The Gates of Hell

5 hours After The Package Was Delivered

There I was, suspended - like incense smoke traveling through a congested room. Of all the ways to find out — a lone box leaning against my door at the soft hour of 4am.

9pm - The Night Before

I lugged myself up five cramped Manhattan flight of stairs. Smelling the evening of each single apartment: masala chai, a chain of cigarette smoke, ramen noodle sodium packets, cat litter, Downy…

The medley of smells can become eerily comforting after a long day working the subway. Just last week, there'd been a string of murders along the tracks. And I was assigned to look into it.

I finally got through those punishing stairs and pulled my key out when I saw something in the corner of my eye. I look over to my left, reaching for my piece. It's a habit, okay? And down the long flickering corridor were two steel grey eyes staring me down. Unflinching.

The building cat. Bonkers. That's what she goes by. We think she moved here from Yonkers because the people there were too loud for her feline senses. That's what I like to tell people. But she's been here since before I moved into this building. 10 years ago. Bonkers is just an old cat without a family. Like most of everyone here at 191 Claremont Ave.

After closing the door behind me and locking my four locks, two of which I installed myself, I released my breathe like a pent-up helium balloon. Those yoga classes do help.

I put my piece down on my dresser next to an empty picture frame and a lamp without a shade. One bulb can light up a whole room when you're smart enough to toss the shade.

1 am

Reviewing security footage in a one-bedroom apartment is a privilege. But working on the force as a woman is not. You might think it has something to do with how the guys treat me differently or don’t respect me. The guys, well they’re okay. They’re like my brothers.

But my safety, that’s another thing. I haven’t had the best experiences. So I elected to review footage from my home and only Chief Levi and my partner, Moneta know my address.

3:50 am

I’ve been working for hours. But really years if you count the endless streams of blood I’ve had to wade through. I used to get nauseous but now, I’m comforted by the occasional string cheese.

I leave my half eaten plain yogurt right outside my door for Bonkers. I make sure to finish the turkey slices, it’s their last day before expiration.

3:59 am

The cold air slips through the window and I’m crumpled up in bed. There’s been a crack in it since months ago when the street kids used to throw rocks from downstairs to see which one could break the highest record. Lucky me, I live on the highest floor.

Thump

I immediately reach for my piece on the nightstand knocking over the void picture frame shattering it into oblivion.

“Yo, who’s there?!”

For a slice of time, I calculated how many instances in the past 10 years that Bonkers had slammed herself into my door running down the hall to get to her yogurt. But I couldn’t hear that little baby out there at all. It was dead silent. Not even Ms. E in the apartment adjacent mine with her loads of laundry, climbing up and down the stairs all night.

No one was there when I looked through the peephole, so I went to my desk, turned on my security camera footage.

A drone? How did it even get through the building?

I rushed back to my door, swiftly cracked open all four locks and swung the door back.

Thump

There was the box. That taunted me with lackluster mystery. Unwinding my memories. Conjuring a behemoth of betrayal.

***

On the other side of the city: Package Delivered

“The package has been delivered,” the automatic voice spoke.

“Perfect timing. Call Agent Kela now Vega,” said the Chief.

“Calling Agent Kela,” said Vega with a sensual non-robotic flair.

“Hello?” Agent Kela spoke coldly.

“Hello again Kela. And how are we doing this fine evening?” said the Chief.

“Chief Masterson?” Agent kela regained her composure.

“Yes, have you missed me?”

“What are you doing? How did you get my address?”

“Well, to answer your first question. I am sitting and enjoying the crumbling armor in your voice. Not so strong now that you see what I see.”

“What the fuck do you want —”

“— Well, why don’t we slow down. You do want me to answer your second question don’t you? See, that was always your problem. You’re too impulsive. Always trying to control the situation. I got your address through… a friend? Say hello friend”

The Chief pulled the phone away from his ear and ripped the duct tape off of Kela’s partner.

“Kelaaa! It’s me! Please help! He’s going to kill me!”

“If you want to see your partner again, you’ll know where to find me, solve the puzzle. You have 1 hour.”

“What if it’s not enough time,” said Agent Kela

“You’re a smart woman. And if you don’t figure it out then I was wrong about you all along”

***

4:07 am

I slammed the phone down. That fucking crackpot. It’s been months and I told Chief Levi that Masterson was going to crop up again because he functions like iron-willed weeds. He was my chief for the first 3 years before I became a detective. He was always coming on to me. I filed against him for harassment, but he just wouldn’t stop. And when he didn’t stop, I started to look for reasons to make him stop.

I uncovered his little operation running out of Brooklyn’s 88th precinct. He was working with some blue bloods and instead of arresting prostitutes, he was another car in a long line of traffic. Once I gathered enough evidence to put him away, I went to the mayor, but I didn’t know how deep the rabbit hole went. Eventually, I threatened to take it to the DA’s office. That’s when he backed down, resigned, disappeared.

But I always felt like he was lurking.

After rummaging through the box and pulling out the photos, I plastered them all together in a makeshift timeline.

4:15 am

Ok, he has Moneta with him. He’s been following me for years. Clipping photos of me. Me with family. Me with Chief Levi. He has a photos of me at my dad’s funeral.

In each single photo, I’m wearing all black. Which isn’t common.

Ok, think, think. Black. What else?

The only photo that’s in black and white is when I was at Bookworm’s Cafe. I was reading something I just picked up that day.

Local customs by Audrey Thomas. A book is about a 36 year old single woman with a cat as her only companion who may or may not have have committed suicide, but was actually murdered and it was made out to look like a suicide.

Ok, that’s not the best news, but so far, all-black. Local customs. Cat.

Cat. Cat. Companion for a cat. Mine is Bonkers.

Bonkers. Yonkers!

