Seven Minutes Early

Looking down he saw Mark's shoes just inside the doorway. Why would he take off his shoes? John found the answer to the question after only one step. His wet shoes on the tile floor let out a squeal, piercing the silence like a knife. Apparently, Mark didn't want anyone to hear him, but, but what did he need to get? Was he getting anything? Did he plan this? What the hell was going on? Thoughts spun around John's head making him feel slightly nauseous. He took another step in, and again his shoes let out a piercing screech. His eyes listlessly adjusted to the light and objects became clearer. The hallway led into a living room littered with high price furniture. Slowly John walked into the room.

Halfway through his heart almost shot through his skull when a cold voice came from directly behind him.

“I told you to wait.” The voice was shaky, uncontrolled and tense but unmistakably Mark’s.

“What the hell is going on Mark?” John’s response was cold and distant as if someone was speaking for him.

Mark replied with the same five words.

“I told you to wait.” The voice seemed as if it was holding back an un-measurable amount of anger.





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