Under the Red Sky

When I arrived home, at around six o’clock or so, it was dark and I was exhausted.

As I turn my wheezing Volvo onto Luna Street, I remembered that the movers were coming today. So I could only let out a groan when I saw that there was no truck pulled up in front of the Lennon Complex. Just a clutter of my furniture sitting near the front steps.

It seemed that the movers had gotten confused. I wanted them to move my stuff into my apartment. Not out on the street.

I pulled up to the curb anyways. It’s not like I could just leave my stuff here.

It’s not like I can just carry all of this crap up to my apartment either, I thought bitterly as I cut off the engine and stepped from my car.

I stared at the pile of my belongings for a minute. The bedside table. The arm chair. A large dresser. The ironing board.

I decided to start with the piece that looked the least heavy.

My fingers curled around the edges of the small wooden bedside table, and with a grunt, it was up in my arms, pressed firmly against my chest.

I tottered up the stairs, clutching the thing close to me, while at the same time trying hard not to let my purse strap slip off my shoulder.

I didn’t know how, but I somehow managed to open the front door and wobble on in. I peeked out from behind my burden. The landlord was nowhere in sight.

“Great,” I muttered to myself, “Just when I need him, he’s gone.”

I began to make my way up the set of stairs, panting and sweating under the weight of the thing in my arms. My fingers were aching and my knuckles were turning white. My hair was in my eyes.

I was tempted to cry.

After a few more minutes of intense pain and embarrassment, I reached the landing to the second floor. I rested, deciding I deserve it, setting the bedside table on the floor, and leaning up against the wall.

I adjusted my purse strap and brushed the loose hair out of my face. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, ignoring the grime that was thickly coating the wallpaper. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

“Hey…you alright?”

My eyes opened with a start and my head snapped back up.

It was then that I realized I was not the only one standing in the hall.

Father down, several feet away, there was a man, a few years younger than me it seemed, with his head sticking out of the doorway that was opposite my own. His brown eyes watched me curiously, from behind a greasy veil of dark hair.

I cleared my throat, and pushed off from the wall.

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

I wiped the small amount of sweat from my brow and bent to pick up the beside table again. But the man at the door was not done speaking to me.

“You need help?” he asked, leaning farther into the hall, so that his torso, dressed in a lumberjack plaid button up, was completely visible.

I straightened up, huffing loudly, suddenly frustrated that this complete stranger wouldn’t leave me alone.

No.

I should be smart. This was only my first trek up the stairs. It would be wise to accept this man’s help. Even if he does look a bit…odd.

“Sure,” I sighed, my pride defeated and my energy caput.

The man was out of the doorway in a second, and before I could even protest, the furniture is in his arms.

He started down the hall, with me puttering behind him, eyeing him warily.

He stopped suddenly and for the second time today, I almost collided with the back of a complete stranger.

He turned, nearly ramming the bedside table into my face. I stepped back just in time to see him smile at me.

“I’m Sebastian,” he announced, his voice sounding strangely loud in the quiet, empty hallway.

His introduction was so adolescent and innocent, I responded almost immediately.

“I’m Selina.”

Sebastian’s smile widened. “You’re the new tenant? In flat nine?”

I nodded my head, frowning. How did he know so much about me?

He seemed to realize what impression he has left on me and he frowned too, more worried than me even.

“Sorry. That sounded strange. I know because I’m the landlord’s nephew. He told me all about you last night.”

I felt my face grow warm at the idea of my strenuous trips up and down the stairs being the topic at the landlord’s dinner table.

Sebastian didn’t seem to notice my embarrassment. He turned and continued down the hall with me on his heels.

“So anyways, I didn’t think my uncle would ever be able to rent out flat nine again. Not after the last owners. I think it was a little couple that lived there. A guy and his wife. She smoked too much, he was always out…”
3, 5, 7…

I counted the numbers in my head as Sebastian blabbered on and on, about things that weren’t seemingly important or appropriate for a first conversation. I caught only a few of his words: something about his uncle being out buying cigarettes, his brother who was a priest, and his ex-girlfriend who came buy earlier to drop off some of his CDs.

I didn’t even think he took breaths in between sentences.

Sebastian stopped once we reach the door with the little rusty nine on it, his words never ending. I edged around him, scooting closer to the door.

