PAGE TWO
Debbie leaned against the door, shutting out the noises of the city. They found themselves locked into a world of cool, musty silence. A round mirror hung on the opposite wall, against a backdrop of peeling, yellowed wallpaper. There they stood reflected in the midst of charred ruin. The ornate high ceiling of a once exquisite lobby was blackened so that remnants of the design barely remained. A florescent light hung lopsided, suspended from a frayed cord which snaked its way into the cracked ceiling. In the dark recesses of the vacant lobby lay several locked doors.
A defunct elevator shaft stood to their left. Debbie felt compelled to press the button, but the somber brown door would never budge again. She studied the list of names accompanying buzzers which no longer rang.
"You have to call from the payphone across the street," Lori had explained.
Cautiously, they climbed the dusty stairwells, past a doorway showcasing the ashes of a former apartment, past boarded up windows, the nails pried loose. The few wood beams that remained propped up what ceiling there was left. The very clothes remained unscathed by fire in the closets of former occupants. They passed sturdy doors, securely locked.
On the third landing, a lamp was plugged in, its extension cord dangling precariously across the stairs and winding beyond the next corner into darkness.
Through the silent musty hallways they climbed, not knowing what lay beyond each landing, each step, looking behind them as they rounded each corner; with what little courage they had left, daring to look ahead; spiraling to the sixth floor.
Debbie took a deep breath. Her legs ached.
"Whatta you think?" Lori turned to Debbie.
