Metropolis by B. A. Shapiro

Author:B. A. Shapiro
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Algonquin Books
Published: 2022-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

34

Jason

Even though it’s late Sunday night, Jason is still at his desk at Metropolis. As tight and claustrophobic as this office is, his Allston apartment is worse on both fronts. Plus, the apartment is more depressing. He’s got all his big-paycheck furniture there—leather sectional, king-size bed, and sixty-inch television—crammed into three tiny rooms. They had looked great in his wide-open, high-ceilinged, walls-of-glass apartment at the Ink Block in the South End, but in his current abode, not so much. And although his Metropolis setup has similar big-paycheck furniture against a similarly shabby backdrop, at least the office here is roughly the same size as the study in his old apartment, so it doesn’t look nearly as sad.

He’s working on Marta’s case, filling out the ridiculous number of forms the government demands of immigrants seeking asylum. It’s astounding that anyone is ever able to get into the country given the restrictive laws, the new administration’s enforcement techniques, and this onerous and mostly unnecessary paperwork.

He hears what sounds like scuffling upstairs. People move things in and out at the most unexpected hours, and he often wonders what they’re up to. But he’s probably better off not knowing. Then there’s a loud thud from above, followed by a piercing, high-pitched shriek that sounds as if it’s right outside his door.

Jason rushes into the hallway, sees nothing, takes the stairs two at a time. When he reaches the fourth-floor landing, he skids to a stop, blinks, uncomprehending. Liddy is sitting on the floor across from the elevator, wailing, while Marta rocks her. Both women are wearing bathrobes, and their faces are ashen.

When Marta sees him, she cries, “Call nine-one-one! There is a man in the elevator!”

He turns to the elevator. The doors are closed, and it looks the same as it always looks. “A man in the elevator?” Then he sees that one of the doors is slightly askew, that it’s tipped inward and hangs out of its track, at a slight angle, and uneven with the other door.

He presses the button. Both women scream.

Liddy raises her head. Her eyes are open so wide that white surrounds her irises. “It’s Garrett,” she says in a strangled voice. “He fell in.” Then she collapses back into Marta.

Liddy doesn’t look or sound like herself, and for a moment Jason wonders if he’s mistaken, that it’s not Liddy Haines at all. But of course it is. “Garrett, your husband? Fell in?” he asks.

What was Garrett Haines doing here? For that matter, what’s Marta doing here? But then he understands. Like Liddy, Marta lives at Metropolis, and he feels stupid for not having figured this out earlier.

“Nine-one-one,” Marta pleads. “Please.”

Jason dashes down to his office, grabs his cell, and dials 911. He’s not entirely sure what to tell the dispatcher, but he manages to impart that there’s a major emergency. Then he scribbles down his address, grabs his house key and a twenty-dollar bill, dashes back up again.

He presses the items into Marta’s hand. “Take a cab to my apartment.

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