Her Last Waiting At City Hall Novels & Stories

By the time I reached the lobby doors, the sidewalk was empty, snow falling in lazy spirals. “Dammit,” I whispered, pressing a hand to my forehead. I’d lost her. Again. But she had been here. That meant she was alive, she was in the city, and she wasn’t giving up either. I circled back inside, brain whirring. I needed to know where she’d been registered for her appointment. I couldn’t ask outright. But as I walked past the administrative desk, the receptionist stepped away to help an elderly man who’d dropped his paperwork.

He led her into the City Hall, and even though it was not yet nine o'clock, there were already many people standing at the entrance. Terry took the bag from her hand and asked, "Did you bring the documents?" "Brought." Jessica spoke and glanced at him, saying, "I'm not Hannah, I wouldn't be so careless." Terry smiled and said nothing, holding her hand even tighter. As soon as it struck nine, the windows of the registration office were opened by the staff, and the new arrivals waiting were all a little excited. Jessica was also a little excited, her heart beating a little faster. She looked ahead and instinctively tightened her grip on the bouquet in her hands.

There was nobody at the City Hall entrance today. She didn't realize until the car stopped in front of the secluded house that Hunter had actually found a place to get married alone. The staff at City Hall were waiting inside, while the man standing at the front kept sweating, constantly wiping the sweat off his forehead with a tissue. Lena couldn't help but say a word when she saw the staff reviewing her documents. "I was not willing." The stamped hand hesitated slightly, as if not hearing.

Then he ended the call. I sat in the car and waited. Twenty minutes passed. Nothing. I checked my phone every two minutes like a man who had not yet fully understood that he had no power left in this situation. Thirty minutes. Forty. Then my phone buzzed. Not a call. A text. From a number I didn't recognize. "Ms. Hamilton received your message. Her response is that she wishes you well. She asks that you stop waiting outside her building. Security has been instructed to contact police if you remain on the property after ten this morning."

My hands curled into fists. “That’s the last time she’ll ever feel that.” Adrian didn’t speak — he knew there was nothing to say. I stood, grabbed my jacket, and looked out over the city through the glass walls of the penthouse. “She held on long enough to call me,” I whispered. “She fought long enough to stay alive.” My jaw flexed. “Now it’s my turn.” I turned toward the door. “We leave in fifteen.” Adrian rose. “And if they call again?”

"You already called her." "Last night. She has been waiting, as she put it, for someone official to eventually come asking." He paused. "She'll meet you. Today if you want. She said — and I'm quoting — she said: I knew he would eventually do something bad enough that someone would start looking backwards." The kitchen was very quiet. Outside, the city was beginning to lighten at the edges. The first grey of a November morning pressing at the dark. "Send me her number," Kristine said. "I'll call her at eight."

At the peaceful, unremarkable distance of a city that had no idea what was still moving inside it. She looked at their joined hands. She did not pull hers away. “We have two hours,” she said. “Yes,” he said. “Then we have two hours,” she said. He looked at her. She looked back. And whatever waited at eight o’clock in a room somewhere in the city below them waited. Because some things were worth the delay. And some hours belonged entirely to the people inside them. Her phone buzzed again. This time she looked. Not Adrian. Not Dr. Cole. Not any number she recognized from the last four days.

Perhaps because she felt that the uniform on his body was very intimidating, she nodded honestly, "Yes." When the policeman heard her say that, he was so excited that he clenched his fist and hit the table hard. Then he asked her, "Miss Smith, I want to ask why James was arrested in the last episode of the Lost City. Did he really commit a crime or did someone frame him?" Ellena murmured, "The last episode of Lost City?" "Yes!" The police looked at her expectantly. "You guys watch Lost City too. Thank you for your support." Ellena politely smiled at the policeman.

I tuck the phone back into the pocket of my high-waist office pants, adjust my black and red graduation gown along with the hat, and with one last look at the empty gates, turn around to head back to the Conference Hall. William is coming towards me, waving me over. “Any luck?” He asks when I reach him, taking my hand in his and giving it a small, supportive squeeze. I shake my head. “She’s still not picking up. And not here.” I reply, throwing a glance over my shoulder and praying I’ll see the usual black Jeep barrel through the gates. Nothing. “This is so unusual of her.” I add, worried. “Maybe they got stuck in traffic or something. There’s usually bad service after it rains here.” Willia

Quilla pouted and blocked his way. Matthew had no patience for this pretentious woman and coldly said, “Move.” Quilla froze, then stomped her foot. “Mr. Grant! What are you saying? If you keep treating me like this, I’ll be angry.” “Move,” Matthew repeated. His eyes were so cold they could freeze her in place. Quilla opened her mouth to argue, but he shoved her aside and walked away. She could hear him talk on the phone as he departed. “Find Whitney’s current address. And book me a ticket to Austraya today.”