Chapter 9 Bekka

Delphi, Eganene

She woke gasping. Heavy snow landed on her upturned face, melting to trace her cheeks like cold fingertips. Confused, Bekka wiped them away, looking up at a night sky. Stone buildings loomed above her as the clouds roiled, obliterating the starlight.

A whine escaped her lips. She turned, looking for the sound, not recognizing her own voice. She reached for her bed covers, thinking it must be a dream. But, her fingers found only soggy newspaper beside her. Jerking back, she tossed it to the ground.

Not a dream. What is happening? Where am I?

Sitting up, she wrapped her arms about her chest. The material of her pajamas stretched, exposing her wrists.

Why was she outside? She put her head in her hands, wincing with pain as her heartbeat reverberated inside her head. The last thing she remembered was going to sleep after the party. Had someone spiked her drink?

No, she thought, her stomach felt fine.

Sleepwalking? That was a possibility. She usually didn’t make it out of her apartment though. And Authur would have stopped her at the front desk.

Maybe she hadn’t used the front door at all? There was a fire escape outside her window. If she had taken that, she was lucky to be alive.

Whatever happened, right now, she needed to get inside. It was so cold.

Bekka turned slowly. The motion making her head pound. The buildings around her appeared to be empty. The windows were dark. The world looked like a bad photocopy, everything smudged and out of focus. Where was everyone?

In the city, there was always someone going somewhere. Tonight, the city was shut down. Maybe the power was out? Narrowing her eyes, she thought one of the buildings seemed familiar, and beyond it, she could see what looked like a neon light from a bar. They must have a generator. If it was the one near St. Lucille’s, she could find her way home from there.

She clutched at the cold metal around her neck. The pendant was like a block of ice against her skin. Diamond shaped, it had a green gem the size of a quarter. Bekka remembered putting it on before falling asleep. She took it off and stuffed it in her pocket. Not smart to wear that out on the city street.

Behind her, she could see a faint, glowing outline. She had two options, then. Indecision kept her on the bench a moment longer. Everything just looked so different.

It was almost like she hadn’t been here before.

The papers below her were turning to ice. She needed to move. Eyeing the dark puddle, she braced herself and went for it.

“Ughh,” she said, her bare feet touching the snow. Walking wasn’t easy, but Bekka did her best, sliding along as she made her way towards the glowing outline. Jaime and Elisabeth were not going to believe her night.

The wind screamed at she went, slipping its icy fingers beneath her shirt. At the next intersection, she took a shelter beside a dark street lamp. She stood silently squinting, trying to make out the where she had gotten to.

Someone was coming. She turned towards the sound, trying to see who it was. The footsteps pounded closer, the sound echoing off the side of the building.

Steam shot out of Bekka’s lips and she took two quick steps, ready to flee.

Wait, she thought, why was she running?

She froze, her icicle-caked hair swinging across her face. Maybe whoever it was could help her.

Her instincts were screaming at her to get away, to run fast, to run NOW. The reasonable part of her mind disagreed. She could borrow the person’s phone. She could ask them to call for help.

Bekka’s stomach clenched at the thought. She knew better than to ignore her instincts. She couldn’t just stand there. Sometimes things were just wrong. She had to trust herself.

Hide! someone shouted in her head, and she started, confused by the strange voice. The steps were getting closer. Go!

Once decided, she didn’t wait. She ran as fast as she’d ever run. The pendant in her pocket thumping against her leg. And, then suddenly, she was there, lurching gracelessly between a bench and a trashcan.

Covering her mouth with her sleeve, she concealed her frantic exhales. Her fear kept screaming at her to get out, to get away, but there was nowhere else to go. This was the best she could do. She was small. He wouldn’t see her.

Leather shoes materialized from the curtain of snow. The man walked without hesitation, his shoulders thrown back. Bekka watched him splash through the puddles, shards of ice pin-wheeling off into the darkness. He didn’t even try to avoid them.

With the collar of his coat pulled up and the brim of his fedora tugged low, she couldn’t see his features. He held a shoebox-sized package in his arms.

Confusion coursed through her. He didn’t seem scary. She didn’t know him. It was just some business guy heading home from a late night.

And yet she was terrified, her eyes glued to his every move. She pressed herself more firmly against the trashcan, struggling to disappear.

The man was headed towards the glowing doorway, the snow swirling about him. As he passed her, a gust of wind caught his coat. Beneath it, she could a pressed suit and pant legs mottled with mud.

Look!

Bekka shook her head. She didn’t talk to herself. She needed to pull it together.

With a shock of recognition, she realized where he was headed. It was her building.

