by Gary Denne
Sean’s attention followed the landscape of the old banged-up dresser, his ears listening for the girl’s jangling keys in the front door. He saw an open jar of medical syringes, fresh cloths, and what were obviously tourniquets for injecting into the veins. He wondered what kind of world this girl had immersed herself in. She certainly looked dramatically different to the girl in the old photo frames around the apartment, and Sean knew with the assortment of wigs that were lined up on Styrofoam heads in her bedroom she was obviously living some kind of double life. Similar to picture frames in the living room, many of the old photos around her bedroom showed her with no visible tattoos, wild hair or makeup, looking somewhat academic and even geeky in bold-framed glasses.
Curious than ever, but beginning to feel a little guilty as he glimpsed himself in her dresser mirror, Sean turned around and decided not to poke around anymore in someone’s private space and possessions. He walked out of the bedroom, quickly noticing the open closet of clothes, equally shared by everyday dresses, eveningwear, and erotically provocative clothing.
Entering the bathroom, he looked at himself in the mirror. He was a mess, but now wasn’t exactly the time for a shower or a cleanup. He needed her to return. After all, she was the one who seemed to know what the hell was going on. He was just following instructions now. He ran some water and splashed it on his face, waking himself up some more. It was cold, but at least it gave him a jolt. He left the bathroom and found his trail of clothes on the apartment floor, slowly stretching over to pick them up. He quietly put his jeans and top back on, ruffling his hair with his hands to give it some body. He looked around again, noticing more details of the apartment and its contents in the light of day. He sighed. What else could he do? It was like he was waiting for a dentist appointment.
Enjoying itself in the sunlight, the cat looked up at him, perhaps not used to a stranger in the apartment. It licked its paws and turned away, as if to say ‘whatever...’ to whomever he may be.
“Maybe you can tell me what the hell is going on?” Sean asked the feline, knowing full well his question would go unanswered.
The cat switched paws and licked and licked, ignoring him standing there. Even if it could’ve said something, it probably would’ve kept mysterious, anyway ... and told him not to touch anything.
Sean stepped towards the stripper pole that was mounted just off center in the apartment. He grabbed at it with one hand and gave it a shake, testing its stability. Sure enough, it was solid as a rock, bolted at each end but certainly not a permanent fixture. He walked over to the sex swing in a corner by the window. He looked it up and down briefly. It had wide, adjustable straps, padded stirrups and self-tightening buckles, with a handlebar at the top to presumably hold on with. It was attached to a high-strength spring with connecting hooks, leading up to the ceiling, fixed by a spring-open hook. Never having seen one before, he tugged on it to test the kind of weight it could carry, before he quickly let go, not wanting to linger or think about what it had seen and the kinds of things it was used for.
Moving on with his daytime tour of the apartment, something caught Sean’s attention on the desk. He had not seen this last night; perhaps the darkly lit room had masked the most intriguing of things. He lifted up a cluster of large, rolled-up plans. Unraveling them, he could see they were building schematics. He studied them. He saw the words ‘Maddox Plaza’ at the bottom of the plans. Puzzling ... but schematics were never an interesting read, so as curious as the plans were and their purpose, he put them down again, ensuring the roll was close to how he’d found it.
On the row of computer monitors, screens were filled with terminal windows of event logs and lines of code. He looked closely for a second, wondering what it all was. There were a few words here and there that caught his eye and the occasional mention of Maddox, but it mostly didn’t make any sense. Computers were never really his thing, anyway.
A collection of laptops were on the desk, as if one was somehow not enough. Most had their lids closed, but there was one that was slightly ajar. Careful to not set off some kind of log or alarm, Sean bent down to the floor and tilted his head up to look at its screen from an angle.
He could make out an email on the laptop’s screen, but frustratingly none of its contents; the angle was too great. But he could see it was addressed to an ‘Annie’, signed from someone named ‘Josef’, not that that revelation shed light on anything.
