Rooftops

Chapter 1

Tonight I'm home alone, watching television and reading magazines my sister has left on the granite worktop.

I can hear rain pouring onto the tarmac outside, leading me to wonder if my sister and her husband remembered an umbrella. I worry about little things like this constantly.

For the hours since they left, I have made myself a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich, flicked through the 800 channels this television seems to have, and read about what films Time has credited most highly this year. None of the ones that I haven't already seen seem to attract my attention enough for me to spend a tenner to see.

Unexpectedly, the intercom buzzes and my heart stops. There are drunks dawdling around London at this hour, and my mind flickers to all the possible scenarios that answering the machine could entail. Yet I do it anyway. There are three locked doors between me and the person waiting outside, and 999 isn't a very long number to dial.

I press the button. "Hello?" The visual flickers on the tiny monitor, displaying a tall man drenched in rainwater, face disheartened and frightened.

"Yes, oh thank god, hello?" A deep voice is muffled, and I can just about make out the words.

"Can I help you?" I try to remain polite whilst my stomach flips over.

"I've just ran about three streets in distance and I'm trying to find somewhere dry and without hundreds of women." I think this is what he said.

"One second, I'm coming down." I did not think this act through. That must have come from a subconscious part of my brain.

Now, I can't let this man down, no matter if he's a serial killer or not. Okay, if he was a serial killer I could, but this guy seems alright. I pick up the keys which are trapped around a large metal ring, and almost slip down the smooth stone steps by speeding down in my socks.

I unlock my way through the house until I reach the hallway, where I know a large and heavy candle stick holder is placed on the cabinet. I pick it up and hide it behind the door, knowing that it's there if I need it.

I take a deep breath and open the heavy door. Before me stands someone I recognise, but I can't put my finger on who it might be. Maybe it's someone that I've seen walking down the street, perhaps a man pictured in a newspaper. He's smiling, and I don't like it.