The Fog

by Alton Gansky

  The professor grunted. “Most likely the latter. It used to be customary to avoid the number thirteen in buildings. It’s called triskaidekaphobia.”

  No one questioned the professor about the term, but that didn’t stop him. “The word means fear of thirteen.”

  “Good to know,” Brenda said. “I could be on Jeopardy someday.”

  The professor grunted his doubt. Sadly, he goes through more ups and downs than this elevator.

  I looked at the panel. Andi was right: eleven, twelve, fourteen. “So there’s no thirteenth floor?”

  The professor sighed. “Think about it, Tank. Of course there’s a thirteenth floor. It’s just not numbered thirteen—that, or the floor is occupied by one of the companies that share ownership of the building and they have their own elevator.”

  “Why would they do that?” I had a good idea, but nothing puts the professor in a better mood than when he feels like he’s enlightening us.

  “To keep people from accidently going to the floor. Perhaps it’s a government agency that doesn’t want foot traffic—”

  “Like spies and stuff?” Daniel asked.

  The doctors could say what they want about Daniel’s mental and emotional problems, but he didn’t miss a trick.

  “Could be, son. Could be. Or maybe something a little more boring. Anyway, there are many reasons this elevator might not have a button for the thirteenth floor. For all we know, that floor could be used for all the equipment that keeps a building like this working. You wouldn’t want people accidentally popping into a place like that. Especially in the age of terrorism.”

  “I still think it’s weird.” Brenda tugged at her evening gown. She looked great, but I was pretty sure this was the first time she had worn fancy duds like this. I didn’t feel so alone.

  “Zebras.” The professor’s one-word comment caught us all off guard.

  “Zebras?” Brenda said. “You have a thing for zebras?”

  Again the professor sighed. He was a master at it. He had taken the art of sighing to new heights. It had become a game with us: Can we get him to sigh in some new way?

  “First thing doctors learn in med school is this: When you hear the sound of hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.”

  I decided to take a stab at interpretation. “So, look for the common and not the unusual?”

  “Spot on, Tank.”

  My first impulse was to remind everyone that we had seen quite a few zebras since we were thrown together.

  The elevator slowed and the doors parted to reveal a wide and open room. No walls. A person could see from one end of the building to the other. Windows surrounded us on three sides. Only the rear wall was solid. Blue light spilled in through the glass, but was much dimmer than what I had seen outside. Scores of people milled around the open space. The men wore tuxedos and the women wore evening dresses. We fit right in. Even little Daniel.

  There were dozens of the glow-light trees we had seen in the lobby. In the center of the room was a wide and very long table that supported a couple dozen model buildings, including a mock-up of the one we were in. Some were much taller, apparently built out of the way of commercial airlines. I first noticed the model of the building we were in, then I noticed an odd, narrow, pyramid-like building. It didn’t seem to fit with the others. It was dark, colored with black and browns. Kinda gave me the creeps.

  Nearby stood several short partitions, all red like the insides of the elevator. Attached to those were a bunch of large photos. Even at a distance, I could see they were portraits of Allen Krone, the head of the architecture company.

  “Welcome.” The word came from a woman approaching from our left. Unlike the other women in the room, she wore . . . I guess you’d call it a waiter’s uniform. “My name is Mable. I’m one of the greeters.”

  She didn’t look like a Mable. She had straight black hair, bangs that hung to her perfect eyebrows, and the same kind of blue eyes the receptionist had.

  “Good evening, Mable. I’m Dr. McKinney and these are my good friends Andrea Goldstein, Brenda Barnick, and Bjorn Christensen. And this little man is Daniel.”

  Daniel scooted closer to Brenda.

  The runway model/greeter smiled. “I’m very glad to meet you, and I know Mr. Krone is pleased you responded to his invitation.”

  None of us mentioned the fact that we hadn’t been invited by Mr. Krone.

  Mable bent forward without bothering to bend her knees. Her face was pointed at Daniel, the rest of her was pointed—elsewhere. Andi and Brenda exchanged glances. I did the same with the professor. We chose not to speak.

