It was early in the morning before anyone had arrived in the studio. The stairway that led from the 28th up to the 29th floor was dimly awash in the subtle red glow of the exit signs, one at the top, one at the bottom.

I smiled to myself when I realized I was making my way up softly, secretively. Creeping, like a spy.

Even with my master key and my promotion, I couldn’t break with all my old behaviors.

It was unlikely that anyone would be in the studio, and certainly I was doing nothing wrong. Not really. But I gently pushed open the door at the top, listening to how it dragged across the shallow pile carpet, and then I was in.

I kept my hand on the handle until the door shut behind me. I breathed slowly, and listened. I could hear the air conditioner and the faint buzz of lights up in the tech booth—the cold glow that spilled from the glass window up there was all I needed to find my way about.

Even though I was alone, I maintained my stealth.

As I crossed the stage and stepped behind Sy’s electric piano, I knew I was now trespassing into a forbidden place. But, still, I inched open the top drawer of a little table.

There it was. Sy’s bag of chocolate covered almonds.

It had become like a game, this sneaking in. And now I was about to tear opened a cellophane bag. There was no way I could do that silently. I should have brought along a pocket knife.

Then I heard a sound.

Up in the booth.

The door clicked opened and clicked closed. I watched a figure methodically descend the metal stairs. It was a man dressed in the white scrubs of the contestants. He didn’t notice me—I was standing so still—as he stepped on the stage and stood staring at those two doors on the back wall. Door Number One. Door Number Two.

The way he stood, shoulders back, firmly distributing his weight on both feet, I knew instantly who it was. August. How did he get up here? The doors of the contestant area were kept locked.

I suddenly felt so sorry for him. My distrust for the man vanished in that instant, replaced with pity.

What must it feel like to be held in this sort of limbo? Awaiting the unknown. Something so extraordinary waited beyond those two doors.

It occurred to me for the first time, he was a prisoner. Our prisoner. How outrageous! We were his jailers. What monsters we must seem to him.

I stepped out from behind Sy’s piano. It only took me a few furtive paces to find myself behind him. What now? I didn’t want to startle him. Clear my throat?

But he knew I was there. I had a flash. From his mind. And without Saligia’s assistance. It came and went, and I knew he knew I was behind him. His thoughts were attached to words.

It’s her.

He turned, as smooth as a dancer, and looked me full in the eyes. No surprise. No shock. Nothing even slightly resembling fear.

Something from within him—a mental state too primal to be an emotion—enveloped me like a heavy rubber sheet.

His smiled with gleeful hunger just like a campy actor in an old black and white horror movie.

When I heard the door to the stairwell open, I did not move. The last thing I wanted to do was to turn my back on that smile.

“August,” a woman’s voice said from behind me. August looked over my shoulder. His smile instantly switched to unguarded and free of any meaning. Everything returned to normal. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

Then I turned.

It was Valerie who had spoken, and I saw Ed standing beside her. They nodded pleasantly to me as they escorted August away.

“Let’s get you back to the Lounge,” Ed said.

When they had left, I heard the crinkle of plastic and looked down at my hand. I was holding the bag of Sy’s almonds.

My hand was trembling. My shoulders wet with perspiration.

I had to sit down.

###

I found Saligia in the dark room that looked onto the classroom.

She was sitting alone. Staring into the empty classroom. Not reading. Not knitting. Nothing. Just staring. She didn’t even look up when I came and sat in the chair beside her.

“I just had an unpleasant encounter,” I told her.

She looked over. Her eyes were red, her hair unkempt. It didn’t look like she’d been sleeping well. Maybe she was hung over.

“I found myself in someone else’s head.”

She blinked. Waiting for me to continue.

“I did it without you.”

She nodded.

“It just happened, I wasn’t trying to.”

“There will come a time,” she said, pausing to take a sip from a water bottle. “A time when you’ll have to train yourself to keep those thoughts from pushing in. It takes discipline. And it’s hard. And sometimes you fail.”

“It was August,” I said.

