by Frank Redman
The elevator doors opened into an alcove. The walls were made of green granite. There were ten banks of elevators. Each elevator was flanked by brass columns. I’m sure additional service and private elevators existed elsewhere. The alcove led to a massive atrium that rose from the center of the building as high as I could see. Large trees grew out of plant beds. The noise created by an eight-foot waterfall dominated the background sounds. The floor was white granite, with flecks of red and yellow. The first four floors were walled with glass. Sunlight highlighted leaves on the trees. Balconies circled the atrium on each floor above, which led to various businesses.
A large circular security desk faced the alcove. A wrap-around green granite counter surrounded the desk. I could see four men sitting/standing in the desk area. One of them acknowledged us with a smile and asked if we needed assistance.
Approaching the desk I noticed a wide kiosk with two sections. One listed the names of the businesses—there were dozens of them—and the other displayed a map to help locate the desired business.
I wondered if anyone in these other businesses knew what was really going on in this building. Surely not. I imagined they were oblivious to the outside world, which started as soon as they walked out the door of their respective office.
The men at the desk were all wearing blue blazers and had earpieces with a wire dangling out of their ears. No doubt they had concealed weapons under their jackets. Detroit wasn’t the most crime-free city in the US.
Ray said, “We’re looking for Hanes and Lincoln Advertising Agency,” to the guard who had acknowledged us. The other men gave us cursory glances then continued what they were doing.
The guard said, “Yes, do you have a Confidence Badge?”
I thought, great, we’re already screwed. What the heck was a Confidence Badge?
But Ray just smiled, opened his wallet, and handed a card to the guard.
The guard said, “Thank you,” then swiped the card in an unseen machine on the other side of the counter. I saw a green light reflect off his face, then he returned the card. He said, “Take the P1 elevator to the 40th floor,” and pointed to a different alcove.
As we walked to the new elevator alcove, I asked Ray about the card, or Confidence Badge, he gave to the guard. Ray looked down at me from his higher vantage point, and smiled. “A friend.” I thought he was going to abstain from sharing anything else, but he said, “Hanes and Lincoln is a very private, very confidential advertising agency. The people and businesses who seek the agency’s assistance, do not want the rest of the world to know. High profile, upper echelon individuals and businesses enjoy complete anonymity while using the agency’s services. Any service. This includes the use of private elevators. Clients can access the agency’s premises with confidence their privacy is protected.”
“Confidence Badge.”
“Confidence Badge.” He looked at us and said, “From this point forward, act as if everything you say is heard—because it is. Likewise, trust that your every move is being monitored.” He nodded, then continued leading us to the private elevators.
There were four elevators in this alcove, which looked similar to the public elevators. We entered the elevator marked P1. There were buttons for 40 stories, and a few that descended lower than ground level. A clock displayed 12:05.
With 40 buttons, our destination must be the penthouse. I thought that was cool, despite my trepidation about what we might see. Ray inserted the Confidence Badge in a slot and was rewarded by the button for the 40th floor lighting up. He pressed it.
None of us said anything, nor did we look at each other. Ray had his eyes closed, I assumed in prayer.
I thought that was a good idea, so I did the same.
The doors slid open. The clock displayed 12:05. Fast elevator.
We emptied the elevator into a small hallway. Directly in front of us were large mahogany doors with a simple nameplate stating Hanes & Lincoln. There were no windows. The hallway ended twenty feet in both directions. There was no other way to get here except by using this elevator.
The elevator doors closed.
A camera above the agency doors watched us, as did cameras on both sides of the hallway.
Mahogany wainscoting covered the lower half of the walls. The upper half was painted tan, bare otherwise. There was no door handle, no doorbell, no intercom, and no window to get anyone’s attention. I wondered if we were supposed to do something with the Confidence Badge, but there wasn’t any type of card slot.
I tried my best to not look like I didn’t belong there. I glanced at Jenny; she was doing a better job of it than me.
Ray just stood, looking at the wood doors.
We stood there a long time. Nothing happened. I thought maybe we missed something. Then I wondered if the German dude was going to ride up the elevator with the Goon Brothers and finish what they started. I couldn’t help it, I glanced over my shoulder at the elevator. A call button beckoned to be pressed, but nothing else.
I left the button alone.
We stood some more. Still nothing happened. I wondered if grey hairs were growing in my raven black hair yet. I wished there was a mirror.
Not that I’m vain like that, it’s just how my brain works.
We stood.
I recalled again Ray’s directive to follow his lead, no matter what happens. Leading by example, he stood. So I followed his standing, though since we weren’t moving, I can’t really say I followed him.
We stood.
I was beginning to get thirsty. Oh, and hungry.
Maybe they were out to lunch.
I wondered if it was now dark outside.
I wondered if a zombie apocalypse finally went down, and we were the last three humans alive. What if Ray had secretly been infected and he turned into a zombie? I was pretty sure I could outrun Jenny, but with only twenty feet of hallway on either side of us, it wouldn’t do me much good.
Besides, I couldn’t do that to Jenny.
If I did, I had no doubt she would save a particularly horrid zombie attack just for me if I did abandon her. Even if she was a zombie Venus.
