Manic Monday: (Dane Monday 1)

by Dennis Liggio

  He shook his head and took a deep breath, the last traces of the dream slipping away. Now he was truly awake. It was time for coffee.

  Dane loved coffee. If there was one thing that stayed the same among the death defying escapes, the mad science, the apocalyptic madness, and the strangeness of his days, it was coffee. His joy, his sustenance, his lifeblood - Dane loved coffee. If there was a religion of coffee worship, say The United Apostles of His Unwavering Wakefulness The Saint Morning Joe, he would be a fervent member of that congregation.

  He had two coffee makers, a traditional maker that gave him a whole pot of coffee and one of those new single use machines. Given the choice, he preferred the old fashioned whole pot coffee maker. Oh, he liked the quickness of the newer machine, the way it didn't waste coffee, and that it allowed him to try out all sorts of flavored coffees, but there was something about the old fashioned coffee pot he liked. He preferred this "boilerplate" coffee he got at gas stations, convenience stores, and delis over the frufru coffee at Starbucks or other coffeehouses. He liked the coffee that produced sludge at the bottom of the pot if left too long. He loved that strong, unapologetic coffee served in styrofoam cups that were a driving hazard on a morning commute. There was just something he liked about getting coffee out of a glass pot that had been used so many times that the bottom was a discolored transparency from years sitting on a burner.

  Unfortunately, he was in a hurry, so he had to leave his beloved coffee pot cold and put in a single serve container to the other machine. A minute later he poured it into a travel mug. Grabbing his satchel full of experimental technology, assorted gadgets, and a few arcane items, he headed out to the address given in his dream.

  He had to. It was his job.

  Abby

  At last, she had finished her makeshift video setup. It had taken longer than she expected, but she managed to get the video camera balanced on the broken parking meter in front of the building. She wrapped the strap around the meter - she didn't want to break the camera and then have to go back to filming on her phone. Surely a real video camera added some journalistic integrity. It would at least hold more footage.

  Abby walked in front of the camera, standing directly in front of the rundown apartment building. She took a moment to compose herself, smoothing her clothes and tossing her hair back. Her red hair had a single pink streak - not quite traditional and a little flashy, but she had gotten the streak purposely. They were part of New Abby. Old Abby was boring and didn't think out of the box enough. Old Abby hated adventure. Old Abby couldn't get a job at any news network. But New Abby? New Abby might find a news angle that translated into a real job. She cleared her voice.

  "I stand here in front of 1325 Egan Street in North Egan. To the casual observer, this looks like just another decaying building. Located in the center of an area that most Avalonians wouldn't stop a cab in or even walk near, many would call this building just another wreck. Looked down upon even by the residents of the Egan neighborhoods, this forgotten and broken building is surrounded by many other abandoned apartments. This is arguably Egan's worst block - the worst block in one of the city's worst neighborhoods. To all viewers, this building is an eyesore, a waste, a symbol of New Avalon's decline.

  "But appearances often hide the truth. For this building is different. Amidst the crime and squatters, the dust and decay, this is not just another apartment building. If you could look through the dirt and graffiti, past the broken windows, if you could look back in time, you would see a unique building that is part of New Avalon's history. You wouldn't just see 1325 Egan Street. No, this particularly building is more than that. An artifact from an earlier age of Avalon, this building has a unique name, one now remembered only by historians and the local historical societies. The building behind me is Avalon's Hope, the first building created by noted local architect, city planner, and Avalon favorite son, Roger Carmichael.

  "Once it was the face of what living in New Avalon could be. When Carmichael designed the Hope in 1920, it was his vision for a better New Avalon, one with roomy and affordable housing for even the lowest wage worker. But his vision never came to fruition. Avalon's Hope is the only building of its kind, a model for a city that never was. Due to some disagreements with business partners, the designs for the Hope were given to other architects who were told to incorporate the ideas into much less expensive buildings. These offshoots of what the Hope once was are what fill both Egan neighborhoods and large parts of the city. After Carmichael's disappearance, his vision for the future was all but forgotten.

