5. Up and Down

She waved me in with a healthy pink smile.

“Has anyone tried to break in? Has anyone called?” I asked immediately.

“What? No. Nothing, flat, zero. Just another boring day,” she answered, stepping aside so I could enter my living room. “What happened?”

I told Erika everything.

“Very interesting,” Erika said in a faux-German accent. “If I didn’t know you, I’d say it was made up.”

“It wasn’t made up. I swear it really happened. They could be coming here right now.”

“And you didn’t tell the police that the footage in that cage has Escher recorded on it?” she asked.

“No! He knows where I live, you think I want to piss him off?”

“That seems very opportune,” she said wryly. “So do you think the police have that footage now?”

“I don’t know, maybe. Probably not.” I said miserably. “He has my wallet, Erika! I can’t believe it. You think I should have told the police?” I collapsed backwards onto the couch.

Erika stepped up behind me and put her hands on my shoulders. The feeling was electrifying. I could feel her long nails digging into my skin as she kneaded my muscles. “No, I think you did the right thing. And the way you were so worried for me?” she asked. “That was sweet.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I’m God, after all. I gotta watch out for my disciples.”

“Well…” she said, tracing a finger up and down my shoulder. This made my face heat up with burning, chemically unstable blood. “I’m okay, so don’t worry about it. They won’t come here.”

“I don’t know if I want to go back,” I admitted.

The phone rang rudely, interrupting us.

Erika picked it up from its receiver and immediately pressed it back down, hanging up abruptly. “We don’t need that right now. But c’mon, it isn’t so bad. Be tough. He’s gone. If he wanted to come for you, he’d be here, right? I say stand your ground. Tough this one out.”

My shoulders slumped. It seemed unfair, but I stopped arguing because I knew it was only making me look more afraid than I already was. I was so focused on my confrontation with Escher that I didn’t even notice when Erika started tenderly rubbing my earlobe. I brushed her hand away reflexively. Nothing sexy about my impending doom.

*

I woke up the next morning still groggy from my fitful sleep.

I got up in time for work out of habit, even though I still wasn’t set on going. Stepping foot back in that office bothered me in some profound way; it didn’t feel like the same place anymore.

“Fine then,” Erika said suddenly as I sipped the coffee she always had brewing in the kitchen. “We’ll both go, if you aren’t going to get dressed.”

“I don’t want to go,” I told her. “Escher could come back for me.”

“God is a lot of things,” she said, “but I don’t think God’s supposed to be, y’know, such a pussy.”

“Is that what you think of me?”

“Sometimes,” she said.

“I don’t think you get it. It’s the goddamn Serengeti out there, and I know I’m a leaf eater. So how do the herbivores stay alive? They stay alert, they run, and they don’t take risks. They see that danger coming a mile away. You don’t call a gazelle a pussy because he doesn’t fight back when the lions come.”

“And they stick together,” Erika said. “So is that how you see yourself? A gazelle?”

“Actually I was thinking rabbit, but that does sound better.”

“Sorry if that sounded mean,” Erika said. “I understand. You grew up in a dangerous time.”

“I’ve seen a lot,” I said. “I’ve seen what happens to heroes. You ever see a heroic gazelle? That’s what the lions want. And for the record, I think God must be terrified of a lot of things.”

“As for my Lord, He is what He is. It is not my place to question what He does, but please go on anyway, sir.” Her hands were clasped together in her lap as she gazed downwards at my spotless kitchen floor.

“God must be scared of failure, right? He must be afraid of what his own creations think of Him. Otherwise, why would He go through so much trouble to impress? Why would He make himself known at all?”

“Perhaps,” Erika said simply. She looked up and changed tact suddenly. “I picked out some clothes for you, if you want to get dressed. I’ll go with you. I want to see this bullet hole that you somehow miraculously survived. Maybe this Escher thinks you’re dead.”

I brightened a bit at the thought. He hadn’t really looked to see if he’d missed or not when he shot at me, so maybe he just assumed he’d hit me. It didn’t make me feel completely at ease, but it helped some.

I didn’t particularly want Erika to come to work with me, but I wasn’t sure she completely believed my story. I wanted to show her the bullet hole so she’d have no choice.

We rode the bus side by side as we left my tidy neighborhood and approached the ever-looming metropolis of downtown Banlo Bay. The skyscrapers gleamed against the morning sun; the city was a shining testament to mankind’s continued insistence on order. The city itself had sprung from where Houston once sat and grown northwest away from the Gulf. The bay was as forgotten as the marshlands, but the name was as insistent on a proper existence as the rest of the city.

National guard had become highwaymen as the Fed went bankrupt; schools had no teachers, and prisons had no wardens. If the water you drank and the food you ate didn’t make you sick, the air would kill you. To me, it was as though all of the politicians and movers and shakers and honest citizens and good people of America had watched every aspect of their lives turn into a sick satire of itself, and only after the war was lost did they gather together on the outskirts of downtown Banlo Bay and yell “Stop!”

The wealthiest of residents could afford to live in the actual downtown area, but most of us regular folk had to make due living in the area immediately surrounding the central city. It was unfortunate, because when the gates slammed shut, there was no doubt downtown was all that would be left standing.

“I hate the city,” Erika said.

“I love it. It's so orderly, so clean and shiny. Makes me feel like the world still exists, you know?”

“The world still exists, it’s just a little different is all,” she countered.

“Not into a world I want to live in,” I sighed. “I want neighbors, barbecue, and a dog. A normal, friendly dog.”

