Under The Gavel Chapter One

Under the Gavel

The lock in the door turns. The sound of a heavy bag being tossed onto the floor follows, along with wet footsteps on hardwood floor. A light flicks on, the empty kitchen bathed in a phosphorescent light. Beep. The answering machine clicks on, the voice of a angry old man playing. “Maxwell, we need to talk. Meet me in my office tomorrow at 3pm.” Beep. The machine clicks off. The Man audibly sighs, pulling a crystal glass out of a cabinet, clinking against a few of the others. It’s going to be a long night.

 

 

        The light flicks off, a man still in his suit and tie slumps into a chair. He’s still wet from the storm outside and still distressed from the storm in his mind. He brings the amber liquid in the crystal glass to his lips, taking a small sip. He shudders at its strength, but keeps drinking. Perhaps this will help him sleep. Perhaps this will let him relax. Looking over at the clock, he sees that it’s half past 1AM. And he still can’t sleep. Turning his chair to face the storm, he stares out into the busy street down below. People going about their lives. Like ants.

 

        He pulls out his phone, checking to see if he got any messages. An old one from his co-worker sent in the morning. “Knock em dead bud. You got this in the bag.” Heh. How untrue that was. Tossing the phone onto a nearby table, he takes another draw from his glass, draining the last of the precious liquid inside. Looking to the bottle, he realises that he’s out. A curse escapes his lips as he places the glass on the table, and closes his eyes. What went wrong? He gets up, heading over to the birdcage and his only real friend. A small blue bird named Harvey. Grabbing the sack of feed, he places some more in the food dish of his little friend. All his “friends” laughed at him when he told them the birds name. He couldn’t pass up the chance at that.

       

        The bird chirps happily as he digs into the freshly poured seed. A few pieces go flying here and there. Such a messy eater. But the man didn’t mind. In fact, he didn’t mind a lot of things right now. He didn’t mind that he lived a solitary life in his tiny apartment. He didn’t mind that he hadn’t eaten anything in almost twelve hours. He didn’t mind that he was going to get chewed out by his boss tomorrow. That wasn’t his fault. Can’t blame the Lawyer for getting bad evidence from the cops. He thought everything was legit. But then again, he should have known better. Should have taken the time to check everything. Shoulda woulda coulda. Didn’t.

       

        Is this what his life had really come down to? Spending his days slaving over book after book, working for someone he hated, and defending people who didn’t deserve it? He asks himself what happened. What happened to the boyish enthusiasm he had just a few years ago? Had he really let the world get to him so fast? He was starting to get philosophical. The drink had gotten to him. He’s literally pacing around the room now, talking to his bird. What went wrong? Why me? Could I have done anything different? He knows the answers to these questions, but he just needs to talk it out.

       

        Eventually, he tires himself out, slumping back into his chair by the window. A single lamp illuminating the large and moderately furnished room. He still has no idea why he bothered. Not like he has company, nor had anyone to share it with. He spent a good deal on this place too, just to be close to work. Now he regrets it. Why would anyone want to be so close to a place they hate? But it wasn’t so bad. What he paid in rent, he saved on gas. Living in this city, that meant something. He stares out the window again, the slow patter of rainfall against the window like a lullaby to his feverish mind. He slowly begins to close his eyes, letting the dulcet tones of the city life take him off to dream land.

       

        Just as he begins to fall asleep, an enormous boom of thunder rattles the night sky, a brilliant flash briefly illuminating the room. He jumps up in surprise, knocking over his table. The crystal glass falls, shattering on the floor. But that’s not what surprises him. It’s the noise he hears coming from his kitchen. He stands there in silence for a moment, trying to listen. It almost sounds like, whimpering. Whimpering and the sound of rainfall against the window pane. Grabbing the nearest thing that could remotely act as a weapon, a candle stick, he creeps slowly towards the kitchen. That bolt of lightning must have struck the building, because all the lights had gone out. Candle stick in one hand, and phone lighting his path in the other, he advances on the kitchen.

 

        Peering inside, the first thing he notices is the scorch marks running along the sides of the walls. Black marks running all the way up to the ceiling. The second, and most surprising of the two, is the purple lump lying on his kitchen floor. He pans the light over it.

        “What the...”

Maxwell walks carefully into the kitchen, staring at the purple creature on his floor. Just what is this thing? As he walks closer, he can hear the creature’s shallow breathing, as if it was in great pain. He kneels down to get a closer look. It’s...

It’s a unicorn.

 

        Backing up quickly, he slams into the kitchen counter, a plate falling to the floor. The creature stirs at the clatter, looking up at Maxwell. It appears to clutch it’s side with a hoof, and looks at him with its great big eyes. It tries to open its mouth, but nothing comes out, as it whimpers in more pain.

Maxwell stands there, looking into the creatures eyes. Has he finally lost it? Snapped? Gone off his rocker? He slowly approaches the unicorn, having put the candle down. It looks at him fearfully, as if he was the one that caused all this. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you...” Maxwell says, sticking out a hand. The unicorn looks at him, and he can almost see a twinkle of understanding in the creature’s eyes. It lowers its head onto the cold floor, still grasping at its side. He slowly moves its hoof, and he can see a small gash along its side.

Maxwell stands up, heading over to the cabinet under the sink. Thankfully he kept a small medical kit just in case of emergencies, and this seemed to be one. Thank god he was so paranoid. Pulling out some gauze and disinfectant, he kneels back down beside the Unicorn.

 

        “I don’t know if you can understand me, but this is going to hurt. I need to clean your wound in case it’s infected ok?” Maxwell says, drenching a cloth with the liquid.

The unicorn nods.

Maxwell places the soaked cloth on the wound, hearing the creatures yelp of pain.

“Shh, it’s alright, it alright. It’s almost done.” He says, removing the cloth. The wound underneath begins bubbling from the disinfectant, removing any potential bacteria. He gently dabs the wound with a fresh cloth to remove the residue. He can see the creature’s eyes glassy from the pain. He removes a large swath of gauze, and begins wrapping it around the unicorn’s midsection. Carefully cutting the excess gauze away, he looks at the unicorn, who at this point is barely conscious.

Maxwell looks at the unicorn again. He says softly, sitting down next to it, “Can you understand me?”

It looks over to him with its big glassy eyes, and nods slightly.

Maxwell can see the pain and confusion in the creatures eyes.

“Just relax; you got a pretty bad cut there.”

The unicorn tries to look back, but is just too exhausted.

 

        Maxwell gets up, retrieving a blanket and pillow from his couch, and bringing them back into the kitchen. He slips the pillow underneath its head, and covers it with the blanket. Slumping down against the cupboards, he watches as the unicorn slowly falls asleep.

Maxwell sits there, going over what the hell just happened. But before he can make heads or tails of it, he slowly succumbs to the Sandman’s spell as well. His vision darkens, and soon the sounds of snoring fill the apartment. And this was just the beginning.