It Waits on the Top Floor (Horror Lurks Beneath Book 1)

by Ben Farthing

  "Why?"

  "Because I'm forty! I've got kids."

  "I mean, why crawl through ductwork?"

  "It was exciting. And it made for good stories. I knew the whole Virginia Tech campus inside and out. Mostly inside, I guess. Then I got my first job in Chicago, and damn that was a good time. You know there's a panic room on each floor of the Sears Tower?"

  "I'd never considered it."

  "So anyways, that's why Micah sent me with you. They'll be admiring columns or some nonsense. Sounds like you'll actually be looking for something. I can help you get places."

  That could be useful. But once Chris found Eddie, he was just after the maintenance room. He'd force an exterior door, then search the first floor. Maybe the basement. Find the maintenance room--also forcing that door if necessary--and then find the blueprints. If they were digital, he'd download them onto a thumb drive, or just steal the whole computer.

  "What about you? What's your secret talent? Why'd Micah want you?"

  "I have no idea. I worked with Dr. Terry once. He admires my ability concerning office tasks."

  "Is that what he said?"

  "In his recommendation letters to architectural firms, yes."

  "Shit. I knew I didn't like him." Leon leaned forward to peer up through the windshield. "What about your thesis? Micah mentioned it to Roberts."

  Chris clenched his jaw. So they'd discussed how crazy Chris was before deciding it was okay to hire him.

  "Did I find a sore spot?" Leon asked.

  "It's fine. My thesis was a review of other academic papers."

  "Oh. What were those about?"

  "Misdating historical buildings. I got pretty caught up in theories saying that most of Christopher Wren's churches in London were ripoffs of Pict structures in northern Scotland, or that the Flat Iron building wasn't the first steel skyscraper, it was actually following a design in a small city in Vietnam."

  "Why Vietnam?"

  "That's where the paper I read said it happened. But it was fake. I was an excited kid, thinking I was piecing mysteries together. I didn't find out until later that the authors of the papers in my survey were either disgraced and lost their jobs, or in one case, ended up in the looney bin."

  "Maybe that's it."

  "We're headed to the looney bin?"

  "No, maybe that paper is why Micah hired you. Maybe she thinks this type of overnight construction has been done before."

  "Even if my thesis was legit, knowing about other misdated buildings wouldn't help me understand how this tower appeared overnight. Besides, my thesis was why Dr. Terry screwed me out of credit on our project together. He said I embarrassed the college, and didn't want my name anywhere next to his. That thesis is the opposite of a reason to hire me."

  Leon shrugged. "Gotta be some reason."

  "Dr. Terry thought I'd still be an overeager gofer."

  "Sounded to me like Micah knew who you were before Dr. Terry brought it up. But I could be wrong." Leon shrugged. "Who cares, we still get to explore an insane building. And we still get paid."

  "After we find my son."

  "Sure," Leon said. "Your son, who's about to be $200,000 richer."

  Chris liked Leon's confidence. It made up for the anxiety that pumped through Chris as they drove closer, and the tower grew larger to block out more of the sky.

  12

  The drive from Lakeside back to the new building’s Northside neighborhood took them from middle class to lower class homes.

  Not the worst part of Richmond, but you wouldn't leave your car unlocked. A few of Chris's high school friends lived around here, and on social media he saw them occasionally complain about break-ins.

  They followed the building to Barton Heights.

  Earlier, Chris had rushed through here to catch Eddie and had barely noticed the city around him.

  Now that Chris had a specific goal, the tools to do it, and a solid chance of walking away with $198,000 more than he'd ever had in his bank account, he could pay more attention to his surroundings.

  Where Lakeside was quaint one-stories or cape cods, Barton Heights was largely Victorian design. High ceilings, tall windows, half-turrets. Not the sprawling mansions like houses built in the actual Victorian era, but a cheaper Victorian revival in Richmond during the roaring twenties.

  But then a combination of white flight and the construction of I-95 had changed the economic demographics of the neighborhood.

