Come to the roof at sundown. There's something you should see.
That's all the note said that I found pushed under my door when I came home from going to Maria's Panderia for some bread. I could tell from the note that it was Ethan. I've seen his handwriting on the check he gives me for rent. "Good, now maybe he can let me know why he's always on my roof every night."
//
Sunset.
I walked up the narrow stairs to the roof access door and pushed it open with little effort. There was Ethan, perched on the edge of the roof, his back to me, a cigarette hanging from his lips.
"I see you got my note."
"What the hell is this?"
"You didn't read the note? How rude."
"Of course I read the note!" I fished it out of my pocket, crumpled and torn on the edge now. "Come to the roof at sundown. There's something you should see. So, what? What should I see, besides you trespassing on my roof? What I should do is call the cops." I thought of Rocco Statone and knew he wouldn't be too much help - always busy chasing down little Braxton for his lemonade. Poor kid.
Ethan got up slowly and turned toward me. "Call them. Tell them you have another jumper."
I felt the blood run from my face. Another. Not another. There have been so many already. Each one of them came up here, sat on the edge, and thought about it for days on end. They always jumped in the end. I always assumed they were just depressed, I mean, how could they not be in this neighborhood. But this being the seventh... Seven is too many to link to just ordinary depression.
"Is this the third, fourth?" Ethan asked, a smile on his face.
"Seventh." Seventh. How could it be seven...
"Seven..." Ethan threw his still lit cigarette over the side of the building and watched it fall the thirteen stories to the bottom. "That's a pretty big number. One or two, they could have been depressed, touched in the head. Three, four, five, maybe even six, you can dismiss that. That's average for these parts. But seven? Someone's bound to get suspicious, don't you think?"
I can't believe what he is saying. Seven. A big lump formed in my throat and I tried to swallow it. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Ethan smiled, touched his head, and bowed. He raised his arms and looked me straight in the eyes. "Goodbye, Mr. Day." His body fell backwards and off the roof; I lunged after him, but i knew it was no good. So I just watched, mouth open, as his body disappeared past the ledge of the roof. I fell to my knees, and dug my hands deep into the gravel of the roof top.
"Fuck!" This is the seventh one. The seventh. How the fuck do I explain this? What just happened? He is seventh.
I waited on the roof. Waited to hear the final scream or the crunch of human bones hitting hard concrete thirteen stories below. Neither came. All I heard was the pounding of my heart in my ears and the sound of a distant trumpet blowing a long single note. I wondered what the world was coming to. A man can jump from a roof while people ride carnival rides down the street. Screams of horror erupted from my throat while screams of joy come from the garish rides at the carnival. I don't understand what's wrong with this world.
I exhaled, having held my breath since the jump. I let the gravel slide through my stiff fingers and stood. I turned and walked slowly to the open door that leads to the narrow stairwell.
Seven. Not number seven.
//
Next morning. I can't believe he was number seven. I figured I would go down to console the macaroni kid (I should really learn his name. I think it was something like Saul I think... Sam maybe? I think that's it.) I got downstairs and was about to knock on the door of apartment 115, I heard some talking through the door. It was Ethan. Ethan. Number seven. What the fuck is going on here? He definitely jumped off the roof last night. There's no way I just dreamed that. I reached in my pocket, the same pants I was wearing yesterday (I was too freaked out to change clothes). I felt around for the note, but found nothing.
What the hell is going on here?
As soon as I took a breath, the talking stopped. I heard Sam, "Ethan? Why won't you just answer my-"
What the hell just happened?
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Edna went looking for sympathy.
ReplyDeleteHer eye had healed slightly from her fall the other day, but there was definitely bruising that should concern someone. What if she was bleeding into her brain? What if the fall had bursted an aneurysm? At the very least, she thought she should get some time off from the super. She made her way down to his apartment and knocked on the door. It took him forever to turn the doorknob, and when it opened, his figured clouded the door. He was hunched, pale, and wouldn't look her in the eye. He looked like he'd seen a ghost. His frightened and distraught eyes confused Edna. She hadn't told him anything yet. All of her secrets were safe, they couldn't have been what messed him up. Frankly, Edna knew, they would fuck her up like he looked if she let them. So no, that wasn't it.
"What," he croaked hoarsely. She was observant enough to recognize that this wasn't the time for sympathy, at least from him. "Get to work; I haven't heard anything in days," he spat. "I don't want you leaving this building 'til you figure out what all is going on in this shit hole." The door slammed in her face.
Well, so much for that.
Edna made some inaudible noises in response, averted her eyes, and rode to the roof just to assure she would not be headed in the same direction as Red. When the approached the roof exit door, abundant sunshine poured through the small barred window; she intended to sit out for a while. She pulled at the door. It was locked.
ReplyDelete"Oh no." The thought flicked on in her mind and Day's sullen face accompanied it.
Ethan lunged suddenly for the door and opened it. Standing in the hallway was Mr. Day, the super. Ethan leaned against the door frame. "It's so good to see you again, Mr. Day," he drawled.
ReplyDeleteThe other man was bed-sheet white. His eyes were beady and blank. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. Sweat formed on his neck where his skin met the collar of his shirt. "Ethan..." he breathed. "You... you..."
"Is there something wrong, Mr. Day?" I didn't like the way he said that. I shifted on the couch to get a better view of Ethan's face.
Silence. Heavy breathing. Sweat dropping. Fear leaking from his pores.
"What is this, Criss Angel Mindfreak?" Mr. Day said. His voice was whispery and dry, like dead leaves.
Ethan smiled. "Excuse me?"
"Am I being Punk'd or something?"
"I don't follow..."
There was a silence. I could hear Mr. Day's heartbeat across the room and his breath whistling from between his lips. And then Ethan shut the door and I couldn't hear anything.