There was a thud as Sebastian puts down my bedside table, and my fingers worked manically, digging through my purse for the key to the flat.

A century goes by before I could retrieve the damn thing from the dark depths of my purse, and shoved it into the lock. It stuck for a second, but with a glorious click, I swung the door open.

I turned back to Sebastian to find him standing there with his palm out. Was he serious?

He cracked a smile. “Nah, I’m just kidding. So yeah, do you need any more help?”

A part of me wanted to say no. Another part of me knew there was more junk outside that I couldn’t lift alone.

“Yes, actually I do,” I found myself saying.

Sebastian grin looked like it would rip his face. It was obvious that his uncle didn’t ask him to do much around here.

Before I had time to say a word, he was bounding down the stairs like a little kid at Christmas.

I sighed heavily as my hands regrasped the door knob, to close the door I had just opened.

This was going to be a long night.

By the time all of my furniture was settled into my apartment in their rightful places, it was thirty minutes past eleven.

I was standing at the window in the main living area, my limbs aching and my head still buzzing with Sebastian’s chatter.

“Sure was a friendly fellow,” I observed thoughtfully, addressing only my reflection in the chilled glass.

I peered past my reflection, squinting, like I had earlier today, at the city before me. Or rather the sky above it.

No light beams. No blurry bat like shadows in the clouds.

I smiled at the clear sky, thinking dreamily of the sleep that awaited me down the hall.

But a strange noise broke me from my pleasant thoughts. The sound of sharp nails scratching fervently at glass.

I glanced over my right shoulder at the kitchen behind me, which seemed to be the source of the noise. I frowned at what I saw.

The little window above the sink was closed. And sitting directly on the other side of the smudgy pane was the black cat from the night before, her paws raised on the window. Her mouth opened wide in a silent meow, exposing all of her sharp teeth.

“Funny,” I mumbled, as I moved toward the kitchen sink, “I thought I had left the window open…”

The window stuck only momentarily but opened with the tired sound of old wood grating against older wood.

The cat wasted no time. Her sleek body slipped inside, like a black ribbon sliding smoothly beneath the grimy window, where she took her spot on the tile counter like she had before, except this time she wasn’t afraid. She knew I meant no harm.

I watched her warily but stroked her all the same, letting my fingers caress the length of her rich black body.

I felt a pang of guilt suddenly upon realizing that my fridge was empty and I had nothing to feed her. Or myself, not counting the take out I had picked up on the way home, which was no sitting in the back seat of my car.

“Damn,” I cursed silently, recalling my dinner, which was no doubt reduced to cold, soggy dumplings and fried rice.

My fingers stopped their petting, to which the cat responded with a meow of protest. I shot her a sympathetic smile as I walked across the room, trying hard to remember the last time I had had my car keys.

My eyes finally found them: winking at me on my hand me down coffee table. I grabbed them up with a satisfied grin, as I started for the door.

“I’ll be right back, Ms. Kitty, and I promise that at least one of the dumplings is yours,” I called over my shoulder, “Just give me-″

A loud shrill sound erupted through my apartment, startling me into silence. I turned swiftly, my heart thumping wildly, my eyes wide and searching for the source of the noise.

Another loud shrill.

I calmed myself, feeling stupid, as I realized it was only my phone.

I moved for the coffee table again, where my lemon yellow telephone sat ringing merrily. I picked up the receiver, took a deep breath, and then held it to my ear.

“Hello?” I tried my hardest not to sound like I had just had a mini heart attack.

No answer.

Just heavy breathing, wheezy panting on the other end.

I frowned, unfazed by the noises.

“Charlotte, cut that out.”

There was a short frustrated groan. “How the hell-? How’dya know?”

I smiled. Same old Charlotte. It felt nice to hear her voice.

“You’re the only person who ever calls me.”

I tried not to let that depress me.

“That’s not pathetic at all,” she chuckled.

My cheeks burned even though she wasn’t here in person.

“So how are things?” she chirped, her voice sounding perkier and brighter than the last time we had chatted. That had been after my mother’s funeral and I had been saying goodbye. But it was nice to hear, regardless.

How should I answer her? With the truth?

Things are just great Charlotte. My boss scares the crap out of me, my coworker is a skinny bitch, my neighbor is a motor mouth, and I live in pink shit hole. Yup. Peachy keen!

“They’re fine,” was what I settled for. Simple enough.

