Depths Read Online Free Page B

be on shift while a robbery was taking place inside a copy
machine store.
    Was he armed? I couldn't tell. He could be stashing
a handgun in his pocket, a switchblade maybe?
    Adrenaline pumped through my body. I had no idea
what to do. Should I wait until he's done and call the police? Go
and tell him to get the hell out? I had no weapons except a night
stick and pepper spray. With trembling hands, I checked to make
sure both were in their respective holsters on my belt. They
were.
    The roar of the machines was unbearable, even from
inside my office, but he kept moseying about, casually flicking on
more machines, and it looked like he was actually reading the
descriptions on them.
    More confused now than anything, I kept watching
him, wanting something to plug my ears. He just ambled about taking
his time, calm and composed, not in the slightest rush, but always
keeping his face turned away from the cameras. How did he know
where they were?
    I wouldn't call myself a brave
person but I didn't consider myself a coward. But in this case I
figured the best course of action was to sit and wait. I checked
windows 1 and 2 again to look for a car — surely he must have drove something
if he ’ s going to steal a copy
machine — that I could describe to the
police but I saw none.
    And how the hell did he even get in? I would've
heard glass breaking and the doors were locked. If he could pick a
lock then why would he be trying to break into a copy machine
store, apparently not even to steal money, but instead going for a
copy machine? It made no sense.
    That goddamn racket … It was too much, and yet he was oblivious to it,
exploring all corners of the sales floor, until he finally
stopped.
    He stood in the middle of an aisle
towards the front corner of the store opposite of my office, only
this time he wasn't looking at a machine. He stood there motionless
for quite some time before he started shifting around, nervousness
maybe? Realizing he might be being watched? I could only see the
back of his head so I couldn ’ t tell. Very
deliberately, he turned around, staring directly into the camera on
window 5 and my heart stopped.
    He flashed a smile and nodded his head, daring
whoever was watching to come out and face him. Only I was looking
at my own face on window 5. An empty stare and sinister smile
straight into the camera. I slapped my face to make sure I wasn't
seeing things. It stung and he was still there and hadn't moved at
all. Just staring and smiling.
    Stunned, I watched myself, my
doppelg ä nger, turn to look again at
another copy machine. I didn't know what model it was, but it was
bigger than most of the other ones in the store. He turned it on, a
new instrument in the infernal orchestra, screaming in fury over
the pulsing beat of the other machines, and lifted the lid laying
his lower right arm on the glass. Letting the lid rest on top, he
pushed the “ Copy ” button.
    The page printed and he set it on
top of the machine next to him on his right. He then laid the upper
section of his arm on the glass and pressed the “ Copy ” button, once
again taking the page and laying it on top of the other page when
it had finished. He repeated this with his left arm, his head and
face, even lying on top of the machine to copy his chest, waist,
upper and lower legs and finally his feet, setting each new page on
top of the last.
    Transfixed by this bizarre
behavior, I couldn't help but stare. I hadn't the slightest clue as
to what the hell was going on. The blare of the mechanical concerto combined with
the flashing lights of the copiers made it impossible to
concentrate.
    After he finished copying his
feet, he picked up his stack of papers and straightened them
neatly. He picked up the pages with his freshly made copies of each
foot, blew on them and shook th em out , almost like someone would
shake clothes after taking them out of the dryer. He glanced back
at the camera a final time, as if to make sure I was