Alex Harris 00 - Armed

more. I realized volunteering for this assignment hadn’t been one of my brightest ideas. At least I had my bags of M&M’s. I had been pretty much popping them all day. Did I mention I’m an addict?
    Mrs. Scott turned to me. “Alex, we don’t usually do this, but since we know you well and you’re a friend of Mr. Poupée, I’m going to leave a key with you for the front door. You’ll be the last to leave so just press the red button on the security panel right by the door and it will set itself. I think Ruth is still here but she’ll be leaving in a few minutes and the factory’s been closed for an hour.”
    She left before I could protest.
    I shook my head and pursed my lips. “I could just kill her! She’s got a lot of nerve leaving me alone,” I huffed while I shoved yet another set of flyers into an envelope I had already filled. I tried to calm down, but since patience was never a virtue I possessed I didn’t see much hope in achieving that goal. Sitting up a bit straighter I intoned, “’Give us the tools, and we will finish the job’,” and wondered if Winston Churchill had been stuffing envelopes in a mannequin factory when he said it in 1941. I’ve been reading a lot about World War II and old Winston had something to say about everything.
    With a sigh loud enough to compete with the grumblings of my sustenance-deprived stomach, I shoved another handful of candies into my mouth then hunkered down and had the mailing boxed and in the trunk of my car an hour later only to find the tires packed in with snow.
    After trying to dig my way out with ungloved hands I went back to the building to find something I could use as a shovel, and now stood in the darkened, deserted factory. The glow from the lights out in the parking lot peeked in from a window high on the wall to my left and gave the cavernous room enough light to cast eerie shadows. I made out arms and legs hanging from hooks in the section closest to me while further into the factory I could see torsos of various sizes stacked against a wall.
    It couldn’t have been creepier.
    That’s when I stumbled. I stepped further into the factory, my eyes straining to see a broom or anything else I could use. My foot hit something and I tried to press forward but the object wouldn’t budge. A sense of dread started its slow creep up my body.
    I took a deep breath and looked down at Elvira Scott, her beautiful hair matted with blood.
    I moved my foot slightly and cupped my hand over my mouth as hot bile worked its way into my throat. My heart raced and my breathing reduced to quick gasps. I took another quick look at her face. Maybe she wasn’t dead.
    Eyes that only an hour ago reminded me of a spotted owl with their rounded eyebrows now looked straight up at the ceiling. No living human could keep a stare going that long.
    A deep red trickle from her lips had stopped at her chin. Next to Mrs. Scott’s head lay a mannequin arm, the metal joint at the shoulder covered with blood. And I knew for certain, as the factory closed in and draped me in claustrophobic horror, that Mrs. Scott had been murdered.

CHAPTER TWO

    With this realization I opened my mouth to scream and then covered it just in time—whoever killed Mrs. Scott could still be in the factory.
    I whirled quickly, sweat bathing my face—but saw no one. No sound. Nothing.
    The complete silence terrified me. I stood totally still—or as still as I could possibly be while my heart threatened to jump out of my chest. At this point I would have loved to hear something , the sound of sirens and police cars arriving being my first choice. But the only sound was a sudden gust of wind forcing its way through invisible cracks. The cavernous building protested as the wind rattled panes of glass high up on the back wall; and then again as another gust swept up the outside walls.
    With a few deep breaths my breathing returned to something close to normal and I shuffled back to the office. I pulled the door opened and this time didn’t bother to stifle my scream.
    Then I screamed again.
    Standing in the hallway loomed a tall man, his face cast in shadow, the soft light streaming from the reception area giving a halo-like effect to the crop of wild white hair covering his head. One hand clutched his heart while he slowly raised the other. Fearing a blow to equal the one that killed Mrs. Scott, I let out a third scream. The man continued to raise his arm and then touched something in his