and then safety. The fob key was in 
her hand, its oblong indent firmly in the grip of her fingers. She 
pointed it at the sensor, and then from behind came the sound of 
screeching tyres on concrete. A new wave of fear shot through her like 
an electrical charge and the key to safety slipped from her grasp. She 
yelled at McCain to open the door, he must have heard the car brakes 
scorching, he must have heard her shout and swung the camera over – 
seen what was going on. The door stayed shut. And then she heard a car 
door open, heard quick steps on stone. She scrambled for the fob and 
found nothing. ‘McCain, open the...' A hand fell on her shoulder, 
spinning her round. Far below streetlights whirled like a carousel from 
hell. There were hands around her throat, fingers biting deep as the 
palms of rough hands pushed into her windpipe. The man's face was as 
cold as the concrete as she fell to the floor, and one she recognized 
for a second before memory lapsed along with her senses. Then footsteps 
receding on concrete and a car engine revving and roaring away. She 
managed to raise a scream - 


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