  Chris drove through the grid of houses.

  He turned the corner past the Good Shepherd Church, a midcentury brick building that didn't fit the neighborhood, and then saw the tower in its entirety.

  From a block away, the skyscraper blocked most of the sky. Smooth glass windows reflected gray clouds. A grid of narrow steel beams divided the windows unevenly. Chris couldn't get a sense of where one floor ended and the next began.

  Only the first floor was obvious, because it had the front doors.

  Above that, the tiers appeared to be about ten floors each. Each tier was off-kilter to the one below it, like a great hand reached down from the sky and twisted it like a lightbulb.

  They drove past Victorian homes toward the tower's cement steps. Chris looked more closely this time. The building had eight front doors, all the same reflective glass as the windows. Although the doors were a standard size, unlike the chaotic pattern of reflective windows that made up the rest of the building's faces.

  There were square holes on the cement stoop, which Chris judged to be for dirt, mulch, and landscaping that hadn't yet been installed.

  "Circle the building," Leon said. "Let's find the best way in."

  On the next face of the building, it was flat, featureless. An empty cement canal waiting for landscaping looked like a medieval moat.

  The far side of the building had eight doors like the front. Or maybe this was the front. Chris couldn't say it was identical, because one window looked barely three feet high, while another looked over nine, but it was identical in absurdity.

  The last face of the building was blank, like its opposite.

  "The windows are ugly," Leon said.

  "They must have taken forever to install," Chris said. "Different sizes like that, but no gaps? Custom sizes means nothing gets automated."

  "It didn't take forever," Leon said. "It all happened last night. Unless you think there's some kind of trick."

  Chris realized he hadn't sat back and thought about the possible explanations. His morning had been too busy, what with his life getting turned upside down.

  "It's not a trick," Chris parked the car in front of a two story white house with rotting siding. "That building look fake to you?"

  "But how'd they do it?"

  Chris shrugged. "They built it in pieces somewhere else, then stacked them on top of each other last night. That would explain the crooked construction."

  "What if they built it underground, and had like a giant elevator raise it up last night?" Leon suggested.

  "I mean, it's impossible, but not more impossible than any other explanation."

  "What do you think you'll find on the blueprints? Those'll be drawings of what it is, not how it got here."

  "It'll have more than just a sketch. Materials, tolerances, phases."

  "How many phases do you think they squeezed in last night?" Leon laughed. "Maybe you should have taken the first offer. There's nothing normal about this building; I'm wondering if the blueprints will be where you're thinking."

  "As long as we find my son, I'll be fine." Chris said. "But the blueprints will be there. Along with plenty of other info. There'll be some kind of answer in there. Let's go." He couldn't leave himself time to doubt. Then he'd start circling his worry, giving it more life until it was all he could think about.

  Chris got out of the car, ready to find answers.

  13

  Chris opened his Home Depot purchases and organized them in his backpack. The four-foot prybar he carried by hand.

  Leon pu
t on a vest covered in pockets, which he filled with various tools from his duffel bag. Handheld cameras, screw drivers, glass cutters, and a collection of electrical tools Chris wasn't familiar with.

  They walked to the cement stoops.

  Chris looked around. They'd collected a few onlookers, folks from Barton Heights who weren't working or at school. An old man on his porch. A mom putting a baby into a carseat.

  "Think they'll call the cops?" asked Leon.

  "Maybe. We'll be done by the time they get here." Chris stopped. "The better question is why the cops aren't here already. Or the news. Or the EPA. Isn't this weird enough for all that?"

  "I'm sure they're coming. It's working its way through the bureaucrats to someone who can actually do something."

  "What about the news?"

  Leon shook his head. "Couldn't tell you."

  "Let's ask someone." Chris jogged over to the young mom. His backpack clanked.

  She shut the car door as he ran up, putting herself between Chris and her baby. Hastily brushed hair fell in front of her eyes. She wore khakis and a red department store polo with a name tag. Tiffany. "What do you want?" Tiffany asked.

