The Ninth Floor by Liz Schulte

up.”
    She followed
me inside. “How do you like the color? You never said.”
    “It’s
gorgeous—thank you.” I put my bag down on the counter. “I emptied out the
bedroom last night, so I thought we could clean and paint now so we can move
the mattress in there when the furniture comes.”
    “Sounds good.”
    Jack texted
that he was stuck at the hospital. I couldn’t decide if that was the truth or
if he was giving me space. Either way I was happy to have a little breathing
room.
    While Vivian
and I worked, I started to appreciate the bedroom’s details. It had four large
windows, so there’d be plenty of natural light, and a similar archway to the
one in the store led into a closet that may have been a sitting room at one
time. A stone fireplace took up a full wall. I imagined reading in bed to the
glow and crackle of a toasty fire and smiled.
    Vivian eyed
the label on the paint I’d purchased—Arabian Nights, a golden tan that had gold
flecks in the paint.
    “You have
excellent taste,” she said.
    “I let you
pick it.”
    “Exactly.”
    “Ha, ha.”
    Vivian
smirked, and then we worked in companionable silence until I had to let her in
on my obsession. “Viv, do you by any chance remember any stories about the
hospital?”
    “What kind of
stories?”
    “Ghost
stories.”
    Viv paused,
brush mid-air. “Are there ghost stories?”
    “Yeah, but no
one will tell me exactly what they are.”
    “Do you want
me to ask around?”
    “Don’t worry
about it. People get funny talking about St. Michaels.”
    “Why?”
    I told her
that the ninth floor was closed and about what I’d witnessed—the window washer
dying, Mrs. Simpson, the voices, and Bee’s nurse.
    “That is some
creepy shit. Do you believe it’s haunted?”
    “I don’t know.
Something weird is definitely happening.”
    “Ask this
doctor you’re dating.”
    “I have. We
were supposed to talk about it tonight, but he didn’t show.” A bad feeling hit
me. What if something had happened to him? I tried to talk to Nurse Leigh and
then she fell down the stairs. I shook the feeling off as ridiculous and
changed the subject, not wanting to think that the nurse getting hurt was my
fault. “So why did that woman in the store the other day ask about me?”
    “I have no
idea. She was weird. After you left she started texting people like you were
famous.”
    I wrinkled my
nose. Why would anyone care that I was back? We finished up painting and Vivian
went home. I was lying on the mattress, hoping Jack hadn’t taken a tragic fall,
when my phone rang. “Hello?”
    “Hey, girl.
How are you?”
    “Audra. Hey.
Sorry I haven’t called much.”
    “Don’t be
silly. I know you’re busy with your aunt. How are you holding up?”
    It was nice to
talk to my best friend again. I filled her in on everything, including Jack,
until I could barely keep my eyes open. We said goodbye, and I slept like the
dead until a loud banging on my front door woke me up.
    I dragged my
tired body off the mattress, fumbled with the lock, and finally managed to open
it. Vivian stood outside with coffee and a bag that promised pastries.
    “This better
be good.” I stood back to let her in.
    “You have a
package.” She nodded at the ground to her left and brushed past me in a sea of
perfume. I picked up the box and shut the door behind us.
    She set the
coffee and pastries on the only visible chunk of counter. Then she peeked in
the bedroom. “Looks good. The color dried perfectly. It would be awesome with
this.” She opened the magazine in her hand to a dog-eared page and showed me.
    I nodded as I
took a sip, burning my lip. “That is cool.”
    “Good. I
already ordered it.” She flashed a Miss America smile at me.
    I pulled out a
cherry Danish. “Thanks for breakfast.”
    “I need a
favor.”
    My hand
stopped an inch from my mouth. “Look at this. There’s a string attached to this
Danish.”
    “Just a little
favor.”
    “What?”
    “Let me move
in.”
    I