Doldrums For Last Call

..............

'Have a good night, Rose.'
'You too, Cal! Thanks! See you tomorrow!'

Gentle Rose had been one of Calvin Broe's favourite people to work with since she had started just a few months earlier. She had a soft face, dark wavy brown hair, a natural smile, and the pleasantness of a pillow after a long day. She was very attractive, although Calvin was spoken for.

Still her cheery words lingered in his mind as he made it inside the closing elevator. It had been a long day, several appointments had either cancelled or demanded schedule changes. Soon he'd be set for a quiet evening with April, his girl. The elevator opened at the main floor and a terrible stench assaulted not just his nose but each of his senses.

'Sewage leak in one of the washrooms!' He overheard someone explain. 'Whole floor's rancid.'

This was not the ending to his workday Calvin was willing to tolerate. There was a somewhat secret passage downstairs that led into another building a couple of blocks away. He closed the elevator and set course downward. The doors opened again and now before him was a bright narrow corridor with a door at the end, for which he had a key to. Through there he went, unlocked the door, which led now to a similar unremarkable bright corridor, without any kind of markings or decor of interest on the floor or walls.

This would be a slight detour but he'd be outside on Shuter Street in about ten minutes and on a streetcar within twenty. Calvin's thoughts drifted from what he and April might make for dinner (hopefully that lasagna they'd been talking about), to the big basketball game Saturday night. He was imagining a smooth three-point jump shot when the lights of the corridor flickered, faded, then went completely out. There was only a total darkness, without sound, sight, or the joy of touch.

Time elapsed, until there was once again light in this tunnel, though dim coming from straight on ahead. Broe stumbled forward, hardly able to make out anything on either side of him. A hard pain welcomed his left knee as it collided with something cold and solid, like metal. He thought this painfully strange, since there had been nothing obstructing the corridor before. His injured knee brushed the ground for a moment and felt a few inches of cold, salty water. Something which had surely not been there before.

In the dim light Broe still could not see well in front of him, so he went on slowly with his hands out to feel for anything else. A wooden something startled his elbow, he tripped over some wires and nearly went face first into the stream, while the air became smokier. None of this made any kind of sense to him. He had been through this tunnel dozens of times and never had anything like this even been suggested.

At last he came to the end of the ordeal, another door, though this one was large and silver. This would lead to an abandoned storage room on the other side, a staircase, and he'd be in the lobby of the derelict Stripnow Hotel where the old concierge didn't care about whoever climbs out from the basement. Broe put his key in the lock and turned but there was no give. Fiddling around accomplished an equal amount of nothing. His socks were wet, his knee was hurting bad, the smell of dampness had him nauseous and his patience had finally run out. With everything he had he threw his whole body into the door, and did so again. And again. It was weakening. Again he did it. One more should be enough. Every bone and muscle groaned with contempt but just one more bash and he'd be in the crappy storage room of the Stripnow Hotel. A running start and he threw his body against that malicious door. It flew open, and so flew Broe to the ground. There was a brief moment until he realized he was not in any storage room.

'Who the hell is this maniac? Why'd you bust down our door?'

Broe was hoisted to his feet by a trio of strong arms and shoved hard against the wall. After this, his ordeal in the tunnel and the battering his body took versus the silver door, he was in too much physical agony to even nod a response. The trio of arms let him go and instead gave way to a tall woman dressed entirely in white, at least according to Broe's blurred sense of vision.

'Get outta here before we call the cops. Exit's that way. Now.'

He was able to gather the mental strength for a nod and stumbled towards the direction she pointed. So he went, staggering almost blindly through a haze of colours and sounds that were almost shapes. A stranger yelled a nasty expletive into his ear, and it was only a moment later that he realized he'd caused the stranger to drop a heavy full container of something.
Smell was the first sense to return to a respectable level, and the sensation surprised Broe. It was an assault of scents all being mixed and transformed at once, combined with steam, sizzle and especially smoke. Then taste returned, as these diverse scents all landed on his tounge and overwhelmed his mouth. Touch joined the party, though it took another accidental stumble into some poor person for the invitation to be accepted. Slowly, an intense ringing came into his ears and he fell to his knees. He wasn't sure if he screamed or not, since he could not hear the sound either way. The ringing reached a level of unbearable torture for a century of a moment, then was instantly gone. Sounds of rushed voices and yelled orders and general bustle replaced the pain. His hearing had completely returned and his setting completely made sense. He was in a kitchen.

Even his vision came into sharper certainty once he reached the exit he'd been ordered towards. Sure enough it was the staircase to the hotel lobby Broe had expected so long ago. Once in the lobby, his vision was mostly restored and his born-again eyes could not believe the grandeur before them. His mind told him this was the entrance of the Stripnow Hotel, with the cracked ceilings with dangling lamps and stained marble floors and graffiti doors; yet his new eyes corrected those ideas with a gorgeous crystal chandelier and polished marble tiles and a doorman standing watch behind clear gold framed doors. The old concierge was there, thankfully bringing some reality back to Broe's world.

'These renovations eh? When'd this happen?' Broe asked.
'Pardon me, sir? How'd you get in here?' The Concierge replied.
'Come on, pal. I've been coming through the secret tunnel for years. You've seen my face fifty times I'm sure.'
'Perhaps...'  nodded The Concierge, squinting at Broe closely. 'What room are you staying in?'
'I... I'm not staying in any room. I was just using the tunnel in the basement to---'
'If you're not a guest I'll have to ask you to leave, sir. Your smell is unpleasant to our paying guests.'
'That's because I was down in... fine. Nevermind...'