  Chris pointed behind him. "Did you see that building go up?"

  She rubbed her arms in the cold. "Who are you? Cops?"

  "I'm an architect. Just looking for a clue as to how that thing got built."

  Tiffany relaxed. A little. "Like I told the other guy, it won't nothing but a dirt lot last night. I worked swing shift, got home at midnight. I looked straight across the empty dirt and noticed one of Mr. King's porch lights was burnt out. Then at five o'clock this morning, when the baby wanted a bottle, that ugly thing was reflecting my own porch lights back at me."

  That narrowed the construction window even more. Between midnight and five.

  "Did they make noise putting it up?"

  "Not a peep that I heard. My baby's a light sleeper. He would have been screaming if they did."

  "You didn't see any construction equipment? Cranes? Trucks?"

  "Nothing."

  "And that didn't strike you as odd?"

  "Of course it did! But I got a baby to take care of."

  Chris understood that. Some things were more important than others. But in his case, there was overlap. "Anybody on the street see anything, that you know of?"

  "I'm running on fumes. Taking the baby to my sister's so I can go to my second job. Only time I talk to my neighbors is when my days off line up."

  "You said 'like you told the other guy,'" said Chris. "Who was that?"

  Leon caught up. "Probably Micah's lawyer, or whatever investigators they hired."

  "Could be," said the woman, "they didn't look like lawyers, though."

  "The same folks who looked into the permits already knocked doors and took statements," Leon told Chris. "Nobody knows anything."

  "No, these fellows were asking about a way inside. They didn't look all cleaned up like you two."

  Chris didn't think Leon's camo coat and unkempt chest-length beard looked cleaned up, and neither did his own clothes. But he imagined a lawyer would look better.

  "Must have been private investigators," said Leon. "Come on."

  Chris thanked the young mom. He looked around again. The old man on his porch had gone back inside. He decided to take Leon's word that the neighbors would give the same answer. Nobody had seen anything, but the window for possible construction had shrunk even more. The tower had become a little more impossible.

  He checked his phone for text messages. Nothing. He really wanted to get Eddie out of there.

  "Alright," Chris said, "let's get the doors open."

  14

  The doors were still locked.

  "Hold that prybar in the groove." Leon hefted a claw hammer. "I'll give it a few whacks."

  The impact jarred Chris's hands, but the hammer blows forced the prybar between the steel door and its frame. The glass front cracked.

  "Wedge it in closer to the lock itself," Leon said.

  Chris followed his orders.

  Another three hammer blows, a strong shove on the bar itself, and the lock snapped.

  A brusque voice from behind surprised them both.

  "What're you fellas doing?"

  Chris jerked around.

  At first, Chris thought it was Roberts. But this man was taller, at least six-foot-six, and his gut poked out more than Micah's bodyguard consultant. He had red hair, buzzed short. He chewed on an unlit cigarillo. Grape flavored tobacco drifted to Chris's nostrils.

  The giant didn't have the same bulk as Roberts, but he had lean, usable muscles. Dirt-stained fingertips and sun-leathered skin said this man worked outside, and with his hands.

  "That's private property." He had a drawl that marked him from Chester or Petersburg, south of Richmond.

  "You the owner?" Chris asked, knowing the answer.

  "Boss asked me to keep folks out."

  Leon wiped his nose. "Who's your boss? The owner?"

  The man hesitated long enough to make it clear he was lying. "Yes."

  "You sure you're not the grunt employee of someone who's going after Micah Rayner's open contract? Maybe trying to keep us from going after it ourselves?"

  The man's smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. His eyes flashed threatening glee. Chris stepped back, into the glass door. It rattled on its busted hinges.

  "What makes you think that?"

  "If you worked for the owner, you'd call the police on us. But you're acting all tough by yourself."

  "You scared?"

