“Th-thank you,” I stammered, pushing off the ground and accepting the man's handkerchief, applying some pressure to the cut. “Oh, I'm sorry,” I added, acknowledging that I had forever ruined his crisp white handkerchief with a dash...no...a heap of red. “I didn't mean to--”

  “Not at all,” he brushed the notion aside, “I have more than I'd ever need,” he smiled. “Some are just right up those steps,” he pointed to the apartment building firmly planted behind me, “if you need more, that is?”

  “You live here?” I asked, looking back at the red bricked building.

  “Well,” the man bobbled his head from side to side, “In ways. My employer owns the building. I act as more of a...caretaker to his devices...to his properties.”

  Hmm...I thought, maybe I could use this as an opportunity to learn more about my old life. “I uh,” I stumbled, “I used to have a friend that lived here.”

  “Oh, is that right?”

  “She's gone now though...Annabelle Crowley.”

  “I'm so sorry for your loss,” the man frowned.

  “It's been tough,” I shared in somber reflection. “I sometimes come here and wish I could see her place one last time, for closure. So many memories...” I trailed off.

  The man looked up at the building and nodded to himself slowly. “I could lose my position for something like that...” he started up, “but I understand loss," he adjusted his glasses in thought, "perhaps just once.”

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  “Why thank you!” I beamed, clutching my hands together with the handkerchief stuck between them. “You don't know what this means to me!”

  “Quite the contrary, my dear,” he muttered as he turned to walk up to the door. “One thing,” he continued, “what is your name, per chance?” He turned to look back, as he inserted a golden skeleton key and twisted it, unlocking the big brown doors with a resolute click and boom.

  “Uh,” I stuttered, “Kensie Stark.”

  “Well met, Miss Stark,” he smiled through pursed lips. “I am Winston Callum Bricksley The 3rd, but you may call me Mr. Callum.”

  “Wow,” I said, astonished, “you're not the first Callum I've met tonight.”

  “Well now, isn't that peculiar,” he grinned. “Perhaps we are bonded by blood.”

  My head tilted in thought as I took in the strange words of his, an almost malevolent spark in his eyes. I must have been imagining things. “Thank you...Winston,” I added, accidentally disregarding his preference.

  His face twitched with what looked like tensed rage, his eyes narrowing viciously, before returning to normal as he swiftly cracked the door open and disappeared inside.

  Hesitating, I quietly followed inside, not remembering anything of the winding steps and false regal fixtures of the building. I could hear Winston's footsteps echoing up the stairwell far above, quick on his feet for such a slender, nonathletic looking man.

  “Up this way,” he pronounced from the abyss.

  “I followed up, fatigued, as if I had entered some bizarre malaise upon crossing through the precipice of the building, my head feeling heavy and my stomach churning violently.

  “I don't feel so good,” I said, winding up the ever revolving steps.

  “A feeling all those who have lost...receive,” he whispered loudly back, “come, not much further now.”

  I nodded, still not seeing him until I reached the proper landing, as it had felt like an endless climb.

  “Here we are,” he said, motioning to Room 13. “Lucky number,” he quipped. “Are you ready?” he followed up, watching me woozily drift behind him.

  I nodded, loosely, floating, as I awaited the big moment.

  “Compose yourself,” he clacked the key in and turned, with a mischievous grin. “You know not what lies beyond.”