  “You look so handsome in that tuxedo, Daniel,” Mable said. “I know there are a lot of adults around here, but that’s okay. I made sure there was ice cream and cake for special guests like you. Just let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll make sure you get a big bowl.” She straightened. “If that’s all right?” She looked at each of us.

  Brenda answered. “It’s fine with me as long as I get some, too.”

  Mable’s smile widened. “There’s plenty. This is a party, after all.” She motioned around the room. “Please feel free to explore. We have an exhibit of some of the more interesting buildings the firm has done and a portrait gallery of Mr. Krone through the years. There is a snack table on the east side with chocolate-covered strawberries, caviar, and many other delicacies. Next to it is a hosted bar. The wines are especially good.

  “Exits are clearly marked, as are the restrooms. If you have any questions, you’ll find other greeters and hostesses wandering the floor. We’ve all dressed alike so we will be easy to find.”

  A mild tone sounded behind us, and the elevator doors opened. In the short time we had been chatting, or rather, Mable had been chatting, the elevator had retrieved more guests.

  I looked at the professor. He looked at Andi. Andi looked at Brenda. Brenda looked at me.

  “I’m startin’ to feel a tad conspicuous just standing here,” I said. “What do we do now?” I looked at the professor again. He shrugged. Some leader.

  “Kinda makes you wish you knew why we’re here, doesn’t it?” Brenda said.

  “We never know until we’re in the thick of it.” Andi spoke just above a whisper.

  “That’s the fun of it.” Brenda pulled at her dress again. “I think this thing is trying to squeeze the life out of me.”

  “Think of it as a long-lasting hug.” Andi said that with a grin.

  “That’s a creepy thought.”

  Brenda isn’t the huggin’ type. Except with Daniel. He’s gotten his fair share of hugs from her, but then again, he’s Daniel.

  “Speaking of Daniel,” I said.

  Andi hiked an eyebrow. “We weren’t talking about Daniel.”

  “I know; I was thinking,” I said. “Never mind. Where is he?”

  Brenda glanced to her side. He wasn’t there. “He was just here.” I heard the concern in her voice.

  “He’s okay. I mean, where could he have gone? Let’s spread out. Andi you check the food area—maybe he went for the promised ice cream. Tank, you check the bathroom—”

  “Excuse me.”

  The voice was deep, but a little weak. I turned. There was Daniel, standing three feet away holding the hand of a dapper gray-haired old gent.

  “It seems this young man wants us to meet.”

  His words flowed easily, and I could hear some humor in them.

  “Daniel!” Brenda cleared her throat. “What are you doing?” She made eye contact with the man. Daniel continued to hold on to the gentleman’s hand. “I hope he wasn’t a bother, sir.”

  Another smile. “Not at all. He has been every bit the gentleman.”

  Daniel smiled. Then the light in my brain went on. Daniel had just found the star of the party: Allen Krone. Well, at least one of us could make a decision.

  Brenda was a leaf in a hurricane. “He . . . he just walked up and began talking to you?”

  “Yes. Very friendly child.” K
rone extended his hand to Brenda. “I’m Allen Krone. Welcome to my retirement party.”

  Brenda shook his hand. “I’m embarrassed, I mean. Brenda. Brenda Barnick. I’m Daniel’s guardian.” It took another second for Brenda to take her foot off the throttle of her brain. She made introductions, introducing the professor last. At least she did right by him, calling him “Dr. James McKinney.”

  “Doctor McKinney. MD?”

  Daniel finally let go of Krone’s hand.

  “No, PhD” The professor shifted gears. “This is a lovely building. You must be very proud of it.”

  Krone’s smile widened. “I am. Of course, I owe my partners a great deal of the credit. I confess to overseeing the aesthetics, but Jonathan and Ebony handled the interior and structural details.” Then, as if an afterthought, said, “Jonathan Waterridge and Ebony Watt, the other principals in the firm.”

  Andi had already told us their names, so they weren’t new to us.

