Chapter 1: High-Rise

The angry beeping of car horns filled the air as Ethan weaved through the bustling crowds of pedestrians that clogged the sidewalk, the sea of gridlocked vehicles peppered with the signature yellow of New York taxi cabs. It was early in the morning, but the city was already waking up. Its inhabitants were pouring into the streets, clutching coffee cups and briefcases in their hands. The sunrise stained the sky in shades of red and orange, its light reflected in the innumerable windows of the towering buildings, rising up to either side of him like monoliths of glass and steel. Wisps of steam rose from manhole covers and subway vents, flocks of fluttering pigeons cooing as they scattered at his approach. The familiar chorus of a thousand muddled conversations was oddly relaxing to him, like a kind of white noise.

He was glad that he didn’t have to brave the heavy traffic, his new job was within walking distance of his apartment, only a couple of blocks away. The pristine, modern architecture slowly gave way to older, more traditional styles as he proceeded deeper into the city’s old financial district. Red brick and Romanesque pillars dominated, the stonework stained by ages of weathering and wear. He might have thought that he was taking a step backwards in time, was it not for the abundance of people talking on cellphones as they passed him by.

Unlike many of his fellow citizens, Ethan was not on his way to a cubicle. He wasn’t a businessman or a financier, nor was he a lawyer or a stockbroker. He was a facility manager, or perhaps caretaker would be a more fitting title. He specialized in maintaining old buildings of historical value. He had recently aced an interview with the owners of the Abbott and Schutzman building, a high-rise that had been erected by a now-defunct law firm in the late nineteen-twenties, during the age of Swing music and prohibition. These days, the building was leased to many different tenants, the seventy-seven floors occupied by everything from upscale loft apartments to office spaces.

Ethan’s new position would see him at the head of a team of janitors and repairmen, he would be responsible for coordinating with the staff and keeping the aged structure from falling into disrepair. He had a lot of experience in the field, and rather than seeing the work as a simple paycheck, he felt an almost sacred duty to keep these historic buildings intact. They were a piece of the city’s cultural heritage, a window into the past.

Before long, he found himself standing in front of the grand old building, shielding his eyes from the sun as he craned his neck to see its towering spire a thousand feet above him. It was very much a product of its time. Construction had begun when Art Deco was all the rage, its architecture acting as a kind of timestamp. It was made from grey stone and steel, the decorative, metal cladding on the upper floors catching the sunlight to make it gleam. There were two wings to the building that extended to either side of the central tower, which got progressively slimmer as it reached high into the air, before tapering into a sharp needle that almost made it seem to dissolve into the sky above. The innumerable window frames were decorated with stainless steel, and the facades of the building were adorned with bands of white marble, stone gargoyles peering down at him from its corners.

He made his way through one of the revolving glass doors, emerging into a spacious and finely furnished lobby. Massive slabs of red marble covered the walls, and the floor was made up of interlocking, wooden panels that had been varnished to a sheen. There were a series of support pillars hewn from the same red stone, inlaid with vertical bars that emitted fluorescent light, softened and diffused by a covering of amber onyx that gave the room a subdued feel. As he gazed up at the ceiling, easily twenty feet above his head, he noted that it was decorated with the overlapping, geometric patterns in shades of red and gold that were typical of the era.

His shoes squeaking on the varnished floor, Ethan made his way over to the main desk, the wall above it adorned with an ornate sunburst pattern cast from bronze. Behind it was standing a security guard and a concierge, the latter of which was looking him up and down as he adjusted a pair of glasses with round frames that were perched on the end of his crooked nose. Age had hunched the man, and what hair he had left was greying, but the perfect fit of his suit gave him an air of dignity. The security guard was an especially large African-American man with broad shoulders and a neatly-trimmed beard, his hands clasped in front of him as he scrutinized the newcomer. His clothing gave away his profession. He wore a checkered tie over a baby-blue shirt with epaulets, a name badge pinned to his breast, and a black cap on his head. Ethan was starting to feel a little under-dressed in his simple shirt and slacks.

“You must be the new facility manager,” the concierge said.

“Ethan Lewis is the name,” he replied jovially. He extended a hand in greeting but soon retracted it when the concierge didn’t reciprocate.

“We’ve been expecting you,” the man continued, stepping out from behind the mahogany counter. “You may refer to me as Mister Spencer, and this is our head of security, Mister West.”