The mahogany doors opened.
We entered.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
We were in a waiting area (gee, great, more waiting). No one greeted us. No receptionist, no receptionist desk. Everything was in black and white, a study in contrast. Two black leather couches sat on a white marble floor, facing each other. Various black framed art adorned the marble walls, which had threads of black, weaved throughout. A black clock with a white digital readout displayed 12:12.
What?
Just five minutes elapsed while we waited in the hallway?
Nuh uh. They had to be screwing with the space-time continuum.
A black coffee table held only a single white ashtray. A small black wet bar was against the wall to the right. The liquor inside the various bottles provided the only color in the room.
A tinted glass door opposite the entrance led to another room or hallway. This door also had no visible way to open it.
I wondered who or what opened the mahogany doors for us to enter.
Ray gestured to the couches, indicating to Jenny and me to sit. He continued to stand, facing the tinted glass door.
There were no magazines, books, TV’s, or anything else to occupy oneself while waiting in this first room. So I looked more closely at the art on the walls. It seemed to me to be nothing more than black scribbles on white canvas. I’m sure it was priceless.
The glass door slid open, revealing a poorly lit hallway. No one was in sight.
Ray said, “Let’s go.”
We followed him into the hallway. The glass door behind us closed.
This hallway had black marble floors, fifty feet long. Lighted sconces on the walls every five feet illuminated the hall. Another door, similar to the one we just entered, waited for us at the end of this hallway. The low light glimmered off the tinted glass. The side walls were bare except the
sconces. No doors, windows, or even priceless scribble art.
It was incredibly quiet and still. I felt like I was in a modern catacomb. None of us talked. The only noise came from the click clack of Jenny’s heels on the marble floor.
Click clack.
Click clack.
Click clack.
The sound took on an ominous tone.
Click clack.
My rogue mind conjured an image of a dead man swinging from a noose, the popping of the strained rope making a click clack as the body swung like a pendulum.
Click clack.
Impossibly, the sound of Jenny’s shoes seemed to slow and deepen in pitch, like a dying phonograph.
Click…
Clack…
The lights dimmed.
The scars on my arm burned lightly. That… wasn’t my imagination.
We were only ten feet from the next door. I debated on whether I should break protocol and warn Ray and Jenny about the pending danger. But it would take a while to explain the whole scar-burning thing. They probably wouldn’t believe me. Yet to do nothing and let us walk into a trap was worse.
Screw protocol.
I reached for Ray to get his attention—
The glass door opened and a naked girl with blood smeared on her legs and hands shot through.
Ray took a step back, but kept his balance.
Jenny screamed.
I stumbled backward and fell down.
I am not a jumpy person. Living through the violence I’ve experienced, and living in various homes where boys’ only goal in life is to scare one another, I very, rarely, get startled.
But this was different. This scene wasn’t right. She scared the crap out of me. She seemed possessed. Her face was painted white, like a porcelain doll. She had black eyelids and very heavy mascara, which, on her pale skin, made her look deranged. She had on thick, bright red lipstick. But the worst part was the wide, toothy smile. The expression was a paradox to her condition.
I could not comprehend the scene. I sat. Stunned.
I know this is not the behavior of an action hero. But remember, I’m not an action hero.
Or any other kind of hero.
Why would she be smiling?
The tinted glass door in front of me had closed. I could see my faint reflection in the glass.
My brain slowly attempted to cooperate with my will. I turned to see Jenny race after the girl, heels left in the hallway.
Ray ran after Jenny.
I saw all three disappear into the waiting room.
So much for keeping a low profile. And not engaging.
I couldn’t think.
My scars still burned.
I started to get up, then the door in front of me opened again.
A young girl with blond hair in a yellow frilly dress ran out.
Chloe!
She stumbled and fell, landing on top of me.
A deep male voice yelled, “Hey!”
I felt a sting on my thigh, but ignored it.
She breathed heavily, tears streamed down her cheeks. She wasn’t wearing the heavy makeup like the other girl.
I hugged her tight, trying to calm her, whispering, “Oh, Chloe, you’re back. I’ve missed you so much. It’s okay, I’ve got you, it’s okay. We’re together again.”
I couldn’t believe I had Chloe back. My sister! Was here. In my arms. Alive!
And then, from a calm, small room deep in my mind, Reason reached out to me, telling me that this little girl could not be Chloe. Reason was cruel. It told me Chloe was dead. It told me she died with a fractured skull. She died in a pool of her own blood. And then Reason flashed those images into my conscious.
I flinched.
And it worked.
My right mind told me to get up. Run! Save the girl!
I felt another sting in my thigh.
The girl started sobbing heavily, her body convulsing—then abruptly stopped.
I pushed her up to tell her we had to leave. Now!
Then her face did something it wasn’t supposed to do: it melted. Her cheeks stretched, the skin morphing into long strings, and just slowly slid down. Her nose oozed over her mouth and to her chin... Then her eyes popped out, dangling in midair, tethered to optical nerves, leaving black holes for eye sockets, deep pits straight into Hell. Her lips parted and dissolved, revealing shiny white teeth smiling in a death grin while her skull bobbed up and down, yet slowly moving closer to me, Hell reaching out to me through the black, eyeless holes.
