by Zana Eliot
He first noticed her in the elevator. If he timed it right on certain Fridays his ride to the lobby would be interrupted on the eleventh floor and his heart would flutter wildly for a quiet couple of minutes as the car descended to the ground floor.
She never spoke and she never looked into his face, but in passing he saw that her eyes were a placid shade of violet blue, he could feel them as a shimmer of light tugging at his throat.
So, what was the score? He’d yet to get the chance to catch her glance, to pull her in with a shy smile, with the teasing gravity of his own deep brown eyes. He just knew if he ever got the chance it would be magic. She gave off that impression and Gordon was an impressionable guy.
And so when his friend in 22B said that he ran into the strange woman with pretty eyes on a Tuesday evening in the building’s rooftop garden, he thought he’d maybe plant himself there the following week.
Gord had not listened to the rest of the tale, his mind had switched off as soon as he recognized the alluring figure in the story as the woman from the elevator. But even if he had been listening, it likely wouldn’t have slowed his approach. Jack in 22B was a stoner. Half the time he’d say a word only sort of like the word he actually meant to say. And once, during a Magic the Gathering game, he’d picked up an entire coffee table full of cards and lobbed it at a wall. He’d said that crabs couldn’t fly – it was unnatural. He was on mushrooms.
So, even though old Gord was known to be a bit of a gullible Glen, there’s no shot he would have believed there was anything to an allegedly demonic UFO sighting reported by Jack in 22B. Pity.
Gordon was caught up at work the next Tuesday. For the last year, he had been working as a cashier at a convenience store in one of the less savory parts of downtown and the girl scheduled to work the next shift never showed up. It turned out to be her way of quitting. Luckily, he’d been able to coax the old timer that worked graveyard to come in a few hours early so he could get away.
It was almost 9 p.m. when the elevator doors opened onto the rooftop. His first thought was that the air was different up there. Billowing columns of clouds ran fingers along tall, lush hedges that bracketed the entryway to the garden proper. The sky seemed to glow despite distant cloud cover choking the meager light of the waning moon.
Though he remembered the rooftop gardens as taking up a considerable portion of the building’s sales pitch to potential renters, he’d never ventured up on his own. And the property manager had not bothered showing him beyond the whitewashed, trellised gate that capped the throat of the hedgerows. But as he stood on his tiptoes and peered over, pressing a hand against the cool white slats of the gate, it seemed infinite, wild, deep.
He took a breath and undid the latch, shuddering against the irrational feeling that he shouldn’t be there. The garden was an amenity that he paid to access. Why the hell shouldn’t he be there?
As the gate swung open, his breath caught in his throat, the pictures in the brochure did not do it justice. In the photos had included a few benches, some nice planters full of daisies, a few hedges dwarfed by a central tree that he couldn’t identify because he wasn’t the right kind of nerd. But what stretched before him was a lush meadow strewn with wildflowers. At the edges of the field, dark rows of evergreens loomed, casting shadows on the undulating grass that seemed to reflect the glimmering light of stars.
Above, Gordon noticed that the clouds had all parted, but the moon was still missing — that was odd. He was the right type of nerd to notice that. He took a tentative step onto the field, shielding his eyes as he investigated the sky — Procyon, Sirius, Betelgeuse. He traced his fingers across the skyline and confirmed it — the moon was missing from its perch, the sky was simply dark where the satellite should have been.
In the distance along the far treeline, he thought he saw a line of smoke rising between the pine boughs. It seemed miles away, but it couldn’t be. The building’s profile was tall and lean, its footprint spread across a tight city block.
He took another step into the field and felt a jolt run through his muscles. In the sky, a placid blue star he’d recognized as part of Canis Major suddenly blinked out, catching his attention. He studied it for a moment, counting quietly under his breath, something big was eclipsing it, blocking out the light. After a few moments he decided he had to be mistaken, maybe he’d seen the lights from a plane or satellite and miscounted.