As he rose back up, Sean noticed a loose photo on the desk. It was another picture of the old gentleman from one of the framed pictures on the apartment wall. He was wearing a Maddox lab coat and smiling at the camera, proud of an achievement or simply trying to get the damn photo over with so he could get back to his work. Sean picked it up and held the photograph to the wall photo at a distance, comparing faces. Yep. That was the same guy. Maybe a few years difference give or take, but definitely him.
“I don’t ‘spose you know who that is?” he said, turning to the cat.
It looked at him with no reaction.
“Right,” Sean accepted.
He turned the photo over and was surprised to see a handwritten note on the back;
‘In the Lab, 2007.’
He placed the photo back down, noticing movement in his peripheral vision. It was a monitor, flicking through several security camera feeds. It cycled every few seconds through various locations. Sean engaged in brief voyeurism while he read the on-screen text of each location...
M1: LOBBY
M1: STREET
MADDOX PLAZA
MADDSEC
Wait a second...
Go back. Go back to that other screen. The lobby, read Sean’s face in a worrying frown.
He moved closer to the screen. His face was full of panic, fear and shock.
That couldn’t be...
But there he was, on television.
The dark trench coat, the eye patch, the handlebar moustache ... it was him.
On a fuzzy, black-n-white security vision feed, D.T. Roberts was slowly looking around a building lobby—this building lobby. The lobby Sean suddenly remembered walking through last night with the girl.
“Oh no,” he said to himself, worry in his voice.
He quickly searched for his shoes and slipped them on, alarming the cat who danced off into the bedroom for cover. Glancing at the monitor as it cycled through the feed, he could see Roberts was still there, calmly looking around and watching residents come and go from the row of elevators just beyond the lobby. He headed for the apartment door and furiously messed around with the locks until he could open the door and leave. Did he think to grab one of the weapons he’d seen earlier? Of course not. He was an everyday guy, not some strategic-thinking trained operative. And right now he wasn’t even thinking at all. He was panicking. He slammed Violet’s door shut.
The elevators were just down a stylishly upmarket, art-decorated hall. Sean’s feet sank into thick, woven carpet as he took each hurried and anxious step towards them.
‘Ding’.
In either a cruel twist of fate or a perfect sense of timing, one of the elevator bells suddenly dinged as he made his way towards it. He immediately froze in his tracks with dreaded anticipation that he would come face to face with his hunter. He swallowed anxiously. The doors to the elevator slowly slid open...
But no one came out.
He waited some more, breathing nervously.
Carefully stepping towards the elevator, he slowly peered inside. It was empty, something he hadn’t expected. He breathed a panicked sigh of relief; his mind was racing so fast he wasn’t thinking straight. Stepping inside, he quickly hit one of the buttons and the doors slid shut. He had to get the hell out of there. Now.
Confrontation
The elevator car reached the ground floor and came to a gentle halt. Sean’s heart was in his mouth. It was either the brisk speed of the free-fall-like descent or the anticipation of the doors opening out into the lobby. Either way, it didn’t matter. He swallo
wed nervously again. As with many building elevators, there was a slight pause before the doors finally opened and it released him. But he didn’t move. He remained in the car, extremely cautious. In fact, he hadn’t exactly thought his escape plan through, as the elevator had taken him right to the last known location of D.T. Roberts, and not far away in the other direction. But still, Sean just wanted to get the hell out of the place. He didn’t have grand illusions of heading to the roof and jumping from building to building, or walking along window ledges and crashing into someone else’s apartment to escape. No, this was not an old Hollywood action movie with a superhero-like protagonist.
As he slowly peered out from the elevator, all seemed calm in the enormous lobby of one of the prime residential buildings in the city; M1. In this new New York, the most prestigious buildings for paying residents were all about space, luxury, and keeping with traditions of the past. It had expensive artworks, a calming background piano player tinkling away on a baby grand, fountains, chandeliers, mirrors, fresh exotic flowers, and doormen wearing immaculately presented dress standards. The lobby of M1 was in fact so large, a monster-truck could have driven right by even during the busiest times of the day and there would still be room for lobby socializing. With an impeccable reputation as the premium city residence, M1 had—in its previous incarnation as one of NYC’s finest five-star hotels—accommodated Presidents and Prime Ministers the world over. Its contemporary art-deco design was stunningly impressive, and the lobby’s centerpiece was a spectacular crystal chandelier, gracefully hanging down for residents to admire while they traveled the winding staircase up to the first-floor atrium, housing one of the building’s five silver-service restaurants, alongside several upmarket bars and cafés.
