#AmWriting #Fiction #IndieAuthor
Marcus pulled into the driveway slowly, staring at the house in which he had started a life. He climbed out of his Ford, pulled the garment bag hanging in the back out, and stood in the driveway, letting the warm air fill his nose with the smell of wild heather that grew in the fields nearby. This place had been home, and now it sat empty and hollow, reflecting what he felt on the inside.
He walked into the house, ignoring the sign telling him to remove his shoes, and walked down the stairs to the basement. The coolness of the air from the cement felt good as he surveyed the room. Nothing was out of place. His tools still hung on the peg board on the back wall while the washer and dryer sat covered in a layer of dust.
He crossed the basement and twisted the pipe-wrench that hung from the wall. The familiar sound of a small click, followed by the sound of unseen mechanisms greeted him as the wall opened up to reveal another, much larger, room.
He entered the room, turning on the light to reveal his desk and a glass case sitting in the corner, currently empty. A table ran down the other side of the room, filled with various tools and gadgets of his own design. His eyes only barely acknowledged them as he opened the case and, in one swift movement, removed the suit from the bag, hanging it haphazardly inside.
Leaving the glass door ajar, he sat at his desk and put his face in his hands. Tears escaped him then, flowing through his fingers and onto the desk. He moved his hands and looked back at the case.
“I’m done.” He said to the ill-hung suit before him. The suit he had worn for more than twenty years as he protected the nearby city.