01. Wails

01. Wails

The fog hung over the streets like a blanket. He always felt a sense of wonder at how heavy it felt, here. It seeped into his jacket, into his very bones. He adjusted his neckwarmer higher up on his neck, covering his chin. He ducked his head into it as if to hide from the humid cold that enveloped him.

The street was not quite dark; lampposts lined the sidewalk and illuminated the brick patterns on the road. But it was quiet, save for the constant hum of cars on a highway that he could not see, but which he heard, close-by but just out of his reach. He was walking at a brisk pace, unconsciously. He had nowhere to be, really, except out of the cold – a cold much more temperate than what he was used to but more discomforting in a wet, clinging way.

His footsteps echoed faintly. The quiet of the streets was one of the things he had most appreciated when he had moved. Instead of the honking of cars he would hear the singing of birds, or the almost-silent graveling of bike tires on the road. Perhaps some conversations, in a language that was yet inaccessible to him, that was still only just a collection of sounds without meaning. But the winter was different here. It was only early evening, but the sky was already fully dark, the birdsong was nowhere to be heard, and the cheery conversations were hushed by the looming of dark clouds in the sky. If he walked by people they’d be by themselves, looking down at their feet or forward as they walked, themselves probably also only wanting to return to the warm and dry comfort of their home. The crunch of his soles on dirt reverberated off of brick walls that all looked the same, identical reddish units with slanted dark-tiled roofs. It was not the same monotony of North American single-family homes, but the houses here still resembled one another in their imitation of a bygone colonial era. The sidewalk ended on a bridge that crossed a small canal, and became a wooden footpath, lined by trees that were carefully planted at the exact same distance from one another.

A line of lampposts also stood here, alternating on either side of the path to provide light for the pedestrians. As he continued walking, he could feel the darkness stretch out on either side to the forested area. He rarely saw people walking here, but still he turned around to make sure nobody was behind him. Not out of fear, he knew these parts were safe, but more out of habit. Some habits never really go away, the nervous system remembers. He closed his hands into fists in his jacket pockets, willing them to heat up. His mind was so focused on the hot shower that awaited him at home, that it took his brain a second to place the high-pitched sound that came to his ears. A baby, he thought. Alone in the dark, recognizing movement around it, pleading for attention. He slowed to a stop. That wail again, more pronounced, closer. But it wasn't a baby. This sound was deeper, more intentional. His heart was beating harder in his chest when he heard a soft rustle on the leaves to his right, and a small, perfectly white figure emerged near his feet. A cat, approaching him fearlessly, not even bothering to look up at him. He took a deep breath in, let it out slowly. Felt the mist on his cheeks. He crouched down, taking his time to descend so as not to spook the creature away. He waited for a beat, balancing on the balls of his feet, his forearms resting on his thighs. The cat brushed against his leg as he passed, turned, and stood in front of him. Carefully, he put out his hand, let the cat brush against it, and then started scratching the top of its head and behind the ears. Its fur was surprisingly soft. The two stayed like this for a moment, enjoying the transaction, until the cat moved away to the side of the path, paused, and turned to him. He stood up slowly, otherwise not moving, and stared back. Its eyes shone at him, reflecting the street lights, two bright dots amidst all the white.

He raised an eyebrow at the cat. "That's it?"

The cat sat and started licking its paw, signaling its confirmation. Alright, he thought, and continued onward. He carried on with a brisk pace, but the cold was no longer as pressing on his mind. Soon enough the building came into view – gray, square, looming. Even in the dark, the walls felt washed away, as if the building had stood there much longer than it really had, forgotten, or simply neglected. He could see only a couple of windows with their lights on, bright, white, antiseptic. The bushes that lined the front seemed dry, despite the near constant rain that had been pouring the past weeks. He cut through the grass instead of rounding the corner, and noticed another light flicker on in a room a few floors above him, intermittently, as if the bulb struggled to turn on. He always wondered why so few people seemed to live here, despite the size of the building. Were they simply at home in the dark? Most likely they were not asleep yet, it was barely dinnertime. Perhaps he’d gotten there when many of them had gone on vacation, it hadn’t been that long since his move. But still, he’d expect more sound, more life. For now he only felt the quiet, heard a faint electrical hum coming from inside.

He walked up to the front door and tapped in the code on the keypad. The tiny red bulb turned green and he heard a buzz come from the door. He pushed it and made his way in. There were no lights turned on in the entrance, but the passage to his wing was lit by the overhead lights that lined the hall. As he made his way inside, he felt a different humidity on his cheeks. One that was more stale, more stagnant. He wondered if he was allowed to leave a window open, but he decided against it. He still had not seen any of the employees from the rental company on the grounds, but still he did not want to call attention to himself. While he was out on the corridors he could never really relax. Not yet, it still felt like he’d just arrived, and he still didn’t know when someone could come knocking, asking questions. Anne Marie, 04C, not sure if she’s home but the main door was open, I just thought I’d come inside and try her apartment to say hi. He repeated the lie in his head once, as had become routine to him by now. It felt very unlikely to him that someone would actually stop him in the hall and ask him about his whereabouts, despite what he’d been told. Tenants were allowed to have people over, and he figured that if any employee were around they would not be stopping anyone in the building, but still. It had taken way too much effort to find this place, he was not ready to lose it on a technicality. Besides, Anne Marie seemed like a nice enough girl, he was sure she’d corroborate his story, despite only having had a quick chat on his way to the laundry room once.

