“Top window, to the right.” Joana pointed. “He’s in there, I swear it. We were walking through the courtyard and out of nowhere, two men appeared, hooked their arms under his and carried him off. There was nothing I could do.”
“What’d they look like?” The policeman held a small pad and pencil, preparing to take notes.
“Tall, skinny, they had on black leotard suites, their faces were fully covered by ski masks,” she wiped her sweaty palms across her pants as she moved nervously in place. “Can’t you call for back up and just go get him?” She pleaded. “Martin!” She screamed her boyfriend’s name.
The officer had yet to write anything down.
“You’re wasting precious time!” Her quivering voice got louder.
“Am I?” He asked.
The cop’s sarcasm was too much for the woman. She sat down on the concrete and bowed her head. The ground soaked up her tears.
A soft instrumental began to play. The beautiful tune caught her off guard. The policeman reached down to help her back to her feet. Digital photos of Martin in different and extravagant poses began to project off the building’s columns. The music paused. Martin’s voice echoed from a loud speaker. “Darling, I’m on the roof.”
He parachuted down carrying a dozen long stem roses. Safely landing, he removed his gear and began to sing along with the melody. The romantic words, written for her, by him, acted as a marriage proposal. He held the last note long enough for her to realize his need to be seen was far too tiring and a bit embarrassing.
“No.” Her answer, simple. She walked away from the theatrics. “I’ll take a back seat to this performance.”
THE END
Leesa Writes 