The Third Floor

by The Third Floor (epub)

  Joey felt his way along the staircase in the dark.

  He'd run up here to get away from the man, again. He'd expected to find the children up here, but this time the third floor was empty. And even though all the lights in the house on the first two floors were burning and glaring, the third floor was black.

  He heard something creeping on the stairs above him. He moved down a step. Then he heard something coming up toward him from below. He froze, his six-year-old heart ready to burst, and a short, quiet whimper escaped him.

  Suddenly the man roared above him, "Come here, boy!" At the same time, the little dead girl appeared glowing from the darkness below him. She held her hand out to him, clutching a doll. "Take it Adam," she said. "It will protect you."

  Joey moved to avoid touching either of them, stumbled on the stairs, and fell.

  He woke up crying on the floor in his room.

  Liz came in to see what was wrong.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Liz looked at the shirt Joey wore and when it didn't come down as far as it should, she thought, I guess it's time for some new clothes.

  She tied his shoes, despite his protest that, "I know how to tie them. Cross over, pull through."

  "I know you do," she said. "But I like doing things for you." He winced at the tightness of the shoes and she asked, "Are your feet getting too big for them?"

  "I don't know."

  She kissed his head and reminded him not to leave the backyard, and not to look at the old woman across the alley. He said okay and ran out the back door. Before the clang of the closing screen door faded, Liz heard the knocking on the front door and thought, We've got to either get a doorbell or a sign that says to come to the back. But her frustration faded when she saw the two Angel Glass-uniformed men standing outside.

  "Is this the Kitch residence?" asked the first.

  She told him it was and invited them in, telling them how happy she was to see them.

  "I can imagine," said the other one.

  She led them downstairs, telling them where the broken window was. They followed, making small talk about the heat and “nice house”, but she could tell by their voices that they weren’t thrilled with being here.

  "So, how long have you lived here?" asked the first man.

  "Only a couple of months," Liz answered. "We moved up from Houston."

  "'We'?"

  The second man went to the plastic-covered pane and measured it.

  "Yeah," Liz said. "Me, my husband, and our son Joe."

  "Only three of you?"

  "Lots of space here for only three people," the second man commented.

  "That it is," Liz agreed.

  While Liz entertained the glass repairmen, Jack stood against the wall of the break room during the monthly Fett Technologies communications meeting.

  "As you've all noticed, no doubt," Bill Sten said, "things have slowed down a bit here . . ."

  Like hell, Jack thought. Maybe they've slowed down in the other departments, but we've got plenty of work to go around if you want to send some people our way.

  " . . . And that is mostly due to one of our biggest customers having gone bankrupt. In all, Fett Tech is out just under a million dollars with the loss of this one customer."

  The talk around the plant lately had been about a cut in hours, which was supposed to last at least six months. The upside was that the hour cut was instead of a layoff. For that Jack was glad. He may have a fairly important position, but he was still the new guy.

  "On the bright side," Bill Sten continued, "we had a tour come through here just a few days ago. A customer we've been dealing with for a good three or four years brought in a busload of people to show them where he gets his product. One of the gentlemen on this tour commented to me about how impressed he was with what he saw."

  Just get to the point, Jack wanted to say.

  "He was impressed, not only with the way things are run here, but he said it was mostly with the people we've got working here at Fett Technologies. He was impressed with their level of motivation and with the general attitude throughout the plant."

  Blah, blah, blah, Jack thought. I've got a load of start/stop modules that need to be on the way to Aurora in two hours, so let's get to the damned point.

  It was all Jack could do to keep from sighing out loud. Finally, Bill Sten made his point.

  "What this means for all of us is that, within the next month to two months, Fett Tech should be able to regain some of that loss. However, until that time, the only way we can be able to keep our level of quality is by keeping the staff we've got. And the only way to do that is we're going to have to cut back our work week from forty to thirty-six hours."

  The groan of four lost hours of pay flowed through the whole crowd.

  "That means, instead of four nines and a four, we'll be working just the four nines for the next several weeks."

  There goes that acoustic I've been wanting, Jack thought. At least for a while. I wonder if that's going to affect the people on salary. I do still have a house payment, after all.

  As the meeting broke up and everyone ambled back to his or her areas, Jack caught up to Charley and asked, "We playing this weekend?"

  "I don't know now," Charley said. "Looks like I might be out looking for a part-time job. I don't make the big bucks like you."

  "Please, you've been here a lot longer than I have. I'm sure if you break it down hourly, you make a lot more than I do."

  "Well, nevertheless, I'm not going get all the bills covered on thirty-six hours."

  "And we're not going to get all the work-orders covered that way, either," Jack said. "I'm going to have to talk with him to see about that. 'Cause we get enough crap from Aurora on forty hours. I don't need more pissing and moaning from them because Fett Tech in general lost a customer; that's not my fault."

  "Well, you see what you can do. I'm gonna get those start/stops finished up."

  "You got an hour and a half."