He counted the stars along the dog’s flank, as he came to the dark joint in the dog’s hindquarters, it blinked back into existence — bright, burning red like a flame, intensity amplifying the longer he stared at his. He stepped back into the shadow of the gate. What the hell is going on?
As if in answer, the wind picked up and on it came a tantalizing mix of noises – a soft sigh of satisfaction, a jovial little chuckle, the droll syllables saa-raa-ell.
Gord suddenly lost his nerve. He never should have trusted anything that came from that dodgy jerk Jack in 22B. No shot a woman that gorgeous, always wearing long elegant jackets and shiny high heels, would be traipsing around in this overgrown mess of a garden. On a Tuesday night no less. She was probably in bed or taking a bath or doing her nails or whatever women do when they’re alone.
Hell, Jack was probably out there in the trees smoking out, babbling nonsense in the wind to spook Gordon. Gord decided he was too tired to play into Jack’s bullshit and turned back around, returning to the elevator.
He was almost afraid to investigate. He couldn’t discern the screaming voice in his chest as either pure anxiety or instinct, and even if he could it wouldn’t be enough to silence his curiosity. How could a roughly 300 foot block appear as miles, acres of space? It had to be some illusion. Perhaps there was more to the construct — walls he didn’t see, mirrors.
He had to see it in the daylight.
He hauled himself out of bed as soon as dawn came, having barely claimed a few moments for sleep. He was still in the clothes he’d worn the night before, but it didn’t matter. He stepped into his sandals and made his way to the elevator. He pushed the same button he usually pushed.
When the doors opened he saw her there, stunning in a jewel-green shift and a long gray peacoat. The shapely stretch of her legs were clad in white fishnets that tucked into a pair of high-heeled gray boots. She lifted her eyes to him for the first time, they were more beautiful than he’d imagined – chunks of amethyst tinged with rivulets of blue Lapis.
It took him a hot moment to remember he hadn’t even brushed his teeth before he left his apartment. He shrank back. “I forgot, I’m going up today.” He averted his eyes, “Visiting my friend on the twenty-second floor.”
She gave him a pert nod, loose tendrils of her auburn hair danced around her face as she stepped forward and pushed the button to shut the door.
He gave her a few moments to reach the ground floor before he tried calling the elevator again. He was taking deep breaths, cursing himself for not running a brush through his hair before he left the apartment.
But soon enough the doors opened to the sun-soaked rooftop. And the quiet morning calmed his thoughts as he stepped onto the gravel path.
The gate seemed far less imposing in the daylight. It was of nice enough construction with a clean coat of white paint on it but the hedges were untrimmed and full of birds and their excrement. A wily pigeon fluttered out, nearly knocking into him as he unhooked the gate.
Beyond the mouth of the hedges was far less remarkable than he remembered. There was a little field but it was dry and choked with weeds, dandelions mostly. The brown grass and the golden flowers gave the whole scene a yellowed, aged pall. What he had thought were soaring pine trees at the edges of the field were overgrown arborvitaes, their cores crispy from a lack of care. The field itself was less than a city block, maybe half. He got the feeling that there was something beyond the far row of hedges. The roof should go on for another hundred feet or so.
He carefully made his way across the field of shaggy, parched grass. On the way, he found all sorts of discarded bottles and cans, smatterings of bird shit, and of course, a sticky-looking recently-used condom, already gray with dirt. This was neither the dreamy field he’d seen last night nor the gleaming commodified vision that he remembered from the pamphlet. It was something else entirely – it was gross.
He walked to the end of the field and pushed his arm into the decaying heart of a leaning arborvitae, there was another space beyond the trees and he easily slipped through. Beyond was the open end of the building, nondescript concrete, a raised lip around the edge. On the lip he saw various items scattered, a few scraps of paper, a metal bowl, a pen knife, a flat rock with a scorch mark on it, and the wax remnants of a candle. He took one of the fluttering pieces of paper that had been tucked into the bowl and unfurled it.
