Silent Vigil

He reached down and inserted the key into the lock, hearing the mechanical clunk as he turned it. This floor had been practically untouched since the thirties, so he expected the interior of the room to resemble the hallway.

As he stepped inside, that same chill came over him again, like he was entering a walk-in freezer. It was so cold that he half expected his breath to mist, or for there to be frost on the walls, but everything seemed outwardly normal. It was about what he had anticipated, your average, nineteen-thirties era hotel room. It was laid out similarly to the one that the phantom woman had jumped from, albeit with different décor, and no television on the dresser.

Shivering, Ethan wandered about, inspecting the twin beds and the dresser. There was nothing here that stood out as unusual to him. There was indeed a window on the far wall that would have looked out over the city in ages past, but was now boarded up. There was no draft, so what was the source of the cold? A malfunctioning A/C unit, perhaps?

He decided to check the bathroom, opening the door and stepping through. There was little of note in here, just an old-fashioned bathtub, a porcelain sink, and a toilet. As his eyes scanned the room, he noticed something out of place, Ethan walking over to the sink. Beneath a dusty mirror in which he could barely make out his own reflection was a straight razor, sitting between the faucets. His blood ran cold as he recognized the wooden handle.

It was the one from his dream.

With trembling fingers, he reached down and picked it up, turning it over in his hand. The blade was coated in what looked like rust, but Ethan knew better.

"Am I really seeing this?" he muttered to himself.

"You don't disappoint, house dick."

Ethan froze, staring intently into the sink, too afraid to raise his eyes for fear of what he might see. The voice was coming from behind him, immediately recognizable, the smell of cigarette smoke wafting on the air.

"What is this?" he demanded, his mouth suddenly bone dry. He could feel eyes on his back, he knew instinctively that someone or something was standing just a few feet away, but he dared not look.

"It's not about you seein' us," the voice continued, "it's about us seein' you. Oh, we all see you, like a candle in the dark. You got that glow, pal, brighter than the rest. You got the nerve to play house dick."

"What are you talking about?" Ethan asked, a shiver running down his spine like icy fingers. "What do you mean by that? What's a house dick?"

"A house dick," the man replied, frustration creeping into his voice. "A hotel flatfoot, a P.I, you mug. I ain't got all day, so listen good. We want to check out of this joint, but it won't let us. You gotta fix it so's we can leave."

"Who are you?" Ethan asked.

"Who am I?" the stranger scoffed. "I'm the only guy who knows the scoop, the only patsy who's in on the joke. Just when you think you've found an easy way out of the frying pan, bam, you're dropped right into the fire. Some of 'em get stuck in a loop, living out their despair over and over, like a clockwork toy. Me, I can appreciate a good pratfall, always did like a little Keaton."

"What is it that you want from me?" Ethan continued, trying to control the wavering in his voice. "What is this it that you keep referring to?"

"I ain't got all the answers, that's your job, shamus. I gotta bow out, so keep sniffin'."

"Wait!" Ethan said, daring to look up for the first time. In the clouded mirror, he saw an indistinct reflection, the silhouette of a man wearing a newsboy cap. "Can't you give me anything to go on?"

"Red eyes in the dark," he replied. His voice seemed to grow distant, as though he was calling out from the far end of a long tunnel, his reflection fading like a wisp of smoke.

Ethan gave it a minute longer, leaning over the sink, feeling light-headed. This wasn't a fucking hallucination or a dream, it was real, visceral. Unless he had developed full-blown schizophrenia overnight, there was no logical explanation for what was happening to him.

"Heavy metals in the water my ass," he muttered to himself, "more like DMT."

Whatever the man in the newsboy cap was, he was trying to get a message out, he wanted something. No, they wanted something, something that only Ethan could give them.

Something was preventing them from checking out, as the man had said, stopping them from moving on. Was that it, then? Was he accepting the existence of ghosts? Maybe he really had gone fucking crazy...

Ethan turned around once he had steadied himself, and immediately let out a muffled exclamation of surprise and disgust, turning his head away from the old bathtub. It was full to the brim with water that was clouded with dark blood, crimson fingerprints trailing over its edge, staining the porcelain. He gave it a few more moments, waiting for his nausea to abate, then opened one eye hesitantly.

