That coat, that god-awful coat. Dark, shapeless, made it impossible to determine if it was a man or a woman.
She had yelled hello and waved as the person was leaning into the cab. At the sound of her hello, the person stood, lifted the hood of the jacket over the top of his or her head, turned and stared at her.
She couldn’t see the face. The figure stared with the intensity of burning logs for what seemed forever. Not one word was spoken. And then, swiftly, with the precision of a retracting switchblade, the dark figured turned and got into the cab. She didn’t think anymore about it until last night, until the detective asked his question.
In an effort to remain calm, she told herself the figure that came out of the alleyway had been a drunk who pissed on the alley wall. The lie wouldn’t stick. The walk across the street wasn’t the walk of a drunk. She spent a restless night, brooded over breakfast, and then it came to her. She knew that stance. She knew who it was. No one would believe her, she couldn’t prove anything, but she sensed she was in danger and called Hanya.
She aimed the remote at the huge black and white print of the Eiffel Tower. The frame moved silently across the metal tracking to reveal a flat screen TV. She had turned on the 24 hours news when heard the doorbell. She laid the tea on the side table, walked down the hallway with a lighter heart, and opened the door.
***
Hanya, standing outside Camira’s door, was puzzled by the lack of response to the door bell or her loud pounding.
I don’t believe this, she’s not at home. Why would she go out? She knew I was coming over.
Indulging her hurt feelings, she turned and stomped towards the elevator but stopped short of pressing the down button. Reason had won out over emotions.
No, she wouldn’t have gone out. She’s taken something to calm herself down and is sleeping.
She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialled Camira’s number. Her answering machine clicked on after four rings.
Now what? I’m not leaving until I know she’s in there.
She got on the elevator, pressed the second floor button. A few minutes later she walked down the floor corridor reading the apartment numbers and stopped outside 211.
This is where Jimmy Creighton, the building’s super, lives. I’m certain this is where I came when Camira’s apartment had started to flood.
While she waited for someone to answer the door, she thought about the night of the flood. They were just about to sit down to dinner when they noticed water lapping its way from the kitchen to the dining room table. They followed the water trail back to the broken pipe under the kitchen sink. Camira had tried to reach Jimmy, the Super, on the phone but there was no answer.
“The deaf, lazy sod is lying on the sofa again with the volume cranked on the TV. Would you mind pounding on his door, Hanya, it’s Apt. 211, while I start mopping?”
And that was how she first encountered Jimmy. Leaning once more on his bell, she wondered if there was a building regulation that doesn’t allow anyone to open their doors after 9:00pm. She jabbed the bell again. Forty seconds later, Jimmy stood in the doorway wearing a faded red t-shirt and plaid pyjama bottoms.
“Well, hello Rev. Hanya,” he said. “What can I do for you at this time of night?”
“I’ve been pounding on my cousin’s door and ringing her phone for the last ten minutes but there’s no answer. I’m worried; she knew I was coming to see her. I need to know she’s okay. Would you please let me in the apartment?
“I can’t be letting you in just because you think she should be home. I gotta respect the tenants’ privacy.”
“I understand what you’re saying but if you let me in, believe me, Camira isn’t going to complain. And if you don’t let me in, then I’ll have to go higher up the authority chain, understand?”
She watched the battle of indecision on his face and said nothing. “Okay Reverend. I’ll just change and grab the key. Won’t be a minute.”
No invitation to wait inside, but then that’s probably a good thing.
He emerged dressed in torn jeans and a dirty t-shirt, mumbled all the way up in the elevator about how he shouldn’t be doing this and it would be on her head if Camira freaked out.
“I mean there are all kinds of things she could be doing in there Reverend, if you know what I mean.”
“I get your meaning; just open the door Jimmy and then you can go back to bed.”
Jimmy did just that, not bothering to say good night.
Hanya walked down the hallway into the living room. The TV was muted but not turned off. She saw Camira’s half filled cup of tea sitting on the small table by the recliner, bent down and still warm. Wondering what would have made her cousin so quickly skip out on her, Hanya decided to use the facilities, buzz home and have a firm word with Camira in the morning. As she headed towards the bathroom, she noticed light spilling on the carpet from beneath the closed door of the master bedroom. She knocked on the closed door and called her name.
No response. She opened the door and breathed a sigh of relief. Camira was lying on top of the bed, sound asleep. She took a step closer.
Just like I thought, she’s taken some sleeping pills; no waking her now. Even in her sleep, she looks like she’s posing for a photo shoot in that white silk negligee, trimmed in black lace, and spread out around her long lean body; her long dark hair splayed across the pillow. Maggie the Cat
