The town car pulled away from the curb, accelerating, its tyres making a tearing sound as the tread rips through the water running down the street from the downpour that finished only minutes before he pulled himself from the car. Looking about, “Odd” was the thought. Why would a Cryogenics Service be in such an area? Looking at the business card in the palm of his hand, then to the street sign bolted to the side of the row of workers' cottages, ‘Downshire Place’, then to the street sign, Lower Fort St.
The right place. Looking left, then right, the workers' cottages extended in both directions, all tidy and gentrified, the street quiet, the cold chill of the wet autumn morning occasionally interrupted as a car moved down the street. A long way from the bustle of what The Rocks area would’ve been back in the day.
Turning, the opposite side of the street was walled with three-story buildings, warehouses, the pulley beam at the highest point of each building revealing them as such. Scanning, he finally spied a building numbered 17, with 19 to its right. He turned left and walked up Lower Fort, looking to his left at the workers' cottages, 16, 14, 12, 10, 8, that’s it, stopping again at the rip of a car flying past.
He looked at the face of his mobile, pressing hard, holding the power switch, counting but not counting until the power slide came up; he powered it down. He let his hand fall to his side and looked towards the number 8, in metallic gold on a green door, the stonework, paint, and trimmings all the same, duplicate reflective of the buildings on either side of it, the only difference being the green door and the metallic gold number 8. Pensively, he stepped forward, sliding his mobile into his jeans pocket, pausing momentarily before rapping loudly on the door.
An eternity, that is just a moment, passes before the sound of a lock clicking, a door chain sliding into place, and then opening, ajar. ‘Yes?’ the voice tired, aged as the face, half-covered, milky-eyed, scanning him. ‘Ghustaf sent me.’
‘Ah, Ghustaf, do you have the papers?’ Without speaking, his hand passed into his breast pocket and pulled out the long envelope, and passed it through the slit, not a word spoken, the door pushed shut.
Click!
Again he waits, this time though, a moment turns into an eternity. It rains again, he stands, back turned to the number 8, watching as a tear of a car passes by, its tyres like the others ripping as the water flows down the road, forming a river in the gutters on either side of the road.
Another passes, the rain abates, the water flow slows, and clouds roll on before the door again opens behind him. Turning, the door fully opens, and a tall man, liveried in a suit and tails, stands before him. ‘Welcome, Joshua. Please follow me.’ He turns, not waiting for a response or acknowledgement, and walks down the long passage that runs the full length of one side of the workers' cottage, as in all such cottages.
Joshua steps in and follows; his sneakers, their soles now dry from having stood on the verandah for so long, make no noise, the floor beneath carpeted, suppressing the creak of old floorboards. The walls, although dark, appear to be covered in an old green wallpaper. What pictures he can make out in the dim light are generic, timeless images of landscapes, windmills, and the hall table, bare but for an empty vase.
The man before him turns, pausing momentarily to look back at his guest before stepping through and onto a set of steps descending into the basement of the building. Here he pauses, waiting for Joshua to arrive. A small room, 10 feet by 10 feet at most, opens before him, the centre of the space occupied by a single pedestal, high enough and broad enough to hold a ledger and quill.
Joshua’s envelope, it's content spread atop it beside the ledger. ‘Sir, your papers appear in order, the dates and conditions set.’ Open-handed, the man gestures towards the paperwork. ‘Please sign, and we will proceed.’
A moment later it was done, his host again wordlessly communicated and turned, exiting the space through the door opposite the one they entered through. Joshua, as before, simply follows.
The hall they enter is narrower than the one above and darker, with no carpet, and no creak as the wooden floor, walls, and ceiling are replaced by sandstone. Lit by dim lights, daisy-chained together by exposed black cables pinned to the walls.
After a short time, a good 30 to 40 feet, the hall is intersected by two passages running 90 degrees to the one the two men walked down, his host continuing past. As he passes, glancing to his left before stepping on again, he spies a passageway of doors, at least 10 aside, spaced about 4 feet apart at most, all shut, dark, redwood, gold numbers, polished, centred at head height on each. No door handles, just keyholes.
The men walk on, through another two intersections before arriving at a third; the suit turns left, this time not waiting or looking back to see if he is followed. Joshua turns into the passageway behind him. Two doors down, on the left, the door, unlike all the others, is open, the man, his host, the suit, standing on the far side of it. “Your room, sir.”
Joshua stops, and turns towards the space open before him; it’s 3 feet by 3 feet, the back wall a picture frame, the picture obscured by the darkness. Without looking around, at anything or anywhere beyond this space, his space, his room.
Not even acknowledging his guide, he steps in. The door closed silently behind him, the only noise the click of the lock. Darkness.
‘Thunk!’
What was the portrait in the back wall flings open; an alabaster face, two crystal green eyes gaze at him, a mop of hair, dreadlocked, no, it moves, writhing, framing the smooth, beautiful features. He more senses than feels the effect of the gaze.
As if talking himself into a meditative state, he concentrates first on his extremities, his fingers, his toes, then his forearms, and calves, a stillness absorbing him from his appendages inwards.
The stillness as it enters his shoulders, his neck, his groin, his lower abdomen, the calm reaching for his chest, he breathes, then stops.
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