  It was a schoolyard taunt, but the man was nearly a foot taller than Chris. He couldn't hope to match him physically.

  "We're working directly for Miss Rayner," Leon said. "Your boss won't get shit if she disqualifies his eligibility for the open contract."

  The buzzed redhead tilted his head like a confused dog. "Look, all I know is that you're not going in there. We need that contract to stay afloat. My boss owes me a month of backpay, and this is how he's getting it."

  At the mention of money, Chris's fear of the man shrank beside his need to keep Eddie secure. He wielded the prybar with two hands. "Leon, did we get the door open?"

  Leon yanked at the handle. Something cracked, and the door swung open. Humid warmth floated out into the chill morning.

  Chris kept his eyes on the redhead, who smirked at the prybar.

  "You ain't gonna stop me with that thing." He reached for it.

  Chris drove the rounded end into his ample gut. He grunted, but the fat protected him from the brunt of the impact. He snarled at Chris.

  Leon kicked him in the groin.

  The man exhaled past puffed cheeks.

  Chris ran through the open door, into the building. Leon followed, dragging their bags. They yanked the door closed.

  The lock wouldn't latch, so Chris stuck the prybar through the handle, and through the handle of the next door.

  Still doubled over, the redhead yanked on the door from the outside, but the iron prybar held it firm. "I'll kick both your asses!" His voice was muffled through the glass.

  After a minute, he gave up, and pulled out his cell phone.

  Chris and Leon turned around to inspect their sanctuary.

  15

  They walked through a claustrophobic foyer.

  Low, tiled drop ceilings. A wide vestibule, nearly as wide as the block the building sat on. But shallow. Across from each exterior door, twenty feet away, were solid doors with small rectangular windows at the top.

  Bright light shone through.

  The outer doors rattled again. The redhead cupped his hands against the glass. His mouth moved like he was yelling. Chris didn't hear a thing, despite only a few moments ago hearing his muffled threats. The outer doors somehow were now completely soundproof, despite the busted latches and the doors only being held closed by the prybar. He could see daylight between the door and the jam, but sound wasn't getting through.

  "We can't go back out
that way," Chris said.

  "Or any way, until he's gone," Leon said. "He'd see us going to your car."

  "Maybe he'll be gone by the time we find what we're after," Chris said. But he felt trapped just the same.

  He turned back around. "Really what we need to worry about is that guy's boss. If he's half as unhinged as his friend out there, I don't want him around my son. Plus if he's a general contractor, he might know where to look for the blueprints. I want to find the maintenance rooms before..."

  Chris heard himself trail off. He was drawn to the inner doors. Through the small windows, he saw pieces of an inner courtyard, lit by sunlight, which didn't make sense, since from the outside the building was all reflective glass.

  He walked towards the light. Eddie would enjoy this. His trauma from his birth parents hadn't fully quashed his inquisitiveness. Chris saw his son creeping to the doors to press his face against their warm glass. Eddie pushed his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes and chewed on his thumbnail. He glanced over his shoulder.

  "Eddie, wait for me." Chris reached for his boy.

  "What's that?" Leon called from the far end of the dark foyer.

  Chris blinked, looked around.

  He'd gotten lost in his head, started speaking out loud as if his daydreams were real. Not the first time. Although, Eddie hadn't felt like a daydream.

  Leon wasn't paying attention. He'd pulled out a compact, telescoping ladder, and was peering into a vent at the top of the wall.

  Roberts, or the redhead rattling the doors and yelling at them, would have been able to stand on their toes and peer into the vent, the tops of their heads brushing the popcorn tile ceiling. Leon's small frame needed the ladder.

  "Did you say something?" he called again.

  Chris spared a look at the brightness through the inner doors, shook his head to clear away lingering doubts about what he'd seen, then joined Leon. "Come on, let's check out the foyer."

  "One sec. I'm just checking how difficult it'd be to get inside the vents."

  "Looks like your shoulders would slide right in," Chris said. "You could fit two of you in there."