788

788

Evan gnawed at his bottom lip as he glanced at the ornate gilded clock that hung on the wall behind the lobby's security desk. It was 11:55 a.m., five minutes before his shift would begin. He smiled at the guard whom he would be relieving, trying his best to mask the frisson of unease that slowly coursed up his spine.

"What up, my dude?" The security guard said, grinning at him and extending his hand for Evan to shake.

"How's it going, Travis?" Evan replied, giving the broad shouldered young man a firm grip, hoping he would not notice his clammy palm.

"Same shit, different day. Just finishing up a 16 today. 'Bout to head home so I can sleep for 24," Travis chuckled good-naturedly, exposing the gap between his front teeth. It made him look approachable and even gregarious, given his formidable stature and his weight of 230 lbs, mostly solid muscle. It sort of reminded Evan of young Mike Tyson. He was glad he and Travis were on such good terms. Not close enough for him to be able to tell him what was going on, of course. No, Evan couldn't tell anyone, not unless he wanted to be committed.

"Enjoy, man," Evan said, watching as Travis signed out of the bulky logbook with one massive brown hand. When he saw his coworker straighten up as he got up out of the swivel chair, Evan began to grow anxious.

"Hey, uh, do you mind sticking around for a few while I go down to the locker room and change? I won't be a minute, I swear."

"You'd better not, a minute's all you're going to get after I've been sitting in this chair all goddamn day," Travis told him, chuckling at the end of his speech, which took the edge off somewhat. Evan felt guilty knowing he was in a hurry to get home. But he wanted Travis to linger as long as possible, anything to postpone the hours of solitude that would soon be dragging by as he sat sentinel at the desk through the long night.

He hurried down the marble hallway and down the back staircase, his knuckles white as he gripped the strap of his red Nike duffle bag. The Crescent was a Pre-War apartment building and former hotel, having opened its doors in 1910. As such, it was undergoing constant maintenance and as all old buildings did, had its share of creaks, groans and squeaks to contend with.

It only made Evan's anxiety worse as he approached the basement. If it weren't for the fact that he couldn't come to work dressed in his uniform, he would never come down there. He flicked the light on, peering up at the pale yellow bulb dubiously as it pulsed weakly.

Settling his duffle bag on the floor by his locker, he fumbled with the combination, cursing as the dial skipped over the third number and he had to repeat the sequence again.

"For fuck's sake!" He groaned, slamming one hand against the locker. Finally the lock popped open and he opened the door. Evan reached into his locker for his suit, pulling it out by the hanger and hooking it to the top of the door.

He began to shiver as he undressed, though it was a warm summer night and there were no windows or air conditioner down there. Knowing Travis was likely getting annoyed at having to wait for him, he tried to rush. As he bent over to put on his pants, he heard a tapping on the locker door, and when he looked up, the empty metal hanger was swaying back and forth, mere inches from his face.

"Jesus Christ," he gasped, balling up his discarded clothes and tossing them pell mell into the locker along with the duffle bag. His trembling fingers managed to replace the lock on the locker door before he felt something ice-cold touch the side of his face.

Evan bolted toward the door, breaking into a run. When he reached the desk, Travis was gone. He raked a hand through his hair, wiping away the beads of perspiration that dotted his hairline like dewdrops on a lawn of freshly cut grass.

He was alone now.

The greatest irony was that he had always been a skeptic. He had laughed at the stories his friends had told him as kids around the campfire. But now he wasn't laughing. What he wouldn't give to have one of his childhood friends with him now, or better yet, to quit, but he had relocated to the big city, had left everything behind after a bad breakup and the death of his son, and couldn't afford to lose this job, his only lifeline.

He glanced at the security cameras before signing his name into the logbook. There weren't many people coming in or out of the building at this hour on a Monday night, but still, he was hired to be vigilant. Turning on the radio for company, he sat back in the leather swivel chair, glad that he had his back to the wall. He placed his thumb in his mouth, nibbling at the dead skin around the edge of his nail, a bad habit from his childhood that had resurfaced once his desk job became exponentially more interesting, and waited.

***

He had been on the job only a week when a gorgeous young woman stumbled into the lobby one night, at about 2 a.m. She was wearing a dark blue dress that clung to her shape like a satin glove from neckline to kneecap, and her heart shaped face, framed by a halo of dark coppery curls, was breathtaking. She walked straight up to his desk with purposeful steps, her hips swaying in a bouncing stride that was pleasing to the eye and other parts well hidden behind the security desk. He swallowed as she drew closer, and his eyes narrowed as he noticed the fear in her bright blue eyes. Concern replaced his lust as he leaned forward in his chair.

"Can I help you?"

"Hello. I'm really sorry to barge in like this, but do you think you could do me a huge favor and keep me company for a while? I promise not to make a peep, and I won't be any trouble. There's a man outside following me, you see," she said plaintively, her voice surprisingly raspy for such a young face.

Evan immediately reached for the phone at his elbow, but seeing the gesture, the woman shook her head, her spiral curls bobbing around her shoulders.

"There's no point in doing that. I've called the police before, and they there's nothing they can do unless he's committed a crime. It's the third time this month. The first time, I ducked into a diner, but I don't have any money with me right now."

Evan found her story very odd. Why was she traveling late at night without any money, and why hadn't the police taken her concerns more seriously? But he instructed her to sit on the smooth stone bench across from his desk.

"I work the night shift and there's usually no one coming into the building this late, so you're actually doing me a favor. It gets pretty boring," he said, his gaze once more taking in her dress and the way it draped over her ample thighs. "Are you just heading back from a party?"

"Yes," she replied succinctly, now rummaging in her black purse, her eyes downcast. "There was no way I could get out of it because it was my friend's engagement party. But now, I'm just so tired and wish I could just go back home and sleep."

