Hope you have enjoyed his so far....Bosco's journey is just beginning....please read and review!

Malinda

The Basement

Chapter 2

The sound of rushing water, spilling over the edge of the window frame, loud as it splashed down onto the box below the window. Spraying off it quickly soaked the floor beyond, running across the cement of the basement, rushing and entering every space it could find. Soon the entire floor was covered in rapidly rising water. The bins occupants, boxes filled with years of saving precious memories as well as out of season necessities becoming saturated as their bottoms sat unprotected in the swelling tide. Small bits of debris floating, swept along as the water reached the furthest corners of the large room.

Another victim of the rising floodwaters lay helpless as the waters rose. This one beginning to wake in the dark basement as the cold of the water splashed now on his face. Clothing soaked from the initial blast through the window, he shivered hard as additional waters added chill to his skin.

Turning his face to the side, attempting to escape the light spray from the splash on the box that was wetting his face, Bosco was brought to full awareness. Choking on the water he'd turned his face into, he rolled coming up to his hands and knees. Unsure of his whereabouts, disoriented in the dark, none of the waters journeys were visible to him. Nor it's origins, he only knew his head was killing him, and he was soaked. Coughing, spiting out water, he at first believed he must be on patrol, having somehow fallen into a ditch.

But reaching for his radio, he quickly realized he was in his street clothes, sitting back on his heels he looked around him, still too disoriented to be fearful of the surrounding dark yet, unaware he was in a room, not outside. He only knew he was wet, freezing cold, and it seemed, alone.

Standing carefully, his head protesting the action, he turned toward the sound of the rushing waters, a flash of lightening with its shock of thunder jolting him, brought his whereabouts back to him. He was in the basement of his own building, the window outlined for a moment showing him its broken edges, the water flowing unending over them.

"Oh shit," he spoke aloud, his teeth already chattering as the cold made itself known, the stings of the cuts on his face causing him to reach up to touch them. Quickly he pulled his hand back away as the burning intensified at his probing. Tugging the end of his shirt from his waistband, pulling it up to wipe his face. The blood from his forehead was running into his left eye, wiping at it to clear it, he realized that was probably the worst one, so pulling harder on his tee-shirt, he held it to the cut. Wincing from the pain, he gritted his teeth as he put more pressure trying to stop the bleeding.

Wondering at the same time, how long he'd been in here, he used his right hand to twist his watch around on his left wrist to the inside. Holding the shirt aside with his wrist he pressed the small lighted button, "Eleven thirty, well not as long as I thought," it had only been ten minutes or so since he'd been knocked out. Lightening flashes illuminated the room in bursts of strobe like visions, again causing him to startle as the booming of thunder seemed right on top of his building. He made his way to the door again, feet sloshing in the cold water, which was rising by the second. The three steps up to the door were still clear, and since it wasn't a sealed door, he knew the water would flood the hallway if it reached the top step, so drowning in the basement wasn't a concern to him.

Freezing to death though was a concern to him, Bosco hated cold, and wet cold really pissed him off. The temperature in the basement was still falling. He knew it was supposed to get into the upper 30's tonight especially after the rain passed. Looking around he saw nothing to climb on other than the one box under the window, as the lightening flashed several more times.

Banging on the door, he called out, but again, received no answer. Pressing his head in frustration against the door, he turned leaning his back to it. At least for the time being the top step was dry. Sliding down, he sat on it, his feet on the third step. Leaning back against the door, in just a couple of minutes he sat back up, "Damn metal," he complained, "cold shit!"

His chest and stomach complaining of the cold air even more than the rest of him as they were exposed by his raising of his shirt to use as a compress. Remembering he had summer clothes in the bin he got up, slogging through the water, noticing it was deeper already he went to his bin. Reaching into his pocket for his keys, he paused, checking the other pocket, they were not there. "Oh damn itt!" he exclaimed as he remembered he'd not put them in his pocket, but had simply hung them off his pinkie as he'd fully expected the door to open.

Sloshing back to the area under the window where he'd landed, he began searching for them, unsuccessfully. His flailing arms had slung them into the corner of the room, but he couldn't know that. So after several minutes of first kicking his feet along the floor under the water, then on his knees his right hand searching, cursing, he stood again. Now even more soaked, if that were possible, and colder, he went to sit on the steps. The water still rushing in the window as hard as it had started, this room now a sewer drain for the street above, preventing him from using that as a way to get passerby's attention. And that was dim hope to begin with as the only passersby in this storm would be in a car to begin with.

Huddling over his pulled up knees, feet now on the second step as the water had now covered the first, he put his head down on his arms. He was getting sleepy from the late hour, cold, and the concussion he'd sustained that he seemed unaware of though his head was splitting with the pain now.

Snapping his head up, his body shaking from the cold, "Come on Maurice, stay awake, OWWW damn!" The blood from his forehead renewed its flow as he jerked up pulling the shirt away from it. Quickly placing the cloth back over it, he sat with his elbows on his knees, holding his head, squinting as the lightening showed no signs of letting up. The immediate ripping of the thunder following the flashes. Jumping as each bolt and crack hit, "Well, at least its not dark now," he smirked, his stomach knotting at the thought of the storm passing and the absolute darkness renewing itself.

Trying not to think about it, he sat, waiting for someone to come past the door, or even the window.

Soon though his eyes started to close again, and this time he didn't startle awake. In a few minutes he was asleep on his knees again, arms folded across his stomach trying for warmth, the forehead cut forgotten. Deep breathing now accompanied the sound of the falling water as he slept through the rest of the storm, the only sounds heard between the thunder's crashes as the water continued to rise.

TBC...