  As they packed up their tools and the first repairman, whose name was Art, wrote out the bill, Liz noticed the second man, whose name was Richard, seemed suddenly anxious. He shoved the last of his tools into his toolbox and had his keys out and ready before standing up.

  "You ready?" he asked Art.

  "Yeah, in a minute." Art didn't seem the least ill at ease.

  Richard shivered and brushed at the back of his neck. Liz watched and felt sorry for him. She knew what was touching him, but how did you talk about something like that, and with people you didn't know, in your own house?

  "With tax, that comes to--"

  "I'm gonna wait outside," Richard said. He headed for the hallway and Art said, "Yeah, I'll be there in a second."

  He handed Liz the bill. She got her purse from the hall table and dug out the checkbook. She heard Richard close the front door.

  "He doesn't seem too eager to leave, does he?" She filled out the check.

  "He's okay," Art said. "I guess it's really my fault. On the way over here, I was telling him stuff."

  "About my house?" Liz asked.

  "Oh, man, I'm sorry," Art said, realizing what he'd said. "No, it's just that, I mean, well, you know, you're new in town and, I really didn't mean anything, I was--."

  "That's okay," Liz said. "I heard. Well, I heard something anyway."

  Art appeared relaxed, but she could tell he was going to watch everything else he said the rest of the time he was there.

  "So, you know what happened here?" she asked. "I mean, the whole story?"

  "Uh, not really. Just what was in the papers, but that was a long time ago. And I'm sure the papers didn't know the whole story anyway. I mean, something like that doesn't just happen without a whole bunch of stuff leading up to it, you know?"

  She signed the check, tore it out, and handed it over.

  Art took it and filled out the receipt.

  "So what did the papers say?" she asked.

  "Just, you know, guy and his kids. Look, I'
m sorry for bringing it up. I shouldn't even be thinking about it, and certainly not talking about it with the person who has to live here. Not that there's anything at all wrong with living here."

  "Oh, there is," Liz said. "Believe me, there's nothing you could say about what's happened here that would make me feel any worse about being here."

  He handed her the receipt which she stuffed into the checkbook, then the checkbook into her purse.

  "Well," he said, "okay. I just read that, um, the guy who used to live here and his kids, four or five of them, I'm not sure, were found dead one day upstairs."

  Liz glanced toward the back door, making sure Joey wasn't around to hear.

  "And he killed them?"

  "I don't know. That's what they said, but I wasn't here and like I said, there's probably a lot of stuff that led up to it, so, you know, who kno--."

  The phone cut him off. Liz wanted to finish the conversation, but the ring bore into her, and she finally grabbed the phone to shut it up.

  "Hello?" She didn't expect a response, just another ghost call, but Jack said, "What'cha doing?"

  Art took his cue, mouthed, "I'm gotta get going," and backed out. She hadn't wanted him to go yet, but Jack's tone said he had something to talk about.

  "Nothing," she answered. "Just paying the window guy. It's fixed."

  "Good," he said. "It's a good thing they got to it when they did."

  "How come?"

  He told her about the hour cut and that he didn't know if that was going to affect his paycheck or not. Joey came in and got a glass of water.

  "I hope not," Liz said. "Just realized today Joey's about to grow out of his clothes. He's gonna need a whole new wardrobe for school, unless you want him to be the kid showing off his socks 'cause his pants are too short."

  Joey put the glass back and went outside again.

  Since when can he reach the faucet by himself without leaning over the sink to do it? Liz wondered.

  "I'm going to talk to Bill Sten later, I hope, and find out. Hell, if it's a small pay cut versus a lay-off, I'll take the pay cut for a bit. A smaller paycheck's better than no paycheck."

  "We could always go back to Houston."

  "No, thanks," he said. "We've already got too much time and money in that house to leave now."

  Too bad, Liz thought.

  "Well, tell me what you find out when you get home."

  "I will."

  They hung up and Liz stood back to look at the new window. Then she looked around for Art. She'd seen him leave, but she wasn't finished talking to him.

  "Damn," she said. But at least she had some outside confirmation. Someone had killed himself, and his children. Art said he didn't want to say it was a murder/suicide, but Art didn't have to; the girl had told her enough.

  (Why did my daddy kill me?)

  She stood for a minute, dazed and lost in these thoughts, then she suddenly snapped out of it, shook it all away, and went outside to find Joey.

  She'd expected to find him running and jumping, kicking his ball around the yard, or just being Joey. Instead, she saw him sitting toward the back of the yard, by the alley, with his back against the wall that separated their yard from the parking lot of a condemned church on the next block. He was looking up at the house.

  "What'cha doing, Joe?"

  "Nothing." He brushed away a fly that landed on his cheek, and went back to doing nothing.

  "We got a new window," she said. "No more plastic-rattle while you're watching cartoons."

  "I know."

  She sat next to him.

  "You about ready for lunch?"

  This was where he usually asked, "Will it be naptime after I eat?" Instead, he kept staring at the house and said, "I'm not hungry."

  She looked at him, then at the house, trying to figure out what he was looking at. She expected to see the man looking out from the third floor window, or maybe the little girl. But she was pleased to find only dark glass staring back.

