Dead Harvest

  We were three blocks and seven stories from the rooftop, in the basement storeroom of an abandoned restaurant. It looked like they'd ditched the place midrenovation; the stenciled storefront window read Molly's, but the lettering was only half filled-in, and the entire storefront had been papered over with yellowed pages from the New York Post, the headlines eight months old. The front door was chained shut, but Anders led me around back to a secluded alley, wheeling aside a small dumpster as far as its chain would allow, to reveal a sidewalk-level service entrance, one scarred and rust-flecked corner peeled skyward just enough to get a grip. Anders grasped the corner with both hands and jerked it upward. Rusty metal squealed in protest, and then gave. Once we clambered inside, he bent the door back into place, reducing the bright afternoon sun to a mere trickle, watery and insubstantial. By the time we rounded our first corner, even that faint light disappeared, and we were reduced to traveling by match-light.

  I had to give it to him – he'd stashed her someplace nice and hard to find. Wai-Sun's top coulda done a dance on the fucking roof and I still might've never found them.

  Anders struck another match and we continued down the hall. I realized the detritus that lined the hallway was anything but random. By the light of the match, Anders zigged and zagged between makeshift walls of cans, and stacks of pots balanced precariously atop each other as if by a precocious child.

  "Your work?" I asked.

  "I figured if they found us, I didn't want 'em coming quietly," he said.

  As we climbed the stairs, the darkness lessened. To our right was what used to be the kitchen. Once doubtless stuffed with ovens and dishwashers and stainless steel countertops, all that now remained were a series of black rubber mats and a wide double sink collecting dust on the far wall. To our left, a short hall led toward the dining room. Light trickled amber through the papered windows beyond, bathing Anders and I both in a peculiar golden light.

  The light reflected yellow from a set of eyes glaring at us from a darkened corner of the kitchen. They locked on mine a moment, and then disappeared without a sound. Just a rat, I told myself. Nothing to worry about. Still, I suppressed a shiver as again I was reminded of my meeting with the demon – and of the horrid creatures he'd carried inside.

  Just beside the stairs was a door. A small placard that read "Office" hung crooked at its center. Anders approached it and knocked: first twice in rapid succession, and then thrice more.

  "Kate, it's me," he said.

  From behind the door came the clunks and scrapes of furniture being moved. The lock disengaged with a click, and then the door swung inward. Kate stood in the door frame, looking haggard but beautiful as ever, a smile dying on her lips as she saw me.

  "Kate, you've no idea how relieved I am to see you," I said, but she just backed away.

  "Anders, who is this?" she asked.

  "Kate, it's me – Sam!"

  "Anders, he told you that? He told you that and you believed him?"

  Anders was struck dumb by her response. Looked like I was on my own.

  "OK, I took you from the hospital. I saved your life when you took those pills. I made you an omelet!"

  "If you have Sam somewhere, you might've made him tell you all those things!"

  I racked my brain for anything that might convince her. "When you were young, you used to be afraid of the man who lived downstairs. For years, you refused to take the elevator alone, and at night you'd sleep beneath your bed, your pillows under your blankets as a decoy in case he came for you."

  She stared at me for a long moment, but I don't think Kate really saw me – she had a faraway look in her eye, like she was suddenly somewhere else entirely. "He had a glass eye," she said finally.

  "What?" Anders said to her.

  "He had a glass eye, and it didn't fit so well. Once, when we were talking in the elevator, it fell out. He popped it back in like nothing had happened, but from then on I was terrified of him. But how could you possibly know that?"

  I flashed her a wan smile. "Comes with the job, kid." Truth was, my head was crammed full of countless such moments, every one of them but Kate's serving as a painful reminder of a soul I had dispatched. They filled my dreams in my sleep, and when sleep would not come, it was those stolen memories – those cast-off echoes of a life misspent – that robbed me of my rest. They were my punishment. My burden to bear. And they were never very far from reach.

  But Kate didn't need to know any of that just now. She beamed back at me and threw her arms around my neck, squeezing until I thought I might pass out.

  "Where are my manners?" she said once she released me from her grasp. "Come in, come in!"