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?”

“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.

It happened again. I had not been chosen as a contestant. That left me with an entire weekend to manage my escape before the next time I would be in danger of being sent through one of those doors. Of course, I wouldn’t need an entire weekend.

I sat on the edge of my narrow bed looking at the clock. Other than to let us know it was meal time, we “guests” had no use for clocks. When it was time for the show itself, Valerie and Ed always came to get us.

Our daily routines were actually very simple.

For instance, now that we had finished with the TV broadcast, been served dinner, and had enjoyed some leisure time in the lounge, we had all retired to our rooms for the evening. The next scheduled event would be “lights out,” that time when the overhead lighting throughout the place automatically dropped to a faint glow.

I realized this new life resembled my time in prison. And with that analogy in mind, my participation in the broadcast of Serpientes y Escaleras could be likened to a mandatory work detail.

But now I had a key, and I could just walk away from that unpleasant duty. I held it up for closer examination. Nothing special. A single-blade brass key cut for a standard five pin lock. I had already disposed of Michael’s plastic keychain which had the logo of some sports team.

I suspected that the key opened every lock in the place. It had gotten me through each door I tried it on.

Last night, I used it to slip out into that lobby. But there had been a sign taped to the wall explaining that the elevators were shut down for maintenance. It didn’t stop me from trying, but I was unable to summon either of them.  

I searched up and down the corridors, thinking there had to be a central stairwell. But there wasn’t. Every place was supposed to have fire exits. Had I found myself sent to some world free of the most basic building safety codes?

I had returned to my room with the plan to try the elevators the following day.

And that day was today.

I looked back at the clock and saw it was ten o’clock. The lights dimmed, right on schedule. I held my breath a moment and listened. Silence. By this time of night, all the contestants were in bed. And because it was Friday, even those few on staff who tended to work late hours had likely left.

When I got to my feet, I turned toward the mirror. I was still wearing the causal clothing the wardrobe department had provided, and I felt confident that in them I wouldn’t attract undue attention when I made it to freedom.

I crept across the lounge and paused at the corridor toward the nurse’s office. I could hear the night orderly quietly snoring. I then pushed my way into the kitchen and peered about. Everyone had left for the night.

Over at the large heavy oak door, I inserted the stolen key, turned it, and slipped out of the lounge. I eased the door closed until I heard the satisfying click of the lock catching.

I stood on a dark brown carpet with a springy deep pile. The recessed lighting above threw a soothing glow about the confined foyer with a gangly artificial rubber tree in a corner. Everything looked exactly as it had last night.

Almost everything.

The maintenance sign on the wall was now gone.

I stepped up to the two elevators. I pressed the Down button on the panel between them.

There was no waiting. The doors to one of the elevators parted immediately. When I stepped in, the doors slid shut behind me.

I learned from the panel of buttons that I was on the 28^th floor of a 30 story building. I would, of course, go down. If the basement were labeled G for garage or P for parking, I would have chosen that. But it was just B. I went ahead and pushed the button for the first floor, hoping that the doors wouldn’t open facing a front desk with security guards.

As the elevator began its descent, I was afraid that someone would get on and recognize me as a contestant. Then I realized I was still behaving in the mode of a prisoner, nervous and furtive. I took a deep breath and relaxed my arms and shoulders. I let an innocent and unhurried smile form on my face. Just a man heading home after a long week at work.

Then my arm went numb. A sensation which almost instantly transitioned into what felt like a low frequency electric current running just under the flesh. I looked down. My arm, where it was tingling, was gone. Gone! But, no. It had shortened into a pale shiny stub, just barely peeking from the sleeve of my shirt. Then, like the flickering of a light, my arm shuttered back into existence.

My stomach lurched to the side. The floor had tilted. Or was it some inner ear thing? I tried to brace himself against the wall, but now that both of my hands were gone—and the doughy, abbreviated appendages where my arms should be were of no use—I fell to the floor.

As I struggled to get back up I saw in the empty legs of my trousers some short stubby protuberances moving about. My legs, too, seemed to have transformed. I thrashed helplessly flat on my back. Moaning in pain. Every muscle felt pummeled and violently electrocuted. I clenched my teeth and tried to roll over. I couldn’t. And as I looked at the ceiling, I saw an eye, up there, staring back at me through the grating of a metal panel.

The eye blinked.

