The first day of my new job, back on Friday, had been an eye-opening experience. What Raul told me about the mysteries associated with Serpientes y Escaleras had seemed outlandish. But once I was on the production team, I found nothing to disprove what he had said.

Ah, Raul. I had been so preoccupied with Saligia, and what I would say when I finally encountered her, that I completely forgot I knew another person on staff.

“Well, you work fast,” Raul said when I almost collided with him in a corridor. His hand shot out to grab the ID card dangling from my neck. “Just wanted to check what name you’re using.”

“What?”

“You know,” he said with a wry smile. “Like your friend sometimes known as Shelvia.”

“Ah, yes,” I said. “Rose got caught up in the drama of Fran’s group and their love of anonymity. Speaking of which, I’d hate to inadvertently expose you as a member of,” I lowered my voice to a whisper, “the ASES. Should we try and get our stories straight.”

“Say whatever you want to.” Raul shrugged. “As for me, I never lie. If asked, I’d probably say the two of us originally met at a support group meeting.”

“Well, okay.”

“That should conjure up depressing images of bad coffee, stale cookies, and shared sadness. Who’s going to press for more details?”

“God, is that us?” I asked.

Raul laughed.

“Not at all, my friend,” he said. “We’re seasoned television professionals, with interesting extracurricular hobbies. And let me just say, welcome to the team!”

And off he went.

That threw me a bit. For a place with so much secrecy, the upper floors of La Vida Tower seemed relatively free of paranoid skittishness. No one lied to me. When I asked why I couldn’t go to certain parts of the building, people would simply say it was “secret stuff,” and if I was supposed to know about it, I’d be given a key. And when I said it was my understanding that the contestants had been brought back from the dead, and our job was to send them off to some other world, most of the people on staff just shrugged and said it sounded about right.

About half an hour before the show back on Friday, Hal called me up to the booth.

“Best place to learn the ropes, Morris,” he told me. “Besides, up here you won’t get in anyone’s way.”

He pulled a large brass flask from the inner pocket of his jacket and passed it to me. When I shook my head, he muttered, “good man,” and then, before returning it to his pocket, he took a deep swallow.

There wasn’t much to the show. Three cameras—two on wheels, one mounted in place. Sy and Saligia each had a standard Shure SM58 microphone. Two wireless lavalieres were placed on the performers who acted out scenes supposedly from the lives of the contestants. And a boundary mike picked up the rest of the audio. The lighting scheme was simple enough. Bright, flat overhead illumination. Well, there was the occasional atmospheric interlude when Saligia went into one of her mystical trances—a spooky spotlight would momentarily isolate her.

I watched it all from up in the booth with Hal. My elevated vantage point gave me no real surprises of “the most popular show around.”

It was as banal as it was when I had watched it on a TV set.

I enjoyed watching Sy mugging for the camera as he played interstitial music on his electric piano or made his absurd statements about “the great here after” or “passing weighty moral mandates.” But it was Saligia who really impressed me. Her delivery and timing was extraordinary. She clearly was twisting the melodrama dial higher than I would have thought possible, but somehow she remained believable. And absolutely captivating.

Also, I have to say, the crew worked smoothly. It was a tight, flawless production. After half an hour, the two chosen contestants were escorted to their doors, one to heaven, the other, hell. I suppose. The doors were opened. They entered. The doors were shut. The show ended.

Seeing that the work of the day was done, I expected to learn more about the fantastic elements of the show from Sy and Saligia. However, they had disappeared before I made it down from the booth.

I had to assume that Sy would eventually give me one of those keys. I was keen to poke around the place.

And I still had not been able to talk with Saligia. She never once looked up at the control booth. I was quite sure she didn’t even know of my presence.

I needed a moment with her to explain why I disappeared all those years ago.

A moment?

No. It’d never be that simple. Besides, the longer I put it off…I mean, now I would need to explain why I had been avoiding her.

I realized I was ready to take a healthy slug from Hal’s flask, but he, too, had gone.

In fact, I was the only one left in the studio.

I looked at the two doors at the back of the stage.

Why not?

I crossed over to take a peek behind them both. Each door opened into a room the size of a closet. They were empty. No way either of those two contestants could have gotten out. No rational way.

One of those freaky, creepy remnants of the Changes.

As I walked across the darkened stage, I realized I wasn’t alone. Nora was leaning against the wall grinning at me.

“Was this Raul’s doing?” she asked. “You go on just one man date with the guy, and he gets you a job. Not bad.”

“So, they just let you wander around?” I asked her.

“I’m resourceful. Come on, you know that about me.”

Nora went on to explain that ever since she got her job in the building, she had taken to watching the live broadcast from a little hidden nest of cushions beneath the risers where the audience sat.

“You think I’m making that up?” she suddenly demanded, narrowing her eyes at me. I must have been smirking.

She dropped to her knees in front of the first row.

I joined her and peered into the darkness beneath the seats. I unhooked a tiny flashlight from my belt and played its beam about under there.