Broe stumbled out the gold framed front doors, ignoring the doorman's request to come back, and finally emerged into open air. The downtown streets were as familiar as ever, which comforted him, though there were some shops he did not recognize. He hadn't enough change in his pockets for a streetcar fare, so he snuck in the back doors of one while a large group paid at the front. His feet were uncomfortable being wet and sore in his ruined shoes. All he could think about was taking a shower, putting on a fresh set of clothes and settling in with April to tell this ridiculous story.

The stop for Laing Street came and Broe stumbled down the streetcar steps, his home only a few steps away. He knocked on the front door and a tall square jawed man answered it. Broe did not know this man.

'Can I help you?' The man at the door asked.
'Yes. What the hell are you doing in my house?'
'Excuse me? Who are you?'
'I'm the one who lives here. Get out before I call the cops.'
'Call the cops?' The man at the door exclaimed. 'You want me to grab my lease agreement? Show you the picture of my wife and children in the living room you lunatic?'
'You're the lunatic! What have you done with my April? I swear if you've hurt her in any way...'
'April? April... Denners?'
'Yeah!' Broe yelled, clenching his fists. 'Know her, eh? I'll kill you, you piece of shit, if there's so much as a bruise, I swear.'
'April Denners is the woman who lived here before. She showed me the place.' The man at the door explained. 'But she's long gone, dude. This was years ago. Too many painful memories, she told me.'
'You... you're lying.' Broe growled, shaking his head.
'I have a pile of mail for her right here. All these years and she never gave me a forwarding address.'

The man at the door rummaged for a moment before producing a stack of unopened envelopes as thick as a dictionary. They were all addressed to April, some of them slightly yellowed from exposure to air. Broe nearly fainted from confusion, fortunately grabbing hold of the tiny green picket fence he himself had built.

'Listen, there's a shelter a couple blocks east down Queen if you've got nowhere to go. Get some food, fresh clothes.' The man at the door suggested, anger now transformed into concern.

Broe ignored him, took the stack of envelopes and wandered away without thoughts. The night came and had grown old when Broe at last found sleep. He awoke curled up and off to the side of an enormous grassy field, an enormous reservoir towering over him on one side and two tall smoke chimneys on the other. It was morning and his mind was clearer. He had one place left he could go that would resolve this nonsense and put the pieces right again.

Without money it was a long trek back downtown, the hour just past noon when he arrived back outside his workplace. He had expected a call asking why he was late for work, but his cellphone hadn't even flickered. He pushed through the front doors and there was the familiar reception desk beside the familiar potted palm trees. An unfamiliar woman sat behind the desk though, which curbed Broe's brief sensation of momentum.

'May I help you?' She asked, an older woman with a noticeable West Indies accent.
'Yes I work here. Just signing in.'

The receptionist quickly looked over Broe's scummy, disheveled appearance and obviously did not give his claim any kind of seriousness.

'Please sir, you're wasting my time. Don't make me call security.'
'I can prove it!' Broe insisted, patting what was left of his damp, torn pants. 'Ummm...'

His hands rummaged through every spot he had, until at last a rectangle of plastic wedged in a twisted pocket found his thumb and index finger. He showed it to the receptionist, fighting back a desperate smile.

'This... this is an old ID. I haven't seen one of these since I first started. You sure you still work here?'

Broe nodded.

'Okay. Well lemme check your name in the computer and... um... oh. Okay. Why are you here exactly?'
'I'm trying to figure out what the hell is going on!' Broe answered, more aggressively than he intended.
'Okay. You can go on up, Calvin.'

Maybe he thanked the receptionist or maybe he didn't, Broe wasn't sure. Now he was in the elevator, rising back up to his job. Something guaranteed to restore order. He felt bad about being late of course, but considering the ordeal of confusion he had suffered, his co-workers would understand. Maybe there would be some laughs over some beers. Maybe they would know where April was, off at some relative's house for a surprise out of town thing. It would all make sense soon.

The elevator doors opened and Broe stepped out. Everything had been shifted around, but it wasn't a big deal. He walked for a bit, ignoring the eyes watching him do so, until he found where his office used to be.

'Why is there a vending machine here?'

A woman stepped out of a nearby room, looking directly at Broe. She seemed older than he remembered, her dark wavy brown hair much shorter now.

'Step in here please, Mr. Broe.'

He followed, the door slamming shut behind him with a conclusive click. It was a nice office, a excellent view of Old City Hall, and spacious enough for several people to sit and discuss business. There were enough chairs for half a dozen people and they were all comfortable.

'It's good to see you again, Cal. It's been a painfully long time' said Gentle Rose.
'Ha, good one.' Broe laughed. 'I said goodbye to you yesterday.'

Rose fought back an emotion and opened a drawer in her desk, pulling out a pile of papers held together by knitting strings.

'I was crazy about you from the moment we first met. You were always so kind to me, so sweet. These papers were sent to me because they had nowhere else to go, and I've kept them in the hope that you would walk into my office one day. And here you are.'

She stood up from her chair, walked towards Broe and kissed him on the cheek.

'I'm sorry Calvin.'

Rose walked out of the office and shut the door behind her gently. All that was left was Broe and the bundle of papers before him. He lifted the bundle into his lap with both hands and glanced over the first page: it was his handwriting but he'd dated it six years earlier for some reason. Each page was written as a letter to himself, either outlining goals, happenings in life, details about April, or various whatevers. Broe dug deeper into the papers: his penmanship became more erratic the deeper it went. And so it went, his dreams lovable until paranoid, his confidence sharp until buried, his ambition admirable until unrealistic, his love tender until directionless. The whole thing was eventually unreadable. Just scribbles on a page, hopelessly seeking direction.

'What happened?'

There was nobody to answer the question. But the sound of a dark, dripping tunnel lingered long enough to smirk before leaving.