Yes! she thought. Finally, some good news.

When he got to her door, he stood motionless. Resting his free arm and forehead against the glass, the window clouded. He stood that way for several seconds, like an athlete catching his breath. Bekka watched the tails of his coat rise and fall.

She didn’t have keys or her cell phone. There had been no one else on the streets tonight. If Aurthur wasn’t at his desk, she’d be stuck out here. This guy was her best shot at getting into the building.

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Her feet felt numb, but she made them move. She didn’t have to talk to him. She just needed to get inside. Swallowing her fear, she crept closer, careful to remain out of sight.

The man set his package on the ground and struggled to pull a large set of keys from his pocket. He fumbled one into the lock, his gold rings flashing. Next, he propped the door open with his foot, picked up his package and disappeared inside.

Now! she thought. Already inching forward, Bekka ran. It was only a dozen steps, but she couldn’t miss. Just as the door was about to shut, she threw herself down, her pajama-covered knees sliding along the ice as she hurtled towards the glass. She stretched her arms and jammed her fingers through. She was sure she looked absolutely ridiculous.

The door struck and pain flashed across her hand. Bekka clamped down to bite back a yell. Quickly, she used her free hand to take some of the door’s weight.

She waited, too scared to move. One, two, three…

When she looked up, she saw that the stranger was heading up the staircase. He stumbled a little, his foot only just clearing the step. She watched him turn the corner and vanish above her. Relieved, she scrambled to her knees and through the entryway.

The door shut behind her. Only a few of the foyer lamps were on and Authur wasn’t at his desk.

Cradling her head in her wounded hand, she leaned close to the heater. The metal was clanging away like a gong, sputtering out coughs of heat that exploded against her skin. Bekka tipped her head back, sacrificing her headache for warmth.

In a minute, she’d get up and go back to her apartment.

Dust layered Arthur’s desk and an Out of Order sign hung from a frayed, golden rope in front of the elevator. The metal swayed slowly, still in motion from the wind.

“Weird,” she breathed, her forehead wrinkling. She didn’t remember it being out earlier today. The stairs it was then. Lost in thought, she followed the stranger’s wet prints to the 6th floor. Same floor as the twins. She pretty much new everyone in their building, so he had to be new.

On the ninth floor, she sighed with relief. She couldn’t wait to change into dry clothes. Her hall was deserted and she walked by Mrs. Flynn’s doorway without noticing that the old woman had moved her plants. One more room, past 909.

If the door was locked, she was going to have to knock. She grimaced, thinking how upset her grandmother was going to be. She mentally crossed her fingers. If she’d been sleepwalking, she probably hadn’t locked the door. Maybe she could sneak back in without her grandmother noticing.

The knob turned with a thunderous squeak. Well, there went that idea.

Inside it was very dark and she waited, expecting her grandmother to turn on a light.

Nothing. She still had a chance.

For her next trick...getting back into bed without knocking over the breakables. She didn’t stand a chance. Her grandmother had them on every surface. Better to risk a quick flick of the lights than break something important. Her fingers fumbled against the wall, searching for the light.

Phiss, the clicking pulled Bekka’s mouth into a frown. She tried the switch a few more times, but got the same result.

A power outage? That would explain the lack of lights in the street. The hallway lights could be on a generator. A cold draft rushed out of the darkness, fluttering the cuff of her pajamas and spreading shivers across her back.

“Grandma? Grandma, it’s me,” Bekka called. She peered towards the armchair, “The lights are out. I need a flashlight.”

Nothing.

Bekka frowned, the apartment smelled…not the way it usually did.

This wasn’t right. Bekka backed out of the apartment and into the hall, shutting the door behind her. She checked the numbers above the door. She had counted the floors as she came up the stairs, but somehow…

She took a few steps back, “What the heck?”

There were huge chunks of the carpet missing, the frayed holes showing through to the floorboards. With her cloudy head, she’d walked right over them. Bekka knelt down. The carpet was old and worn, like it had been there for a century.

“I…” she muttered into the empty hall, looking first one-way and then the next. Her neighbors had to know what was going on. Rushing over to the nearest door, she knocked loudly. “Hello? Anyone home?”

No one answered.

“Hello?” she tried again. “Can you help me?”

Silence.

“Hello? It’s Bekka, from next door. I need to use your phone!”

Nothing, the whole hall was silent.

“I need help! Mrs. Flynn!” she yelled. “Mrs. Flynn! It’s me, Bekka!”

She stood silently, holding her breath, waiting for the sound of footsteps. She waited and waited and when nothing happened, she waited some more.

