It was just his luck to have spent 30 years on the force and just now have a “situation” like this right before he retired. It’s impossible to count how many times she wished him good luck as he rushed out of the door, pushing a grin onto his face as he thought of his late peaceful days before he left. “Just like him to go and fine trouble”, she would have said, when really, he wanted to avoid it just as much as she wanted him to. Lieutenant Bowerman turned the corner, his lungs numbing as the cold air inflated them, and he broke into a sprint. He passed La Salle Bank, the frosty golden doors shining bright from the reflection of a corner street lamp. He’d remembered passing through those same doors during his last visit to Minneapolis for a conference on gun safety. “God that was awhile ago”, Bowerman thought to himself, such a calm, reminiscent thought for a time like this. The crunching of his feet as they threw snow up in all directions echoed in the alley as Bowerman tried to calculate how far they’d ran. No matter how bad his luck was, he was now being chased by this faceless man, and had to do something quick. He was so close that Bowerman could almost make out the mud streaked Adidas high tops, concealed by loose black sweatpants. He stumbled across the man by chance, noticing the open front door of the big Victorian down the street, his instincts urging him to check it out. The silhouette grew closer as the lieutenants’ eyes darted around, searching for the closest corner to turn on. He took the turn tight, catching himself before he ran through a barbwire fence. “Finally man, I thought you were going to run forever!” he spoke with a tone of slight sarcasm, knowing that he decided what happened from now on. The man caught his breath, letting his hoodie fall back enough to make out the expressions on his face. It was the sight of a man who had sold his soul to the devil. The man had starched portions of his face to the bone,...
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