  "There are some who make the argument that this shift from Carmichael's vision is when the division in New Avalon began to sharply rise. They blame the cheaply mass produced buildings for the decline in Avalon's eastern neighborhoods as the western parts of Avalon prospered. Is this true? Such claims are hard to confirm and historians are split on the idea. Whatever the reason, Avalon's Hope, like all of North Egan, has not fared well over the years. On this, Avalon's worst block, we see a piece of Avalon's history standing empty of any official residents, not fit for renting or living, its rooms falling apart, its façade broken. It is a shell of its former glory.

  "This building, as well as much of this block, have been scheduled for demolition. The city and real estate investors want to start redeveloping the east side, starting here with this very block. They see themselves as renewing Avalon by getting rid of Avalon's Hope and these others buildings. They want to start fresh from the ground up.

  "But does Avalon's Hope truly deserve to be destroyed? Not all agree. Despite the plan for redevelopment, many are pushing for it to be designated a historic site based on its significance in the city's past. This would prevent its destruction. What it would not do is earmark any city funds for it to be restored to its former glory. That would involve getting donations, and with so many Avalonians ignorant of the history of this great city, that would be a long and arduous process. The opponents of this argue that declaring the building historic would mean it would lay empty and decrepit, effectively blocking all their plans to renew this area and improve one of the city's worst neighborhoods.

  "I for one disagree... I think that..."

  Abby faltered and frowned at the camera. Her contained journalistic façade fell and her arms went slack. "Maybe this isn't the place to be editorializing," she said to herself. "At least not without my position thought out." She sighed.

  She had graduated with honors from a acclaimed journalism program at Avalon U. A promising student, her teachers expected her to move to either New York or DC and pursue a job at one of the major networks. Instead, she refused to leave New Avalon, deciding that this is where she was most needed. However, she had failed to convince New Avalon that it needed her yet. The Avalon journalism industry was small and primarily local news. Nobody was really hiring, not for what Abby wanted. The only position was that of a backfill weathergirl on Channel 8. Something in her pride wouldn't let her get sidelined into being just a pretty face, no matter how many times she was told that the weathergirl position could be a foot in the door. Also, nobody respected Channel 8. The real news team was Channel 5.

  Abby's childhood idol was the Channel 5 news anchor, Eric "Tug" Johnson. He was the voice of news for New Avalon. She had grown up seeing him on the news, his perfect poise and diction giving a needed sense of credibility and gravitas to the local news. She had a mini-crush on him even though she had been watching him on the news since she was very young. She would love to get his advice, but had no chance of speaking to him; Tug Johnson only showed up at big events where she couldn't get time with him. So instead, she had aimed lower, trying to get the attention of Jack Steadman.

  Jack Steadman was the Johnny-on-the-spot news reporter of Channel 5. Where Tug Johnson ruled the news desk, Jack Steadman ruled the street. He went where the story took him. He followed the police into hot situations, rode in the news choppers, or smiled with dangerous animals at the Houghton Zoo. With his leather aviator jacket a
nd eternal 5 o'clock shadow, he was the local news's "danger" reporter. Recently, Abby had seen him at an event and with great hopes had tried talking to him, thinking she could get advice or perhaps even an internship. Instead, she had her hopes squashed. Though he might be brave and he might be daring, Jack Steadman was also a jerk. When she spoke to him, Jack was more interested in getting her into his bedroom than talking about her journalistic career. After a dozen times being called "honey" and "sweetie", her mood was already sour. When he had suggested that doors (including his own) would open for her if she wore a shorter skirt, she had called him a pig and had walked off in a huff. There was a lot she was willing to do to pursue her career, but demeaning herself with that scumbag wasn't one of them. In retrospect, she wished she had slapped him.

  That left her with less options for getting her dream job in journalism. Part of the problem was also that for all her college praise, she was untested. She was just a college graduate and her portfolio was full of college projects - intriguing, but not indicative of network-level journalism. None of the New Avalon stations or even the dying newspapers wanted to take a chance on her as a reporter with their limited local budgets.