The tub was empty, returned to the state in which he had found it.

"Red eyes in the dark," he muttered under his breath. What could it mean?

***

Night had fallen, and it was time to turn in. The events of the day had left Ethan exhausted, both physically and emotionally, but he wasn't looking forward to sleeping within the walls of the building. Whatever was trapped in here alongside the man with the cap would no doubt be drawn to him, like moths to a flame. That said, it wasn't as though he was any safer in his own apartment, not after the night terror that he'd had involving the bat creature.

Red eyes in the dark. The apparition's last, fading words had stuck in his head. Was it a clue that could help him find a solution to their mutual problem, or was he describing it, the thing that was preventing them from checking out? The creature that Fairfax had reported seeing in the elevator shaft, the monster that had pursued Ethan in his nightmare, both of them had red eyes.

He had no idea where to start. The man in the cap spoke in what must be archaic slang, for the most part, layered on top of vague metaphors. Without direction, what was he supposed to do? Should he enlist the help of his colleagues, or would they immediately have him committed?

Maybe he'd sleep on it, tackle the problem with a fresh perspective in the morning. He began to undress, then slipped on his pajamas, avoiding looking in the bathroom mirror as he brushed his teeth for fear of ghosts appearing behind him.

As soon as he had slipped beneath the sheets and the lights were off, a wave of unease washed over him. According to the man in the cap, the ghosts that haunted the building were watching him. They were drawn to his glow, whatever that meant. Were they watching him right now?

There was no point dwelling on it, there was nothing that he could do to stop them. Ethan closed his eyes, almost glad of his fatigue, letting it carry him off into blissful unconsciousness.

***

Ethan was jolted awake by the sound of heavy footsteps. He looked around the bedroom of the converted suite groggily, his eyes seemingly already adjusted to the pitch blackness such that he could make out the closed door and the dresser adjacent to his bed.

The noise was getting louder, the slow, methodical thudding making the floor beneath him shake. Vibrations traveled up through the wooden frame of his bed, making his headboard bump against the wall behind him, the wilted potted plant on the bedside table clattering as it was bounced around.

The same fear that he had felt in his nightmare came over him, a deep, primal dread. Even though the bedroom was completely enclosed, the door bolted shut, his instincts warned him that a hungry gaze was fixed on him, that he was being stalked. He began to tremble as whatever was making that terrible sound paused outside of the door to his suite. After a brief delay, he heard a crash as it was wrenched from its hinges, sent toppling to the floor by something with far more strength than any mortal man.

The thudding footsteps neared, the sound of loud, bestial huffing emanating from beyond his bedroom door. It sounded like a giant bloodhound tracking a scent, or a hog sniffing for truffles, more footsteps alerting him that it was searching for him.

He prayed that it wouldn't find him, that it wouldn't pick up his scent, that the frenzied beating of his heart wouldn't alert it to his presence. He stifled a whimper as he heard it bring its nose down to the gap beneath his door, taking in lungfuls of air as it tried to sniff him out, red light bleeding through into the room. It knew that he was there.

A sound like knives scraping on wood filled the room as it raked what sounded like claws on the other side of the door, a rumbling growl chilling his blood, deep and menacing like that of a lion or a bear. He wanted so badly to hide his face beneath the sheets like a frightened child, to take some measure to protect himself, but he couldn't move. It was like there was a weight pressing down on his chest, like his entire body was limp, his muscles not responding to the signals that he sent them.

"I...see...you..."

A deep, gravelly voice emanated from the other side of the door, more like that of an animal than a person. It sounded like a grizzly bear trying to imitate human speech.

The door creaked as it put more weight on the barrier, Ethan's eyes drawn to the metal bolt that held it shut, which was now straining against its housing. The wood around it began to splinter, a screw falling to the floor, the sound as loud as a pin dropping in an empty auditorium.

"I...see...you..."

He wanted to scream, but he couldn't even inflate his lungs, he felt like he was suffocating.

