Nameless Night by G.M. Ford

questions died in her throat. Instead, she nodded and hustled toward the stairs, beckoning for Paul to follow.
    “Hurry,” she said as she mounted the stairs two at a time with Paul hard on her heels. The commotion had not gone unnoticed. Eunice, Carman, and Dolores stood on the second-floor landing in their nightclothes. All along the hallway doors were open. At the far end, Randall stood on the carpet runner, still fully dressed, rubbing his eyes. Shirley had rolled herself to the far side of the hall for a better view. Even blind old Mrs. Dahlberg had found her way to the corridor.
    “Everybody get back to your rooms,” Helen said. Nobody moved.
    “NOW,” she bellowed, and then covered her mouth with her hand. The only person who moved was Dolores, who, instead of returning to her room, went tripping down the stairs.
    She turned to Paul. “Get what you need from your room,” she whispered. “I’ll meet you back here.”
    Paul watched as she hurried past a dozen frightened eyes, pulled her keys from the pocket of her robe, and unlocked the fire door. When she disappeared from view, Paul opened the door to his room and stepped inside. She’d left the light on for him. The sight of the meagerly furnished space where he’d spent the past seven years, and which, as he saw it now, he was unlikely to see again, brought him to tears.
    He blubbered once, swallowed the lump in his throat, and then wiped the hot tears from his eyes before walking over to the closet, where he pushed his only good shirt and pair of pants aside and grabbed the green Suzuki Landscaping jacket from the hanger. He was still shaking so bad it took him two tries to get his arm in the sleeves. From beneath the bed, he pulled a black Nike gym bag with a big white swoosh on the side. He filled the bag with socks, underwear, three clean T-shirts, and a pair of leather gloves he’d gotten for Christmas. He turned to leave. Shirley sat in her chair in the doorway. He walked over and put a hand on her bony shoulder.
    “I’ll miss you,” she squawked.
    “Me, too,” Paul said.
    A tear ran down her face. And then another. And then a torrent began. She swiped at the tears with her good hand but missed. The sound of running feet pulled his eyes from her. Ms. Willis stood in the hall; her hair had escaped the pins and was falling into her face. Paul stepped around Shirley without removing his hand from her shoulder. Ms. Willis handed him the big wad of bills, which he stuffed into the pocket of his jeans. Dolores came running up the stairs, her eyes wide with terror.
    “There’s people in the yard,” she whispered. “More than one.”
    Helen Willis picked up the hall phone and dialed 911. After calmly explaining the situation to the dispatcher, she walked to the electrical panel at the top of the stairs and turned on the outside lights, illuminating the grounds like a shopping mall. As Helen started back to Paul, something amiss caught her eye. The tall glass door to the fire extinguisher compartment hung open. The extinguisher was in place. The fire ax, however, was missing. Helen looked around. Eunice was backed into the corner of the hall trying to make like she didn’t have a clue as to what was going on. Helen knew better. She held out her hand. “Give it to me,” she said.
    Eunice looked confused. “What?” she said.
    “Give.”
    “They pushed me,” Eunice said.
    “Now.”
    Eunice brought the ax out from behind her back. Helen Willis plucked the bright red ax from Eunice’s thick fingers. “I know,” she soothed. “They weren’t nice, were they?”
    Eunice scowled and shook her head.
    “You’re going to have to let me take care of this one,” Helen Willis explained.
    Helen and the ax were gone down the stairs before Eunice had a chance to protest. A minute passed before Helen returned, breathing heavily and still carrying the ax. “I don’t see anybody,” she announced. She turned to Dolores. “You sure?”
    Dolores bobbed