  She realized that she needed to show the news stations that she could get the story and could do the work. And so she decided to do this video story, a piece on Avalon's Hope. With this done, she'd have a story of her own for her portfolio. Maybe she could also put it on the internet, and maybe, just maybe, it could go viral. But she needed this story to be good. And that was the problem she was running into now. She was working on this alone. No cameraman, no scriptwriter, nobody to even bounce ideas off of. That made the silent pauses even more silent, the empty stretches even more empty, and her self-doubt even more sharp.

  Abby looked around awkwardly, wondering if anyone else had watched her journalistic attempt at Avalon's Hope go down in flames. Though it was Avalon's worst block, it was morning on a weekday, so it was quiet and sunny, almost undermining the notion of it being dangerous. There were some pedestrians, but it was nowhere near as crowded as Midtown. Even the traffic was minimal. She did see a black sedan she was almost positive was circling the block, but it didn't seem to have anything to do with her. Of course, it could have been a few different black cars. Maybe her frustration was making her paranoid - embarrassed someone might actually be watching. An ironic anxiety for a hopeful journalist.

  "Okay, establishing shots, I guess," she said to herself, grabbing the camera. She didn't plan on going into the condemned building, so she needed to get the most she could from the outside of it. She did sweeping shots up Avalon's Hope, noting the broken windows, the dirty walls, the cracked and broken façade. She admitted that for all its history, this place was a dump. If not for the tarnished and broken gilding near some of the windows, she would never have been able to distinguish it from all the other buildings. But all history suggested it was a unique building, not that she had ever been in it. As it was condemned-but-in-limbo, nobody was legally allowed inside.

  Because of that, she was surprised when she saw in a man in a window of the fifth floor. The man disappeared from the window a moment later. At first she expected he might be a squatter who was staying there until the last possible day before finding a new home. But there was something odd about how he looked.

  She rewound the footage on the camera. In the playback, it was very clear. The man was wearing a dark suit, a tie, and sunglasses. He was definitely not a squatter unless squatters had recently gotten an image makeover. The man disappeared as soon as he saw her filming, but she still had a clear image of him on the fifth floor. Why was he in there?

  Internally, she dealt with a quick conflict. She always considered herself a law abiding citizen and a big fan of the rules. It was illegal to trespass in the building and she could get arrested. That was even if she discounted the possible danger of the condemned structure falling apart. The Old Abby part of her argued it was illegal and dangerous. But New Abby had a point too. There was a story here. It was true that the story could just be Well-Dressed Businessman Enjoys Eating Breakfast in Condemned Building, but there was a possibility it could be so much more. Maybe it would be newsworthy, maybe it wouldn't. But New Abby said to take the risk - especially since Abby was floundering on the weak Historic Site Vs Urban Renewal story.

  With a deep breath and realizing that bravery felt like shaky arms, she climbed the steps and grabbed the front door. Her breath caught as she walked through the doorway, but then as she entered the lobby she relaxed and chided herself for making this a big deal. Nobody was there to stop her. Nobody would want to hang out in a place like this. She noticed the interior of the building was broken down, grime covering everything. Wall fixtures were cracked and broken. Graffiti covered the entire lobby, some of it readable vulgar sentences, some of it the indiscernible tag of an unknown artist. The floor had originally been white tile with black letter tiles that spelled out the address and building name. Now most of it was gone; only a some of the word Hope was readable.

  The stairs were free of dust except in the corners. Abby expected a thick covering of dust marred only the man's footprints. But no dust meant that the stairs were well-travelled. Either the stairs saw regular use or more than one person climbed them today. Neither possibility appealed to her when she thought she was following just one person. She gripped her camera unconsciously, as if it were some weapon. She'd at least get footage of whoever attacked her... if she was even in any danger.