  Then she saw it.

  It wasn't anything staring at them from the windows, but the house itself. The sky overhead was bright with summer sun and everything around them shone with it, but the house was dark, as if the sun were afraid to illuminate it.

  It wasn't as if she saw a face in the house, nothing so cliche. It was just a house, but looking at it, Liz could see it challenging them.

  She looked around the yard, thinking, We own this. This is ours. We can do with it as we please. She looked back at the house, and thought, And that includes the house. It belongs to us, not the other way around.

  "What's the matter, Joe? You looking at something?"

  "Huh-uh."

  She sat next to him and put her arm around him.

  "You know," she said, "if there's something wrong, you can talk to your dad or me about it. We're always here to listen to you."

  "I know."

  "And if something's scaring you, we'll listen to that, too."

  He seemed to wake up a bit from his daze. He looked at her, then back at the house.

  "But what if talking about it doesn't help?" he asked.

  "Then the best thing to do after that," Liz said, "if talking doesn't help, is to face it. The best way to get over something that's scaring you is just to face it. Most of the time, you realize that whatever it is is really nothing that can hurt you."

  "How?"

  "Well, for example, when I was a little girl, I was afraid of heights. So one day I climbed the highest tree I could find, all the way up close to the top. And I stood up there and looked all over the place as far as I could see, and then I just climbed back down."

  He leaned his head toward her, resting against her chest.

  "So you're not afraid of heights anymore?"

  "Oh, no," she said, "I still am. But at least now I know that, as long as I keep hold and stay calm, I'll be fine. Anyway, it's not the heights that scare me so much as the falling."

  Joey chuckled and Liz hugged him.

  "So, you about ready for lunch?"

  "Is it gonna be naptime after?"

  "Probably."

  "Can I have chips and cookies with my lunch?"

  "You can have one. Which would you like?"

  "Chips."

  "Okay. Come on."

  He seemed fine now as they walked back to the house, but then Liz had the feeling the house was watching her and she wished she could sit at the back of yard, outside, away from the house. Instead, she went inside with Joey, like being swallowed up.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bill Sten told Jack the hour cut wouldn't affect his own paycheck, but it probably wouldn't have much affect on his hours either. There was still paperwork to be done, shop orders to be entered, orders to be placed. So Jack would be spending his Fridays at work, like usual, but he'd be doing it alone most likely. And no, Bill told him, the problems with Aurora would have to be worked out and their orders filled within those thirty-six hours.

  Charley Clark spent the weekend looking for a part-time job, something that wouldn't take up too much time and that he could slip out of quietly when Fett Tech went back to a regular schedule.

  Instead of going to Charley's, Jack spent the weekend on the second floor, helping Liz finish. After what seemed like a marathon session of painting, hanging, and moving, they stood back on Sunday evening and looked at their finished second floor.

  All they needed was to move the furniture up here.

  Liz, however, wasn't sure she was ready for that.

  Twice during the weekend something brushed the back of her neck while she was painting. The first time she'd almost dropped the roller. The second time, she was sure it was Jack; he'd been behind her the second before. But when she turned around, she saw Jack was gone and she felt very alone in the house.

  More times than she could count, she caught shadows out of the corner of her eye.

  They're just curious, she told herself. Like animals that want to see what you're doing.

  Ex
cept these animals could scare the shit out of her in the middle of the night by putting their dead hands on her skin while she was sleeping.

  "Do you want to start bringing stuff up when I get off tomorrow?" Jack asked.

  "I don't know," she said. "I think it can wait. At least for the week. I'm so exhausted from yesterday and today that I don't even want to see this floor again for a while."

  Or pretty much ever, she thought.

  "I know how you feel. Hell, you've done more work up here than I have. I'm surprised you even had the steam to finish it up."

  She raised her eyebrows, shrugged.

  "You want me to go get something to eat?" Jack asked.

  "Like what?"

  "What do you want?"

  "A bath and a bed and fifteen hours of sleep."

  "You can have those after we eat."

  Jack ordered a pizza, then went to pick it up instead of waiting the forty-five minutes to an hour for delivery. While he was gone, Liz ran the bath water.

  Joey asked, "Am I taking a bath, now?"

  "Not this time," Liz said. "You can watch anything you want, because I'm taking a bath until your dad gets home with supper."

  "Can I watch Naruto?"

  "If it's on, but I don't think it is. Avatar is, I think. You can watch that."

  Joey turned to run into the living room, but Liz called out, "Wait! Joey, come here for a second."

  He came into the bathroom and Liz leaned over to look at him.

  "What?" he asked.

  She stared at him for a second, then said, "Never mind. Go watch cartoons."

  He left, and she closed the door, then undressed and sank herself into the water, exhaling and moaning.

  Avatar wasn't on, but a Justice League rerun was. Joey watched until the first commercial, then he heard something upstairs.

  He listened, hoping it was his dad with supper because he was hungry and he didn't want that noise to be something else in the house.