“Hmmm…how was the first day of work, sugar?” she asked.

I was quiet for a moment, thinking of the right words to say.
“Busy. I met my coworker. Met my boss.”

“Oh?” chirped Charlotte. I could practically hear the smile in her voice. “How did that go? Is he nice? Rich? Hot?”

I grimaced. “Ew. What the heck, Charlotte? He’s my boss,” I grumbled, putting a little too much emphasis on the word boss.

I could see her rolling her eyes. “I was just wondering, gosh. What does he do?”

I shivered slightly, as the wind blew in from the open window. “He owns a whole line of department stores.”

“Stellar,” muttered Charlotte, obviously losing interest in the topic. She sighed, her breath crackling into my ear. “So how’s the city?”

“Big,” I chuckled, plopping down the couch, seeing as I wouldn’t be heading out to my car any time soon. I looked out the window as I described the city for Charlotte.

“And grey,” I added, “Especially in the mornings. It’s real pretty at night. Except for...”

I trailed off suddenly, as I spotted something dancing in the sky outside my window: the sky light was once more shining bright against the wide blackness.

I frowned. Damn it.

“Except for what? Selina? You there?” Charlotte called, her voice sounding distant.

I zoned back into the conversation, but my eyes never left the sky. “Yeah. I’m here Charlotte. Just got distracted. There’s this stupid light beam in the sky that keeps me up all night.”

There was quiet for a moment as if Charlotte was processing this.

“A light beam? Like a search light?”

I nodded to myself. “Yeah. But it’s not moving or anything. Just stays fixed on a certain spot.”

“Hmm. That’s weird,” murmured Charlotte, stating the obvious. “Speaking of weird, I have to say, there’s some strange shit going down over there.”

I made a face. “What do you mean?”

Charlotte was silent again. “Don’t you own a television?”

I rolled my eyes. “No. I didn’t own one back in Braidal. Why should I own one now?”

Charlotte laughed. “Well, I don’t wan to spoil the surprise. You’ve just got some uh…funny folks over in Gotham. I’ll leave it at that.”

I scowled. What was that supposed to mean?

I really was sick of all the mystery. Maybe I should get a TV. Or at least start reading the paper…

I looked down at myself suddenly as my stomach let out a loud plea for nourishment. My eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. 11:47.

If I was ever going to retrieve my food, the time would be now. Charlotte’s questions and the growing curiosity that she had stirred in me would have to wait.

“Look Charlotte. I really gotta go. I haven’t eaten dinner yet. Don’t ask,” I mumbled, standing up from the couch and jingling the keys, still in my hand.

She chuckled lightly at my obvious disorder. “Okay then, cousin. Be safe in the big city. Tell the boss I said what sup. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Dial tone.

I sighed, leaning over and returning the receiver to its place. I felt my cheek, absentmindedly, where the warmth of the telephone remained.

The chill outside will take care of that, I thought bitterly.

On my way out of the door, I cast a quick glance at the counter, expecting to find the cat.

She was no where in sight.

I blinked several times at the barren tile before turning and closing the door of my apartment behind me.

“Fine,” I muttered, suddenly and strangely upset as I ambled down the hall, “More dumplings for me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night wind whipped cruelly about the ankles of the lone soul beating down the sidewalk on 12th street, and howled in his ears like the hounds of his nightmares.

But he had felt worse, heard worse.

So he walked on, nearing the massive building looming overhead with each shuffled step.

The usually golden structure, with its glossy glass and gold plated steeple, was black and grey in the darkness of night. No windows were alight, no persons moving inside. Anyone else would have seen it as a workplace: closed for the night. But not the man.

His worn brown shoes made no noise on the stone steps leading up to the front revolving doors, which spun without even the slightest push.

They were open. Just like the man had been told.

He moved next into the spacious lobby, glancing around, and catching his reflection in the marble floor. He smiled.

Directly before him was the night security desk, without its security guard.

There were elevators on the far left side. Elevators, that he was told, would work.

They did.

The polished doors closed and reopened on the thirteenth floor, where the man exited the lift and began his way through the main lobby.

He paid no mind to the articulately polished floors, the cracked mirror ceiling, or the matching receptionist desks that sat on opposite ends of the massive room.

His eyes flickered to the large portrait hanging on the wall, but he averted his eyes just as quickly. A second longer and the laughter would have started.

