CHAPTER 1

4:00a.m.

Lying in bed, the ceiling twisted and cracked in the darkness. It closed in and swallowed her whole in bed. Things seemed to be piling up around the room. Reminders that her living fees were due, reminders that yes, they did exist and were well missed by her landlord, accumulated in the window sill along with various other expense related notes She pretended that they were letters from kind friends calling on her. She pretended she was too busy to answer. In another nook of the tiny room lay stacks of the imagined bodies of these feigned acquaintances. Over the past few months it seemed that every person she had built any sort of relationship with had gone astray- sour. She was viewed as an oddity, from first glance and it took just two months of light conversation and 'hello's on the street to cause friendships to unravel. All that had not left her was the box of matches she carried in her palm which she continually struck and tossed onto the street. Street monitors had ticketed her for this quite often. Those bills joined the others, their bodies joined the others. In times of distress she went through boxes a day. Today would be one of those days.

She slipped her feet into the worn slippers she kept beside her bed and went into the next room to brew a pot of tea. To be at work by six meant everything being it was all she had to look forward to Her job was of service, something she was not good for, but because the establishment was a in a dark corner of the city, and attracted only the oddest of people, quiet people, writers- no one had questioned her. They neither liked her nor disliked her. They only took the tasteful entertainment form her trays and absently placed bills into her hand. She was part of the backdrop, her dark sleepless appearance blended with the deep purple walls. Mirrors wouldn't even accept her reflection. She was sure that if she tried nothing alive would stare back. Nothing worth looking upon met her eyes. Pouring her coffee a watery thought formed in her eye and trailed down her cheek. The thought of her life, endless it seemed, endless and lonely.

"Damn it!" He kicked his desk chair across the floor. Room No. 224, floor 10, had just awoken at least three other residents of the complex. Living in the nicer section of the building did not mean thicker walls. Rage subsiding, he sank onto his couch and gripped his hair with both hands. He knotted his fingers, knotted them until his knuckles were white and his scalp was screaming. Staring at the mess on the floor, he was searching for his composure through files in his brain that he rarely opened. It seemed that he was always searching for it and always would be. The air of the room was lawless, mad. Bodies piled up in the corner. Bodies of men that wanted him to die. In the middle of his room, cold eyes stared back at him; dead eyes still intent on destroying him for a past he was only forced to revisit. These accidents forced his past into every dim street corner and every alley within the known planets. Were he lucky enough to have a grave, his mistakes would surely follow him to it, perhaps seeking solace themselves. What was next?

He'd spent far too much of his life contemplating the next step of his plan. Far too much time had been wasted disposing of the things that could hinder his future. If this was the future, for him it was not worth living. Eyes stared up at him; cloudy eyes. He searched them. Sitting on his couch, he searched endlessly.

A dull thud sounded above her head. She stared at the ceiling, searching for some invisible sign to explain the curious noise at such an odd hour. Distracted, she began to pour tea strait onto her hand. A streak of anger tore through her. The burn was painful and she blamed the resident above her for this mishap. It was curiosity more than anger that drove her to inspect. She rinsed her hand in cool water, wrapped it in a towel then went to her door with tentative steps. She opened it with caution and stared out at the blue sky. Stars were a luxury and did not dare to show themselves tonight. It did not feel like a night for stars. It was a night for clouds, and that was all she saw. Even the scheduled full moon was in a shy mood tonight. The air of the night was still and tense. Dread crept into her through her hands as she held tight to the railing. A terrible thing had happened just above her head and she could feel it. Someone was hurt and she could feel their warm body crying out for relief, fading out and becoming cold.

Perhaps this was a chance for adventure, a break in the monotony of her life of serving coffee and ignoring the bills she could never pay. Perhaps if she stopped the warm body from fading she would not be lonely for the time it took to accomplish this.

Strange things were always happing in room 224. Staring at the door, she recalled a time when she had received mail addressed to this room and another time when she'd seen a man with bloody hands storm out cursing. She had been the only one to see this, she knew. Anyone else would have reported him for fear of having something disrupt their comfortable little lives. Her life was far from comfortable. The thought of a murderer in the room above her seemed more thrilling than disruptive. She stared at her hands. They were shaking. Tightening her fists to revive them, she tapped lightly but audibly on the door of room 224.

She waited. Nothing. She tried the handle and found the door to be unlocked. It opened a crack when she pushed it. No objection. Through the opening, she could see a man sitting on the couch. Upon seeing his face, she remembered the angry man she had known from a distance. Months ago when she'd given him his mail, he had nearly ripped it from her hands then slammed the door in her face without so much as a half hearted thank you. His eyes were ablaze that day. He had held her bewildered stare up to the moment the door shut. They were hollow now; he didn't even look at her. Something else held his gaze so she opened the door further to see what it was.

A sharp breath of fear sounded from her lungs and her hand flew to her throat. Her intentions of soothing a troubled soul dissolved into horror then fear and numbness. The warm body she'd hoped to save had not gone cold. He was consoled now, conversing through his eyes with the dead. As if it were an ordinary living space adornment such as a rug or table, a body lay in the center of the room. It was dead, cold and motionless. She could still feel the warm body crying and fading and knew that it sat on the couch, fingers laced and hands raised to cold lips, eyes dancing with empty distress.