Just passed 9A.M., many of the building’s residents were making their way to dine over breakfast as they did each and every day, some in their finest attire, wanting to be seen alongside the social elite of the city.
Sean cautiously stepped out from the elevator, and for a moment, looked around the lobby with an anxious look on his face. If one was to read his mind, it would almost be certain he was hoping to hell the wig-wearing, tattoo-covered exhibitionist chick was going to show up any second to guide him out of there, whatever her name was.
He scanned across the lobby through the heavy crowds and spotted the building’s front entrance and revolving doors to the street. Roberts was nowhere to be seen. This was it. He was going for it. Sean took off from the elevators, attracting glimpses here and there from residents who noticed this out of place young man walking through their lobby in jeans and a t-shirt.
He kept walking. His stomach sunk to his knees. Reaching the building’s front, he looked down, trying to hide his face. In this city, he knew doormen would know everyone. They saw everything. Keen observation skills being a necessity for the job, especially in a building like M1. Sean could feel the doorman’s stare burn right through him as he followed the revolving doors around, leading to the street outside. Who knows what the burly beady-eyed doorman was thinking of him, and whether his colleague from the night before had passed on that Sean had come in with the girl known as Violet.
But it didn’t matter. Sean calmly pushed the revolving door one more time as he stepped onto the street. He made it out. A temporary shot of relief flowed through him, but knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet. All he wanted to do was get home. Back to his apartment, to try to think this thing through. He blended in with hundreds of people on the street; many entrants, heading off to their jobs as they tried to squeeze in some fuel for the morning shift. Out of the working population, some ate on the run, chomping a $20 bagel or hotdog from a street vendor while they power-walked their way to an office or factory, while others found a space to quietly sit and read, trying to escape into a book or some news reports from the outside world before their workday started. Here, in Uptown, it was easy to tell the residents from the drones. Elderly singles and couples strolled along the sidewalks, dressed to the nines, without a care in the world, occasionally glancing at those around them, who in some way or another, fulfilled their every need.
Sean began to make his way up the sidewalk, towards Central Park in the distance. It was one of the many places he had dreamt about seeing for the first time, but never did he imagine it would be while he tried to escape a crazed cowboy gunman who was trying to kill him just for the thrill of it. Still, the park seemed like a good idea to disappear into.
As he mixed with countless people of all nationalities, trying to weave in and out of the heavy crowds, Sean looked around at the boutique stores offering upmarket goods and merchandise to the local residents. It had been a long, long time since he had seen shop windows displaying goods for sale. The streets of Manhattan were quiet, punctuated by bursts of activity from a street vendor’s voice or a horse and carriage trotting past. Still, even though he was among the crowds, there was a certain eeriness to the moment. Manhattan without the constant hum and buzz of motor vehicles, honking of horns, and gridlocked traffic allowed the city itself—the towering buildings and wide streets—to dominate and play the lead role. Skies were gloomy overhead, and rainwater was still sitting in large puddles where drains had become blocked. Street markings were all but faded. Roads were weathered and littered with imperfections. It was amazing how quickly weather could wear down infrastructure that was no longer maintained to certain standards.
Reaching the corner of the city block, Sean looked up.
‘5 AV’ read the street sign.
It was one of the original Fifth Avenue street signs from way back when the city was still the Big Apple. Even the tiny illustration of the Statue of Liberty was still there, proudly holding her torch up high, undeterred by recent world events. Although Maddox were the gatekeepers of this city now, much of its history—street names, districts, subway lines, stations, buildings—had remained relatively unchanged. As for the Statue of Liberty herself; she too was still standing tall in the harbor, lonely and no longer admired by many thanks to the seawall around the island.