And then everything else did, as the world lost focus and went black. Was my head transforming, too? When my sight returned, I glanced back up at the eye in the ceiling. It was gone, but now four fingers and a thumb wiggled through the holes in the grate. Then the metal panel was pulled away. A young woman stuck her head into the light of the elevator. She slid her body through the opening, pivoted, and landed beside me, crouching down, bringing her face close to mine. 

“Assistant to the Superintendent of Elevator Services here to assist and serve! You can call me Nora. I was topside tightening the lee side roller guide housing. It’s been rattling like mad. I was sure I got it fixed last night, but boss said I needed to dial up the torque on my ratchet driver, scramble back up there, and…anyway, it looks like you could use a hand. Is this behavior common with you?”

“Excuse me?” I managed to croak.

“The way your body keeps changing—like putty. Wow! There it goes again. Does it hurt?”

“The lower we go,” I gasped, “the worse it gets.”

The elevator doors finally opened onto the first floor. I tilted my head back and looked out onto a marble tiled lobby with wood paneled walls and lighting sconces. Was that to be the last thing I saw? Was I dying? Again?

“Then let’s get you up!”

But instead of offering her hand, Nora pushed the button for the 28^th floor. The doors closed and up we went.

I stifled a moan.

So close to freedom.

I clenched my fists in frustration.

My fists?

Miraculously, my body had returned to normal. I had two arms and two legs, just as it should be.

I pulled myself into a sitting position with my back to the wall. I lifted my hands and examined them. Nora watched as well. My fingers flickered, but then they held. The searing electrical pain shifted into mild numbness, and then that, too, dissipated. My pulse still hammered in my ears. I tied my best to catch my breath and relax.

“That’s quite a condition, sir.” Nora stood and held out her hand. I took it and got to my feet. “They have doctors and nurses on your floor, right? I mean, those people in the white coats.”

A bell chimed and the doors opened. It was the 28^th floor.

She placed a hand on my shoulder in an attempt to escort me off the elevator. I moved around to block her from getting out.

“Please,” I said, stepping out of the elevator. “I’ll be fine.”

She frowned and narrowed her eyes.

“That wasn’t just a dizzy spell or a sprained ankle. We need to make sure you get safety to your—”

“Like I said,” I told her, stepping back into the reception area, “I’ll be fine.”

She crossed her arms and looked me from head to toe. Then she shrugged and gave me a hopeful smile.

“Well, it’s a strange world, and I know I don’t have to tell you. Even after the Changes have settled down, there are still amazing things to witness. Maybe that affliction is old hat to you, but do me a favor and get it looked at, you hear?”

She moved back to allow the elevator to close, craning her head slowly to the side, maintaining eye contact with me until the doors finally shut.

I pulled the key from my pocket. I took a deep breath, and almost immediately my hands stopped shaking. Then I let myself back into the lounge.

Years ago I developed the mental skills necessary to control the flight or fight response. Impulsive actions could lead to unpredictable outcomes. And when one’s life was on the line, predictability was a wise hedge against chaos.

And along those same lines of reason, I pushed aside—for the present moment—all of the terrible implications connected to my disturbing experience on the elevator. When all you have are questions, but no reasonable answers, conjecture could easily turn into a fruitless mental exercise leading to nothing but paranoia and neurosis. 

I saw no one as I crossed the lounge and made my way to the door that led up to the studio. It, too, opened to my key.

As I knew it would.

Earlier in the day, before my fellow contestants had even woken up, I had already made a trip to the TV studio. I failed to discover anything useful or particularly interesting. But before I could finish looking around, I had been discovered. I just knew I would be searched and my key taken away.

But that didn’t happen. No one seemed curious how I got through the locked door at the base of the stairwell. I guess they just assumed someone had left the door ajar and I aimless blundered my way upstairs.

Of course, I do not aimlessly blunder.

I repeated my actions from my previous visit—I climbed up those stairs with purpose, and I pushed my way into the studio. It was quiet and dim, with enough light coming from the window of the control booth above the seats for me to make my way around. I crossed onto the stage. I enjoyed being free to take my time exploring this area which usually was a mass of frantic activity. I stood beside one of the over-stuffed upholstered chairs. What could be more preposterous than to have one’s immortal soul weighed whilst sitting in such an innocuous piece of domestic furniture?