He reached a door with a small plate reading 04F above the doorbell, stuck his key into the keyhole, and jiggled, still not knowing exactly how much force to use to open the lock. As it finally gave way, he pushed the door open with his shoulder and stepped inside, but stopped when he felt a sudden vibration in his thigh, with the sound of some cheerful marimbas. He took out his phone with one hand as he swung the door shut with his other, and he looked at the single word on the lit-up screen, as the phone continued to vibrate insistently.

Ma.

It was her second attempt today. He hesitated for a second, wanting to reply, but not knowing if he had it in him to talk to her at that moment. She’d ask him how he was, if he was settling back into his routine, if he’d seen any of his friends again since everything that had happened. He tapped the power button once, to stop the vibrating but to let the call keep ringing, and he slipped his phone back into his pocket. Later, he told himself. This weekend I can call her back.

He took off his shoes and placed them on the rack along his other pairs, then stepped into his slides. He removed his jacket and hung it from the coat rack, unwrapped his scarf and hung it around the jacket. Grabbed his wallet from his left pocket and placed it in its small ceramic bowl, placed his phone on top of it, reached for his keychain, and felt his heart skip a beat when he did not feel it. He checked his pants’ pockets twice, then his jacket pockets, still nothing. He stood in the entryway, confused, and then realized. He opened the door again and saw them still attached to the door, hanging from the keyhole. He felt silly from his almost instant panic; of course he had his keys, he’d just gotten home, and it’s not like he would’ve let them hang outside his door all night. It hadn’t even been a full minute. He went to close the door again but was stopped halfway by a sharp sound.

It was like the wailing of a baby, except not quite. He felt his skin tingle at the back of his neck. He was quiet for a moment, and he felt the high pitched sound reverberate through the walls. It came again, louder this time, and quite clear. Inside, he thought. He knew pets were not allowed, but he had also heard of people who did not really care about that rule. Still, he hadn’t seen any cats inside yet. The sound came again, and he stepped out into the hall, making sure to pocket his keys and close the door behind him. As he stepped towards it, the cries continued to return, every time louder, still a cry but with a deepness to it that felt very clearly like a complaint. It was the sound of an animal in pain. He walked through the other 04 doors, gray and identical to his own, all of which were silent inside. There was no music, no sounds of people eating their dinner, only the faint squeak of his rubber soles on the floor, and the echoing of the creature’s cries. He could feel his own heartbeat on his ears, the rush of blood as it pumped increasingly faster. He turned a corner and could hear it clearer, the sound was coming from behind that door, not a unit but the superintendents’ closet. He’d seen a rat run into that closet, once, and never again, and now he understood where it might’ve gone, maybe better here than into the walls of the building. He held his hand out to the doorknob, and it was cold to the touch, just like the hallways, just like he felt inside, and he had a flash of his hot shower in his mind, but instead here he was, taking care of someone’s cat in a cleaning closet.

He paused for a moment, his hand still on the knob. He didn’t know what he’d do, once he came inside. What if the cat just came running out? What if it was there for a reason? But nobody seemed to be around, nobody seemed to care about the incessant wailing, so there was no point to hesitate, he simply turned the knob, and opened the door, and let the white light of the hallway flood into the closet. And he found it empty. Dark and empty, except for a bucket full of cleaning supplies and a vacuum cleaner which itself was full of dust. He could smell the dust, bothered only by his presence and his opening of the door, and he took a step inside to make sure there was no animal, but there wasn’t, and there was not any space on the bare shelves where it could be hiding. There was only dark, and quiet, and the faint electric humming of the overhead lights, mockingly reminiscent of the faint echo of a high-pitched cry, as if it had existed only as a memory.

He continued to stand there, doorknob still in his hand, door still held open, the vacuum cleaner still unmoving. He focused on his hearing, maybe he had just thought the sound was closer than it really was, but there was simply no more meowing. Slowly, he shut the door, as if to not scare anything away, but there was nothing there, the hallway was so tauntingly empty. He left the superintendent’s closet behind, turned the corner, and as he approached his own door he felt his familiar marimbas ring through the wall, could almost feel his phone vibrate, and he realized how easily one could hear through the walls in this building. He hurried to unlock this door and make his way in to get to his phone before it stopped ringing.