“Well, it looks fine for a thirty minute show,” I said, wondering where she got all those plump velour pillows. “But it’s almost as cramped as that compartment in the train.”

“Hey, don’t be thinking that I live under there. I have an apartment in the basement. A proper apartment with plumbing and a queen sized bed.”

“Well, then your TV nest is perfect.”

“Thank you!”

“How about I buy you dinner?” I asked, getting back up. “Or maybe drinks?”

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

“Whoa! Slow down, tiger!” And she laughed. “Can’t. I gotta do a few things before I can clock out.”

“Maybe I’ll go up and talk to Sy,” I told her.

“Good luck with that. He had me install a lock this afternoon on the elevators. You can punch that button for the top floor all you want, but unless you have a special key, you’ll never get to the penthouse. Because of Saligia. She wants more security.”

“Saligia lives up there, too?”

“She’s got a cabin on the roof—it looks like something you’d see in Great Falls. Flimsy plywood and tarpaper.” Nora tightened her tool belt. “Imagine that, a penthouse for the penthouse.” And off she went, leaving me alone.

So, I had no choice but to head home and join the other lonely men at the Omega Hotel.

###

I was certain that Sy would eventually get Saligia up to speed. Tell her all about me returning to their life. I mean, Sy had the entire weekend.

However, today, when I returned to work, I found myself feeling less and less confident that he had told her anything.

I was apprehensive. Whether or not Saligia now knew of my presence, I still expected heavy emotional fallout. But it turned out that Monday was no different than Friday. There was no good time to get away and track her down. The studio was buzzing with activity from the moment I arrived. It was the nature of the business—everything was constantly one second away from crisis. Which, in itself, wasn’t bad. It didn’t give me time to think. That was often my downfall—overthinking.

That probably explained why I loved the messy and choppy waters of production work; how it pulled you along inexorably, much too fiercely for you to steer. Just try and stay clear of the rocks!

Also, it was a Monday.

I love Mondays when working a new job. Everything feels fresh, crisp. Filled with possibilities. I’d also noticed something about myself over the years. The more dour and disengaged were those around me, the more spirited I felt. And there were plenty of crotchety moaners today. Throughout the studio, the crew members stomped around, grumbling about how their weekends should have lasted another day or two. The lighting tech cursed when he discovered that one of the lights was missing a cable.

“Yes, but you caught it before we went on air,” I told him in passing. “Look on the positive side.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” The guy—and really I needed to learn everyone’s names—kicked at a step stool in the middle of the set. “And then there’s this. I wanna know who’s not putting their stuff away!”

“Where’s Hal?” a voiced shouted out. I looked around. It was Sy. He stood at the top of the steps to the tech booth.

“I haven’t seen him,” Myra yelled from across the studio. “I thought he was with you.”

“Me?” Sy made a face. “Why would he be with me?”

“I’d assumed everyone was in one of those meetings I’m never invited to,” Myra muttered, but at a high enough volume for all to hear.

“We’re thirty minutes to show time,” Sy said. “And no Hal? That can’t be good.”

Myra grabbed a passing production assistant and told the young man to search the building. “Go to Hal’s apartment, if necessary.”

“So, who has the key to the booth,” Sy called out. “I’m wanting to hook up some equipment.”

“There’s no lock,” the lighting tech said. “The door sticks. Kick it at the bottom.”

Sy did so. “Ah! The beauty of low tech security.” He awkwardly hauled some clunky and familiar looking machinery into the booth.

I walked over to Myra who was riffling through some pages on her clipboard.

“Um, so, what’s our plan if they can’t find Hal?”

Myra looked up. “I’m the only one trained on the switcher, but I can’t be in two places at once. So, the answer is, I don’t know. Unless you know how to operate a Schneider-Wilcox switcher board.”

“As a matter of fact, my high school had a TV station. It wasn’t much to speak of, but I got to work with their old Schneider-Wilcox A-450.”

She gave me a noncommittal stare. Neither dubious nor hopeful.

“I was up there with Hal for Friday’s show,” I elaborated. “Everything he did made perfect sense to me. I’m your man.”

“Well, get on up there,” Myra said with a sigh. “Let’s hope Hal shows. If not, do your best.”

“Will do.” I crossed the set and climbed up to the booth.

Sy was crammed under the switcher board flat on his back with his feet sticking out.

“Hal?” Sy asked. “Glad you could join us. Fire up the board, will you?”

I sat in the lone chair in the booth and reached across the huge, antiquated video switching board. I felt along the upper edge until I found the small rocker switch. I flicked it and the board came to life, with dozens of colored lights flashing on as a row of VU needles behind small glass windows swung in unison all the way to the right, before settling back to zero percent.

Sy’s hand appeared from below holding a black cable, terminating in a BNC plug.

“Stick this into the auxiliary video output.”

I did so.

“Now give me some signal. Let’s say, from camera two. That is, if Morris has turned it on.”

“I have, Sy,” I said, switching to camera two.

Sy slid out.