Evan shook his head slowly. "Are you sure you can't file a restraining order? Has the guy ever spoken to you?"

"No, never."

"Maybe you could try taking a picture of him with your phone, show it to the police..."

She merely stared at him blankly. Evan shrugged, spreading his hands open in a conciliatory gesture. "You're welcome to stay here with me as long as you like."

For the first time since she arrived, a smile bloomed across her face, and her shoulders relaxed as she leaned her back against the wall, and she heaved a soft sigh that made something long forgotten stir within his chest.

"I'd really appreciate that. Thank you so much, sir."

Evan flushed. "Call me Evan. And you are?"

"Denise. Denise Benson."

And for the rest of the night, they talked about everything and nothing, from Evan's life as a mechanic back in Michigan to Denise's failed acting career in Los Angeles and subsequent return to New York to pursue a nursing degree instead. Evan asked her what kind of music she liked, and when she mentioned some of his favorite 60's Rock music, like the Beatles, Jim Morrison and Jimi Hendrix, they discovered they were both huge fans of the Rolling Stones.

"There's one song that's my favorite. I know it's not the most upbeat song, but--" Evan began.

"Don't say it. Let me guess: 'Paint It Black'!" Denise said excitedly.

"Yes! That's so crazy."

"I love that song."

"My dad got me into all those records. He went to Woodstock and saw Hendrix live right before he died."

"Your dad liked Jimi Hendrix? That's amazing...My mom hates all that stuff, she says it's trash and always gets this angry look on her face whenever I play my records..."

She trailed off, then her brow furrowed as she frowned.

"Does it make you sad?" she asked quietly.

"Does what make me sad?"

"Listening to Hendrix."

"Why would it? If anything, it makes me feel close to him."

"I guess it's one way to look at it," she mused. "But I don't think I'd be able to bear it, knowing it was one of his last memories?"

"What are you talking about? He was 19 when he went to Woodstock..." Evan said, raising an eyebrow, but it was Denise who gave him a quizzical look, her mouth gaping open.

For a while they sat in uncomfortable silence. It was the first long pause in their conversation since it had begun hours earlier.

The sun had just begun to rise then, tinting the glass doors a hazy periwinkle blue. It was she who spoke first, standing up from her seat and smoothing out the fabric of her skirt.

"I think I should be alright to walk home from here."

Evan couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice. "Are you sure? I was hoping you might stick around for a while. Maybe we could grab a meal or something when I get off my shift. I'd be happy to walk you home afterwards..."

"Oh, that would be really sweet of you. I'd like that a lot, but I really should be going. You're welcome to stop by and visit me tomorrow if you like."

"You're going to walk home alone?"

"Oh, it's not far from here. I'm over at 788," she told him reassuringly, and her black pumps barely made a sound as she drifted away from him, doing a half turn just before she reached the door and giving him a shy wave.

***

Evan tried to get his mind off what had just happened in the locker room, but he couldn't, just as he couldn't shake off the cold breeze that blew just above his shoulders, and settled over his neck like a caress. He shut his eyes tightly, clenching his teeth as he took in a deep breath.

He was grateful when the elevator opened and a group of young people exited, dressed to the nines and blissfully unaware of his inner torment. They chattered to one another, laughing and joking as they exited the lobby. How wonderful it would be to be able to go out dancing, to drink and forget, even for an instant.

But that was impossible. Because the day after he met Denise, he decided to visit her, seeing as she had left him an open invitation. He hadn't thought he had mistaken the welcome look in her sparkling eyes, even despite her abrupt departure. No, there had been something between them, a definite connection. He realized all too late that he had forgotten to get the apartment number for her building, had just been excited because 788 had to be less than a five minute walk from the building, which was 808 Amsterdam Avenue.

When he got to her street, however, there was no 788. Instead there was a vacant lot where 788 would have been. Grass grew knee high from the cracks in the gray cement. There was a homeless man sleeping on a stained gray futon, and aside from a calico cat that was playing with a broken discarded window screen among the other garbage and detritus that lay strewn haphazardly about the lot, not a single living soul was around.

Evan had felt like a fool. He was a good looking guy, had never had a problem meeting women, but maybe New York girls were different. Maybe he had imagined she was more interested than she was. He didn't have her number, only her name, but goddamnit, he had wanted some closure.

So he Googled her, using the details he had remembered from their conversation. He found her picture in the obituary page of the New York Times. It was an archived article from 1970, detailing her murder at the hands of a serial rapist who had been terrorizing the city that summer. He had followed her home one night after her best friend's engagement party.

There was nothing left for him to do, so he took down the address of the cemetery where she was buried. He had no trouble at all finding her grave, and when he lowered the bouquet of calla lilies over tomb number 788, he wished that she had lingered with him that night a moment longer.

And now as he reached for the vintage clock radio on his desk, the knob turned on its own, and the stations blurred into a crackling cacophony of humming and voices, snatches of music, until the dial settled on the right station.

"That was the Mamas and the Papas, singing California Dreamin'. And now we have a special request from a young fan in New York who wants to remain anonymous..."

The lilting guitars strummed the beginning strains of the song, and Evan lowered his head as the music poured out through the speakers.

"I see a red door and I want it painted black..."

When he lifted his head, he braced himself as he reviewed the security camera one more time. There was a smudge-like shadow on Camera 4, moving slowly from the locker room, up the stairs, down the hallway toward his desk. It moved from Camera 4 to Camera 3, to Camera 2, as it drew closer and closer.

He remembered what Denise had told him just before she had walked out of the door.

"Thanks for keeping me company. I promise to return the favor soon."

"Sure," he had said eagerly, hope building inside him as he thought of all the possibilities in store.

"Stop by anytime."