“Mrs. Flynn! Please!”

In the silence, she noticed what she had missed. The hallway was empty and not just of people. There were no paintings on the wall. Most of her neighbors kept shoe-mats outside their doors or sometimes a bag of trash they were going to take downstairs. Tonight, there was nothing.

This had to be the wrong building.

Except her apartment didn’t look like any other high rises in the area. She’d recognized it from the outside.

Bekka felt her breath hitch in her throat. There had to be a reasonable explanation.

As calmly as she could, she walked to the first door in the hall and knocked. When no one answered, she tried the next one and then the one after that. Again and again she knocked. When she got to the end of the hall, her knuckles were scraped and white.

They must have been evacuated.

But if that was it, wouldn’t they have posted a warning? Her stomach flipped. Carbon monoxide was odorless--

She was at the end of the hall, beside a massive window. The glass was pockmarked by small holes. The cold was rushing in, or maybe it was the hall’s heat rushing out.

There were no more doors to try, not on this floor. Bekka reached out, touching the nearest doorknob and twisting it open. She was breaking and entering, but she needed help. She needed a phone. And she needed someone to explain what the heck was going on.

Sticking her head inside, she saw darkness and a dusty floor. After feeling along the wall for a light, she found the switch. It didn’t work. “Hello? Anyone in here?” she called. “Hello! Please! I need help!”

No response.

She turned and ran back to her apartment. “Grandma?” She pulled open her door and stepped into darkness. “Scottie? Here kitty!”

The light from the hall was a murky splash, and Bekka went left towards the kitchen, feeling along the cabinetry. She found the drawer she wanted and stuck her hand in. Zippo and a corkscrew.

Not this one, she thought. The drawer she wanted was jam-packed with stuff. She went back to the wall and counted a second time. Again, the same drawer. Again, the wrong stuff.

“Ok,” she breathed. Grabbing the lighter, she flicked it twice and a tiny flame flashed into the darkness. It didn’t illuminate more than a few feet in front of her face. Shaking, she held it out and crept towards the living room.

An armchair materialized out of the darkness.

Empty.

She hadn’t really thought her grandmother would be there, but she was disappointed anyway. Turning towards her grandmother’s room, she hurried over. Hopefully, she’d been evacuated with the rest of the hall. Using her foot, Beck pushed open the door.

“What?” she breathed.

There was nothing left. The room was empty-- no four-post bed, no antique dresser with its odds-and-ends, even the multicolored carpet from Spain was gone.

It didn’t make any sense. Running back to the living room, her breath hitched in her throat. Bekka straightened her back, trying to get more air into her lungs. If there had been a gas leak, no one would have wasted time taking all the things.

But if that wasn’t it, then what was going on? She hadn’t been gone that long. Had they been robbed? There would have been signs of forced entry, marks of a struggle by the door. If she’d left it open…

Bekka coughed roughly, the skin inside her throat tight.

Not now, she thought. She tried to take long, slow breaths.

Bekka sucked air through her nose and willed it to pass.

It didn’t and she coughed, doubling over in pain. Oh no.

If they had been robbed, at least her grandmother hadn’t been in here. Whoever had done this had come and gone. Her imagination supplied several reasons for this. There was no one on the street, so whatever had happened wasn’t just inside her building. The EMTs had probably taken everyone to the hospital. She almost ran for the door-- the hospital was close.

She was starting to wheeze, the invisible hands wrapping themselves around her lungs, each finger an iron band of weight. It felt like someone had stacked books on her chest, like her lungs couldn’t expand the way they were supposed to.

After living with asthma for years, she should’ve known the techniques, but she’d relied on her inhaler.

Think, she told herself, trying not to panic. This was definitely the worst night ever.

She needed to get to the hospital. But what about her wet clothes? There was no way she was going back into the blizzard soaked and shoeless. At this point hypothermia could kill her as easily as carbon monoxide. Her throat was making a scraping, stripping noise as her breathing grew shallower.

Ignoring her rising panic, she pushed open her door. The Zippo threw shadows in the darkness. Bekka turned from the twisting shapes and held her lighter out. Her pants should be by the window. Her inhaler was in one of the pockets.

She glared into the darkness and took a few steps.

“Where?” the word burst from her lips.

Her room was the same as her grandmother’s. It was gone, all gone-- her mattress, her sheets, her comforter, her pillows. Everything. The only thing left was her bed frame. She shook her head in confusion. They’d taken her things too.

It’s just like the paintings in the hall. The thought came unbidden, rising to the top her mind like soap on water. Think.

A long seal of pain flashed through her head.