  While the stairwell was open at the lobby, it was enclosed on all other floors. She reached the fifth floor on the creaking stairs and opened the door for the hallway. She immediately heard voices and yanked the door back, keeping it open a crack so she could see down the hallway. She saw the man in the suit. He was six feet tall and wide shouldered, his muscles and bulk quite evident. His head was shaved, he wore sunglasses, and had an earpiece. She expected someone like that to be protecting the President. She decided he must be some sort of security.

  The man was currently prickling with alertness because another man was walking down the corridor toward him. This man was in his mid to late thirties and dressed semi casually. He had messy brown hair, a satchel draped across him, and carried a travel mug of coffee. He was somewhat attractive while also being also rather average - he could probably blend into a crowd well. He wasn't a transient either. Why was everyone in the building today?

  "Hello!" said the second man buoyantly. "I was wondering if you could help me! I'm looking for apartment 5E! I believe it's somewhere around here!"

  The security guard narrowed his eyes and Abby was sure he slightly looked to his right, at the blank wall. "I'm sorry, there's no 5E in this building." said the large man. "Design error."

  "That's strange!" said the other. "I was assured it would be here! Are you sure? Can I look around for it?"

  "I'm sorry, but you're not even allowed to be here," said the security guard, stepping closer to the other man. "The whole building is off limits to the public."

  "Are you sure? Then what are you doing here? Are you sure I can't look around? I'm pretty sure there's supposed to be a door right there!" said the other, pointing to a blank space on the wall.

  The security guard had now gently grabbed the man by the elbow and was guiding him towards the stairs. The other seemed to nod and accept the movement, though he kept looking over his shoulder and persisting in his argument. "I won't be five minutes, just a quick look around the hall! You won't even know I'm here!"

  As they came toward the stairs, Abby knew she needed to hide. She quickly ran up the stairs and around the corner of the landing as quietly as she could. Crouched a few steps down from the sixth floor, she looked down over the railing. Seconds later, the two men came through the fifth floor door and started down the stairs.

  "Do you really need to be doing this?" asked the smaller man. "I mean, I know it's your job, but do you even like it? Strong arming innocent citizens and such."

  The sec
urity guard said nothing and their voices descended down the stairs. Once she was sure they were out of the stairwell, Abby snuck down the steps to the fifth floor. She looked down the stairs for a moment, mumbling, "What was that all about?" before opening the door to the fifth floor.

  The fifth floor hall was about as run down as the rest of the building. Some of the apartments lacked doors, some were filled with the rubble of collapsed walls and garbage. The previously glamorous fixtures in the halls and homes were now broken or had been gouged out.

  Abby found 5B, the apartment that faced the street. She found the window which she was sure that the security guard had been looking out when she caught sight of him on the street. Other than the window, the dirty and mostly destroyed apartment wasn't very interesting. Neither were any of the other apartments either. None of the condemned apartments had any features of note nor had shown signs of anyone being in them other than maybe that large security professional. So why have a security guard in a barren hallway in a condemned building? And if he wasn't a security guard, why was he here and why was he acting like security?

  Abby knew there was a story here, even if it was just a quirky one that wasn't worth telling anyone other than friends over drinks. It was pure intuition, but she knew it. Something was jamming on her journalistic nerve like a joy buzzer. There was a story. She just didn't know what it was yet.

  She did learn that the security guard was right, even if the other man had a point. There was no 5E, but it seemed like there should be a 5E. The apartment numbers alternated back and forth on the hallway. On the left, on the building's interior side, between 5C and 5G there should be a 5E. But where there would be a door, there was just a blank wall.

  Abby had heard of buildings skipping numbers, but in those cases, the missing number was just unused; they didn't carve out a space for the missing room. She stared at that blank wall and wondered why there wasn't a door there. She went in 5C and noted that it wasn't a bigger than normal apartment. The wall ended where you would expect 5E to start. She went out in the corridor and trotted down to 5G. Inside 5G she saw the same thing - the walls were where they should be so that there was space for 5E, but there was no door to that apartment.