The lock finally broke, the door swinging open, a flood of red light spilling through the breach. Two ruby-red eyes peered back at him, like a pair of lasers, so blindingly bright that they completely obscured the features of the intruder. All he knew was that it was huge, its head skirting the ceiling, which must be seven feet high at least. His eyes couldn't adjust, and he couldn't look away. All that he could see were those red eyes in the darkness.

It took a couple of steps closer, its weight making the floorboards creak, the plant pot toppling from the dresser to shatter on the carpet. As the thing loomed over his bed, a pair of great, leathery wings unfurled. Their tips were far enough from the red glare that he could make them out. They were like those of a bat, wide enough to span the bedroom, coated in leathery skin that was a granite-grey in color.

A hand reached down towards him, seeming to emerge from the crimson glare, its five fingers tipped with sharp claws. Ethan could only lie there in silent terror, helpless as it neared his face. It was pallid and grey, and as those long fingers closed around his throat, he felt its frigid touch against his skin. It was like a corpse or a statue, as cold as the grave.

His breathing stopped completely, those red eyes all that he could focus on.

"Seventy...seven..."

***

Ethan lurched upright, taking in a desperate gasp of air, his eyes darting about the bedroom. There was no sign of the creature, the room was empty and dark, and he was once again drenched in cold sweat. Another night terror? What was this, sleep paralysis?

He threw off his sheets and stood up unsteadily, then made his way to the far wall, fumbling for the light switch. The bedroom door was still locked, the metal bolt just as he had left it, the potted plant still resting atop his bedside table. None of it had been real, and yet he knew now that his nightmares could become manifest, that they were more than simple dreams.

"Seventy-seven," he mumbled to himself. That could only mean the seventy-seventh floor, the highest point in the building. What was the significance of that? That floor had been closed off for decades if what Spencer had told him was to be believed. It was unsafe, poorly maintained, yet the seven topmost floors of the Abbott and Schutzman held many mysteries. The observation deck, the Sky Lounge, and who knew what else. The men who had built this place had been eccentric, and they were motivated by the paranoia of the prohibition era, hiding secret passages and compartments all over the place.

If the other apparitions that he had seen thus far were real, then did that mean that this bat-creature was too? Was it the force that was trapping the spirits here, preventing them from moving on? The man in the cap had a clear agenda, at least. He wanted Ethan to somehow help him and the other ghosts find a way to leave, but why would Ethan be visited by that...demonic entity? Those red eyes, that growling voice, he could scarcely think about it without shivering. Perhaps it was trying to intimidate him, and it had successfully done the same to Fairfax? If that was the case, then why give him a lead? Was it baiting him into a trap?

The idea of simply leaving all of this madness far behind him and moving to another state crossed his mind. This wasn't what he had signed up for, he had no obligation to these spirits, and he didn't appreciate being terrorized for the sake of delivering a message. But even if he took the first flight out of New York, could he go anywhere that the nightmares wouldn't follow? As the man in the cap had said, the entities were somehow drawn to him. Ethan couldn't shake the feeling that this was now as much his problem as it was theirs.

Realizing that he had no idea what time it was, he retrieved his phone, seeing that it was only fifteen minutes before his alarm had been set to wake him. So much for tackling the day with a fresh outlook...

CHAPTER 5: SLEUTHING

"Did you find what you were looking for in that locked room?" Spencer asked as Ethan handed the heavy key ring back to him. The old man doddered into the office behind the main desk, returning the keys to their place on the wooden board, Ethan following after him.

"I satisfied my curiosity," he replied, a lie of omission. He wasn't sure if anyone would understand what he had been through in that suite, it was better to keep his mouth shut for the time being. It was quite a leap to go from seeing phantoms, to being recruited to fight a demon by a deceased Buster Keaton fan.

"I was wondering if there was a way that I could access the top seven floors of the building?" he continued, Spencer turning to raise an eyebrow at him.

"Whatever for, Mister Lewis? Those areas are closed to the public for a good reason, they're no longer safe, they've been left to deteriorate for decades."