4:27 am

I run downstairs, stomping all the way down those uneven five flights of stairs, my hair absorbing the medley of smells on the way out. I immediately chase a cab down, flash my badge at the driver and hop in the back.

“Start heading toward Yonkers. Go faster than you usually do. No one will pull you over, be confident. and I’m going to keep the light on back here,” I said.

4:29 am

I’m tracing my fingers across the photos like that’s going to magically dispel the cypher and I’ll see the answer.

The cab hit the meanest pot hole and the photos jerked around and rained out of my hands and into the air.

“Sorry ma’am. Just doing what you asked,” the driver whispered.

As I folded over, I saw that one of the photos had something written on the back:

It’s hot where you’re going, but the gate is unlocked.

Hot. I’m going. Gate. Unlocked. Hot. Gate. Unlocked. Ok, what’s hot and gated, but unlocked…

And this lunatic wants me to burn in hell. Hell. The Gates of Hell.

“You know where the power plant on Glenwood is?” I asked.

“Yes, the abandoned one.”

“That’s where I’m going.”

4:53 am

I slam the door and the driver shakes his head slightly, sharply exhales and drives away. His nod of dismay or disapproval at either my heavy hand or the fact that it’s almost 5 am and I’m running into an abandoned power plant as a 36 year old single woman. Masterson couldn’t leave that part out. Bitter.

4:59 am

“You’re right on time. Welcome to the Gates of Hell,” a voice boomed from the top floor of the plant. He started to walk down the stairs hazardously.

“I’m actually early,” I huffed.

“Always have an answer, don’t you?”

“Where’s Moneta?” I demanded.

“Oh you mean my partner?” He answered.

“She’s my partner. Where is she? I solved your puzzle just like you wanted. I’m here before the hour is up. Where is she Masterson?”

“You and I are not all that different you know?”

“How do you figure that?” I asked.

“We’ve both seen a lot of ugly shit, a lot of dead bodies and a lot of betrayal,” he said.

“Here we are at the Gates of Hell at 5 in the morning so I guess we also have that in common,” I said.

“I brought you here out of the kindness of my heart. It’s a dark winter out there, but I’m just doing my part to enlighten you and if you don’t think I’m doing this great service for you just consider it a common courtesy."

“So all those years that you took me by the hand and taught my everything you knew was masked with complete hatred?”

“No that, that was all real. I cared about you,” he said warmly.

“If you cared about me, you wouldn’t have pursued me relentlessly. You knew I wasn’t interested. I know they took your wife from you and you had to turn to someone. But you were misguided,” I said.

“Look I’ll be honest with you. Moneta is gone.”

“You motherfu—“

“— She’s alive. Relax. I just let her go. She’s probably half way to Harlem already.”

She didn’t think to wait for me in case I needed her.

“I know what you’re thinking. She didn’t wait for you. She gave up your address for her own life. I told you Kela. We have more in common than you think. The betrayals we face on the daily. We are targets for our kindness.”

“You and I are not alike.”

“That may be so, but I brought you here for a reason.”

“I’m waiting.”

“I want you to kill me. But before you do. I’m going to need your phone. Drop it on the floor and kick it as far as you can. You might not be needing it anymore,” he said.

I kicked over the phone as it was quickly stopped in it’s path by all the debris, stone, sand. Abandoned. A quality place to die, I suppose.

“I’m sure you noticed that I haven’t pulled my weapon on you. I’m not going to kill you Masterson. That’s not how this works,” I said.

“Because you’re better than me?”

“Let me just take you in and we can do this the right way,” I said.

“Are you so good that you are willing to die for your own principles?” he said.

He pulled out a pack of reds and gestured toward me to take one. I quit 2 years ago.

“I’m good,” I said as I waved him away.

“Take one. For old time’s sake,” so I obliged and placed it in my jacket pocket.

He pulled out his all black lighter and started coughing violently trying to get his words out in between each retch.

“So this is how it’s going to go — I’m going to light up — this place — and we’re going to go — together”

“You don’t have to do this chief,” I cried out.

“This is going to show you what you’re really made of. Are you going to betray yourself to save me…”

Before he could even finish his final words, the lighter tipped over, tapping ever so lightly onto the concrete bulldozed floor and the flames began to dance wildly in a fire pit of immorality.

And just like that. Suspended. Time flaked away. The debris of my memories stiffened. And I was stirred into a mass of blood rushing through my veins. Adrenaline hiking through my flesh.

I blinked and it all went dark.

5:15 am

I opened my eyes to witness the violent flames swallow up the Gates of Hell.

Of all the betrayals, they never exposed how much I give to others until this one moment when I had to give up or give in to myself. To save myself. There was no one coming. There wasn’t even a letter that would explain my death. I couldn’t be left to a story or two written in The Times like Audrey Thomas’ Letty.

Another explosion blew a chuck nearby. I need to get out of here. My body felt broken but useful. I stood up and my pocket emptied the cigarette on the floor. I picked it up and lit it up with some of the shit that’s burning right nearby. I’ll start again tomorrow.

5:19 am

All I can think of is Bonkers right now. There isn’t much else. That and the wafting smells of a New York City apartment building calling me home. I just want to be home. And so I walked.

9:05 am

I saw the load of laundry before I could see Ms. E’s head bobbing at the top of the stairs.

“Hey Kela, don’t you smell like the outdoors — long night?”

“I guess you could say that. Glad to be home though.”

“Yeah, it’s nice here, isn’t it?” Ms. E said with a warm Downy smile.

The smells are still lingering in the non-ventilated corridors of 191 Claremont: masala chai, a chain of cigarette smoke, ramen noodle sodium packets, cat litter, Downy…

And now the smell of a crackling fire pit.

And at the foot of my door, patiently waiting for me was a black cat named Bonkers.