Stand Up Stand Down

Author: Lynda Rogle Stand Up Stand Down 1 Jason was the last person left in the offices of the weekly Chronicle. His desk was lit up in a lonely pool of light as he finished the last paragraph of the article on the missing gunshot victim. The weekly printed on Saturday and this was a final draft before going to print. There wasn’t much more he could say and any follow-up would have to wait until next week. For now he’d have to wait and see if any of the leads he’d followed would bring results over the weekend. He put off the desk light and noticed that the light coming through the glass door from the foyer was dimmer than usual. Must be a globe gone, he thought and reached into his pocket for a cell ‘phone. The light was as bright as that of a small torch and lit up the room enough to find his way down the long aisle to the door. He locked the office door and turned to the lift and that’s the last thing he saw before he collapsed in a heap from a blow to the head. He came to his senses blindfolded and sandwiched between two people. His head throbbed. A strong body odour suggested their occupation as hirelings in the contract labour department. He turned his head to one side and asked in a voice tense with fear, ‘Where am I and who are you?’ His hands were bound on his lap. He felt helpless and very afraid. The silence was unnerving and the swish of, what sounded like wipers, was menacing in its isolation. It was the only thing he heard apart from the breathing of his captors. Even the rainfall, the wipers must have been clearing, had to be the gentlest of drizzles. He hadn’t noticed a change in the weather up on the ninth floor. The last time he’d been out the sun was bright. The sudden change in weather was typical for spring in Johannesburg. He listened carefully for more clues but the wipers were the only sound he heard. Now they were moving. He heard the idling engine of the car roar on starting and with the hiss of tyres on wet tarmac they sped away. He guessed they had stopped at a red light. After picking up speed the car slowed down to almost a stop but not quite. He was shoved out the door on to the wet road. He landed and rolled several times before his helpless body stopped. He just lay there wondering if he would ever know what this was all about. His head hurt, his back hurt, he choked off a scream before it was born; instead he lifted his bound hands to remove the blindfold. He tore at his face and then started to laugh hysterically in relief at the sight before him. He’d been delivered to his own front door. His briefcase lay open a few feet from him and pinned to his jacket a message from his not so obliging taxi. ‘This is so you know that we know where you live and can take you out any time we want, so lay off the story of the comedian.’He staggered to his feet, picked up his bag and knocked on his own door