hole. The room behind was pitch black. I set the flashlight on the other side, then squeezed through the opening.
I stood up slowly, moving the beam of light steadily around the interior. The room had odd dimensions, maybe eight feet wide and fifteen feet long. The space above me rose to the level of the roof, at least twenty feet. A few boxes lay strewn about the floor, empty or full of worthless looking novelty items. At the far end of the chamber, a metal ladder was bolted to the wall.
The ladder led to a trapdoor in the ceiling… rusty, naturally. I pushed it open and crawled out onto the roof. The lights of New San Francisco sparkled in the distance. The water tower stood exactly between me and the Fuchsia Flamingo. The tower was old and corroded. A rickety ladder led to a small door, high up on the side. A new looking, sturdy and who chain and large padlock were attached to the door handle. I suspected I’d found the stalker’s lair. It didn’t look like he was home, unless he was some sort of Houdini wannabe.
The padlock wasn’t coming off without a key, and I was fresh out of padlock keys. I decided to look for another way in. The reservoir of the water tower was suspended above the roof on four rusted support legs. It looked like a decrepit, metal shop version of an early lunar landing craft. I walked under the belly of the reservoir and scanned the surface. In the centre, I found what appeared to be an eroded panel. A small handle on the panel was just wide enough to wedge four fingers in. I hung onto the handle, pulling myself up and down. A sudden cracking sound made me hesitate. Either the panel was coming lose, or the handle was going to rip off. Putting all my weight back on the handle, I expected to drop painfully onto my knees at any moment. A few seconds later, the panel ripped open violently, showering me with rust confetti and decades-old dust.
With no small effort, I pulled myself up into the water tower. I made a mental note to ease up on the Coffee Mate and get back on my Bullworker programme. I laid flat on my back on the reservoir floor, catching my breath and hoping I wouldn’t be too sore the next day. After a short rest, I pulled a flashlight from a trench coat and checked out my surroundings. The fall was composed of wooden planks, walked and stained and loaded with splinters. The sides of the tank were copper, rusted to blue-green. The flashlight beams circled the innards of the tank until it crossed the legs of a tripod. I moved the light up the legs until the beam rested on the point where the the three supports met.
A camera.
It was an expensive piece of equipment. The lens pointed toward a small hole that had been cut in the wall. I leaned over and put my eye to the viewfinder. Couldn’t see a thing. I removed the lens cap and checked the viewfinder again. Still dark, though not lens cap dark. Pushing a small button popped open a door, revealing a number of switches and knobs. Looking again through the viewfinder, I began to flip switches randomly. The third or fourth switch did the trick. My vision suddenly turned green, giving me a blurry view of Emily’s unlit apartment. Careful to leave the last switch in place, I played with the other switches and knobs until the picture became clear. With a few minutes of experimentation, I was able to get unbelievable detail. I could read the title of a magazine from a distance of at least 30 metres.
I pulled the view back far enough so I could get a good look through all three windows in Emily’s apartment. A slight movement caught my eye. Trying not to blink, I concentrated on the spot where I’d seen the movement. Minutes passed. Suddenly, a figure emerged from Emily’s bedroom. It appeared to be a man, dressed in black and masked. He was carrying an object under his arm. The mysterious figure walked toward the door that led out of the apartment, but didn’t open it. Instead, he moved to his right and disappeared behind a dresser.
I stood up slowly, moving the beam of light steadily around the interior. The room had odd dimensions, maybe eight feet wide and fifteen feet long. The space above me rose to the level of the roof, at least twenty feet. A few boxes lay strewn about the floor, empty or full of worthless looking novelty items. At the far end of the chamber, a metal ladder was bolted to the wall.
The ladder led to a trapdoor in the ceiling… rusty, naturally. I pushed it open and crawled out onto the roof. The lights of New San Francisco sparkled in the distance. The water tower stood exactly between me and the Fuchsia Flamingo. The tower was old and corroded. A rickety ladder led to a small door, high up on the side. A new looking, sturdy and who chain and large padlock were attached to the door handle. I suspected I’d found the stalker’s lair. It didn’t look like he was home, unless he was some sort of Houdini wannabe.
The padlock wasn’t coming off without a key, and I was fresh out of padlock keys. I decided to look for another way in. The reservoir of the water tower was suspended above the roof on four rusted support legs. It looked like a decrepit, metal shop version of an early lunar landing craft. I walked under the belly of the reservoir and scanned the surface. In the centre, I found what appeared to be an eroded panel. A small handle on the panel was just wide enough to wedge four fingers in. I hung onto the handle, pulling myself up and down. A sudden cracking sound made me hesitate. Either the panel was coming lose, or the handle was going to rip off. Putting all my weight back on the handle, I expected to drop painfully onto my knees at any moment. A few seconds later, the panel ripped open violently, showering me with rust confetti and decades-old dust.
With no small effort, I pulled myself up into the water tower. I made a mental note to ease up on the Coffee Mate and get back on my Bullworker programme. I laid flat on my back on the reservoir floor, catching my breath and hoping I wouldn’t be too sore the next day. After a short rest, I pulled a flashlight from a trench coat and checked out my surroundings. The fall was composed of wooden planks, walked and stained and loaded with splinters. The sides of the tank were copper, rusted to blue-green. The flashlight beams circled the innards of the tank until it crossed the legs of a tripod. I moved the light up the legs until the beam rested on the point where the the three supports met.
A camera.
It was an expensive piece of equipment. The lens pointed toward a small hole that had been cut in the wall. I leaned over and put my eye to the viewfinder. Couldn’t see a thing. I removed the lens cap and checked the viewfinder again. Still dark, though not lens cap dark. Pushing a small button popped open a door, revealing a number of switches and knobs. Looking again through the viewfinder, I began to flip switches randomly. The third or fourth switch did the trick. My vision suddenly turned green, giving me a blurry view of Emily’s unlit apartment. Careful to leave the last switch in place, I played with the other switches and knobs until the picture became clear. With a few minutes of experimentation, I was able to get unbelievable detail. I could read the title of a magazine from a distance of at least 30 metres.
I pulled the view back far enough so I could get a good look through all three windows in Emily’s apartment. A slight movement caught my eye. Trying not to blink, I concentrated on the spot where I’d seen the movement. Minutes passed. Suddenly, a figure emerged from Emily’s bedroom. It appeared to be a man, dressed in black and masked. He was carrying an object under his arm. The mysterious figure walked toward the door that led out of the apartment, but didn’t open it. Instead, he moved to his right and disappeared behind a dresser.
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