Chapter 21 #3
Both sets of French doors slammed open and shut at once, impatient and startling, like the building had just clapped its hands in their faces: Focus, ladies.
Goldie dragged a hand down her face. “Okay. Let’s try this again.” She squinted at the ceiling. “Does my sleepwalking… um… have anything to do with the murder?”
A long pause. Both sets of balcony doors creaked open and shut, hesitant, like a shrug.
Goldie slumped. “So that’s a maybe? It’s complicated? A cosmic I don’t know?”
The left-hand doors snapped once. Yes.
“Ugh.” Goldie dropped her head into her hands.
Nell leaned forward. “Is Goldie safe when she’s sleepwalking?”
Both sets of doors opened and shut again.
“That’s not reassuring,” Nell muttered.
“Do we need to reboot the building?” Goldie whispered loudly, as though that were a perfectly normal suggestion.
The far-right doors banged open and shut, sharp as a slap. No.
“Okay, simpler questions.” Nell sat up straighter, a gleam in her eye. “Building, do you watch Sig and me having sex?”
Both sets of doors stayed firmly, stubbornly shut.
“Oh my gods.” Nell jabbed a finger at the wall. “You do, you voyeuristic pervy bastard.”
The silence deepened, charged and amused, and a faint tremor fluctuated the floorboards like suppressed laughter.
The two women leaned forward on the couch like schoolgirls conspiring, wine glasses balanced precariously on the coffee table.
“Do you know why I’m sleepwalking?” Goldie asked.
The far-left doors opened, shut. Yes.
She sat bolt upright. “Wait—really?”
“Ask a follow-up,” Nell hissed, eyes glittering.
“Will you tell me why if I ask the right questions?”
Yes.
Nell let out a little gasp. “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” She whispered it like they were in church.
Goldie swallowed hard. “Does it have something to do with…” she thought for a moment, her mind going back to the non-answer when she’d asked about the murder. Carefully, she asked: “Finding the body?”
The yes-doors moved again, a slow, deliberate creak.
A shiver trickled down Goldie’s spine. “Gods. Okay. Okay.”
“Do you know who killed Truckenham?” Nell asked eagerly, but the no-doors snapped firmly almost before the words left her mouth. She sighed and collapsed back against the cushions. “Of course not. That would be too easy.”
Goldie stared at the ceiling, thinking hard as she turned over the thought of body and sleepwalking. An idea struck. “Is the fact that I found the body in the Grove Core important?”
Yes.
“And that’s why you won’t stop me from sleepwalking?
Yes.
“You want me to go back to the Grove Core? Will I find something out there?”
“Those were two questions,” Nell pointed out.
The left-hand doors opened and shut twice. Yes. Yes.
“About the murder?”
Both sets of doors opened and shut.
Goldie sighed. “Fine, I’ll stop asking direct murder-related questions. But since you want me to sleepwalk, and if you can’t tell me if I’m safe while I do it…” She hesitated, then asked, “If… someone were to follow me, would I be safer?”
The yes-doors gave a brisk snap.
Nell sat forward so quickly she nearly spilled her wine. “That’s it. We’re taking notes.” She grabbed her phone and began typing furiously, thumbs flying. “Interrogation log. This is official now.”
Goldie groaned, clutching a pillow to her chest like armor. “Who should go with me? Can Nell go with me?”
The right-hand balcony doors creaked open and shut. No.
“Hey!” Nell snapped, glaring at the walls. “Just like that? No?”
Again, the doors shut decisively. No.
Goldie winced. “Ouch. Brutal. Can I take Sig?” she tried hopefully.
No.
“To be fair…” Nell tipped her head, considering. “Sig probably wouldn’t let you out of the building in the first place. You know how he is. Ever since we figured out how to avert Dooms, he treats everything like a potential apocalypse. He’d pin you to the floor before letting you walk into danger—”
“And not in the fun way,” Goldie added, completely deadpan.
Yes, the building agreed.
Goldie puffed out her cheeks. “Okay. What about… Ezra?”
The right-hand doors snapped closed so fast it made the curtains flutter. No.
“Thought as much,” Goldie muttered. “Mr. Caracas? Thess? Hell, even Mr. Lyle?”
The no doors didn’t quite open and close, but the hinges creaked as if to say, are you being serious right now?
“We’re not getting anywhere with this line of questioning.” Nell put a steady hand on Goldie’s arm, suddenly all business. “Time to redirect the interrogation.”
Goldie squinted at her. “Redirect the… oh, my gods. You’ve been watching way too many murder mysteries with Mr. Caracas. That phrase is way too sober for how many glasses you’ve had.”
Yes.
The two women both went quiet. Nell furrowed her brow, chewing on her lip. Goldie reached for the white wine box and topped off her glass with unsteady precision.
“Are…” Nell squinted at the ceiling. “Are you the one making Goldie sleepwalk?”
The room stilled. Both women leaned forward, waiting.
Nothing.
“Building?” Goldie prompted.
Silence.
“Oh my gods,” Nell whispered. “Are we being ghosted?”
Still nothing.
Goldie gave a long, dramatic wail and slid down the couch cushions until she was practically on the floor. “Nooooooo. Don’t edge me like this! Come on, building!”
At last, a faint ripple passed through the walls—barely there, a vibration like a cat flicking its tail against your leg.
Nell snorted. “I think it’s done with us.”
“Rude.” Goldie mumbled. “I knew I should’ve taken the chance to ask about Mr. Lyle’s sexual preferences.”
Nell shrieked. “I’m sorry, do you want to open a portal of existential horror and have the Cenobites come crawling out of the Lustrum? Because whatever his freak is, it’s that. Hellraiser sex kink, unlocked. You’ll probably make it happen just by asking about it. You have a death wish.”
“Apparently.” Goldie flung an arm over her eyes. “Because I’m sleepwalking, and the building has decided it’s going to stop helping me try to figure out why!”
Another soft pulse sighed through the apartment. Both women groaned in unison.
Goldie grabbed the wine box. “I’m done. No more thinking tonight.”
Nell tipped her head back against the couch. “Fine. Do you want to sleep over? I can get Sig to throw a ward on the door so you don’t wander off in the middle of the night. Then, tomorrow, we can figure out a better solution until we know who, or what, the building thinks should be following you.”
The yes-doors opened and shut firmly enough to rattle the potted fern next to them.
Goldie and Nell turned as one to glare at the walls.
“I’m mad at you,” Goldie told the plaster firmly. Then, grudgingly: “Thanks, anyway, for what you were able to tell me.”
The floor gave a soft, almost apologetic pulse. Warm air drifted through the room, brushing over their cheeks like a sighing exhale.
Goldie scowled into her wine. “Don’t think you can butter me up.”
The radiator ticked once, sounding gently amused.