I saw a muscle below her left eye twitch.

“That man should never have come to us. We’re not prepared to deal with people like him.”

“Who makes those decisions?” I asked, but I knew she didn’t know.

“It happened with Connie,” she said. “And now it’s happened with him. Of course, he’s a different sort all together.”

“He looked at me,” I said, searching for the right words. “A knot of thoughts and feelings washed over me. Horrible things. It was like someone tossed me into a coffin filled with millions of slugs and hammered the lid shut. The sense of hopeless dread. The loneliness.” I could still feel it all so clearly. “It was awful.”

Saligia trembled. She brought both hands up to cover her face.

“What you have,” she gasped, her voice muffled. “In your mind…it’s still too fresh. You have to go. Anywhere, just away from me. For a while. It keeps pressing in on me.”

Those impressions I had of August were washing into her mind? Couldn’t she control this sort of intrusion?

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I only—”

“Go!”

###

There was a coffee shop I’d go to some days just two blocks from La Vida Tower. Olmec Street Coffee was a quiet retreat with good coffee. It served as a calm retreat. Certainly today, when I wanted to get away from August, if only for half an hour or so.

The place was empty except for the shy bearded barista who took my order. He was new, but seemed to know his way around the espresso machine. I relaxed on a plush sofa, slipped out of my shoes, and listened to the clatter of spoons and cups as he made me my latte.

“Here you go,” the man with the beard said a few minutes later as he placed my drink on the low table in front of me. He stood for an awkward moment before he sat down on a wicker chair. The chair creaked. “I don’t mean to intrude, but it’s Rose, right?”

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There was only one way I knew how to answer that sort of question. With honesty. I guessed I would have to get used to being recognized by strangers. Am I going to have to learn new behaviors? Be aloof? Stand-offish?

“Yes,” I said, trying to smile in as neutral a manner as I could.

And then I laughed.

But I didn’t want to be that sort of person.

“Sorry,” I said, taking a sip of my latte. “That came out rude. The fact is, I’m new to this whole celebrity stuff.”

“Excuse me?” He looked confused.

“Serpientes y Escaleras,” I said. Now it was my turn to be confused.

“Oh, I never watch television.”

“You’re kidding.” I peered closer at him. Was he making a joke? I tried to think of anyone I knew who didn’t watch the show, and I was coming up blank.

“You probably don’t remember me,” he said. “It’s been a few years. I’m Charles.”

“Oh, God! I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you.” I grinned at him. “It must be the beard.”

He reached up to stroke his cheek.

Charles! How unexpected. He was Lionel’s best friend since they were altar boys. Charles, the one constant and constantly good thing in Lionel’s life. That true friend who kept trying to push the bad influences from Lionel…who tried so hard to get him to stay in therapy.

I hadn’t seen Charles since the funeral. Six years ago.

“It suits you,” I told him. “The beard.”

He nodded.

“I think about you.” Then he paused. “Every so often. Wondered how you and your aunt were getting along. It never occurred to me you’d be on TV.”

“So, you’ve never seen the show? I’m surprised. I mean, I’m pretty sure I remember you watching TV before. Wrestling matches. Even soap operas.”

“Yeah.” He laughed. “Me and Leo were always trying to get you to watch the lucha libre, but you only rolled your eyes and ran to your room.”

“Was I that much of a brat?”

Charles shrugged.

“I don’t mean to say I never watched that show you’re on. I tuned in early on and watched a few episodes. I was excited that it was the same man who did that Wonders Unfolding show.”

“People keep telling me about that one,” I said. “But I don’t even remember it.”

“Silverio Moreno, he was out in the world investigating things. Asking the questions everyone should be asking. I hoped he’d do the same thing here. You know, investigative reporting. But it turned out just to a dumb game show. No offense.”

“I think Sy would agree with you,” I said. “I mean, Silverio. He still wants answers.”

“I’d tune in to watch if he did something like Wonders Unfolding again. There’s so little of it these days, you know, honest inquiry.”

“There’s none of it these days,” I said, laughing.

