304

304. The number stuck in his head. She had told him 304. Al paced around his apartment, the heat thick in the air. 8:46 p.m. He lit a cigarette and smoked it to ease his nerves. His frustration had begun to weigh him down, but he refused to let it take over his sanity. The only thought at this moment was her. What was it? What specifically kept her on his mind? What was the one thing …

…confident yet questionable of his actions. Closer. The sound of the floor creaking, filling the emptiness in the air with every step. Closer. His heart pounding. His palms moist. Closer. Echoes in the hallway. 304. The dull numbers hung in front of him. Hesitation. Do it. One, two, three strong knocks on the heavy door. Silence. A pause. Footsteps. The dead bolt. The twist of the doorknob. The door flung open. There she stood. Wide-awake.