When the man came to the black glass doors, he wasted no time, swinging them wide without hesitation. And then down the hallway he went, his mind buzzing with what was to come and what had already come to pass.

The man smiled, thinking.

He had seen the place. He had seen the apartment.

He didn’t remember how long it had been since he’d seen it last. Not that it mattered.

Nothing mattered.

The long hallway ended in another set of doors. But the man turned left instead, as he had been instructed.

This vestibule was shorter, darker and led to one door, unmarked, without a plaque.

He raised a gloved hand. Two knocks.

“Get in here,” hissed a voice from inside the room.

The man’s smile widened. Being fashionably late was something he enjoyed.

But he did as the harsh whisper has commanded and soon found himself standing in a small, shadowy room that looked like it might have once been a meeting room, but was now reduced to nothing more than bad lighting, a lengthy fake wood desk, and several mismatched office chairs.

The only other life in the room, save for the few moths fluttering about the light bulb hanging from the ceiling, sat at head of the table, blue eyes glaring through the darkness at the new arrival. Max was the name he had given the man.

“Well,” Max began in the cold voice again, almost expectantly, “Take a seat.”

The man shuffled across the dusty floor, tripping only once, before settling into a cushioned spinning chair that was rolled up close to the desk. He felt like a little kid in the principal’s office. He bit back a smile as Max studied his face, disgust, fear, and awe alive in his eyes.

It was silent for a while before the man broke the silence.

“So…why is it you asked to see me exactly?”

His voice was nasally and awkward in the heavy quiet of the room. It seemed almost geeky compared to that of Max, who addressed him with that same bitter voice. “They said you were a man who knows how to get things done. The right way. Said you were a man of your word.”

The man smirked to himself. “That I am.”

It was quiet again before Max spoke once more , this time his tone ringing with demand.“I want him dead.”

The man sighed, a tired laugh on the edge of his breath. “Of course you do. Everyone does.”

Max grunted, unsatisfied. “Like I care what everyone else wants. The important thing is that I want him dead. And if your on a bounty, you hunt for me.”

At this the man laughed, threw his head back and cackled, until every inch of the musty room was filled with the unnerving noise.

At the head of the table, Max shifted nervously, which he thought his “guest” did not see.

He was wrong.

When the man did finally calm down, he looked dead into Max’s blue eyes, his own dark ones turned to daggers.

“I ‘hunt’, as you so quaintly put it, for no one. Regardless of the zeroes you write on that slip of paper”, he said nodding his greasy head to the blank check sitting on the desk top. Max placed a protective hand over it, as if he was embarrassed

There was a silence, when Max was without words for once in his life. He had not been prepared for this. He hadn’t been prepared for a refusal of payment. If money was not what the man before him wanted…what did he want?

“I don’t want much,” the man stated as if reading Max’s mind, standing up and pushing the chair slightly with the back of his knees. “Just to send a message really.”

Max frowned. “What message is that?”

The man was quiet for a few moments, his eyes blankly staring out the window to the left of the fake wooden desk. “You’ll know. You’ll know soon enough.”

He began across the room, the urge to get out of the stuffy room suddenly coming over him. But Max called him back.

“Wait-hold on. So do I have your word? Will you do it?” he inquired, panic rising in his blue eyes.

The man shrugged. “Why not? Kill two birds with one stone,” he mumbled, the last of his words fraying out into a chuckle. Max ignored it.

The man turned to face the door, his thoughts already down the street, back at the apartment, on the street. He didn’t want to remember but at the same time he did.

His fingers curled on the door knob and twisted, the door swinging open with a whine.

“Meet me here next week. Same day and time. There’s much more to discuss.”

The man nodded without turning to face him.

“And what am I supposed to call you? If you double cross me, I’ll need a name to put a price on your head.”

The man smiled to himself, another laugh waiting to explode on his tongue.

“Call me Joker. I think it suits me…don’t you?” he giggled, smiling manically over his shoulder at Max, who tried his hardest to keep the look of terror from crossing his stony face.

And with a flash of his coat and a short burst of mirth, the man was gone, down the hall, and through the lobby, back to the elevator, across the glossy floors, and then back into the cold, where the wind bit at his cherry smile and the night boxed his ears with a cruel, miserable silence.

But he had felt worse, heard worse.

So he walked on.