"Yes!" I shouted as I came to the bus stop just as the bus stopped.
I was on time to catch it for once.
I got on, paid the fare, and sat near the back. I caught my breath, then made sure that I had my camera on me.
I did, for once. Normally I either forgot it or missed the bus while I had it.
I relaxed and smiled. My bad luck was finally turning around, and nothing in the world could change that. That, at least, was my thought before the bus slowed down. I looked around.
"Why did we stop?" I asked myself.
"The bus broke down." A woman in front of me said.
Sometimes I hated when I spoke out loud, but for once I was pretty pleased.
At least, as far as an answer went. In reality, I was pretty ticked off about the bus breaking down.
I sighed as I stood up and walked toward the front. The driver let me off and I started walking.
I was supposed to be taking pictures of awesome places in the city, not walking around to get to my client.
I sighed again, I hated having to meet with my clients just to know where they want me to go, rather than trusting me with finding landmarks that they wouldn't even know of.
But, those were the breaks, and I had to deal with it.
Again.
I checked my cellphone, it was nine in the afternoon.
I put my phone away and walked, trying to put distance between myself and the broken down bus that just had to hate me.
Not a minute later, a bus roared past me. I looked back and saw that the bus I'd gotten off of was now flying by as if putting up a giant proverbial finger.
"Screw you too, you stupid bus!" I shouted.
Then it began to rain.
I just kept walking, I decided that the day wasn't being to be ruined just yet, despite the bus and the rain.
I eventually had to step into cover when it began to hail.
"Well, Johnny old boy, another day has officially been ruined." I said to myself.
"Seriously, what's could possibly make this day get any worse?"
Lightning cracked against the sky, and I was standing on a staircase just absolutely webbed with wires.
I sighed and ignored the 'Condemned' sign and walked into the building.
I recognized the inside of the building almost instantly.
It was the old concert hall that I'd been to as a little kid for the school recital.
I smiled at the feeling of nostalgia, of childhood memories that lingered in the air like phantoms and the ever-present dust.
I closed my eyes and listened to the voices of children, long grown up, yet immortal in their youth within my memory.
Mine, of course, rang out the loudest.
I opened my eyes and walked through the old building slowly, mostly to keep from falling through the floor or something like that.
It briefly crossed my mind that today might be the day they'd tear the old place down, but I knew that they would search the building for derelicts before blowing it to kingdom come.
That, and they'd stop me from entering, or even getting close.
I looked at my phone and noted the time at a quarter 'til ten.
I put it away and turned a corner.
At first, I didn't quite understand what I was looking at. I thought it was a drunk derelict, or maybe a prop that was left behind from the days that it held plays.
The reality set in quickly, and I retched.
It was a corpse, his brains blown out.
It was recent.
I quickly called the police.
"911, what's your emergency?" Came the female voice.
"Oh, God!" I gasped. "I-I'm at the old concert hall, the condemned one." I said.
"The one on 49th Street?"
I nodded, then chiding myself for not realizing I was on the phone, I replied, "Yeah. It looks like it was recent..." I leaned against a wall. "Oh, Jesus Christ, the guy could still be here!" I looked around.
"Sir, please remain calm. We're sending a dispatch to check the scene..."
I didn't hear the rest of what she said. I heard a shuffling noise upstairs, then silence.
For a moment, I was relieved, then I heard footsteps.
"He's here." I hissed into the phone.
I looked around for a hiding spot and saw a place.
'No, too obvious. He'd look there first.' I thought.
I heard footsteps on stairs near the entrance.
'There!' I thought as I saw a hole in the wall. It was thin, but so was I.
I quietly rushed over to it and squeezed in. I scooted along the inside so that he wouldn't see me, then I noticed a hole to look out from.
I saw a man enter the room, he held a pistol in his hands.
I recognized a glock, though not the specific type. I'd seen one in my stint as a gun photographer.
It did not pay well.
I saw him look at the body with disdain. "Hope you like it down there." He spat. "Your wife will be joining you soon."
My blood ran cold. This man was planning on killing again. He looked at that watch. "Better clean you up before the cops show up. I hope the stores are open." He walked off.
I knew how long it took for the cops to arrive, I also knew how close the store was to the concert hall. The man could be gone within minutes and have the body and blood cleaned up and have time to enjoy a cigar before he needed to leave.
I heard the door for the entrance close and I got out of the hole.
I pulled out my camera and took pictures of the corpse. I laid a dollar on his back for scale. One full body shot and one of his face.
I quickly searched his body and found his wallet. I snapped a picture of his ID and put it back.
Then I was the mother of all evidence. A bloody foot print. I set the dollar down on the floor next to it and snapped the picture.
I took a quick look around and noticed a bullet casing. It had rolled around in the dust in such a way that I could get a clear shot of a fingerprint. I took two shots of it, one with flash and one without.
My heart pounded as I realized I had seconds to act. He'd be coming in through the door, step right in, and shoot me and all of the evidence I had. The door opened, and I quietly rushed into a different room. I heard his footsteps, then I heard a dragging sound.
I glanced into the room and saw the body being dragged into a different room. I quietly rushed back to the dark crack I'd hidden in and squeezed into the hole. I held up my camera, and held it up to the crack.
The man stepped in again, his face unhidden. I took three pictures, timing each one to his footsteps.
The poured a smelly liquid all over the floor, saw his bloody foot print, then smeared it. He picked up the bullet casing and looked around.
I would have flipped if he actually pulled out a cigar, but he nodded and said, "Now for her."