The security guard gave him a silent nod, Ethan glancing between the two men in a state of mild confusion. This wasn’t the kind of reception that he was accustomed to.

“Uh ... pleased to meet you,” he mumbled.

“Mister Lewis, was it? Walk with me, the owners have tasked me with making sure that you understand the full scope of your duties here.”

Ethan followed behind Spencer as he made his way over to one of the elevators, the concierge pushing a button and waiting patiently as the dial on the antique floor indicator ticked down. Ethan glanced over his shoulder, noting that Mister West was still watching him like a hawk.

“Have you much experience working with buildings this old?” the man asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the dial.

“I have, yes,” Ethan replied. “I specialize in maintaining historic buildings, in fact. I’ve worked in colleges, museums, I was even responsible for an old prison for a few years. Each one poses different challenges, but they also have a lot in common. I read up on the Abbott and Schutzman building before applying for the position, and I have to say, I’m very excited to work here. I’ve always been fond of Art Deco, and as I understand it, the building has undergone relatively few renovations compared to most structures of its era. It almost seems to be frozen in time.”

“The owners place a great deal of value in its authenticity,” Spencer continued dryly. “If they can avoid renovations, they do. I will expect you and your staff to adhere to the same standards, Mister Lewis.”

“Absolutely. If you don’t mind my asking, what happened to my predecessor? It’s unusual to find such a position on the open job market.”

The arrival of the elevator was announced by the ringing of a bell, and the two stepped inside as the doors parted. It was an antique model, manually operated, Spencer pressing one of the many numbered buttons with a bony finger as he moved a lever. The doors slid shut, Ethan feeling a sensation of upward motion as they began to climb.

“The previous manager was with us for many years,” Spencer finally replied, “but his failing mental health resulted in him being let go at a rather inopportune time. There are several systems in the building that need urgent maintenance, and truth be told, we’ve been having trouble holding onto contractors lately.”

“Why’s that?” Ethan asked, giving him a frown.

“The building has a rather ... storied history,” Spencer admitted, shifting his weight as though the subject made him uncomfortable. “It’s not unusual, many old buildings do. The Cecil Hotel in Los Angeles, for example, is plagued by superstitions surrounding its checkered past. Of course, over the many decades that the Abbott and Schutzman has stood, it stands to reason that a few unfortunate events would have taken place on the premises.”

“I read about a few murders and suicides,” Ethan suggested, “but nothing that stood out as unusual. Then again, I’m not a believer in the supernatural. If ghosts were real, I think I would have seen a few by now, considering my line of work.”

“Indeed,” Spencer replied. “The contractors complain of hearing noises on the upper floors, and no amount of explaining seems to assuage their fears. Old buildings creak and groan, and that high up, the very structure can sway as the wind buffets it. They don’t want to hear it. Your predecessor’s declining mental state was the straw that broke the camel’s back, as it were.”

“How so?”

“Hallucinations,” the concierge replied solemnly. “The man claimed to see demons and apparitions stalking the upper levels, likely inspired by the rumors that were circulating among the staff. I’m not sure which came first, but it resulted in a lot of people quitting, and the former facility manager being admitted to a psychiatric hospital.”

“And here I was thinking that he might have opted for an early retirement,” Ethan muttered.

“There are several different branches that see to the upkeep of the building,” Spencer added, ignoring his comment. “You’ll be tasked with coordinating the different staff members and assigning them to the most pertinent tasks. Janitorial, maintenance, plumbers, electricians. I won’t beat around the bush, many of the Abbott and Schutzman’s older systems are close to failure. We have an elevator that has been out of service for weeks, the ventilation and air conditioning systems on several floors are in dire need of repairs, and the water treatment plant in the basement has been acting up lately. We need someone to take charge and get everything running smoothly again.”

“The situation does sound rather dire,” Ethan said with a nod. “I see now why you needed a new manager so urgently.”

“You seem like a level-headed fellow,” Spencer added as he spared Ethan a glance, “perhaps you can talk some sense into these people.”

They arrived at the right floor, and the doors once again parted, Ethan following the concierge out into a carpeted hallway. This area almost resembled a hotel, and Spencer hadn’t been exaggerating when he had said that the owners valued authenticity above all else. The same dull, yellow lighting that had been present in the lobby illuminated the long corridor, cast from stylized lamps that hung from the ceiling at intervals like miniature chandeliers. The carpet beneath his feet was appropriate for the period, the same red and brown motif present in its geometric patterns.