A quick glance at the nearby clock on the wall revealed that it was just before eight. Lectures and classes had ended hours ago and the campus was about to close down for the night. As far as he knew, he was the only soul left here except for the security personnel and the cleaning crew, which wasn't due for another hour.
Turning around, he waited for the ajar door to open a little farther but it never happened.
Growing increasingly suspicious after the events of the past twenty-four hours, Steve reached across his chest to open the holster to his .38 and slowly walked toward the door.
Outside was the dimly lit corridor that led to the main auditorium, which he often used for his larger-than-average sized classes. Only a small teacher's lounge, a bathroom and two storage rooms could be found on this side of the building, leaving him to be the only Professor on the entire floor.
Holding his breath, Steve pressed himself against the inner wall of his office, trying to get a good look at the corridor without opening his door further. Yet, all that greeted him was the stillness of an empty hallway.
Suddenly there were rapid footsteps moving away from his position.
With his senses in overdrive, Steve cued his hearing to the clattering of soles against the linoleum floors, identifying the sound as that of sandals or light running shoes. The short distance between steps meant he was dealing with a reasonably short person.
Remembering to use caution before jumping into another possible disaster, he slowly opened his door all the way, but found nobody on the other side or down the hallway.
When it became obvious that the same person responsible for killing Rachel might now be trying to play games with him as well, he pulled the .38 out of his holster and quietly followed the footsteps to the northern stairwell, noting the faint echo coming from the level below, where a much larger corridor led to the parking lot.
Taking two steps at a time rushing down the stairs when the stranger gained distance on him, Steve cursed the layout of the building once again, making him an easy target for anybody with questionable intentions. Where the many pillars and corners on the main floors provided ample cover for an assailant, the wide stairs were an open range for target practice, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
The echo of footsteps grew louder as he slowly caught up. Unfortunately, that also meant that his suspect was quickly approaching the northwestern exit.
Feeling his heart hammering in his chest, Steve stopped at the bottom of the stairs, trying to catch his breath before glancing around the corner pillar toward the exit.
Much to his disappointment, he only saw the large glass door slide shut, the loud thud echoing through the deserted hallways like rolling thunder.
"Damnit."
Cursing for the second time, he gave chase down the beautifully adorned hallway that featured expensive sculptures and portraits on either side. Bridging the distance in record time, Steve underestimated the recently polished slippery floors and came to a sliding stop in front of the glass door, the sides of his cowboy boots crashing into the metal framework as he caught his balance.
"Damnit, where are you?"
This late at night, his silver Porsche was the only car left in the parking lot. To make matters worse, the streetlights up above formed ample shadows from the groups of trees and bushes lining the area, the light breeze tricking his vision into seeing movement where there was none.
Hating to be pushed into a hasty decision, Steve overlooked the area one last time, evaluating his options. Eventually he decided to continue the pursuit, figuring that the Porsche parked only a hundred feet out would make a good cover if need be.
Sliding his trained fingers over the trigger of his .38, he pushed through the door and out into the openness of the quiet night. Squalls of fog were slowly moving in off the bay, surrounding the street lights with a yellow hue, the evening quickly turning cold and damp.
Steve spun around his own axis, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, his sixth sense warning him of the mortal peril ahead, as he desperately tried to identify target points from the surrounding area like he'd done so many times during his previous career.
A few of the buxus bushes bordering the parking lot had been trimmed back neatly, not allowing for a good hideout. But a nearby stand of mature maple trees worried him gravely. Next to it, a medium high concrete wall featuring a large campus directory was equally unsettling.
Step by step he approached his waiting car, unable to make out the faintest noise but knowing well enough that he was being watched.
A mere couple feet away from his Porsche, the young Professor had to seek cover when the first bullets sailed through the air.