out.
Into a dentist’s waiting room.
Oh, come on .
He went to the check-in area. The receptionist looked up and gave him a patient, professional smile. “Name?”
“How long has this practice been here?”
The woman blinked. “Do you have an appointment?”
“I don’t need my teeth cleaned. Just tell me how long this office has been on this floor.”
“Oh.” The woman considered. She gave Kevin a critical stare, perhaps trying to decide whether he was a health inspector. Or maybe some kind of reporter. “About three months,” she said finally. “I started work here in the middle of June.” She grew expansive. “It’s a nice place, you know? And the benefits – ”
“Thanks.” He turned and pushed the elevator button again. It had not left the floor yet, and the door opened immediately. He pushed the button for 14. The doors closed and the elevator was moving at once. It came to a halt moments later, and the doors opened.
Kevin took a single step out of the elevator, and then he stopped. He closed his eyes and took a breath, then opened his eyes again.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
Most of it was all still here. The skeleton, anyway. The cubicles and the offices, as well as all the little blocked-off areas with the computers where he had taken the tests.
But there were no people.
No dentist office this time. Not even a temp agency or a jury-rigged internet start-up. Just emptiness. Empty desks, empty offices, and empty cubicles with nothing but a scattered constellation of pushpins to show that there had once been bills and meeting notes and family pictures tacked up on these walls.
It was an unsettling sight. Everything was in shades of white and gray, and the air was dead. It was completely silent. Kevin felt as though he had stumbled upon the aftermath of some deadly calamity, a plague or a fire or a reactor meltdown, and all at once he wanted to get out of this place. He didn’t dare look at his watch. He wanted to get back to where there were people, to where there was nois e and warmth and movement, to – ”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Kevin jumped, scared out of his wits for the second time that day. He spun around in a panic, half expecting to find a man in a big white hazmat suit wielding a Fahrenheit 451 flamethrower, a man patrolling the 14th floor, a man whose sole job it was to clean up loose ends. To eradicate loose ends.
But it was only a small man and woman in cleaning uniforms. They looked Dominican, or perhaps Guatemalan. The man was pushing a mop-bucket, and the woman had a supply cart. “Wrong floor, guy,” the man said. “We clean this place, huh? No tourists, okay?”
But then the woman’s face lit up. She smiled broadly, and she pointed at Kevin. She turned to her companion and began speaking very quickly in Spanish. The man nodded impatiently at her, putting a hand up for her to wait. He glanced at Kevin. “She say she know you,” he said, translating on the fly. He tried to get the woman to slow down, but she shook him off, growing more excited. “She say you the – ” He turned and gave the woman a questioning look. Then he shrugged. “She say you the number one guy. The winner , she say.”
The woman turned and nodded eagerly at Kevin, smiling and clasping her hands together like a proud mother. She uttered another burst of Spanish, and the man spoke for her. “You the one they were looking for.”
Kevin shook his head. Nothing the woman was saying made any sense. He wondered if her friend might be translating wrong. He looked at them both. “Have you worked on the 20th floor?”
The man shook his head, but then he relayed the question to the woman, who nodded again. She spoke quickly.
“She say yes, she used to. But then they take it all away. They don’t use that floor now.”
Kevin nodded. “Right, I know. But what did they take
Into a dentist’s waiting room.
Oh, come on .
He went to the check-in area. The receptionist looked up and gave him a patient, professional smile. “Name?”
“How long has this practice been here?”
The woman blinked. “Do you have an appointment?”
“I don’t need my teeth cleaned. Just tell me how long this office has been on this floor.”
“Oh.” The woman considered. She gave Kevin a critical stare, perhaps trying to decide whether he was a health inspector. Or maybe some kind of reporter. “About three months,” she said finally. “I started work here in the middle of June.” She grew expansive. “It’s a nice place, you know? And the benefits – ”
“Thanks.” He turned and pushed the elevator button again. It had not left the floor yet, and the door opened immediately. He pushed the button for 14. The doors closed and the elevator was moving at once. It came to a halt moments later, and the doors opened.
Kevin took a single step out of the elevator, and then he stopped. He closed his eyes and took a breath, then opened his eyes again.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
Most of it was all still here. The skeleton, anyway. The cubicles and the offices, as well as all the little blocked-off areas with the computers where he had taken the tests.
But there were no people.
No dentist office this time. Not even a temp agency or a jury-rigged internet start-up. Just emptiness. Empty desks, empty offices, and empty cubicles with nothing but a scattered constellation of pushpins to show that there had once been bills and meeting notes and family pictures tacked up on these walls.
It was an unsettling sight. Everything was in shades of white and gray, and the air was dead. It was completely silent. Kevin felt as though he had stumbled upon the aftermath of some deadly calamity, a plague or a fire or a reactor meltdown, and all at once he wanted to get out of this place. He didn’t dare look at his watch. He wanted to get back to where there were people, to where there was nois e and warmth and movement, to – ”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Kevin jumped, scared out of his wits for the second time that day. He spun around in a panic, half expecting to find a man in a big white hazmat suit wielding a Fahrenheit 451 flamethrower, a man patrolling the 14th floor, a man whose sole job it was to clean up loose ends. To eradicate loose ends.
But it was only a small man and woman in cleaning uniforms. They looked Dominican, or perhaps Guatemalan. The man was pushing a mop-bucket, and the woman had a supply cart. “Wrong floor, guy,” the man said. “We clean this place, huh? No tourists, okay?”
But then the woman’s face lit up. She smiled broadly, and she pointed at Kevin. She turned to her companion and began speaking very quickly in Spanish. The man nodded impatiently at her, putting a hand up for her to wait. He glanced at Kevin. “She say she know you,” he said, translating on the fly. He tried to get the woman to slow down, but she shook him off, growing more excited. “She say you the – ” He turned and gave the woman a questioning look. Then he shrugged. “She say you the number one guy. The winner , she say.”
The woman turned and nodded eagerly at Kevin, smiling and clasping her hands together like a proud mother. She uttered another burst of Spanish, and the man spoke for her. “You the one they were looking for.”
Kevin shook his head. Nothing the woman was saying made any sense. He wondered if her friend might be translating wrong. He looked at them both. “Have you worked on the 20th floor?”
The man shook his head, but then he relayed the question to the woman, who nodded again. She spoke quickly.
“She say yes, she used to. But then they take it all away. They don’t use that floor now.”
Kevin nodded. “Right, I know. But what did they take
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