The Weeping Woman

Buck liked the office late at night. He toiled at cleaning the floors, organized fallen papers, and brushed aside the beginnings of cobwebs. He enjoyed the quiet and whistled happily to himself.

He paused by a nearby mirror and brushed back his bright red hair. Even his face looked a bit crimson, flush from a vigorous bout of sweeping. He chuckled and cracked his back. It was about time for him to finish for the night.

After a yawn, he paused and turned his head. In the shadow of his yawn, he could hear a voice. It was crying mournfully.

Hand to his mouth, he remembered the conversation he'd overheard earlier. Donna, one of the receptionists, had come in late to pick up something she'd forgotten when she heard the cries of a woman. They echoed through the old, brick walls of the office. She'd gone out the side to look, but she didn't see anything. Talk of ghosts filled the rest of the conversation despite the skeptics around the office.

Buck smiled behind his hand and gave a careful listen. The cries grew stronger and lighter in waves. After thinking it over, he figured that the side alley was probably the best place to check.

He unlocked the door and leaned out. He didn't see anyone at first, but he wasn't about to give up so easily. Making his way around the garbage cans, he looked until he found the source of the cries hidden between some massive bins.

Sitting on the pavement, in a ragged white dress, was a woman with her face buried in her knees. Her skin was pale, almost colorless. Her hair was a stark, tangled black. She had a cold feeling about her. Crouching, Buck approached her carefully and asked, "Can I help?"

At first, the woman didn't interrupt her cries. The next wave came as an anguished moan. Carefully, Buck touched her on the shoulder. He willed himself not to shiver.

In the moans, the woman seemed to respond, "So warm…"

Buck scooted a little closer and asked her, "You shouldn't stay out here. Come on in, please."

It took his best prodding but, eventually, the woman almost seemed to float to her feet. She followed where he led.

Inside, he used some cloth from the storeroom to fashion her a blanket and had her sit on a couch in one of the offices. The woman clutched tightly to the blanket.

He offered her water, crackers, and a candy bar from the vending machine. She accepted them all but didn't partake of any. With a sigh, but still smiling as best he could, Buck eased into the couch beside her and asked, "So, what's your name?"

Slowly, the woman turned to look at him with a blank, still stare. Her words groaned out, "I…don't know. I don't remember."

He scooted a little closer and asked, "Is there anything at all you recall?"

She shut her eyes a moment. Her breath appeared shallow. He wasn't sure if she was even breathing at all. When her eyes flashed open, she gave him the same stare as before and recited, "Pain. Suffering. Anguish. That's all I remember. Then wandering in the cold, ignored and alone." Her sniffles and cries returned.

Buck leaned beside her. Even through the blanket, there was still an oppressive chill enveloping her. He asked, "Are there any streets you remember? How did you get to the alleyway?"

Her head bowed, as though the thoughts he was offering her were too heavy for it. He rubbed his chin and pointed out, "You really should have something to eat."

The woman's cough came out in tortured fits. He gave her paper to cough into and urged her to drink. The water seemed to pass through her even as she drank it. Her rough coughing remained.

Buck stayed by her side until there was a lull. Her head rose just a little as she muttered, aiming her gaze at an empty wall, "I remember falling. I don't remember landing. I felt like I was numb all over when I woke up."

Pressing a finger to his chin, Buck raised his eyebrows and looked her over. She showed no sign of injury or bruising. Thinking a bit, he asked if she checked the pockets of her dress. With a quiet look on her face, it seemed the notion hadn't even occurred to her. Softly, her arms drifted to her sides, feeling around.

After a bit of searching, a folded photo came from a small, side pocket. Unfolding it, the photo revealed a woman full of bright energy. Her smile almost overexposed the image. The white dress she wore was impeccable and radiant. Her black hair was glossy and permed. Her arms reached out to the right, a tear in the photo slicing off her hands at the wrist. Nothing of what may have been to the right of her remained. Buck's eyes flashed. He was certain the woman in the photo and the woman seated next to him were one and the same.

The woman's gaze at the photo was like looking into a stranger's eyes. Buck lay a finger across the image of the woman's face as he asked, "Do you know this face?"

A cough came from the pale woman, as though breathing itself had become a struggle. She rasped, "Maybe…"

Buck asked for the half-photo and she gladly turned it over to him. Her breathing seemed better with it out of her hands.

He looked closely. He could tell the street was the same as through the front windows of the office. The woman sat on a park bench. Buck recalled that the secretaries liked to sometimes take their lunches at a park several blocks away. They often said it was a haven for lovers. In the background, a building of several stories loomed. Inspecting the image closely, a theory formed in Buck's mind.

He turned to pose his next question to the woman but found the seat beside him empty except for the blanket. A slight cough soon revealed the woman was standing on wobbly feet by a large photo on the wall.

Buck approached her carefully. Her hand drifted up to the light-dappled glass of the picture frame. Several men were seated together in the photo. She touched at the cheek of the smiling man on the right. Buck recognized him as Arthur Collins, one of the assistant managers around the office.

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He asked the woman, "Do you know this man?"