“You want to live in the 1950s?”

“Definitely. You gotta admit, it beats this.”

“It wouldn’t be the same if I knew it was all going to end,” Erika said sadly.

“But still—no shit, no fan. Sounds dreamy to me.”

“Fair enough,” Erika said. “Is this where you work?”

“This is it,” I said. We could only see the first few floors from the bus, and the

giant charcoal-colored tower took up a full city block. It was surrounded by dozens of towers just like it, but none stood taller than Tasumec.

We stepped out into view of the tower and climbed the stairs up to the ground level.

“This is my elevator,” I said, walking her into the cool breeze of the lobby.

“Is this where the fighting happened?” she asked.

“Yeah, right here. Actually, I think two cops died right over there.” I splayed my hand out in the direction of the doors we’d just walked through. “It’s so bizarre. It’s like it never happened.”

Erika was uncharacteristically silent and only nodded her head. I wondered if she thought this was all some elaborate ruse to impress her.

There was still the bullet hole.

The elevator doors slid open.

The common area was full of security guards on break. I walked past them with Erika in tow. I wasn’t really planning on doing any work today, I just wanted to show Ms. Bronton around the office. Afterwards, I’d leave early and just count it as a sick day, like I’d never arrived.

“So, this is me,” I said. The door swung open, and I gawked at the unblemished floor. A small square of patched carpet was the only evidence of my adventure. “Well, that’s kind of a letdown. Still, though, check it out—a new patch of carpet. That’s pretty exciting, right?” I said lamely, my moment robbed.

Erika pranced around the small office lovingly, despite the fact that I’d let her down.

“One minute. I gotta tell my boss I’m not going to be staying today. Give me a second, and please don’t touch anything.”

I left the office and walked hurriedly down the hall to find the shift supervisor. The plain beige halls were empty, even when the tower was fully staffed, and my own footsteps were the only sound I could detect. Still, I couldn’t shake the dreadful feeling I was being watched.

I made myself ignore the anxiety. It was difficult, but since there was obviously no one else in the narrow hallway, I forced myself to keep going.

You’re just paranoid.

I reached my aging supervisor’s office and gave him my message. He waved me off with a noncommittal “Feel better,” and I was on my way.

I hurried to where Erika was. “C’mon,” I said. “There’s not much else to do here, but I’ll show you where we can get some good dumplings.”

Erika was spinning around in my chair, her legs extending from her khaki shorts like the stamen of an exotic bloom. The entire room smelled different when she was there.

”I’m sorry about the letdown,” I said, motioning to the floor.

“It’s alright, Clark. You don’t need a bullet hole to impress me.”

*

I went to work alone for the rest of the week, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, of waiting for the hatchet to swing down on me.

The sensation never happened in the same place twice; the feeling seemed to strike at random. I was eating lunch in the common area once, and I couldn’t shake the feeling until I hid in a bathroom stall—and only then did I finally feel safe.

One morning later in the week, I was startled to find that the door to my office was unlocked. Normally it locked automatically anytime it was closed, necessitating a key for each entry. As I twisted the knob and prepared to push, I nearly shit myself when I felt the door being pulled from the inside.

I couldn’t see a hand on the door even as it was wrenched out of my hands and pulled fully open. I felt something brush into me, and suddenly there was a part of a man in front of me. Despite his only half-visible body, he was the most ordinary looking person I’d ever seen.

I realized why I felt like I’d been watched all week. This diminutive man was so normal, so absolutely unnoticeable, that I couldn’t possibly see him until he bumped into me. Even now, he was only faintly visible. If I stopped concentrating on him, he would begin to fade from my attention, and for a confused moment I found myself wondering why I was afraid of the door in the first place.

“Where are the hard drives?” he asked. Suddenly, he became much more solid; he had a very recognizable, nasally voice.

“They’re inside,” I stuttered. “In the big steel cage.”

“They’re not in there,” he said. “Escher wants them. You’re hiding them. You’re in way over your head, Clark.”

“What does Escher want? I’ll do anything,” I pleaded. “Please tell him I’m sorry.”

“Sorry won’t cut it.” The man shook his head. “He hasn’t told me to kill you yet, but I bet the next time I come out here, it’ll be to finish you.”

I gulped. “I don’t know where the hard drives are if they aren’t in there. I promise. You have to believe me.”

“I don’t,” he said. “So my advice to you is to brace yourself. Escher is going to cast a plague on you worse than Columbus did America.”

He stepped out of the doorway of my office and began walking toward the main lobby. As he reached the area where other people stood milling about, he began to vanish. I tried to focus on his hand or his shoes, and each time, I’d find my attention diverted to someone’s sparkling watch or the colorful tie of a coworker. There was nothing noticeable about him.

I sat down at my desk and concentrated on little details in order to even remember I’d bumped into him at all. I focused on the moment when he’d threatened my life; this frame was vivid in my memory, and when I focused on it, the rest of the event unfolded in my mind. Once I had the story straight in my head, I wrote it down so I could study the details and make the whole experience solid.

Once I’d separated reality from fiction, I searched the cage. The Unnoticeable Man had apparently picked the lock, and now the door swung open. I’d only seen the contents of the cage once before. It was a machine with racks of hard drives and gently glowing green lights. Above each slot in the rack was a label giving a range of dates, displaying the timeframe for the recordings that were held on each drive. Just as he’d said, the slot in the machine that should have held the past month of footage was empty.