I heard movement above me and realized that the woman he'd mentioned was upstairs, probably about to recieve a bullet to her own head. He walked off. I lowered the camera and felt my mind race.
If I just left and gave the camera over to the police, I'd be giving evidence and an eye-witness account against him. But the woman would be killed.
If I confronted him, I'd be risking death and the evidence.
Time was running out. I got out of the hole and quickly pulled the memory card from the camera and popped in the spare. I hid the former in the tiny, typically useless pocket of my jeans and stomped on the floor. The footsteps above me stopped.
He knew I was here.
He kept going on his path. I knew he'd kill her, then come down to do the same to me. I raced through the building and up the stairs. I saw a door close and I raced toward it.
I flung it open to see the man aiming a gun at a blond woman.
He looked at me, his expression one of anger and irritation.
"Say cheese!" I shouted as I took his picture. Then I ran.
I quietly chided myself on my choice of words, as he shot at me. Something bit my leg and I stumbled.
No way was I going to fall and let him catch me.
I saw ahead of me the end of the staircase, and below it a very long drop. I saw a chandelier hanging just ahead.
I figured if it worked in movies, it would work in real life.
I jumped, planted my foot against the bannister, and jumped. I jumped and caught the chandelier, then it began to fall.
For a moment, I wondered if I had done something extremely stupid, then my luck finally turned on and something caught.
I looked up and saw the wire that usually powered the giant ornament was hanging on a wall staple that was slowly giving way. I let go just before crashing into a wall.
It gave way slightly, so I wasn't too disoriented or battered.
Gunshots sent me running again, and not a moment too soon.
The staple that had saved my life betrayed me and crushed the area that I had been standing in.
The man cursed as he ran down the stairs.
I ran into the room that had held the dead man and slipped on the wet blood and chemical, then I ran into the room I'd hidden in before and noticed it had a staircase.
"I'm going to gut you, you son of a..!" A gunshot took the word before I could hear it.
Not that I needed to hear it any time soon.
I ran up the stairs just as he entered the corpse-room.
I immediately noticed that the upstairs room had walls torn down, and that there was a large red tool box in the room.
Okay, so the place wasn't going to be blown to kingdom come.
I did the most sensible thing and wheeled it to the stairs. I saw the man below aiming.
I hid behind the tool box just before he fired, then I shoved it down the stairs.
It came crashing down and buried itself in the wall close to the door, and for a moment I was hopeful that the man was crushed by it.
Then he popped back out and fired.
I ran and went into a hallway. I recognized the same one that the woman's room was.
I figured that he'd grow tired of chasing me and just kill her. I rushed into her room and shut the door, then I propped a chair against the handle.
I went to the woman and dragged her chair out of the way of the door.
I quickly untied her hands and she took off the duct tape. The man fired on the door after trying it. She cowered in a corner and I picked up the chair.
I waited.
He slammed against the door, and it let out a loud crack. There was another crack as he hit it again.
My heart hammered as he struck the door again.
Then with a fourth heave, he broke through the door, tripped over the chair, and fell flat on his face.
I swung the chair down and broke it against his back. I lifted it again and the rest of it broke. He was trying to pick himself up.
I wasn't going to let him have the chance.
I kicked his side, but it was like kicking a parking meter. It did more harm than good. He stood up and faced me, though his gun was gone.
He took a swing at me, and I ducked it. "Careful! You nearly hit my face!" I shouted.
He swung again, and I dodged to the side, then he took a wild swing at me.
His fist connected and sent me staggering away. He turned his back to me and went for the gun that was hiding in the corner.
I charged at him and wrapped my arm around his neck.
'Where are the cops?!' I thought as he struggled against me.
The woman, I noticed, was gone.
That meant I was the only one in danger.
He threw me off and I hit the wall. He bent down for the gun and picked it up. He swung it around and aimed.
"Before I kill you, know that you died by..."
"Just shoot already!" I shouted. "Get it over withm rather than monologue."
He obliged, and I heard a click.
He looked at his gun, and I shot up and clocked him. He staggered back, he dropped his gun and hit the wall. I picked it up and held it out.
"It's out of bullets, idiot." He said.
I pulled the trigger and it went off with a loud bang. I hit his leg and he fell to one knee.
"It misfired, idiot. Learn the difference!"
"Freeze!" I heard. I looked over to see the cops.
I lowered the gun. "About time!" I shouted...

The detective looked at my photos with an expression bordering on disbelief.
"How did you know to take these like this?" He asked.
"TV." I admitted. "Though, I wish I would have just come up with it on my own."
He nodded.
It was ten after ten the day after what had happened.
The woman, Margaret, had thanked me for my heroics after I was carted to the hospital to have the bullet in my thigh taken out.
It still hurt.
"These are impeccable." He said, the amazement was clear in his voice. "And the last one, I doubt even I'd have the guts to try to get a photo of someone clearly in the act of killing someone."
My cheeks burned. "I did that to distract him." I said.
He handed me the camera and the memory cards. "Thank you for allowing us to take these as evidence." He said.
"That's what they were for, originally." I said. "In any case, I'm glad you took the initiative. I really hate congratulating someone who won't get anything in return aside from a pat on the back."
He looked at pictures. "Say, how much do you typically charge for this quality of photographs?" He asked.
"Five bucks a pop." I said.
He smiled as he took out his wallet.
"Erm, Detective, you don't have to..." I started.
"Nonsense. Let's just say it's payment for a job well done."
I nodded. The total came to thirty dollars, plus ten as a personal tip.
It certainly wasn't the easiest fourty I'd ever earned.