“Maybe not on television but…well, you have to know where to look. I found a group of people who do ask questions. They want to know what the Changes were really all about.”

I was pretty sure I knew what group he was talking about.

Because I was Fran’s private spy, I decided to feign disinterest. Or, maybe I used to be Fran’s spy. I really needed to have a conversation with that man and stop avoiding him.

“Well good for you,” was my noncommittal response to Charles. “It’s always nice to find like-minded people.”

“The Changes turned everything upside-down. It traumatized us all, don’t you think?”

“I can’t argue with that,” I said. “But most days you’d never know it out on the streets. People seem to accept things. Could always be a case of self-deception.”

Charles sighed and nodded. He turned to look out the window.

“I came to terms with something a while back,” he said softly. He shifted his attention to his hands in his lap. “About Leo. Look, stop me if any of this makes you uncomfortable.” He paused. Maybe to give me an opportunity to stop him. Maybe just so he could collect his thoughts. “They say that after the Changes no one dies any more. I have to say, I’ve not heard otherwise. And for…well, for years I thought if only I could have kept Leo distracted or maybe had intervened in just the right way. If only he could have—this is a horrible phrase—but if he could only have held on just a bit longer until the Changes changed everything.”

I knew where Charles was going with this. I knew, because I had turned it all around in my head, as well.

“But, here’s the thing, Rose,” Charles continued. “Might that not have been worse? If Leo suddenly found himself with no recourse for relief….”

“I know,” I told him. “I know.”

We sat in an awkward silence that wasn’t as awkward as one might expect. The both of us began laughing at the same time because it was so quiet that we heard the clock above the counter when it clicked as the minute hand advanced.

“I have to get back to work,” I said, finishing off my latte and getting to my feet. I hoped no one had noticed that I slipped out for an unscheduled break. “It was so great to see you again.”

Charles stood up.

“Come on back,” he said. “I’m here every day from noon until we close.”

###

Nobody even noticed I was gone.

The rest of the day moved slowly. I managed to avoid August. And it would seem Saligia managed to avoid me.

Close to showtime, I went up to the studio to wait. The audience had yet to be brought in. I took a seat on the second row.

I looked up at the game board. Without all the flashing lights, it didn’t look like much. Just a large rectangular grid. The placement of the lighted snakes and the lighted ladders would change each day. A surprise! But always the winning square remained in the same place—top right corner. That final destination that ended the game, and allowed the winning contestant to pass through Door Number One. That top square held an illustration of the Eye of Providence. That’s what Sy called it. That famous eyeball surrounded by a triangle.

I had no idea how that eye was connected with snakes or ladders. I do recall having read somewhere that the popular children’s game of snakes and ladders—chutes and ladders, whatever—came from India hundreds of years ago. It served as moral instruction for young people. I guess if you lived in a culture that embraced reincarnation, you’d want to be mindful of your virtues and vices. No one wants to die only to come back as a snail.

I got up and walked across the studio. There was a new crew member working on one of the large rolling television cameras. He was handsome in that way that older men almost never are, not outside of the movies. Maybe forty or forty-five. It looked like he cut his own hair and shaved twice a month, tops. But on him, it worked.

It was odd to see a new face. Other than Bianca leaving the show because of her emotional breakdown or whatever, the staff hadn’t changed since I got hired.

I came to a stop facing Sy, with only his piano between us.

“I know what you are,” I said to him.

He looked at me with an amused smile, switched his electric piano to the church organ setting, and played the opening bars of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. My piano teacher would be thrilled that I had retained some of her lessons.

“Lay it on me, babe.”

“You’re a bodhisattva,” I told him, indicating the game board.

“I see.” Sy didn’t turn his head in the direction I was pointing, he was looking over at the new man who was now hunkered down oiling the casters at the base of the camera. “Hey Morris,” he called out. “You have a moment?”

The man got up and walked over.

“Yeah?” He looked to Sy and then to me. He had the weathered face of someone who spent considerable time out of doors.