A quick, inescapable terror consumed me—fear seized my very soul—as I watched her skin pool to drop on top of me like acid. I knew if I fell into those pits, Allister would be waiting for me, greeting me with his smile. And a hacksaw.
I rolled to the side and scampered away from her. My back jammed against the wall in the hallway as far as I could go, pressing against the sheetrock but still I kept kicking, pushing back.
Then… the wall opposite me, started melting too, flowing down. My hands pushed on the floor, which should have been solid, providing resistance to my touch. But the floor was soft. My hand travelled into it, deeper, deeper, to my elbow, and then I pulled it back.
Giant roaches with fangs swarmed on the walls, the floor, the ceiling. I yelled.
From that same small room in my mind, Reason called—calling out to me. This was not possible. Skin did not melt off little girls. Walls did not slide down to the floor. Floors did not turn into pudding.
One sting. Two stings. In my thigh. They were needles. Drugs. Hallucinogens.
I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut. Concentrating on reality.
The floor felt solid again. I pushed against it. Then it softened.
I opened my eyes and saw the tallest man I’d ever seen looming over me. He was ten feet tall, dressed in white, and couldn’t have been more than one hundred pounds. He reached down from on high with arms too long even for his ten-foot body and grabbed my wrist.
I tried to hang onto a tiny fragment of reality. I cried out, calling for Ray or Jenny to help me, but my tongue was too thick, heavy, immovable. The words were no more than garbled sounds. “Thhhway fffp mm.”
The skyscraper man reached for my other wrist. I flailed my arms, a useless effort to keep him from grabbing me. I swung my arms anyway. My knuckles smacked the wall, the floor, and the wall again. Repeatedly. I kicked but only made contact with the floor.
Another man, even taller than the first, came down the hallway with giant wheels. I thought the wheels would run over me, slicing my legs off.
One man hauled me to my feet. Standing, I thrashed again, making contact a few times with objects other than walls or floor, but it was impossible to put any force behind the punches. The second man put a jacket on me backwards, way too easily. I felt straps tighten against my chest and then I could no longer move my arms. They pushed me down to sit in the thing with the giant wheels. I glided across the floor.
I tried to ask them where they were taking me. But only grunts escaped my mouth.
I felt a pinch on my neck. Then darkness oozed over my eyes like melting skin.
Chapter Thirty
For a long time, an interval beyond my awareness to measure, I couldn’t tell if I was awake or asleep. It might have been hours. It might have been days. I was on top of a bed. I tried to move my left arm to scratch an itch on my head, but couldn’t. I looked at the arm to see what the trouble was and discovered the arm was strapped to the bed. The same with my other arm. And legs. This did not make sense to me. Not to mention it was going to make scratching the itch rather difficult. Ditto going to the bathroom, which I had the sneaking suspicion would be a need in the not-so-distant future.
I was wearing a white pullover shirt and white pants. They looked like pajamas. Someone had changed me out of my regular clothes into these. My scars were exposed.
Thankfully I could still move my head and look around. I was in a room that looked like it belonged in a hospital. There was one bed,
the one restraining me. I did not like the bed. It was not nice. A track on the ceiling curved around the end of the bed, with a curtain pushed to one side. White walls, white ceiling, and white floor. There were no windows. There was a dresser attached to one wall, but no mirror. This too was all white. It certainly smelled like a typical hospital. Antiseptics, cleaners, the minor scent of ammonia…
Two posters displaying the brain at different angles hung from one wall. The brains were sliced into sections with lines presumably identifying those sections. They were too far away for me to read. Various art depicting a cat or cats also covered the walls. It was all elegant, not like a felt picture of bulldogs with stogies playing poker. There were even three small sculptures of cats.
One door led to, I supposed, a bathroom. A second door, wide enough for a hospital bed, probably led to a hallway. There were no monitors, no nurse call button, no not-so-fancy remote to make the bed rise.
The walls, the ceiling, nothing melted and roaches no longer swarmed any surface. Whatever drug the darts contained that caused the hallucinations had worn off.
I wondered what had happened to the two girls that made them run in fear and panic. And how they’d even gotten that far. Why was the one girl smiling? No way was it a real smile. What happened to them after I left? Did they somehow get away, were they captured? I wondered if Ray and Jenny were here in other rooms, I wondered if I’d ever see them again. I wondered how long I’d been in the room, about what would happen next, and how I was going to get out of there. All I could do was wonder.
There wasn’t sufficient information for me to answer any of the questions bouncing around in my head. I had two choices: think or sleep.
I slept.
I woke when I heard the door open. A male orderly or nurse, impossible for me to tell if it was one of the skyscraper men I punched before—the word punch just seems more manly than slap—entered, pushing a cart.
Followed by a cat.
A cat. Really. I instinctively looked at the three cat sculptures to see if they were still there. Yes.
I looked at other objects and surfaces to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. The cat was two-toned, grey on top and white on the lower half. He jumped onto the bed and looked at me with greenish-brown eyes.