He'd returned to the office once again to care for his beauties. Taylor Peltari stood by the row of beakers and beansprouts and cotton bedding, a ruler clutched in one hand as he leaned in, cautiously, measuring each of the tender sprouts. He tucked his tongue inside his cheek as he jotted down the height of the largest plant.
The lights above him buzzed, the heating lamps on the desks providing an additional glow which reflected off the windows.
Night had fallen hours ago, but Mr. Peltari didn't mind. He enjoyed the work, especially in between phone calls and case files. Everyone needed a hobby, especially those involved in the legal field. His employees didn't get it. Didn't seem to like his plants much. They called him green thumb behind his back.
But he took it as a compliment. Botany was no laughing matter. Beans came from somewhere, as did all other plants.
He paused, glancing at his yellow legal pad, then bent over, quickly jotting down a couple of notes. There was a metaphor in there somewhere, comparing new legal interns to beans—he'd have to hash it out then deliver it at the next company party. That oughta get a round of applause.
He smiled, nodding as he measured the next plant.
He enjoyed working late. Something about being alone in the large building under the cover of darkness... It felt, significant somehow. Like when rain cleared the streets and most people beat a hasty retreat to their cars or homes, leaving only a few outside to enjoy the deluge. Significance.
Most of his case work wasn't particularly significant. Then again, it had paid for this office space.
He measured another plant.
And that's when he heard the whistling.
He frowned, straightening slowly, a thin glaze of sweat on his forehead from the heating lamps. He turned, glancing over his shoulder towards his shut office door. His computer was still on, with his most recent case file—a settlement with the teacher's union—still open. The hard copies were tucked neatly in a binder by his cabinet. His secretary always went the extra mile. He'd have to remember to promote her when he got a chance.
Good work couldn't be ignored. He didn't end up as the boss of his own law firm in his early forties by slacking.
The sound, though, wasn't coming from his computer.
The whistling grew louder. It had a tune to it... Twinkle, twinkle, little star...
He hesitated, turning fully now and facing the door to his office. “Abigail?” he called out, swallowing. She always did go the extra mile, but he'd thought she'd left hours ago. Maybe she'd forgotten something. “Abigail?” he called, louder now.
The whistling stopped. Then, his door handle turned.
He stared, eyes wide, gripping his ruler tightly.
The handle clicked, and the door squeaked as it slowly opened inwards. “H-hello?” he called. “Abi...” He trailed off. No one was standing in the doorway.
He could feel his heart hammering, but he tried to calm down. One had to think logically, after all.
As he steadied himself, he found his temper agitate. One of his employees was playing a prank on him.
“That's not funny!” he snapped, voice loud. “I mean it, come in here, please. I'd like to speak with you!”
The whistling started again. A sort of sing-song buzz to the sound.
He swallowed again, taking a hesitant step towards his desk where he'd left his phone, the ruler still clutched in his hand.
And then, a voice whispered out in the dark. “I-I-Inside voices, please,” the voice muttered. A blur of shadow suddenly burst through the doorway, charging him. He got a glimpse of a large shape, unblinking eyes. But then, the figure was on him.
Still, Mr. Peltari could also move. He competed in triathlons after all! He jolted back, gasping, fear flooding his senses, but he lashed out with his ruler. The length struck the charging shape, eliciting a huff like a wounded bull.
The figure gripped at his wrist, trying to drag him down, to shove him to the floor.
“Get off me! Off! I've called the police!” He yelled. A complete lie, but dishonesty had served him before in dire straights.
“Inside voices,” the figure whispered fiercely.
Peltari jerked out of the figure's grasp, kicking twice as if pedaling a bike, and shimmying on his back over the bean sprout table, knocking beakers off where they smashed on the ground.
A sickening sense in his stomach was met by grief at the destruction of his beloved plants.
He tried to scramble towards his phone now, reaching desperately. His fingers scraped the desk, bumped against the phone.
Then, a hand closed around his wrist, dragging him back and flinging him bodily into the radiator.
His back jolted, pain was instant. He tried to yell but found his vision slowly fading to black spots. He heard heavy breathing, heard the scrape of a shoe flicking glass pieces aside. Then... pain...
Pain in his arm. Had he fallen on some of the glass—
Pain!
Not glass. Something far, far more agonizing—something the figure was doing.
He could vaguely hear whistling again, the soft, buzzing sound coming from above between breaths of exertion. Then, his eyes fluttered a final time, and all went black.