"That's exactly my concern," Ethan replied. "When the owners hired me to manage the building, they weren't just talking about the first seventy floors. I have no intention of opening those levels up to the public or of leasing them out, but I believe that we have an obligation to ensure that the building is at least structurally sound. I'd like to go up there and survey those floors, just to get an idea of what kind of state they're in, and what kinds of repairs could potentially be made. I think that if we continue to ignore the problem, the entire spire might one day collapse in on itself. It's not outside the realm of possibility if there are structural beams up there that are being exposed to the elements."

"I'm afraid that I will have to forbid it," Spencer replied, "the owners are very particular about keeping people out of those areas. If you wish, I will arrange for the top seven floors to be surveyed myself, in close coordination with the owners."

That struck Ethan as rather odd, and he cocked an eyebrow at the old man.

"But I'm the facility manager," he replied hesitantly, "I wasn't given any instructions to keep out of the top floors. I can't be reasonably expected to perform my duties if I'm locked out of crucial areas of the building, can I? What if I took Mister Rodriguez up there with me?"

"I can't allow it," Spencer replied with finality. "I will speak to the owners on your behalf."

"Very well," Ethan replied, confused by his refusal. Spencer had always seemed like a reasonable man. Perhaps he knew more about what was going on up there than he was telling?

***

"The top seven floors?" Rodriguez asked, affixing his tool belt about his waist. Ethan had caught him just before the start of his shift, and they were alone in a locker room on the ground floor, out of earshot of Spencer. "What do you want to go up there for?"

"I want to see what kind of state it's in," Ethan replied, "I feel like leaving it closed off and unattended is an accident waiting to happen."

"I'd be inclined to agree, but we're not allowed to work above the seventieth floor," the engineer added as he buttoned up his overalls. "My predecessor wrote it off as being too dangerous, and Mister Spencer has made sure that everyone knows it."

"But why?" Ethan continued, "what would supposedly happen up there to make it so dangerous?"

"It's probably more for liability reasons than any real expectation of injuries happening. If management was to send an employee up there knowing that they couldn't absolutely guarantee their safety, and an accident happened, there would be lawsuits out the wazoo."

"How would someone even get up there?" Ethan wondered, "do any of the elevators go that high?"

"Not the public elevators or the service elevator, no," Rodriguez replied. "The top floors are where the Sky Lounge and the old speakeasy were built, it was intended to be a very private area only accessible to the original owners and their high-society friends. The only way to get up there is by using the executive elevator, which requires a key."

"Let me guess, Mister Spencer has it?"

"Most likely. Better to do as he says," Rodriguez added as he straightened his collar and headed for the door. "He may look like he's got one foot in the grave, but he's been working in this place longer than we've been alive. The only people who know it better than he does are the ones who built it."

"I'll keep that in mind," Ethan replied.

***

Now the question Ethan had to ask himself was how he was going to get his hands on the key for the executive elevator without Spencer knowing about it. The old man meant well, but Ethan couldn't ignore the message that had been delivered to him by the demon in his nightmare, it was the only clue that he had to go on. Who knew what he would encounter up there, but he had to find out.

Both Spencer and West were on the day shift, and so it was a simple matter to wait until they left their posts. Ethan volunteering to work into the night would be seen as a sign of dedication, rather than the ruse that it was.

A couple of hours after they were slated to leave the lobby, Ethan made his way down there, finding it empty and silent. The building was closed during the night, and so there was no danger of running into anybody. If he should meet one of the patrolling security guards, it would hardly matter, as the facility manager was generally allowed to go where he pleased.

He found the office unlocked, probably so that the guards on the night shift could access any keys that they needed, and he made his way inside. The wooden board was mounted on the wall to his left, laden with dozens of heavy key rings, Ethan's eyes darting about as he searched for the right ones. Fortunately, they were numbered by their respective floors, and it wasn't long before he located the ones that held the keys for the upper levels. They weren't as packed with keys as the others, there must be fewer rooms up there.

There was no sign of the key for the executive elevator, however. Cursing under his breath, he turned to the office, trying to think of where it might be hidden. There were two stacks of old-fashioned filing cabinets up against the far wall, and there were a couple of drawers in Spencer's desk. If the key was locked away in a drawer or a wall safe, then he was screwed.