The wind came cold over the edge of the building and he shuddered, almost losing his grip on the fluttering scrap. Unsure what to do next, he carefully tucked the paper in his pocket and went back to his apartment to get ready for the day.
He knew he was dreaming about her but he never remembered the dreams. He just remembered her presence, a sweet intoxicating attention that followed him in and out of dreamstate. He’d sleep fitfully and then fall into strange waking pauses where nothing seemed real and he’d lie staring at the ceiling, stroking himself, imagining the unyielding, starry glow of her eyes upon him.
By the time Friday came, he was beside himself with desire.
Though he’d not really cared to do so, he looked up Sariel and found that he was an angel of death, benevolent but judgemental, running an eons-long tally of mankind’s violence and sin. At least that’s what he’d been able to glean from the scant information he’d found online. He was also pretty sure that the boxy type around the angel’s seal were Hebrew letters.
Now, Gord was absolutely not the type of nerd that knew anything about angels and demons, or religion in general. He only really considered what could be known through empirical observation. For years, he’d called himself an atheist but didn’t really think about it much. Yet as the week wore on, he became quite sure he was willing to believe anything, convert to any belief system if it meant he could have her.
He didn’t even know her name but he slathered himself with aftershave. He put on a suit jacket and figured out how to tie a tie. He scrambled out of his apartment before he had time to shine the black leather shoes his mom had bought him for his brother’s wedding some years ago. They were half a size too big and tugged at his feet as he clomped toward the elevator.
When he pressed the button a deep sense of anticipation shuddered through him.
But when the doors opened, she was not there.
He waited in the lobby for over an hour before he decided he’d missed her for the day. Gord went back to his apartment and untied the tie, unfastened the cufflinks, washed off the whisper of foundation – he peeled off the expensive veneer he’d crafted before throwing on the blue polo shirt that was the convenience store’s uniform.
If he didn’t hurry he’d be late for work.
Tuesday came way too late. In the days between, he’d spent considerable time on the elevator platform, dressed to the nines, pushing the button to see if she’d be there – but she never was.
He’d spent most of his smoke breaks on the phone. He’d learned precious little about Sariel but found out that his zodiac correspondence was Aries and Aries was ruled by Mars. Mars was the planet of war, its daily correspondence was Tuesday, its hour was 8 p.m.
So, it was 7:50 when Gordon hailed the elevator. It was 7:52 when the doors swung open to his floor.
In the back of the car was a tall young man, his hair was black and shaggy, the edges lapping at the high regal beam of his brow. His eyes were so gray they were almost white. “Going up?” He asked.
Gordon averted his eyes. He didn’t really feel like having a conversation with someone’s teenage kid while he had an erection tucked into the band of his slacks.
“What floor?” His voice was deep, brooding, far older sounding than he looked.
Gordon leaned in next to him and flicked the button to the rooftop.
The young man grimaced. “You sure you want to go up there?”
Gordon’s eyes shuddered up to meet his. He was close, the doors had shut, and it seemed as if the smell of burning paper and herbs wafted off of him. The man gazed down at him intensely, now that he was so close he could see lines webbing out from the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t so young as Gordon had initially suspected.
“Why not?” Gord stepped back and leaned against the rail. “It’s a nice night.”
“Actually, a storm just rolled in,” The man said. His voice sounded like footsteps on gravel. “You’re liable to catch your death up there tonight.”
Gordon played with the buttons on his jacket. If there was a storm would she not be up there? “I just need some fresh air.” But surely she was engaging in some sort of ritual – the days, the hours corresponded. What’s a little weather when you’re summoning an angel of death?
“Suit yourself,” The man said. “But I warn you, that storm is violent enough to pluck the moon out of the sky. Should you choose to continue, you submit yourself to its wrath. You shall be as a dry rosebud crushed between the fingers.”
