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“Don’t be silly.”
“Are people still in your building?” It’s after seven, and the building has mostly cleared out, but the patter of feet in the hall and hushed voices assure me I’m not alone.
“There are people here. I’ll be fine. Where do you want to meet?”
“What are you in the mood for?”
“I really don’t care,” I say as I begin stacking the file folders and putting them away in my tote bag.
“We could also order take out.”
“Take away works.” He wants to eat dinner with me. That’s all I care about.
“And you’re ready to go?”
“Packing up while we’re on the phone.”
“I’ll meet you back at your place.”
I pull my office door closed and lock the door. The hall is empty. As I walk down the hallway, I pass one professor’s open door. She and I make eye contact and both nod.
When I reach the elevator bank, the word “elevator” is dark.Huh. I push the down arrow, but the arrow remains dark too.
“They went on the blink like thirty minutes ago,” a male voice calls out. “I called, but I don't know when anyone will get here to take a look at them.”
“I’ll just take the stairwell.”
“Smart,” he says. I get a glimpse of the graduate student talking to me. He’s sitting in an open office in front of someone’s desk. I lift my hand in a wave.
The click of my shoes on the concrete steps echoes through the stairwell. The Life Sciences building is only four stories tall. The elevator being out of commission is hardly an emergency. I’ll be surprised if they have it fixed in the morning. I practically float down the stairs, because this thing between Ryan and me is feeling real. Once again, he called me, wanting to have dinner. Concerned about me.
A door on the lower floor opens. I move to the side and glance down the open center, still moving steadily down the stairs. The only sound remains the click of my shoes. I slow my footfalls, listening.
It’s possible someone exited the stairwell. The echo in the stairwell, combined with watching one too many crime dramas, pricks my nerves.
“Hello?” I’m on the second floor. I have one more floor to go.
I hear a step. And another. The shoe sound is of the front part of a shoe. Or a shoe with a soft pad, like trainers. I continue heading down.
A man’s hand grips the metal railing one floor below. My breath slows.
“Hello?” My question echoes.
I continue descending, but at a slower pace. I scan up the stairwell. I’m approaching the ground floor. I’m halfway between the second and first.
A hand glides up the rail.
Step. Step.
The person’s gait is steady and produces an S sound across the concrete.
Slow.
Steady.
At the bend in the stairs, the hand slides around the turn.
Raphael, the graduate student from earlier, faces me. Eyes void of emotion. Lips in a flat line.