  He pointed to a small group near the center of the room. “That’s them over there. With the mayor and his wife.”

  Jonathan Waterridge was tall, maybe six-two or so, thin, and had a fairly large nose. Not huge, but large enough to guarantee he took a ribbin’ when he was a kid. The mayor was not tall, but he was stout. What he lacked in height he made up for in girth. His wife looked half his age and a third his width, and her platinum blond curls flashed in the glow of the trees.

  A motion to my right caught my attention. Daniel had moved to Brenda’s side and was pulling on her dress. She took his hand in self-defense. If my little buddy pulled any more, we might see more of Brenda than we had ever seen before.

  “Excuse me. Daniel was promised some ice cream, and it seems he wants it right now.”

  “Certainly.” Krone dipped his head as if bowing.

  Brenda and Daniel moved to the refreshment area.

  “You know,” Krone began, “I’m having trouble remembering where we last met—”

  The professor didn’t let the man finish. No doubt he wanted to avoid the question Krone was going to ask. “I was just telling my friends that I had considered architecture as a career. I went another direction, but I still have a great interest in the art and the science you practice. I wonder if you would indulge me and tell me a little about the wonderful building models.”

  “Of course.” Krone looked around the room as if looking for someone to save him from a task he had probably done a dozen times already this evening. He was stuck with the professor. The two moved away.

  “That was slick,” I said to Andi.

  “The professor is nothing if not slick.”

  “What now?”

  Andi shrugged. “That ice cream sounded good.”

  I agreed.

  CHAPTER

  4

  Foggy Night

  How’s the ice cream, buddy?” I looked at two chocolate scoops in Daniel’s bowl. It was a real bowl, too, not one of those plastic things you see at most parties. Someone would be doin’ a lot of dishes when this shindig was over.

  “Good.”

  “Is that bowl for me?” I pretended to reach toward his little treasure.

  “Nope. Get your own.”

  “That’s my boy.” Brenda held her own bowl of frozen chocolate goodness. “You tell ’em.”

  I grinned and patted Daniel on the head. “I like a man who stands up for himself.”

  “He gets it from me,” Brenda said.

  “No doubt.” Andi moved to the counter, learned there was red velvet cake for the having, and asked for some. “I’m really starting to love this get-together.” She took a bite of cake and closed her eyes. I assumed that meant she was in cake heaven.

  When she opened her eyes, she asked Brenda, “How much of this stuff can we eat before our gowns come apart at the seams?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  I have known these two women long enough to know that neither would overeat. They talked a good game, but always quit early. Me, on the other hand . . .

  “Sick.”

  It was Daniel. Brenda slipped the spoon from her mouth. “What is it, sweetie? Did you eat your ice cream too fast?” She reached for it, but had no more success at grabbing it than I had.

  Daniel shook his head and scooped up another bite. Apparently whatever was ailing him hadn’t affected his ability to down ice cream.

  Brenda lowered herself so she could look Daniel straight in the face. “You said sick, kiddo. Are you sick?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe he meant sick as in good,” I offered. “You know, ‘That car is sick!’ Is that it, little buddy?”

  This time he looked at me like my brains had just run out of my ears. “No.”

  Brenda took a deep breath. “You know, sweetheart, you can be real hard to follow sometimes. What did you mean when you said sick?”

  He nodded across the room. That wasn’t much help. There were several hundred people milling around. “Him. He’s sick. Bad.”

  I still don’t understand why Daniel does things like this. We know he sees what the rest of us can’t. He sees beings from another world. I believe they’re angels, and that ability has helped us many times. The problem was, Daniel did very little talkin’ about what he saw. Sometimes Daniel would string several sentences together, and for him that was being a chatterbox. Other times he did what he was doing now: one or two words at a time. Frustrating enough to make a Baptist preacher swear.

  “What man?” Brenda prompted.

  Another frown from Daniel. At times he acted like the smartest person in the room, the kind of smart person that frustrated lesser brains.