“You told me that you read the entire Encyclopedia Britannica while on your sabbatical.” Sy pointed a finger at me. “What was that word you called me?”

I rolled my eyes at Sy.

This from the man who won every game of Scrabble during our weekend get-away. I sighed and turned to the man, Morris.

“I called him a bodhisattva,” I said. “And I’d lay odds he already knows what it means.”

Morris nodded. “Yeah, Sy knows that word. But I don’t think he’s that at all. Not in that outfit.” Then he smiled at me, crinkles gathering at the edges of his eyes. His irises were pale blue. “I’m Morris.”

“I’m Rose.”

Sy held up a finger.

“No flirting with the talent,” he told Morris. “Back to work.”

When Morris returned to his camera, Sy whispered to me.

“He was giving you his seduction voice—smokey, husky. So hard to resist. I don’t think he even knows he’s doing it. Anyway, Morris is one of the good guys. That man knows me almost as well as Sal.”

We stood there, Sy and I, and watched Valeria and Ed escort the contestants into their seats. I shifted my weight and crossed my arms.

“I’m getting better at picking up on things even when I’m not in Sal’s proximity. You know, people’s thoughts.”

“Are you still talking about me?” Sy asked. “You know, your favorite bodhisattva with the big spiritually advanced brain? Or maybe Morris?”

“No. Him.” I pointed to August.

“Let me guess. Dark, transgressive thoughts? Disturbing memories of macabre rituals? Rose! I didn’t take you for a fan of the Bad Boy?”

“He’s hiding things from us.”

“Haven’t we already gone down this road,” Sy said, clearly losing interest.

“I’m talking about some seriously twisted stuff,” I said, and that seemed to perk him up. But then he just smirked when I added that I didn’t have anything specific.

“If I’m a bodhisattva, you’re the quintessential girl detective. But you still need to dig a lot deeper. But hurry, Rose! One day he’ll be gone. My guess is an exit through Door Number Two.”

“Sy, the man’s dangerous.”

“Sounds like the perfect material for a scintillating show.”

“This isn’t the stuff for entertainment, Sy. Not from him.”

I was trying to make eye contact with Sy, but he was rummaging around in his snack drawer. Probably looking for his chocolate covered almonds. Eventually he lifted out a granola bar that he looked at with scant interest. I glanced over at the black cloth strung up between two lighting supports. Saligia would be on the other side, probably nursing her hangover.

“I’m convinced,” I continued, “that there’s nothing random in the choosing of contestants from the audience. I think Saligia picks who she wants to work with.”

“Is that what you think?”

“And she doesn’t want to work with August. That’s why he hasn’t been chosen yet.”

“An intriguing theory. A rigged game show. How can such a thing be?”

“Or is it you?” I asked. He glanced at me with feigned shock. “Look, Sy, we need to get him out. And now. It might be unpleasant, but, like pulling off a band-aid—”

“He doesn’t look so ferocious,” Sy said, looked over at August.

“What if I told you I found him earlier this morning skulking around the studio. Here! This studio! The contestants, they’re supposed to be contained to their quarters, right?”

“Dark? Disturbed? And now, resourceful? I’m liking this mad man more every day.”

“That’s your response? What do you think Saligia would do if she turned a corner and encountered him sneaking around where he’s not supposed to be? You must have noticed that she’s been drinking more than usual.”

“You want to know it all, Rose. I understand. But secrets—be they the underlying metaphysics of the universe, or the dark contents locked in a disturbed man’s heart—they all reveal themselves eventually. Everything comes to those of us who wait.”

Sy changed the setting on his keyboard so that the sounds emerging from it resembled those of a Wurlitzer. He began playing the Bryds “Turn! Turn! Turn!”

Again, my piano teacher would be thrilled

“From Ecclesiastes, to Pete Seeger, to the Byrds,” he said grinning wide enough for me to see his wisdom teeth. “Come Rose, sing with me. To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”

I made a face at him and crossed over to the lighted mirror in the corner to check my hair and makeup.

The man was like a willful child.