The room was dark with a single light beaming down onto a faceless man. On his blackened table the figures hands were joined and its body motionless. The only discernible sound was the constant dripping from the ceiling and ending in the cup not far from the figures hands on the table. With each drip the room appeared smaller.
Known only as the milk man, famous for the the Mercy Dower killings and arguable the most dangerous man in Bay Side, I needed his help. I walked forward to speak, coming out of the darkness of the narrow hall into the dimly light room but, the figure raised his hand. I froze. As his hand moved back to rejoin his indifferent composure it wavered, pointed to a bucket on the floor I had nearly fallen over. It was placed between him and I. The toll must be paid. I reached into my jacket almost panicking not to find what had slid through the pocket liner. Eventually grasping the near fatal roll of whatever I had left. I dropped it into the bucket with a solemn bang.
The figure moved in rapid response. The sound of his chair grinding back against the floor broke the constant drone of the drip, as the figure stood tall. A milk bottle slid across the table, almost not stopping at its edge. the figure jostled in the darkness until the sharp sound of a match catching ended my terrified curiosity. I could not help notice the man in the dark. A wedding ring here, a scar on his brow there. As he inhaled the ember of his cigarette revealed black, cold eyes and clues pointing toward a generally older man. For how long I thought did the milk man do what he did, for how long did he poison the unsuspecting. He blew the smoke up into the light, the shadows danced across the table as if demons around the bottled death, was I making a deal with the devil?
This is an Image I have found to represent the moment:
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