What a strange way to phrase it – it evoked the powerful sensation of the feeling along his own fingers. Gordon shook it away and turned to look at him. But when he turned his head there was nobody there, only a receding hint of shadow and the lingering smell of smoke. He looked to the panel above the elevator door. There had been no stops, it was still climbing. A chill worked its way through his limbs, maybe he should turn back?
When the doors finally opened Gordon couldn’t believe what he saw. The sky, the stars, the bloom of the world that spread willingly like a lover before him. He felt a distinct tightness pass through his belly as he stepped forth onto the platform – the syllables from his fevered dreams echoing in his temples – El, Elohim, Adonai, Eyeh asher Eyeh…
Jack Barker was the only one in the building who would return their calls. The guy was strange. He gave her the creeps if she was being honest. But she had a deadline, she had a story to write, and she’d very little in the way of sources aside from a smattering of doublespeak police press releases and a baffling autopsy report that the ME’s office was not taking any questions on.
The building manager had all but told her to take a flying leap, even if saying as much would be insensitive in this case. Though by all reports, Gordon Moore was dead before he hit the ground. And seemingly long before before his body hurtled downward as if thrown from an unseen structure five times the size of any building in the city, nonetheless the comparatively diminutive high rise where all this high strangeness allegedly occurred.
She would have to take what she could get. Jack answered the phone on the second ring. His voice had an eerie stillness as he spoke. And he spoke first, greeting her by name. He must have recognized the number of the newspaper and took a stab at which reporter would be following up.
She cleared her throat to proceed despite the nagging feeling that she should simply hang up the phone and wash her hands of the whole thing. “Mr. Barker, you spoke with my managing editor on Wednesday and I just wanted to follow up with a few clarifying questions.”
He did not wait for her questions. “The sky was cerulean, the sky was amethyst, the sky was red as the threads of her hair, the sky was endless, the sky was full of angels and devils, the sky was clipped with the burden of their terrible forms. It was all but empty, the aching womb of the universe shuddered, heavy with its burden –” He cut off for a moment and she thought she heard him humming. Then he continued, his voice sinking into the repetitious notes of a trance. “In the name of Sariel, Negral, Erra, Resheph, Mars, Death, Pestilence, War I call upon thee old one. The one who stands at Death’s back. The void between the stars, between worlds, between lives.”
“Mr. Barker? I don’t understand. I want to confirm your account that you saw Mr. Moore in the elevator on that day, Tuesday, the 8th of April. You said that he was alone and seemed to be acting upon his own volition.”
“I saw him in the elevator, I saw him writhing in his bed, I saw him in the sky, I saw him defiled, empty, his belly ripped open by Death’s claw. I saw the universe spill out of his entrails.”
She winced and glanced at the file on her desk. As far as she knew, the ME’s report was not common knowledge. He was a jumper, nobody knew he’d disemboweled himself before he leapt.
Jack Barker had to know something. “Mr. Barker?”
“The time approaches, a new eon crowns. The dead god will be reborn.” The line clicked. He was gone.
She leaned back in her chair and sighed. She was tired. This case was nothing but dead ends — confusing, ridiculous dead ends at that. But she’d have to write something. She could bullshit her way through anything. She’d just have to pull an all-nighter to have the first draft on her editor’s desk in the morning.
It wasn’t as if she’d had any luck sleeping lately. Not since she started this case anyway. There had been fitful snatches of uneasy dreams punctuated by the strange sensation that she was awake and being watched though she could not turn her head to see if anyone was there with her in her room. Paranoia. This shit was weird.
She’d write it all and let it go. She’d move on. To get started, she could draft a few paragraphs and take a walk in the park to brainstorm a bit.
Outside her office window, the moon was hidden and the whole sky seemed to get caught in the glow of the backlit clouds.
She couldn’t wait to put this story behind her.
Zana Eliot (she/her) is a writer and musician based in Portland, Oregon. She writes contemporary horror and paranormal romance in long and short forms. Find her online at zanaeliot.carrd.co.
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