When her neighbour looked back, it took a second for him to notice the second figure, but as he did his face contorted into a look of suspicion and unease. He turned slowly to her, a bead of sweat rolling across his face.
‘I, uh—’ He struggled to find the words. ‘Be safe.’
Violet turned right and hurried down the stairs. Two floors down she could still hear the figures whispering.
Violet was late to the office that night. She tried her best to collect herself, to sit down and focus her mind on her task, but the words seemed very far away, and the silence of the office left her floating and unsettled. Her fingers ached before she even started typing, and the central heating felt like it was going to smother her. Every few minutes she would catch herself listening intently, as though straining to hear some quiet conversation, and the coffees she was sure she had just made would be long cold. She kept drinking them, trying to fight off a fatigue that had been building in her all night, terrified that if she closed her eyes she would sleep. How many cups was it in her mother’s story before the stressed office worker had a heart attack? Or was that the same one who ended up burning down the building? They’d all started to blend together.
She was terrified her exhaustion would show, that they would know she wasn’t doing her work. They would all know. Every clack of the keyboard was like a finger being drummed right onto her skull.
In spite of everything, she still tried to take her walk. Bob had leaned over and asked her if she was planning to take her break and it was like a rope had been cut. She almost leapt from her seat. Her steps were unsteady, and the silent streets offered her no comfort, but the idea of staying in that office for another second made her feel faint. At least the night air was unchanged. It still offered that crisp reassurance that the world still lived, but she did not walk as far as normal, nor as fast.
Augustine Road was empty. No figures standing at the other end, no whispering strangers waiting for her. There was nothing there. So why was she so reluctant to walk any further? Why did she already feel like she needed to head back to work? She carried on, trying to ignore it, pushing the possibilities from her mind, but she ended her walk soon afterwards. There was no peace to be found in the city that night.
As she returned to the office, she saw a small crowd outside the door. The smokers, six of them, huddled together, talking quietly. She knew they emailed each other to orchestrate their breaks, and now they were lurking outside, as if waiting for her, whispering to each other. Shirking. They didn’t look up as she passed, and she had to stop herself barking at them to get back to work. She rubbed her exhausted eyes, fingers stained with coffee and dirt, and pushed herself back into the office.
By the time she got home to Bayan Court, she was so shot through with bone-deep fatigue that she almost didn’t notice the flashing lights of the ambulance parked in front of it. It was only when a round-faced woman in a police uniform gently put a hand on her shoulder to stop her wandering, unthinkingly, into the blue-and-white tape that she realised there was anything out of the ordinary. Barriers hid most of the scene, but a small streak of something dark could still be seen on the edge of the kerb. It could have been blood. It could have been other things as well, of course, but her mind refused to think of any, and kept circling back to blood.
‘I live here,’ Violet said, realising she had no idea what the officer had said to her.
‘Certainly, this way please.’ The response was courteous and crisp as she began to usher Violet towards the well-lit main entrance.
‘No. Round the back.’
The police officer stopped for a second, confused, and Violet had to limply point to the alleyway that led to her home.
‘Right. Wait here,’ she was told, as the officer walked away, apparently needing to check something with a colleague. Violet could have sworn she was muttering ‘Get back to work ’ under her breath.
She stood there, waiting, watching paramedics load a long black plastic bag into the back of the ambulance. One of them knocked a barrier partially aside, and for a second Violet was absolutely positive she could see, lying on the wet ground, a bright blue baseball cap. There was no surprise in her, no shock that he was now lying dead on the other side of London, five miles from their last meeting. Perhaps she was just too tired.
She wondered idly which urban legend had finally got him. Maybe it was her? Maybe that was the big twist, that the monster in the story was her. She felt her lips fold into a single syllable as the police officer returned to lead her round the back and into the building.
‘Boo.’
Four figures stood halfway up the stairs, just above the first floor, where the steps curled behind the old iron lift. They wore thick jackets over dull, unremarkable outfits as they turned towards each other, faces hidden from view. Violet could hear them whispering to each other even before Resident Entrance B swung shut behind her, cutting off the flashing lights that seemed to follow her even behind the building. It was six in the morning, why were they there?
She waited almost a full minute for the lift. It wasn’t coming. She pressed the button again, rubbing at the tips of her fingers. They felt rough, and for a second she could have sworn they were different, covered with callouses and scarred blisters. She looked up at the lift, but the number hadn’t changed. She started to feel very exposed and finally turned towards the stairway, full of that resignation that comes with exhaustion. As she climbed she could hear them whispering above her, but as she got closer the sound seemed to stop and they simply stood there, silent. They didn’t turn around, and she still couldn’t see their faces. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed through the streets.
Violet kept on climbing, the now-quiet crowd patient and unmoving. Her legs felt odd, their movements almost mechanical, but she didn’t stop.
Thinking about it later, it seemed to her that four people standing together should have almost completely blocked the stairs. And yet she didn’t remember passing them, not really. As she continued to walk, they were simply behind her, and before she had a chance to consider it she had reached the next floor. She turned back but they hadn’t moved. Her mind instinctively reached for one of her mother’s stories, trying to place the feeling of unease in a familiar context, but none came. She continued her climb, the whispers floating up to follow her.
‘What did Bob say?’
It was already nine and Marie was late for work, but it didn’t look like she had any intention of leaving before Violet had given her every detail.
‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘Hey, you use my phone, you give me the details,’ Marie insisted, doing her best to hide genuine concern. No answer from Violet. ‘You still haven’t found yours?’
‘No. It’s fine, I don’t need it.’
‘What the hell does that mean? Obviously you need a phone. You just had to call in sick.’
‘I didn’t have to. I can go to work. I should go to work.’
‘Seriously. Look at you.’ Marie was firm. ‘When was the last time you slept properly? I mean, you weren’t doing great even before a guy you knew died outside our building.’
Violet was quiet for a moment. ‘I didn’t know him. Not really. He just—’
‘Who cares!’ Marie exploded. ‘It’s clearly messed you up. You need some time off.’