“Where’d Hal go?”

“I’m his replacement.”

“My goodness, but you are a young go-getter,” Sy said with a grin. “Bet you’ll be running this network before long.” He slid back under the board. “Don’t forget us little people who helped you on the way up.”

I heard an electrical crackle, followed by a yelp from Sy.

“You okay down there?” I asked.

“Okay? I’m more than okay.” Sy slid out and pulled himself to his feet. “I just invented the video recorder. And, it’s in color!”

“Invented?” I peered under the board, watching the slow rotation of the tape reels on the recording device. “Let’s not get carried away.”

“Try not to bump it with your feet. It’s fragile.”

“So,” I asked. “You’re recording the show?”

“My video archives of Serpientes y Escaleras begins today.”

“Right. So, you want me to turn it on when—”

“It’s rolling now. I’ve got two hours of tape. More than enough.” Sy gave me a salute and stepped to the door.

“Wait, Sy.” I glanced around the booth. “Anything else I’m supposed to know?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do I just run the board? Or is there anything else that happens up here?”

“Such as?”

“Well, like the game board. Or the applause sign. I don’t know.”

“Those are things I control. Just put on your headset. You’ll be able to communicate with me and Myra.” Sy softly punched my shoulder. “You’ll be fine. I mean, how difficult can it be?”

He stepped out and closed the door behind him.

I put on the headset and watched through the large glass window of the booth as Sy bounded to his station behind his electric piano and began putting on his toupee.

Part of Sy’s charm was that he considered himself to be homely. By most standards, he was a handsome man—though I guess not by his standards. So he compensated with clownish behavior. And, of course, given the slightest reason to dress up, he would do so.

I should point out that I didn’t have a type. I typically was drawn to those who were drawn to me. I’d always been too self-conscious to be the pursuer.

Early on in our working relationship on the show, Wonders Unfolding, I found myself captivated by Sy’s love of surprising those around him. I’d known people so caught up in a neurotic need to perform for others that it became exhausting just to be around them. But with Sy, it was different. He had a flirty ease when interacting with people. Disarming. Subtly seductive. He obviously knew he was doing it, but he had no idea how good he was at it.

So, maybe I did have a type. The charismatic type.

The thing was, those people were so rarely drawn to me.

That must be why I always responded when they did show interest.

Soon Sy and I began spending our free time together after work. We always ended up at my sad little apartment. He said he didn’t want us bothering his roommate.

It wasn’t until after we’d been involved for three weeks or so that I learned his roommate was Saligia. I was vaguely aware she had some sort of TV show. A show that Sy produced.

Anyway, when my monthly lease ran out on my squalid place, Sy suggested I move in to his “rambling old adobe villa in the suburbs,” as he called it. I did. And it was just me, Sy, and Saligia.

Saligia hated me at first. That really bothered Sy. He wanted everyone to get along.

So one night, and I’m not even sure how it happened—well, alcohol was involved—Saligia and I stopped being enemies. In fact, the next morning we woke up in the same bed.

Sy had been working late at the station editing some project or another, and when he came in that morning and discovered us, I thought he’d be angry.

He was overjoyed.

“My two favorite people now like each other!” he’d shouted. And off he ran to the kitchen to make us all breakfast.

It turned into an odd but far from unpleasant domestic relationship.

Well, until the incident with the meteor.

I was pulled out of my reminiscing when I heard Myra’s voice over the headset.

“Okay, everyone, Hal’s still MIA. We’re going live in 23 minutes with Morris on the board. Things might get rocky, but, folks, we got this.” I looked down and saw Myra. “You look like a natural up there,” she said over the headset. “How are you feeling?”

“It’s all coming back to me,” I said, hoping my smile was believable.

I wondered if Nora was under the seats, watching.

I switched the feed, checking all three cameras. Each camera had a red light on top which came to life when that camera was active. The equipment was doing what I expected it to do. What more could I ask?

Suddenly the video monitor was filled with Saligia’s face. I pulled back. I looked out from the booth. There was Saligia Jones, standing inches from camera one, the camera with the glowing red light. She clutched a microphone in her fist, aimed inches from her mouth.

“Morris,” she said low and grave, her voice in my ears. “I don’t know if this microphone is switched on—”

Saligia leaned to the side a bit to look up at me.

I nodded my head.

“Good,” she whispered, moving back to glare into the camera. She took a deep breath. “Well, isn’t this unexpected.” I remembered that cold, methodical tone she enjoyed using on occasion. “I wish someone had told me you were here. I should blame Sy for that, right? He does love his drama. From a distance, that is. I thought I was done with you, Morris. Dammit! I used to like Mondays.”

She turned and walked away, disappearing behind a black curtain.

That’s when I noticed the sound woman—seated at her station at the edge of the set and wearing her headphones—had heard everything. She was staring up at me with her mouth open.

Yeah. Saligia Jones can have a powerful effect on people.

Sy had done a much better job at being reunited with an ex-lover than Saligia had.

This was going to be a very long show.