  He pointed with his spoon. I followed his point and saw the professor talking to Allen Krone by the models. Apparently, Krone hadn’t been able to escape. My gut wadded up.

  “The professor?” I meant my words to be more than a whisper, but that was all I could muster.

  “No. Him. Krone.”

  He pronounced Krone as “Croony.”

  I felt joy. I felt relief. Then I felt guilty.

  “Allen Krone? The man we were talking to a few minutes ago?” Brenda was showing remarkable patience. She always did with Daniel. I sometimes think that’s why she has so little patience with the rest of us. Daniel uses it all up.

  Daniel nodded. “Bad sick.” He walked away, bowl of ice cream in hand.

  Brenda rose. “Maybe this is more than a retirement party.”

  “You mean like a going-away party?” Andi said. “A final going-away party?”

  “Makes sense.” Andi kept her eyes on Allen Krone. “You know, I thought I caught a yellow cast to his skin, but the lighting in this building is a little weird. Makes it hard to be certain about colors.”

  “That’s sad.” I meant it. I know we all check out of this life at some point, but knowing that doesn’t make it easier.

  “I have an idea,” Andi said.

  It must have been a good idea because she set her cake down and walked away. Brenda did the same with her bowl. I didn’t have anything to set down, so I just followed Andi.

  Twenty steps later we were standing in a small maze of five-foot-high partitions. They were covered with photos of Allen Krone through the years. Krone graduating architecture school; Krone at a drafting table with a drawing on the board; Krone at a computer, a floor plan on the monitor; Krone wearing a white hard hat standing in front of a large building under construction. There were wedding photos and pictures of him shaking hands with important people from around the world.

  “Do you see it?” Andi asked.

  “See what?” I guess that answered her question.

  “Krone used to be a lot heavier.” Andi kept moving from photo to photo. “Not fat. He looks fit in the pictures.”

  “He’s not young, you know.” Brenda leaned close to one of the displays.

  “He’s just sixty, Brenda,” Andi said. “The same age as Dr. McKinney.”

  I recalled Daniel’s little joke about t
he professor being ancient.

  Andi nodded. “I think Daniel is right. Then again, he’s always right. Cryptic, but always right.”

  “Ah, I found you.” The professor walked over. “Remarkable man, that Krone. His ability to see in three dimensions and translate those ideas to a set of two-dimensional plans is amazing. Did you know . . .” He looked at our stricken faces. “What?”

  “Krone is sick,” Brenda said. “Maybe terminal.”

  “Who told you that?” The professor had put on his I’m-ready-to-burst-your-bubble face.

  “Daniel.” The three answered in unison.

  “Daniel is not a doctor. How can he know if Krone is sick?”

  We stared at him.

  He raised his hand and aimed his palm at us. “Okay, okay, that was stupid of me. Did he have anything else to say?”

  Andi answered. “No. He just said that Krone was sick and then said it was bad. Look at the photos. He looks very different in his pictures, even the ones dated from just a year ago.”

  The professor, being the professor, did just that. He studied the photos like Sherlock Holmes studying a crime scene.

  Finally, he looked at us. There was a good deal of sadness in his eyes. “Maybe cancer. Maybe a degenerative muscular disorder. Maybe . . . no sense guessing. It doesn’t change anything.” He sighed. “I thought there was a sadness about him. He knows that his retirement will be short—”

  There was a rumble. It came through the floor. It spread to the windows. There were screams and shouts.

  The lights flickered, then went out.

  The building swayed. It moved so much I expected the skyscraper to break in half. I seized Andi by the arm to steady her and did the same to Brenda. The professor went down on his keister. The partitions around began to dance and slide on their chrome feet.

  “Daniel!” Brenda’s shout wasn’t loud enough to defeat the noise of the rattling building.

  “Wait!” I held her tight. “Wait!”

  Thirty seconds later, the shaking stopped. Emergency lights filled the open space with dim light. The decorative blue light we had first seen when we arrived was gone.

  “Andi, check on the professor.” I let her go. “Come on, Brenda.”