There he stood, at the intersection of Fifth Avenue and W 56th Street, among millions of souls in the biggest city in the world, and all of a sudden Sean looked as if he was the loneliest person on the planet. Several horse-drawn carriages rolled by at a steady pace, the mode of transportation for any discerning resident. A few old automobiles spluttered their way around the corner, being driven by people who must’ve felt king of the world to still have the pleasure of driving such a vehicle. When the road was clear, residents and entrants alike didn’t hesitate to cross to the other side. Traffic lights, whilst still standing, were no longer operational, and with the small volume of vehicles on Manhattan streets, there was simply no need to waste precious energy on such a service.
Along with countless others, Sean crossed over 56th Street, still looking anxious and wanting to get home, but also lost in the crowds and wandering almost aimlessly with the flow towards the park.
Suddenly, however, he stopped dead on the sidewalk.
Up ahead, in the oncoming madding crowd … he thought he recognized something. He quickly tried to angle for a better view but it was hard. Faces, bodies and all manner of things kept getting in his line of sight. There was something familiar about the hat that kept bobbing up and down from a distance. He had seen it before, but couldn’t quiet put his finger on it.
As the crowd thinned out, Sean got a clear view of the hat’s owner.
Shit. It was him.
Making eye contact for a split-second, D.T. Roberts rapidly came to life like a futuristic mech-soldier and sped up, making a path for himself by forcefully pushing people out of his way, keeping his one eye locked right onto Sean like a missile-targeting system. The wrinkled and weathered old man moved towards Sean with steel determination. He wore a mean, ice-cold expression on his face.
Sean spun around and doubled-back quickly, power-walking his way through the crowds. He glanced over his shoulder for Roberts. In the light of day,
on the streets of the city, as long as there were people around he would be safe, surely. After all, if there was one place left on this rock that was still regarded as civilized, Manhattan was it.
But Roberts had other ideas. Built up on an overdose of Pump, veins in his neck were bulging like an Austrian bodybuilder. The drug had started to change his body and give him a very unnatural, artificial look. Snarling, he undid his dusty trench coat, letting it flap to both sides as he pulled a pump-action shotgun into his hands, pumping it in the air. He took aim and without hesitation, fired at Sean. The shot rang out and shattered what was normally a peaceful hour of the working city day. The sidewalk crowds immediately screamed in horror and ran for their lives, anywhere they could find. Many tripped in the commotion and could only lie on the pavement sobbing that they were perhaps the latest player in the insidious PUMP ‘game’. Some hid in establishments and places of business. Roberts picked up his pace, slamming his boots down onto the sidewalk with a thud. He fired another shot, but his target was saved by several innocent victims who took the hits instead. An elderly resident in an antique, tailored suit from the 70’s fell to the ground like a ragdoll, alongside several other innocent entrants. Roberts did not flinch on seeing the resident go down to the pavement. He was jacked up so high on additional doses of Pump, he may well have killed the entire Maddox executive team if they were in his way. Friends and relatives rushed to the people who had been gunned down, screaming in terror as bodies lie dead on the sidewalk, bright-red blood rushing onto the pavement and disappearing into cracks. In what was a few seconds, the normally crowded city sidewalks were thinned out and close to empty for such a large population. Roberts passed the victims of his mayhem, paying no attention to the screams, nor looking down to put someone out of their misery. No. He was only after one man. Nothing else mattered.
Sean madly picked himself up off of the ground, knocked over by the remaining panicked crowds. He ran the city block as fast as he could, arriving back at M1. He slammed into the revolving doors like he was tackling a linebacker to get them spinning around to let him back inside. MADDSEC sirens could be heard in the distance, showing an almost instant response time to any of the residential districts of the city, especially their own resident apartment buildings. Soon the area would be sealed tight and crawling with MADDSEC officers talking to witnesses and securing the location by any means necessary. As with any hospitality business, which was one of the largest profit centers for Maddox, the safety of the guests was always number one.