I turned to those two damned doors on the back wall.

If I hadn’t been disturbed by that woman, Rose, earlier in the day, I would have already examined them.

I reached out and tentatively touched the handle to Door Number One, half expecting the same tingling sensation that overcame me in the elevator. When nothing happened, I grabbed it tight and turned until there was a click. I jerked it open.

Inside it was almost identical to the tiny room I had arrived in. All it lacked was the chair. But, white, slightly curved walls, and no other way in or out. I did not enter, but eased the door back shut. I checked the other. The same.

Could there be a compartment beneath? I crouched down and tapped on the floor. No. It was solid.

As I sat there on the floor of the stage, it all caught up with me. I felt overwhelmed with a sense of impotence. I needed to shake it off. A kind of innervated shock, which I hoped was a temporary side effect of the amnesia of the previous week, coupled with the indignities to my physical body mere minutes previous. Too much to process in such a short time. Both biological and psychological.

What was it that elevator technician had said? A strange world. Something she called the Changes. It reminded me of Rose’s cryptic talk about the impossible things out there.

Strange and impossible. My death and my rebirth. And that incident in the elevator—what was that? Some weird security measure to keep the contestants from escaping? What possibly could have thrown me into the throes of some perverse transformation from which that young woman had saved me? I had no idea what I had been transforming into, and I certainly did not want to know.

What now?

I had learned nothing useful from the mysterious doors beside me. Could there be a switch that activated them? Maybe over behind Silverio Moreno’s electric piano?

Before I could investigate Moreno’s station across the room, I heard something. From behind me.

There was someone else in the studio. I eased myself into a kneeling position, still hidden behind one of the chairs. I tilted my head to get a better view.

It was Hal, the director. He carried a step ladder over to one of the light stands. I watched as he climbed up and uncoupled a dull and frayed cable from one of the lighting fixtures. He draped it around his neck and got back down. No doubt to go get a fresh replacement cable.

When Hal climbed back down, I moved behind him.

One of the things I have learned after garroting a few people by coming up on them from behind—throwing the rope around their necks, and pulling them to the ground—was that they invariably struggled to get to their feet in same direction they went down. Very useful to know, as it can make the strangler’s work easier.

I was impressed by the robust nature of the lighting cable, it had a slight spring to it. As Hal opened and closed his mouth, twisting to get up, I maintained my grip firm. I then applied a much greater pull on the man’s noose.

He went limp without ever having seen who had come up behind him.

I maintained the pressure on the cable until I was certain that my victim was not just limp, but limp and lifeless.

The next step seemed logical enough. I opened Door Number One and heaved Hal’s corpse inside. I half expected his weight to trigger some automated system, but nothing unusual happened. I closed the door. Waited a moment. Opened it again. The body was still there.

I guess my daily allotment of the strange and the impossible had run out. No inexplicable forces swept to my aid to magically spirit away the evidence of my misdeed.

I closed the door on Hal. Or more to the point, I closed the door on the results of just that kind of impulsive behavior my mental training was supposed to hold at bay.

Sloppy of me.

However the theory of military engagement suggests that when you lack sufficient information to win the war, reallocate your resources and make damn certain to win the current battle.

 With that in mind, I allowed myself a moment to enjoy a warm sense of righteousness. One firm blow against my subjugators. But I needed dispassionate methodology to guide my every step from that point on. I promised myself to maintain that protocol.

Cool intellect over hot emotion. I liked that. It would be the new me. August Mark II.

So, I turned my attention to my cool intellect in search of my next move.

Well, I had the key. There were areas in the building I still had not explored. Both on this floor, and the one below. Also, according to the control panel on the elevator, there was yet another floor above.

Ultimately, I decided the most prudent strategy would be to withdraw to my room. It wouldn’t do to be seen out and about when a dead body was likely to be discovered soon.

Of course, there was that mechanic. Nora. She might tell someone about me. But even if I were to become a suspect in a murder investigation, there was nothing but the most flimsy circumstantial evidence to connect me with Hal. I decided not to worry myself about it.

As for the dead body I was leaving behind, well, over the years I had learned that the implementation of unanticipated blunt force often created unexpected opportunities. When other people’s lives were turned upside-down, you gained tremendous advantages.

So, I headed downstairs to bed, and would wait and see what the weekend might bring.

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?”

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.