With his words, the woman's fingers withdrew from the glass, as though they'd grazed something hot. She answered with surprising certainty, "I remember him…"

Even in the low light, a pale shadow of the woman reflected in the glass. Standing where she was, it looked like she was right next to Arthur. Buck held up the folded picture and turned it around a few times. On the white back, he paused and looked at a dusty mark. Peering closely, he made out the impression, with letters since erased, of two names above a heart.

Looking up from the photo, Buck spoke the name, "Enid."

The woman turned with a gasp, her hand rising to her cheek. Her mouth twitched a few times, like a fish struggling for air on the shore.

Buck put a hand on her still-chilled shoulder. The air around her spread frost. He lowered his head to her and said, "Your name is Enid. And that man is Arthur Collins."

She wavered under the touch of his hand and said, in a voice so slight it was almost private, "Artie. My Artie. My love…"

Buck touched the back of the photo and said, "Tell me about Artie."

Something of a liveliness infused Enid's pale form. She spoke of their walks and their quiet kisses under the trees. While she spoke, Buck peered closely at the photo. He noticed the shadow of Enid's body against the left side of the bench. He looked to the right. There was no shadow there. He pressed his lips together then relaxed them.

As Enid was talking about the gifts Artie gave her, Buck cautiously asked, "Do you have anything else in your pockets?"

Without looking, Enid said a sharp, "No."

With his best smile, Buck urged her to check. As though her hands were slipping beside coals, Enid tried her pockets. There were two lumps which Buck wasn't quite sure were there before.

She didn't look at them, she just held them out at Buck and turned away.

They were about what he expected. In one hand, Buck opened up a flower of a crumpled half-a-photo to the complete the one already revealed. In the chair beside Enid, with her hands reaching out like a drowning swimmer, was nothing. The other paper was a document torn in parts and crumpled together. It was signed by Arthur Collins. It was a restraining order.

Looking over at Enid's moist eyes, Buck had a feeling she knew what they both said.

Instead, he spoke the next thought, "You feel guilty."

The ripple of a frown, like black-lined ivory drapes disturbed by a sudden draft, caught Enid as she spoke, "Artie ran away…because of me. He broke my heart."

Buck urged her on with a little nod of his head, but Enid turned away. She clenched her eyes tight. Her back stiffened and, when she looked again, there was a blankness in her gaze. She asked, at the verge of tears, "Who are you? How did I get here?"

With a frustrated sigh, Buck held Enid by the shoulders and urged, "Don't go backwards. You're almost there. Look into it…no matter how much it hurts."

Enid's gaze evaded him, but it wandered back. The air rattled in her lungs. With a whimper, she said, "I was wrong about Artie. He visited me during lunches. He'd look. He'd stare. He'd gripe about his wife. He made promises. He was romantic. So romantic…"

A released river of tears tore down Enid's eyes. The energy to sob built within her. Buck rubbed her shoulders gingerly and urged her onward.

Trying a careful pant, Enid continued, "He….said it was nothing. I saw my future… and my heart…break. I followed him. I had to know. I felt like it was all gone, and he'd turned to stone. I could see him…I imagined him smiling just to me in secret."

She rubbed her stomach tenderly, as though some sleeping turbulence had risen within her. "I couldn't let go. I thought about following him to secret places. Dangerous places…it didn't matter…that was when…"

Her hands tightened, like their stiffness was going away. Buck kept silent.

The words took several long breaths. Eventually, she said, "They were working on the stairs at the building behind the park that I just knew he loved. I snuck in with a basket for a special dinner for him. I climbed the stairs. They were shaky. There was scaffolding everywhere. I should've turned back, but I knew dinner on the rooftop would be perfect…the step…gave this horrible noise. I fell…"

The last word caught in Enid's throat. Her hands cupped her mouth and held onto a sob.

Buck nodded back to her as he urged, "You fell."

Enid crouched and murmured, "I'm gonna be sick…It can't be."

She looked to Buck's eyes with fading hope. Buck rubbed her shoulder. "Denying it won't change it. I know…"

Enid took a little step back from Buck's touch. She looked him over. "You…know? You…you're?"

Buck gave the best wry smile for the circumstances and nodded. "But I'm over denial and all that follows. I'm just happy to help wherever I can." His red hair almost gave a little throb of energy and his regular, friendly expression returned.

Marveling at how radiant he looked, Enid sniffled and stared at her feet. "I guess there's no use in crying about all this then. Doesn't matter."

Buck shook his head. "No. It matters. You cry as much as you want. You get it out. You keep at it. You never give up."

Her face red around her tears, Enid flew into Buck's arms and wept with increasing force. She cried on his work shirt as he brushed the tangles out of her hair.

When there seemed no more tears to give, she took a breath and looked up at him. Her face was flush with the intensity. The chill had melted and he could feel the pulse of her presence.

Taking a long, deep breath, Enid held back a rush of all her other emotions. "So, what happens now? Is that it? Is it…over?"

Buck beamed back at her as he answered, "Over? Oh, dear Enid, 'it' and you have only just begun."