morons.”
I went to the stand and ran my finger over the dusty plank. It shone like polished oak.
Without knowing I was moving, I found myself standing at the bottom of the stairs. Ducking under the tape, I started up.
Jeez! Jeez! Will you stop?
I didn’t. Three flights I went up, one after another after another, around and around and around until I was standing in the hallway of the top floor, my heart pounding against my ribs, my ears burning.
If it was ghostly and quiet downstairs, it was as silent as a tomb up there. I looked at the postcard, imagined the floor plan, and went left to a corner, then right. The carpet was still down, though here and there worn all the way to the wood. The floorboards creaked with every step. Most of the room doors were open. Some rooms were in shambles, others empty, some with the skeletons of bed frames, others with small tables and broken chairs, and all of them thick with dust. People had lived here once. Were they all dead now?
I stopped. Did I really think I’d find Chapter II of the story? Sixty years later? Was it a trap? Was it nothing?
What the heck am I doing here?
Five times I turned back toward the stairs. Five times I turned again and kept walking, each time a little farther than before. When I reached the end of the hallway, I peeked through the narrow crack of the last door. Inside I saw two windows, one on each wall. I looked at the postcard again.
Okay, then.
I was there.
I pushed the door open.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
My breath caught in my throat when the door swung all the way in and tapped the inside wall. Sunlight sliced through the blinds at a sharp angle onto the bare floor. The room was empty except for a coating of plaster dust everywhere. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I pulled on the door behind me, then watched as it closed nearly all the way.
I tilted the blinds and looked out.
People crisscrossed the street below. Cars drove by. On the spot where I had been looking up at the room, a man and a woman stood smoking outside an office. He waved his arms, she nodded, then he nodded. A few moments later, they checked their watches, tamped out their cigarettes, and went back inside. They reminded me of the fat man with the silver cigarette case. And the lobby downstairs. And all the steps that had brought me to this room.
The day was going on outside. But inside the old hotel it was like a grave. No, not that. A grave is still, unmoving. I knew about graves. I had just seen one. Being in this room was like standing in a kind of space that — now that I had come — was moving slowly but surely away from the street, away from the city. Away from the present.
I closed the blinds. The air was so heavy and close. I stood for a long time, just sucking in breaths.
What would I say if I were caught? Even if I weren’t, what would I say about this? A sudden thrill went through me. I realized I was both nervous and excited. That feeling spiked and faded, and then I felt sick to my stomach.
You’re breaking the law, doofus. Get out of here.
I didn’t move.
Think about it. The workmen will be back any second. Get out —
I didn’t move much then, either, but I did turn. That was when I saw the bathroom door. It was open a crack. And as dim as the main room was, the bathroom was beaming in full morning light. I guessed there were no blinds on the window. I lifted the card close and found the pinhole again.
It’s in the bathroom.
I walked into the little room. It was empty. The fixtures were gone, their pipes sticking out of the wall. Black-and-white tiles covered the floor. I actually searched all around the window with my hands, then all around the walls for hollow places, knocking at the plaster walls the way they do in movies. Nothing. It was just an empty bathroom waiting to be destroyed. There was nothing else.
Of course, there was nothing else!
It was when I stepped away from the window and turned that I saw an iron grate, low on the
I went to the stand and ran my finger over the dusty plank. It shone like polished oak.
Without knowing I was moving, I found myself standing at the bottom of the stairs. Ducking under the tape, I started up.
Jeez! Jeez! Will you stop?
I didn’t. Three flights I went up, one after another after another, around and around and around until I was standing in the hallway of the top floor, my heart pounding against my ribs, my ears burning.
If it was ghostly and quiet downstairs, it was as silent as a tomb up there. I looked at the postcard, imagined the floor plan, and went left to a corner, then right. The carpet was still down, though here and there worn all the way to the wood. The floorboards creaked with every step. Most of the room doors were open. Some rooms were in shambles, others empty, some with the skeletons of bed frames, others with small tables and broken chairs, and all of them thick with dust. People had lived here once. Were they all dead now?
I stopped. Did I really think I’d find Chapter II of the story? Sixty years later? Was it a trap? Was it nothing?
What the heck am I doing here?
Five times I turned back toward the stairs. Five times I turned again and kept walking, each time a little farther than before. When I reached the end of the hallway, I peeked through the narrow crack of the last door. Inside I saw two windows, one on each wall. I looked at the postcard again.
Okay, then.
I was there.
I pushed the door open.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
My breath caught in my throat when the door swung all the way in and tapped the inside wall. Sunlight sliced through the blinds at a sharp angle onto the bare floor. The room was empty except for a coating of plaster dust everywhere. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I pulled on the door behind me, then watched as it closed nearly all the way.
I tilted the blinds and looked out.
People crisscrossed the street below. Cars drove by. On the spot where I had been looking up at the room, a man and a woman stood smoking outside an office. He waved his arms, she nodded, then he nodded. A few moments later, they checked their watches, tamped out their cigarettes, and went back inside. They reminded me of the fat man with the silver cigarette case. And the lobby downstairs. And all the steps that had brought me to this room.
The day was going on outside. But inside the old hotel it was like a grave. No, not that. A grave is still, unmoving. I knew about graves. I had just seen one. Being in this room was like standing in a kind of space that — now that I had come — was moving slowly but surely away from the street, away from the city. Away from the present.
I closed the blinds. The air was so heavy and close. I stood for a long time, just sucking in breaths.
What would I say if I were caught? Even if I weren’t, what would I say about this? A sudden thrill went through me. I realized I was both nervous and excited. That feeling spiked and faded, and then I felt sick to my stomach.
You’re breaking the law, doofus. Get out of here.
I didn’t move.
Think about it. The workmen will be back any second. Get out —
I didn’t move much then, either, but I did turn. That was when I saw the bathroom door. It was open a crack. And as dim as the main room was, the bathroom was beaming in full morning light. I guessed there were no blinds on the window. I lifted the card close and found the pinhole again.
It’s in the bathroom.
I walked into the little room. It was empty. The fixtures were gone, their pipes sticking out of the wall. Black-and-white tiles covered the floor. I actually searched all around the window with my hands, then all around the walls for hollow places, knocking at the plaster walls the way they do in movies. Nothing. It was just an empty bathroom waiting to be destroyed. There was nothing else.
Of course, there was nothing else!
It was when I stepped away from the window and turned that I saw an iron grate, low on the
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