Melissa A. Rowe
Copyright 2013 Melissa A. Rowe
This short story is dedicated to my parents, Doug and Mary Ann Bornemann, who always believed that I could be a writer, even when I didn’t.
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It was a cold, gray day in January. I was just about to leave for work when the phone rang. At first there was just silence, and I was about to hang up when a familiar voice said, “meet me in Mellon Square at 11:30.”
As I rode the bus into town, I wondered why they wanted to meet me now. I had created a new life for myself in Pittsburgh. I work as a runner for a litigation support firm, picking up a CD here and dropping off a few boxes there. I thought I was under the radar, but I guess it wasn’t far enough.